#his stupid white heels on his boots that i always forget.

[heartorbit]

a shrimple siffrin as well

[sukirichi]

sweet angel

With a heart of gold, sweet lips, and white lace all over your body — he’s pretty sure you’re his sweet angel.

REQUEST. lingerie under his white button up shirt for gojo + somnophilia + established relationship + oblivious reader

CONTENT/WARNINGS. smut, somnophilia, mentions of insecurity, very slight angst, creampie, cockwarming, body marking, UNEDITED

NOTES. I haven’t written Gojo for a while but I sure do missed it! We’re gonna have more Gojo content this week too! if i finish my wips anyway lmao

next

The clock blinks back a painful three am to you, the time way past what Gojo’s promised. You don’t stop the sigh leaving your cherry red lips as you stare at the mirror, jaw clenching at the sight. Today’s supposed to be your second anniversary with Gojo, and instead of spending it on a skyscraper dinner like last year’s, you both insisted on staying at home for a more romantic date instead.

Him being the strongest sorcerer, it’s only a given that he’ll be busy, even to this day. He’s unable to take a day off, but he promised to come home on time.

The dinner’s gone cold, the candles melted and aroma of roses sticking hard to the walls. You’re wearing his favourite black dress paired with ankle boots, wrists clinking from the bangles and makeup done to perfection. Today’s supposed to be simple, quiet, and romantic – especially with your surprise for him – but he’s still not home.

Washing your face in the sink and covering the dishes, you blow out the candles, heading back to your shared room to call it a day. You swipe your dress with Gojo’s white button, wanting to feel that he’s still with you even with just his scent.

A blaring red that reads three forty-five is the last thing you see as you burrow deep into the covers, trying your best to ignore the panging in your heart.

He promised he’d be home soon.

“Honey! I’m ho—” Gojo blinks at the darkness of your penthouse, hands patting the walls before flicking on the lights. He’s not surprised to see that it’s neat as usual, but then his gaze lands on the dining table, and that’s when he realizes he’s fucked up.

The candles are already melted halfway, one wine glass still and the other already washed in the sink. You must’ve taken a few sips as you waited for him; an image he can imagine already. He’s admired you long before dating you that Gojo’s used to your habits, like how you’d rotate the drink in your glass three times before you drink, tongue darting out to taste the wine mixing in with your lips.

He knows all this, mostly because it always drives him crazy when you do that, and he’s lost count of the times he’s pushed you up against the counter, shoving his tongue between your lips to find out what it is about wine and flavoured lipsticks you liked so much.

It’s a little hellish to him the more he thinks about it, even more so because you’re completely unaware of your effect on him.

But he’s not the only one, since no matter how perceptive Gojo could be, he’s scatterbrained more often than he likes to admit. And of fucking course he forgot tonight was your anniversary. He never set dates on his calendars, waving his hand and confidently stating he had an ultra memory and didn’t need reminders.

Well, now that ultra memory is reminding him of the last time he’s forgot to attend your work event, a time you needed him more than anything else, and you didn’t talk to him for a week straight.

He wishes you would shout at him, push or shove him even, call him names and tell him he’s horrible, but you’ve always been a sweet, little thing – you’re timid even in your frustration. You never glared at him, never scolded him, and it’s even more terrifying because you’re still so sweet to him – preparing him meals, giving him a kiss before he leaves for work – but Gojo isn’t entirely dumb. He notices how you turn away from him in your sleep, your arms that would usually be wrapped around his torso now hugging yourself in an attempt to make yourself small and invisible.

That’s how you felt every time Gojo doesn’t keep to his word.

Unseen. Unloved. Unheard. Unimportant. He’s no mind reader, but it’d be pushing it if he can’t even turn to your thoughts like that.

And even in your slumber, it’s written all over your face, evident in the way tears are staining your cheeks under the sheets. Gojo sighs upon seeing your crumpled form on the bed, your dress hanging neatly from the closet and your heels placed beneath it. He crouches down in front of the shoe, his hands crumpled into fists. This wasn’t just any shoe – it’s the one he made you get during that time you were debating whether you could pull it off, but he encouraged you that you looked gorgeous in anything. Despite having bought it a long time ago, you never wore it, only on this day because you trust your comfort and safety around him; one he’s so effortlessly crushed.

Gojo quickly changes into his pyjamas not long afterwards, sliding himself next to your body in slow, careful movements to not wake you up. Aside from a slight stir, you remain deep asleep, the frown permanent and deep on your face.

It breaks his heart to see you like this, especially because he knows he’s the one who caused it.

Gojo runs his hand across the apple of your cheeks, caressing your precious face on his palm before leaning forward to kiss your head. You smell amazing too, and yet, you’re uncomfortable with whatever’s playing in your head. He could take a good guess and assume it’s him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your skin, sliding his arm over your body to pull you close to him. “I didn’t mean to forget, I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

He knows he should apologize when you’re awake, but he wants to say it now before his guilt eats up at him. Gojo’s eyes flutter close when his hands come into contact with something...lacey, and he pauses, lifting the sheets to inspect the material. He doesn’t really know what he’s expecting, but his breath stutters anyway, his aquamarine eyes zeroed in on his shirt draped over your form, the top three buttons left open and you’re not wearing shorts.

Gojo curses under his breath. His reaction is immediate; blood rushing to his groin and legs nudging yours apart. He doesn’t bother hiding under the sheets not anymore as he runs his hand over your body, his touch suddenly so cold in contrast to your warmth.

He’s fucked you a lot of times in different places and angles, so he shouldn’t be so nervous, yet he is, and his hands are fucking shaking.

His head snaps to your one more time, revelling in the way you open your legs just as he pries them apart. Even in your sleep, you’re still so trusting, so wanting – so perfect for him. Gojo situates himself between your thighs as he unbuttons your shirt one by one, his teeth clenched so hard it wouldn’t be anything surprising if he actually cracked his jaw.

You’re nothing short of looking like an angel; the thigh straps squeezing the flesh of your thighs and exuding such heavenly beauty he’s stunned.

You let out a sigh at his erection rubbing you through his boxers, completely unaware that Gojo’s fallen back on his thighs, eyes wide at the white lingerie set clad in your body. He licks at his lips, debating which land he should trudge on first.

The thigh straps he wants to rip with his fingers, the white lace panty that’s already nearly transparent with your arousal, or the frilly cups holding your breasts in place?

This is the first time Gojo’s gotten close to losing his mind, and lose his mind he did. Thoughts of making it up to you flies out the window, his emotions running turbulent with anger and regret in place. If he’d just gotten home, if he’d just killed the curses faster, he could’ve kissed you and heard you beg for him in your awakened state; he’d have the pleasure of seeing you squirm under him while he rips this pretty set apart.

His dick throbs harder at the fact you wore this for him, but you must’ve been so tired and sad to wear proper pyjamas. Should he be thankful? Angry at himself for making you feel this way?

He doesn’t fucking now, his mind is nothing but a mess as he sucks a wet spot into the juncture of your neck, large hands groping your breast. You mewl a little at the contact, neck arching to the side while you sigh, that slight dip in your brow a telltale you must be still in a sleepy daze.

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters through pants as he cups your mound, only to be met with such astounding wetness. You look so innocent right now in comparison to your soft moans that it ruins him. You’re a good girl, such a sweet lover for him that you’re always letting him take in charge under the trust he’ll make you feel good. This trust is extended even in your wildest dreams, but you don’t need to worry about that. He’ll soon make it a reality.

Gojo is too needy that he doesn’t bother pulling your thong off anymore, pulling it to the side with two fingers before his thumb flicks at your clit. He’s rewarded with a sharp inhale, cheeks planted to the pillows and you look so pretty, so hauntingly oblivious that the only thing able to pull the strongest sorcerer limb by limb apart is through your needy wet cunt.

He aligns himself with your entrance, groaning when his tip is coated with your slick, the warmth of your pussy radiating off of him. It’s fucking stupid that Gojo shivers, and he knows it’s pathetic because he chuckles, lifting both your legs up before he hugs them to his chest.

You’re so wet that Gojo no longer finds the need to prepare you, his eyes falling down to where your bodies connect, breath taken away at how your lips eagerly spread apart to take him in. He’s a little too big for your tiny, sweet pussy that your lips pinch into a flat line, chest rasping up and down.

He wants to apologize, wants to caress your face and look you in the eyes as usual to tell you that you’re doing good, just breathe and the pain will be gone soon.

The situation deprives him of that privilege, so he’s left with no choice but to kiss your ankles affectionately before thrusting all the way in. A loud moan echoes around the room the moment he’s seated in, dick throbbing inside your heated pussy that’s so tight it’s nearly suffocating.

“Oh, my baby,” he thrusts in slowly, not wanting to completely wake you up despite the fact you’re unconsciously grabbing the sheets already. “My sweet, pretty angel – I’m so sorry daddy couldn’t fuck you tonight but look at you, you’re so wet,” he bites your calf at the last word to muffle his groans, the tight sucking in of your pussy to his length making his cock throb. “Did you touch yourself when I was gone, hm? You must be so unsatisfied, but I’m here now, I’ll take care of you.”

Gojo’s unable to keep his promise to you before, but he’ll definitely keep this promise now. He leaves little love marks at your skin, reaching forward to tug the cups of your bra down. He’s rewarded with the intoxicating luxury of watching your breasts bounce at his pace, your nipples the only thing stopping the material from completely falling.

You mewl at the pleasure he’s giving you, the constant friction of your hardened buds against the cups must be so heavenly by now, and you’re tightening around him, walls clamped down over his dick that Gojo never wants to let go.

He thrusts harder this time in response to your greedy sucking, his tip kissing your cervix. You throw your head back deeper into the pillows, hands patting every spot beside you. He knows that look all too well – mouth falling open, eyes shut tight, brows pinched together and that angelic little pant – it’s the face you always wear when you’re about to cum and Gojo wants to make it up to you, pushing your legs to the side before heaving his weight forward.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, “Coming already?”

The sudden stretch in your body only has your walls sucking him harder, his hips stuttering in its pace. Gojo kisses you flat on the lips as his hands thread to yours, squeezing it momentarily just as pleasure washes over him too. You come first, the spasms of your cunt similar to that one time you’ve accidentally gripped him too hard in your hand that Gojo’s cum suddenly landed on your eye. It’s tight, too fucking tight, that Gojo actually loses the ability to breathe.

His hips snap harder, dick driving deeper into your hole that’s already leaking out with cum. Your precious lingerie set is ruined, guaranteed to get him another pout that Gojo shakes his head, gripping hard at your hips while he chases his own high.

“I’ll get you another one, angel, I’ll buy you – fuck! – all the sets you need if it means dressing pretty for me like this,” he stutters in one breath, mouth latching around your nipple. He tugs at it in his need to reach his breaking point, no longer caring that you’ll wake up anytime soon, not when he’s so close and the squelching of your pussy sounds like heavenly music to his ears. Gojo thrusts in one last time hard enough that his balls make a loud slapping sound against your ass, but he doesn’t slide out, keeping himself right deep into your cunt in his orgasm.

Breathing heavily, Gojo falls on top of you, thankfully still strong enough to not crush you with his weight. He’s leaving fluttering kisses all over your face, your sweat slicking his skin.

He wants to pull out from the sensitivity, but you feel so warm and comfortable that Gojo plops down to the side, hugging your back and kissing your shoulder with panted breaths. You’re still recovering from the tremors of your orgasm that’s most likely still a dream to you, body trembling in his arms. Gojo does you a favour by throwing your bra to the side, his hands acting as a replacement for the missing piece.

He sighs onto your neck, barely managing to properly cover the both of your bodies in his exhaustion after a long day. He holds you close and tight in his arms, an I love you merely audible from his lips, followed by a regretful I’m sorry.

Gojo dreads tomorrow morning, in all honesty. There’s no easy way to explain that he “simply forgot” after all your efforts, his heart already darkening with the fear of seeing you pull away like you did the last time. His eyes droop down as he makes a mental note to just do whatever he can, but you’re stirring in his arms, lips puckered at the edge of his jaw.

“Satoru,” you whisper, hands tracing patterns on his chest. “You’re home. I’m glad.”

Soft snores follow after that, but Satoru is wide awake just as you’ve fallen asleep once more. He’s left speechless, and he doesn’t hold back in hugging you closer to his chest as a silent promise of never leaving you alone again. Even now, you’re still such a sweet angel, and how lucky is he to find someone like that?

[dilemmaontwolegs]

ThunderClap | w.w

Platonic!Wade Wilson x plus size!fem!reader

Summary: You are Wade's roommate and also a superhero. When shit goes down you step in to save the day. Pretty much a crack!fic from a dream I had. Warnings: 18+ only, canon-typical swearing, violence, blood. WC: 626

“Oh shit, you are so fucked now you cock sucking motherfucker.”

“Wade, language!” Colossus tried unsuccessfully once again to get Wade to remember that they were in a public area. “There are children here.”

“Relax, tin man.” Wade turned his head away from the group of bystanders. “Well that seems stupid, this is an action sequence. What sort of irresponsible parents would let their child watch this senseless violence? Oh, oh, here she is!”

Wade pointed your way as you stepped out of the jeep you had stolen to race across town and started to laugh maniacally. Your thigh high boots with a stiletto heel clicked along the pavement with every step and you ignored the heat warming your bare thighs as they chaffed together with every step.

“What’s up, Wade?” You nodded as he fangirled over your appearance.

“Oh god, she spoke to me.” He panted. “I just wanted to say, you are so much better than all these superhero assholes combined! And you know how much I love anal.”

“I think everyone knows that.” You chuckled and turned to the bad guy who had escaped prison once again. “So who’s the giant metal dildo?”

“That's Colossus, you’ve met before.” Wade laughed before turning to face the real enemy. “Helmet head? That’s The Juggernaut Bitch.”

“It’s just Juggernaut.” The man growled.

“No, uh-uh, I watched some old footage of you and you definitely said ‘I’m the Juggernaut Bitch’. See?”

“Uh Wade, I think there was meant to be a comma in there.” You whispered to him as he gasped.

“He called Kitty a bitch! Make him pay, ThunderClap.”

You rolled your neck as you warmed up and stood balanced with your legs together, gathering the energy for the explosion you were about to create. Static electricity filled the air and bystanders' hair began to frizz around their head as you separated your knees and made as much space between your thighs as possible. Wade dropped to his knees beside you, watching with excitement as you legs parted to their full width, your biker shorts riding dangerously high.

“It’s more beautiful than I could ever imagine.” He whispered as he held himself back from touching the bare skin.

You didn’t bother warning him before you slammed your legs shut, he would be able to heal his blown eardrums anyway. The slap of skin sent waves rippling along your thighs and the energy you had gathered was released with a sonic boom. You could see the dust in the air part as the concentrated force blew away everything in its path towards the Juggernaut.

The energy wave hit him full force and shattered the metal helmet he wore before throwing him like a ragdoll into a concrete bollard. Cheers erupted as he was crushed into the solid block and he lay a broken mess and unmoving. Your stomach rolled at the spray of blood that had splattered across the white concrete like a Jackson Pollock painting and you turned away as Wade wrapped his arms around your thighs.

“I really need to carry a spare suit, I just creamed this one.” He stated as he looked up at you.

“That’s a new low for you.” You grimaced as you tried to shake him off. “Get off me, Wilson.”

“Leave the lady be, Wade.” Colossus said as he grabbed him by the scruff and easily tore him away before holding his hand out to you. “Thank you, you should consider joining x-force with us.”

You looked between Wade and Colossus before shaking your head. “No thanks, I see enough of that asshole at home, I could not work with him too.”

“She really does, I forget she’s not like Blind Al. I always have my asshole hanging out.”

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

closeted | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook doesn't like you and you don't like him. Your friends and his friends decide enough is enough and they lock you in a closet together to settle your differences. Mhm.

warnings: language; implied slut-shaming; alcohol consumption; fuckboy?Jungkook x (technically noona) fuckgirl?reader, ft all other BTS members being... helpful? lol; enemies-to-lovers

–

“Jeon Jungkook? I don’t really have any thoughts about him. Isn’t he kind of a fuckboy?”

“Oh, her? Ah, there’s nothing to say really. Doesn’t she like to mess around?”

Those were your opinions about each other, which was now why both you and Jeon Jungkook were stuck in a closet in Kim Taehyung’s parents’ house.

“Taehyung, let us out right now!”

“Not until you two stop hating each other!” announced the booming, baritone voice of Kim Taehyung on the other side of the door, slightly tipsy and yelling over the loud music.

“We don’t hate each other,” came the silvery growl behind you. Jungkook shoved you slightly to the side so he could slam his fist against the heavy wood. You scowled, jerking away from his touch. “Stop being stupid and open the door.” His short ponytail at the back of his head swayed as he tried to shoulder the door, only for you to hear more bodies press against it.

“Nuh uh, Jungkookie,” Park Jimin snickered, sounding drunker than Taehyung even though the two of them had probably consumed the same amount. “Can’t muscle pig your way outta this one.”

Taehyung and Jimin burst into giggles on the other side of the door as Jungkook fumed next to you, long black bangs flaring as he clicked his tongue and rolled the sleeves of his black sweatshirt up, eyes narrowed, jaw tense.

You threw up your hands as Jungkook backed up and ran into the door with a loud thunk!

Nothing except Jimin, Taehyung, and squeaky laughter adding to the mix.

“We don’t even talk to each other,” you muttered as Jungkook shook his head vigorously and prepared to rear up again like a stubborn horse.

“And that’s the problem!” Kim Seokjin tittered in between bursts of laughter. “We’re all friends, except the two of you that like to pretend the other one is a fucking tree rather than an actual person.”

Jungkook collided with the door again and the single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling flickered ominously.

“Who cares?” Jungkook roared, throwing his head back and pushing his hair away from his face with two hands. You rolled your eyes as he smacked the closet door.

“We do,” said a fourth, trying to be the voice of slurred reason. “In order for our shared friend group to have harmony, we two should work out your differences in a civil, dignified manner and discuss the root of your negative relationship.” You made a face and glanced at Jungkook, who made a similar confused expression. How much did Kim Namjoon drink? He sounded like a drunk philosopher.

“Locked in a closet is not civil, Namjoon,” you pointed out.

“Yeah, but it’s funnier,” Jung Hoseok laughed cheerfully, knocking on the door. “You two good in there? Not ripping off each other’s heads yet?”

“We don’t hate each other,” Jungkook repeated, giving up on fighting the door now that five people were holding it down. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“What’s the reason then?”

“Huh?” you shouted through the door. Jungkook rolled his eyes at you and you rolled your eyes back.

“What is,” Taehyung repeated, slower this time, emphasizing each syllable. “The reason that you guys are so hostile towards each other?”

“Did he eat some snacks you hid one time?” Seokjin piped up. “Because that would piss me off too.”

“That already pisses you off, hyung,” Jimin cut in. “You always bring it up.”

“Because he does it all the time! No matter where I hide them!”

“Your hiding places a pretty bad, hyung.”

“Namjoon! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“Eh?”

“The side of reason and being right!”

“Hah…”

Jungkook clicked his tongue again and shoved his hands into his loose cotton pants. They were black and white striped and looked more like pajamas than actual pants. He hadn’t even bothered to get dressed to hang out with his friends. What a weirdo. You sighed, looking away, staring at the wall instead. Why look at Jeon Jungkook? Everyone looked at Jeon Jungkook. You didn’t need to add to that ego.

“Hey.”

“What?”

“Why are you wearing hyung’s shirt?”

You glared at him from your periphery. He was leaning against the wall, hunched over, glaring back.

“First of all, this is my shirt,” you snapped. “Second of all, they’re all your hyungs. Be more specific. And third of all, Yoongi only borrowed it because he said he was cold and this was one of the few things that fit him.”

Jungkook shoved his tongue into his cheek, looking at your black-on-black long-sleeved shirt with a moon tarot card design. He narrowed his dark eyes, giving you a piercing stare. You ran a hand through your hair, cocking your head away from him haughtily.

“Yeah, but you knew which hyung I was talking about.”

“Because only one of them has borrowed this shirt, idiot.”

“That’s not very nice,” Hoseok chided from the other side of the door. “No name calling in there!”

“You’re not very nice,” you retorted at the door, suddenly remembering that they were out there listening. In fact, one of the loons had turned down the music so the five of them could hear the exchange better. Mature of them.

“Why don’t you two say something you like about the other?” Namjoon suggested. “Compliments might help lessen the tension.”

Your eyes shifted to Jungkook’s clenched jaw, a vein popping on his neck. Yeah, okay. He noticed you looking and you jerked your head away, staring at the wall again.

“This is stupid. Why do we have to do this?” you complained.

“You look pretty good from the back.”

You flinched, irritation rising. Did he just–?

“For an older lady, that is.”

A muscle in your eye twitched. “Yeah, well, every guy says I look good from the rear view.”

“That’s not a compliment, Jungkook,” a deep, raspy voice from the bottom of the door.

Jungkook lifted himself off the wall, making a noise of surprise. “Yoongi-hyung? How long have you been there?”

“The whole time,” Jimin giggled. “He’s been pretending to be asleep.”

“I can’t sleep anyway,” Min Yoongi grumbled. “You guys are loud as fuck.”

“Nah, you just wanted to listen to the shitshow of these two,” Taehyung teased. There was the sound of a hand smacking of a shoulder and a disgruntled grunt at the bottom of the door.

Seokjin called your name loudly. “Yah! You haven’t said anything, backhanded or not!”

You grimaced and glanced at Jungkook again. He still looked surprised and, for a single second, you thought he looked pretty cute with his big round dark brown eyes and parted pink lips in an ‘o’. For a single second, he didn’t seem like that ‘hot guy’ that literally everyone, not just women, but men too, everyone was head-over-heels in love with, Jeon Jungkook, ‘hot guy’ with tattoos and a handsome face.

Blech.

You shifted your eyes away and stared at the corner. “I guess you might not have only one brain cell. Maybe you have two or three.”

“Ooh, nice, that’s a great one,” Jimin agreed behind the door. “Three is being generous, noona, well done.”

“Shut up, Jimin-ssi.”

Ugh, this shit was so dumb. And what kind of closet was this anyway? It was full of coats. A lot of them were more neutral colors, but there was the occasional muted jewel tone. Why did Taehyung’s family need this many coats and why was this closet on the upper floor? Some of them were neatly tucked in clear plastic covers. Oh. Probably to prevent them from getting moth holes, huh.

“Why do you hate me, anyway?” Jungkook muttered. “I’ve never done anything to you.”

“I don’t hate you. I just don’t like you,” you huffed.

“Why not? What did I do?” he sighed, reaching over and placing his hand on your shoulder.

You whipped your head around, narrowing your eyes. “Don’t touch me.”

He removed his hand, backing up with his hands in the air. “Whoa, okay, jeez. It’s just kind of hard to talk to you when your back is to me.”

“Hmph, why? Precious Jungkookie wants attention? Wants everyone to dote over him and love him?” you mocked in disgust, crossing your arms.

He twisted his lips. “… distracting, that’s all,” he mumbled.

“Hah?” You leaned forward, raising an eyebrow. “You forget how to talk?”

Jungkook looked away from you, frowning. “Sometimes, yeah. You’re kind of pretty.”

You blinked at him. What? You didn’t expect him to say that.

“In some lights, anyway.” He pointed up. “This one is pretty dim, like you.”

That was more like it. “Takes one to know one.”

His eyes shifted back to you. “What? A pretty person to spot pretty?”

You growled and scoffed, rolling your eyes. “See, this is why I can’t talk to you. You’re so full of yourself. All you ever do is think about is showing off how much better you are. How cool you are.”

“That’s because that’s all they ever talk about.”

You paused at his downcast tone. Your eyes drifted from the wall to his face. Jungkook wasn’t looking at you. His eyes were on the ground and he was rubbing the back of his head, frowning.

“I envy the way others talk about me. They always have such a perfect image pictured.” He inhaled deeply, slumping against the wall again. “It’s hard to live up to the picture everyone has of me in their head. Sometimes I don’t even want to try anymore so they give up and leave me alone.”

What?

His dark eyes shifted to you, half-shrouded by his long dark hair, tan skin glowing even in this dim closet light.

“I envy you,” he snapped, irritated edge to his voice. “I know you hear all that crazy shit they say about you, but you do whatever you want anyway. People call you a slut and you just invite all the hyungs over to your place and watch movies all night. People say you dress weird and you show up in big fur coats and wacky t-shirts and knee-high boots. People say you don’t know what you’re doing, but you can calculate your change faster than the cashier with the fucking computer.”

You gawked at him; jaw slightly slack. It took you a second to collect yourself. “It’s… not that hard. It’s basic math.”

“Hmph, yeah, well, I suck at math,” Jungkook muttered. “I’m not smart like Namjoon-hyung.”

“You’re good at a lot of things, Jungkook.”

“Like what?” he accused, putting you on the spot.

“Uh… you can draw. Namjoon draws like a five-year-old.”

Jungkook snorted. “Taehyung can draw.”

You raised an eyebrow. Honorifics, where? “Not realistically like you can. It’s a different style. Weirder.”

“I’m not weird,” Taehyung said through the door, voice half-muffled.

“Yeah, you are,” Jungkook replied without looking away from you.

“You’re kind of like an alien. In a good way,” Jimin added hastily.

“You’re kind of like an idiot,” Taehyung shot back.

Slapping sounds ensued outside the door.

Jungkook scratched his head, messing up his black hair. “I’m just saying I wish I was a little more like you sometimes.” He coughed. “Only sometimes.”

You ran a hand through your hair. “Well, I kind of wish I was like you sometimes,” you admitted, looking away from him. “I wish people would say nice things about me like they do for you. I wish people would praise me without reason. I wish people would fall in love with me like how they fall in love with you, without even knowing you.” You scoffed bitterly, flicking a hand carelessly. “Instead, they just play pretend and mess with my feelings because they think I’m easy.”

You left out a heavy sigh, weight off your chest. You hadn’t meant to say all that, but oh well. It was out there now.

So dumb.

“Then, when they find out I’m not, it’s my fault for some stupid reason. Like it’s my fault you painted this fake picture of me in your head.”

You felt something touch your outstretched hand. You jumped, seeing Jungkook’s right hand touching your fingertips, hand ink standing out against his flexed fingers. You almost pulled back. Almost. Then you caught the look in his eyes and stopped, mesmerized by the seriousness in his dark brown orbs.

