#but yeah just need to do a little commemoration of the fact that i lost most of my art

[jankillbride]

don't you know, boy? you're not even human - wip

[zepskies]

The Old-Fashioned Way

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: You and Dean are having trouble trying to start a family. What happens when you turn to a spell for a possible solution? [Soulmate AU]

AN: Happy Valentine's Day! ❣️ Welcome back to the Never Say Goodbye-verse, my first ever Soulmate AU! Feels appropriate to celebrate today with some soulmates lol.

Honestly, I have really missed these two. I can’t believe it’s almost been a year since I wrote this series! And I’ve been wanting to find a way to come back to it, so when I recently got this request, I couldn't resist:

The reader finds out she is pregnant and Dean’s reaction.

But of course, I couldn’t make it that simple… This story takes place five years after the Bonus Tracks (3-part sequel).

Word Count: 5,000

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship (marriage). Soulmates, angst, issues in pregnancy, hurt/comfort, fluff, implied smut.

❤️ Series Masterlist

Today marked five years that Dean had been an officer of the Sioux Falls Police Department.

After twenty-eight odd years of committing felonies of varying degrees…mostly for the greater good, he still found it strange sometimes.

He’d been partnered with his father-in-law, Jack, and by now, Dean had finally lost his sense of “imposter syndrome.”

Jody bought him a pie to commemorate the occasion, and while a little embarrassed, he wasn’t mad about it. The precinct employees now shared the dessert on paper plates from their respective desks and cubicles.

Dean sat in the bullpen with Jack (who was on a call), Jody, and even Jessie Deluca, the boy he’d once arrested for stealing candy and groceries from a gas station.

Well, Jessie wasn’t such a kid anymore. He was now their 18-year-old intern.

“How’s the boysenberry?” Jody asked Dean. Her lips curved upward when he turned to her with a crumb-covered smile. 

“Real good,” he said.

She couldn’t help but laugh a little. “I can’t with this. Come ‘ere.”

She grabbed a napkin and leaned over to wipe at his mouth the way a mother would her errant child. Dean just rolled his eyes.

“Really?” he snipped.

“You look like my five-year-old son after a round of SpaghettiOs,” she said.

“Makes you wonder how his wife deals with him,” Jessie muttered under his breath while he entered expense reports into his computer. Never mind that he had a purple berry stain around the corner of his mouth.

Dean shot him a wry look, along with his crumpled napkin.

“I don’t wanna hear that from a punk like you,” he teased. “You haven’t had a girlfriend since…what, junior prom?”

Jessie fended off the stained napkin with a grimace. But he also smarted at the dig. His arms crossed defensively as he leaned back in his chair.

“As a matter a fact, I’ve got a date on Friday,” he sniffed. “And no, I’m not telling you her name.”

Dean and Jody shared an amused look.

“Aww, look at him, pretending he’s got a date,” Dean said. He fought a deeper grin when Jessie threw the disgusting napkin back at him.

“Fine! Her name’s Annie. You happy now?” Jessie said.

Dean shared another look with Jody.

“Aww, he’s actually got a date,” said Dean. He smirked at the kid next. “Lemme know if you need to borrow some cologne. Chicks dig that.”

“Ugh,” Jessie groaned. He leaned his elbows on his desk and pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes. He knew he’d be catching flack on this for the rest of the week.

Dean chuckled, but before he had a chance to tease their intern some more, his cell phone rang. It was you, and he felt his good mood continue as he answered.

“Hey, baby.”

“Hey, how’s the day going?” you asked.

“Good,” he replied. “We’re on lunch break. Jody got me a pie for my five-year mark at the PD.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet…literally. She knows you too well,” you laughed.

He nodded in agreement. “Yeah, she really does.”

“Tell her and everyone else I said hi.”

“Will do,” he said with a smile. “You just callin’ to check up on me?”

“Well, that, and…when are you getting home tonight?” you asked. The smooth, leading note of your voice had Dean’s lips curving into a smirk.

“Ah, well…” He pushed away from his desk and stepped away from the bullpen for a little privacy in the hall. “That depends. What’s going on?”

“Let’s just say…I have an idea,” you replied. It had Dean’s brows raising. You’d been having a lot of ideas for the past year, and he’d been more than ready and willing for most of them.

“Oh, yeah?” he intoned. While he leaned against the wall in the main hallway of the precinct, his arm crossed under his elbow as he continued holding the phone to his ear. “What’d you have in mind?”

“You’ll just have to find out,” you said.

It only took his brain about a moment and a half to compute.

“All right. In that case, I’ll try to be home promptly at six, barring there’s no shootouts at the 7-Eleven,” he quipped.

“Ugh, please, don’t even joke about that,” you said, your tone sobering.

Dean realized, without even having to read his soulmate’s thoughts, that you were reminded of the last time an explosive incident happened at the local gas station, just two weeks before their wedding day. He dimmed as well. 

“Yeah, ‘m sorry,” he said, swiping a hand over his mouth. “Uh…okay. I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart.”

“Okay, be careful,” you said. You always said it—in the morning, whenever he left for work, whenever you two managed to talk during the day. It was routine, but it also wasn’t. 

And you still wished him a good rest of his day before you hung up. Dean pocketed his phone and returned to the bullpen, where Jody was putting away the rest of the pie. He eyed her just to know exactly where she was setting it down in the kitchen, for future reference.

Jessie peered up from his computer and asked if that was you on the phone.

“Yeah, she says hi,” Dean replied.

Jessie smirked. “‘Course she does. I’m her favorite.”

Dean shot him a look, knowing the kid liked you probably even more than he liked Dean. You’d become like a big sister to Jessie…but it didn’t stop Dean from occasionally being annoyed. 

“Shut up and eat your pie.”

Dean arrived that night, more or less on time, to find that you’d cooked up a feast. It was laid out across the dining table: steak, scalloped potatoes, carrots and broccoli, and even freshly baked cornbread with butter. 

“Is it my birthday again?” he asked, despite it already being February. 

He ventured into the kitchen where you were getting two bottles of beer. You looked up at him with a smile when he came over and held you from behind. You enjoyed the warmth of his body pressed against your back, while his hands found your hips.

“I cook all the time, Dean,” you pointed out. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head in greeting.

“Hmm. Yeah, but now my spidey senses are tingling,” he said.

You set down the beer before turning in his embrace and twining your arms around his neck. Already he could feel your anticipation through the soul bond, but that was all you were letting him sense. You were keeping your walls up a bit, to stop him from hearing your thoughts. In this case, it felt like a tease.

You tilted your head, a smile playing across your lips. “Oh, yeah?”

Dean smirked down at you. “Oh, yeah.”

You laughed and let him greet you properly with a kiss. You returned it, affectionately caressing his cheek, but you stopped him before he could start pressing you harder into the counter. You held up a placating hand against his chest.

“Wait, wait, the food’s gonna get cold,” you said. And all too quickly, you’d extricated yourself from his arms and went to finish placing the silverware on the table. Dean begrudgingly followed suit by helping you with the glasses and plates.

Dinner was delicious. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a steak that good; you two had been scrounging and saving to get out of this apartment and buy a house, along with other things you and Dean had been planning for your future.

By the time the leftovers were put away and the dishes were put in the dishwasher, he started to sense that you were ready to come around with the real reason you’d called him at work today, let alone made such a nice and expensive meal. You went over to where he stood at the kitchen sink and rubbed his arm.

“Hey,” you greeted.

Dean tried to stifle his knowing smile. “Yeah?”

But when he looked over at you, he realized you seemed nervous, not flirtatious. You were serious, and now, he was concerned.

“What?” he asked.

You sighed, hesitating for a moment. Then you went over to a nearby drawer and got some rubber gloves you always kept at work and at home—the kind doctors wore.

You went for your large work bag that normally stored your laptop and files, and instead, you pulled out an old book. Dean’s brows raised of their own accord, considering the last time you accidentally trifled with a book like that.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, with some trepidation. You laid the book out on the kitchen counter.

“It’s a journal of some kind, written in Latin, dating back from the late 1500s. Can you believe that?” Your head raised from where you were examining the cover and spine, but Dean was incredulous.

“What’re you doing with that?” he asked. Your lips pursed, and he felt a tendril of your guilt.

Most likely, you’d taken it from the museum where you worked without permission. You were in charge of the growing library of ancient texts that were stored there, and most of them were too old and valuable for exhibition, even behind glass. He doubted you were even allowed to open this book, let alone “borrow” it from the museum.

You sighed and held up a placating hand. “Okay, Dean, just hear me out.”

You opened the book to a page you’d placed a strip of paper in for bookmarking purposes. You pointed at a page filled with scrawled words that Dean didn’t really understand. Sam was always better at reading Latin.

“That is a fertility spell,” you said.

The weight of that fell between you for a moment, rendering Dean speechless. It took a few seconds for his brain to register what you were saying, followed quickly by a sad, contemplative frown as he stared back at you. You were serious about this, even hopeful. 

“Sweetheart, we don’t need that,” he said, shaking his head. Your expression firmed, though it became touched with melancholy.

“It’s been a year, Dean,” you said. “We’ve been trying for a year, and I’m still not pregnant.”

He blew out a breath. “The doctor said—”

“We’ve done everything the doctor said,” you snapped. “Fertility treatments are either going to take too long or are too expensive, and they still carry risks.”

“And this isn’t a risk?” Dean shot back, gesturing at the book. “You don’t know if this will work, or what the hell it’ll really do to you.”

Your brows furrowed, but you didn’t back down. You held your hands to your hips.

“Uncle Bobby said it’s legit,” you said. Dean blinked in surprise. He shifted back on his heels and crossed his arms.

“You ran this by Bobby before me?” he said. You could feel the small lance of his upset, as well as see it across his face.

You bit the inside of your lip. “I just wanted to make sure!”

Dean took in a deep breath. He mentally counted to five.

“What exactly did he say?” he asked.

You paused at that. “…Well, he said it was a real spell.”

His brows rose. “And?”

“And…that magic is unpredictable and we should talk about it first. But that’s why we’re talking now!” you reasoned. 

Your husband’s gaze lifted heavenward as he threw up his hands in aggravation.

“Dean—” you tried, but it didn’t stop him from snatching up the book. Despite your protests, he took it with him into the master bedroom you shared and shoved the book into his nightstand. You had followed him this far, but you stopped short when he turned around to face you.

“I will check this out,” he said, and his tone boded no argument. “But for the record, I’m against this. Magic is unpredictable at best, and not for nothing, it always comes at a price. I’ll be damned if you’re gonna pay it again.”

You paused. Hearing the vehemence in his tone, feeling the force of emotion behind his words, and your own circling memories of being possessed by a magic-wielding goddess…it had you nodding in agreement, even as tears welled up in your eyes.

Dean faltered a little inside. Always the damn tears. He gathered you into his arms and held you close in comfort. He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“We’ll figure this out. I promise,” he said.

You tried to believe him.

Late that night, however, you couldn’t help yourself.

Once you were sure Dean was asleep beside you, hearing his deep, even breaths, you made your move. Dressed in just an old college shirt and some pajama shorts, you slid out of bed and tiptoed over to his nightstand to get the book.

You took it into the kitchen and started assembling the ingredients Bobby had reluctantly helped you translate. (He didn’t know that you had taken a couple of items from his house for the spell.) 

You prepared them in a bowl. The resulting liquid looked brown and disgusting. You mixed it around, grimacing at the smell, and carefully poured it into a glass. The last thing the spell required was a few drops of your blood, and then you were supposed to drink it. 

God, this is terrible, you thought. Part of you couldn’t believe you were going through with this, but…you grabbed a kitchen knife in order to make a shallow cut on your palm. 

The steel was poised against your hand. You took a fortifying breath, but before you could cut into your skin, Dean grabbed your wrist with a strong grip, startling a gasp out of you.

“What the hell are you doing?!” he said, or more like shouted. He was irate, his voice bounding off the walls of the apartment.

You knew he had every right to be, and you didn’t have a good answer for him. Shock had stifled you into silence.

Dean let go of you and took the glass next. He peered in disgust at the concoction inside, but he quickly dumped it into the sink and ignored your protests. He threatened to burn the damn book next.

“Dean, stop! Please,” you said tearfully as you stilled his hands on the book. “If there’s some kind of price to the spell, I’ll pay it!”

“What’re you talking about! Are you crazy?” he asked, through furrowed brows. You squeezed his hands.

“Believe me, I love what we have. I love our life, my job, all of it,” you said. “But I want a family, and I want it with you.”

Dean started to soften at that, when you met his eyes. You paused, taking in a shaky breath.

“It should be simple, but it’s not," you said. "I just can’t understand why it’s so impossible. Why…why there’s something wrong with me.”

Dean’s anger broke down, bit by bit the more you spoke. He let go of the book and reached for you. He held you against his chest, rubbing your back as you quietly wept. You tried to stifle it, but that just made your body tremble even more. He did his best to steady you, rocking you back and forth. His eyes closed for a moment.

You both knew that the expensive fertility doctor hadn’t found anything wrong with either of you, even after a month of testing.

“In certain cases, it just takes longer for some couples,” she’d said. But clearly, you had just been blaming yourself. Dean couldn’t abide that.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said firmly. “Believe me, I want that too. But I also want to make sure you’re safe.”

Emotion clogged in his throat when he thought about what might’ve happened if he hadn’t stopped you. And in turn, you sobered even more when you managed to pick up on his thoughts.

“If something would’ve happened, and I was too late to stop it,” he said, clearing his throat. “…I just can’t, okay?”

After a moment, you nodded. You allowed yourself to rest against his chest and try to calm the racing of your heart. All the while, you tried your best not to resent him for stopping you.

The next day was a Saturday. You slept in because your body needed it, after the stress of last night. When you woke up, Dean wasn’t beside you. His keys and the Impala were gone, but he’d left you a text: he’d gone to your uncle Bobby’s place. 

And you saw that he’d taken the book as well. Predictable. 

You felt bad for how you tried to go behind your husband’s back, but if you were honest with yourself, you were still upset at him for stopping you, even if you understood why he did it. 

You sat on the edge of your bed. Not for the first time since you and Dean were separated by miles of roads and his family’s mission to find the thing that killed his mother, you found yourself praying. 

Please, God…or if there’s even anyone up there…please help me.

For a while, there was silence in the room. 

But even if your eyes were open, you wouldn’t have seen the being that was standing in front of you. He stared down at you with a tilted head, finding himself a bit too curious. Hesitantly, he reached his hand out and touched your forehead. 

You didn’t completely register the feeling that washed over you. It was like the tingling of a breeze across your skin. You took it for a chill in the room as you shivered a little. Then you opened your eyes, and resigned yourself to starting your day. 

Castiel left the room with but a thought and a flutter of wings. 

He knew he was only supposed to observe Michael’s vessel, not his soulmate. And yet, with one touch, he had sensed the rare genetic defect your doctor had missed.

Your mother had unknowingly suffered the condition as well. Your father never told you this, but she’d nearly lost you in the early stages of her pregnancy. It had been a miracle that you were born at all. 

Castiel fixed the problem. 

He knew what Uriel, or even Naomi would say. Perhaps they didn’t need to know, in this case. They were both far too busy for worldly trifles. Even so, Castiel knew he wasn’t authorized to heal you.

Still, it felt…right. And so, he did it. 

It confused him.

…Maybe it isn’t something to be closely examined, he thought.

With that agreement within himself, he resolved to leave that decision behind him, and continue watching from afar. Those were his orders, after all.

Visiting Bobby Singer wasn’t as productive as Dean wanted it to be. The men had been arguing in Bobby’s living room for close to an hour.

Dean was upset with him for translating that goddamn spell for you, but the old man didn’t have a good answer. They both knew you were like a daughter to him.

“She came in hot, all damn stubborn and sass up to here,” Bobby said, holding a hand up to his forehead. “But you try sayin’ no when the waterworks starts.”

…Dean could concede that, but he rubbed his face in frustration. 

“What do I do here, Bobby?” he asked, holding up the spell book in question. Apparently, it was more like a journal; it was rumored to have belonged to a sixteenth-century witch named Rowena. “I don’t trust this thing. Deep in my gut, I know it.”

Bobby considered him for a moment. In fact, he gave Dean a long-suffering look that made him really see Bobby’s age. 

“Then trust your gut, son,” was all he said. 

Dean returned home with a peace offering: some apple crumble pie. You were lying on the sofa watching mindless TV, still in your pajamas. Your mental walls were down, so Dean could both see and feel how miserable you were. 

He took out the pie from the small bag of groceries he carried and held it up so you could see.

“I come bearing sugar,” he said. He also set down a bottle of wine on the dining table. You were focused on the pie, however.

“Who’s that for, me or you?” you dryly remarked. 

“I got ice cream too,” he said, shaking the grocery bag. 

You smiled a little, but he could feel through the bond that you were still sour at him. He sighed and went over to you. He set down the bribery on the coffee table and settled a hand on your pajama-clad thigh. 

“Sweetheart, I am sorry.” 

Sighing, you turned off the TV and sat up against the other end of the couch. You eyed him with a frown.

“You’re not sorry about chucking the spell,” you accused. Or for stealing the book you’d eventually have to bring back to work, lest your boss notice something amiss in the inventory.

“No, I’m not,” said Dean. “It was dangerous. I felt it. And that gut feeling? That’s what’s saved me more times than I can damn count.” 

You were still upset, you couldn’t deny…but you understood his point. When he beckoned you over, you were more willing to go to him. After you scooted closer, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“Look, I’ll go to whatever doctors you want, try whatever treatments, however long it takes,” he said.

You sighed, but you eventually agreed with a teary nod. “Okay. Thank you.”

Even with that, Dean wasn’t convinced that he was getting through to you. He was picking up on a thread of hopelessness that you were trying to hide.

He’d just have to change that.

“But…” He earned your attention by squeezing your side. His lips formed a grin. “I still think we can do this the old-fashioned way.”

He slowly rubbed a hand up and down your back. With the other hand, he reached for your face, tracing your lower lip with his thumb. You smiled slightly at his teasing. Part of you wanted to heed the suggestion in his eyes, and the familiar warmth and promise in his touch. The other, more vulnerable part of you hesitated.

When you caught sight of something over his shoulder, you had to smile a little more.

“I see you got a bottle of Merlot,” you said. A notable upgrade from beer. You couldn’t remember the last time Dean had willingly bought some “bougie-ass” wine.

“A little pie, a little booze…” you noted.

Dean grinned. “I’m thinking we have a not-so-quiet night in.”

Your brows rose, and you hummed in surprise. “Is my husband trying to butter me up?”

“Nah,” he said, tilting your face back up to his. “Your husband’s trying to seduce you.”  

You giggled at that…at first. But it seemed he was serious.

You accepted his passionate kiss. Closing your eyes, you reached blindly for his shirt and held on while his lips moved ardently against yours. Through the bond, you felt his desire like it was your own.

In the five years you’d been married, and the years you were together even before, there were often moments where it was impossible to discern what was him and what was you. 

The beautiful thing about it was, that part didn’t matter too much. Especially not when you and Dean became a tangle of limbs, lips, and tongue on the couch. He ridded you of your threadbare pajamas, and you helped him halfway out of his shirt and jeans before he yanked the rest of it off himself.

And all while he drew lusty moans and sighs and pleasure from your body in the comfort of your living room, the ice cream slowly melted in its container on the coffee table—completely forgotten, along with the pie.

That night, you lied awake in his arms for a while. Round one on the couch had migrated to rounds two and three in the bedroom, and you were almost too exhausted to sleep. 

It had been months since you and Dean had sex without thinking of calendars and timing, optimal positions and ovulation.

This felt right, you thought, as you stroked his arm that was wrapped around your waist. Even though your skin was sticking to his under the sheets and your frizzy hair was probably tickling his neck, he didn’t seem to mind.

Dean? you tried through the bond, seeing if he was awake. He felt like he was still in-between wakefulness and sleep. At your prodding though, he slipped back into the former. 

“Hmm?” he replied. You let out a sigh in the dark. 

“I’m sorry I kind of tried to take matters into my own hands, with the spell.”

He hmphed in response. “Kinda?”

Your lips twitched upwards. 

“This is a ‘together’ thing,” you said. “I made it all about me.”

Dean shook his head at that. He responded through the bond. No, you didn’t.

I did, you insisted. You were right to stop me. I didn’t care about the consequences…but that’s not fair to you. To either of us.

He took that in with a deep sigh of his own.

“It’s okay. We want the same thing,” he said. “And we’ll get there, baby. Don’t you worry.”

“What makes you so sure?” you asked.

“…I don’t know. I just am.”