“I meant it when I said you were pretty,” he whispered, barely audible.

Your eyes widened.

Your pulse raced through your veins.

“You… you said only in some lights,” you whispered back.

Jungkook lifted himself off the wall. One step. Two steps, towards you. You could have backed up. You could have slapped his hand away and yelled at Taehyung some more to let you out. Men were stupid. They ain’t shit. They play with your feelings and only want to use you. Dudes are just fuckboys.

Except Jungkook confirmed he wasn’t, just now.

And you confirmed you weren’t the female equivalent of a fuckboy – a fuckgirl?

For some reason, that made this different now.

This moment.

Jungkook looked down at you, tilting his head, brown eyes curious. You spread your fingers a little more and laced them with his, pressing your fingertips against the back of his hand as he pressed his against yours. You tilted your head the other way as he leaned down.

“I said you’re pretty in some lights,” he breathed. “You’re beautiful in all of them.”

He stopped just above your lips.

Pausing.

You lifted yourself up to close the gap, holding his hand tightly.

Mouth to mouth, resuscitating something that was almost dead because of misunderstandings and surface judgements, whispers and rumors clouding the truth, because everybody talks, everybody talks, everybody talks… too much.

For some reason, you expected Jungkook to smell musky or woodsy, something manly, but, in actuality, his cologne was light and sweet, barely there, like a fresh summer’s breeze. It was you that smelled more intense, your coffee and cream perfume mixing with his fruity scent, dominating a little, just like how you pressed harder into his soft lips, capturing them, surprised that was pleasant, almost sweet but with a hint of spice, the tip of his tongue teasingly brushing against your lips, and you drew back, narrowing your eyes at him.

He smiled a little, squeezing your hand lightly.

“That was nicer than I thought,” he murmured.

“You’re not that bad yourself,” you muttered, frowning a little at the heat rising in your cheeks.

“You guys still alive in there?” Yoongi asked gruffly from the ground, his voice drifting under the door.

“Did they kill each other? Should we open the door?” Seokjin wondered.

The doorknob began to turn.

Jungkook started and reached for the door.

You jumped and reached for the door.

A thin crack of light appeared.

Your hands intertwined, grabbing the doorknob and yanking it closed before it could fully open, both swiftly locking the door together with a firm click. The doorknob shook, confused noises on the other side of the wood.

Jungkook stared at you, brown eyes wide. “I… I just… thought we were getting somewhere,” he whispered under his breath.

You scratched your cheek with your free hand. “Yeah… we were getting somewhere... with this.”

The doorknob rattled violently.

“Excuse me, you two?” Taehyung shouted through the door. “Why the fuck is the door locked?”

“Uh…” you started.

“It’s jammed,” Jungkook shouted back.

“Nope, it’s definitely locked. I heard it,” Yoongi said from the floor.

“That bastard,” Jungkook hissed quietly, stepping closer to you.

“Why is it locked?” Jimin accused, sounding peeved. “Hmm? You two doing some naughty stuff?”

“Scandalous,” Seokjin and Hoseok gasped in unison.

Jungkook glanced at you and you shrugged, mouthing, maybe? He mouthed back, I thought you weren’t easy. You chuckled, speaking softly to his chin.

“We already spent all that time being hostile to each other.”

“So, you admit to the hostility.”

“Sure, if it helps your delicate baby brain sleep at night.”

His free arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you to his chest, kissing you again, holding your hand tightly, muttering against your lips, you’re kind of annoying, and you muttering back, you’re actually annoying, and him smiling between gentle kisses.

“I have to find the key, fuck, what the hell are they doing in there?”

“Are you sure you wanna know Taehyung?” Yoongi yawned from the ground. “What if you open the door and you’re scarred for life?”

“They were supposed to find common ground, not get handsy!” Taehyung shouted back, bounding away with Jimin’s disapproving sigh following. In the closet, Jungkook let go of your hand, kneading your waist as you wrapped your arms around him, both of your hands on his broad back, moaning softly into his lips as he sighed into yours, the kisses more audible now, hands exploring as Yoongi sat outside the door, clicking his tongue knowingly.

“You’re handsome, huh,” you breathed against his kisses.

“In some lights?” he teased.

You laughed, slipping your hands under his black sweatshirt, running your fingertips on his skin, making him gasp into your kisses.

“Yeah, in some lights.”

Outside the closet, Yoongi and Namjoon sat side by side, Seokjin and Hoseok long gone from secondhand embarrassment. The sounds from the closet were escalating, clothes rustling a little too much for two people who supposedly hated each other. But, as Yoongi and Namjoon discussed calmly, there were plenty of signs that indicated that those weren’t their true feelings.

“If you think about it, they’re a good fit,” Namjoon chuckled, amused as he heard Jungkook yelp. “This whole stuck in the closet thing was more fruitful than I thought.”

Yoongi laughed, raspy and full.

“Why do you think I suggested it?”

--

masterpost

[chiwhorei]

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭

cross-posted to Ao3!

pairing: issei “horse cock” matsukawa x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ mdni

word count: ~4.4k

tags: stripper!issei, stripper!seijoh, roommate!oikawa, tendoukawa (bc @heauxzenji said it an it’s now the only ship in my head) dry humping, lap dance, a little corruption, spitting, public, alcohol and recreational drug consumption (weed and coke), spanking, degradation, hardly edited

a/n: howdy! this is my contribution to the smut pile’s western collab and it is so incredibly late but what the hell else is new. the masterlist for the collab can be found here! @messwriting and myself, in true chaotic duo fashion, built an absolutely depraved multiverse of seijoh strippers: the lawbreakers. lee, i love you so much. this journey we’ve been on the past few months has been chaotic and beautiful, and there’s plenty more to come. 

the multiverse: hanamaki || iwaizumi || kyoutani

hymn: save a horse (ride a cowboy) by big & rich

and all the girls say— save a horse, ride a cowboy

A fog of smoke burns in your eyes. The room around you feels like it could curl in on itself, four walls marked sparsely with dusty furniture, the smell of weed and cash. 

You fix your gaze onto a long, diagonal tear in the leather couch across the must and g-strings, the rip in upholstery is stuffed with wrinkled one dollar bills. 

It feels like observing an exhibit at a museum, or a zoo. Lines of coke, random dustings of pot and discarded swisher tobacco, too many open handles of liquor. Sitting on an end table is a bright pink teddy bear with a cowboy hat on it’s head.

How the fuck did you get here?

***

You shift your weight on either foot, arches aching already. The pair of jeans and top you had planned on wearing tonight were all but ripped off of your body, casual boots thrown down the hallway with sadistic glee and replaced with heels that are taller and a dress much too short.

“Damnit, you’re walking too fast.” Your appointed captor turns around dramatically, stopping in his tracks to watch you catch up. The cigarette pressed into his mouth cards in two fingers and extended towards you as a peace offering. You take the half gone stick and bring it to your lips.

Tendou’s mission was simple, drag his boyfriends roommate and best friend-- possibly kicking and screaming-- out for a night she won’t soon forget. 

“Were those really necessary, Satori?” You point with the remnants of his cigarette and he feigns a kicked-puppy expression, looking down dramatically at his all black outfit contrasting drastically with a flashy pair of brownish-red cowboy boots. 

“I am being a supportive partner. Plus Tooru and I wear the same shoe size.” His hair is bright outlined by the neon sign above the building.

You inhale smoke and nicotine, eying him over once again before continuing. 

“Does it bother you when he’s dancing on all of those horny women?” The cigarette butt falls to the ground, you snuff it out while exhaling remnant smoke from your nose, the bachelorette party walking towards the door in a parade screaming emphasizes your question.

Tendou pulls you close, mouth pressing against your neck to bite against the skin. You jerk away from his embrace, with a feeble push against his chest to match the scoff scratching against your throat. The tall red head above you, currently leaned into the dip on your neck, always has an air of vulgar humor and zero personal space. 

“Watching my pretty little boyfriend grinding on women that would never stand a chance with him,” he pulls away just in time to catch another eye roll before grabbing your wrist to pull you inside, “I think it’s hot as fuck.” 

You stumble behind him, the doorman recognizing your friend immediately and lets the pair of you through tacky saloon doors. You catch a glimpse of the tattered sign standing right next to the entrance. 

Lawbreaker’s Presents: The Guys of the Wild West

The club is drastically warmer than outside, the chill in your barely covered limbs thaws in a mixture of stage lights and body heat.

 You sigh deeply as the sound of country music fills your ears, seemingly in rhythm with the squawking of drunken hens sipping on tall flutes of champagne. Thinking back briefly to when you first signed the lease with Oikawa, you remember he wore glasses and a sweater vest. 

He said he worked as a “fitness instructor.”

“Ah, my two favorite people in the whole world,” Tooru’s ears just have been burning at your recollection, as your roommate appears in front of you in nothing but white spandex shorts and a pair of shiny boots to match, a tray of drinks is placed to the side on an unoccupied table. The white cowboy hat on his head gleamed in the low light of the club, rhinestone star shimmers-- you want to shy away from the bright refraction hitting your eyes.

He looks in his element, completely confident and cocksure as he walks around in only underwear and body oil. 

“Aren’t you glad you came out tonight? I promise, you’re going to have a great time.” Oikawa melts into Tendou’s side, he looks just as content in the current atmosphere. Tendou seems at home in any ecosystem he wanders into.

“The show starts in 15, go get yourself a drink and try to pull the stick out of your ass. I’m going to, uhm, wish Tooru an extra special good luck.” 

“I really didn’t need to know that, thanks. Tooru, break a leg.” You turn around at the sight of the wandering, tattooed hand on it’s journey south on Oikawa’s abdomen and retreat to the bar. You aren’t shocked by the display, not hardly, not with the two of them using almost every surface in your apartment as a debauched playground.

The space around you is emptier than you imagined it would be, but there is still time before the night actually starts. The bartender approaches just as you sit down on one of the wooden stools, every fixture around you is designed to look like an old saloon-- save for the strobing lights and dj booth.

You order something strong and amber, partially to stay in-theme, partially for the nerves settled in your stomach that draft beer wouldn’t be able to curb.

The woman smiles brightly and turns to pour your liquor, leaving you to pick at a cocktail napkin and await your friend’s return.

“You’re Shittykawa’s roommate.” A stranger's voice is deep and bellowing, sounding high above your ear. You swivel in your seat, gaze meeting a tanned chest instead of a set of eyes. Trailing upwards past thick black tattoos and an unavoidable pair of silver nipple rings.

You can feel the muscles in the back of your neck as they strain to meet his chocolate brown stare, he looks amused as you all but gawk at him.

“Yes, uh, I am. And you’re, uhm--” the train of thought you try to hang onto derailed completely by a devastating smile, “one of Tooru’s co-workers?”

If his smile wasn’t enough, his laugh could level the building around you. Your new friend taps the black Stetson against the bar top before putting it back on his head. He gestures broadly to his attire, or lack thereof, with another disarming and smooth chuckle. 

“What gave that one away, darlin’?” You realize how stupid your question sounded, mentally kicking yourself but trying desperately not to show it on your face.

Long, thick legs are wrapped in a pair of leather chaps, the tight fabric hides nothing even if it covers most of his lower half. A matching vest hangs open on his chest, the muscles in his arms look bigger than your head. He seems huge in presence and physique, your own form is a shrinking violet below him.

“Your drink, dear. Double Jack n’ Coke.” The bartender slides a glass towards you, and you accept it with a gracious smile. The distraction is definitely appreciated, any excuse to break the eye contact that has you dissolving like lye.

“Jack n’ Coke, a gal after my own heart.” You choke, a coupling of small coughs break out of your chest. You curse your bodies reaction, you don’t even know--

“You’re name, uh, w-what’s your name.” Casual conversation seems like the best option, because it’s only been two minutes with the almost-naked Casanova and there’s a gnawing feeling that you don’t want him to walk away.

You blame it on the alcohol not yet even running through your veins. 

“Call me anything you want, pretty girl, but my name’s Issei.”

A smile creeps from one end of your mouth to the other. His presence is jarring to say the least, but there’s something about the way his teeth peek out past curled lips that makes you want to lean in instead of away.

Tendou calls your name, effectively pulling you out of Issei’s orbit and reminding you where you are. Heat flushes in waves on your face as Tendou wraps his long arms around your shoulders from behind. Acknowledging your new friend with a pointed, “Howdy partner,” before turning to order his own drink.

“Something sweet please, and strong.” You hear his voice singing to the bartender but still face Issei, having his attention is more intoxicating than whiskey. You want him to talk to you, to ask you questions, to grace you with that smile over again.

You feel the ability to breathe escaping when Issei leans into you impossibly close, his hand enclosing around your back and pulling you in so slightly you could swear you imagined it.

“It was nice to meet you. Make sure I hear ya’ out there, darlin.”

You’re left almost falling from the bar stool, watching as Issei strides toward the back. The way his hips sway is unfair in every--

“Hey,” Tendou’s fingers come up to snap in front of your face, “Didya hear me? Let’s go take our seats.” 

That’s right; you feel like you’ve just run a marathon, heart beating erratically at the briefest interaction, your night hasn’t even started yet. 

You’re dragged directly towards the front of the stage and sat in a small two person table. You agreed to the night out between gritted teeth, hauled to the uber with absolute defiance; but most of your protest has fizzled away-- definitely not due to a pair of deep brown eyes and planes of perfectly tanned skin-- as you get comfortable next to the boisterous bridal party. You can hear their idle, drunken chatter at your back. 

“I heard they call one of the dancers ‘Mad Dog’. Apparently he’s totally feral.”

“One of them is nicknamed the ‘Big Tease’, he really likes the pretty little brides~” 

“Oh yeah? Well there’s one dancer called ‘Horse Cock’. I’m going to go home with him.” 

The women behind you howl with laughter, enjoying their friend’s last night of freedom. The straw in your drink twirls idly, thoughts drifting with each turn of the plastic against your liquor. Surely, Issei had just intended a friendly introduction, he wouldn’t be raking in tips by being unapproachable.

Friendly, you decide, repeating it to yourself until the lights drop and a black curtain is pulled up, he was just being nice. 

* * *

The show starts out mostly how you would expect. Through a few sets, toned, beautiful guys take their clothes off and fling articles at the screaming, panting crowd. The table next to you gets the most attention, bridal parties, you assume, would be the prized cash cow.

Oikawa comes out in the most obnoxious, white and teal outfit and strips into nothing but a thong and boots. Every inch of his skin sparkles, the cause becoming obvious when he jumps down to the audience and swivels his hips and ass right into your lap. Your hand comes up to his hip reflexively to brace yourself-- of course, body glitter.

You watch on at the sweaty writhing of the most beautiful men you have ever seen in real life. The atmosphere around you is absolutely contagious, it’s impossible not to fall into the rhythm, losing inhibitions with every stray piece of fabric as it’s tossed into the sea of women.

Just as you lean over to Tendou to admit that you’re enjoying yourself, the next song blasts loudly from the speakers. The beat vibrates your table, soaking into every nerve, but is almost drowned out completely by the shrieking from every patron around you. They must know what’s coming. 

 Looking back up front, you realize why the crowd is losing their minds. The man that commanded your attention at the bar is even more alluring now. His strut to center stage is deliberate, flashing smiles and winks to no one in particular and hypnotizing every person in his reach.

Issei is stunning in his element, soaking in the reaction with a humble tip of his hat. You could swear, though you’re sure that it’s just your imagination, that he’s looking right at you.

His performance starts out like the rest of them, but each movement of his tattooed hands as they travel over his chest is spellbinding. 

Issei discards his leather vest and tosses it to the side, it feels like you’re watching him in slow motion. He’s gorgeous, skin tanned and tight over thick muscle, arms wrapped in black ink and shining with sweat.

His chaps are next, ripped from his legs just as music behind him picks up. The wedding party next to you so loud you swear the laundromat next door can hear.

 All that’s left is a thong that’s barely covering his cock. You try desperately not to, but all your eyes can focus on is the bulge under a tiny piece of black leather. Your thighs rub together in search of any relief to the feeling growing hot and slick in your stomach.

He moves like liquid platinum, every long, deliberate swivel of his hips and overt palming over his crotch is enough to cause delirium. He soaks in every whistle and shriek of his name, vibrating on the high of squelching attention. 

Issei is a natural. He’s a wild animal, and, along with every other woman there, you wish he would tear you apart with his canines. 

He descends the short staircase with a quick stomp of his boots, now making rounds through the crowd. He stops in front of tables at random, invading the space between strangers and collecting wrinkled one dollar bills.

Why does something so blatantly performative feel voyeurous?

All you can do is gawk, ignoring how every time another woman’s hand runs down his abdomen you heat with envy. As he turns away from the bridal party neighboring you, your blood turns ice cold.

Issei has you, unmistakably, in his sights. His eyes pin you, holding you down tightly in your chair as he struts forward. Tendou whistles loudly as the brunette approaches your table. You wonder, in your last moment of cognizance, if Saroti and Tooru had planned your evening in more detail that you originally thought.

“Long time no see, darlin’,” Issei stands over you, and all you can do is stare dumbly up at him, “do ya trust me?” 

You don’t answer, not with words, not like he would even hear your quiver over Big & Rich booming through the speakers. His question is stupid, to trust someone you just met so vaguely?

You do. Against any better judgement, you do. 

He doesn't give you the chance to ask what he means, stuck in the gooey feeling of his attention. Issei reaches behind you, picking up your half empty glass. He swirls the drink with an almost evil smile before bringing it up to his lips and draining the last bits of whiskey and coke. 

Your face reads confused, not putting his intentions together until you feel his thumb pressed against your chin. Issei’s eyebrow quirks, eyes trained on your reaction. You’re options are to shy away, turning back in your seat, running for escape in the bathroom, or--

The gloss on your mouth is sticky as your lips part in obedience. Issei tries to hide his elation, but it’s difficult to remain aloof as your tongue lulls out and your eyes beg him.

Issei’s hold on your chin tightens, nudging you to lean in so he’s only inches away. Your eyes shut lightly, the shouting surrounding you sounds little more than a whisper with the blood rushing in your ears.

You swear you can hear him groan above you as the sharp taste of liquor hits your tongue. Willing your body to cooperate, you swallow the drink with only a small cough. 

His face dips down, it seems like a habit now, to brush his promises against the shell of your ear once again.

“You’re an agreeable little thing, I think you can take it.”

His hands are on either side of your chair in a flash, lifting you up with trained, bulging muscles. You fall forward in your seat, bracing against Issei’s chest. Every cell in your body is tight with tension, if you lift your head up to meet the audience’s eyes, you’re sure you’ll crack like glass.

He steals you from relative comfort, shifting your weight in his arms as he ascends back onto stage. You’ve gone limp in his hold, pliant to his will. The unfamiliar presence at a dusty bar top has turned into more than a front row seat to depravity.

You’re thrown off balance as he sets you down, eyes adjusting to the white hot stage lights. You’re exposed to every set of eyes in the building, even if you can’t see him-- you know Satori is smiling from one sharp cheek to the other. Wherever Tooru is, he’s most likely sitting in the same satisfaction.

Aren’t you glad you came out tonight? I promise, you’re going to have a great time.

Issei rounds the back of your chair so his actions are hidden from your view. The brim of a leather cowboy hat breaches your field of vision, much too big for your head.

His hands come down onto your shoulders, snaking down your bare arms. His touch leaves a scorching fleet of chills. Issei runs his finger tips upwards, tracing against your collarbone before wrapping his grip lightly around your neck. 

He can feel it, he has to, the racing pulse right under the surface of your skin.

The music transitions effortlessly, going almost unnoticed. The next song, still sharp with a cheesy country twang, is slower, deeper.

Issei’s thumb brushes against your cheek, your body wants to relax into the touch before it remembers how public the gesture is.

You hold in a shaky breath as he comes to stand in your eyeline again, you might as well be bound to your chair with rope. He looks larger than life-- in both stature and presence-- in front of you. His skin is glistening, refracting from the harsh lights with sweat and oil. 

He is an unstoppable force against your will. Your desire to hide from the blinding attention is nothing compared to the desire to please. To please a stranger, to please the man you met only an hour ago. 

To please Issei.

He flashes you another wink, taking a moment to rake his stair down your body. He memorizes the outline of your cute little dress, red is definitely your color. 

Issei slides across the smooth surface of the stage to meet where you’re perched. The barreling, almost naked body now impossibly close to where your knees are pressed together.

He starts at your ankles, tracing the soft skin of your legs until his palms press flatly against your lower thigh. Issei savors the moment for a beat longer before prying your legs apart.

The crowd below you is loud and hollow in your ears, the shame bubbling up against your cheeks and nose is nothing compared to the pressure between your legs. 

Issei’s hands wander up and under the hem of your skirt, scratching his nails on the vulnerable skin before they find his prize in the form of thin lace.

The “Wait” and “Stop” sitting on your lips shrivels up and dies as your panties are ripped off. You see the bright color, the last remnants of opposition twirling around his pointer and middle finger.

The crowd goes wild, watching as your body is made a fantasy that they can all live vicariously by. all you can do is watch as the fabric is stuffed into the side of his thong to accompany fistfuls of singles.

* * *

You’re still in shock by the final dance, still under a trance as Tendou pulls you towards the back. Stumbling behind him to catch up, you’re given no time to think about what you’re about to walk into. 

A fog of smoke burns in your eyes. The room around you feels like it could curl in on itself, four walls marked sparsely with dusty furniture, the smell of weed and cash. 

You fix your gaze onto a long, diagonal tear in the leather couch across the must and g-strings, the rip in upholstery is stuffed with wrinkled one dollar bills. 

It feels like observing an exhibit at a museum, or a zoo. Lines of coke, random dustings of pot and discarded swisher tobacco, too many open handles of liquor. Sitting on an end table is a bright pink teddy bear with a cowboy hat on it’s head--

“I didn’t go too far did I?” Snapping back into reality, you hear Issei call to you. You’re vaguely comforted by a familiar voice before remembering the man attached had spat whiskey into your mouth and stolen your panties just 30 minutes prior. You heat up at the tips of your ears at the recollection of two things you had let him do, that you had wanted him to do. 

Your eyes find Issei sitting on the couch on the opposite end of your freshly showered roommate, seemingly unbothered as Tendou flops down against the middle cushion and drapes both arms across the back. 

“Don’t worry partner, our girl doesn’t startle easy.” Oikawa laughs, adjusting to sit across his boyfriend’s lap.  Issei’s all leather outfit is replaced with a pair of grey sweats. He looks relaxed, effortlessly handsome. 

What was it like, you wonder, before you knew how it felt to look at him? Life past the single night feels grey around the edges. 

When was the last time you felt this alive? 

He takes a sip of a water bottle, wiping off his chin with the large rose tattooed on his hand. You can’t stop staring at them-- the ones that roamed your body in front of a club full of drunk bachelorettes, the ones that traced your skin like he already had the map. 

And now you watch those same hands, so new but so inviting, as two fingers curl inward. They pull you as if tightening a rope around your waist. You wade past tall sweaty men and freshly caught audience members as they tangle across dusty furniture.

You scoot by your best friends from where they sit next to Issei, ignoring the slap to your ass and the following laugh from Oikawa in between loud, sloshing kisses.

“Well, little one,” He pats his thigh, inviting you to the spot on his lap rather than the empty seat next to him, “you’re not gonna run away are ya?” 

Every nerve in your body is twitching, you’re not sure if you could run if you wanted to.

You don’t.

Issei takes in your small nod of confirmation, pulling you into his hold. The position is awkward at first, perching on his knee as you try to keep your balance. He laughs, his arm snaking around your back so you relax into him. You fidget with your fingers as they lie against your lap, watching the bustling around you. A cloud of smoke settles in the air, you wonder if it’s a permanent haze of tobacco and pot-- the scent is probably painted into the walls. 

“Is this what you expected?” Issei’s voice is low and close to your ear, you can feel the smile curled into his question. Your eyes are fixed forward, watching as Tendou pours a small white line into Oikawa’s collarbone and dives in nose first.

“Honestly,” you adjust, kicking your legs up over his other knee, “I’m pretty used to this kind of stuff.”

Even if your usual scene doesn't include a drug filled almost-orgy, you can’t say you’re fazed much. Not with the company you keep.

Even with the circus revolving around you, Issei is the only thing you can see. Everything else falls away but the smell of his body wash and the soft material of his sweats where they meet your naked legs.

His hand rests against your thigh, fingers just above then short hem of your party dress. The metal rings on each digit are cool against your burning skin. You’re sure Issei can feel the heat rising in your stomach as it spreads through your blood. 

You feel him lean back, fishing something out of his pocket to set in your hands. You feel every hair stand on edge as the thin cotton drops into your grip, heavy as an anchor.

“You know what I think, darlin’?” Your breath hitches, the room around you squeezing tight against your shoulders, “I think you’re a natural on stage. I bet you would have let me do anything up there.” 

A hand wanders down the path of your spine, rough fingerprints stroke past each vertebrae. You arch at the feeling, his skin is like a narcotic. The liquor still swimming in your mind is no match to this, to the heady smell of sex and sweat as it cuts through your senses. 

Issei’s right, you’ll let him do anything to you. You’ll beg for it like you’re trying to pass the gates of heaven.

Your body moves of its own volition, legs swinging to straddle his waist. The material of your dress bunches over the curve of your ass, completely exposed to the room around you before being eclipsed by steady palms.

You would be, should be, embarrassed by the display of public depravity. No one around seems to notice, half naked is still more modest than most everyone else. Tendou and Oikawa have dissolved into a pile of spit and clashing teeth next to you, saving you from any snide quips. There’s nothing but Issei, face an inch away from you and lips tempting you to lean forward.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you I don’t usually do this?” 

Glassy eyes flick dumbly at the man below you. He sees the wobble of your lip, the glaze in your stare as you memorize every feature on his face. Any reassurance sitting on his tongue dies when you crash your lips against his, hips rolling down into him and knocking him off guard.

Your kiss is searing and drips with finality. You’ve decided what bed you’ll wake up in the morning with your tongue tracing against his molars.

“No, not really.” Foreheads pressed together, it’s your turn to laugh. If you’re honest, you probably made this decision while still sitting at the bar.