You closed your eyes, and once again, you tried to believe him. You let his heartbeat and the sound of his steady breathing lull you to sleep. 

Nine weeks later…

You were alone in the bathroom at seven in the morning. After almost a month late on your period, you were also staring at two positive lines on your last pregnancy test. 

Ho…ly…shit.

Dean was already at work. This wasn’t something you wanted to tell him over the phone, however. 

How the hell am I supposed to keep this from him all day? you thought.

But then again, maybe this was a good thing. You had time to make sure.

So you called out of work for a personal day, and you immediately called your doctor on your way out to the closest pharmacy. You were going to need a few more tests. 

When Dean eventually got home that evening, there were two pizzas waiting for him. The smell was already making his mouth water. He peeked under the hood of each box and rubbed his hands together. 

“Ooh, awesome.” Pepperoni, sausage, and double cheese. His favorite.

You appeared then from the kitchen with a strange smile on your face. 

“Hey!” you chirped, but you seemed a bit distracted as you pulled out a sheet pan of cookies from the oven. You nearly dropped them when the corner of the pan banged against the oven. 

Something was off with you. Dean knew it intuitively. He went over and tried to steady you with a hand on the small of your back. He could see that you were frazzled, but he realized, with a frown, that you had your walls up again. He couldn’t pick up on what you were thinking.

“You okay?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

“Uh…well, something,” you nodded and wiped your hands after you peeled the oven mitts off. “And I need to tell you about it before I bake everything in the house, including the expired bran muffins.”

Dean was growing more concerned by the moment. He knew for a fact he’d hidden that bran muffin mix deep in the pantry, so you wouldn’t force him to eat a “healthy dessert.”

“Okay, what?” he asked.

You paused, steeling yourself with a breath.

You then took his hand and led him to the bedroom, into the adjoining bathroom. Across the entire counter were no less than seven pregnancy tests. 

All positive.

Dean’s breath caught in his lungs. Slowly he turned back to you with his widened eyes.

“Surprise?” you smiled, a little nervously. 

Dean grasped the counter and had to sit down hard on the closed toilet seat. 

“Yeah, I did that too,” you said. You couldn’t help but giggle as you caressed his face. He grabbed your hip, both to bring you closer and for added stability. You two had been trying to make this happen for over a year, but the gravity of this being real was finally hitting him. 

He stared up at your face with a growing smile. “This is happening.” 

You nodded, smiling through your burgeoning tears. 

“Yeah. It is,” you replied. “Dean, you’re gonna be a dad.”

That realization had him nodding, swallowing hard and blinking past a sting in his eyes. 

He wrapped his arms around your waist, bringing you in between his knees. You threaded your fingers through his hair, and his head came to rest against your stomach. He pressed a kiss there, over your shirt. 

After a moment to gather himself, he rocked back onto his feet. Then he enveloped you in a secure and warm embrace. He kissed the side of your head, and you felt his smile there.

“We did it, baby,” he said.  

“And that was the easy part,” you quipped, making him laugh. Yet the holy shit of it all hit him in a new wave—one you felt through the bond. You had to take a deep breath to steady yourself as well.

“Oh my God, this is happening,” he repeated.

You uttered a tearful laugh. “Uh, yeah, Dean.”

He was still smiling, but it started to dim a little. 

“We’re ready, right?” he asked.

You chuckled, wiping at your eyes. “We better be.”

Dean nodded and pulled back enough to see your face. You met his gaze. Maybe you’d just had more time than him to process it all, but you finally felt a sense of peace.

“Together, right?” he said.

“Yeah,” you smiled. “Together.”

Dean let out a deep breath. “Shit, I gotta tell Sam.”

Your smile brightened and you squeezed his arms.

“Let’s call him!" you said. "Hopefully Eileen’s there too.”

The two had moved in together a couple of years ago, after Eileen officially retired from hunting. But she often had long shifts at her job, just like Sam did at the law firm he started working for after he graduated from law school, near the top of his class.  

While you and Dean went into the bedroom to call Sam together, an angel watched from a distance, unseen by human eyes.

He found himself smiling.

AN: Ahh I'm soft. 🥰 I hope you all enjoy this as much as I had fun diving back into Never Say Goodbye.

And I won't say that I'll never come back to it in the future...for obvious reasons. 😉

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Series + Dean Tag List (Part 1):

I did my best to get everyone who was tagged in the original run of the series first, then my normal Dean tag list.

@curlycarley @chubby-teddybear @jamerlynn @iprobablyshipit91 @globetrotter28 @deamus-liv @deans-spinster-witch @my-proof-is-you @vera0124 @deans-baby-momma @lacilou @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @theonlymaninthesky @spnexploration @itzabbyxx @cevans-winchester @imagineteller1

@icequeen1371 @tiredqueen73 @bitchwitch1981 @abbigaleelizabeth @ohgodthebogisback @where-the-river-bends @loveprof6 @shadowcrowsworld @thespnlover @this-is-me19 @stevenknightmarc @leigh70 @syrma-sensei @brain-has-left

@hobby27 @ashbatz @saranghaey @jori21 @lillyrob @adoringanakin @agirlwithdemonblood @mimaria420 @nephil-with-a-gun @writethrough @iamsapphine @definitelymentallyderanged @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer

[ddoxhan]

prettiest to me

I'll write the melody, you write the words for me it might not be the prettiest, but it's the prettiest to me

word count : 2k words

genre : fluff & fluff; when minji wrote a melody and asks if you could write lyrics for it; minji's a simp for you; singer-songwriter! minji x uni student! fem! reader

t/w : slightly suggestive(?) ig (idk how to do this we ride or die)

a/n : to commemorate the ending of pr stunt by @silantryoo, here's a minji oneshot to thank bestie silan on making me squeal at 3am with this smau, it was a wonderful journey and I still can't believe it ended :') this marks my first nwjns fics :3 plot has nothing to do with pr stunt and I wrote this in one sitting so there might be errors or just weird flow since I didn't proofread enjoy !!

"babe! come down for a minute!"

"what is it? I'm a little busy with my assignments."

"that can wait, I'm more important here."

"well, you aren't wrong."

just as you reach the foot of the stairs, you don't seem to see your girlfriend anywhere in sight. that's when you figured she was in her mini recording studio. she would always be there if it wasn't the garden, which is her favorite spot for handling her work.

"so, how may I help you, my dearest minji?"

you weren't sure why she needed you in here, when you made it a fact that you weren't exactly musically gifted with that time you tried to serenade her but failed miserably (you practiced real hard and she appreciated your efforts).

"can you cook up some lyrics for this melody I wrote?"

"me? are you sure that's okay? I mean hanni would be able to create a masterpiece with your melodies, better than I could ever."

"sure she can, but this is for us. I write the melody, and you write the words."

"umm, okay? don't expect too much out of it though."

it would be a lie that minji didn't have a slightest expectation because she knew you had a way with your words. that was one of the reasons why she fell for you, amongst hundreds of them. utmost of all, you treat her real good, like she's your world and your one and only, which isn't wrong at all. you do love her more than yourself, and you don't mind throwing yourself in front of a truck for her (which had her smacking you on the back when you told her that).

as much as you don't enter her studio, there was only one chair and of course, it was already taken by the owner. minji saw how your eyes were searching for an extra one, so she just put her hands over your waist before pulling you over onto her lap.

the slight red tint on your ears doesn't go unnoticed by her, making her heart swell at the fact that you still burn bright red whenever she gets intimate. despite being together for years, you still do, and that reassures her that you feel the same for her, just as she does for you.

"I c-could have just gotten another chair from the kitchen."

"yeah, but I like it this way."

minji snakes her arms around your waist, giving you her signature cheeky smile, which you have a love-hate relationship with. it's just so annoying, but endearing because you love her. all you could do is role your eyes at it and pretend you don't like it.

she leans forward to get her earphones before handing you one side, putting the other into her own ear. with a click on the space bar, the melody she had just finished perfecting flowed out in the earphones.

with every stroke of the electric guitar, you found yourself lost in her eyes, and same goes to her. it made you feel so nostalgic as you reminisce the moments you shared with minji. the first time you met her, all the dates you went to, all the hours you spent staring at her eyes more than the scenery, all the times you said 'I love you' (that were three times in total of the 3 years you've been together for).

you just knew, this wasn't just some typical love song. it was your love song. yours only to listen to, which made you so sure, that you were going to spend the rest of your life with this girl in front of you, kim minji.

it made you feel loved by her, and also made you realize how madly in love you were with her. so this was why she insisted on you writing the lyrics. you didn't know how only just a melody could make you feel this way. god are you smitten by kim minji.

"min, you're a genius."

"are you sure? I'm pretty sure you literally just called me an idiot two days ago."

"I take it back, you're a bitter meanie."

"hey! you can't blame me for having good memory."

your glare seemed so 'intimidating', minji couldn't help but crack a smile at your attempt at being scary. and you followed suit, weak at how her lips would curl up and her eyes folding into crescents.

"you're adorable."

"don't think you're off the hook just because you call me cute."

"didn't think of that but yes, you are cute and I love you too."

she leans forward to steal a kiss on your lips, smiling sweetly at you as she stares into your eyes again. knowing the effect she had on you, minji purposely did so because it was fun to see you flustered, which makes you a thousand times cuter than you already are (minji's words not mine).

and she was absolutely accurate with how the red tint on your ears prolong and your gaze fall to the ground.

"so how was the melody? what makes you say I'm a genius just hearing that?"

you glance over at minji, full of curiosity and anticipation, as if she doesn't know how that melody just made you fall for her further.

"because that screamed 'I love you and no one else'? you just made me remember the feeling of being in love with you, baby."

to be honest, minji's heard countless 'I love you's' and 'baby's' in her entire career. but when it comes from you, it makes her heart flutter and all giggly like a lovesick schoolgirl. she too, remembers when you spell it out for her.

the feeling of being in love, and specifically with you. she could never forget how she fell for you. it wasn't love at first sight, but she did realize she was in love with you at a particular moment. that moment you smiled at her as you pulled her along by her wrist to the arcade. she didn't know what it was, but that endearing smile that tugged perfectly on your lips led her to offer you her heart.

and it was the same smile minji loved seeing every day, the smile you only showed when it came to her. you could very well call it 'minji-exclusive smile' and your friends would 100% agree because there was just a different glint in your eyes and a higher tug against your lips when it was for her. dani mentioned that and was so supportive of you two while hanni gives you her signature side eye. (she secretly likes you two together because you treat her bestie well and vice versa)

"now that you say it, I guess it does sound like that. well then I believe you have your inspiration right there."

"of being in love you?"

"yes, that, and us. this is our song, so it's about us, our love."

"I suppose I can start from there."

you still can't get used to minji using the word 'love' so easily, rolling off her tongue like it meant nothing. but you knew she means it every single time she stares into your eyes, saying it with utmost warmth. she makes you feel at home, as you are wrapped up in her arms. although you two are cotton candy clouds most of the time, there will always be times where you two bicker and argue over something unimportant just like other couples out there. even so, voices are never raised and what more physical.

it was an agreement made at the start of your relationship and it was never once broken, which made you love minji more than you thought you could ever. your previous relationship begged to differ, so you were honestly afraid to start another one. yet this girl in front of you showed you that you were worth every drop of love she could offer, every kiss you shared, every night you spent cuddling with her. the list could go on and on, and she would still have so much to give to you because you deserve it.

"then there's that. now you can attend to your assignments, but make sure to be down here later for dinner."

minji squinted her eyes at you, making you look away as you remember how you used to starve yourself just to finish your thesis. all that was past you when you moved in to live with her. of course it was when she'd make you meals so you never skip, and being the stubborn person she is, she makes sure you finish it. (minji treats you like a kid but she does so because you do act like one at times, and she's not complaining since she loves taking care of you)

"okay, mom."

you lift yourself off from her lap to get back to whatever you were working on, but as you did, she pulled you back down. what she does next catches you so off guard, you push her away, running out of the studio before she can see how you're about to explode from embarrassment.

"I don't think you suck your mom's lips off, do you?"

to top it off, she puts her lips near your ears and whispered, extremely seductively. her breath tickled and lingered against your skin in the best way possible. you couldn't deny though, you quite literally sucked her lips off the other time you spent the last friday movie night, making out with the movie just playing on in the background. if someone were to ask you about that movie, you were sure you aren't going to be able to tell them what it was about. you apologized to her after the session when you saw how red and swollen her lips when you two finally got out of it. (your lips weren't any better either)

"I hate you."

"thanks babe, I love you too."

you were pouting as you made your way back upstairs, but was stopped by your beloved girlfriend before you could take a seat to continue your assignment. minji threw her arms over your shoulder, hugging you from the back as you refuse to look at her. she loves teasing you because you just give her the best reactions, and it's become a routine.

"if you keep teasing me, I'm not writing the lyrics."

"what's that gotta do with the lyrics? you promised, and remember, no breaking promises."

"that's up to me."

folding your arms across your chest, you turn your head to the left because minji leaned forward to look at you from the right.

"babe."

"what?"

just as you turn your head back to the right, kim minji once again steals another peck on your lips. if she thinks she can get you to stop being 'angry' at her with this, she is absolutely right. (she just knows you too well, and also because she knows you love her very much)

when she notices the way your lips become less pouty, minji tightens the hug as she buries her head in the crook of your neck. she takes a seat on the chair with her still hugging onto you like a bear, mumbling against your skin, sending shivers down your spine (in a good way).

"don't be angry with me."

"I'm not..."

when clingy minji shows up, you just know you can never win against her.

"you will write the lyrics right?"

"of course, I made a promise. and I'll make it the prettiest in the world so you won't be disappointed."

"if it's written by you, I'll love it no matter what. you can write me a nursery rhyme, and I'd give you a nobel prize."

her jokes never fail to crack you up, as if her sense of humor was built to match yours. she never fails to amaze you every single day you wake up to seeing her by your side, soundly asleep. minji used to suffer a lot from insomnia but from the day you slept by her side, there wasn't a single night she spent awake.

"whatever you write, I just know it's gonna be the best. even if you think it may not be the prettiest, it's the prettiest to me."

"you're the prettiest to me."

[seannessy]

*sigh* oh to live in a world where american car manufacturers remembered that you could put more than 1 color on things...

oh to live in a world where american car manufacturers remembered that eggshell white looks good actually...

oh to live in a world where american car manufacturers are not going senile and forgetting all of the reasons why cars looked cool to begin with...

the post was originally going to end here but i just took my ADHD meds and i need you all to know that i live in a city where we have a yearly event to celebrate old cars that actually looked really good and everyone in this city fucking LOVES cool old cars and every now and again you can just see someone driving around the beachside roads on a vehicle straight out of a Guardians of the Galaxy flashback. cars used to look GOOD. this isn't a generational style thing, look at these.

even if this kind of car isn't your style i get that, but you can surely see that there is at least a vision here, there was a passion in the people who made them back then, cars weren't just churned out willy nilly to make the line go up.

well okay yeah they definitely were but there was still some art there. now i need to ask you. look at modern cars for a second and just let the mundane-ness of it all sit in for a while

ohhhh yeah can you feel it? have you soaked it in yet? all of those sanded down soulless smooth edges? all of those monocolor coats of paint? the fact that the only thing you can really tell is substantially different is the kind of wheel each car has if even that?

now i need to ask you, in 80 years do you think there are going to be any events to commemorate these kinds of cars? do you think anyone is going to take time out of their retirement to appreciate these wonders of modern technology enough to create a whole ass city-wide convention to show appreciation for any component of these cars except maybe some of the internal mechanics and engines???

now admittedly selection bias is a thing here, its not like these cars being celebrated in my city are the average car, those are Woodies, which are a very specific artistic style of car. so maybe we need to look at the average car from back then. lets see, the Woody style was started around the 30s, so what does the average car look like around the 30s?

well a quick little research says that the biggest automotive manufacturer around then was General Motors (or at least a very big one), and a quick little Wikipedia stroll shows their platforms from back then. Behold! i show you cars from back when people cared about design!

Oldsmobile Series 60

1930 GM Marquette

1940 Pontiac 'Deluxe' 6

I know that last one says Deluxe, but keep in mind that beauty only went for ~17k in 2023 dollars! So much cheaper than the Ford F-150! And you get more seats too! Sure the paint is probably leaded and so is the gas and so are the lights and so is the steering wheel probably and to be honest I wouldn't be surprised if somehow the rubber was too, but god dammit it just looks good doesn't it? Don't they all? 2 of these 3 random samples I just learned about still have the monocolor stuff that I was complaining about but don't they just look better? It's not like this is a lost art, we can still build this today if we wanted, we could just put the modern engines and batteries and non-lead metals in it! That's what the people who drive restored versions of these cars do! Imagine how much easier it would be if you just built them that way and didn't need to take all of the lead and old broken down engines out in the first place!

"Ohhhhh but the aerodynamics!! What about the aerodynamics!! Modern cars are so much faster now because of their ugly shapes!!"

yeah dumbass and that's why you keep mulching kids whenever you tap the accelerator. my city has plenty of people who drive modern cars, you all could do with a lower speed capacity. it would be good for you in the same way that confiscating an addict's tobacco would be good for them. fucking chill.

besides if you're really worried about speed trust me, modern engines are wonders of science and engineering, i promise you that cars can still go zoom if we made the aerodynamics slightly worse in order to make them look better because the magic piston box that you pretend to know how it works while being carried by your 4-wheel drive will cover the cost. trust me.

"But cars in general are bad! We should be getting rid of all of them! Even cool looking cars can mulch kids too!"

yeah yeah sure, still ban them from city centers and stuff. i just got back from a 2 week long trip around all the best parts of europe and also paris so i agree with you there, but as much as it would warm my autistic heart we realistically cant have trains to take us everywhere and the genie is already out of the bottle. besides i dont care what you think cars are just cool. i can turn a wheel and push on a pedal with my foot and make a 2 ton hunk of steel and gadgets move at a speed to carry force surpassing that of a bullet, and if i turn really fast i can make tire doodles on public infrastructure to keep the rent low. plus road trips with friends are fun. look all im saying is that cars definitely aren't going anywhere, so we could at least have them look cool while they're here. to be honest i definitely agree that we should be phasing out cars as much as we can for long distance travel (TRAIN SWEEP WOOOOO CHOO CHOO) and everything but come on dude i dont want to look at my ugly ass streets and see them swarming with ugly ass cars. i want pretty ass cars. please? pretty please? my birthday is coming up soon wont you do it for me?

"Lower aerodynamics means that the fuel economy will be worse! People will need to use more fuel for the same distances! That's bad for my wallet and also the environment!"

putting aside the fact that aerodynamics really only become a major factor when you are going really really fast like on the freeway--a place where ideally you would rarely ever need to go on in favor of public transport taking you everywhere you'd want to go to at a price cheaper than your gas in the first place, i want to ask you something a little emotional here:

do you think that you would be better off if you saved maybe 1 or 2 dollars every trip to the gas station, or if when you were stuck driving all those long drives you were in a car that you could actually smile when thinking about, that you could watch other people look over and see children excitedly getting their parent's attention to show off the cool car driving past them, that you could have a car that looks good enough to actually wow people when you pull in for your 9-5 that is a 2 hour drive away from you for some reason, that after a long shift and a long drive you could come home, get out of your car, and have the first thing you see when you close the door be something that actually looks pretty instead of the same personalityless blob that everyone else drives? look, i get it, maybe your finances are super unstable and every penny counts, maybe this specific example isn't for you, but im willing to bet that once you get to a better off position you'd be pretty fine with the idea of sacrificing a few bucks for a whole load of warm and fuzzy feelings of pride and satisfaction. i sure as hell would. why the hell do we do this whole capitalism thing in the first place if we can't spend the money eventually to feel nice??

oh yeah also for the environment bit most of the impact against the environment isn't cars at all, it's energy production and other stuff, also most cars are switching to environmentally friendly alternatives now anyway sorryyyyyyyyy

look all i want is for when my time comes to get mulched against a bumper like nearly 1.2 thousand american children each year i dont want it to look like the edmunds.com best rated cars by price section

oh, yeah, also, if you willingly take off the sound muffler from your car or motorcycle your car should be confiscated by the government and you should be put in the jail for disturbing the peace. not because you did anything wrong, but purely for your own protection because i prefer small government solutions and neither me personally nor my local community do not have the infrastructure to solve the problems that you create in a way that would be favorable to you.

[1234-waystodie]

To the coward who responded to me and then blocked me

my answer:

"Do you live in a region where bombs fall?"

Israel is one of the smallest country in the world so yeah, I live where bombs fall thank you. "Checkpoint in Jerusalem" I wonder why is that? Maybe because there are terror attacks every day? Including today? The same goes for permit - the once that has Israeli citizenship don't need to do so, by the way. And I'm tired of you people claiming to be so innocent when in fact there are terror attacks every day, people in my uni calling for the death of my friends under the 'freedom of speech' and you still claim we are aprtahid state. Please shut up

By the way the "nekba" is always about how the poor Palestinians lost their land. You always fail to mention that again - you waged war on Israel and lost. Those that weren't part of it got citizenship, the others fled. You can't wage war and cry that you are the victims.

Also, I got into the link of your "Nakba Law" and surprise surprise, there is nothing there against talking about the Nakba, only against being against the exsitance of this country:

The law authorizes the Minister of Finance to withhold a limited amount of state funds from any government-funded[1] institution or body that commemorates “Israel’s Independence Day or the day on which the state was established as a day of mourning”, or that denies the existence of Israel as a “Jewish and democratic state.”

I am a fucking student at a uni in Israel and I tell you that not only we talk about it, I have seen more than once Palestinians call a terrorist a "hero" and could do nothing about it. Last year they came with their flag to campus and screamed for the death of Israel and you guessed it right - could do nothing about it.

There is nothing here about the Nakba - you just can't fucking live here and be in uni and get full support for the government if you are against

Didn't find you the video of little kids from East Jerusalem telling how their biggest dream is to kill jews, I hope somebody add it to this post

אמן שמישהו ימצא את הסרטון הזה של הילדים במזרח ירושלים שאומרים שהם רוצים להרוג יהודים וירבלג או ישלח לי פליז, האינטרנט פשוט העלים את זה זה מדהים

That's the whole story.

[wiypt-writes]

Murder, He Wrote

Epilogue

Summary: You and Ransom attend the launch of his book and the cover closes on your story.

Warnings: Bad language, Mature (NSFW, 18+) NON-CON situations, kidnap, violence. Blood. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER…READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED…YOU HAVE BEENWARNED.

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: The end! I can’t believe all this span from @jtargaryen18​’s Halloween Challenge last year. I hope you have enjoyed his as much as I have.

Word Count: 3.6k

READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK series so don’t @me if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18 get off my blog!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 7

 The town car and it's driver took you to whatever swanky hotel Ransom and his publishers had decided upon, you not caring the slightest inwardly, outwardly only half paying attention. You glanced out the window watching the lights of downtown pass by as your husband of merely three weeks held your hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb. 

It was a warm July evening, the two of you dressed to the nines in formal attire. Ransom had insisted the launch be an invite only, formal event. Therefore, he was dressed in a two-piece suit, black of course, with a crisp white button down, silken black tie, and you, you looked like an ice queen's slutty sister. The powder blue silk dress you wore tied together with thin straps on each shoulder, your feet already hurting in your nude six inch sandals. Your free hand tapped a neatly manicured finger over your clutch that matched your shoes. A delicate white gold and diamond tennis bracelet adorned your wrist whilst the necklace you'd been gifted at Christmas hung around your neck. You wore your hair the way he said he loved it, in a ponytail full of waves and wisps framing your face.

After the incident on Valentine’s Day, you’d spent another two weeks in the confines of the basement. All luxuries removed and you were used and abused in exactly the way you had been when Ransom had first taken you, until he’d once more sucked the fight out of you. Only this time you didn’t have the strength to find it again. 

You played the part you’d been cast in his sick little fantasy and became totally passive to his whims. You let him fuck you which, in all honesty, wasn’t an entirely unpleasant situation as he knew his way around your body and it felt good. You had given up denying it, and for the moments he was teasing those carnal reactions out of you, you escaped, let yourself imagine you were with someone who you wanted. And by keeping him sweet, you fooled him into thinking you were content. And things settled down, you had that halfway to normal life that you’d achieved before you discovered his manuscript.

But it was bullshit. A means to an end. And you deserved a fucking Oscar.

He’d had the audacity to propose to you, too. In a restaurant. Surrounded by people. He asked you the question, like you had a fucking choice.

Angry, desperate tears had filled your eyes as you’d simply gaped at him, tears the deluded cunt took for you being overwhelmed with happiness. With a smile he slipped the gaudily large diamond on your finger, sealing your fate.

It weighed as heavy on your hand as the grief for your lost life, and the despair at your situation did in your heart.

You’d had a small wedding. Attended simply by your parents and sister. He sent an invite to his mother and father but they didn’t show up. Your dad walked you down the aisle and as you walked towards the man you hated with every breath in your body, your father kissed your cheek and asked you if you were sure you wanted to do this. And no, of course you didn’t, but what could you do?

There was no way out. 

“You look as gorgeous tonight as you did on our wedding day.” Ransom’s voice slightly startled you and you turned to face him. 

You smiled at him, the smile you knew he wanted to see, as he placed a soft kiss to your cheek before doing the same to your hand, his lips ghosted over the top of the obscene rock and matching band on your finger which caught the lights of the city, sparkling with all the ferocity of a supernova.

Before you needed to reply with some half assed compliment back, the town car stopped as the driver got out and opened Ransom's door.

"Wait here," he instructed and walked around with the driver on the other side, escorting you out the minute your own door opened.

Flashbulbs fired off in your eyes, no doubt the press there for some absolutely ridiculous notion that this book was anything but its true nature of terror and disgust.

Ransom’s hand pressed into the base of your back as he guided you along in front of him, various members of the press calling his name, and you heard the excited shouts from some as they spotted the bands on both yours and Ransom’s hands, positively shrieking as they asked when you’d gotten married. 

The headlines flashed in your mind now, 'Grandson of the Great Harlan Thrombey Releases First Suspense Novel'. 'One of Boston's Most Notorious and Eligible Bachelors is Strictly Off The Market' . 'Trust Fund Playboy Sinks His Bunny'. 

It made you want to puke. 

In fact, as the press line faded and you stepped foot into the lobby, you swallowed back the bile forcing its way up. A tray with champagne flutes passed you by and you immediately snagged one.

When Ransom had been distracted for a brief moment, you quickly glanced around and swallowed back the entire flute of the bubbly drink. Delightfully enjoying the brief taste and quick head rush it gave you.

The further you walked into the event, his hand still against your bare back, the louder it grew and the more trays of champagne and appetizers were floating by.

As typical, the two of you were fashionably late so, you had little chance to take part in any nibble or further, a drink, because the supposed "man of the hour", more like terror of life, was due to give a speech.

His agent pulled the two of you aside and made mention that it was time for Ransom to greet his guests. He pressed a sickening sweet kiss to your lips and confidently took to the small podium atop a small stage nearby.

“First and foremost, thank you to everyone who came out tonight. But more importantly, thank you to my beautiful wife, without you Sweetheart, this wouldn't be possible.”

The smile he flashed you was loaded with meaning as the pair of you looked at one another, his eyes shining with the depraved private understanding you shared. 

And you hated him then just about as much as you ever had.

Excited muttering spread around the room as he had knowingly referred to you as his wife. It was the first time he’d announced your marriage to the world but, as he smiled and held his hands up, nodding smugly and confirming whatever people were asking him, you felt nothing but an overwhelming sense of nausea. To everyone else it was a sweet dedication, to you it was a sickening truth. This book was based on what he’d done to you. What he was saying was literal truth. 

And the fact that the people currently applauding whatever he had said would never realise the true nature of those words on the pages of his book made you want to vomit in your handbag.

Applause rang around the room and you realised everyone was turned in your direction. Drawing your shoulders back you stood tall and once more fixed that fake smile on your face before Ransom cleared his throat and began to speak again.

But you didn't listen, you drowned him out, the sound of his voice distant and murky like Charlie Brown's teacher. You allowed you mind to think of anything but the present, other than the fact that these people were in unknowing full support of the hell you'd been through the last nine months.

Eventually a loud, rapturous applause signalled the end of his speech and he stepped back, smiling and then turned to the man from his publishers who shook his hand furiously, before the pair of them posed for photos.

That was when he beckoned you to him, looking at you in such a way that made your skin crawl and your teeth seethe with each breath. This bastard expected a photo op from you above all this, commemorating this disaster.

On autopilot you headed towards him, indifference obedience now your specialty and his arm curled possessively round your waist, fingers splaying on your hip. You posed and smiled as the flashes went off, but as you stole a glance at the large, ornate clock on the wall, you suddenly felt your head beginning to swim.

Seeing a convenient way out of this bullshit, you made sure to falter just a little, placing your hand to your chest. It caused Ransom's attention to turn to you.

"Sweetheart, are you alright?"

“I’m feeling a little light headed and warm.” You looked up at him. “Could we maybe get some air?”

"Sure, yeah," he looked to his agent and they nodded towards a side door in the room.

His arm still round you, playing the doting husband, he led you towards it and opened it with a flourish, allowing you to step out in front of him. 

You emerged into the alley at the side of the building and took a huge gulp of air, steadying yourself.

"Y/N, what's wrong?"

You were warm, flushed, your skin tingling as the now cooling air hit your slightly damp skin, your nipples perking at the temperature change were visible through the silk dress, and you didn’t miss the heated glance he gave them as you spoke. "I, I don't know. I think it's all the commotion."

“You do look a little flushed.” His eyes moved back to yours and he studied you for a moment, his large hands gently cupping your face as he kissed your forehead before his lips pressed to yours. “Wanna take a walk?”

Despite the fact you really couldn’t walk far in the ridiculous shoes you were in, you nodded. Anything to avoid going back in there and listening to all those sycophants kissing his ass.

He took your hand and started walking slowly down the alley. You were mid-way down when a man jumped out from behind the dumpster. You screamed and instinctively Ransom jumped to the side, pulling you slightly behind him.

“Give me the money and the jewellery, no one gets hurt.” The man spoke gruffly and you felt Ransom draw himself up to his full height as he glared at the dirty, dishevelled man, disdain on his face.

“Eat shit.”

“Ransom, just... please give him what he wants.” Your voice trembled as your body shook, your right hand already removing the rings on your left.

“I’d listen to your pretty wife, if I were you.” The man spoke as he reached into his pocket and when he withdrew his hand you swallowed at the unmistakable flash of metal.

“Fuck, Ransom, he’s got a knife!” You clutched his arm. “Please just give it to him!”

"Fuck, no," he started reaching for his phone but the man lunged toward him.

In the melee that followed, you were thrown to the side, your rings clanging to the floor somewhere along with your clutch, your palms and knees scraping painfully on the floor. By the time you’d pushed yourself up, you saw the man scrambling to his feet, Ransom’s watch and wallet in his hand. He turned to look at you and you backed away, stumbling once more to the ground letting out a blood curdling scream as he advanced. He stopped, picked up your rings and your bag, before he turned, bolting up the alley and rounding the corner, disappearing from sight.

"Y/N," the croaking voice came from your husband as he staggered towards you, a deep red seeping through his white dress shirt, his one hand attempting to stave off the bleeding. The other, cradling his phone. But he didn't get more than a few steps as he collapsed nearby. 

"Ransom!" You shrieked and heels be damned, you ran to him, looking around, "help!" 

"Call 9-1-1, Baby," he begged, trying to thrust the phone into your hand and you leaned over him. 

With a jittery hand you swiped over to the emergency call option and hit the first two digits before you glanced around again and hesitated, rising slowly to your feet.

“What...” Ransom’s chest heaved as he looked up at you, his face white with shock as you turned the phone in your hand and shrugged.

“Yeah, you see, I could call for help but...” with that you tossed his phone to the hard ground and crunched it with your stupidly high heel, rotating your foot to make double sure, the glass and metal grinding between the stiletto and the tarmac. “Whoops, looks like it got smashed in the fight.” You gave a little chuckle. “And of course, mine was in my bag which he took. Isn’t that ironic? I mean the first time you permit me to use it for something other than to contact you or my mom, I can’t.” You made a little tutting noise. “Guess I’ll just have to keep yelling and hope someone hears.”

With that you turned and screamed, a frantic yell. “Please, someone help us! Please, he’s been stabbed, call 9-1-1.” You slowly dropped back to a kneel, ignoring the sting of your grazed knees and smirked. “Dammed, I really am good at this acting shit, don’t you think, handsome?”

Ransom coughed a harsh and wet cough. His chest heaving raggedly as he struggled between catching a breath and bleeding out. 

“Y/N...” he spluttered, “you...please...”

"So many criminal junkies in Boston, Sweetheart. Plenty who will take the fall for a little hit,” you emphasised the 't' of the last word as you spoke the very same line that he had delivered to you months ago, the threat he had held over you and used to keep you in check whenever you stepped over that line. 

His eyes widened further as the realisation set in, you could see his brain working and it gave you a buzz, a sense of satisfaction to know that he understood this was your doing.

You wanted the last thing this bastard thought about to be how you were responsible for his death. But more so, his narcissistic and sociopathic tendencies be damned, you wanted him to completely understand exactly how it was his fault. 

And given the way he was bleeding and struggling for breath, you didn’t have long.

Another scream for help flew from your mouth as you pressed one hand on top of his which were now both clutched to the wound in his stomach, the other brushing his hair back slightly as you smiled down at him. 

“I told you when you threw me back in the basement that the way you treat people would come back to haunt you.” You gave a little shrug. “And, when you told the homeless guy looking in the bins on collection day a few months back to eat shit and get a job, well, he took it kinda personally. He didn’t even blink when I asked how much it would take to knock you off.”

"You..." choking on blood, "vicious..." choke,

At that you gave another loud hysteric yell for help before you turned your head back to look at him.

“See, once upon a time I thought you’d changed. But here’s the thing, a person like you doesn’t change, Hugh. You’re incapable of love. You take what you want when you want for no reason other than it pleases you.”

Another scream for help, and this time you could hear someone answering and a lot of yells as people started running towards you.

“Well, now I’ve taken your life like you took mine.” You bent down, your forehead pressing to his as you smirked. His arm reached up to grab you, his blood soaked hand curling over your cheek and side of your neck. "And you know what? It feels good."

His palm was warm and slick against your skin and his eyes blazed with anger as his fingers squeezed. You knew he was desperately trying to hurt you but you felt nothing. You smiled, as you placed a soft kiss to his lips, your words whispered as you pulled back ever so slightly. “Karma’s a bitch, and so am I. See you in hell.”

As the fake tears started to pool in your eyes once more, you allowed your lip to tremble for distraught emphasis. Blood was now trickling out of Ransom's mouth, along down his ear and to the tarmac. You pulled back just a little so as to see his eyes. You wanted to watch him choke on his own blood as he took that final breath. You started sputtering words incoherently as you amped up the hysteria, hearing the footfalls now just behind you. 

He didn’t even make it to the hospital. 

Hugh Ransom Drysdale was pronounced dead at 21:05 hours on Friday 17th July where he lay in a pool of his own blood, in that dark alleyway down the side of the hotel.

Leaving you a widow.

And free. 

***10 months later***

It was as simple as it sounded, closing your eyes and pointing to a spot on a map. Your finger ended up on Boulder. 

Colorado was far enough from the last year or so of your life that you could feel comfortable. You'd researched it, finding it to be something worth interest. Affordable. Breath-taking scenery. Incredible life altering activities and quaint little towns. The summers were supposedly warm but rarely did the temperature rise above ninety-five, the winters were supposedly very cold, dry and windy; rarely dropping below six degrees with partly cloudy skies year round.

The months following Ransom’s death had been as draining as humanly possible. The investigation had involved countless interviews before the police and authorities settled for it being a mugging gone wrong. But then there had been the months of wrangling and private law cases his parents had attempted to bring against you to prevent you getting his money, despite the probate law being fairly simple. You were married. He left no will. It was yours by default. 

Eventually, when the Drysdales had exhausted every last option, they were forced to concede and that was when you made the decision to leave, a decision of which your parents were highly encouraging. They practically talked you into this whole thing to begin with. Helping you leave your nightmares behind. Despite them not suspecting anything at first, you weren't blind to the fact that things still had not sat right with them. You knew they had suspected a level coercion, that maybe you'd had a manic episode of mental illness, but you never had divulged the full details and by the time he was gone, they hadn't cared. Your relationship with them had strengthened and healed and that was what you cared about.

Now, you were newly nestled in Boulder with a great condo downtown, a stone’s throw from the historic district that was filled with cliché shops and bars.  Whilst you didn’t need the money, you’d taken a job working in the media department of a private law firm. It was a far cry from your journalist days, but it suited you just fine.

The more distance you put between who you were now and who you had been, the better. 

You were at peace.

The May evening air was temperate as you crossed the street and opened the door to the designated bar in which you were meeting your new group of friends, mostly gathered from work, for a girl's night out. You’d been held up a little in the office so they were already waiting at a table. You waved and gestured to the bar, indicating you were going to get a drink. 

As you sidled up to the wooden counter, you were jolted a little into a man to your right. You turned to apologise and gave a little double take. You recognised him instantly. But you didn’t want to make that obvious and cause him to feel uncomfortable. You knew how it felt, to have everyone looking at you, hushed whispered comments as you went about your business, people trying to figure out if you were who they thought you were.

That was part of the reason you had moved, and you sure as hell weren’t about to subject the man next to you to the same, uncomfortable experiences. 

Recovering quickly, you hastily apologised and he smiled.

“Don’t worry about it.” His Boston accent was evident and you smiled.

“I miss that accent.” 

The man chuckled, his warm blue eyes creasing slightly as he looked at you. “You from Boston, too?”

“Concord.”

“Newton.” He replied, “well, I lived there anyway, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Should I? Know that, I mean?”

He studied you for a moment, and you kept your face as passive as possible. You could tell he knew that you knew, but you gave a shrug none-the-less and he smiled, a gorgeous smile that lit up his entire face, perfect white teeth flashing from beneath an immaculately groomed beard, as he extended his arm towards you.

“Andy Barber.” His fingers gently brushed the back of your knuckles, as you shook his hand, his grip warm and gentle.

“Oh, of course.” You smiled back. “One of our attorneys.”

“Our?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m Y/N. I work in the media department. I mean I only started a few weeks ago but...”

“Well, in that case, I’m pleased to meet you, Y/N, and welcome aboard.” His smile didn’t falter as he let go of your hand and gestured to the bar. “Can I get you a drink?”

You paused for a moment before you took a deep breath.

And nodded.

“Sure, that’d be great.”

******

Sequel: Follow Andy and reader’s story in Consciousness Of Guilt. 

[13uswntimagines]

Never-Ending Adventure (Christen x reader)

Request: R is allergic to animals and she really wants a pet. So the team get her a pet rock from amazon. But let’s be real Ashlyn loses it (ash and ali are her team mom) and everyone is trying to find it while Christen takes her on a date to keep her busy while they look for it

Author’s note: Special thanks to @literaryhedgehog​

“What do you mean you lost Fred?” Christen hissed up the stairs at Ashlyn and Pino, from where they had gotten her attention. All three women glanced back to the kitchen, where you were putting groceries away, but since you hadn’t reacted they returned back to the matter at hand. 

“It was an accident. He just disappeared,” Ashlyn mumbled miserably, her hand scrubbing down her face. One second your beloved pet had been tucked safely inside her suitcase and the next he was gone. 

“He’s a rock. It’s not like he can walk off on his own,” Christen ground out, gritting her teeth. It didn’t matter if Fred couldn’t love you back, you were attached to the googly-eyed rock and his painted face. 

“I would like to remind you, I advocated for her getting her a pet fish in the first place. You can’t be allergic to fish dandruff, and fish are harder to lose track of than a piece of stone.” Tobin added, coming up behind Ashlyn. You were deadly allergic to animals but insisted you wanted a pet. The team had compromised and gotten you a pet rock off of Amazon as a joke. 

“But that’s not the point,” Pino said quickly before Christen could respond. “We know you just got back from getting groceries but we need you to take Y/N on a date until we can find Fred.”

“You want me to distract her so you two can figure out how to replace Mr. Flinstone before she notices?” Christen asked, quirking her eyebrow up. The two of you were in a weird place between friend and girlfriend, but neither of you had made a move yet per se. Doing it to save the team's ass seemed like a stretch. 

“Why do you think we asked her to come downstairs and put groceries away when it is clearly Sonnett’s turn? We’re stalling for time!”

“Here,” Tierna said, stuffing a book into Christen’s hands, “One of the coaches’ kids was selling these coupon books for a fundraiser. You can use the different activities in there as inspiration for where to go.”

“And whatever the coupons don’t pay for we’ll pay you back. Promise,” Tobin said quickly. 

“You and y/n need to get your stuff together and become a couple anyway…” Pino added with a wave of her hand. Christen sighed, squeezing her eyes shut. 