You dip back in, emboldened with the bruising fingers digging against the fat of your hips. The feeling of your cunt pressed against his crotch could bring a man to his knees.

He’s not opposed, he’s just gotta get you home first.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[lonely-lost-soul]

Since I've Been Gone

Request: what if...Platonic fluff things with reader and bench trio?... Like they're all in a flower field chilling then Tommy is like, "You guys wanna make flower crowns?" And reader, ranboo, and tubbo just look at him like 👁👁 what, Turns out Tommy picked up flower crown making from his big brothers techno and Wilbur so now he does it when he's either bored or stressed. Anyways hope this inspires you <3 -🐱 Anon

(Platonic!Bench Trio x Gn!Reader)

The server had been through a lot, Tommy was just recently revived and was coming off of finding out his two best friends were married. The young boy had a white streak in his blonde hair and was still trying to adjust to the life he missed. Especially when it came to his longtime friend and roommate (y/n). Tommy had recently found out they were off living with Karl and Sapnap in the Kinoko Kingdom...the bitch. After Tommy had disappeared after he...died Karl had found them hiding out in his old library. You had scared the time-traveler half to death when he found you camping out in a corner of the room. However, after seeing as you had nothing, no weapons or armor he concluded you weren’t much of a threat, especially after you told him your sob story. You told him you lived with Tommy and you couldn’t go back there now that he was dead, Ranboo and Tubbo were off doing married things and you had felt so alone. Karl decided at that moment he would take you in, no matter what the cost. Sapnap had a bit more trouble adjusting to your presence, but as soon as he saw you had some fire within your belly he began to warm up to you. It only took a few days for Karl to practically adopt you and since he was engaged to Sapnap the fire demon was stuck with you for a child.

Not that he minded, you weren’t a loud kid, very pleasant to be around hell even his dad took a liking to you. Sapnap was baffled when Karl told him you had previously lived with Tommy, the most obnoxious child on the server. The two of you couldn’t be more different, and when Tommy was revived, he and Karl weren’t enthused. Karl was worried he’d lose you to the trouble maker and it was well known Tommy and Sapnap didn’t have the greatest history. Their worries were quelled the moment you introduced them as your dads to Tommy, Karl burst into tears and Sapnap put you in a headlock much to your protest. Tommy stood by awkwardly, he had missed a lot, he hated the fact that he felt like his friends were happier without him in their lives.

He was brought back to the present by the idle chatter of Tubbo and Ranboo by his side Tubbo was on Ranboo’s back declaring walking was way too much work for him. You snickered nudging Ranboo in the ribs, he let out a yelp and glared down at you halfheartedly. Tommy watched you turn towards him a smile on his features,

“What do you think Tommy?” He blinked a few times at you, not wanting to admit he wasn’t listening to the conversation next to him.

“I don’t fucking know,” He scoffed “This conversation is bullshit anyway who cares.” You had a smirk on your lips that he was all too familiar with, he narrowed his eyes at you.

“You weren’t listening were you?”

“Of course I was listening bitch!”

“Oh really? What did she ask then big man?” Tubbo mused resting his chin on his husband’s shoulder. Hair covering his vibrant, green eyes, horns peeking from beneath his shaggy hair. Tommy glared at his long time friend flipping him off eloquently,

“Probably something stupid and useless.”

“She asked if you knew where we were going,” Ranboo piped up with a casual hum, bouncing in his step. “Cause we’ve been walking for a while, I know Tubbo’s tired.”

“Yeah Tommy, I’m tired.”

“You’re not even walking!” You argued as Tubbo stuck his tongue out at you, lifting his hair from his eyes to wink at you. His one eye glowing with a yellow nuclear symbol, “Put that symbol away! You’re not cool.”

“Says the person who doesn’t own nukes,” He mused letting his hair fall back into place while grabbing onto Ranboo’s horns. “Or who doesn’t have any cool powers,”

“Ow! Low blow! Just cause Tommy and I are the only two humans in the group doesn’t mean you can pick on us! Right, Tommy!”

“Yeah! Exactly! Fuck you guys!” Tommy agreed linking your arms together, “Plus, I know exactly where we’re going. We’re almost there, Wilbur used to take me here all the time when I was little.” Tommy said almost in an afterthought, the kids around him grew quiet, each one knew Wilbur was a touchy subject for Tommy especially after his time in the afterlife. Yet, people seemed to forget that Wilbur wasn’t always crazy, wasn’t always a manipulator, once he was an older brother. Once he cared for Tommy and wanted to protect him from some of Phil’s neglect, protect him from Technoblade’s voices. Tommy wanted to remember that Wilbur, not the one stuck in purgatory who blew up the country they all fought so hard to retain. He felt your hand squeeze his arm,

“I’m excited to see where Wilbur decided to take you, hopefully, it’s not a fish pond.”

“Oh gross.” Ranboo groaned pinching the bridge of his nose as Tubbo laughed loudly from above him. Tommy made a disgusted face,

“Stop talking about all the fish who fucked my brother!”

“I didn’t you did.” You hummed skipping ahead of the group feet crunching on the leaves on the ground.

“YOU BASTARD!” Tommy shrieked running after you,

“Onward steed!” Tubbo pointed at his two friends who ran off, Ranboo grumbled but trotted after the duo.

It only took a few more arguments and a few more minutes of walking before the quartet came to the destination Tommy was eager to show them. You stopped on your heels jaw-dropping in awe,

“Holy shit…” You murmured, in front of all of you was a gorgeous field of flowers a giant dark oak tree sat in the middle. It was giant spanning up far into the sky but it created a nice shade to keep all of you cooled off. Tommy had a rare peaceful smile on his lips as he let the sun touch his face, he slid off his boots and ran into the field of flowers.

“Take your shoes off so you don’t crush them or I’ll crush you!” Tommy snickered falling back, letting the flowers tickle his cheeks. He opened his eyes just a crack to see you sliding off your boots and joining him in the field, you didn’t lay beside him instead he watched your form head to the tree. Meanwhile, Tubbo kicked off his boots, Ranboo wasn’t far behind his husband. Tubbo laughed running over and flopping next to Tommy, holding his arm close much to the blonde’s displeasure.

“Ranboo! Help me reach the taller branches!” You called to the tallest member of your friend group. He nodded walking over to you, grabbing your waist gently he lifted you into the air. You grabbed onto the nearest branch and hoisted yourself into the air, Ranboo was always shocked at your upper body strength, but then again you trained on your own for years. Ranboo hovered at the base of the tree nervously, both of his tails flicking side to side.

“Don’t climb too high!” He called watching you slip and cling onto the trunk to steady yourself. “(Y/n) CAREFUL!”

“I’m fine, mom!” You stuck your tongue out at him from above, “I’ve fallen out of taller trees!”

“If you get hurt Sapnap would literally burn me alive! So PLEASE try not to fall!”

“Boo calm down a little!” Tubbo snickered, “if they fall I’ll film it.”

“Tubbo has the right idea,” you agreed as Tommy laughed from beside Tubbo. Ranboo frowned ears twitching in distress, you only continued to climb higher to his dismay. Eventually, you came down falling elegantly into the arms of Ranboo who caught you easily. He was breathing heavily, recovering from the shock of your sudden drop. His long nails dug into your skin as he clutched onto you like a lifeline, “Ranboo let go!” You huffed trying to wiggle out of his tight grip.

“Absolutely not! Are you a lunatic!” His voice broke, “I could’ve missed! You could’ve broken an ankle!”

“But I didn’t,” You poked his nose with a teasing hum. Ranboo groaned louder placing his head in the crook of your neck, you snickered as he finally let you onto the ground. You walked over to Tommy and Tubbo and sat down next to them, you leaned against Tommy’s back who grunted in distaste. “Deal with it gremlin, be my backrest,”

“Fuck you bitch!” He snarled but didn’t move or push them off, you smiled teasingly winking in the direction of Tubbo. He snickered into his palm as Ranboo pulled Tubbo into his lap, and the young goat hybrid got comfortable. The four of you sat in peaceful silence, letting the sun beat down around you all. A nice breeze blew through the area causing the leaves of the nearby trees to shake, a few animals rustled around in the bushes.

“We should make flower crowns,” Tommy spoke up suddenly his nails digging into the dirt. You titled your head in confusion and Raboo looked equally as baffled, the only person who didn’t seem surprised was Tubbo.

“Sure man but you gotta collect the flowers,” Tubbo said tiredly Tommy clicked his tongue stubbornly.

“We’re surrounded by flowers you’re just lazy.”

“Yeah obviously.”

You gave Tubbo a look and sat up on your knees, “What do you need to get started?”

“Can you grab me some of those daisy’s, tulips, and some bluebells?” You nodded standing up and popping your knees before heading off in that direction. Meanwhile, Tommy grabbed some lilacs and began stringing those together, his tongue poked out from his bottom lip as he gave his full concentration to the task in front of him. Ranboo watched curiously ears flicking every time Tommy let out a mumble, you came back and dumped the flowers beside him. He grunted out thanks making the final knot in the crown, “Done!” He declared looking over at Ranboo, he flushed a little under Tommy’s gaze.

“Didn’t mean to stare.” Tommy huffed holding out the crown to the halfling, he pointed at himself and Tommy rolled his eyes.

“Take it. If you don’t want it I’ll just give it to (Y/n)-”

“I want it!” Ranboo reached out to snatch the crown from Tommy, he placed it gently on his head mindful of the horns. Tommy’s eyes widened and he flushed red, he quickly turned back to the pile of flowers. “Teach us how to make them,” Ranboo offered to try to ease the awkward tension. Tommy huffed but nodded, a smile spread across your lips,

“Teach us your ways oh wise one.” You teased picking up the daisy’s spinning the stem between your fingers.

“Yeah! I am wise! Call me master innit!”

“I’d rather choke,”

“Fuck you!”

You snicked as Tommy punched you hard in the shoulder, you doubled over falling into the flowers. Tommy growled pulling you up by the shirt, “Pay attention bitch! I’m only telling you this once!” Sitting back up you nodded and followed his instructions carefully, he ended up taking the daisies and you the tulips. Ranboo grabbed the bluebells reaching over Tubbo to follow Tommy’s instructions as well, by the end Tommy’s was pristine. The one you made was decent but Ranboo’s looked worse for wear considering he was trying to put it together with claws. He put the crown on top of a snoozing Tubbo, he was proud of his work nonetheless, his husband smiled tiredly nuzzling against his chest. You on the other hand placed the tulip crown you made atop of Tommy’s blonde hair, he flushed and rolled his eyes. He brushed his fingers over the daisies and placed them on top of your head, you looked up at the crown and smiled warmly.

“Thank’s Big T,” you hummed falling back into the flowers and Tommy joined you in laying down. Both your fingers interlocked and Ranboo shuffled to the ground as well, although he didn’t reach out to take Tommy’s hand, Tommy reached out to take Tubbo’s. The four of you stayed in that field until your walkie-talkie screeched cutting through the quiet atmosphere, it was the gruff voice of Sapnap’s. One of your fathers

“Earth to (Y/n), come in (y/n). Your dad wants you here for dinner, George is joining us tonight. I grilled!”

“Ugh. Buzzkill,” Tommy sneered kicking the dirt with his barefoot. You shushed him and pressed the button in to speak,

“Yeah papa, I’ll make my way back soon. Give papa a big kiss for me and if you see Quackirty tell him hello!”

“Don’t have to tell me twice. Karl come here honey~” You snickered as Tommy gagged, you heard your dad meow before your walkie cut off then and you sat up. You stretched your arms above your head and popped your arms into place, you kissed your teeth hopping to your feet.

“I gotta head back unless I want dad to beat my ass. Thank you for today boys and Tommy thank you for sharing your place with us. I’m glad we were trusted with this special secret.” You winked wiggling your toes in the long grass, “we should do this again yeah?”

“Yeah!” Ranboo agreed as Tubbo gave a sleepy thumbs up, your smile only widened. Tommy nodded giving a thumbs-up as well, he watched you head off to collect your boots and head back home. Head to a family, a family who cares about your wellbeing, or if you’re staying out too late. Hell, even who cared about who you were hanging out with, Tommy couldn’t help but wonder what that was like, he didn’t think he’d be very good at listening to any parental figures. He didn’t have that, he would never have that, he looked at your retreating figure, then back over at Tubbo and Ranboo. They both were half asleep and he couldn’t help but glance at the golden rings on each one of their fingers.

He missed so much since he’s been gone.

But maybe all wasn’t bad, he touched the tulips on his head, thinking for a moment.

Maybe he didn’t need a normal family with a mom and a dad, or two dads or moms, he had a family right here. He brought his hand to the scarf on his neck and squeezed it in his fist, who needed that shit when he had everyone he loved in this field with him today.

For once in his life, Tommy was happy.

[notsowrites]

Untitled 3x02 Coda #1

If RNM isn’t going to give us Malex, fine. That’s what fanfic is for.

---------

Outside the cave, far enough that Jones can't hear him, Michael lets go of all the anger and frustration that's built up over the past several hours. Hears tree limbs snap and rock tumble and crash around him, and when he opens his eyes it looks like a small tornado has passed through the area. His truck is untouched, right where he parked it outside the cave entrance, and Michael runs a hand over the driver side door, taking a deep breath. He does feel slightly better now, his skin no longer feels too tight, his mind isn't racing quite so quickly.

He drives. Away from Jones, and away from the caves. He thinks of stopping at the Pony, drowning himself in alcohol - except for the fact that Maria is still angry at him. But he won't apologize for that. He still can't believe how reckless she was, jumping off the roof of the Crashdown in some dumbass attempt to trigger her visions.

Thinking of her reminds him of her words again, how she'd pointed out he never seemed to have any ill effects from using his abilities. How had he not noticed? How had Max and Isobel not noticed? Had they chalked it up to the booze and acetone? Did they really think he was that much of a drunk to never say anything as they chugged acetone after using their abilities?

Alex had made comments. Several, over the past couple years. Ones that struck him to his core that Alex would assume something like that. Maybe he deserved it, choosing booze and acetone to quiet the chaos of his mind, needing to silence it somehow and not knowing how.

Even when he tries not to think about Alex, his mind eventually settles there, and Michael tries not to think too hard about that. What it means.

He realizes he's a block away from Alex's house, and turns down the street. The lights are off, except for the yard lights, and Alex's SUV is missing. He lets the truck idle, as he looks over the house, mentally scolding himself why he'd ended up here of all places. Alex doesn't need to hear about Michael's issues.

It's probably a stupid decision, Michael thinks, as he turns off the engine and pushes open the door, walking around to the rear of his truck and pulling down the tailgate. He's spent enough time tonight sitting outside his trailer, lost in his thoughts. The change of scenery might be good - even if this is where he ended up.

What Michael doesn't expect is Alex's SUV to appear not soon afterward. And what he really doesn't plan on seeing is Alex in his dress blues uniform as he steps out of the car. The shirt is open, hanging loose and revealing a white tshirt underneath. There's something clutched in his hand that Michael can't make out, and thinks maybe it doesn't matter.

"What are you doing here, Guerin?" Alex sounds tired. About as tired as Michael feels.

"I was trying to clear my head, and I just-" he stops and shakes his head, realizing how stupid this was. "I'll get out of your way." 

"No, that's not-" Alex takes a step forward, his hand reaching towards Michael, like he's going to stop him. "That's not what I meant. Sorry, it's been a long day." 

Michael laughs. "Tell me about it." He nods at Alex, trying to indicate his uniform. "Fancy Air Force thing?"

Alex bites his lip, and turns away, like he's debating talking about it at all. And Michael knows Alex has his secrets, doesn't always tell people what he's doing - hell, he up and left for a year to clean up Project Shepherd and barely told anyone. "Something like that."

Michael nods, understanding. But he also knows Alex is lying, he just doesn't understand why.

"You've been gone so long - there's a lot happening here too." 

"Kyle told me about Max. I'm so sorry, Guerin."

"You know, last year, after everything, after nearly losing him, I thought things were getting better. Maria broke up with me, you disappeared - but I had Max and Isobel. And now-" Michael hates how deeply it hurts to think about losing Max again. For good. 

"But he can't be saved again?" 

"He doesn't want to be."

Alex looks taken aback, and Michael just feels frustrated. How much does he even want to tell Alex? Everything? He doesn't know. But maybe - maybe when Alex said he wanted to be friends, this is what he meant.

"How could he not?" 

"His body is rejecting Noah's heart. He's known since last year, and never said a goddamn word about it." He hopes Alex can read what he's not saying, the words he can't bring himself to say - about how angry he is at Max for this decision, for not saying anything, for not letting them try and figure out a way to save him. Because he doesn't know what he's going to do if Max dies.

Michael's not sure he can stand losing anyone else.

"And there's no other aliens to do a heart transplant," Alex says quietly. sitting down on the tailgate next to him, fidgeting with the thing in his hands until Michael realizes it's part of his uniform as the light reflects off a Captain's bars badge.

Except there is someone. 

There is someone in a cave out in the desert, locked up behind a cage that he built. Someone who is a replica of Max, who shares his DNA, who could be an exact match for Max.

"That's not - there might be someone."

"What?" 

Taking a deep breath, Michael closes his eyes and stubbornly chooses not to look at Alex. "Last year, out in the desert, we found the stowaway who crashed the ship. My mother - Isobel and my mother - they had locked him up down in a cave." 

"A year ago?" 

Yeah, Michael realizes how ridiculous it probably sounds to somehow else.

"Iz and I have been trying to get answers from him, about where we came from, and why we're here-" 

"Everything you've wanted to know."

This is where it gets difficult, and Michael pushes up off the tailgate, pacing around the driveway, rocks kicking up beneath his boots as he walks, Alex's gaze on him, but Michael can't focus on that right now. 

"Maybe not! Because everything he says makes me wonder if anything Tripp wrote in that journal was true. Because according to him, she and Isobel's mom engineered Max as a weapon to fight back against some sort of planetary dictator, and kept him a prisoner."

"Guerin," Alex says, cutting into his rant. "I was there with you that day at the prison. She loved you. Even I could see that. So maybe it's not as black and white as you think."

"He said she chained up a kid, Alex," he snaps, his skin suddenly feeling too tight, his mind racing too fast. "What part of that isn't black and white?"

Too caught up in his pacing, in the chaos building in his mind, Michael spins on his heel and almost runs into Alex, who is standing in front of him now, hand held out in front to keep Michael from plowing him over. But it doesn't matter, because he feels himself shatter from the inside out, the tears in his eyes spilling over. He'd already cried once today over what he thought he knew about his mother, wasn't that enough?

"She loved you," Alex insists, his voice sounding annoyingly firm. "She found a way to travel across the universe because she loved you."

He hates how Alex makes it sound so simple, as if that love should be enough. But when has love ever done him any good? He'd told Isobel once, love is the worst thing that ever happened to me and hates that it's still true. His mother had loved him, and ended up here, where she'd died without ever getting to see him. He loved Alex, and that had been nothing but pain and heartache. He loved Maria, who instead had broken up with him. He loved Max and Isobel, and yet now Max was deciding to leave him.

"To escape a dictator! To escape someone who is my-" Michael stops short, pulling his words back. He doesn't want to call someone who is a dictator his father. He doesn't want to use that word. "I'm just the product of my mother needing to convince the dictator she was on his side."

Alex reaches out, taking his left hand, the hand still covered by the bandana because of Max's stupid decision to heal it without permission. The hand that he needed to keep the reminder that it's not worth it to think there's good in anything. Michael is glad when Alex doesn't try to remove it, just wraps his fingers around the palm and holds their hands up against his chest, near where Alex's heart is. 

"Even if that's what she did, it doesn't mean she loved you any less."

He hates how convinced Alex sounds, as though the rest of it doesn't matter. He wishes it were that simple, that he could just forget everything else.

With one last squeeze of his hand, Alex lets them drop, and nods towards his house. "It's been a hell of a day - wanna come in and I'll tell you about it?"

Alex's military service is something Michael has never been fond of. The fighting, the rules, the fact that it's the reason Alex got injured - but maybe, he thinks, maybe tonight it'll be a good distraction for him.

He nods, and follows Alex inside.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Of something beautiful, but annihilating🚬3

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, violence and abuse, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of death'; violence, attempted rape.

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader’s husband brings home an unexpected houseguest.

Note: So this is for black Friday and then I’ll be working all today and tomorrow and schedule’s are super late so I dunno when Im working after that. Hope you guys enjoy and don’t hesitate to drop by my asks.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Arvin let you pick the record. You found it among the box of your daddy’s music. It was one of your favourites and you were glad he wasn’t bothered by Patsy Cline’s droll tones. He seemed to enjoy it as he sat and read a magazine and you searched for a button from your large tin to match that missing from Roy’s jacket.

“You ever listen to Elvis?” He looked up from behind the pages.

“I… I heard him on the radio but you know we haven’t got new records since Daddy died,” you said as you continued your hunt. “And Roy don’t like all that new music. He says it’s no good.”

“Well, he doesn’t seem to like much, does he?” Arvin sniffed, “I always knew he was a grouch but I just thought it was the job.”

“He’s not… He’s just stressed. He works so much.” You looked down and settled on a button that was close enough. 

“You do too,” Arvin hid behind the magazine again. “You should be the one goin’ out and doin’ what you like on a Saturday. Hell, if he ain’t gonna spend his time with you, you should do something of your own.”

“I like sewing,” you shrugged as you threaded the button, “You know, it’s not so bad. I get time to myself. A lot of people can’t say that.”

“Sounds pretty lonely to me,” he flicked the page.

You were silent. You didn’t know how to respond. He was skirting around what he really wanted to say, what you didn’t want him to talk about. The tension in the air thickened as you feared he would admit that he knew or you might confess that your husband wasn’t much of one. Hell, you’d yet to accept that yourself.

Your fears were assuaged by the sudden clatter on the porch and the hinges of the door as it was swung open. You sat up and set aside Roy’s jacket. You stood as he staggered inside. He always did like to drink when he fished, or did much of anything else. You frowned as he tracked mud in on his tall rubber boots.

“Roy, you’re making a mess,” you said as you went to the doorway and watched him stumble around the entryway.

“Keep ya busy,” he slapped a hand on the wall and wiggled his leg free of a boot. “There’s a whole pail of fish out front too.”

“Mmm,” you hummed as his cheeks glowed. You doubted he’d be awake that long. “Well, I’ll just fry those up while you sit down.”

“Agh,” he tripped over his other boot as he slipped it off and Arvin brushed by you to catch him.

“Hey, Roy,” he took his arm, “How was the fishing? Why don’t you sit down? We’ll have a beer.”

“I almost forgot about you, boy,” he shook free of Arvin and ambled closer to you, “Maybe you can hide away after dinner for a while?”

He dragged his hand up your thigh and slapped your ass as he passed you. Arvin turned as Roy clumsily traipsed into the living room and fell onto the couch. He looked at you but you couldn’t stand to meet his.

“Sure,” Arvin uttered, “I’ll just go get those fish first.”

He disappeared through the front door and you crossed your arms as you turned to watch your husband. His head lolled as he chuckled.

“You think he ever fucked a girl?” He asked, “Boy tiptoes around like a virgin.”

“That’s crass, Roy,” you reproached.

“Don’t act so innocent,” he snapped, “If you didn’t, maybe I’d… well.”

His words trailed off and he closed his eyes. He yawned and sighed loudly. You grimaced and listened to the door as it hit the frame again. Arvin continued onto the kitchen as Roy began to snore. It must have been a record how quickly he’d passed out this time.

You went through to the kitchen as Arvin drained the water from the pail of fish. You went to the drawer and got a knife. You rest it on its end as you gripped it and looked out the window.

“He’s already out for the night,” you said, “You hungry?”

“I said I’d make the fish, I meant it.”

“Nah, I’ll flay them and put ‘em in the fridge,” you swallowed, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That you’re stuck here with us. Sorry he’s always drunk.” You looked down at the blade. You didn’t say what you really wanted to. Sorry you were stupid enough to choose Roy.

“That isn’t your fault and you know, I don’t mind it so much.” He neared, “We’re friends now, aren’t we? That’s worth it.”

You nodded but couldn’t smile. He always tried to make things seem nicer than they were. He was much better at it than you were.

“You comin’ to church tomorrow?”

“Of course,” he answered like it was obvious.

You turned away and laid out the fish across the cutting board. He stayed behind you, the record silenced and began to skip.

“I think I got somethin’ nice I can find.” He left you and the crackle of the Victrola died.

You slice the fish, careful not to cut your fingers as you deboned it and tossed away the heads and tails. You heard Arvin speak in a low voice and a grumble. Then heavy footsteps interspersed with lighter ones. The stairs groaned and you kept on, wrapping the filets in paper and tucking it away.

You cleaned up and washed the smell off your hands. The living room was empty so you climbed the stairs and found Roy face down on your bed. You turned to the open attic and Arvin descended the ladder.

“You got him to bed?” You tilted your head.

“Wasn’t so hard. Poked him a few times.” He grinned. “So what time do I needa be ready for church?”

“We leave about twenty minutes before service. It’s at eight.” You answered, “Oh, you know what--” You raised your index finger, “One sec.”

You spun and scurried into your father’s room. It was just as it had been before he died except now there were boxes stacked along one wall. You pushed open the closet and fluttered through the clothes hanging within. You pulled out the old grey suit and white shirt that had yet to yellow. You grabbed a tie from the drawer as you passed the dresser.

You smelled them as you went back to the door as Arvin peeked in.

“For church,” you held them out, “My daddy was a bit taller but he got skinny near the end. I can pin up the pants for you and you’ll look just fine.”

“Oh,” he face paled, “You-- I can’t--”

“Roy’ll never fit into these so please,” you pushed them against his chest. “And I don’t think he’ll be up in time for church so I need you to drive.”

He smiled and took the clothes. He hugged them as if they were precious. “Thank you. I’m gonna sound like you for a moment but you really didn’t have to.”

“You think I’m gonna forget that you promised to make the fish? It’ll be a nice Sunday night dinner.” You inhaled deeply, “I think that for tonight, I’m gonna lay down though.”

“Alright,” he let you past, “You have a good night.”

“You too,” you neared your bedroom door as Roy’s snores grew louder, “Might have to stuff my ears with cotton.”