“Fine. But only because I know Y/N would be really stressed out if she found out Fred was gone.” 

“Thank you thank you thank you! Okay, you go in and we’ll get started.” And with that Christen was shoved back into the kitchen.

****

You were having an amazing time. Your lunch date with Christen had turned into a walk in the park, a coffee, and now a casual stroll through the aquarium. You had always been interested in marine life, and you were having a blast nerding out. (Christen also thought your fun facts about each of the animals was adorable- well the way your face lit up when you rambled was). 

“So are we heading to another random location, or is it safe to go back to the house yet?” You asked with a smirk, stepping through the shark tunnel towards the reef fish exhibit. 

Christen froze, where she was looking at the lionfish tank. “Is… this your way of saying you don’t know any facts about lionfish?” she said, evasively. Fuck. She thought she was being more subtle than that. 

“Well, lionfish inject their venom through the spines in their back. When the skin over the spike gets pushed down, it pushes in the venom sack. Fun fact, the spine is like a hypodermic needle,�� You said, pointing out the spikes you were talking about and staring wistfully into the tank.“But you’ve been checking your phone since the stingrays, and I’m guessing it’s because we’re more than halfway through the aquarium,” You finished, looking pointedly at Christen. 

“Maybe… I was checking to see if we had enough time before the aquarium closed to eat dinner at their seafood restaurant?” 

“So… they’re taking way too long to set up whatever prank they’re planning,” You nodded. 

“Why do you think someone’s setting up a prank?” Christen said, laughing in a super believable way. Wow, she was bad at this. “Hey look, are those clownfish?”

You raised your eyebrow at the woman. Emily, Ashlyn, Pino, and Kelley all in one house just spelled trouble. It was more probable they were setting up some stupid stunt to video for the fans than them just hanging out like normal people and watching a movie. Also, the fact that Christen had been taking you on different adventures for close to five hours now was suspicious. 

“I know you probably just did this because you got roped into whatever stunt they’re planning on pulling on me, but I had a really nice time with you today,” you said, looping your arm through hers, and leaning ahead on her shoulder. Christen straightened up slightly at the touch. “If you were actually serious about that dinner I don’t mind paying.” 

“My suggestion, so I’m paying and I was totally serious. I didn’t just ask you out because of those knuckleheads. I like you too,” Christen said soft, gripping your arm a little tighter, trying to convey just how much she wanted to be here. 

“Okay, if you’re sure. Hey, want to take a selfie together in front of one of the tanks? you know to commemorate our endless adventure?” 

“Yeah, I wanna remember the never-ending date forever,” Christen said, her eyes a little gooey at your cuteness, pointing towards the octopus tank. 

You pulled her close to you, angling the camera so the blue-ringed octopus was in the shot. And just as you clicked the button, you stood up quickly on your tiptoes to kiss her on the cheek. You also took a shot of the laughter that followed. The one of her turning to kiss you was a bit more of a blur though.

***

“Oh, before we go, can you grab one of me with the Red-sea rockfish?” You asked, pointing at the redfish in the tank. 

“Yeah, sure!” Christen took your phone from you and swiped it to get to the camera, almost missing you reaching into your pocket and pulling out a small painted rock. 

“Okay three, two- wait, is that Fred!?!”

You lowered your hand from where you had posed with Fred next to your cheek. “Yeah? I had him in my pocket this morning, so I didn’t lose him while I cleaned my desk, but forgot about it until we were about to go through the metal detectors a few hours ago. Why?”

“I’m pretty sure Ashlyn has the entire team scouring the house to try and find him,” Christen snorted, shaking her head. It was hilarious you were nervous about them pulling a prank on you when it seemed you had pulled an even better one on them. 

“Oh,” you said. Some things were beginning to make sense now. “So you’ve been checking your phone so they could tell you when it was safe to come home? Once they found Fred?’

“Maybe...” Christen said blushing just a little bit. 

“Okay. Well, you’d better call and let them know you found him. After we get ice cream.”

[sixeyesgojo]

Pictures of You

Summary: prequel to I’ll Be Your Enemy - fluffy!

Characters: IBYE!Reader, Gojo, Yuji, Megumi, Nobara

Word count: 2,3k

Content warning: none

A/N: requested by @thecaptainsbride

If anybody got the reference Gojo made when he was late; congratulations, you have been successfully hurt (but this time it was not me).

Since I left the relationship between Gojo and the reader up for interpretation in IBYE, I will do the same here! Consider this piece me trying to mend your hearts <3

Taglist applications open for anyone who is interested!

“A trip to an amusement park or something like that doesn’t sound so bad,” you mused in front of Satoru. “It serves as relaxation and maybe the first-years can get closer to each other, you know, bonding and so on. They will see each other many times from now on, so getting along with each other is important,” you reasoned, your eyes almost sparkling from the thought of a day off.

“But Jujutsu Sorcery is an individual–” he began.

“Satoru, I think you should see this as vacation. A vacation where you can eat sweets until your teeth rot and absolutely nobody will hold you back,” you interrupted him.

“Okay, I am sold. Am listening now.” You just knew how to convince him. Sweets.

So that was exactly how the first-year students and you ended up at a fairground somewhere in Tokyo; it was quite neat, not too small but not too spacious either. None of you could get lost in it. Still, it was buzzing with life and all kinds of people mingled. The colorfulness was a refreshing sight to take in, compared to the dark world of Jujutsu Sorcery where seeing people suffer was your daily routine. The pleasant smell of food wafted through the air, making your mouth water, as you walked past the different booths with them. Waffles sounded like absolute heaven on earth right now.

Jujutsu Sorcery certainly was a draining sport, mentally as well as physically. Therefore it was only right to take a break at times, right? Self-care days were just as important as working.

In order to wind down a bit, you had suggested a one-day trip – just you, Satoru and the three first-year students you had adopted in your mind right away after meeting them several times.

“Sensei, you look very pretty today!” Yuji complimented you. Even Megumi noticed: “Did you have a haircut? Your hair seems a little bit shorter.”

“Yeah, Nobara had a field day with me. Cutting my hair.. or more like trimming the ends, choosing my outfit, doing my make-up and so on just for today,” you gushed as if you were a high school girl again. “Leave it to master stylist Kugisaki Nobara and nobody will ever look bad,” the brunette girl commended herself. Yuji was affectionately patting her on the back.

Undoubtedly, Satoru was late – nobody was surprised about that. You already went ahead and generously treated the trio of students you loved dearly to some food.

“Thank you for the food, sensei!” As usual, Yuji and Nobara were in perfect harmony with each other, seemingly sharing a brain.

“Thank you very much,” Megumi also expressed his thanks sweetly. If you hadn’t known better, you would have thought the way his lips seemed to twitch was unintentional. “Absolutely no problem, kiddos. You guys enjoy it while I try to contact Gojo-sensei, yeah?” you shot them an apologetic smile, already fishing out your phone. The three of them nodded in perfect synchronization. They’re as cute as little ducklings, you thought.

You didn’t even need to bother calling.

You were about to dial Satoru’s number on your smartphone when Yuji’s voice boomed, “Oh! There he is! Gojo-sensei, we are here!!”

The boy waved at his teacher.

Satoru immediately spotted the pink-haired student and skipped over to where you all were standing. “Sorry for the wait! I’m afraid I got lost on the path of life!!”

“Nice of you to finally join us, but sadly, the fun is already over and we decided to go home. Just wanted to call you to let you know! We’ve been here since morning,” you deadpanned as the white-haired man arrived, looking Satoru dead in the eye – if they weren’t covered. “Wait, wha– Hold on, I am very sure I am not that late. MY MOCHI?” Satoru sounded frantic, facing his students who just shrugged their shoulders. “Serves you right,” Megumi stated calmly. Nobara, being the sassy girl she was, also joined in, “Losers don’t get to have fun and that’s a fact.”

It was such a wholesome and funny moment for you to see the students playing along with your prank without being told beforehand.

You broke out in laughter, not being able to contain it any longer, “You should have seen your face, dumbass! I was just joking!”

“Phew, I almost thought I had to kiss the idea of eating sweets today goodbye. What a horror that would be, my day would be OVER this instant,” the blindfolded man pouted, “so where should I buy my sweets? I’m gonna buy the entire place anyway, but where do I start? Any suggestions for Great Teacher Gojo?”

“Hold up, Satoru! We gotta take a picture together to commemorate this special day!” you suggested, bouncing up and down with enthusiasm. “I swear I just saw sensei’s eyes sparkle but I might be wrong,” Yuji remarked, looking at his dark-haired friend for confirmation.

“Sensei, if you want to take a picture, we have to take it at the right angle!” Nobara chimed in, the secret Instagram influencer in her on full display. She continued to explain, “It would come out great if Gojo-sensei took the pic, long arms privilege and so on.”

The female student almost seemed more into it than you were, it was adorable to you to see the usually bold student be this into taking pictures.

You hand the tall man your phone, but not without shooting him a “if you drop my phone, I’ll make you drop dead” look.

“Okay, ladies, now let’s get in formation,” the male teacher commanded loudly. Upon hearing that, Megumi immediately slapped his hand in his face and turned away in embarrassment. Why was this man like this?

“...Ladies?” Yuji asked, the expression on his face screaming ‘confusion’ “Gojo-sensei just referenced a Beyoncé song, Itadori,” the dark-haired boy explained in a hushed tone, turning back slightly as if he did not want to get caught.

“And it’s not just any song!” Satoru happily chimed in. “Yes, yes, the good old Formation,” you added, nodding in satisfaction. You remember how you showed him the album when it dropped.

“Can we all just ignore Gojo-sensei and take our pic?” Nobara inquired as she shoved everybody into their respective spots. “Alright, everybody, smiiiiile for the camera. Say cheese!”

Click, click, click, click.

Finally, Satoru had gotten his share of sweets. Complying with his sweet tooth was always an effective way to calm him for some time. Almost like feeding a baby, in a way.

Now it was time for fun rides!

...or at least that was what you thought… until Satoru dragged you along to ride a freaking pendulum ride with him. The three students had managed to talk themselves out of stepping foot on that monster of a ride but Satoru didn’t even give you a chance to refuse, he simply gripped your arm and walked towards it.

Stopping only when you were already standing in line, you nervously eyed the metallic behemoth with its iron arm. The monstrosity was seemingly ready to make you throw up from the way it would spin you through the air repeatedly, going back and forth and back and forth again. Why did you have to do this?

“Satoru,” you called his name timidly and tugged at his sleeve, the strange feeling not leaving your gut, “do I really, really have to do this?”

“Absolutely! I promise it will be very fun,” Satoru replied with a signature grin you wanted to wipe off of his face at that moment.

No, it was not fun. At all. You were dizzy and your fear of height was kicking. The blasts of air hitting your face left, right and center were not helping at all and you were sure, if anybody took a picture of you right now, you would look horribly green.

“I– can’t do this anymore!” you shouted mid-air, right before the ride swung to the other side. The force knocked the air out of you once again.

“SATORU, PLEASE GET US OUT OF HERE!” you begged and squeezed his arm with an iron grip. The height was too overwhelming. “Mid-ride?” Satoru asked and you nodded frantically. “Now that’s what I call reckless! Sounds like fun. I’m in!” he declared with a grin.

“Domain Expansion: Infinite Void.”

That was the last thing you heard the tall man say before he touched your head with his large palm.

Your eyes widened in horror as you realized this man used his domain this recklessly, for fun. Maybe it was a side effect of being able to use it multiple times a day.

The infinity gently wrapped itself around Satoru and you. Almost movie-like, you watched as the entire, vast universe beautifully unfolded in front of your eyes. Each star being created separately, then abruptly flashing by as a sea of stars – as if you were in a wormhole. You perceived the entire domain within a flash of a moment, yet tasted eternity in it. Everything but nothing at once.

Despite being touched by Satoru himself, the sensations weren’t without merit. If this was how it felt to be in the safe space of Satoru’s touch within his inner world of Limitless, you would rather not fathom how it felt to be the one hit by this powerful domain.

It took you some time to process things and recollect.

“When I said I wanted you to get the two of us out of that thing, I didn’t mean ‘send me to your domain’,” you scolded him.

“Well, it was convenient,” he defended himself and you could almost hear the grin on his face, “Bet you’ll hate me after this though.”

“Hating you was never really an option I’d ever consider but okay, we’ll run with it this time. Now undo your domain, please, while I am asking nicely.”

“Your wish is my command! This time at least.”

“Satoru.” A stern last warning fell from your lips.

“Yes, yes, boss. On it.”

“I thought you said it’ll be fun but I am absolutely not riding that thing ever again,” you took deep breaths to calm down as your feet securely touched the ground again. Your legs were still trembling a bit.

“And it was fun! At least for me! I like seeing you struggle – it’s so funny – and the way you clung to my arm? Adorable! You are so tiny compared to me, like a bug I could crush between my fingers!” The annoying sorcerer laughed merrily.

“Gojo fucking Satoru, the only thing that is about to be crushed here are your balls. With my leg. You are very lucky to have that damn Infinity of yours or else,” you threatened.

“Ouch, you really do know how to hurt an invincible man,” he snickered and flicked your forehead lightly.

Rejoining with the students was easy as they all saw the barrier Satoru’s domain created.

“You are lucky there was some kind of show going on down here. That barrier above would have freaked people out if they weren’t distracted,” Nobara said, looks shooting daggers at her weird teacher. Innocent and as nice as ever, Yuji pitched in as well: “Yeah, Fushiguro also tried to distract children with their wandering eyes! I think he did a good job.”

“Okay but what did he do though?” you asked curiously and looked at the boy in question.

“...Shadow puppets,” Megumi slowly admitted, looking anywhere but at the people in front of him.

“Oh? You love your foster-dad-turned-great-teacher this much to embarrass yourself out in public? That’s new!” Satoru teased the poor boy. “Someone has to be the voice of reason around here or you’d all be in jail. That includes preventing civilians who are able to see curses from seeing you use Jujutsu while floating mid-air,” he justified, ignoring the tall teacher’s mockery completely. 

“As much as I love slandering Gojo-sensei, I’d rather spend my day actually having fun,” Nobara pitched in, reminding everybody of why you were here in the first place.

“So, let’s go ride the ferris wheel!” she added excitedly.

More fun rides.

Before you knew it, the day passed by. You could already feel the heaviness in your legs from walking. The swirling feeling from all the rides boded in your chest – you probably would not be able to sleep well tonight. It was definitely worth it though, you thought.

You had already brought the students back to their dorm – Satoru had ran off to the school because he remembered he had to do something – and were on the way home yourself.

You were in some sort of trance, completely immersed in your phone, so you hadn’t registered when Satoru called your name until he gently tapped your shoulder, falling into step with you.

“Yeah?” you looked up to Satoru, snapping out of your train of thought.

“Just wanted to tell you; ‘Operation: Relaxation Day’ was a great success.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Satoru.” A genuine smile graced your lips and for a moment, he softened at the sight.

“You know what? It was amazing, I really should start listening to you more often,” he confessed with a smirk.

“Well, it’s thanks to your amazing power of persuasion that we got to spend it like this, so thanks for today,” you half-heartedly complimented him.

“You do know I only said we’d not be available today and then dashed, right?” he asked you, the usual playful tone lacing his voice. “Exactly what I meant by saying ‘your amazing power of persuasion’.”

“I think I’ll frame the picture we took,” you murmured softly, fondly looking at the screen of your phone. The picture from earlier was displayed on your homescreen.

Surely, you would hang it on the blank wall in your home as well. It was a personal treasure now.

Taglist (dm me if you wanna be added): @assbuttbaek​ @megumifushi​ @bleueluna​ @gojos-mochi​ @delammi

[mimisempai]

Every time I look at you, I fall in love again

Summary:

As he gazes at his sleeping lover, Loki remembers the moments where he fell in love with Mobius.OrFive times when Loki's heart pounded in a special way and once when it pounded in a familiar way.

Notes:

Tumblr request : a 5+1 - it could be about moments in their relationship where Loki falls more in love w/ Mobius

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32821156

2084 words - Rating G

1.

For once, Loki woke up this morning before Mobius.

Leaning on his hand, he took the opportunity to watch his beloved while he slept.

As he gazed at the sleeping features of his lover, he was once again taken aback by the strength of his feelings.

Loki had little or no experience with love, so he had nothing to compare to what he was experiencing with Mobius right now.

No one had made him feel the way the man made him feel.

It was as if Mobius had wrapped his roots around Loki's heart little by little but without imprisoning him.

Mobius' love had set him free.

In return, Loki's feelings had taken root in Mobius' constancy.

Sometimes Loki liked to think about how his feelings had developed, because it had all happened so quickly that he had never been able to enjoy those stolen first moments.

It would be hard for Loki to say exactly when he had begun to notice that his relationship with Mobius was different from any relationship he had had before, but what he was sure of was that no one had ever been able to see through him as quickly as Mobius.

"I don't like to talk."

"But you do like to lie, which you just did. Because we both know you love to talk. Talkie-talkie."

Honestly, at that moment, Loki thought fondly, if he hadn't been so angry at being found out, he would have laughed.

As a matter of fact, it had become a fond memory for them. Whenever Loki would go into one of his grandiloquent tirades, Mobius would simply make this little gesture with his hand and would mouth "Talkie Talkie"

" You don't know anything about me.

"Maybe I'd like to learn."

It was probably at that moment that Mobius had begun to touch something in Loki that no one had ever touched. The fact that anyone would even bother to genuinely learn about him was in itself new. Except for his mother and Thor, most people had always assumed the worst of him.

"Honestly, I'm actually a fan. Yeah. And I guess I'm wondering why does someone with so much range just wanna rule?

Mobius had been the first to make him question himself.

Of course, at the time, he was not at all receptive to what Mobius' words really meant.

It had taken him some time to admit the truth.

The moment he had admitted it, the naked truth, without any more artifice, he had been ready to receive the final blow, the ratification of his vileness, but no, nothing like that.

"Because it's part of the illusion. It's the cruel, elaborate trick conjured by the weak to inspire fear."

"'A desperate play for control.' You do know yourself."

"A villain."

"That's not how I see it."

That's not how I see it.

At that moment, Loki's heart had pounded for the first time.

The man in front of him had seen all the lowliness that Loki was capable of and yet he did not see him as a villain.

From the first hours of their meeting, he had made it impossible for Loki not to love him and from then on, his feelings had grown exponentially.

2.

As he walked down the path of his memories, Loki continued to gaze at Mobius as he slept. A small miracle in itself for Loki.

Knowing who Loki was, Mobius slept in his presence. The perfect image of absolute trust.

Loki sometimes still had trouble feeling worthy of such trust.

Seeing him sleeping like that, he thought of the day when he himself had first fallen asleep in this way with Mobius.

The day he fell a little more in love with Mobius.

It started with Mobius taking the blame for the failure of their first mission together, when it was all Loki's fault. They could have just pruned him, but no, Mobius had pleaded his case to Ravonna.

Then Loki had presented his theory to Mobius, admittedly with a rather shaky metaphor, even ruining one of his lover's favorite dishes.

"Well, here's a fun theory. You lure me out into the field, and then you stab me in the back. And that's a theory I don't wanna test."

"I'd never stab anyone in the back. That's such a boring form of betrayal."

"Loki, I've studied almost every moment of your entire life. You've literally stabbed people in the back, like, 50 times."

"Well, I'd never do it again, because it got old."

Mobius laughed and chose to follow Loki's theory, even though Loki had given him no reason to believe in him until now. Even though his theory was based on almost nothing, Mobius had chosen to believe Loki.

Then they returned from Pompeii and something happened that had never happened to Loki, he had fallen asleep. Loki, who was distrustful of everything and nothing, had simply fallen asleep in the presence of someone he hardly knew. As if his heart had understood before his mind that he had nothing to fear from Mobius.

When Mobius had woken him up, Loki's heart had pounded for the second time, and it wasn't fright that had caused it, but the realization that Loki was falling in love and falling deeply.

3.

As he looked up from his contemplation of Mobius, Loki's gaze fell on the photo that lay on his nightstand. A memory of their first vacations, when Mobius had finally realized his dream. In the middle of the paradisiacal decor of an island in Midgard, Loki had taken this photo of Mobius piloting -at last- a jetski. So much joy on his face.

Another thing that made Loki fall in love a little more: the passion of his lover for some small insignificant things.

Josta, salad, jet-ski...

"You know, some things... Actually, most things in history are kinda dumb, and everything gets ruined eventually. But in the early 1990s, for a brief, shining moment, there was a beautiful union of form and function, which we call the jet ski, and a reasonable man cannot differ."

"You ever been on one?"

"No... No. I think a TVA agent showing up on a jet ski on the Sacred Timeline, that would create a branch for sure."

"Oh it'd be fun, though."

"Yeah, it'd be really fun."

"So, why read about them?"

"It just helps remind me of what we're fighting for."

The expression Mobius had had at that moment, when he had said something like that with such candor had made Loki fall even more.

And his heart had pounded for the third time.

While he had sensed that what would happen next would destroy what Mobius believed in, Loki had not been able to stop himself from wanting to protect him and his happiness, and to hope that one day he would be able to realize his dream.

With his eyes on the photo commemorating a very real memory, he felt a sense of satisfaction, because his lover had been able to realize this dream and Loki had been there to witness it.

4.

"Loki... Don't go..."

Loki's eyes returned from the picture to his lover, whose features were now tense, probably from a nightmare.

"I'm here love, I'm not leaving. I'm staying with you."

Saying this, Loki gently strokes Mobius' cheek and his expression immediately relaxes. After a few seconds,he was sleeping peacefully again.

Loki didn't need to read Mobius' mind to know what he had dreamed.

He had known that he had taken a huge risk when he had decided to follow Sylvie and he had known that the reunion with Mobius would not be easy.

After all, he had betrayed him. But of all the acts of betrayal that Loki had been guilty of, this was the one that had cost him the most. Because of the feelings he was beginning to have for Mobius.

But what he hadn't imagined was that Mobius would almost turn into a jealous lover, even though at that point they didn't have that kind of relationship at all.

Loki had been incredibly surprised that it wasn't Loki's betrayal that had hurt Mobius the most, but the fact that he had made a connection with Sylvie.

"Come on. Look at your eyes. You like her."

"You like her. Does she like you?"

"Both of you were just swooning over each other."

"It's breaking my reality right now. What an incredible seismic narcissist. You fell for yourself."

"I'm supposed to believe your terrorist girlfriend"

"What, your female self that you have some demented crush on…"

Loki's heart had pounded for the fourth time when he realized what it could mean. He had fallen a little more at the thought of Mobius, at the thought that the man might be jealous, at the thought of what it might mean about Mobius' feelings for him.

5.

Then there had been that moment of grace, the exact moment when Loki had known that he was definitely in love with Mobius.

For the first time, when everything was against him, someone had chosen to believe in him. That someone was Mobius.

Even though he was clearly angry with Loki, he still listened to him and chose to believe him.

Despite Loki's attempts at manipulation, betrayals, and mistakes, Mobius renewed his faith in him and spoke those words that were imprinted in Loki's head.

"You could be whoever, whatever you wanna be, even someone good. I mean, just in case anyone ever told you different."

Loki's throat tightened as he was overwhelmed by the emotion of the memory.

Mobius had no idea how many wounds he had healed in Loki at that moment.

After what Loki had done, where Odin and Thor had not forgiven him, not only had Mobius forgiven him but even more amazingly, he had shown that he believed that Loki was capable of being good, of doing good.

At that moment, Loki's heart did not pound once, but thousands of times, at full speed.  Because of the joy and love that filled it.

The sudden disappearance of Mobius just afterwards had been all the more cruel. Because at that moment, they didn't know about the Void and Loki had thought Mobius was lost forever. He had been devastated.

He couldn't help but touch Mobius' face, gently so as not to wake him, then he whispered softly, "You too Mobius, do not ever leave me."

+1

They had found each other again.

When he first saw Mobius after he thought he had lost him, it only confirmed Loki's feelings for Mobius.

The way his heart had pounded at the sight of the one he loved was impossible to ignore.

So when they had to part once again, Loki had not been able to resist the pull of his heart, and instead of grabbing Mobius' hand, he had taken the man in his arms.

Loki had held Mobius in his arms many times since that moment, but he would never forget the feeling of that first hug. The feeling that the universe was in place. That he was where he belonged, that he was home.  He had expressed without words all that he felt and Mobius had answered him in the same way. They had to part again, but this time the bond between them was undeniable and unbreakable.

They had to go through a lot to finally enjoy their love, without the sword of Damocles, without the threat of the end of the world, or of a multiversal war over their heads, but they had made it. They were here now.

With each passing day, Loki fell a little more in love.

The Midgardian saying, I love you more than yesterday and less than tomorrow, had become his.

Because every time he looked at Mobius and realized the love they shared, he felt like it was stronger.

Mobius moved in his sleep, making the sheet slide off his shoulder.

Loki could not resist and leaned over to kiss the bare shoulder. Mobius woke up and turned to face Loki with a sleepy smile on his lips.

"Hey there handsome," Mobius whispered to Loki, gently kissing Loki's cheek. Loki's heart fluttered in a familiar way now, at such gentleness and at the adoration he read in his lover's eyes.

"Hey love," whispered Loki.

Mobius kissed him, his lips pressing lazily against Loki's. Loki smiled and kissed him back, happy.

Together they enjoyed the delights of a perfect, quiet morning.

_________

All other one-shots of this series here : X

As always, bear with me as it is not beta'd I hope you enjoyed it 🥰

[darling-i-read-it]

Naka-Choko

2x10 

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, dead bodies, smut pretty much i go there a bit btu it’s not super graphic, threesomes, will being hot as fuck 

Author’s Note: I spent like this whole season being like ‘do i make the reader sleep with hannibal while will sleeps with margot’ ‘does will not sleep with margot?’ ‘does margot sleep with hannibal?’ and this is the product. I’m not quite sure about it but enough of you were wishing for a little more on Will’s reunion so I did it, I hope you guys enjoy! Ps: I love the sexuality of the reader kinda open, if she engages and such so you can imagine whatever you please!

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar 

Official Episode Summary :Will's readiness to go to dark places strengthens his bond with Hannibal -- and garners Jack's attention; Hannibal gives Margot advice about her brother's violent nature.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll​ @ericacactus​ @vlightning95​

(not my gif)  (last three gifs are from @/rocktheholygrail)

` The house was still as Will backed up. He held his gun in his hand and you were on the ground beside him. You saw clearly as the window was breaking, shattered all over the ground as the suspect of the last crime scene you had been to in his robotic animal suit. 

He attacked Will and you stood up quickly but Will had tossed the gun. You grabbed it off the ground, the dogs behind you growling and barking. Will started to beat the guy to a bloody pulp and you realized suddenly, in the rush of adrenaline why he had tossed the gun. He felt like this needed to be personal. 

Will continued to beat him and you grabbed Will from behind. He glanced at you but only for a second as you leaned down, holding the man's hands down as Will stood up a bit before grabbing his neck again and snapping it. 

Both you and Will had blood all over you. It had sprayed all over your faces and clothes as you leaned over the dead body. You grabbed Will’s arm and he looked over at you, surprised for a moment that you also had blood on you. 

Not a murderer but a murder accomplince. Same difference

You just stared at each other for a moment and you let out a small sigh. You looked down at the lifeless body underneath your boyfriend.

“Did that feel good?” you whispered. Will whipped some blood off your face with his hand which forced you to look back at him. The blood only smudged. He leaned forward and kissed you.

-

Hannibal’s. 

You sat at his dinner table, Will stood at the head, Hannibal at the other head. The body in the middle.

“Consider it an act of reciprocity. One positive action begets another,” Hannibal said simply.

“Polite society normally puts such taboos on taking a life,” Will said cheekily. 

“Without death, we’d be at a loss. It’s the prospect of death that drives us to greatness,” Hannibal said. He looked over at you and then back at Will. He smiled a bit, almost proud to see the two of you in front of him. “Did you kill him together? With your hands?” 

Will held up his hands, bruised and bloodied. You would have washed them for him if you hadn’t gotten so busy. 

“It was very intimate,” he muttered and Hannibal wasn’t sure if he was referring to you and Will or the two of you and Randall Tier.

-

Will’s hands submerged under warm water. You sat on the counter beside where the boys stood, Hannibal washing over Will’s hands with some epsom salts. The water tinged pink. Will was staring absently as Hannibal treated his wounds. 

“Don't go inside, Will. You’ll want to retreat, you’ll want it as we want to jump from balconies, as the glint of the rails tempts us when we hear the approaching train,” Hannibal muttered. He applied a salve to the cuts and bruises. “Stay with us.” 

Will looked up at the both of you.

“Where else am I going to go?” Will whispered.

“You can go anywhere,” you whispered. Will and Hannibal looked at you. Hannibal was more surprised than Will at how you were handling this. When you killed the judge you were a shock filled crying mess. You were a hollow shell of the person he knew for a few days. This was so different from how you were then. 

Perhaps it was because you were with Will, your person. Perhaps you had just embraced yourself now. Either way, he liked it. 

“You should be quite pleased. I am,” Hannibal said. 

“Of course you are,” Will muttered. 

-

The BAU stared at the disembodied body of Randall Tier. You, Hannibal and Will all looked at it simply, hands shoved in pockets. Jack was there as well although he didn’t know quite as much as you three did. To an extent. 

“His killer chose not to dispose of his body, but to display it,” Jack inquired.

“A jarring reminder of deaths’ informality,” Hannibal muttered, looking it up and down.

“Randall Tier was denied a respectable end that he himself denied others,” Jack stated and he was right, in a sense. 

“Dissection is disgrace. This is humiliation, a final indignity,” Hannibal said. 

“He isn't mocking him,” you said.

“This isn’t disdain. He’s commemorating him,” Will finished.

“This killer had no fear for the consequences of what he’s done,” Hannibal said, eyeing the two of you.

“No guilt,” Will whispered and you looked at him. He was right. 

-

You and Will walked into the room where Freddie Lounds was residing. She had pinned up pictures on the wall with notebook paper beside them. Pictures of Will she had taken, pictures of you that you didn’t even know she had taken. One when you were at the observatory with Will, one when Will was arrested and you were hugging Hannibal. 

“I raised the ante on my publishing deal. There’s been movie interest. Hollywood is a fine place for the obnoxious and wealthy,” she stated. 

“You’re not wealthy Freddie,” Will quipped.

“I will be. I’m a pariah among journalists because I took a different faith. But I’m putting that faith in you Will.” 

“Let’s talk Chesapeake Ripper. Frederick Chilton. Who knew?” Freddie said as she put the record button on the recorder. 

“Who knew,” you muttered. 

“No one did. Nobody would. Not even you two and you’re both one for theories. You were both so certain the Chesapeake Ripper was Hannibal Lecter, so much so Will tried to kill him.” Will and you stayed close to each other.

“You neglected to say ‘allegedly’,” Will stated.

“No I didn’t.” She glanced over at you. “Dr. Lecter is your boss and your psychiatrist. What’s up with that?” she inquired. 

“I was wrong about him. That’s what’s up with that,” Will said calmly. 

“Maybe you were.” Freddie looked at you in the eyes and you wondered what she would say about you in her book about Will. “Maybe you weren’t.”

“Chilton was the Ripper,’ you said simply, despite not believing it. The recording beeped red.

“The Chesapeake Ripper had surgical skills Frederick Chilton did not.”

“They had the same profile,” Will said. 

“Except Dr. Chilton was a woeful surgeon. Dangerous, even. I’ve been chatting with his old medical school chums. They say he fled to psychiatry to avoid embarrassment.” Freddie was nothing if not thorough you had to give her that.

“Our story with the Chesapeake Ripper already has an ending Freddie,” you told her.

“Mine doesn’t. Do you really think Dr. Chilton killed Abigail Hobbs? I don’t. Even if I let this story go, i’ll never let that go.”

Will was silent. You were silent.

“Trust me, Freddie,” Will said after a moment. “Neither will we.” 

-

Alana and Hannibal sat on the bed together. Her fingers danced in front of her but she winced at the sounds that she was making. The theremin was unfortunate and nothing she would have tried had she not met Hannibal Lecter when she did.

“Sounds like I’m killing it,” she said laughing a bit. His hand laid on Alana’s arm, attempting to guard her. 

“Don’t kill it,” he whispered back at her. 

He straddled her. “A theremin is an instrument which can create exquisite music without ever needing to be touched. But it requires a rare gift of perfect pitch to play properly.” He smiled. “Smaller movements. Feel the vibration move through you.” 

“Like composing in thin air,” she whispered. 

-

You and Will were at home. You sat in bed together, your head resting on his lower legs as you looked up at him. He was touching your calves with his fingers, causing you to let out small sighs of pleasure. You swirled a half empty bottle of wine. Will took it from your hands and finished it off. 

Despite the blanket on top of you the fact that you were naked made Will smile. It made him want to lean forward and run his fingers through your hair. To take you back into his arms despite the fact you had only left them a few minutes before. You were resting now. Who knew a joint murder could bring a couple so close together. 

“What do you think Hannibal is doing?” he whispered. 

“Best guess?” He nodded. “Sleeping with Alana.” Will let out a chuckle.

“That’s a thing?” You nodded.

“I haven’t told you? Yeah when he couldn’t get me in bed he got her.” He smiled and gripped your arm that was dangling at his side. He played with your fingers.

“I’m proud that you’re not as easy as Alana.”

“Hey, I love Alana. She knows what she wants.” The doorbell rang and you glanced at each other. “Perhaps that’s Hannibal. Maybe he was listening,” you teased. Will rolled his eyes and slipped out of bed. He grabbed his boxers and put them on before grabbing his robe. 

You watched him leave the bedroom and then got up, wrapping the sheet around you tightly. Voices floated to your ears from the main rooms. 

“What happened to your window?” Margot Verger asked. 

“Stag lost in the storm. Came through the window. Got a few scratches getting him out,” Will said. 

“I handled most of it,” you teased as you walked into the room. She saw you and raised an eyebrow. 

“Have I come at a bad time?” You and Will shared a look and you were just tired and hot enough to shrug.

“No, come on in,” you said with a smile. “Let me grab a robe.” You came back quickly and Marogt put her wine bottle on the counter. 

“Are either of you scarred?” she questioned. 

“More than I probably know,” Will said. Your breath caught in your throat as you thought about your fingers on those scars, not long before this. 

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Margot said. You raised an eyebrow and Will looked over at you again. 

“I have the wrong parts for your proclivities, Margot,” Will muttered.

“It’s not about proclivities, it’s about trust,” she said. 

“It’s good to trust. Better not to,” Will said and his eyes were carefully on the both of you. He was a smart man but he wasn’t sure if he was gauging the situation correctly. 

“My optimal level of trust is usually zero. But I trust both of you,” she whispered. 

“I don't trust you,” Will said. 

“I don’t need either of you to trust me.” 

“What do you need then?” you questioned. She walked up to you and started to unbutton her shirt. You raised an eyebrow and your eyes went back to your boyfriend who just laughed a bit, shrugging. You turned to him and he started to take off the top of his robe. You weren’t wearing a bra or anything but you dropped it to your shoulders where you had a few scrapes from over the years. 

“Who shot you?” Margot asked Will.

“A friend.”

Margot put her fingers on your shoulder where there was a scrape from when you killed the judge. One of the only fighting back scars you had. 

She kissed you. She pulled away and she kissed Will.

A mess of kisses, hands, bodies. 

Hannibal kissed Alana and as he lay underneath him he saw you, arching your back and heaving. He kissed her but her hair was not hers it was yours. 

Will kissed you as he leaned into Margot. Your fingers touched hers, his hands cupping your face, inside her. Bodies. Breathing. Whispers, finishing. 

Hannibal's eyes flashing to yours from miles away. Will’s fingers on your back but arching against Margots. 

Finally you lay on your bed again, happily catching your breath. Will laid down beside you and Margot laid beside you.

Hannibal moved to his side in his own bed and instead of Alana he saw you and beside you, Will. 

The three of you fell asleep peacefully, Margot and Alana leaving early in the morning.

-

You opened your eyes and met Will’s already open. You rubbed your vision to be clearer and gave him a droopy, slightly hungover smile. Then you turned to a curious look of confusion.

“Did we have sex with Margot Verger?” you questioned. Will laughed and nodded.

“I believe we did.” You looked up at the ceiling and then back at him.

“Who are we?” you asked, chuckling heartily. He shrugged and draped an arm around you before burying his face in your neck. 

“I think the drinks may have helped a bit.” 

“Also, how did she find out where we live?” 

“She said she looked in Hannibal's things,” he said. You prused your lips.

“The ones I’m supposed to be watching?”

“Those are the ones.” 

You paused and then both of you laughed, holding each other for a moment more before you had to get up for the day.

-

You were walking beside Freddie Lounds. She had called you to chat one on one unfortunately.

“I’ve always admired teachers. Mouling impressionable young minds. But you can only learn so much and live,” she said. You let out an annoyed sigh. 

“What do you want Freddie? Your book is about Will, not me.” 

“You’re the tag team, you can’t expect me not to add you whenever I can. You’re pure gold. Staying with him through the whole thing, it’s very romantic. I mean come on, everyone calls you the Grahams which I’m sure pisses Hannibal off enough” she said simply. 

“If you want to hear about romance I suggest talking to Alana Bloom,” you said, eager to get the talk away from you. 

“I’ll make note of that,” she said. “But you know right? You believe him?” 

“Know what?” 

“Will was right about Lecter.” You gave her a smile and pursed your lips. 

“I believe my boyfriend,” you said and left it at that. 

-

You sat at dinner with Will, Alana and Hannibal. An interesting mix of people, considering it all. 

“Freddie Lounds thinks the three of you are a paradox. She sees something no one else sees,” Alana said. You wondered what Freddie had said to Alana about you. Likely nothing true although she was more observant than you sometimes gave her credit for. 

“What’s that?” Will asked.

“That none of you are the killer she’s writing about, but together, you might be.” 

“Freddie Lounds must consider you a bland interview subject if she’s already resorted to fiction,” Hannibal said to Will.

“She won’t be fenced in by something as malleable as the truth. Freddie has no boundaries,” you stated simply, taking a bite of the dinner. 

“A person with no boundaries is a psychopath. Or a journalist,” Wil countered. 

“Freddie isn’t the only one without boundaries. Your relationships doesn’t seem to know many. Patient, therapist, lover, friend, enemy,” Alana said. You suddenly wondered if she felt threatened by you and Will. You liked the idea of it.

“Crossing boundaries is different than violenating them,” Hannibal said. 

“Boundaries are always subject to negotiation. It’s just hard to know where you are with one another,” Alana shrugged.

“We know where we are with each other. Shouldn;’t that be enough?” Will said and you smiled wickedly. 

-

Freddie Lounds did not find you or Will in the house which she was hoping to. She needed an interview with both of you. She walked to the back of the house and to the shed back there, where perhaps the two of you ewre. 

Freddie walked forward and found very quickly the suit Randall Tier wore to kill people. She pulled out her camera and took a picture. In the shed she looked around wildly. 

Freddie looked up and saw that Will was standing there, walking toward her. She pulled out a gun and raised it to him.

“There really is a very good explanation for all of this,” he stated evenly.

“I don’t want to hear it,” she said shakily. 

“You’re not the least bit curious?” 

“Get away from the door,” she demanded.

“I can’t let you go, Freddie. Not without hearing what I have to say.” Freddie pulled out her phone. “I know you’re scared. Only have to be scared a little bit longer. Give me the gun.” She fired the gun and missed Will. Behind her you jump out, throwing the gun away and holding a hand over the mouth.

“I’ve wanted to do this since we met,” you hissed. She escaped your grasp and started to run out of the door, hitting call to Jack Crawford. 

-

You, Alana, Jack, Will and Hannibal all stood in Jack’s office. He had just shown off the concerning voicemail he had gotten from Freddie Lounds.

“Freddie Lounds left this message for me three hours ago. Her cell signal dead now. Last call was traced to the nearest phone tower. In Wolf Trap, Virginia. We have her on security cameras at a gas station, filling her car. Six miles from your farm,” Jack said to you and Will. 

“Freddie was supposed to interview me. She never showed up,” Will stated. 

“Why are you granting interviews to Freddie Lounds?” Jack asked.

“I owed her one,” Will explained. 

“SurelY Freddie Lounds has more enemies than Will,” Hannibal reasoned. 

“Not in Wolf Trap, Virginia.” 

“Will and I were busy all afternoon. Together,” you stated simply. “I think I would have noticed if he decided to kidnap Freddie Lounds. Unless you're insinuating both of us are at fault.” Jack gave you a look but you just crossed your arms. 

“We live in the middle of nowhere, Jack. If someone wanted to take her, it’d be a good place to do it.” 

-

You sat at dinner with Will and Hannibal. It was a peaceful dinner. It felt right. 

“The meat has an interesting flavor,” Hannibal said. “It’s bracing. Notes of citrus.”