🚬

As you expected, Roy was too hungover to get up for church. You didn’t really go for the sermons but your daddy made it a habit when you were young to make sure you got to see the other kids in town. Sunday school had socialised you in the circles of the small town but they had proven less than welcoming. And since you’d grown out of your education, you went to trade recipes with some of the other wives.

Arvin was awake before you. As you pulled a cardigan over your blue dress you stopped at the bottom of the stairs and he appeared from the front room.

“Oh, Arvin,” you smiled, “That suit looks real nice on you. And the pants…”

“I sewed them myself last night,” he lifted his foot, “Remembered a few stitches.” He straightened the jacket, “You look real good too.”

“Well, aren’t we a pair?” You chimed. “Gonna have to be since Roy hasn’t moved since you dragged him to bed.”

“After you,” he waved to the door, “Think we should get goin’. My daddy woulda whipped me being late for the lord’s prayer.

You led him out the door and climbed into the truck opposite him. He turned the ignition and the engine rumbled to life. You felt calm as you smelled the early morning dew and you looked out the window as he shifted into gear. The lush green grass passed you by and trees swayed as he steered along the old country road.

As always, the church was crowded. You and Arvin squeezed in at the back. He was quiet and sombre as you entered. As you sat, you looked over at him. His jaw squared as the preacher came out and began his weekly scourge. A fire burned behind Arvin’s brown irises and he scowled for a moment before his face went placid.

You looked forward and folded your hands as you listened to Father Milton. You never cared much for his talk of hellfire and brimstone, to be fair, your daddy didn’t either, but in a small town, everyone knew when one was away from service. Roy never cared what anyone thought but you had to deal with Noreen and the other ladies at the grocer or around town about their own tasks.

When mass finished, you stood but Arvin hesitated. He stared up at the altar before he finally rose. He nodded to you and followed you and the other worshippers out into the sun.

You heard your name as you headed for the truck. You stopped and Arvin did too. You turned as Noreen, a woman older than yourself who fashioned herself to be the model for all society ladies, approached you. She wore a wide-brimmed hat over her blonde hair and took short steps in her heels.

“You promised me that carrot cake recipe. The one with the raisins.” She said. “Now I’ve been hounding you for three weeks.”

“Oh, uh,” you unclasped your pocketbook and fished out the card you’d made sure to stow after last Sunday. “Right here. I’m sorry, Noreen, but I gotta get back.”

“Where is Roy? Was he off drinkin’ again? You know, the lord did warn us all against excess.”

“Well, perhaps we can get him to come next week and you can warn him,” Arvin intoned and Noreen looked over in shock.

“Excuse me. And who is this… man you have as your escort?”

“Roy is letting the attic out to him. They work together. This is Arvin.”

“Arvin Russell,” he introduced firmly. 

“That’s an unusual name,” Noreen remarked, “You’re not from here?”

“No, but from a place like this.” He countered, “I’m gonna go get the truck goin’.”

He turned without courtesy and marched away. You looked back to Noreen as she curled her lip.

“Oh, he is a rough one, isn’t he? You have that scoundrel livin’ with you?”

“He’s a good man. Helps around the house. It’s a big place and Missy Grable has a tenant of her own.”

“Missy Grable has a farmhand to tend the fields,” Noreen lifted her chin.

You weren’t certain what to say. Noreen always found issue with whatever you said and you hated to give her further reason to.

“Well, here’s the recipe. I really ought to go.” You said.

“I understand, honey,” She smirked, “Your husband needs his caretaker… oh sorry, wife.”

You flinched but said nothing else. Your shoulders dropped as you turned away and dragged your heels through the dirt. You opened the truck and climbed in without a word. You clutched your pocketbook and stared ahead as Arvin back out of the lot.

“Pardon my saying so and I don’t use this word often, but she was a bitch,” Arvin said. “Remind me why I ain’t go to church.”

You looked down and nervously unclasped and unclasped your purse. “You didn’t have to come.”

“No, it’s your house and I wanna be a good guest,” he said, “It’s nothing to do with you.”

You scoffed and shook your head. “My daddy hated goin’ too but he didn’t want me to be ostracised, you know? He told me, near the end, that he stopped believin’ durin’ the war. He said no god would let the things happen that he saw.” You leaned against the door and watched the buildings pass. “Seein’ how these Christians act, I can’t blame him.”

Arvin was quiet as you left the main street and the house began to thin out until the country sprawled out around you.

“My sister…” he said so low you barely heard him. He cleared his throat and spoke louder. “My cousin, she was tricked by a preacher man. She was young and too willing to love. And he was just a liar. He knocked her up then refused her.” His voice was brittle and you glanced over as his hand tightened on the steering wheel. “She hung herself but it was that snake-tongued charlatan who killed her.” He shook his head. “No god would take her like that. No god would let a man sworn to him trick the innocent.” He rubbed his forehead as his eyes bore into the distance, “I’m sorry. Just been a while since I sat in a pew.”

“No, I’m… sorry. Sorry about your cousin.” You said, “I didn’t-- You can stay home next week.”

He pondered it and a little smile curled his lips. “Don’t think I will. Think I’d like to see that Noreen again. Maybe say a prayer for her soul, wherever it may be.”

🚬

Roy was still in bed when you got home. You tried to rouse him and he swatted you away. You brought him a sandwich and some water and left it beside him. You went back down to clean up as Arvin sat in the front room, As you wiped your hands, the record player buzzed and a tune rose on noontime air.

You went to the living room as Arvin stood straight and you listened to the smooth tones of Sinatra. He turned to you as you entered. 

“I like this one,” you said. 

“Me too,” He had shed the jacket and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, his tie disposed of. He turned his palm up as he stepped away from the player. “You dance?”

You giggled and shook your head. “No, not much of a dancer. Roy wouldn’t even at the wedding.”

“Come on. It’s a good song.” He got closer and began to sing out of tune, “I get no kick from champagne. Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all…”

You shied away and he caught your hand. You let him draw you closer and smiled as your cheeks warmed up.

“Just follow my lead,” he urged as he moved his feet, “Don’t look down, just one, two, one, two…” 

You moved your feet around his as he swayed you and turned you on the spot. His hand settled on your lower back and you grasped his shoulders. You were jittery as you moved with him in time to the music.

“Arvin…” You breathed. 

“Every pretty girl should dance,” he said, “I’d say you’re a hell of a dancer for a beginner.”

“Thanks,” you trilled and settled into his embrace.

“I mean it. You deserve more.” He leaned closer and you felt his hot breath on you. “You deserve the world.”

You smiled as he gazed across at you. Your heart leapt as there was a sudden clamour by the stairs and you pushed away from Arvin as Roy stomped into the doorframe. His hand fell away from your back and you tiptoed over to your husband.

“Roy, you’re awake? How ya feelin’?”

“All this goddamn noise you makin’ down here,” he grumbled, “Shut off that dang thing. There’s a game on.”

You flitted away and turned off the Victrola. You looked at Arvin as he watched Roy. He looked irritated and repulsed by the man.

“I gotta do some chores,” you muttered. “You boys enjoy the game.”

“I think I’m just gonna go upstairs,” Arvin tucked his hands in his pockets. “I’ll be down to cook that fish in a bit.”

You watched the younger man leave and Roy turned the dial on the radio. Your husband flopped onto the couch as the commentator’s voice filled the room.

“How about a beer?” He demanded, not asked.

🚬

The day turned to night. Dinner was quiet and tense. Roy didn’t drink as much as the day before but the alcohol made little difference. Arvin was pensive and seemed to lose himself in thought. You were nervous as you thought of the dance and your temperamental husband.

You hadn’t done anything wrong. It was just a dance. How come Roy could spend his days drunk and dozing and you couldn’t do anything you liked?

You cleaned up after supper. Arvin retreated to his room once more as Roy sat in the living room with another bottle and you tidied up. You cleared the last of the mess and looked out into the front room. Roy belched and sneered as he saw you.

“Wife,” he beckoned you forward with two fingers, “What did you do today?”

“Went to church. Cleaned.” You edged closer. “That’s all. I was real worried about you, Roy.”

“Were you?” He snorted and stood as he dropped his bottle on the table. “You didn’t seem too bothered when I came down.”

“What do you mean?” You stopped a foot away from him.

“You and that kid. You get on real well, don’t ya?” He snickered. “You down here dancing.”

“Just a dance, Roy,” you said meekly, “I didn’t wanna be rude.”

“You just wanna be a whore,” he snarled, “Huh? What you doin’ with that boy? I’m your husband.”

“I know, I know that, Roy. I never-- I didn’t do nothing.” You pleaded as he stepped closer. “I was just waitin’ for you to wake up.”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he hissed as he grabbed the back of your head and thrust you close to him. “You been doin’ everything but what a wife is meant for.”

He tore open the front of your dress and you cried out. “I’m gonna fuck you and let that boy hear who you belong to.”

“Stop, please.”

“Stop!? This is what you promised me, dear wife.”

You struggled with him as the smell of alcohol on his breath made you cringe. He spun you and shoved you so hard you stumbled back against the couch. You got up as he ambled after you and were knocked back by his fist. You cradled your cheek as you fell onto the cushions.

He pushed you up against the back of the couch and tried to wrench your legs apart. You squeezed your knees together and slapped at him blindly as fear bubbled in your veins. He forced your legs open and knelt on the couch between them. He grabbed your throat as you tried to wriggle away and he struck you again. He never hit your face; he didn’t like people to see what he did to you.

“I’ll show you,” he muttered, “I’ll show you, you little whore.”

He reached for his fly but his face mirrored your shock as he suddenly stilled and for a moment, he froze in time before he fell back onto the floor. Arvin stepped aside to avoid the crash and turned to hit him across the face. Roy’s brow split and began to stream with blood.

Arvin struck him a third time and pointed the gun at his head as he laid prone on the floor. Roy touched the back of his skull as he stared up barrel. The whack from the butt of the gun would likely leave a worse lump than his punches.

“Get up and go.” Arvin growled. “Or I’m gonna smear this carpet with your brains.”

“Are you crazy? This is my house!” Roy barked and pushed himself up. The pistol clicked and Arvin pressed it to his head. 

“It’s her daddy’s house.”

“She’s my wife, boy.”

“You don’t act like no husband,” Arvin said gruffly, “You think I’m scared? Think I haven’t shot a man before?”

“Sure you have, boy.”

“It’s different. You go out and you hunt your bucks and they don’t know what’s comin’, they don’t even know when they shot. But a man, oh he knows to the end. He begs, even if he can’t speak, he does. It’s in his eyes, in the way he gurgles as the life drains from his lips.” Arvin kicked Roy, “And once I pull this trigger, you’ll be begging too but it’ll be too late and there ain’t no words you can say to stop the blood. So you shut up and you go before you can’t.”

You were paralysed on the couch. Your head throbbed as you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. You trembled as Roy stood slowly and winced as Arvin followed his movement with the muzzle of the gun. Arvin followed your husband to the door and you heard the sharp whine of the other before it clattered shut. 

Crickets chirped as dirt stirred beneath feet and you heard the old truck shudder to life. The door snapped shut and locked loudly. Arvin appeared and lowered the gun. You stared at it as he came close. He set it on the table and sat beside you as he touched your face and you winced.

“Are you okay?” He asked as he pulled you against him, “I’m sorry he hurt you. I shoulda-- shoulda been faster.”

“Arv…” Your voice turned to a wisp and you let him hold you.

“Shhh, it’s okay. I got you now.”

[kcbeni]

shimmering snow

summary : satoru knows how much you love the winter, and he wants to spend the season in its first moments with you.

genre : fluff

wc : 2.7k

pairing : gojo + reader (can be considered gn!)

itadori’s note : dark content creators + readers dni

"[name]!!" the whisper yelling stirred you a bit, a groan left your mouth as you turned.

"[naaaame]!"

satoru's voice kept calling your name, his urgency dripping into his tone. he scoffed and gave up trying, he needed a new method. as he was brainstorming through other ways he could wake you, he watched you twitch before you moved again.

shaking you awake was outta the way, last time he did that he had to dodge one of the most lethal punches he’d seen in his life (thank the gods for his quick reflex). obviously calling out to you didn't do much either, all you did was stir and mumble.

"satoru?" your tired voice called out to him, he looked up surprised; only to find you were sleep talking.

he muffled his chuckle and sat down on the edge of the bed next to you. you were never fond of him barging into your dorm room whenever he saw fit, you always claimed it was the only time you had privacy and time to yourself, you didn't want him barging in on that; not that he ever listened.

satoru would never admit to you that moments without you in them were pretty dull, he liked your company more than he let on. he couldn't help but bother you any chance he got.

"satoru..." you mumbled his name again, your hand patting around your mattress as if you were searching for something, out of curiosity satoru decided to grab your hand - just to see what you'd do.

to his surprise you squeezed his palm, a small serene smile beginning to plague your face. satoru's thumbs began to rub minuscule circles into the back of your palm with a smile. your hand radiated the warmth satoru didn't know he craved - satoru’s hand was certainly bigger than yours, his palm seizing yours in an interlocking vice.

satoru looked at your fingers, basked in the warmth of them, and decided that he really liked this. only if you'd let him do this more often.

it wasn't many times you let him be overly affectionate with you. sometimes he'd link his pinky with you when you, him and suguru were out and about, or he'd surprise you by wrapping his arms around your shoulders whenever you'd be in a conversation about dates shoko went on.

there was also one time - oh, he'd never forget it - it happened when another one of his missions were complete, he walked past a vending machine. when his eyes aligned with the variety of beverages he was delighted to discover your favorite was among the many choices displayed. he quickly walked backwards and decided to buy it.

he figured he could treat himself as well, besides, he just got done destroying a special grade curse - and not to be a bragger or anything, but he left the area with nothing but a splinter.

after he bought both drinks he began walking back to jujutsu high, eager to please you. he hummed on his way there, he couldn't wait to see your smile.

when he arrived to his destination he seen you in the hallways, once again conversing with shoko. suguru must've still been on his mission (hah! he beat him. again.).

"oh! satoru! you're back." he could hear the smile in your voice before he'd seen it, he could always depict your mood through every change of tone.

"hey, [name]! miss me?" he couldn't hold back the grin he was hiding the moment he noticed your presence (he definitely missed you more than you did him).

"what would you say if i did?" you rolled your eyes, deciding to entertain him just for a bit.

"i would tell you i knew you did, and!" he pulled out the drink he bought you, he was eager for your reaction, you always complained about how much you wanted a [favorite drink] but they were never in the area, "give you this."

the laugh you let out caused his smile to widen, his shades were sliding a bit, but he didn't mind. seeing your glee in full view was more important to him.

"you remembered my favorite drink!" you walked closer to him to gently pick it from his grip, smiling at him with squinted eyes.

"how could i forget?"

you could tell his smile was genuine, but the emotion in his eyes were still hidden behind those shades. the urge to lift them from his nose was hard to fight, you noticed that they slipped a little, you were secretly hoping they'd slip a little more a little quicker.

"thank you, really." satoru was confused when you abruptly grabbed his uniform sleeve, and he became even more confused when you pulled him to you, the confusion slowly evolving into shock once you kissed his cheek.

"there's your reward." you whispered into his ear, causing a shiver to travel through his body, head to toe.

"y....yeah...." he became embarrassed, the red of his ears wasn't hidden from shoko, who stood by watching the scene with surprise and amusement.

you waved at him with a shimmering smile, your free arm linking with shoko's once more as the two of you headed for the dorms.

satoru touched his cheek with his palm in the exact place you left your mark, he became even more embarrassed and even a little irritated when shoko turned around to look at him with a smirk; a small snicker filtering through her canines.

that memory played in his head any time you came to his mind.

"hey.. [name]." satoru smiled at your sleeping face, eyes sliding down to your intertwined fingers.

his eyelids slid closed as he slowly brung your hand to his lips, he giggled quietly as you mumbled once again. he started peppering small pecks to each one of your knuckles stopping once he heard you groan softly.

"satoru?" this time you were actually waking up.

"hey. get up, i wanna show you something." he smiled through every word, truly finding you to be one of the cutest people he's known.

"hmm? what time is it?" you didn't mind his hand in yours, even though it was odd to wake up to this, you actually liked it, even encouraging it.

"cant remember, i came here about 2.." the sun was nowhere near to the point of rising.

"you said you wanted to show me something?"

satoru nodded, "yeah, c'mon! up ya go." satoru exhaled a breath as he lifted you off of the bed and onto your feet.

you sluggishly followed after him as he lead you to your closet. he took your puffy black coat off of its hanger, handing it to you without looking, "here put this on." yet all you did was take it in your palm and let your arm dangle as it dropped.

he figured you'd need socks too, you'd whine about the snow freezing up your toes and crying for him to do something about it, and he'd just laugh at you.

"where are your socks?" he asked, while opening drawers you had stored beneath your hanging jackets and shirts.

you mumbled, "hmmm, they should be in the top drawer in the dresser that’s in the middle."

satoru opened the one you were speaking about, quickly handing a pair of them to you.

your boots sat on the carpet left of your door. there was always complaints from you to him about him carelessly walking around your room with shoes. you hated walking around your room with your shoes.

when satoru closed your closet he turned to look at you, he didn't notice the feeling of you leaning on his shoulder, too preoccupied with grabbing the things you needed. he chuckled and watched you flicker in and out of sleep. he didn't really want to wake you, he knew you needed rest more than anything. though, in summers, you always gushed and smiled about how much you couldn't wait until winter came - even when you, shoko, suguru and him were jumping into piles of autumn leaves; you always reminisced about the white frozen rain you adored so much, and he wanted to be the one to show it to you. "you didn't even put anything on. sit down, lemme help you."

he took your hand and lead you back to your bed and ushered you down by your shoulders.

"hold out your arms." he commanded while grabbing your coat. you whined quietly, mumbling something about being 'too tired'.

satoru giggled and put your arms through both sleeves. after that, he quickly bent down on one knee to zip up your coat.

you slowly blinked to take in the view of satoru's smile, his eyes visible from your angle. if you had the chance you'd stare at his eyes all day. it wasn't invisible to you how much adoration would swim through his irises whenever he looked at you with that stupid smile. you'd never admit to him how much he made your heart palpitate (you knew it’d boost his ego). he zipped your coat with one last smile, and got up off of his knees to grab your boots. you wondered what he was doing this time.

though, as he walked back to you, you didn’t need to wonder anymore. a smile painted your lips, he bent down once again and you instantly knew what he was doing. "my socks satoru.. you forgot the socks." you giggled tiredly, on the verge of falling asleep again.

"oh! you're right." as he reached for them from beside you, you slowly started to swing your legs back and forth.

"satoruuuu...." you called for him with no reason, only to begin humming a small tune. he chuckled and gazed up at your calm smile and closed eyes.

satoru grabbed your heel to put your boot on, "here, babe, you gotta help me. push your foot, okay- there we go."

once the action repeated with your other boot satoru started tying the lace into a bow. when he finished up the bunny ears your arms wrapped around his head in a hug.

you hugged him into your stomach, your legs sitting on his knees as he sat still in a crouching position.

satoru was shocked, but even so, he basked in your affection and indescribable warmth. the both of you sat there for what seemed like hours, letting the silence and quiet affection sink in.

when you let go satoru looked up at your face, his knees began to ache, but he couldn’t move just yet; you looked beautiful from this angle. who was he kidding, you looked beautiful from every angle.

"you wanted to show me something, right? let's go." you smiled, closing your eyes.

satoru hummed, "yeah, let's go."

he took your hand once again and lead you outside your dorm, grateful that you were still too tired to notice that you walked out of your room with shoes.

"is suguru coming too?" you asked while gazing at your intertwined fingers.

"not this time, no. just you and i."

that phrase for some reason made butterflies start to swarm your esophagus.

you noticed that it started to become oddly cold as both of you neared the entrance of the school. you were glad satoru decided to dress you up, or your teeth would've been chattering by now.

"here," satoru walked behind you, he hooked his chin over your shoulder to grab your hands, "cover your eyes for me, 'kay? supposed to be a surprise."

you did as he said and covered your sight, you had a feeling you'd regret not bringing gloves from the amount of freezing cold air that was hitting you right now. "okay, almost there." you heard the creak of the door as the both of you exited the building.

he lead you further out and held your shoulders to stop you in your tracks.

"you can uncover them now." he whispered into your ear.

with an inhaled breath, you slowly peeked through open fingers with a gasp. you quickly took both hands away from your eyes as you slowly began to laugh.

"oh.. oh! OH... oh wow! it's- it's snowing! ahaha!" you held out your hands, inviting the snowflakes into your palms.

"satoru! satoru, it's snowing! look! it's- it's so beautiful!" satoru knew for sure now, you were nowhere near being tired.

he stood with a smile on his face as you twirled in the snow, you kept laughing in delight as the snow fell all around you.

“c’mon satoru! why’re just standing there! come have fun!” you quickly ran to him to grab his hands, running backwards with him in your grip.

he let you lead him further away from the school without any complaints. satoru couldn’t ever deny you of anything, all you had to do was say the word and it was yours, he’d give you the moon if you wanted it.

“look.. [name] look!” he laughed as he tried getting your attention.

“what! what?”

“look, watch.” he chuckled and let go of your hands, you watched as he backed up a bit.

snow began to pile centimeters above his hair, and that’s when you realized he turned his infinity on like a switch to a light bulb.

you threw your head back and began to laugh, “that’s so genius! ah! wait. wait..” you bent down to grab a handful of snow, satoru had an idea of what was gonna occur next. you walked up to him and dumped the snow on the increasing pile above his head. giggles once again began to spill from your lips, the sound causing a smile to paint satoru’s face.

“what do you think would happen if you turned it off?”

satoru knew damn well what would happen, and he didn’t wanna do it at all, but with that smile of yours he knew he wouldn’t be able to do anything but what you say.

“wanna find out?” he smiled.

you started nodding eagerly, “yeah.. yeah! turn it off!”

you watched in joy as the piling snow crashed onto his head. you began to laugh louder as he yelled out a ‘fuck! i knew this was a bad idea!’.

“you’re so gonna pay for that.” you watched in curiosity as he bent down to grab snow. you gasped, you knew what he was trying to do.

“oh. oh... oh no! SATORU, NO!”

you knew with his precise aiming and good reflex you wouldn’t be able to dodge.

when he threw one towards your direction all you could do was block with your arms.

you picked up snow with your bare hand, watching as the inside of your palm turned a saturated hard red.

“HEY! that’s an ice ball!” satoru yelled as you smothered fallen snow from your palm on top of it.

“take.. THIS!” you were feeling amazing about this throw, you knew it was gonna hit him, and if your precision was correct it would hit his- what.... that asshole.

“SATORU, THAT’S NO FAIR! TURN OFF YOUR INFINITY!” you began to whine like a child as satoru started to cackle.

this went on for about 20 minutes. satoru finally relented and decided to turn off his infinity, complaining about you not letting him have his moment. after you got a couple good shots you decided to call the snowball fight quits, your hands started to cramp from how cold they were.

“c’mere for a sec.” satoru crouched on the ground, pulling you down to do the same.

“whaaa?! i thought we were gonna make snow angels!”

satoru giggled, “yeah i just wanna see something!”

“here watch! come closer. closer, a little closer- perfect.” when you two were close enough to smell the scent on one another’s tongue, you took in the smell of satoru’s cinnamon and mint shampoo.

“feel how cold my hands are.” satoru brung his red long slender fingers to grip each side of your face. you squeaked loudly, thrashing as you tried to get away from his hands.

“ah! they’re cold!”

satoru laughed at your misery, “stop! stop moving.”

you whined, “satoru! let go you ass!”

he ignored you, “look, your hands are cold right? lemme see ‘em.”

he let go of your face (thankfully) to hold your awaiting hands in his. your gaze lingered on his as he brung your hands near his lips. his warm breath began to invade the cold surrounding your palms, satoru exhaling slow calculated breaths onto your numb fingers.

both of your gazes never wavered, both of you continuing to hold eye contact as he continued to warm your freezing hands.

“i’m glad you had fun.” he whispered quietly into the palm of your hands.

you smiled, “i am too, thank you, satoru.” you lifted your hands from his grip to hold his in your own.

with a smile you pecked his knuckles.

and as always, you never knew what satoru was feeling behind those shades, never getting to know what way he was reacting when you displayed affection with him; though you couldn’t tell whether his ears were red from the cold, or from embarrassment.

[skampi835]

Let’s never speak of this again! (Motonari x reader)

Let’s celebrate Motonari’s upcoming route with an oneshot! 🥳 Since I hopefully avoided most of the spoilers I didn’t come up with any good idea, but then I found this:

you and your enemy hug each other, it's completely accidental, and neither of you know why it happened, and it's like,,, you glare at each other, with an expression of ''let's never speak of this again'´

Thanks for putting this idea in my mind @screnwriter​!

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Language: english

Starring: Motonari x reader (female)

Genre: Comedy

Warning: besides Motonari’s slanguage surprisingly none... ahaha who am I kidding? It's Motonari 😂

real Warnings: angst, bad language, violence (fighting scene!)

Word Count: 1.810

“Get her!”

Shoot! How do I always end in situations like this?!

With this thought you’re bolting straight into the next alleyway. You’ve left the busy trading streets of Azuchi a long time ago and unfortunately lost track of your current position due the rising panic inside of you. Honestly, you’ve no idea where the heck you are right now! Though obviously still in Azuchi you’re running hopefully into the right direction towards the fuller marketplace!

Desperate, you’re squeezing your way through a very small gap between two buildings and dash on. Maybe your pursuers can’t follow you through this and it'll buy you some extra time! The shouts from traders and the sounds of frisky chatters are getting louder with every step you’re taking, which means you have to be on the right track!

Determined you’re keeping up the fast pace, praying you’re able to shake off your pursuers completely in the crowds of the busy market, as you round the next corner. But all of a sudden you’re awfully crashing into a wall.

“Woah!”

“Uff--!”

The heavy impact is stealing your air, though obviously not only from you, but also from said wall, which in the hustle and bustle you’re literally falling into his arms eagerly not to fall. Together you’re even staggering sideways for a split second. Stressed and tense you’re spinning your head up with surprise, staring into the startled, wide ruby red eyes of the man. "Wah-…?"

“… You?!”

You didn't even realize how tight you were clutching Motonari when you crashed into him, until he’s violently yanking your arms away. "The hell yer doing? Got a bloody death wish?" He hisses and is glaring at you furiously.

As shocked as Motonari's reaction was, so are you aghast to face him right now. "What, of all people, are you doing here?!" You snap, still completely out of breath.

Quick steps are pulling you back to the current situation you are still in. You were supposed to keep running from your pursuers but simultaneously you’re facing an enemy of the Oda forces. Your situation is definetly growing somewhat hopeless. Nevertheless the sight of Motonari’s anger makes it a lot easier for your decision, to pass him and run away, than to stand rooted on the spot.

Unfortunately Motonari suddenly grabs your wrist roughly when you've just turned away and is pulling you back. "Ack-…! Let me go!" you plead.

"I won't do shit," Motonari growls venomously. "Now that yer recognized me, princess, I’ve gotta improvise something."

The hectic steps from the side street are getting louder with every passing moment, before they’re coming to a sudden stop right next to you. “There’s this witch!” One of the pursuers is shouting. He’s considerably tall with broad shoulders and a massive body. Shortly afterwards another two coarse figures appears behind him. They’re building themselves up with stern grimaces in the narrow alleyway.

Your eyes anxiously widen and your body starts to tremble ever so slightly. But there is no running away again for you, for Motonari’s adamant grip is chaining you.

"Huh, didn't even know yer know so many grim-looking acquaintances, princess." Motonari’s saying coolly, scanning the three men with his steely gaze. Still he doesn't loosen his grip on your wrist instead he’s tightening it.

"I haven't!" You snort, trying to yank your hand free to get away from him - without avail. You don’t know if it's better, getting caught by Motonari or these guys. But you know for shure both scenarios are pretty bad.

"Hey, you there! Plat-head!” One of the scoundrels growls and is glaring at Motonari grimly, whose dryly raising an eyebrow at this denomination. "Give us the little girl. We have business with her."

“That stupid hussy broke my nose!” Another of them shouts indignantly. You’re noticing his swollen red nose and you can't suppress a brief, yet inappropriate, flash of pride in your face.

It was just a few minutes ago, when they stalked you after you’ve exited your favorite shop. Unfortunately this shop is located in the outskirts of the village so there weren’t many people when they confronted you. The guys wanted to ‘talk to you nicely’ and after a few seconds you’ve ‘nicely declined'. Thank goodness you know some techniques of self-defense!

However, even more inappropriate is Motonari's spiteful laughter that he’s suddenly uttering. It’s giving you the creeps! "Seriously?" With a quick sideways glance in your direction with his ruby red orbs, he’s grinning at the fellow with extreme smug. "Tell me, how’d she did it, putz? Did she climb onto yer?"

Good gracious! Wouldn’t you please make him madder than he already is? Pretty please?!

"What did you just call me?" The broad shouldered man’s roaring furiously. Shortening the distance to Motonari, he’s threateningly waving with his massive fist.

Without wanting to, you’re quickly seeking cover behind Motonari, who has finally let go of your wrist. Now with his hands free he’s facing the attacker. With quick reflexes Motonari’s skillfully dodging the scoundrel's punch and draws his sword with a metal 'shink' that’s humming in the air. You’re holding your breath when Motonari’s holding the blade right against the throat of the ruffian, who is instantly not moving a muscle anymore. "Are you out of yer damn mind? You fucking want to take me on unarmed?!"

Motonari’s sounding incredibly unimpressed, for it was him against three rapscallions, but also incredibly pissed. No matter how this will end, you're sure you won't be of any use. So you’re looking around for an escape route. But you are cornered. The only side you could rush to is a dead end.

"The lil’ one’s mine, get it? So piss off, aye? ” Motonari’s growling with a frown and kicks the man roughly in his side. Gruntling the man hits the ground hard.

"You sunova-!" Furiously about the defeat of his crony, another ruffian - not quite as stupid as his predecessor - is trying his luck with a rusty dagger, when he’s running towards Motonari. But after a few seconds it lands on the ground, followed by the guy.

The last of the crew charges in, just to earn a brutal smack with the back of Motonari’s sword in the side of his neck. "Tch! How the hell did ya morons think yer can take me on when a lil’ girly beat you up? Ya wanna make me really mad?”

You’re recognizing the change in the air around Motonari. It’s tense, shifting from the beginning amusement to bloodlust. Motonari’s wielding his sword, but apparently used it just to disarm his opponent. But now it seems that he won’t restrain himself any longer.

"Crap, let's get out of here!" The guy with the lost dagger is yelling towards his pals. Frantically they’re getting up and quickly disappear into the alleys.

You sigh, relieved as the men finally disappear. But just one moment later your heart’s sinking completely into your boots when Motonari turns back to you, though this time with a sword in his hand. "Back to ya, princess."

“I haven't seen or heard anything!” You shout, throwing your arms up in air and backing from him. Now pressed against a real wall on the side of the house, your heart is pounding up to your throat, when you meet Motonari’s sharp gaze. Luckily the bloodlust you’ve seen before has gone, too.

Motonari’s raising an eyebrow, probably irritated by your strange reaction and is fixing you. Then the corner of his mouth curves up to an amusing smirk while he’s withdrawing his sword back to his belt. “Heh, ain’t that a start?” He snickers.

Abruptly he shortens the distance to you, placing one of his white gloved hands right next to your head against the wall behind you. Superior and smugly, Motonari’s looking straight into your eyes, straight into you. The tension’s getting tangible again and your heart’s pounding hard in your chest. "You owe me. I bet you saw nothing, understood?"

Something you least of all wanted, is to owe to some madman like Motunari! His stern expression is sending a shiver through your spine. "I- ... uhm ... thank you?"

"What should I do with yer thanks? Can’t buy anything with ‘em.” Motonari snarls dissatisfied and is slightly narrowing his eyes. "Either you damn shut yer mouth about everything ya saw - hell, just forget I’m even here! Or I'll cut out yer pretty tongue. Ain’t that a deal?"

Automatically you’re pressing your lips together sealing your mouth - and especially your tongue. You’re staring at him in horror with wide eyes. "Let's never talk about this again, aye?"

What joice do you have? Of course you could just agree with Motonari and then tell the warlords about his whereabouts. But you’ve always been a woman which sticks to her word, no matter how bitter this one is. Not entirely sure whether he'll still carry out his threat to cut off your tongue, you're just nodding, while glancing determined up to him.

"Splendid." Motonari’s pushing himself off the wall with a mask of satisfaction on his face, giving you the way free. "Then rush back to yer patrons, ‘lil princess.”

Uncertain you’re blinking towards him. Motonari makes no move to stop you, he’s just waving with his hand in your direction. He really leaves you with just that! Without further thinking, you’re taking to your heels and bolt away. Not that he'll change his mind after all!

After two more alleys, you’re finally reaching the busy and crowded market and try to calm your panicked pounding heart. That was definitely too much excitement for one day! Still, you're grateful for Motonari getting those ruffians off your back. But why does it haf to be Motonari of all people?!

A deal is a deal, you’re thinking to yourself taking one last, deep, nessecary breath. Certainly it won’t mean anything good that Motonari’s currently in Azuchi. You just hope, you won’t regret this deal someday.

With quick steps you’re heading purposefully back to the castle. Even if this idiot surely won’t appreciate it, your silence about that accident was certain to him.

And you are going to take to grave, that you’ve embraced Motonari by that accident, when running into him. Yes, better never even think about this again!

_____

Motonari’s running his white gloved fingers through his hair and grunts in annoyance, after you left. That you’ve recognized him is a great nuisance to him. It’s time to rethink his plans. That would slow things down a lot.

As if he’d actually trust a little princess like you to keep her mouth shut. What stupidity!

Casually he drives his hands on his sides to get rid of the strange feeling from your delicate arms embracing him.

Let's never talk about this again. - Yeah, better let's not.

[rattlerinthewheel]

Beast of Our Behaviors: Scud/OMC

Scud and a friend hang out like old times.

For a prompt request by @pandoratriestowritestuff: 9) "I don't care how good it feels, you'd better not cum until I tell you to" and 13) "Touch yourself for me", taken from @palettes-and-prompts’ 100 Smut Dialogue Prompts.

Fic title is a song from The Crystal Method.

Chapter title is lyrics from TCM and Bubba Sparxxx’s PHDream, which is what Scud has playing when he meets Whistler.

- - -

"Old man, fuckin’ prick. Ain’t even around yet and he’s pissing me off. 'He’d do this, he’d do that.' Bullshit."

Something about one of his bosses not being around, and they’re looking for him, Marley thinks. He isn’t sure, he’s been zoning in and out, letting Josh vent.

Marley lets his head go ragdoll-limp and flop on the lump of beanbag his weight’s rearranged. Just getting a hazy picture of dark shapes, so he blinks, and then he can make out a pair of pacing red denim legs. They’re baggy and hide the feet, except for the toes of the white socks. The only bright thing in the studio, with the lights off, except the crummy TV playing some DVD the guy on the street said was popular overseas (didn’t tell him it wasn’t in English, the asswipe, so it’s reduced to background noise rather than entertainment).

The pacing halts, blocking half of the yellow-haired chatterbox, and a sigh freshens the earthy reek that was just beginning to fade. He pulls it in, a deep inhale, like he isn’t high enough already. Not like second-hand does much for him.

Any kind of it. Emotions included, which is why he ignores the grumbling and reaches out, fingers wavering because his world’s inverted, to snag the hem of the pants. "Jus’ tell him to fuck off, then."

The denim kicks free. Marley goes for it again, getting a better grip, ignoring the, "Quit bein’ an ass," as the denim kicks again but can’t get loose.

"Point’a you coming over if you’re just gonna bitch?" Marley asks. Something in his neck aches as he lifts his head to look up at the face that owns the denim he’s latched on to. "Thought we were gonna do shit."

"We always do shit," chapped lips huff.

Marley licks his own. Inspired, forgetting about the denim, he fumbles off his bean bag and drops to his haunches in front of his mini fridge. Bristling with anything a stoner could want (well, the shit that doesn’t need to be cold is piled on top) but all he goes for is a soda. He thinks he read something once about it dehydrating more than doing him any good, but he’s pretty sure that’s bullshit. It’s cold going down and wets his lips, how couldn’t a drink hydrate?

Government bullshit.

But when Marley turns around, his seat’s been stolen. He doesn’t mind the view it gets him: Josh, splayed out across the chair, an angry starfish. His joint’s in one hand, sagging in a half-assed pinch between his middle and ring finger, and Marley would worry about the carpet catching if he wasn’t drawn to the point where those sprawled legs lead.

Haven’t done shit yet, might as well, so he takes one big swig of his soda, jams it up on top of the fridge between two bags of chips, and pounces—if crawling over on his hands and knees and pawing at the practically-offered bulge could be considered a pounce. A stoner’s pounce, he decides: lazy and slow.

"Mm, thought you’d never," Josh hums, and Marley scoffs and elbows his thigh.

"Been tryin’," Marley grumbles as he pries away the zipper, then the boxers beneath, to get at the stiffy that’s just beginning to take. It’s easy to pull it out, get the foreskin down, and he gets in three slow pumps on his own before Josh starts to arch into his hand. "So now you wanna."

"Man," Josh pants, somehow going boneless and tense at the same time: his limbs melt while his body goes rigid. It gives Marley something to work against, and the sigh a slower pump earns puffs the hit Josh takes up into the stuffy apartment air.

"Gimme," Marley tells him, thrusts stumbling as he reaches for the joint with his free hand.

The end’s bitten and wet but he gets his lungs filled with earthy smoke anyway, and he forces them to hold it longer than he usually would’ve. When Marley does let it go he’s dizzy, and he wavers on his knees and has to grab one of Josh’s thighs.

The joint sticks out between his fingers, wagging with him, and Josh hisses as it bobs dangerously close to his cock. "Watch it."

Marley giggles as Josh reaches for the joint for another hit. It’s a brief fight, because Marley knows Josh was hogging it way too damn much and Josh doesn’t want to interrupt the hand job. In the end he’s got the joint back in his mouth, and he’s not a starfish anymore, propped up on his elbows so he can watch. Marley doesn’t mind an audience, so he gives Josh a show.

"Fuck," comes on the heels of his thumb swirling around the head, then his palm taking its place so his fingers can drape down and stroke up. That doesn’t get as much of a reaction, so Marley goes back to his first grip. The firm, sluggish stroke down to the base mashes his hand into the blonde curls springing around it.

Josh bucks his hips again, and Marley freezes, near the tip this time. "Behave," he teases.

Blue eyes lock onto brown and Josh growls, "Y’want me to do you after? Keep goin’."

Marley giggles again, a true high giggle, as Josh tugs him forward so he’s close enough to kiss. It’s awkward, the joint getting shoved to the corner of Josh’s mouth, singing their cheeks. But it’s good, because that means Marley gets a mouthful of earthy smoke on top of the sugar of the donuts they scarfed down earlier.

Josh’s cock twitches in his grip when he leans forward enough that his own stiffy, clothed, bumps it. "Uh uh, you ain’t finishing unless I say."

And Josh snorts at that, and Marley can’t keep his composure. He outright laughs and topples onto the stoner under him, kissing him harder, forgetting about the hand job. Josh doesn’t, grinding under him, which reminds Marley that yeah, right, he’s got one too. Funny how weed can make him forget that. It aches, like he’s going to explode right there, now that he remembers.

"Touch yourself," Josh pants as Marley’s rucking up his band shirt. It’s awkward, with how he’s straddling Josh, his legs kind of holding him and kind of not. Too much distance, the bean bag and body puts between the floor and his hips.

Marley’s too busy running his fingers over the scars webbing the exposed belly to pay attention; a pinch to his hip makes him jump, and he’s scrambling for his own fly as Josh watches, smoke fogging his face, but Marley can still see the tongue poking out in the corner that means he’s concentrating.

"Cute," Josh teases as Marley gets his jeans down as much as he can while keeping his position—because right, his zipper’s busted, damn—but pauses to scowl. "What? They are."

Marley scoffs and parts his boxers briefs—ignoring the red, yellow, and green zig zags; so what if they’re stoner colors, they were a gag gift someone got him, they fit, so why not use ‘em?—and groans when he plants one hand on Josh’s shoulder to brace himself and starts to stroke. Easy to ignore, when he wasn’t getting too much stimulation; but now, shit, he’s shaking and greedy and gladly lets Josh paw at him to help.

They get in their scuffles, know how to fight, but it’s not too often they resort to it; not now, either, but the rough pets make Marley shudder, the lack of lube, the tugs that rut his balls against Josh’s pinned shaft under him. They’re both getting off, this way.

"Not till I say so," he hums when he feels it—pre-cum, not his, making a damp spot on the thigh of his boxer briefs.

Josh hisses, holding out. Marley gasps as Josh’s other hand clamps onto the back of his neck, holding him down so Josh can buck his hips up. Josh’s cock slides along his thigh, up onto his hip, and Marley angles them down to trap the rut.

The carpet’s concrete compared to the bean bag as Josh flips them. "What was that about not being a fighter, Fromeyer?"

A scoff pants into his neck as Josh tucks in to nip. "Scud, like stud, dammit. Dunno why you don’t just call me that."

"Because it’s stupid," Marley grunts as Josh picks up the pace.

They’re grinding like horny teens, kissing and pawing, but fuck it—Josh’s got work now, and it’s been a while. Probably will be, again, before they can do this again. Hopefully his hardass bosses don’t drug test.

Josh’s leaving a bigger damp spot on his thigh as he trembles and finishes. Marley’s on his heels, getting that band shirt dirty, he’ll get bitched at for that. But for now, he’s content to just let the other stoner lie on top of him. They’re trapping the mess, getting it over more of them, but fuck it. They’re high, and Marley sighs, and grabs for the joint that’s been left smoldering on the carpet. Landlord’s an asshole, anyway. Can deal with it when his lease is up.

Marley snatches his fingers back as a boot grinds the joint to nothing. He yelps, and Josh fumbles and swears. The unfazed face above them tracks Josh as he gets to his knees, no real shame as he tucks himself away, then to his feet, gesturing at their intruder but not kicking his ass. Knows him, apparently.

"B? The fuck, man?" Josh hisses. Yeah, he knows him.

Marley isn’t as brave, and his high tanks as he blushes and tries to make it look like he doesn’t have white striping his thigh, smearing his hip. He stuffs himself away, at least, in time for the black dude to finally look at him.

"Uh, hi." And because Marley vaguely remembers manners, he points to his fridge: "Pretzels?"

Which feels wrong to ask this guy, somehow. Doesn’t fit with the vibe the room’s got now. He’s still a little high.

B ignores him, and Marley can’t help but frown when he sees Josh is packing up his shit, zipping his bag and jamming his boots on. He’d hoped they’d have a little more time. Not be interrupted, at least.

"You said you were grabbing provisions," B tells Josh flatly.

It doesn’t sit right with Marley. He doesn’t talk... normally. Too formal. But Josh is used to it, doesn’t say anything except, "Yeah, had a detour. Relax, man."

"Oh, I’m a detour," Marley scoffs, poking at the remains of the joint as B steps off to look out the kitchen window. Well, the everything window, since it’s a studio. Joint’s done for, and Marley sighs. His fun’s over, anyway.

"We’re already late."

"Yeah, yeah, I—Jesus." Josh is in front of Marley, then, as he finally clambers to his feet. That catches him off guard. So does the nudge Josh gives him. "Should be back in a few months."

"Months? Shit, what kinda job is this, dude?"

"Classified," comes from the door.

Josh rolls his eyes. "Tell Davey to have more of that good shit grown, yeah?"

"Only if you bring better snacks," Marley negotiates. Chips had been salt and vinegar. Gross, even if he’s too high to care much about flavor.

"Deal."

The quick peck Josh sneaks when he headbutts him surprises Marley, and then Josh is gone, scruffy and flushed and clomping down the stairwell outside the door with his bag. Too soon, too fast, Marley thinks. Would’ve been nice if they could figure out what the DVD was about.

Not as fast as B, lunging back into the room when he looks like he’s going to leave—no, checking to make sure Josh’s gone—and hurling Marley back against his bookshelf. It doesn’t hold a lot of books, more just junk, and an empty turtle shell clatters to the floor.

"Name?" B asks, and his coat twitches, and—holy fucking shit, that’s a big knife, and Marley tells him so. "It’s a sword. Name," B says with the weird patience of someone who doesn’t have time but knows he’s dealing with someone who’s high, and forcing him to hurry won’t do any good.

"Marley." The knife, the sword, taps his shoulder. "Jacobs. Wait, what—"

The hand pinning him goes for his face, his mouth, and Marley winces as his lip’s stretched down. B lets it curl back up just as fast, leaving behind the taste of fake leather, then he’s tilting Marley’s head to the side. Marley wants to tell him to maybe take the shades off first, but then he remembers this guy has a sword. He’s learned a thing or two from buying weed and a little bit of harder stuff. Don’t piss off the guy with the sword isn’t a rule verbatim, but it’s a cousin to don’t get into shit with Stevie, who’s known to carry.

"How do you know Scud?"

Josh, Marley thinks. "Uh, friends. High school, kind of." At B’s head cock, he hurries, "Well, Josh dropped out. We still hung out after."

"Why don’t you call him Scud?"

Jesus, who is this guy? "Not his name," Marley shrugs. "I’unno, I... like it better."

"And you hang out."

Marley says, "Yeah," even though he doesn’t think he’s being asked.

B’s tone suggests he knows what hanging out implies. Marley nods, and B steps off him. For a beat, there’s nothing but the background noise of the TV, what’s a funny pastime for them flat-out embarrassing now. Doesn’t matter that it’s not in English, the yellow-haired boy’s voice is grating, annoying to both the other characters and the audience. Chanting something about a hokage, whatever that is. Soup looks good, though.

The stack of junk over the fridge crinkles as B takes something—a bag of pretzels.

"Hey, what..." Marley trails off, expecting to be ignored as B heads for the door, this time for real, Marley thinks. But he pauses. Waits. "Is Josh okay? He got this job after he got jumped at some festival, I dunno if you knew. But he’s... what kind of job is this?"

Because it clicks. B: this is Josh’s boss. Josh sure bitched about him often enough. Not to mention: provisions, running late, classified.

"Like I said," is all B gives, which, yeah.

But Marley tries anyway. Steps forward, kicks his turtle shell by accident. It skitters further than it ought to, bumps the heel of a clunky boot. "Look, just..." I don’t know what the fuck happened, but is he suicidal? Is this some bullshit he took up to off himself? Is he in too deep with something? Mob? Cartel? "... is he gonna be alright? Is he gonna come back?"

The boots turn. A gloved hand picks up the shell, and then B’s pushing it into Marley’s hands. It’s not gentle, but he think it tries to be. "He’s useful."

That sounds... less than great, but Marley takes it. How many teachers bitched at Josh for goofing off, skipping classes, not being anything but a waste of space?

"Yeah," Marley says, "okay."

- - -

In the morning he wakes up hungover, the TV screen on a purple input screen, the DVD player fried because his soda must’ve fallen off the fridge and spilled. Marley wants to just turn over and go back to sleep on his futon, but blue and red are thrown up on the walls, cops—and Marley’s wide awake and checking that his stashes are hidden like any good stoner.

There’s a body bag being rolled out of the lobby, he sees, with his face pressed up to his window. When he pokes his head out to see if his neighbors know anything, one tells him it was the landlord being carted off. Shot point-blank, and Marley cringes at that. Sure, he was a strict asshole (only available at night, no food in the lobby, no black lights in the apartments) but that’s just... rough.

Well. Hopefully Josh doesn’t have to deal with that kind of violence, wherever his job takes him. Marley entertains the idea that maybe he’s with the CIA. Nah, not Josh, who treated Rage Against the Machine like commandments when they were in high school, who rolled his eyes at army recruiters, who laughed as they got their asses chased by truancy officers.

He’d just as likely be running around with monsters, Marley snorts, and rips off a chunk of stale donut and goes back to bed.

[jaedore]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 | 𝐭𝐰𝐨

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: jaehyun x reader

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: mythology!au, romance, loads of angst, smut (future chapters)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing, violence (choking) -if you are uncomfortable with these themes then i highly suggest you no longer interact!

𝐚/𝐧: IM TRYING AGAIN SO LETS SEE HOW IT GOES OR I MIGHT CRY. as always, italicized text are thoughts/emphases (you’ll know)

[ 7.5 k words ]

You huff, rolling your eyes as you walk out of the room. You hated everything about Jaehyun, his stupid ego, his stupid face, his stupid hair, everything. It was like he was made to hate everyone, including you.

“Hey!” you recognize Mark’s voice, making you snap your head up from the ground.

“Hey, Mark,” you thinned your lips.

“You okay?” he noticed you clutching your arm.

“I’m fine.”

“Wanna go practice then?” Mark raised a brow at you.

“Well since Jaehyun ruined my chance to, why not?” you painted a disguised look on your face by just the name of the so-called male.

Certainly surprised, Mark’s head slightly jolted back, “Jaehyun’s...practicing?” it was rare for the hot-headed male to practice in his free time, so when Mark heard it he didn’t know how to take it.

“Yeah,” you roll your eyes, “with Aera. Do what you want with that information. I’ll be waiting for you outside.”

Your footsteps were synchronous with Mark’s as he walked to the dagger room and you, to wait outside for him. Before you could open the door, you heard Mark scold Jaehyun and you couldn’t stop the smirk from growing on your lips.

You sat on one of the rocks that decorated the entrance as you waited for Mark, no one was here this early yet so everything was nice and peaceful. The birds chirped among the green trees spring provided, you were thankful that the training center was in the middle of the woods, it was far from the busy life on Mount Olympus. Far from the noise, the chaos, the rules, and the pressure of living a life as a child of a god/goddess.

It only took a few minutes before you heard the door swing open, you snap your head expecting to see Mark, but instead see Jaehyun storming out with his hands clenched in fists. You avoid eye-contact, your eyes growing big at the realization of what you may have just caused. You can hear Jaehyun mumble something from his lips, but you’re too timid to listen closely. Once you see his figure stomp off into the woods, you glance up to see Mark’s forehead creased and his arms crossed in front of him.

“Is he always so hateful towards you?” he chirps up, both of your eyes glued to the back of Jaehyun. You shrug as Mark passes you towards the clearing of the waterfall where you two usually practice.

“Seems like he’s always got something to hate,” you follow your friend into the woods, the narrow trail of dirt small enough for only the two of you.

“I wonder if Hades is like that too,” he whispers in thought.

No, he’s not, you thought to yourself. You remember last night’s event, the kind smile adorned his father’s face as his calm voice could lull you to sleep. At first glance, no one would think that he was the king of the underworld. Curiosity sits on your shoulders as you think how different the two are.

“What’d you even say to him?” you glance at the mud that splatters on your boot.

“I just told him that this is a room to train, not flirt.”

You sigh and shake your head, “Mark, that’s exactly what I said to Jaehyun too. Now he knows that I’m the one who told you.”

“Maybe that’s why he was so mad,” you could see him cock his head to the side.

You scoff at his oblivious remark, “Yeah, no shit, Mark.”

After a few more steps, the clearing to the azure waterfall and rocky boulders painted the scene in front of you and Mark bringing you both peace of mind. A feeling of relief washed over you, making you forget all the pressure and hate in the world.

Taking notice of the tenseness in your shoulder escaping with your breath, he whispers, “don’t worry, he’s probably just like that. I wouldn’t take it personally.”

“I know,” you thinned your lips. Of course, you knew that Jaehyun had something against everyone, but why did it feel like it was just against you? And why did you care so much?

With sore muscles and bruised fists, you and Mark were side by side walking back to the training center where all the students began to pour in for their daily lessons. The chattering of students became louder as you two got closer.

You and Mark were in the middle of talking when a tall man ran next to you, the smell of him immediately giving away who he was.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You turn your head to see Lucas, son of Psyche, Goddess of Soul, and Compassion, with a beaming smile shining at you. You couldn’t help but greet him back with your biggest smile and a little laugh because of the trance he had on you. Lucas is always happy, he’s always kind and spreading his love around to others making sure they were happy. He was like the water on a hot day.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Mark whispered to you, giving you raised, yet suggestive brows. You scowl at him for him almost being obvious, but Lucas’s laughter pulled your attention.

“Where’d you two go?” he asked.