“My palate isn’t as refined at yours,” Will stated. 

“Apart from humane considerations it’s more flavorful for animals to be stress-free prior to slaughter. This animal tastes frightened,” Hannibal explained. 

“What does ‘frightened’ taste like?” Will asked. 

“It’s acidic.” 

“The meat is bitter about being dead,” you pointed out. 

‘This meat isn’t pork,” Hannibal said.

“It’s long pig,” Will retired. You took a bite and so did Will. Hannibal watched, proud. “You can’t reduce me to a set of influences. I’m not the product of anything. I’ve given up good and evil for behaviorism,” Will said. 

“Then you can’t say that I’m evil and Y/N is good,” Hannibal said. 

“Y/N isn’t good. And you’re destructive. Same thing.” You took another bite with a cheeky smile on your face. 

“Evil's just destructive? Storms are evil, if it's that simple. And we have fire, and then there's hail. Underwriters lump it all under "Acts of God."” Hannibal smiled. “Is this meal an act of God, Will?”

2x11

[engagemachine]

How would J react if Taylor swore infront/at him?

May 22nd: New update

Anon, I’ve been thinking about this ask for daaaaays. Had to write a fic. This is just part one (turned out a lot longer than I thought it would be--wrote it in one sitting) and I’ll post part two as soon as it’s done!

FYI: This takes place early on in Burn, probably sometime around chapter two, so Taylor is back in high school. 

---

It’s still snowing outside when Taylor slides into her seat for third period English. She loves the overlarge windows in here, stretching along almost the entire wall of the left-hand side of the classroom. Black windowpanes showcase the little fountain in the courtyard, the stone benches seated around it, and the long, winding sidewalk where each senior from the class of 2002 got to lay down a single handprint in the cement to commemorate their pending graduation. Taylor thinks she would’ve liked that, to immortalize a piece of herself in that way, inscribing her name inside her handprint. Taylor B. It intrigued her, the thought of someone walking over her handprint years later, wondering who Taylor B was, what she was like, where she was now.

The fountain is frozen over, and the courtyard is blanketed in a thick layer of snow, still untouched. She wonders what it says about her that she often fantasizes about being the first one to run out and ruin it, leave her footprints behind, crunch through snow that is knee-deep, that no one else has sullied yet. There’s something about being the first person to disrupt the beauty of nature. Like stepping on a fallen dead leaf, the satisfaction of hearing it crackle beneath your feet. Or jumping into a still lake, watching the ripples that fan out across the water as you break through to the surface. Like leaving footprints in the sand at the beach, only to have them rinsed away by the incoming tide moments later. It’s a temporary disruption—and perhaps that’s the appeal.

Taylor settles into her seat and takes out her books. The classroom is unusually bright, the sky outside milky and pale as the snow piles up, falling softly in great big clumps. Mrs. Herndan leaves the lights off because they don’t need them.  

Everyone is a little more animated than usual. If it keeps snowing like this, they might call it a half day and get to go home early. Taylor hopes that happens, that way she can order take-out and hang out with Mr. J. Maybe they can watch a movie together—something scary, so she has an excuse to cuddle up next to him, if he’ll let her. She’s been testing the boundaries of affection he’s willing to allow her to bestow, and recently she’s been surprised by how much she’s been able to get away with. Just last week she fell asleep next to him on the couch with her head on his shoulder—totally by accident—and he didn’t even move her. Just let her sleep there like that until she woke up, his hand heavy on her thigh, right above her knee, at which point she jumped up, all groggy and still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She swore up and down that she was sorry, she’d never do it again. She was so afraid he’d be mad, but he just looked at her kind of funny, like he was trying not to laugh, and she blushed furiously and hurried off to her room.

Class is kind of boring, and it’s hard to focus when everyone seems just as distracted as she is. Mrs. Herndan has to stop her lesson twice just to tell everyone to be quiet and put their phones away. Taylor is snapped to attention each time she does. She didn’t even realize she had been staring at the window.

When the bell rings, Mrs. Herndan shouts out their homework assignment for the weekend, but it’s mostly lost to the din of jostling bodies and excited chatter of weekend plans as everyone fights to get through the door at once. Whatever. She’ll just have check the syllabus when she gets home. They’re reading Romeo and Juliet and it’s really hard to understand. Maybe she can find a way to rent a movie of it from the library—there’s supposed to be a version with Leonardo DiCaprio, she thinks. Maybe that’ll help. Sometimes she wants to ask Mr. J for help—and in the past she has, like when she had to make that volcano for science class, and he knew exactly what to do—but Romeo and Juliet is way too embarrassing. All those thees and thous, the declarations of love. Like she could ever ask Mr. J to interpret that for her, not without dying from embarrassment first.

She gets twenty minutes into her next class before they finally call it on the overhead speakers—school is closed. She smiles to herself as she packs up her books, already imagining herself curled up on the couch with her sketchbook and a cup of hot cocoa. She should still have some marshmallows left over—as long as Mr. J hasn’t eaten them all. He’s always eating her snacks. Sometimes, in a moment of pure frustration upon stumbling onto an empty bag or box of secret snacks she had stashed away specifically for herself, she tells him to buy his own snacks, but he always counters with, I did buy these, giving her a pointed look, and, yeah, he kinda did. It’s his money, after all. Not like she could buy any of this stuff without him.

She’s pulling the rest of her books from her locker and shoving them into her backpack when she feels a tap on her shoulder from behind. She turns around to face Jennifer Bartlett—from her geometry class—who is holds out a pink envelope decked in glitter and little metallic hearts.

“You’re inviiiiited,” she sings, thrusting the card into Taylor’s hands. Taylor blinks at her.

“Me?” she asks. Clearly this is some kind of mistake. Maybe a joke.

“It’s a sleepover, so bring a sleeping bag, okay? And like, don’t tell your mom or whatever, but my parents won’t be there, so make sure you just get dropped off in the driveway and none of your parents try to come inside.”

“Oh,” she says, her mind still swirling from the invite. A sleepover. “Okay.” She forces her gaping mouth shut, quickly nods, tries not to look too overeager. “Okay,” she says again, a little cooler, smiling a little. “I’ll totally be there.”

“Great!”

Jennifer bounds off down the hallway, joining a group of giggling girls waiting for her at the end, and Taylor looks down at the envelope in her hand, her name on it and everything. Taylor B.

She bites her lip and smiles.  

--

Taylor can’t get home fast enough.

The bus takes forever, and they have to divert into South Side because of an accident near Paramount Park.

When she finally hops off the school bus and bounds for home, perhaps she takes off a little faster than she should. One moment her backpack is bouncing behind her as she races down the sidewalk, and the next, she’s spread-eagled and lying flat on her back, staring up at the gray sky as snow drifts down in soft little clumps around her. Oof. That hurt. She didn’t hit her head—thankfully—but she managed to scrape her cheek on the icy pile of snow packed into a miniature wall along the edges of the sidewalk. She thinks her cheek might be bleeding.

She doesn’t know what’s more embarrassing: the fact that she fell, or that the bus driver didn’t stop to help.

She winces as she gets up, wipes the blood from her cheek, brushes the ice and snow from her hands, wipes her palms on her jeans. The bus hisses as it pulls away, and Taylor’s cheeks burn. Maybe no one saw?

Her right leg kind of hurts, and she hobbles the rest of the way home, her excitement not dampened as she crashes through the front door, making it halfway through the kitchen before she remembers to shimmy out of her wet boots. Her socks are wet—there was a lot of slush on the sidewalks the closer she got to home—and her feet leave little wet prints on the kitchen floor before she gets to the carpet. 

“Mr. J!”

He’s not in the living room, and he’s not in his bedroom, either, when she throws open the door and scans the bed, his empty desk. She frowns, pokes her head around the doorframe to her own bedroom. Not there, either.

“Mr. J?” She goes back to the beginning of the hallway, knocks eagerly on the closed bathroom door. She can see yellow light bleeding out from the crack beneath the door, doesn’t know how she missed that before. “Mr. J, you’ll never guess what happened at school today!” She waits a beat for him to say something—a grunt, even, some form of acknowledgement that he hears her, she’d take anything—but when she’s met with silence, she barrels on. “I got invited to a slumber party!” she gushes. She has both palms pressed flat against the door, is bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I ran all the way home to tell you, I can’t believe it!” she squeals. “It’s this Friday so we have to go to the store A-S-A-P so I can get a sleeping bag, okay? I mean—if it’s okay with you that I can go. But I’m sure it will be because I really want to go and I’ve never been to a sleepover before.” She sighs, taking a breath. He still hasn’t said anything, so she turns her back to the door and leans against it. He has to come out eventually. “And you won’t even have to worry about dropping me off because I can just take the bus, okay? I looked up Jennifer’s address at the library at school and I already wrote down how to get there, so I won’t get lost! Oh, and maybe I should get new PJs, too? And do you think that—”

The door is jerked open so suddenly she doesn’t have time to react, and she’s falling backwards before she can catch herself, straight into Mr. J’s chest.

He’s holding her underneath her arms, and she tilts her head back to look up at him—upside down—as he looks down at her. His greasepaint’s bright. Fresh-applied. She can smell its gummy texture.

She smiles up at him, a little unsure. A little frightened. His eyes are so dark. “Jeeze,” she says, lightly, trying to dissolve the tension. “You have to give me a warning, Mr. J.” She tries to laugh a little, but it comes out stilted, and the look he pins her with makes the smile slip right off her face.

“Maybe I would if I could get a word in,” he replies. He gets his arms behind her and pushes her off him. Taylor’s cheeks burn as she stumbles a few feet into the kitchen. She knows she talks a lot when she’s excited. She’s like a faucet that won’t turn off.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. She keeps her head low, a little afraid to meet his eyes. He’s in a bad mood—but she’s determined to go to this party either way, and she won’t stop prodding until he says yes. She glances up for just a second to catch the narrowing of his eyes, and then his hand is reaching out, closing around her jaw in a way that makes her flinch, pulling her towards him.

“What’s this?” he says. His eyes on her skin burn, and it makes the cut on her cheek throb in memory.

“It’s nothing,” she says, annoyed, maybe a little embarrassed. She doesn’t want to have to tell him that she slipped and fell. Also, can they please get back to talking about her slumber party? She impatiently reaches up and pries his hand off her—he lets her. She ventures a few steps back, watching him, and her back hits the counter with a thud. “But about the party—it’s okay if I go, right?”

He ignores her question in favor of taking a few lumbering steps closer—towering over her—and his fingers around her jaw are much softer this time when he takes it in his hand, tilts her head to the side so the cut on her cheek winks at him in the light that streaks out from the bathroom.

He sounds almost curious when he asks, “Did someone hit you?”

His question feels like a gut-punch. She looks up at him, eyes widening in surprise for a moment, and then her gaze narrows, and she’s a little more forceful this time when she pries his hand off her jaw.

“No,” she snaps. She can’t believe he thinks she got bullied. “I’m not a loser. I know how to fight back if I have to,” she scowls.  

He looks at her for a long moment, his eyes hard and calculating, but she makes a point to meet his stare head on. She’s not going to flinch away. After a beat, he grins a little—some secret smile, like he’s in on some joke she’s not privy to.

“Of course you do,” he says.

“So can I go to the slumber party or not?”

Mr. J raises his eyebrows as he thinks about it. “Dunno,” he says, “I seem to recall your last little, uh, party, didn’t end so hot. Maybe you remember,” he muses, leaning down low, so their faces are level, “—or maybe you don’t, since you were high as a fucking kite.”

Taylor balks at him—he never curses, at least not around her—and she can’t help the way her mouth parts in shock. She can feel the threads of hope she’d been clinging to rapidly slipping out of her hands.

Truthfully, there’s not a lot she remembers from that night. Just a bonfire and a stranger’s half-remembered bedroom. The weight of a body she hadn’t wanted, a frisson of fear, electric as it sizzled down her spine, and then fumbling down the stairs, out the front door. Nobody had even cared. And then the frigid moon, the icy bite of wind on her cheeks. She remembers Mr. J, at some point, and waking up in that old airplane hangar, where she’d promptly puked her guts out over the side of the couch. The rest of that night is a blur. It’s probably better that way.

“It’s not—” she stops. Tries to find her footing around the right set of words. She just wants this so badly. It’s her one opportunity to fit in. To make friends. To be somebody. She wants so desperately to try and explain it to him, make him understand how badly she needs this—but somehow she knows he won’t get it. He doesn’t care about fitting in, or being liked—he’s the most unliked person in all of Gotham. Maybe even the whole world.

“It won’t be like that this time,” she assures. “There won’t be any boys there. I promise. It’s just a girl party. And I promise I’ll be really, really good and come straight home after.”

Mr. J’s eyes are dark as he watches her plead her case, and she takes the opportunity to stick out her bottom lip and put on an exaggerated pout. “Pretty please?” she says. “With lots of sugar on top?”

The corner of his mouth curls into a grin. “Okay, baby doll. Since you asked so nicely.”

“Eeep!” She squeals in excitement, immediately perking up, diving forward to throw her arms around his waist. She gives him a squeeze and he surprises her by patting her back. Once. Twice. His display of affection makes her cheeks warm, and she squeezes him a little tighter, happy to bask in the moment. “Thank you, Mr. J.”

--

Taylor buys a new set of jammies and a sleeping bag. She even spends the whole day prior reading about sleepovers, Googling at the library, getting more and more excited. She wonders if they’ll do face masks, or have a pillow fight, or watch a romantic movie, or paint each other’s nails? 

She goes to Mr. J to model her new PJs for him, a yellow top with tiny blue flowers, with little matching shorts and a scalloped hem. She is bouncing around his bedroom—she had a Red Bull earlier for the first time ever, and whoa—and she does a cartwheel on the bed once she has his attention, collapsing into a heap on the floor because she misjudged the distance. She giggles, and then uses the bed to pull herself up while she prances around the room and chatters about her slumber party. She has a little notepad she found in a drawer in the kitchen, and after a few minutes, she flops back on his bed, holding the notepad above her face. She’s making a list of all the stuff she might need to bring. She read online that sometimes you should bring snacks. 

“Hey Mr. J, cookies or chips?” she asks.

She turns to lay on her side, facing him, where he’s seated in his desk chair and has spun around to watch her, his fingers drumming against the armrests. His eyes are dark—but he doesn’t give her an answer. 

She scowls at his lack of participation, and redirects her attention back to her list, tapping her pencil against her lips.

“Hmm… sometimes cookies have peanut butter, even if they say don’t, and I know lots of people have peanut allergies, sooooo… I’ll go with chips,” she decides, resolute. Her tongue pokes out when she makes a careful, neat checkmark next to the word chips.

She crawls off the bed and skips around the room for a little while longer, clutching her notepad, chattering to herself, mostly. She plays with the books on the bookshelf, all the little knickknacks left behind by the previous owner, rearranging them while she talks, musing about how cool this party’s gonna be, how many friends she’s gonna make. It’s gonna be great.

She lays down on the floor to make some snow-angels on the carpet, flapping her arms and legs slowly, staring up at the ceiling, feeling her energy start to wane. She asks Mr. J if he thinks she should wear her regular clothes to the party, or if she should come dressed in her PJs? And doesn’t he think they’re really pretty? And her sleeping bag comes with a built-in pillow, and isn’t that super cool?

She jolts awake when a pair of arms slip underneath her, hoisting her up, off the floor. She must have fallen asleep.

She frantically blinks the sleep back from her eyes. It’s dark, and she can’t see. “What day is it?” she asks, panicked, her voice cracking. “Is it tomorrow yet? Did I miss the party?”

“Shhh.” Mr. J carries her the short distance to his bed, lowers her to the mattress even as she wraps her arms around his neck, refusing to be put down. She doesn’t even have the forethought to marvel over the fact that he’s just put her in his bed, that she’s lying down on his pillow, or that the covers smell like him. 

“But did I miss it? Is it over?”

She thinks she can hear a smirk in his voice when he says, “No, baby doll, you didn’t miss it. Time to sleep.”

He peels her arms away from his neck, and this time she lets him. She sinks into the mattress, and sinks quickly back into sleep. 

[4haechie]

cliché

summary: he doesn’t care if it seems cliché, donghyuck really wants to run into your arms after winning the game.

pairing: soccer player!lee donghyuck x reader

genre: fluff, high school au

words: 1,882

warnings: swearing, that’s all

a/n: this is for the one (1) anon who requested for a part 2 to this drabble :D thank u sm i hope u like it! also, i should’ve thought this through bc i don’t know the first thing about soccer. enjoy!

“y/n, wait up!”

you’re making your way to the stands when mark calls out to you from behind. you turn on your heel and face him, annoyed, “what is it?” you don’t mean to sound rude, but you don’t want to miss a single second of the game.

“i have the perfect plan–”

“i don’t wanna hear it!” you know exactly what he was planning on telling you, but you don’t give him the chance. you quickly pass the food stalls on the ground floor, climb the steps of the stands, and take your seat. you plop your bag on the seat to your left to save one for mark–he’s annoying and a slowpoke, yeah, but he’s your best friend.

the announcer states the game will be starting soon; you don’t know why your heart is beating so fast, it’s not like you’re playing. you’re only watching the boy you like play. no big deal.

you hope his team wins. you also hope he’ll come up in the stands after winning to say hi and perhaps more. the rapid beating of your heart returns as the crowd goes wild when the announcer starts reading out the players’ names.

/

lee donghyuck is amazing at soccer. he’s been playing the sport since he was young. he’s good at it, the captain of the school’s team, and never fails to bring his team victory.

he’s played about a million and one games before. why is he so nervous about this one?

oh, yeah. it’s because he invited you to watch the game a few days ago. you, who’s been his crush for as long as he can remember. you, who has no clue he’s crushing on you.

“game starts in five.” the coach is pacing around, making everybody more nervous than they really are. “this is the first game of the semester. no big deal,” he lets out an airy laugh. “we’re going against our number one rival school. no pressure,” he lets out the same laugh.

donghyuck rolls his eyes. “coach, relax! we’ve gone against them before and won. this is gonna be a piece of cake, right guys?” he gazes around his teammates.

the coach does some warm-ups–he’s not even playing; donghyuck doesn’t get this guy–and walks over to the teacher’s bench to chat with his colleagues.

the field is open, of course, and the players’ waiting area is a huge tent just beside the stands. donghyuck scans the stands–he doesn’t know where you’re seated, so when he doesn’t find you, a small frown traces his lips. what if you didn’t show? you said you would...but he can’t see you anywhere. what if you changed your mind? his mind is racing with such thoughts when the announcer yells something through his megaphone.

“all players on the field!”

the coach tells the team to huddle for a second and gives his final piece of advice: “finish them! you hear me?” the teammates whoop and cheer loudly and the coach smiles at them fondly.

/

“our school needs one more goal to win.” mark says, munching on cheesy doritos. you grip the empty can of soda in your hand tightly in anticipation. they have to win. he has to win. “donghyuck has to make the winning goal. he’s so fucking good, y/n!” mark nudges you knowingly.

you need to focus on the game in front of you, but mark’s words make your mind wander. he really is good. mark’s never been to any of his games before, and you’ve been to the very first game he played after making the team.

you and donghyuck have been in the same class for as long as you can remember. you also live in the same neighbourhood. but you’re always too shy to approach him, and he’s always with his billion teammates or friends. you, on the other hand, are with mark, your oldest friend, most of the time.

just to show your support, your entire class in freshman year went to donghyuck’s first-ever soccer match. he was so thrilled to see everyone there, cheering for him and rooting for him. he lost that match, unfortunately, but learned from his mistakes and won every single match after that. soon, in junior year, he was made the captain.

this game is going to be one of his last games before he graduates. so he has to win, not only to bring another trophy to the table but also to impress you. as silly as it sounds, he prays you’re out there somewhere. he prays you’re watching, because he really wants to kiss you after winning the game–like every cliché high school movie to ever exist.