“We just went for a walk,” you replied, being completely aware of the white lie you just told. It just wouldn’t be fair for him and others to find out that you were getting private lessons with Mark.

“Cool, cool, you two are close?”

Your gaze from the ground pulls your eyes to Lucas’s, it’s filled with wonder, curiosity, and a bit of hope, “yeah, we’re just good friends.”

“Friends,” Lucas laughs, it rings in your ear, the lovely sound of him expressing amusement lifts the corner of your lips, “well, then...do you wanna grab lunch together today? I know a place where we can eat, too-” he leans closer to you, “-plus, it’s better than the cafeteria.”

You chuckle a bit, raising a brow because you were not expecting him to ask you out for lunch, “like a date?”

Lucas nodded, “Yeah, you can call it that.”

Immediate heat rose to your cheeks, making your heart thump a little faster and constricting your throat, “y-yeah, we can do that.”

“Great, I’ll see you later then,” Lucas lightly punches your arm and runs to catch up with another friend and as you watch him go, your eyes follow his path and cross Jaehyun.

Your jaw clenches at the male as he sends fire bullets to your chest, your entire body tenses up that you run to the opposite entrance to avoid him. You shut the doors behind you with a gulp, but the second you turn around, a dark aura settles in your bones.

Dressed in dark leather and a cold stare, Jaehyun stands before you, his presence bringing the entire world down with him. “Was my father at your house last night?”

You inhaled a drawn-out breath at his question, almost wanting to just ignore it and walk past him, but something in your mind stops you from doing so. “Yes.”

Jaehyun narrows his eyes at you, the eyes that are sharp as a knife and could cut you at a glance, “why?”

“I don’t know Jaehyun, he was there before I got home. All I knew was that he needed to talk to my mother,” you reply as you find the courage to move past him, but as you did, you could sense the suspicious demeanor sitting on his shoulders, “don’t worry, it had something to do with the affairs of Olympus.”

“You don’t know that,” you stop in your tracks and turn back around, viewing his back.

“Yes, I do, Jaehyun. They wouldn’t tell me anything, so I’m pretty sure something’s going on, not between them, but on Olympus,” you reassure him, hesitating to put your hand on his shoulder.

No one knows the relationship between him and his father, the only thing everyone knew was that it was a tense relationship. Cautiously, you set your hand on his shoulder to relieve him. His sturdy shoulders that felt like they were holding up the entire world, slightly slumped, relaxing in your touch. You thinned your lips, thankful that at least part of him trusted you, but it only resulted in him snapping around to clutch your arm, the same arm that he grasped yesterday that had turned to hues of blue and red. You gasp at the solid grip he had on you, the pain from your bruise coming back as he tightened it. Your eyes widened at his dark orbs, making you feel timid and weak in his stare.

Jaehyun pulled you close to his chest, his strong muscles against your forearm and the smell of ashes, musk, and spice wafting to your nose. With the tiny time, you had to glance at him, his sharp features allured you to stare, even more, he was so beautiful up close. His skin was pale as the winter snow, yet his lips were as red as the cherry blossoms in the spring, everything about him hypnotized you that you didn’t even notice him lowering his head to your gaze.

“Look at me,” Jaehyun’s voice is low, almost quiet but still powerful, “I told you to never touch me again,” his voice is poison to your ears that injects fear in your veins.

You winced as you felt him tighten his hold a little bit more, but you managed to push him away from you, his grip easily slipping off like butter.

“Then don’t touch me either,” your brows creased at him before you turned on your heel to walk back to where everyone else was.

You could feel his gaze burning through your back, but you couldn’t help but turn back and see him staring right back into your soul. So you quickly walked until you saw civilization again, the buzz of lower-class students and the sounds of lockers slamming.

“Hey, where’d you go?” Mark came up behind you, making you jump.

“I-I uh, nowhere, it doesn’t matter,” you huff.

Behind you, Jaehyun turned from the corner you came out of, which sent questions out of Mark’s mouth. Such as, why you came out of the same place Jaehyun did if you were walking to him, what he had to say, etc. but you only shooed him off, picking up your pace to walk to the hand-to-hand combat room.

As much as you tried avoiding Jaehyun, the thought of him was engraved on the inside of your head. It didn’t help that since you two were in the same rankings, you’d have to train with him. Rank A, only for the best. When you found out Jaehyun was in the same class rank as you, you couldn’t help but feel a bitter taste on the tip of your tongue. You knew he was going to be trouble from the beginning.

“Um..okay, you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine Mark,” you huff at his question and he gets the signal that you no longer wanted to talk about it. That’s how you always were, you always brushed your problems to the side, and Mark’s afraid that one day, they might pile up so high on your shoulders that you’d combust and destroy yourself.

Nonetheless, Mark hums, glancing at how you purse your lips forcefully, “if you say so. What did Lucas have to say to you?”

Like the only light bulb in the only room, your eyes immediately lit up to the male’s name, “he asked me if I wanted to grab lunch with him and eat somewhere else...with just the two of us,” you thin your lips and fiddle with your fingers, even the thought of Lucas made you happy. A sudden outburst of Mark’s laughter makes you snap your thoughts to reality so you slap his arm at his lack of seriousness, “what’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Mark clutches his stomach, his other hand shielding himself from you, “it’s just weird seeing you act this way because of some boy.”

“He’s not just some boy,” you narrow your eyes at Mark, “he’s Lucas,” you giggle, your eyes closing in innocence.

“I guess I shouldn’t say ‘weird’. It’s different, but it’s a good different, I guess,” he shrugs and walks towards the arena because it’s almost time for training.

“You guess?” you run after him.

“Yeah,” his voice raises in reassurance as he opens the door, the smell of iron protruding the air and the feeling of cement on the heels of your feet.

You slightly pout your lips and blink in your thoughts, are you really that intense that you never showed any sort of happy emotion? You never focused on anything else other than training and perfecting your skills, but now that you have, a new feeling settles on your heart.

“Don’t think about it so much,” Mark nudges you and walks ahead of you to talk to the other trainers.

You watch him jog up to the others, soaking in what he said, but it spills out of your head the second you feel a hard push on your shoulder from the person behind you. Turning your head, the person who shoved you was no one other than Jung Jaehyun, he doesn’t even look back at you as he passes you, but you give him a dirty look and inhale a sharp breath. The things he does to test your patience.

“Asshat.”

It’s only a few minutes until the other students in your ranking pour in, it’s a small group, but it’s a proud group because everyone had to train endlessly to get to the top rank. There are a few new faces, but most of the students are ones you’ve seen for a while, you nod to greet them as they all step in and stand behind you. As expected, it doesn't take too long when you begin hearing whispers from them.

“Jaehyun’s in the top group?”

“How did he make it?”

“Is he really that good?”

“Hades probably bought him his rank.”

“Or he’s just really good.”

“Yeah, he’s really attractive too.”

You roll your eyes, but immediately catch Jaehyun’s stare. You hold his gaze raising a brow and mouthing “what?” to him because it seems like at this point, he’s just looking at you to look at you. Jaehyun peels his eyes from you to look at the other students, greeting them also. The gesture is kind, his lips thinned, not lifted, but his demeanor changes and it disgusts you.

“I know! Do you think he’s talking to anyone?”

You exhale a scoff, your tongue poking out from the inside of your cheek as you turn your head, “we’re here to train. You’ve made it this far, so if your mind is still focused on catching someone’s attention, go to the Aquatic then,” your whisper is sharp, almost on the brink of cruelness.

You didn’t have time to train with others who didn’t take training seriously, if they didn’t and were focused on other things, you urged them to leave. In this case, you suggested they leave for the famous club on Mount Olympus, Aquatic, since their mind is focused on catching someone’s eye, specifically Jaehyun’s. He’s not even that great, he’s an ass.

“Alright everyone, we’re gonna start,” Mark claps his hand, gaining attention from everyone.

“Newbies, welcome, this is going to be your first day in hell,” one of the other trainers said, earning a slap in the arm from Mark.

“No, it’s not, but we will be training you to be the best. Your limits will be pushed and you might cry, but we’re only trying to make you the best of the best,” Mark explains, eyeing his peer.

“If your mind isn’t in this training room right now, then I suggest you leave or else this will be a very, very long 4 hours,” a smirk grows on the other trainer, you can’t help but mentally laugh because of how he’s trying to explain this process by scaring the newcomers. You can see the slight fear and nervousness in their eyes.

“So that being said,” Mark claps his hands again, “we’ll be testing where your skills are. You’ll be paired up with someone who’s already been training on this team for years and will be required to fight them in front of us. We just want to see where you are and if you have potential in this rank.”

“And if we don’t?” One of the girls behind you speaks up, everyone’s head turning towards you.

“Then you get demoted to the ranking before this one. As in, you go back into your old ranking group until we see that you’re ready to join,” you turn your head and reply to the girl, you raise your eyebrow at her for her lack of focus from before.

“Just as Y/N said,” Mark responds.

“Then why recruit us?” She asks.

“You’ve scored well in your old ranks, which has gained you access to this ranking group, but we have to see if you’re good enough or have the potential to train with us. We have to see if you blend in well,” a female trainer adds.

“To see if we’re good enough?” the newcomer doesn’t stop with her questions as she repeats the female trainer’s latest comment.

“Look,” you turn until you’re completely facing her, “if you want to be here so bad, then shut your mouth and stop wasting time. Focus on training and getting better instead of asking questions about your own abilities, which you should know about unless you’re actually not as good as you seem.” You tilt your head when the corner of your lip lifts into a smirk, you don’t mean to be intimidating, but she’s wasting everyone’s time.

The newbie flashes you a distasteful scoff but glances back up at the trainers who also seem to be on your side. If you heard correctly, you thought you heard Jaehyun chuckle, but you ignore it when you see the narrowness of his eyes.

“She’s right,” the female trainer defends you, clapping her hands to end the discussion and to start training, “okay, we’re gonna pair you guys up now.”

Name after name was called until it was just you and the new girl who couldn’t keep her trap shut. She had a mouth, but did she have the skills?

“Newbie, you’re with Y/N,” the second you heard your name, your lips pressed together, an impatient sigh escaping your nose.

“Come on, let’s go,” you don’t glance at her as you lead her to the area you’d usually warm up to train, “as you probably already know, I’m Y/N.”

“Maeve,” it’s a pretty name, you’ll give her that, but she says it quietly, timidly, contradicting the time she had just opened her mouth to the most respectable trainers.

Her heavy steps are heard as she follows you, both of your frustrated auras tainting the air surrounding you two. Once you get to your spot, you begin jogging wall to wall to get yourself warmed up while she begins stretching. You raised a brow at her, but didn’t think too much of it, you needed to get focused because no matter what skill level she was at, both of you had something to learn from this. You ran, jogged, did some push-ups and sit-ups before you heard the faint name of Jaehyun’s get called. You glanced up to see he was paired up with one of the male newcomers, who was almost as tall as Jaehyun, but not as lean as him. When they walked up, the newcomer walked as if he possessed a sense of confidence, like he knew he was going to beat Jaehyun. Nonsense, you mentally scoff to yourself as you eyed him.

When Mark blew the whistle, the newcomer proved you wrong, he was doing certainly well with his sharp tactics and blocking defenses. You had a feeling of what Jaehyun was doing, it’s something you do too, he was waiting for the newbie to use all of their energy before attacking them. A corner of your lips slowly lifts when you are deemed correct. As the newcomer begins to stumble, Jaehyun goes for the male, immediately punching his jaw, then his rib. The newcomer trips over his own feet and-

“You got a thing for him or something?” Maeve questioned you.

“Who- Jaehyun?” you scan her up and down, she holds a smirk on her lips as she’s in a runner’s lunge. She’s dressed in the regular uniform but dressed it in her style, which you hate to admit, looked good.

“Yeah, you know he and Aera have a thing, right?” she narrows her eyes at you, signifying that you didn’t want to get involved.

“Oh, and is that such a big deal?” you also go into the lunge until you’re at her eye-level, “Please-” you scoff, “-why would I even care to be interested in someone like him?”

She laughs at your remark, but lunges closer to your face attempting to intimidate you, “you think you’re so high up there, huh?”

Your eyes shoot daggers at her, “what are you even talking about?”

“You clearly think that since you’re the daughter of Athena, you think that you’re so good, so high up there, better than everyone else when we all know that you’re not. That this-” she points her finger up and down at your figure, “is just a show. You’re not as good as you think you are, as everyone sees you as.”

You stand up, eyeing her figure that stretches below you, “what are you trying to do? Provoke me?”

The newcomer with apparently a big ego now, stands up and gives you the same dirty expression you’re giving her, “What if I am?”

“Y/N, newbie, you’re up now!” Mark yells at you two.

You throw a smirk at her, “well consider myself provoked. Get ready for it,” you raise a brow and nudge your shoulder with her’s as you walk past her to the ring.

Passing by Mark, you flash him a prideful smile, but he clutches your arm before you could even pass him, “be gentle.”

You scoff, “don’t worry, she’ll get what she asked for.”

Mark only shakes his head as he leads the two of you to the ring. You and the newcomer both glare at each other, her with hate and you with amusement. It only takes three whistle blows until you two begin in your fighting stance. She’s quick and sharp in her movements as she attempts to throw a jab at you, but you’re faster at defending yourself. You have more force to your movements, so you punch her back, immediately coming in contact with her cheek. The newcomer spits out the blood that spills from the corner of her lip and while she’s distracted, you roundhouse kick the side of her face anticipating the sound of her body thumping the ground.

You stand and wait for her to get up and fight you, but she doesn’t. The next thing you knew, you felt contact with her feet against yours, she swung them under you, making you fall on your back, which results in you roughly falling on your back. Your breathing stutters as your chest heaves, but the next thing you knew, her hands made contact with your neck and she didn’t even show you mercy when she rapidly began to tighten her grasp on you. Your eyes widen as your passageway to air is blocked, you begin to thrash your limbs, hitting everything you could as stars begin to blanket your vision. Every second in your hold comes with a constricting pain, releasing almost every kind of worry in your head. You swore you almost saw her eyes turn black when she saw your struggle.

You can hear the shouts of trainers and chaos around you swirling through blurred vision. Everything was faint but you knew the person who managed to get the girl off of you. He lifted you onto your feet, with his arms wrapping around your limp body, knowing that you needed oxygen in your brain and blood back in your veins.

“It’s okay, I got you, I got you. You’re gonna be okay,” Jaehyun whispers in your ear, your head falling against his chest, your eyes slowly opening and closing each second as he strives to keep you standing. Each and every inhale you take is a sting to your throat, the constricting muscles feeling like they’re on fire.

“Let go of me,” you murmur through a hushed tone, weakly trying to push yourself away from him.

“Stop fighting me, let me help you,” he grunts as your body rejects any kind of his physical support.

“I don’t-” you cough, “-need...your help.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles into your ear, eyeing the trainers trying to get a hold of the newcomer who choked you.

You clutch onto Jaehyun’s arm as you glance back. Your vision is slowly returning but you can still see black in her eyes and the veins of her neck, every part of her is drowned in fury, chaos, and darkness, more intense than the male who holds you. She struggles in the trainers’ hold, the growls and screams of outrage screeching your ear.

With a wheeze, you shut your eyes at her piercing shriek, “just get me the hell out of here.”

Jaehyun does just that, he holds onto your shoulders but makes sure you’re still supported as he leads you to the infirmary. He can hear your stuttering breaths and tiny coughs. You bring your hand up to your neck, massaging the bruises and pain.

“I can walk myself,” you grumble under your breath, which is literally just your raspy voice now.

“Fine,” Jaehyun immediately lets go of you, giving you a slight push as he leaves you be, but it only leads you to fall on your knees and your palms stopping you from face planting.

You violently cough, your body still weak and slow in gaining air and strength. Glancing up at Jaehyun, he eyes you with a smug look, orbs filled with brutality. He knows that you clearly need help, your trembling breaths are begging for it but you don’t plead for his help. The last thing you want to do is ask for his help, along with being seen as weak and helpless, you didn’t want anyone’s pity.

You hear Jaehyun sighing at your crouched figure and your hand that clutches your chest, “that’s what I thought,” the taps of his feet become louder the closer he gets to you.

This time, he briskly lifts you into his arms with his hard chest against your arm. The steady bounce in his steps has your arm feeling the muscles of him, your hand fumbling with the fabric of your uniform on top of your chest. You try your best to hide the slight blush in your cheeks by looking somewhere else but your eyes land on his neck. Adorned with fine black ink into the image of a creature, it stares back at you as you admire the art that lays on his soft skin. If it wasn’t for the vile creature that stamped his neck, you would’ve perceived the artwork as fragile as an ancient vase of Olympus.

Jaehyun spares you a glance and sneers at you, “got enough air in your head, yet?”

You gulp and blink elsewhere, “yes.”

Jaehyun kicks open the door to the infirmary and lays you on the bed, “great. Now you owe me,” and proceeds to leave.

“Oh my gosh, what happened to you?” Kun’s eyes widen into space planets.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you hush him, your voice still strained.

Kun thins his lips and tends to your care. He’s gentle and careful in adding ointment on your neck, fully aware of how sensitive you are, “you probably won’t be able to speak loudly for the next couple of days, but give it time. Your throat needs to rest, so take it easy, alright?”

You nod, sucking your bottom lip as you raise your neck for more exposure, hoping that you were making his job easier. The taunting memories of what just happened come fully back in your mind, the image of the newcomer’s black eyes and veins flashes across your brain, making you gasp and jolt away from Kun’s hold.

“Did that hurt? I’m sorry!”

You softly shake your head, “no, no...sorry, I was just thinking.”

Kun peers up at you, “wanna talk about it?” You sit on the cot, contemplating your next question, but he can tell that it slightly troubles you like a phantom itch, “we don’t have to.”

“Do you know who Maeve is?” you whisper gently, but your hand grips your knee to distract yourself from the pain.

“Maeve?” his forehead creases in wonder, his mind trying to recollect any faint memory of the name, but he shakes his head, “no, I don’t think I’ve heard of her.”

You hum at his response, it was usual for you to not know everyone that attended the training center. Those who enrolled were children of the gods/goddesses, demigods, and even children of those who had the faintest amount of power that flowed through their veins. Even if you could, no one was allowed to ask or look up the background of another student, no matter how well known they already were, it was one of the morals held at the center.

“Why?”

“She’s the one who caused this. Just wanted to know what she holds,” you respond, referring to her power, knowing who her birth giver was would be super beneficial.

“Oh? And what would you do with that information?”

“Use it for it’s good.”

Seems like I’m getting eaten alive more and more as I get near Jaehyun. You rub your neck, the cloth softly sticking to the ointment that Kun had just put on. He let you lay down for the time being until you were stable enough to finally be on your own and since you couldn’t talk, you listened to Kun’s rambling on his studies of the human beings that live on Earth. You had to stop him mid-sentence because you had a lunch date.

“Y/N!” your eyes snap up at the call of your name from your favorite person. Lucas, like the fresh breath of air you needed, ran to you with his big smile, gums showing his enthusiasm, and both of your lunches in his hands.

“Lucas,” you smile, your voice cracking at the male, you quickly clear your throat in the gentlest way possible as he sets a bowl of soup in your hand.

“Hi,” he huffs, “I heard what happened, so I bought you soup instead of a sandwich,” Lucas lightly nudges your arm towards the door that leads outside, assuming that’s where he plans to take you.

You stay quiet and shy when you follow him, a little too nervous to converse. The gravel beneath your scuffing feet turns into grass and then into leaves, the crunch filling up the silence between you two.

“So who’s the culprit?”

“Maeve,” your jaw tenses up when her name slips bitterly from your lips.

Lucas inhales a sharp breath, his head tilting to the side to think, “Never heard of her.”

“You don’t want to,” you mumble under your breath.

When you can hear the familiar sound of a waterfall and the crisp smell it brings, you quietly laugh to yourself as your head shakes. Disappointment taints your laughter when you wonder how Lucas found out about this place.

“It’s so pretty, isn’t it?”

“Yeah...how did you find this place?” You ask, your hand brushing against the branch that always blocks your way as you come in.

“Just a little exploring in my free time,” Lucas follows closely behind you, “come, let’s sit here.”

He leads you to the perfectly sized rocks, little does he know that you and Mark usually sit on it after your private training. He offers to open your container of soup and you let him, being the gentleman he is. Something about Lucas makes you feel at ease like he’s the four-leaf clover that can overturn the back luck that’s been happening. His laughter that soundwaves to your ears widens the smile on your face, he makes you laugh like no one’s ever made you.

You two spend time sitting on the rocks, you slurping your soup and him chewing away his sandwich as you both peer at the waterfall. With the little time you two have, it doesn’t stop him from sprinkling his little jokes from time to time, growing a smile on your face in doing so. You can’t help but feel so blissful when you’re with him, everything about him is so happy and compassionate, it’s easier to say so since he’s the child of Psyche.

“You okay?” abruptly, Lucas asks you in the middle of clutching your stomach from laughing so much.

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“I don’t know, I’ve just never seen you laugh this much,” he shrugs, crumpling the plastic wrap of his finished sandwich.

“Maybe no one’s made me laugh this much before,” you manage to calm down, your voice returning to a quiet tone.

A pleasant smile expands Lucas’s lips, his eyes glimmer almost reflecting the waterfall and he leans in closer to you, “May I?”

You chuckle at his politeness, a part of you pleased that he had these kinds of manners, “of course.”

Gently, you felt his hands caress your jaw, and leans in closer to you, closing the gap between your lips. It’s slow, with a hint of playfulness, though he’s so careful with you that you can’t help but melt in his embrace. He makes up all of the bad luck that’s happened this week. The plumpness of Lucas’s lips left you craving for more and more, your hands resting on his chest as his hands wrapped around your waist.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to do that,” Lucas whispers as he pulls away from you.

“Should’ve done it sooner,” your eyes scanned his lips up to his eyes.

You’ve known Lucas for a couple of years, your mother and his are pretty good friends, so you’d see him around at some of the gatherings his mother would host. He was a little boy when you first met him, but you’d always see him playing in the mud with some of the other kids while you sat with your mother. The moment you knew that you had feelings for him was that time when you two were still young and other kids were making fun of you for not being like other girls, a lot of the kids were afraid of becoming your friend because you were good at defending at yourself, they’d think that you’d hit them, so they distanced themselves from you. Until, Lucas stood up for you and just said that you’re just like them, just good at fighting. You will never forget the smile he flashed you when he said those words, even if they don’t sound deep and serious, it meant everything to you as a child, and now.

Like a gentleman, Lucas let you finish your lunch slowly until you two trekked back to the training center. Since it was a Friday, training was a little more laid back in the second half of the day.

“Will you be going to the bonfire tonight?” he asks you, offering to grab your bowl.

“Yeah,” you turn your head to him as the leaves turn into gravel again, “you?”

“Of course, I’d never miss a good bonfire,” he gently nudges you, but before he can speak Marks walks up to the two of you.

“Mark.”

“I’ll see you later?” Lucas whispers, you nod to see him leave you and Mark alone.

“What’s up?”

“She’s calmed down if you wanna talk to her,” Mark lowers his gaze to your neck.

“I really don’t wanna talk to that bitch right now,” your eyes deadpan to elsewhere.

“Fine, then do you wanna see her?”

Your eyes switch back to Mark in curiosity, “does she still look the same?”

“A bit, she’s calmed down though.”

“Okay,” you inhale careful breath, “let’s go then.”

You follow Mark into the interrogation room where she sits alone, isolated in the cement walls. Mark opens the door to the other room, where you can see her but she can’t see you. In it, you find Jaehyun standing with his arms crossed as he observes her, his forehead creasing with wonder because he’s never seen anyone like this before.

“What is he doing here?” you whisper to Mark.

Apparently, you weren’t as quiet as you thought, “If there’s anyone that knows anything about hatred, it’s going to be me,” Jaehyun answers you, but doesn’t give you a glance.

You turn to Mark and all he does is just roll his eyes and nod, Jaehyun almost taking the words out of his mouth. You slowly walk up next to Jaehyun who stares at Maeve. Her eyes are still painted black, her veins tainted with black on her neck slowly disappearing, but still visible. Her hands are chained, attached to the metal table that’s drilled into the ground but there’s black smoke that surrounds her, almost as if she’s their master and whatever that smoke is, is her protection.

“So no one knows who her parents are?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Jaehyun responds.

“Do you think your dad would know?” you discreetly ask.

“Maybe, maybe not. I only know her name and I doubt that’d be helpful at all,” he shrugs.

“Y/N, when she came onto you, did she look like this too?”

Even the thought of it weakened your knees, but you shoved it deep into your mind with a stinging gulp, “yeah, everything except the smoke,” you can recall almost everything you saw, but another part of you doubts yourself, what if it’s just the lack of oxygen that made me see it falsely at the time?

“Do you think it’s because of something you said to her?” Mark inquired.

“I’m positive, if anything, she’s the one that provoked me,” you look at Maeve, the way both her eyes pools into blackness, it’s haunting and it does nothing but sends chills down your spine and grows goosebumps on your skin.

“I don’t believe you,” Jaehyun chirps and your head snaps to him, “I mean clearly, you did something to piss her off and literally choke you. Everyone knows you have a lurking temper.”

“I didn’t say anything to her Jaehyun,” you sneer.

“Okay, okay guys, let's not start something here,” Mark interrupts Jaehyun before he could even speak. His eyes are still fixed on Maeve, but his head is empty. He has no idea what he’s going to do with her.

You were just about to speak up again until you felt the familiar constricting feeling on your neck again, you clutch onto it but there’s nothing there other than your hands. You look at Maeve from the other side of the window and she’s looking directly at you with a smug look, she can see me, it seems like she holds some kind of power that can be telepathically sent through whatever surface she wants it to penetrate through. Panic settles in your eyes, widening them and you clutch onto anything that you can. Your hands land on Jaehyun’s arm and you grip onto it, catching both his and Mark’s attention. Like before, her grip doesn’t show you any kind of mercy and the pain from before slithers into your skin.

Before your knees go weak, you let out a loud cry, and tears spill from your eyes, but Jaehyun's quick in catching you. You felt as if everything went in slow motion, but nothing was visible to you, the only thing you could see was Jaehyun’s alarmed eyes, his dark orbs begging you to keep fighting. Funny, considering that it never seems like that whenever you encounter him.

“Kill her,” Jaehyun shutters.