/

donghyuck feels beads of sweat lining his forehead, trailing down his neck. he takes a deep breath. he listens closely to the audience screaming his name. he grasps that, holds onto it, clings to that as if his life depends on it. he doesn’t have much time, he has to take his shot. he runs like the wind and he’s suddenly in front of the goalpost, staring at the face of the rival goalkeeper.

donghyuck dares glance around; his eyes catch the sight of the opposition advancing. he has to act fast. he gathers all the stamina that’s left, takes one look at the goal, does the necessary pre-goal-making calculations in his head, and kicks the ball. all of this happens in under a second–the goalkeeper doesn’t see it coming. donghyuck is known for his surprise attacks and goals. this really was a piece of cake, he thinks.

the ball soars and hits the back of the net. the crowd goes wild–literally. the chanting gets louder, and donghyuck smiles brightly. in an instant, as if this was rehearsed, his teammates surround him, lift him in the air, also chanting his name.

he gets handed the winning trophy, and everything becomes a blur. he and his teammates pose on the field to take pictures, his coach cries tears of joy, his parents come running to embrace him, hearts full of pride, his siblings look the happiest he’s ever seen them. everyone’s smiling and joyful, just the way he wants. he’s dreamed of this day before, just like he’s dreamed of all his matches. he dreams he makes the winning goal, the crowd screams his name, he spots you, walks towards you and pulls you in for a kiss in front of everyone.

he didn’t care in his vision, and he wouldn’t care in real life either.

/

after the game, the cheerleaders put on a final performance, commemorating your school’s win, marking the end of the event.

mark bumps you in the shoulder, “you have to tell him now. it’ll be the cherry on top to his day today. did you see how he smiled? it’s like he knew he was gonna win all along.”

you’re still seated in the stands with him, even though most of the audience has taken its leave. besides, mark also has friends on the team. he couldn’t leave without congratulating them in person. the team left to shower and change a while ago, so you’re sure your heart won’t settle till you’ve seen and talked to donghyuck in person.

“i have a feeling he did.”

mark chuckles, “he’s a great guy, y/n. and i think he likes you too. just tell him! what’s the harm?”

you press your lips together. “the fact that he might not like me back?”

mark rolls his eyes, “y/n, it’s not a fact if you’re not sure, and you won’t be sure till you tell him.”

he has a point, but doesn’t everyone get a little doubtful when it comes to someone liking a person back? your mind argues with itself, debating, and listing the pros and cons of telling him how you feel once and for all.

just then, a familiar voice interrupts your train of thoughts. “i didn’t think you guys would come.”

you whip your head to the side and see lee donghyuck standing there, having changed out of his soccer uniform to a pair of jeans and a plain tee hidden under his jersey, and his bag is slung over one shoulder.

jesus, fuck. this boy...

“y/n would’ve never missed it.” mark smiles up at donghyuck, who scratches his neck in embarrassment.

you shove mark to the side and get up to stand in front of donghyuck. donghyuck’s eyes widen a little when you extend out a hand, “congratulations on winning the game, donghyuck! that final goal was one for the history books.”

donghyuck giggles...giggles, before meeting your hand in a firm shake. “thanks, um, that means a lot.”

“what do you mean?” you pull away reluctantly, not wanting to let go, but not wanting to look clingy either.

he glances at mark warily but softens his gaze at you. mark sighs, “fine, i’ll leave. make it quick, you two! and no funny business–”

you practically push mark away and after ensuring he’s far, far, away from the stands, you gesture at donghyuck to continue.

“i mean...that i’m really glad you came. i’m also really glad you watched me win. a bunch of colleges sent representatives to watch the game, and a few of them even approached me. i might have a shot at getting a scholarship,” he chuckles shyly.

“donghyuck, that’s so awesome! oh my god...i’m so, so, happy for you!” you grin.

“thanks,” he looks down at the floor, a little flustered. “so, um, i wanted to ask you something. well, more like tell you something.”

you cock an eyebrow, puzzled.

“the thing is...before the game started, i was at the tent and i glanced around the stands to look for you–just to, you know, wave at you or something.” he laughs before continuing, “i didn’t see you, so i thought, i don’t know, maybe you didn’t come? i was...kinda sad. i don’t even know why. it’s not like just because i didn’t see you doesn’t mean you weren’t there. but anyway, i’m really glad you made it. and i’m really happy i won,” he smirks.

you’re not sure you’re able to process his words. they tug at your ears but no avail. they go straight to your heart. they stay there, snuggled together. “donghyuck...what are you trying to say?”

donghyuck doesn’t speak. instead, he sets his bag on the floor, brings a hand around your waist and urges you close. you gasp, but it’s immediately drowned out by the feeling of his lips on yours. the kiss only lasts a few seconds, but to you, it feels like an eternity. his lips are soft, plump and sweet–you wonder what lip balm he uses. he pulls away, grinning.

“woah,” you breathe.

“i’m trying to say that i like you, y/n. and i really wanted to kiss you after winning the game.” donghyuck gingerly twirls a strand of your hair around his finger.

you giggle, burying your face in his chest. he smooths your hair out and props his chin atop your head. “i like you too–a lot, actually,” you say.

he hums, “that’s a relief.” he pulls away to look at your face, admiring every detail, every curve, every feature. “you’re really pretty.”

you roll your eyes, “shut up and kiss me again.”

and he does.

[thewildsophia]

.Hello, Teen Crisis Hotline. Clone High//Van Gogh x Reader

Depressed!Van Gogh x Reader

A/N: I use depressed a bit loosely in this one so there’s no trigger warning.

Word Count: 2357

~~~~~~~~~~

When Joan had come to you asking that you help her out with the Teen Crisis Hotline you couldn’t say no. You weren’t the closest of friends, but the two of you had an unspoken rule that if shit were to hit the fan, you’d have the others’ back. Or in this case, if one needed help with something, the other would do what they could to help. 

If you were being honest with yourself, you were thrilled when she asked you to help her out. You had always wanted to do something to help those who are struggling mentally since you knew how serious and overlooked mental health was. 

Joan had specifically asked that you help out with the hotline the day of JFK’s party, which you quickly agreed to. It wasn’t like you were going to that party. 

But you figured she probably was going, despite her saying she wasn’t, to try and get Abe to notice her. Seriously, she could do sooo much better. 

It was a little past 7pm when you had gotten the first call. It was a female talking about how difficult her school work was becoming and how stressed she was becoming because of it. You talked to her for about 45 minutes, comforting her and giving her tips on how to stay organized and study. 

After that it was quiet for the next couple hours and you were doing school work during that time. Gandhi had forwarded a call to you around 10pm without a heads up and your phone began ringing. You answered it with a cheerful,

“Hello, Teen Crisis Hotline. How may I help you?” 

“Hello?” The person answered. Their voice was deep and slightly raspy, yet it didn’t sound especially masculine. 

“ Hello,” You greeted again, “Are you alright?” The person sighs before answering,

“For the most part, yeah.” Okay, definitely a guy. 

“I-Um,” The guy continued, “Am I on…speaker phone?” What was this guy talking about? 

“No, you’re not on speaker phone.” You responded. You heard the guy shift on the phone before saying, 

“Good, the last person I talked to had me on speaker,” You heard his voice crack, “There were a lot of people who laughed at me because of it.” You were pissed at Gandhi. You knew he was an ass that didn’t care about the hotline, but you didn’t think that he would do something as shitty as that. 

“Gandhi put you on speaker?” You asked, not even think about it.

“Yeah…” He sighed. 

“God what an ass,” You said before you even realized it, “I mean-I’m sorry that he did that to you. I can assure you that you’re not on speaker and I’m the only one here.” You corrected yourself. You heard the guy chuckle before saying, 

“No you’re right, he really is an ass.” You giggled to yourself before remembering what you were here to do.

“So, how are you feeling?” You asked. The guy was quiet for a while before answering you. 

“I’ve…been better,” He said, “It’s just…okay, I already have depression and for a while it wasn’t too bad; I was able to kinda keep it in check. Lately, however, it hasn’t exactly been that easy.” 

“Ah, I understand what you mean. Do you have any idea why it’s been getting worse?” You asked. He was quiet for a moment and you were worried that you had struck a nerve. 

“I do,” He began, “Ever since I’ve gone here, I’ve been kinda…‘harassed?’ I’m not sure if that’s really the best word but recently it’s been getting worse.”

“Would you mind telling me who’s doing this?” You asked when you thought he was done. 

“Um, yeah, I would. I-I don’t want to call anyone out.” He said. You were a bit upset that he didn’t tell you since you couldn’t help him if you didn’t know who was doing this to him, but at the same time you understood. 

“Okay, that’s fine, I understand. Do you…have any support? Like from your family or some close friends?” You asked. 

“Well, my foster parents are okay. They care about me and I know it, but I don’t think they really love me. As for friends…” He paused and sighs, “I’m not really good at making connections with people, so I don’t really have any friends; besides maybe the people I work with in class.” You were quiet, making sure he was done, before continuing. 

“Alright. I do want to know, how do you deal with this harassment?” You questioned and once again he was quiet for a moment. 

“I, uh, don’t really do anything? Like, if you’re asking what I say to them then I don’t say anything. But if you’re asking how I cope with everything…” He trailed off.

“How do you cope?” You asked him. You heard him shift again yet he remained quiet, “Do I need to be concerned?” You inquired after your mind had thought of the worst. 

“No, no, I just…I listen to music a lot,” He started, but you didn’t say anything to try and get him to speak more.

“That and, uh, I cry…a lot. Sometimes I just turn the lights off in my room and cry. It’s…comforting in a way. I don’t know how to explain it.” He choked out, his voice cracking a few times. 

“I understand what you mean,” You say, trying to comfort him, “Sometimes it just feels nice to let everything out. Personally something I do is get in the shower clothed and just…cry, letting everything out. I know it sounds odd but, for someone who cries to cope, this is one of the best pieces of advice I can give you.” You explain to him. You hear him chuckle on the other side of the phone. 

“I’ve actually heard that one before,” He said, and you imagined that he had a smile on his face, “I haven’t done it before though. Everytime I’m hit with one of those emotional outbreaks I’m just too tired to start a shower.” 

“It really do be like that sometimes.” You say with a dopey smile. 

“Yeah,” He sighed, “One of the only ways I was able to…to cling to my sanity was that no one known how miserable I truly am. But it would seem that I lost that since Gandhi put me on speaker phone.” He admitted with a sniffle at the end. 

You were quiet for a moment. 

“You’re lonely, aren’t you?” You quietly inquired. You heard him suck in a breath and shift again.

“How did you know? How could you tell?” He quickly questioned. 

“It wasn’t too hard for me to piece it together,” You began, “You said that your foster parents do care about you, but not in a familiar way which had probably created a border between you and them. You also mentioned how it’s difficult to form connections with others, so you most likely don’t have anyone in the school to talk to. The fact that you called the hotline in the first place also suggests this. Therefore, you probably spend a lot of time by yourself, and no matter how much of an introvert someone is, being alone for that long would eventually get…lonely.” You finished, waiting for him to say something. Maybe you went too far with that analysis?

“Wow that’s…impressive that you were able to determine that so quickly.” He said. 

“Was I right?” You asked curiously.

“Yeah, pretty much.” He answered. The two of you were quiet for a while before you asked him,

“Could you tell me your name?” This whole time you were trying to determine who you were talking to. Right now, you’ve managed to narrow your list down to four people: Issac Newton, Charles Darwin, Vincent Van Gogh, or Ludwig Von Beethoven. 

He hesitated for a moment before answering you.

“I’m Van Gogh, Vincent Van Gogh.” 

“Called it.” You said in your head, smiling. 

“I see,” You say, “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you Van Gogh.” 

“The pleasure’s all mine.” Van Gogh greets. 

You thought about where to go from there until an idea pops into your head. A devious smile spreads over your face before you speak. 

“You know what I think you need, Van Gogh?” You heard him hum in question, “A little bit of revenge on Gandhi. I’m 97% sure that’ll bring your spirits up.” 

“What are you suggesting?” He asked, and you would hear the smirk in his voice. 

“You are an artist, aren’t you? Well, it’s your lucky day because I’m the clone of F/N L/N, one of the best acrylic painters in history.” You announce before continuing, “I’m suggesting that we make a…memorial of Gandhi, commemorating his work for the hotline.” It was quiet for a few seconds before Van Gogh asked, 

“What floor are you on?” 

“Floor 5, room 18. I have a shit ton of acrylics and spray paint. If you’ve got gouache, bring it.” You answered quickly. 

“Be there in 5 minutes.” He said before hanging up. 

You laughed as you quickly got your shoes on and gathered your spray paints in a duffle bag, putting your acrylics and brushed in a plastic container. You slung the duffle bag over your shoulder when you heard a knock at your door. You answered it, being greeted by Van Gogh in all his tiny glory. 

“You bring the gouache?” You asked while locking your dorm’s door. 

“I’ve got gouache, oil, and acrylics.” He answered with a smirk. You smiled and couldn't help the heat that rushed to your face. He was so adorable. Yet so…despicable.

“Got any complaints about stopping by that party real quick? It’ll be easy to get in there since it’s late and they’re probably hammered by now.” You suggested, glancing over at him to gauge his reaction. 

“Lead the way.” Was his answer. You did as you were told, the two of you making your way over to JFK’s house as quickly as possible. You snuck in through the back -- you had to help him over the fence -- and from there you two looked for Gandhi. 

Van Gogh had spotted him first; he was talking to Joan, something about screwing herself over. Joan had quickly removed his belt and Gandhi said something but you weren’t in range to hear it before she held up his boxers -- which you assumed to be his. His pants fell and you looked away as he was quickly…“exposed” by her. 

“Ah, good thing there was no one around to see that.” Was all you heard from him as he turned around and walked away. 

“Oh yes,” You heard Van Gogh say next to you, “No one, indeed.” He finished while looking at you with a smirk. You smirked yourself when it clicked in your head what he was planning to do. 

“I’ve got just the place.” You said while getting the two of you out of the party. 

Next thing you knew, you two were in front of a wall that the majority of students walked by when going from their dorms to the school. The two of you started on your painting and it took you close to three hours to finish it, but it was very much worth it. You and Van Gogh signed it at the bottom and had even taken Van Gogh’s photo with it. 

It was past 2am when everything was said and done, so the two of you made your way back over to your dorms. You walked with him to his dorm, chatting with him the whole time. 

It was weird; it felt as if you had known him for years, the conversation between you two coming so naturally, yet you had only known him for a few hours. 

When you had reached his dorm you asked, 

“Hey, what time do you leave to go to school?” 

“Around 7am, why?” He answered.

“Great, I’ll be here at 7 to walk with you,” You said while turning and making your way to your own dorm, “Goodnight, Van Gogh, see ya’ tomorrow!” You shouted back at him. Van Gogh smiled to himself, face warm.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He said. You turned and smiled at him before turning the corner and heading up stairs.

Even after you had gotten back, set everything down and changed you couldn’t stop thinking about him. He was so lovable, how could anyone make fun of him? You figured people saw him as an easy target since he’s usually quiet and passive. 

But you’d make sure he’s treated better. That was your final thought before drifting to sleep. 

~~~~~~~~~

Staying true to your word, you made sure you had gotten up early -- only getting like 4 hours of sleep -- to walk Van Gogh to school. When you had made it to his dorm he was already waiting for you, and it was only 6:50am. 

The two of you made your way to the school, talking the whole way. Your conversation quieted down when you turned the corner that had the painting on it. 

There was a crowd of students laughing and taking pictures. Looking through the sea of students you saw Gandhi, slack-jawed and in awe. You quickly pointed him out to Van Gogh and the laugh that left his lips was a nerdy, yet adorable and just perfect to you. 

The two of you continued to walk by and people cheered for you both.

“See, look: they like you.” You say while nudging his shoulder. His face blossoms in this bright pinkish-peach color that you have never seen before and the same chuckle leaves his lips again. Your stomach did flips and your face felt hot. 

“Thanks, Van Gogh, Y/N!” You heard Joan yell from somewhere, but you were too focused on Van Gogh to care. It was his voice that brought you out of your dazed state.

“Thank you, Y/N, for helping me and all.” He said while rubbing the back of his neck. You cheeks were sore, but that didn’t stop you from smiling one last time.

“No problem, Van Gogh.”

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Osborn’s 5✩ Inspiration: Black VS Black [黑色对峙] Date Translation (END 5: Listen)

“Now that we're done putting away the model, it's about time we put it away as well.”

*Light and Night Master-list | Osborn’s Personal Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *This 5✩ Inspiration has 6 Endings!! *Osborn’s tag will be #For Night, For Freedom *Requested by anon! You can check my on-going requests and more here!

✥ Choice: Listen [倾听] ❖ASMR

The cat caused an incident! What should I do?

⊹ Pick up the scattered components ⊹

Around the fallen car model were several of its scattered compartments that had fallen out. 

The rear spoiler didn't manage to escape unscathed with a running crack through it.

MC: Yikes! The parts came out!

I quickly knelt down to gather all the pieces when a large hand picked up the car model much faster than I could.

Osborn looked at the model, as unfazed as ever.

Osborn: Looks like my car model was more attractive to it rather than your cat teaser wand.

MC: Is the model okay? Some parts fell out...

He looked left and right before his brows furrowed into a slight frown in displeasure, looking slightly bothered by it.

Osborn: Hmm…

Thinking about how this car model had been displayed alongside his trophies made me grow increasingly nervous.

MC: Does this car model have any special commemorative significance to you?

Osborn nodded and my heart immediately seized up.

MC: Oh no… Is there any hope of fixing it?

Osborn: It looks easy to piece together, but it's actually pretty complicated with many intricate compartments.

Osborn: Once it gets taken apart, it's pretty much impossible to…

MC: Sorry, I didn't know it was that serious. I should have caught it while I could earlier...

This whole incident had happened while I stood witness to the entire thing. I couldn't help but feel like I too, had a part in the blame. I clenched my fists. Then, Osborn snorted.

Osborn: Pft—

MC: ???

Osborn: I'm joking.

If he'd looked at a loss earlier, then he certainly wasn't now. A familiar impish smile tugged at the side of his lips.

Osborn: The main body's alright, and the parts that fell up just have to be-

MC: OSBORN! I was really panicking there! How DARE you-

Osborn: S-Sorry!

MC: Hmph! Apology not accepted!

I pretended to be mad, snatching the model out of his hands and turning it around to get a better look at it.

MC: What did you say again? We just have to reinstall the parts that came out back in?

Osborn: You're… not angry anymore?

Glancing at his expression that was still frozen in surprise, the corners of my mouth that had been starting to quirk upward soon lowered.

MC: I'm not free to be mad now. I'll be mad later when I have the time. You better remember!

Osborn gave a light laugh at that.

Osborn: Okay.

Suddenly, a muted clatter sounded.

Mitt had slyly slinked to the door, entertaining itself by playing with the yarn ball that had been placed in front of the sofa.

Osborn: Looks like it's taken a liking to the toys you brought.

MC: Of course! Let's not disturb it now that it's happily occupied with its toys, and get down to setting this car model straight!

❖☆———————————★❖

Osborn: Ever built a car model before?

Osborn: No? So it's your first time doing it? And at my place too.

Osborn: ...You want to be my assistant, huh.

Osborn: That works too. Let me see where I put my toolbox.

Osborn: You have sharp eyes. Saves me the trouble of looking.

Osborn: Two more components left. Wanna try?

Osborn: Here. Just line it up and slowly screw it in.

Osborn: ...It's upside down.

Osborn: Come, I'll teach you how.

Osborn: This should do it.

Osborn: Looks like the joint needs a little polishing. Pass me the exacto knife.

Osborn: Now's not the time for the flat-blade screwdriver.

Osborn: Great reaction time. You got it right this time.

Osborn: Okay, done.

Osborn: What do you think? Pretty cool, ain't it?

Osborn: Right. We were just installing parts earlier, so why were you so nervous?

Osborn: Because you're inexperienced? Then you'll just have to do it a couple more times.

Osborn: Why's your face so red all of a sudden?

Osborn: Looks like it lost interest in your ball of yarn. It might be looking for a new target.

Osborn: Okay, get up.

Osborn: Now that we're done putting away the model, it's about time we put it away as well.

❖☆———————————★❖

By the time we found Mitt, it was already sprawled out beside the TV cabinet with its paws stuck underneath, fiddling with something in the gap.

Recalling the layout of his living room, I quietly tip-toed and whispered my idea into Osborn’s ear.

MC: I’ll take left, you take right. We’ll pincer it.

Osborn: It’s already here, so there’s no need to go through so much trouble.

MC: Huh?

Osborn: Just wait and see.

Osborn took a couple of long strides forwards in the direction of the cat.

I followed after him, quietly approaching the black cat. However, my attention was suddenly caught by the photo frame that the cat had just been playing with.

Picking up the frame, I carefully observed it…

In the picture were Osborn and a couple of familiar-looking teammates. They’d all had an arm around each other’s shoulder, beaming as they held the same trophy.

Their faces all look much younger… Is this a photo from years ago?

The race car in the background had a red and white body with an orange rear spoiler, similar to the car model that Mitt had batted off its perch earlier.

MC: Don’t tell me… Was that car model made based on this race car?