“You know I can’t do that,” Mark panics.

“Mark, fucking kill Maeve before she kills Y/N!” Jaehyun shouts at the trainer, his veins swelling from his neck, which results in Mark running to the other room and completely knocking Maeve out of her state.

Mark doesn’t exactly kill because that would be illegal, but he does enough to knock her out and when he does, everything dissolves in the air, the black smoke evaporates and the translucent force falls into the cement, never to be seen. You gasp for air as your body shakes in hysteria, your hands clutching at the fabric that lays on your chest as the painful relief of air slowly comes back to you. You can’t help but become fearful of it coming again and you not making out of it alive.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Jaehyun tightens his hold on you, somehow the feeling of it brings you back to Olympus.

You stay in his arms, letting him rock you until you gain enough consciousness to push him away. You support yourself on your elbows before gathering the strength to run out of there, leaving Jaehyun foiled. Running through the walls, you don’t give care to those who look at you with bizarreness or concern, you have to go home, I need to get out of here, I need to get out of here. You repeat it to yourself over and over again until you’re actually out of the training center. Finding the nearest large rock, you plunk on it to attain the sufficient air to go on. After a couple of minutes of staring at the top of trees meeting the blue sky, you slowly stand up to walk towards town. You needed to go visit your mother, Athena.

Everything about the building she works in is luxurious, made in marble, lit with expensive diamond chandeliers, and the smell of champagne wafts to your nose. Each person you pass by gives you a respectable greeting, you do your best to return it in the friendliest way possible. Your mother is the Commander in Chief at Olympus Affairs, she’s in charge of anything that has to do with the welfare of Mount Olympus, given her title of being the goddess of warfare, wisdom, and other affairs.

“Y/N,” your mother shoots from her chair and runs to you, “what happened to your neck?” she glances at the fragility of your neck and winces in concern as she sees hues of reds and purples taint your once smooth skin.  

“That’s why I'm here, mother-” you walk to her computer that sits on her desk, “-do you know anyone’s daughter with the name of Maeve?” you begin typing in her database, trying to look for any kind of evidence, proof that you weren’t going crazy.

“Not that I can remember, why? Is she the one who did this to you?”

“Yeah,” you type her name and thousands of results turn up, you’re just thankful that ‘Maeve’ isn’t a common name on Olympus or else you would’ve gotten more, “twice.”

“Oh dear,” your mother cups her mouth in shock, “I need to talk to the center.”

You stop your mother from pulling out your phone, “No, mother stop. Please.”

Your mother gasps in disbelief, “you could’ve died!”

Another gasp rips through the air and this time it’s yours, “Her mother is Eris, who can manipulate shadows,” you whisper the latter, connecting the dots that Maeve must’ve inherited some of her mother’s shadow manipulation abilities. When you don’t hear anything from your mother, you turn to see the colors in her face flush with pallor as she grabs the phone.

“Mother, what’s wrong?” you stand from bending over her desk with furrowed brows. And who is she calling?

“She’s back...this isn’t good...I thought so too...when are you available to talk?... Two days?!? Do you know how serious this is?!?!” you jump from the anger in your mother’s voice, “Fine. I’ll come by then-” your mother looks at you, “-and I’m bringing my daughter with me...Why?...Because she literally almost killed my only daughter you JACKASS!” With that she ends the call and slams her phone on her glass desk, you swore you could feel not only her glass desk crack but the windows behind you two that stretch from the ground to the ceiling.

“Who did you call?” you ask nervously, a bit of you already know the answer but you didn’t want to hear it.

With her hands propped on her hips, your mother replies, “Hades, we’re having dinner at their place in two days.”

[rowan-underthehouse]

Backseat Driving

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Ruby/Sam Winchester

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3547

Warnings: Descriptions of violence, mild sexual content, language

Additional Tags: mostly comedy with a few more serious moments, relationship reveal

Summary:

Sam and Dean Winchester have done a remarkable job of keeping their relationships with things they should probably be hunting a secret from each other. That is, until now.

Read it on Ao3 here

Sam never thought he’d live to say it, but he should probably be more grateful his brother is alive.

In a grander sense, he’s thrilled. He would have given everything for this in a heartbeat. Hell, he tried to give everything for this. All he wishes is that there was a way around the guilt.

It had become white noise when Dean was in the pit, horrible and endless, but it could be drowned out. He could convince himself that Dean would have wanted this if he could have seen the whole picture. Now it comes in waves. One moment he’s fine, the next he can barely keep his head above the water.

Sam is lacing his boots, trying to be as silent as possible when it hits him tonight. Dean willingly went to an eternity of torture for Sam’s sake, and Sam couldn’t even honour his dying wish. It’s harder to justify with his brother sleeping curled on his stomach a few feet away. Harder to ignore.

It’s ridiculous, shoving pillows under his quilt like some teenager sneaking out the back door with a bottle of Jack, but if he can’t keep his promise, at least he can try to keep Dean from worrying.

He quietly drops the impala’s keys into his pocket, and slips out into the night.

…

It’s hellhounds that wake Dean tonight, tearing at his chest and leaving shredded ribbons of flesh. He can’t move. Can’t fight or even look down. He just lays there, feeling the wet warmth of blood soaking into his clothes, catching glimpses of enormous slobbering heads, gasping for the breath that barely makes its way into his lungs.

He bolts upright, only making it halfway to the knife beneath his pillow before his brain lurches into the dark and empty motel room a few seconds after the rest of his body. He goes for fistfuls of his hair instead, tugging until it hurts and digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. His jaw aches, teeth having been clenched for far too long.

It’s another stupid fucking nightmare. That’s all it is. Dean just needs to fight through the relentless exhaustion still weighing him down and get his feet on the floor. Get some water or just stretch and try to reset his brain for any chance at a few hours of good sleep. But there’s a dog howling in the room next door and his eyes are so sticky with tears they almost burn and he can’t make his legs listen to his brain and kick off the covers.

“Shit.”

He doesn’t notice the telltale flutter of feathers, just the sudden steady pressure of Cas’ hand on his shoulder. Dean startles hard, sucking in a breath as he whips around.

“Cas.” A tiny bit of the tension drains from Dean’s body. “Did I,” he clears his throat, reaching for some dignity. “Did I call for you again?”

Cas smiles softly, setting a hand on Dean’s sternum, easing the crushing of his lungs, brushes knuckles against Dean’s jaw and saps out the tension. Maybe it’s a waste of his grace, but Cas always refuses to hear it.

“In a way. I sensed your longing.”

It sounds fucking pathetic, but Dean can’t bring himself to care. He’s too tired for the usual embarrassment that would come with grabbing fistfuls of Cas’s coat with trembling hands, and tugging him lightly toward the bed. Cas doesn’t need convincing.

Cas runs a hand through Dean’s hair and presses a kiss to the top of his head. He pulls back just long enough to drop his overcoat to the floor and kick off his shoes. Dean barely has time to register the loss of contact before Cas is straightening out the sheets, easing him out of his sweat soaked overshirt and jeans. He climbs under the covers and tangles his legs with Dean’s as easily as if it was breathing. Like they’re meant to hold each other this way. He pulls Dean tight to his chest, kneading his fingers into the tension in Dean’s shoulder blades, and Dean melts into him.

The battle against the bone-deep exhaustion dragging Dean back toward sleep is quickly becoming uphill. He presses his face into the fabric of Cas’ shirt.

“It’s alright, Dean. Rest. I have you.”

And Dean gives up the fight.

…

Maybe it’s hard-wired into demons for the sake of all their contracts, or maybe Ruby really wants to see what will happen next, but Sam doubts her constant punctuality is a courtesy.

She’s waiting on the corner of Oak and 19th when Sam pulls up, exactly where she said she’d be, jacket pulled tight across her chest to fend off the night chill.

Sam opens the door and she slides into the passenger seat.

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t show.”

Sam keeps his eyes on the dash. “Yeah. Well, I’m here now.”

Ruby catches his arm on its way to the ignition, finally managing to meet his eyes, her tone more gentle.

“You can’t listen to him, Sam. You’re stronger than your brother. He wouldn’t understand. He’d ruin everything we’ve worked for. It’s too important. We can’t let him get in the way.”

Sam sighs deeply. “I know.”

“You’re doing the right thing, Sam. This is the only way.”

“I know.”

Ruby relaxes her grip on Sam, easing back into the passenger seat as if nothing had happened.

“I would kill for some French fries. We can go to that restaurant and try to pick up Lilith’s trail. We’ll have to make sure you’re strong enough for tonight…”

She slips out her pocket knife, casually drawing the flat edge across her bicep, like a fidget instead of the open invitation Sam knows it is.

“…help you unwind.”

Sam steps on the gas.

…

Dean doesn’t sleep for more than an hour, waking up with Cas still relaxed beside him, eyes closed. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d think the angel was asleep. One big hand is splayed over Dean’s hip, thumb dipping just below the waistband of his worn boxers.

It’s driving Dean crazy.

It would be so easy to shift Cas’ hand to where he needs it. He’d just have to roll over. Maybe it would seem too desperate, but, fuck, Dean is desperate. It’s been weeks since they’ve had time for this and he’s passed one too many long drives thinking about Cas’ mouth on him.

Instead, he scoots closer, untucking Cas’s shirt to get to warm skin and toned abs. He presses a kiss into Cas’s collar bone, his neck, the underside of his jaw before finally pulling back to see his face. Cas’ eyes are open, pupils blown wide as he watches Dean. The grip on Dean’s hip tightens.

In one fluid movement, Dean repositions to kiss Cas more solidly, just about blacking out for a second when Cas matches his enthusiasm.

“Want you,” Cas gasps out between kisses.

His voice alone is almost enough for Dean. He closes his eyes again, trying to compose himself. “Yeah. Yeah, alright baby. Hold on.”

Cas frowns when Dean pulls back, obviously confused, until Dean props himself up and rolls to straddle Cas’ hips. It’s a process to get his shirt unbuttoned and off, Dean still kissing him like the world is ending much faster than it is, and Cas no more eager to pull away.

Dean finally sits back into Cas’ lap, taking a moment to catch his breath. He trails a hand down Cas’ chest, making him shiver.

“Fuck, sweetheart, look at you.” Dean loves seeing Cas like this, his face so open and happy. And because of Dean. It’s hard to wrap his head around. Dean traces along the smile forming on Cas’ lips, beaming when Cas presses a kiss into the pad of his thumb. He could get used to this.

Dean is leaning down to kiss him again when he loses his balance. He doesn’t fully understand what’s happening until his back hits the mattress, hands gently pinned above his head. It might be the hottest thing Dean has ever experienced. He barely stifles a moan as Cas shifts his weight on top of him.

At that exact moment, Dean remembers his brother, still tucked under his quilt in the adjacent bed.

“We should take this somewhere else.”

Cas nods, a strand of already disheveled hair falling into his face, and then Dean’s back hits the familiar cold leather of the impala’s back seat.

Arms unpinned, he sets to work on Cas’ belt, finally letting out the soft moan that’s been building at the back of his throat.

“Cas? DEAN!?” Dean doesn’t need to look to recognize Sam’s voice coming from the driver’s seat. “What the hell!”

…

Like so many other cars, the impala has a big, slightly scratchy blanket that lives in the back seat. The only difference is that this one has been replaced a good dozen times when there was too much blood to just wash out. The current car blanket is an almost new, grey number, which is, as it turns out, just big enough to wrap Dean in his relative state of undress like a very angry burrito.

He sits in the backseat, scowling at Sam through the rearview mirror. To Sam’s right, Ruby is looking only slightly less unimpressed.

Sam tries to enjoy the last few seconds of silence.

Ten…nine…eight…

“So it’s not bad enough to work with a demon, now you’re sleeping with her too?”

“Dean…”

“Don’t ‘Dean’ me! What the hell do you think you’re doing, man? How long have you been…been fraternizing with the enemy!”

Sam is living proof that no matter how hard you roll your eyes, they won’t get stuck.

“She’s not ‘the enemy’, and you don’t have much of a leg to stand on here, Dean. Do you really think it’s a good idea to get dicked down by an angel?”

Dean opens his mouth like there’s actually an excuse he could use here. No words come out. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Never say ‘dicked down’ to me again.”

Sam’s gained a bit of ground, and he refuses to lose it now.

He finally adjusts the mirror to get a good look at Castiel. He sits next to Dean, all shirtless and messy haired, but somehow the same stoic warrior Sam has always known save for the way he stares out the window like if he’s still enough they’ll forget he’s there.

It doesn’t take Dean long to deflect. “How long has this been going on behind my back?”

“You were dead, Dean! There wasn’t exactly a back to go behind.”

Ruby, who had apparently decided to let the brothers sort out their own argument, finally whirls around in her seat.

“He’s a big boy. He can make his own decisions.”

“Ruby-“ Sam wonders if it’s too late to launch himself out of the car.

“Apparently he can’t!” Dean half yells. “I’m dead for four months and the guy goes and hooks up with a demon! What if you knock her up Sam, did you ever think about that?”

Sam doesn’t have time to interject.

“And in my car ! Please tell me none of this happened in my car!”

Sam decides it’s best to say nothing at all.

“No.” Dean puts his head in his hands, ever the dramatic. “No! I’m going to have to deep-clean everything in here! No, you’re going to deep-clean everything.” He jabs an accusatory finger in Sam’s direction.

This was bound to come out eventually. Sam had hoped it would be many, many months down the line, over a beer, after he had defeated Lilith and saved the day. A little more congratulating and a little less half-naked Dean in the back seat. Now the best he can hope for is a chance at damage control. He turns to Ruby, who seems to be trying to glare Cas to death before he can do the same to her. That explains why they’ve been so quiet.

“Look, can you give us a minute, guys? It might be better for Dean and I to talk this out alo-“

Cas is gone before Sam can even finish his sentence. It almost feels too easy.

“Ruby?”

She hesitates, looking from Sam, to Dean, and back again.

“Alright, fine.” Her voice is seething with anger. “If your brother doesn’t trust me after everything I’ve sacrificed for you then I’ll just get out of the way. Enjoy your talk.”

Sam pulls over at the nearest gas station, getting one last icey look from Ruby before she opens the door.

“Lilith has been here.” A deep voice from the backseat makes Sam jump.

Cas has returned to his seat, now fully dressed, his brow pinched together.

“A town called High River 60 miles North.”

…

There have been a lot of awkward drives in the years Dean has spent hunting with his brother, but this might be the worst. He actually feels a flood of relief when the car rolls to a stop in a parking lot dimly lit by flickering lights.

The building in front of them appears to be a diner. It must be called Hal’s or Val’s or something, but after one too many seasons of snow, the sign reads A L’S I ER in washed out glowing red. The musty air reaches Dean a good twenty paces away when Sam cracks the door open and peers inside.

Sam signals behind him, and Ruby is slipping in the door before Dean can make a move.

“Just…wait here a minute. We’ve got it covered.”

“And let you go off with the demon chick and do whatever it is the two of you do when you aren’t defiling my car? I don’t think so.”

Dean starts after him, Cas stopping him by the arm. Dean doesn’t pull away. His heart does a tiny little flutter right out of a dimestore novel. It's embarrassing.

He gives Cas a once over, taking in the usual outfit, and then his own faded t-shirt and boxers. “Come on, man. You couldn’t have thought to grab me a pair of jeans?”

Cas’ face goes faintly red in the flickering light. He seriously considers something for a moment.

“I could go now, but it might be best for me to remain here.” He shoots a glance after Sam and Ruby.

“Forget it.” Dean grumbles.

Cas tilts his head to meet Dean’s eyes where he’s turned away. The grip on his arm goes from restraining to affectionate.

“You’re not angry with me. You’re embarrassed. And you’re scared that now this is out in the open something bad will happen.”

Dean scoffs “It’s not out in the-“

Cas moves a hand up to cup his face smiling gently. Reassuring.

Dean says nothing. Just covers Cas’ hand with his own and leans into it, closing his eyes.

…

When Sam peaks back out the diner door, Dean is waiting for him with his arms, and Castiel’s coat crossed across his chest like a disapproving sit-com mother.

“It’s all clear. Just one demon in there. We’ve got him tied up.”

“Wow, gee, great, Sammy. Did you gift wrap him for me too?” Dean calls back, voice dripping with sarcasm.

There goes the damage control. Sam sighs. At least the lying is over, even if it does come with the uniquely uncomfortable knowledge of why Dean’s grocery runs have been taking so long. Well… some of the lying is over. And he’s not lying to Dean about his powers exactly. Just strategically omitting details.

He pushes the door all the way open and leaves Dean to come in when he’s done sulking.

Maybe Dean is going to spend the rest of the night in You-did-something-I-don’t-like-so-now-I’m-going-to-be-as-miserable-as-possible mode, but Sam has to give him credit, he knows how to get a job done. When Dean marches up to the half-rotten chair the demon is tied to, it’s pretty intimidating.

The demon smirks up at Dean, not even struggling against the ropes bound over his grease-stained apron. He must have been the cook.

“Nice coat. Do you always dress like this for a hunt?”

Dean ignores him.

“What’s your name?”

Sam has stayed back behind his brother, half-bathed in shadow, and fixed his glare on the demon. If he’s heard anything from the others he’ll know it’s time to start talking.

“Does it matter?”

Shit. This isn’t going to be as easy as Sam had hoped. Apparently his reputation only precedes him so far.

Dean sets a hand on the back of the demon’s chair and leans in. “Alright. Let’s just cut the small talk then. Why was Lilith here?”

“Looks like you made it out of the pit, that’s a real shame, Winchester.” It’s subtle, but Sam sees Dean tense. Cas takes half a step forward. “Heard you were a real prodigy. Think you can get me to talk?”

Dean leans closer, pulling Ruby’s knife from the pocket of his…well…Cas’ coat. With a start, Sam realizes he had almost forgotten about the thing.

“Actually, I think I can.” He sneers.

At some point, Sam knows he’ll have to step in. He’ll have to bite the bullet and show Dean what he’s capable of. Pray he understands that it’s the only option. But Sam’s prayers have sat unanswered in some heavenly mail box long enough to collect their weight in dust. No. He’s going to make Dean understand.

He ignores Ruby’s warning look, closes his eyes and focuses on his breath, tugs on the dark thing deep inside him until he can feel it all the way to his fingertips, buzzing with power. He raises his hand. The squeezing starts to build inside his skull, like he’s standing on the roof of a plane with an unholy sinus infection. The demon’s voice barely cuts through it.

“Exorcise me if you want but Sebastian here has taken quite a beating. I leave, he dies.”

Sam lets his arm drop to his side, shrugging off the confused look Dean gives him. They’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.

“What was Lilith doing here?” Ruby pipes up.

The demon possessing Sebastian chuckles. “That’s above my pay grade, sweetheart. I thought you’d know that.”

It’s Dean’s turn again. “You can lie all you want, but we’re going to find out about it one way or another. Let’s do this the easy way. Give her up now. Working with a demon like that is only going to cause you problems.”

Not-Sebastian looks confused.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Well if he’s lying for her, maybe there’s a good reason, Dean! He knows how you’d react if he told the truth! He’s not some kid you need to protect anymore!”

Dean spins around. “Oh, so this is my fault?”

“You’re doing the exact same thing! You only think you’re better because he’s an angel and you can’t accept that this isn’t as black and white as it seems!”

Not-Sebastian looks incredulously between them. “Am I interrupting something?”

It’s remarkable how fast Dean wipes the embarrassed look off his face and turns back around. “What did Lilith tell you?”

“Nothing. Just doing her annual press tour.”

Castiel chooses that moment to step in. “He’s telling the truth. He does know anything.” Before he can speak, Cas slaps a hand onto Not-Sebastian’s head, not flinching when a blinding light pours out of his eyes. The demon slumps in his chair. “It could be a trap. We aren’t prepared for Lilith to bring the fight to us. We need to leave.”

And just like that it’s over. Sam doesn’t bother trying to talk to Dean again. He avoids Ruby’s glare from the back of the room, glancing between the scorched eyes of Not-Sebastian and Castiel. She brushes past him on her way out the door and down the street. There will definitely be complaints later. For now, she leaves the impala behind her, not wanting to follow Not-Sebastian.

He can barely make out Dean’s voice from inside the diner.

“Think the health inspector must have missed this place. Maybe they barbecued him up Whistlestop Café style.” A long stretch of silence. “It was a joke, man.”

Sam finally breaks the silence halfway through the drive. Why Dean let him drive again is beyond Sam, but it’s good to have his hands on the wheel and his mind on the road. Even with the welcome distraction, he can only last so long. “Can we just talk about this in the morning?”

Dean sighs. He looks exhausted, the bags under his eyes easier to see when he’s not dedicating every moment to hiding them. “Fine. But we’re talking about it.”

“Deal.”

The quiet is softer after that, underscored by faint music from the radio. It doesn’t take Dean long to slump into Cas’ shoulder, asleep faster than Sam has ever seen, maybe because of the protective arm Cas has tucked around his waist. Dean seems gentler like this. Almost happy. It brings a smile to Sam’s face.

Sure things are messy, but they’re the Winchester’s. He expects nothing less. And maybe if things work out for Dean, if he can actually be happy like this, it will be okay for Sam too.

[yeojaa]

wait !!!! find her jk with that prompt the other anon sent!!! can u plssss that’s literally something find her jk would actually do🥺🥺🥺🥺

[ read finders keep hers ]

pairing.  jjk x (named) f!reader.  rating.  general.  tags.  idiots in love.  like, that’s all there is to say.  angst central, my dude.  wc.  2.4k.  author note.  i meant to make this short and end with some tender lovemaking but...  i cannot be trusted near a keyboard so you get this word vomit instead.  xoxo!

You love Jeon Jungkook.  Have, you think, since before you knew what the word love meant.

(Maybe since you were children and you’d still stood a chance against him, bursting with pride from a job well done, young enough that your parents’ kind words felt better than anything in the world.  Before he’d turned into the president of the Casanova Club and he’d just been your and your brother’s best friend.  Little Jeon with the unbelievably big eyes, always so curious about everything.

Or maybe since your tenth grade White Day, when he’d bought you your favourite candies and pressed them unceremoniously into your hands, too many to hold so they fall to dirt and tumble around you.  He’d stooped to snatch them all up, shoving them into the pockets of your coat.  “Because we’re best friends or whatever,”  he’d said with this toothy, silly smile.

More likely during university.  That time you’d maybe (read: very) foolishly made out, liquor fueling the tangle of your limbs and how utterly good he felt within them, a nectarine dream in his brand new G Wagon.  You’d thought he’d laugh in your face, mumble something about no, we can’t - which he had - but he’d also taken you home, tucked you in and climbed in beside your inebriated self.

Definitely once you’d started seeing each other, spending more time in his bed than anywhere else.  It’d been nearly impossible to separate head from heart, falling deeper and deeper into the Jungkook-shaped black hole that seemed to eclipse everything else.  You’d fallen head over stupid heels, leaving bits of yourself hidden among his things.  Your lip balm in his trouser pocket, perfume on the collar of his favourite turtleneck, shape of your mouth alongside monogrammed initials. 

You hadn’t meant to.

Love him, that is.  It’d simply happened in between all the laughter, the eye rolls, the smiles.  Threaded between each action and cemented by the thud of your heart, beat into the ground like a drum.)

Sometimes, though, you don’t like him.  Oftentimes, in fact. 

You and Jungkook are as different as can be.  

You’re in business development at a tech firm;  he’s the technically unemployed son of a real estate mogul.  You invest most of your money;  he spends his as if it’ll never run out (which it likely won’t).  You grew up with an older brother;  he’s got two younger sisters.  You drink to celebrate, to wind down;  he drinks to prove a point.  You believe in love - have to, looking at your parents and feeling how you do about him;  he knows it exists but up until recently, had zero interest in it.

You wonder still, seated at the table with your group of friends and their partners, whether that still rings true.  (Deep down, you know it doesn’t. You know he loves you, wants you in a way he’s never wanted anyone else before, but your brain is a fickle thing, playing tricks when it shouldn’t.) 

Would he be happier without you?  Better off without you? 

Your thoughts mock you - just as he does, roguish smile turning his entire expression into sunshine.  Inescapable, all-encompassing, so blinding it’s almost hard to look at.  Trained on the girl he’s chatting up at the bar.  

This is what Jungkook does.  What he’s always done.  You should be used to it, really.  The man’s charm is always turned up to eleven, always in full effect even when he doesn’t mean it to be.  It’s simply part of who he is- young and rich and devastatingly, heartbreakingly handsome. 

Still, you can’t help the emotion that swells somewhere deep in your stomach, jostles the meal you’ve just had and turns your insides into a sea of nausea.  You know when he’s just being friendly and you know when he’s flirting.  It’s a terribly thin line but one you recognise, intimately familiar with the two sides of his personality.  

Right now, he’s flirting.  Doing that thing he does, one arm folded on the counter top, unblemished hand resting somewhere along his hip, silver of his rings acting as a beacon beneath the dim restaurant lights.  His other hand slots itself into the pocket of his coated jeans, tattoos thrown into stark contrast against his skin and the black of the denim.  There’s that smile of his, more a smirk but sunny, radiant, beautiful.  It lights up his entire face, steeping his expression in something warm.  The dimple in his cheek winks with each laugh - you can only imagine the one on the other side does the same, cut deeply into his skin.

Don’t be mad, you tell yourself.  He’s your Jungkook, bad habits and all.  

You love him.  You love him.  You love him.

If he notices your stoicism, he doesn’t comment on it.  Doesn’t ask what’s wrong or if you’re okay or what’s up.  Barely even speaks to you, save to toss his arm around your shoulder and tug you close, practically tug you into his lap while his friends share stories of their week.

It’s your usual Friday night dinner.  Something you’ve done with this ragtag group for as long as you’ve known them.  An excuse to go out and drink and eat some damn good (and often free) food. 

You wish you could enjoy it like you normally do.  Instead, you’re preoccupied by the way a perfume that isn’t yours lingers on his collar - seeps beneath the fabric and marks him up like a possession.  It’s too sweet - cloying sugar apples and coconut - nothing like your usual earthy wisteria and dewy rose.  It stings your nose when you inhale too deeply, nestled into the familiar shape of Jungkook’s frame, settled between the vertebrae you know best.

You hardly notice when he does speak to you, rousing you from thought you can’t quite place any longer.