I was lost in thought when a sudden meow broke my train of thought.

Osborn: Still wanna run?

❖☆———————————★❖

I raised my head to see Osborn with both arms raised, gently holding up the cat in question.

The bright and warm sunlight shone in through the window, carefully outlining his chiselled side-profile and the contours of his muscles.

Although Mitt had already been caught, it still glared daggers at Osborn. It was as if a cat and a human were engaged in a silent battle with each other.

After a while, Mitt seemed to register the fact that it’d lost, meowing pitifully in that soft cry once more.

❖☆———————————★❖

Osborn: Oh? You know how to beg for mercy now, don’t you?

Osborn carried Mitt to the little corner we’d set up for it. Mitt seemingly gave up on the game of chase, lowering its head to eat the cat food that we’d prepared for it since the very beginning.

Watching it eat its food so obediently, I couldn’t help but kneel down and stroke its round head.

Mitt cast a doubtful glance at me, but turned its head, indulging nuzzling itself into my palm.

MC: !

MC: I touched it! How cute…

Osborn: You’re that excited from just being able to touch it?

MC: Yeah. It looked so naughty that I thought I wouldn’t be able to touch it today.

Osborn: It’ll come running up to you for a lick or two so long as you have food.

MC: Then I MUST let it try the wet cat food! Maybe it’ll get closer to me!

I sped towards the sofa and picked up the packet of wet cat food, purposely waving it before its nose.

It couldn’t resist the offered temptation after all. Its soft fluffy paws batted at my wrist as it opened its mouth and cried its pleas.

MC: Okay, okay. Any more and you’ll end up a piggy.

I recalled something after putting away the remaining food. I picked up the photo frame that I’d set down earlier and handed it to Osborn.

MC: Oh, yeah. By the way, this was the photo frame that Mitt was batting with under the TV cabinet earlier. I don’t know where you normally display it.

He took the photo frame from me and glanced at it.

MC: And on that note, I realized that the car in the background looks very similar to the model we just pieced back together. Are they the same?

Osborn: Oh. The model was made according to this race car.

Suddenly, I recalled having seen the highlights of all his races before.

The year and month in which he’d won his first racing championship seemingly coincided with the time that this photo was taken.

My guess had tumbled out of my lips before I could stop it.

MC: Is this the car you drove when you won your first championship?

He quirked a brow.

Osborn: Why, you know me so well.

MC: Then… Is that car model something of a memento from that race?

Osborn: You can say that.

MC: I heard somewhere before that that car’s engine had to be changed out every two races. It shouldn’t be in use anymore, right?

Osborn: The engine exploded on me during that race, so it was only my companion once.

Osborn spoke lightly of it, but thinking of how exciting and terrifying it must have been back then, I couldn’t help but feel my heart sink a little.

MC: I’m glad the car model’s alright. Otherwise, it’d be such a pity for such a meaningful memento to get damaged like that.

Osborn: So I should thank you properly. Is that it?

MC: Huh? Thank me?

He chuckled lightly, his eyes sliding from the photo to my face. He had a slightly flippant look on his face.

Osborn: Weren’t you the one who made that car model more meaningful?

MC: ……

I was taken aback for a bit. I looked at him in surprise, only to find his gaze calm and gentle. There was a smile glimmering within his eyes.

Osborn: You were pretty clever when fixing the model. Why so stupefied now?

As his words sank in, I felt my heart flutter as I realized what he’d meant by having made it more “meaningful”. Something seemed to have filled my heart. It was a little flustering, yet also a little sweet.

I worried my lip and gathered my courage together before looking up to meet his eyes.

MC: Then, that makes me happier now…

MC: Although I didn’t get the chance to sit in on the race of your first championship and cheer you on…

MC: I was still able to piece the model back together and play a part in that precious moment of memory.

Inexplicable emotions surfaced in Osborn’s eyes, and in the next second, his big hand ruffled my hair with a vengeance.

Osborn: There’s really no helping you, is there?

I shyly ducked my head, but I couldn’t stop the corners of my mouth from rising.

At this moment, the sun had enveloped us both within its warmth.

The cat quietly ate by our feet, letting out a purr of satisfaction every once in a while.

Slowly but surely, unspeakable feelings started to bloom and spread within the confines of my heart.

I hope, from the deepest points of my heart, that time would always be eternally frozen in this beautiful moment.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

✥ Choose your Ending:

END 1 | Choice: Do Nothing [都不做]

END 2 +3 + 4 | Choice: Call Out [呼唤] ⊹Speak⊹

END 5 | Choice: Listen [倾听] ❖ASMR

END 6 | Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ★Night★

❖☆————— ⊹ For Night, For Freedom⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Prologue)

[dear-mrs-otome]

Aanleggen - Ikevamp (Theo)

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire Pairing: MC x Theo Summary: A short illustrated birthday fic for the birthday boy! The incomparable, amazing, talented and lovely @nan-chi​ and I wanted to do something to commemorate the younger van Gogh, and this is the result! 1500 words of fluff and fantastic art!

~~~~~~

There were few things Theo hated more than secrets.

His own - those were fine. But the secrets of others always unsettled him, even as he recognized the hypocrisy of this. And the secrets of Vincent…

Now that was an irritation of a new sort.

Stewing on this, Theo lifted a bite from the syrup-sogged stack before him and chewed, his eyes never leaving the two heads huddled together at one end of the table.

“Kinda cute, aren’t they?” Arthur slung himself into the seat beside Theo, newspaper slapping atop the table as he gestured in the direction of the two with his coffee cup. “The lovebirds,” he explained to Theo’s arched brow.

“The what?” The bite in his mouth turned suddenly and inexplicably dry. “That’s it. You’ve finally lost what little sense you were born with.”

Arthur, studying his face, let the smirk he’d been fighting finally win. “Don’t believe me?” He leaned in, eyes dancing with mischief and his voice pitched low. “I’ve seen her go into his room at least two nights a week the entire past month.”

“At night?”

Arthur nodded, once. Meaningfully. “Late.”

The only answer he could scrape together was a carefully uninterested grunt, turning his attention back to the plate before him. But the pancakes he’d already eaten congealed heavily in his stomach, like wet concrete, and he busied himself with straightening the napkin laid beside his place setting.

How had he missed that?

He wasn’t sure what bothered him more - the fact that he had? The fact that Vincent had taken a lover? Or the fact that...

...The fact that it was her.

He pulled the feeling out, turning it over and over, before realizing it stung. Like saltwater, lapping over an open wound.

It hurt.

But that was alright. Hurt, he could handle. It was a familiar, old friend. From split knuckles to bruises, from the envy-whittled darts that had struck true before his skin had thickened to the regrets that kept him up some nights. He was no stranger to pain.

This too, would pass.

------

But like a dog with a rabbit in its jaws, Arthur’s words wouldn't let him go.

He stood and stared at the wooden panels of her door, as if the answer lay somewhere in the swirls and whorls of woodgrain, before lifting his hand to knock.

"Hondje? You in there?"

There was no answer for a moment, but he could hear the faint rustling of someone moving around on the other side. "Theo?"

"Yeah, look, I -" He jammed his hands in his pockets, a rush of restlessness washing over him. He wasn't sure he'd ever looked forward to and dreaded a conversation so much. "You got a minute?"

"Oh! I….yes, just…" Her voice was pitched a half-octave higher suddenly, shrill with something like panic that set him on edge - especially when he could hear her bustling around. "Hold on. One second. I'm -"

Her words dissolved into a small shriek, as he heard a heavy thud from the other side, and decorum took a backseat to concern as he pushed the door open in a rush. "Hondje?! You okay?"

His gaze darted about. Same pink frilly room, spotlessly organized. Nothing out of order save for the easel in one corner and a canvas, now face down on the floor and her standing over it, dropcloth still in her wringing hands as she looked up at him guiltily.

He blinked at it a moment, heart twisting like a gibbet in his chest. A painting from Vincent? One he hadn't seen either?

He brushed off the fresh handful of salt on the wound, and plastered a smirk on his face. "Dropped your toy, Hondje."

"No, that's-!" She cried in dismay, as he reached to lift it back onto its easel. "You weren't supposed to see it yet."

He frowned, taking in the way her entire body seemed to droop. If she were a pup in truth, her tail would be hanging between her legs at that moment. 

“Why?” He bit back the bitter words that tried to follow. “Something secret between you and Vincent?”

He forced a chuckle then, although it scraped raw in his throat like sandpaper. “I was kinda hoping you guys would have told me yourselves about this but…” he began, as he lifted the piece back into place on its easel.

And then the rest of his comment died away, as he got a look at the painting. He knew immediately it wasn’t one of Vincent’s works - the brushstrokes were all wrong. Clumsy, perhaps a bit, but Vincent’s influence was there in the texture and colors. 

And it was -

He blinked, bemused. “Is this...King?”

“Yeah. Or well, it’s supposed to be, but I guess it obviously is if you could recognize it. Although I know the anatomy needs some work and the shading - golden fur is hard to get just right, and he wouldn’t hold still. I must have sketched him twenty times, I don't know how people work without photographs for reference." She was babbling, and he recognized the nerves eating at her in the way she worked the cloth between her hands over and over. “You weren’t supposed to see it until tonight though, after your birthday dinner.”

An awful, magnificent understanding dawned on him. “Did Vincent help you with this?”

“Yes, I...used to draw and paint a little back home, just as a hobby you know. And when Vincent reminded me it was your birthday soon, I couldn’t think of what to get you.” He watched with keen interest as a blush rose charmingly on her cheeks, spreading nearly to her neck as she went on. “But I know you love art, and you love King…so I thought maybe you’d forgive bad art if it was a subject you liked so much.”

"This is what you’ve been doing in his room the past few weeks?" A breathless sort of anticipation made itself at home, in the confines of his chest, as he asked the question he hoped he already knew the answer to.

She nodded, opening her mouth as if to say something, but closed it again.

"So you and Vincent aren't lovers."

"What?" She squeaked, her eyes flown wide with dismay. "No! Vincent and I? Why would I...I mean I can see why…" She trailed off, then found her footing again. "But no. Definitely not. I…"

She fumbled to a halt again, her eyes sliding up to meet his before bouncing away, and he wondered if he was imagining the way her blush shaded from crimson to carmine.

"I see." He took a step closer, watching with amusement as she took a wary, answering one back. More rabbit than pup in this moment. He took pity on her, and turned to look over the painting. "Let's see this closer then."

He made a show of pulling his ever-present magnifying lens from a pocket, bending to examine the work up close. His initial assessment had been right - sloppy strokes, the color muddied in a few places, the perspective just faintly off. And yet…

And yet...the warmth squeezing in his heart whispered what he already knew. It was the best painting he'd ever seen, flaws and all. 

Because it was hers.

Because she'd made it for him.

He straightened, clearing the sentimental knot from his throat. "Your composition could use some work. The shading, too. But…" A smile ghosted across his lips, as he reached out to tousle her hair gently. "It's a good painting. You've got some talent, hondje."

"You like it?" Her mouth rounded into a surprised o, and he had to stifle the urge to shout how much he loved it.

"Yeah. It's not bad, not bad at all." He smirked at her. "Although King elevates any scene, right? And you clearly have a good teacher."

“The best,” she agreed. 

His hand was still atop her head, fingers snared in the soft strands of her hair as he looked down at her. Suddenly and acutely aware of the small space between them and the upturned tilt of her face - her pretty mouth just begging to be sampled.

It was his birthday. Maybe he would be forgiven for wanting to give himself one gift.

“I like it. A lot.” He murmured, and that fetching blush rose on her cheeks again. “But I can think of something else I’d like for my birthday too.”

“You can?” She frowned, her lips pursing adorable. “What?”

And that little moue was all the impetus he needed to lean down and cover her lips with his, swallowing down her small sound of surprise. His arms coming around her body as she stiffened, only to feel her melting against him moments later.

“Happy Birthday, Theo,” she managed, when he’d drawn back to take a breath. Her fingers still clutching at his sleeves and her eyes alight with something he flattered himself was happiness. 

“Yeah.” He didn’t bother trying to smother his grin, just before ducking down to steal her lips again, stoking the slow blaze of a fire he knew would take all night - if not a lifetime - to burn itself out. “Yeah. It is now, isn’t it?”

~~~~~~

Thank you once again to @nan-chi​ for being an absolute delight of a person - it was a pleasure and an honor to work with you! <3 I hope you all enjoyed our humble offerings to this sweet man!

[turinn]

Naive

Ray Blackwell x M!Reader

Summary: An invitation at a party reveals that Luka had no idea you’re gay, and brings up a concern you hadn’t had before. Tags: Crack, fluff, secret relationship, mention of homophobia, alcohol consumption A/N: This is based on a dream I had where Luka and I had this exact conversation and when I woke up and remembered it I nearly threw up laughing. I did actual research for the girls outfit and hair bc im a fashion history nerd. the pocket watch i just thought was cute. Fenrir calls the reader fruity but its okay bc hes gay too god bless Word Count: 1.5k

The party was the usual affair expected of the Godspeed's, an air of elegance- present but not too overbearing- hanging over the large hall. Music drifted gently to your ears as you took everything in, a small smile settling on your face.

You couldn't help but feel a little underdressed. The officers had, of course, kept their uniforms on, but everyone else present was dressed to the nines. You'd thought the suit you wore was lovely when you and Seth had seen it last week, dark blue with a white trim, paired with a pale cyan tie and pocket square. The gold watch that settled comfortably in your pocket had been a gift from Blanc, supposedly made by Oliver to look similar to his own, to commemorate your decision to stay in Cradle. Compared to everyone else, it felt rather simple now, but you pushed the thought aside. Nobody was judging what you were wearing, they were here to enjoy themselves same as you.

"Would you like a drink?" Ray asked, voice soft enough not to startle you too much. This wasn't too effective, as you'd gotten lost in your thoughts, and sort of forgotten there were people around you, but it was kind of him to try. "Oh, yes, please." You smiled at him and a moment later he'd walked off, talking to Sirius about something, leaving you alone with Luka. Fenrir had disappeared to greet his family when you'd first arrived, and Seth was who knows where, but you didn't mind it being just the two of you. Luka rarely came to these, in fact this was the first he'd been to since you'd arrived in Cradle, despite it being your fifth, and you decided someone should stick with him so he didn't feel quite as nervous.

As you turned to say something to him, you noticed a lady making her way over to the both of you, looking rather flustered. Her fists were clenched at her sides, and she seemed to be muttering something to herself, but it was clear she had intent to speak to one of you. Perhaps she wanted to talk to Luka? He was cute, it wouldn't surprise you. What did surprise you, however, was when she walked up to you instead.

"Um, excuse me if this is far too forward, but... would you be interested in dancing with me?" She sounded so nervous, and you almost wanted to say yes. Any other man would have been lucky to get such an invitation- she looked stunning. She wore her hair in curls, gathered at the back of her neck, with a hairpiece of pale blue flowers was pinned at the front, a necklace donning the same type of flower hanging just above the neckline of her gown. The gown in question matched the colour of the flowers well, though the width of the crinoline supported skirt would have made you concerned about the logistics of dancing with her- if you'd had any intention of saying yes. Her cheeks were tinted pink as she chewed her bottom lip and waited for your answer, avoiding your gaze. A hand on your chest and a sincerely apologetic look on your face, you began to respond. "Oh dear. I'm terribly sorry, but you seem to have gotten the wrong end of the stick. You're a very attractive young lady but I'm afraid... how should I put this," You glanced at Luka for help, but he seemed to have no idea what you were trying to tell her, "I'm afraid I don't tend to set my eye on the ladies, so to speak." "You're... gay?" A sympathetic nod. "That's the ticket. Sorry, love." "Oh, it's not a problem! I'm really sorry to have bothered you!" She suddenly looked much less nervous, though a little embarrassed, and scurried off. You sighed. "I feel a little bad. I really hope she finds someone to dance with." Luka looked at you quizzically. "Why did you lie to her?" A confused laugh escaped you. "I'm sorry?" "You told her you were into guys. Why lie?" As he said this, Seth and Fenrir came up behind him, and hearing his question their eyebrows shot up. So did yours. Was he kidding? "Luka, sweetie, you have got to tell me what part of my personality made you think I was heterosexual, so I can set about changing it immediately." Seth choked on his drink, and though you flashed him a grin, you weren't entirely kidding. Going from Victorian London to a world where being gay was perfectly acceptable had been quite the change, but you'd been certain all of your friends had known. It's not like you were quiet about it, and sure, Luka was naive but... come on, now. "Wait are you... you were being honest?" "Yes?" "Luka," Fenrir began, stepping next to you and resting an elbow on your shoulder, "How have you seriously not noticed that he's gay yet?" "Well- there was no reason for me to assume!" "You watched me drunk make out with at least 2 different Black Army soldiers in my first month here!" Luka looked flustered, and utterly dumbfounded. The expression was one he wore often, usually when people insinuated that someone was in love- but somehow about five times more confused. He was unfortunate enough that Ray and Sirius returned at this moment, just in time to hear both your last remark, and his next one.

"I thought that was just something you did when you were drunk?" In another moment you were on your knees, legs shaking so much from laughter that you couldn't hold yourself up any longer. Fenrir was right there beside you, practically convulsing. Everyone else was laughing too- except poor Luka. You felt a little bad, truly you did, but this had to be the funniest thing you had ever heard. "He's completely straight, but watch out! Get a couple drinks in him and he turns fruity!" Fenrir managed to get out between cackles, and Ray was glad to have put your drinks down when Luka had last spoken, because he too nearly fell to the ground at this.

"Luka- Luka I'm sorry." You pulled yourself to your feet, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "We aren't laughing at you." Another fit of giggles overcame you. "Okay we kind of are, but it's not malicious or anything. That was just... hands down the funniest thing you've ever said." It took most of you 5 or so minutes to fully calm down from what he'd said, and anything that jogged your memories of it would bring you back to a state of uncontrollable laughter for the rest of the night. Luka came round to it being pretty funny after you talked him through the dozens of times you'd mentioned your sexuality to him since you'd met- every one of which had gone over his head.

Hours after the party had worn down and you'd all made your way home, you lay in bed, your head pressed against a familiar chest, and sighed. "What's up?" "I just... D'you think anyone else just hasn't realised?" Ray cocked his head, confused. "I'm gonna need a little more info than that, kitten." "I suppose I just... Back in London, it's not even legal to be gay, and I don't know if it ever will be. When I first came out to Fen, he told me that it was fine here, accepted and even celebrated. So, I guess I just thought that people wouldn't make the automatic assumption that I'm straight, y'know? I mean I talk about it a lot among you guys but- when I’m out and about... where do people think my final destination is? When I pick up a silly cat themed gift for you does the shopkeep think I’m buying it for my wife? It shouldn't be a big deal, I guess, but I'd never been able to be myself until I came here, and now it's like I can be me but... people will still only see who I am if I tell them. It's just weird is all. I dunno. Maybe I'm drunk." "You're not drunk. It's an understandable concern. I guess I've never thought about it, because whether or not people would accept that part of me has never been an issue, but the fact that you've had to hide it for so long and now that you're able to be open people still aren't seeing it must be hard. If you want we could... come out, so to speak?" Your eyebrows raised, and you moved back, propping yourself up on your arm so you could look your partner in the eyes.

It had been decided at the very start of your relationship, which had officially begun a few months after you'd made the choice to stay in Cradle, that the two of you would keep it under wraps for a while. Being from the Land of Reason was more than enough reason for people to take an unwanted interest in you, and you didn't need the extra attention being the King of Spades' partner would garner. Plus, anyone with a grudge against Ray would see you as a target the second you announced it. It had been a sensible suggestion on his part, one you hadn't hesitated to agree to, and as far as you knew only Sirius and Fenrir knew about your relationship. Fenrir because he had walked in on you sitting in Ray's lap while he worked late one night, and Sirius because- well, can anything get past that guy? And now, Ray was offering to tell the entirety of Cradle you were his, just so that you didn't feel like you were hiding your identity anymore? You could feel your eyes starting to burn, and you cursed the late hour and the alcohol in your system for making you cry so easily, but... "I don't think we need to be that drastic. You were right when you said it would keep me safe for us to not be in the public eye, at least for now. I'm sure Seth can come up with some better way for me to tell the whole world I'm gay." "I don't doubt that at all." Ray grinned, placing a gentle kiss on first your forehead, then your nose, and finally on your lips. "Tomorrow, though. You need your beauty sleep." "Ah, yeah, can't risk getting ugly. My boyfriend might not want me anymore." You quipped. "Exactly." He smirked at you, turning out the light and pulling you into his arms.