“Ready to head home?”

The rest of your friends are going about their business, slipping their coats on and exchanging ideas for plans the following morning.  (Saturday brunch is a very popular thing, though it tends to lean late lunch versus true breakfast-brunch.)

You nod and slip from beneath your lover’s arm, plucking your purse up as you rise.  You’re ready to get out of here, ready to scrub away the melancholy that lingers like a thin film across your skin.  

He must have realised sometime between your silence in the car and your lacklustre kisses in the elevator.  You think he must, as he nearly slams the front door of his penthouse shut, kicks off his Chelsea boots and lets them tumble together just off the welcome mat.  (Not the reaction you’d expected, but you’ve learnt to never expect anything from him.  As much as he might be your best friend, Jeon Jungkook plays by his own set of rules.)

He doesn’t wait for you to undo your own shoes, carefully undoing the straps of your Jimmy Choos and setting them where they belong before you follow the sound of his footsteps.

When you find him, he’s stripping off his jacket and tossing it haphazardly across the back of his desk chair, keys and wallet and phone dropped none-too-gently upon wood.  He says nothing even as he crosses to his closet, steps inside and slips off each piece of jewellery:  assorted rings and his Rolex - everything but the bracelet you’d gotten him for graduation.  

His belt goes next, set back within the confines of its velvet lined drawer.  Through the hole goes the button of his jeans, down goes the zipper, and then he’s in nothing but his vaguely sheer dress shirt, boxer-briefs, and silly printed socks (yellow bananas on black fabric, for reasons), looking every inch the adonis he is. 

You still haven’t said a word, carefully hanging your dress in the small space you’ve carved out for yourself.  You don’t really know what to say - how to approach his apparent frustration when you don’t know where it comes from.

Is he upset with you?  Had you, somewhere along the line of your own sadness, done something to upset him?

You’re running through all the scenarios, lost in thought, when his voice breaks the quiet.  Snaps forth and hits its mark - a perfect shot.  “Seriously?”  There’s a fickle quality to his tone, a pettiness that you recognise when he hasn’t gotten his way, when he’s not quite sure what to say but knows he wants to have something.  (It doesn’t come out often with you, but you’re intimately familiar with it still.  His I-want-to-fight voice.)

“Pardon?”  You’re not expecting him so close, close enough to reach you but far enough that you can tell he’s purposely put this distance between you.  It feels strange - further apart than it is.

“You’re not going to say anything?”

You blink.  Once, twice, three times.  When you speak, it’s full of confusion, paired with your brows gathering in a little knot of bewilderment.  “Anything about what?”

“What happened at dinner.”  

He sounds so utterly deadpan, you can’t help but laugh, a sound of disbelief rather than amusement.  

“You mean you flirting with that girl?”  Even saying the words feels awful, makes you want to crawl into bed and forget about it all.

Jungkook, on the other hand, looks like you’ve just handed him the answers to all of life’s questions.  His entire face rearranges, all the pieces matching back up to form a proper puzzle.  There’s a certain smugness to it now, caught in the round of his cheek and how it ticks higher with his grin.  “So you did notice!  I fucking knew it.”

“Of course I did.”  You want to be appalled.  Know you should be.  (But it’s Jungkook and you love him.)  “Kind of hard not to.”  

He’s the devil in disguise, snapping you to him with a flex of his arms, hands curled around your waist.  It’s clear he’s pleased, absolutely tickled pink that you’d fallen for his silly little trick.  “Gotta keep you on your toes,”  he croons, eyes twinkling, mouth wobbling with the strain of keeping his laughter hidden. 

He expects you to agree - maybe roll your eyes and pat his cheek, laughs along with him and give him some sort of shit about how he’s an idiot - and visibly starts when you push yourself away, two palms flat against his chest. 

“Sure.”

One word.  Nothing like he’d imagined.

“Baby?”  You’ve made it two steps - two whole steps, which is two too many to Jungkook - when he’s pulling you back, trapping you against his chest with his arms looped around your shoulders.  “Where you going?”  He’s kissing along your shoulder, trailing warmth everywhere he touches. 

He still smells like that girl’s perfume.

“Can you get off me, please?”  You’re more polite than you normally are, working hard to keep calm when he only tightens his grip.  Of course he thinks you’re kidding, thinks you’re pouting and playing just like he had when you’d returned home.

When you repeat yourself - a little harder, a little quieter - he seems to realise how wrong he’s read the situation.

“Angel—”  You’re swept around, left to stare into the neat white of his shirt as he peers down at you, waits for you to meet his eyes.  You don’t, staunchly focused on the buttons of his Oxford, how they strain over his broad chest.  “Baby.”  Now he’s the one full of reprimand, disapproval colouring the single word that’s normally so sweet.

“What?”  It’s just as bratty as he was earlier but somehow worse, touched blue.

“What’s wrong?”  Jungkook seems genuinely perplexed, concerned and maybe, just a tiny bit frustrated.  He’s not used to you lashing out like this, soft and yet unyielding, hidden behind a door he’s fumbling with the keys to.

“You.”

“—me?”

You’re not one to throw out things you don’t mean, carefully picking and choosing your words.  It’s something you’ve always done - far more responsible than your idiot best friend who’s never had to worry about a thing in his life.  

The line of his mouth dips, pulls into a frown as he studies you and tries to crack open the windows to gain some insight.  It doesn’t work well;  he’s faced with a stone wall.

“Why’re you mad?” 

You want to laugh.  Do, actually, so short and abrupt it’s more of a scoff.  “What’s wrong with me?”  You’d pull away if you could. (Realistically, you could, but you’ve always been too soft for him.)  “You spent almost all of dinner flirting with someone else.”

“Yeah— to make you jealous.”  As if that makes it better.  As if that doesn’t tear a giant hole right in the centre of your chest, launches your poor heart out of the airlock to fend for itself in the emptiness of his expression.  

You don’t know why it feels worse to hear it out loud.  You’d figured as much. 

(Jungkook had done this in the past, though always jokingly.  He’d rarely been invested enough in a girl to go to such lengths but you’d seen it once or twice.  Always the age old adage of wanting what you can’t have.)

You wish you could separate the then from the now.  Remind yourself that he does care, that this is his twisted, stupid way of showing his affection - of keeping you around.  (You know he’s just as vulnerable as you - maybe more, sometimes - but he shows it poorly.  Pushes you away when he tries to pull you in.)

Tears are welling, spilling across your lashes faster than you can yank them back.  Something about being an angry crier.  

“Good job,”  you mean to snap, to make him feel how you do.  (Small - so very, very small.)  Instead, it’s terribly quiet.  A whisper that gets lost to the cotton poplin.  “Now I’m jealous.”  And miserable and insecure.  All things you usually aren’t, that only Jeon Jungkook manages to bring out in you.

“Baby,”  he tries again, crushing you to his chest, jut of his chin resting atop your head.  His hugs had always been your favourite - swallowing you whole, making you feel safe - but it’s too much now, a prison cell rather than your familiar bed.  “I’m sorry.”  He’s kissing again, stamping his affection into the dark of your hair, brushing over and over with the soft of his lips, his rounded adorable nose,  “I thought—”

You know what he thought.  Know where he’d been coming from (a place of immaturity, a gilded golden room with Jeon Jungkook stamped across the door) but it doesn’t make it any better.

Doesn’t make it hurt any less.

[sabraeal]

If All Else Fails Just Play Dead

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2021 Swan Princess AU

There is a boy in her house.

Two boys, actually; not counting Uncle, who is the Margrave Entaepode, or Papa, who acts like he is, or Raj, who everyone simply tolerates because there are worse things than having the first prince adopt your heir as their particular friend, and all of them start with denying said prince what he wants.

(And also because when he’s not trying to flex all his royal powers at once, Raj can be almost tolerable. He at least believes in magic, which gives him a leg up over just about every other boy Shirayuki has known, save for uncle, even if he doesn’t know any himself.)

Sakaki is also not to be counted, though she feels bad about it, on account of how often she typically forgets that Sakaki is a boy and not just some boy-shaped furniture Raj travels with, like how he always brings his pillow and his favorite chair. She’ll have to remember to bring him some extra pastries from the kitchen as an apology.

No, these are two entirely foreign boys, shipped straight from the court of the King Who Isn’t, as her father calls him-- though not within his mother’s hearing. Shirayuki is resigned to make the best of it; Uncle asks for so little, and she is the Lady of the Manor, even if she only comes by the title from a lack of older women to fill it. If she must, she can entertain their guests, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it, not one bit at all.

A shelf rattles, jostling the books on their bindings. Shirayuki’s fingers nearly dint a page as she turns it, but she does not look up. To look up would be to give in, and even if she is charged with entertaining, she does not need to be the entertainment.

It rattles again, now with two giggles to accompany it. Excellent. It seems both her troubles are accounted for.

With a sigh, she collects herself. This is what is fair, after all. It is her duty to see after Entaepode’s guests, and Papa is already taking on the brunt of the Her Majesty’s needs, as well as the marquis’ that travels with her. Not that she would have minded if he wanted to switch; Queen Haruto at least seemed like the sort to enjoy a quiet afternoon in the library.

A leg swings over the top of the shelf, long and skinny and ending in a particularly scuffed boot.

Very much, Shirayuki thinks, slapping her book shut on the table, unlike her son and his companion. 

“You’re not supposed to do that.” She means to be mild, but each sound falls so waspish from her lips that it could sting. Oh, Uncle will be displeased when he finds out she was rude to their esteemed guests. “It harms the books.”

A sly, cat’s grin shines down on her as a second leg follows the first. “We’re just on the shelves.” Obi twitches his shoulders in a lazy excuse for a shrug. “It’s not like we’re ripping out pages.”

Of the three of them, he’s older-- oh, well, both boys are older than her, but he’s oldest. Only a few years shy of being a man in his own right; the sort of older that’s supposed to know better. Not that he looks it-- Obi’s supposed to be thirteen, but he’s barely an inch taller than Prince Zen, showing none of the stretch in his limbs that boys his age should before they come into their growth.

His feet dangle, just at the level of her nose, and uncharitable irritation itches in her thoughts. Maybe he’ll be one of those boys who’s small forever, a man in a child’s body. The sort of boy she’ll be looking down on instead of up at, should she get Papa’s height, or Uncle’s.

“The shelves are where the books live,” she tells him officiously, fists high on her hips. “And if you knock it over, then you might hurt your spine, or worse, one of theirs! Or even worse,” she adds with no little horror, “you might tear out a page!”

He blinks, those wide, gold eyes flashing like candlelight. “Huh.”

She conjures up Uncle at his most imperious as she says, “This isn’t a training yard.”

“How would you know?” The shelf wobbles, and a pale white mop heaves itself over it. The second Prince of Clarines is pinch-faced, like he’s always just finished sucking on a lemon, and pale as an invalid. She could believe he was bedridden, from the way he keeps waiting to be served. “It’s not like you’ve ever been on one.”

A breath hisses between her teeth. It’s not from lack of trying, she wants to say; her last birthday, Papa has trousers sewn for her, plus a shirt and waist. He’d promised her a sword, even traipsed her through the halls to the yard, but Uncle had been waiting right at the gate, mouth drawn to a forbidding line.

What are you thinking, Mukaze? She’d heard him growl, her ear pressed tight to the study door. My own heir, and you put a blade in her hand.

If she were a boy, you’d have thought I’d done it too late, Papa had replied, easy as always, the way that would drive Uncle mad. I don’t see the harm--

Of course you don’t. Uncle had never sounded so cold, so bitter as he did in that moment. You never do.”

Her stomach twists, slithering around like a nest full of snakes, only getting more knotted, more sick as she thinks about it. Uncle and Papa were close as brothers, surely--

Surely, she shouldn’t be worrying about this at all.

“Why are you wearing all that black?” she snips instead, ignoring the heat that licks up her neck. “It’s summer.”

It’s not doing him any favors either; all that thick velvet just makes his limbs skinny and his face more drawn, like he’s a skeleton rather than a boy.

The prince stills, legs no longer kicking, lips no longer flapping; just a steady, slow rise and fall of his chest. Obi-- a study of constant motion-- doesn’t even do that; instead he sits, utterly immovable, and stares.

With a voice chilled with the winter he’s never felt, His Highness finally says, “My father died.”

She’d known that, she had. His Majesty died a year ago, her Uncle even told her, their legs pressed tight on his study’s sofa. She liked doing that, lining bone to bone, like they might one day be a matching set, margrave and heir both. Another pair of shoulders to carry the burden of rule, after so many years of an absent, broader pair.

Her Majesty has ever been a bosom companion to this family, he’d continued, a strange tightness to his voice. Now that her mourning is over, she is bringing her youngest son to visit. I’m sure your father would be pleased if you became...as close as they.

So much for that. Uncle would be so disappointed-- not only had she scolded the prince, but she’d insulted him too, and--

And he had started it. Her mouth settles into a thin line, so like Uncle’s.

“So did my mother.” So long ago that she is barely more than a song and a scent. Still, there is no ceding ground, not to Prince Zen; every inch she gives him yields a mile, and he considers it his due. “And you don’t see me walking around in velvet during high summer.”

The prince’s skin is pale as moonlight, the envy of every maid in the manor, but it flushes an angry red now, his body trembling to contain him. “My father, he sputters, leaping off the shelf, “is more important than your stupid mother ever will be.”

Papa praises her for her even-temper. Just like your mother, he laughs, not as boldly as he is wont. You never let anything under your skin. Not like me. Though all our impulse certainly bred true.

Anger, Uncle would say in his soothing voice, every syllable measured, makes a man a fool. You would do well to eschew it if you can, my little girl.

So it is not that Shirayuki is angry; oh no, she is incandescent.

Her finger curl, carving pitted crescents in her palms. For once she is glad that magic is consigned to history books and scholars in their towers, for if she could but call fire to her fingertips, this whole library would be alight. Her mother may be more sense than solid to her, but there is not a stone here she has not touched, and--

Well, Uncle is right, but Shirayuki is content to be stupid.

“Maybe so,” she says, so calm, so even, just as Uncle might. “But at least people liked her.”

For a moment, Prince Zen looms, every line trembling, and she is convinced that he will raise a hand to her, that he will truly treat her as her father’s mouth has earned her. But instead he spins on his heel, stalking out of the library with naught a word.

Wrath leaves her at once, a spirit exorcised from her chest, and oh, she’s dizzy with the lack. Her hand reaches out, meaning to grab for the chair--

But another hand grabs it instead. Shirayuki had never noticed at what a patrician angle Obi’s nose sat, not until he stares down it at her, his face a smooth bronze mask.

“That,” he says, finally sounding his age, “was badly done.”

Had her father sat her down after that terrible, disastrous morning, and told her that one day she would consent to marry the prince, Shirayuki would have--

Well, she would have done something Uncle wouldn’t approve of, surely. And she had, when Papa sat her down not too long after the queen’s carriage disappeared into the horizon, and told her that their union had been agreed upon, dowry and all. But to think she would ever want to, that she herself would gladly make the plans-- impossible.

If only it had stayed that way. If only she had remembered why she’d waved him off at arm’s length every summer, why she’d tossed him in the pond when he tried to kiss her at fifteen and told him he’d have better luck finding a princess of his own species in there. At least then she might be able to scuttle this whole wedding, instead of having Papa and Haruto cluck at her pitifully when she asks, telling her that it would all work out eventually.

After all, hadn’t she loved him just last night?

Shirayuki huffs, rolling to her side. She’s no longer livid, which is an improvement; last night she’d thought quite long and extremely hard about how many tapestries she would need to tear from the walls to get a good, solid bonfire to catch and burn Wistal palace to its very stones. Once she started considering where the custodians might keep turpentine, or whether she could wheedle the key to the cellars out of the chatelaine, she’d forced herself to lay down. Few things had ever made her so angry that they couldn’t be solved by a good night’s rest.

Wrath and rage has cooled, but not to her usual levelheaded calm, the answer filling her with vim and vigor and a dangerous determination. Oh no, instead her fine barrel of fury has turned to melancholy, and with each minute that ticks by, she drinks a deeper draught.

Is beauty all that matters to you?

Even now her breath catches at the roiling confusion in Zen’s eyes. What else is there?

“What was I thinking?” Her fists clench at her sides, but it’s not enough, not until she brings them to her eyes and pressed down, colors sparking across her eyelids. “Why did I...?”

She thought he had changed. They all had, these last few years, hadn’t they? No longer the three children that had tripped over each other in her uncle’s halls, bickering and pinching and causing trouble wherever they roamed. Shirayuki’s temper had mellowed. Zen had grown taller-- or at least tall enough to please him. And Obi--

Obi should be here. And now he’s not, and it’s yet another why she has no answer to.

A timid knock brushes against her door, followed by an even softer, “M-my lady?”

Shirayuki pulls her fists from her eyes, blinking away the blur. “Come in.”

A small girl slinks inside, dark eyes wide and round. “M-my lady...” Her brow furrows. “Your hands are wet.”

She glances down, staring at the fingers laces so tightly in her nightgown. Her knuckles do indeed shimmer in the light, right where they had been pressed along her eyes. “So they are. I...suppose you are here to dress me.”

“Ah...” The maid loses her certainty, eyes darting around the room. “About that...”

Her heart leaps in her breast. “Has something happened?”

“Ah, well.” The girl winces. “There’s a bit of a, um, problem. With the arrangements.”

“The arrangements?” Shirayuki echoes.

“Ah...”

That’s when she hears the screams.

Her twelfth summer marks the moment that this arrangement becomes completely, irrevocably unfair.

“I don’t see what the problem is.” Branches shiver above her, the only sign of Obi a few flashes of black and buckskin and the leaves quivering in his wake. “You two have gotten nearly civil these days.”

“But you’ve gotten tall,” Shirayuki grouses, tucking herself between the roots of the old oak, book sprawled upon her lap. “Any day now you’ll be head and shoulders taller, and what if Zen’s the same? I can’t be the smallest.”

“Well.” She can’t see him, but she knows he settles above her, perched on a branch too precarious for his size. “You are a girl.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t be tall.” A finger taps against the page, thoughtful. “Haruto is.”

“For a lady.”

“For anyone,” she corrects primly. “It’s fine enough for you to be tall-- you’re tolerable. But Zen...” She grimaces. “His height it the only thing that keeps him humble. The king isn’t tall, is he?”

“He is,” Obi informs her with relish. “Almost taller than my father, and he’s not done growing.”

She pictures it, Zen being able to look Haruka square in the eye, and shudders.

“I was afraid you’d say that.” Shirayuki sighs, finger knitting in her lap. “Uncle should forbid you from coming. You can stay for now, but next summer is right out.”

It’s strange how even though she can’t see him, she can feel his grin on the air. “I’m sure nothing would make him happier.”

“Or me,” she admits, wistful. “What good neighbors Zen and I might be, if we never had to look at each other again. Save for weddings and births and funerals, of course. And you’d always be welcome, Obi.”

“Thanks.” He drops down one of his too-long legs, toes curling in the air above her, the only visible part of him. “But I wasn’t talk about the Young Master.”

Shirayuki blinks, mouth curving in confusion as she parses his words. “You can’t mean Uncle.”

Obi leans, just enough for her to see his dubious, arched brow. “Why not?”

“Uncle’s always liked Zen.” He’d been the one to calm her when she’d come crying, distraught that Papa would make her marry a boy as pompous as him. Plenty of boys grow out of their pettiness, little girl, he’d told her, smoothing the wild riot of her hair, at least as many that don’t. “Even now, he’s with him, showing him the march.”

“Only because your father asked him,” Obi says, settling back into the canopy. “The next Margrave Entaepode needs to know what his lands can bring. Especially if he means to bring them to his brother.”

Shirayuki frowns. “I’m the next Margrave Entaepode.”

“No,” Obi hums. “You’re the next margravine.”

Shirayuki is not sure what she expects when she walks into Clarines’ great hall, but it is certainly not carnage.

“What happened?” she breathes, picking her way over a toppled chair. There’s not a scrap of fabric that’s not torn, not a table nor chair without a wobble. Flower petals lay strewn on the ground, and the cake--

“Oh no,” she sighs, “I was so looking forward to desset.”

It’s toppled, every tier crushed to the stone beneath it, buttercream and jam and custard smeared up and down the aisle. It had been a gift from the Seirans; Zen had been so excited to know their much-beloved cook had made each layer with him in mind-- Except one, Obi reminded him, swiping a bit of cream from a spoon. You know who Cookie loves best.

“A beast did it,” the steward tells her, near to tiers. “Knocked it over, then even stopped to take a bite.”

“Three bites,” a maid chimes in. “Odd, it was. I could have sworn it thought about it too, just stood there looking as Cook came in, shouting to high heaven, and ate its share.”

Shirayuki glances down. “Flew? As in-- with wings?”

“Yes,” the steward agrees, “it had wings, and a mouth with cruel teeth.”

“There weren’t no teeth,” the chatelaine snaps waving the wailing man off. “It was just a bird. Swan, I think, from the size. And the meanness. Came in here like a holy terror, it did.

“It was a beast with teeth,” the steward insists, “and it bit one of the footmen!”

The chatelaine huffs. “What did you expect, trying to grab it like that?”

Shirayuki can’t help but agree; she’s bitten more than a man or two that tried to catch her as well. But that’s not what has her attention now; instead it is the cake on the floor, those three big bites out of it, baring chocolate sponge and raspberry custard. The layer Cookie made special. The one she thought would go to waste when...

“Where is he now?” At their looks, she amends, “I mean, it. The beast.”

“Outside,” the steward says, sending a narrow look toward the door. “A few of the maids managed to chase it out, but I’m afraid it will have gotten into the decoration-- my lady, where--?”

“I’d like to take a look,” Shirayuki calls back, slippered feet already carrying her to the door. “I, ah, think I might know how to solve this...problem?”

The steward blinks. “Is there some...Tanbarunian folk tradition for this? Ridding the grounds of a foul beast?”

Her feet stutter at the threshold, and she swallows down a laugh. “Certainly something for removing one fowl.”

At thirteen, Shirayuki will admit, Zen becomes tolerable. Not without extreme duress, and certainly never if Obi is around, but being in his presence no longer feels like slivers under her fingernails. Now it’s just that unpleasant drone of cicadas, the same that herald his arrival every summer.

“Are you supposed to be climbing?” she asks, settling herself at the base of the tree’s trunk, as always. “Your mother won’t thank you for ruining those trousers.”

Obi laughs, already deep in the canopy. “I think you mean his laundress.”

“I have plenty more,” Zen scoffs, levering his boot over another knot, giving him the height to reach the first branch. “And I think you’re only so cross because you can’t climb for beans.”

She retracts her opinion. His Highness has certainly not become tolerable in the least.

“Come off it,” Obi laughs, so easy in his bower. “Anyone can climb.”

Zen grins down at her with smug authority. “Not Shirayuki, she’s a girl.”

“So is Kiki,” Obi reminds him, “and if she heard you talk like that, she’d come up and throw you off that branch herself.”

“Kiki hardly counts as a girl--”

“--That’s not what Mitsuhide would say--”

“--And that doesn’t mean Shirayuki can,” Zen adds, tone brooking no argument. “She doesn’t even have trousers on.”

“Shirayuki can climb in a dress just fine.” Obi swings down, right to the lowest branch. Or rather, the second lowest, since Zen hasn’t vacated the first. “Come on, I’ll tell you how.”

She spares the tree a dubious glance. “Are you sure--?”

“Always. Don’t you trust me?” He lowers down a hand, callused and bronzed, and she takes it. “Good, now put your foot there. Now just...think up.”

She sends him a dubious look. “I don’t think it’s possible to just go up by thinking it.”

He grins down. “You’d be surprised.”

Shirayuki is definitely ruining her dress.

“You’re sure it’s up here?” she calls down, a worried swarm of footmen huddling beneath her. “Waterfowl aren’t really...tree-dwelling birds.”

“I’m sure, my lady,” one pipes up beneath her. “Took to wing, then hopped up the branches easy as you please.”

Shirayuki casts a long look up the oak, sighing. “Of course he did.”

One slippered foot lifts, hooking over a thicker branch, resting her weight right by the trunk.

“Just think up,” she murmurs, irritation rising with every word. “Just think up and it’s hardly anything at all.”

“HONK,” agrees the goose above her.

“Oh.” She blinks, taking in the sleek white body and the webbed feet tucked unnaturally beneath it. Well, not that the pose was unnatural, but the place. “You’re not a swan at all.”

“HONK,” the goose informs her, wistful this time.

“Be glad,” she says, reaching for him. “If you were any bigger, I wouldn’t be able to carry you, and you’d be stuck up here with your big wings and bad decisions.

The goose ducks it head, abashed. “HONK.”

“You better,” she starts, trying to wrangle a bird his size beneath her arm, “be exactly who I think you are.”

This close, her fowl friend doesn’t dare express his opinion at the only volume nature saw fit to give him, but instead, cuddles right against her neck. For one, weak moment, Shirayuki leans against the trunk, letting her head sink into his feathers. Please let this be him. If it is, she can worry about the how later. Maybe even the why. As long as he hasn’t abandoned her, there’s nothing--

“Not to interrupt you,” a lady’s languid voice drawls beneath her. “But I’m assuming that you might need some help getting down.”

Fifteen is when Shirayuki is made aware of just how utterly unfair her life will be from now on, now that she’s to be the wife of a prince.

“No, no,” Obi laughs, nervous. “I think the Young Master has it right this time, Miss. You can’t come.”

“Why not?” He’s gotten much taller now, taller even than when he arrived, and she has to look up to guilelessly meet his eye, much more than she’s used to. “If I can climb trees with you, I can splash around in a pond just fine--”

“Yes, but--” his mouth split into a pained grimace-- “climbing trees doesn’t involve taking off clothes. You can see how that might be a, hm, problem now, can’t you, Miss?”

“No.”

His exasperation is completely unwarranted, considering how exasperating he’s being. “You’re a lady.”

“One that can swim,” she counters. “We’ve done it before, I don’t know why it’s bothering you now.”

“Because you’re...” He waves a hand at her, a harried up and down, but she only stares back. “Of all the things for Master to leave to me...”

“I can keep my shift on,” she offers, “if that helps.”

“It really doesn’t, Miss.” Obi sighs, one hand coming up to rub at his shoulder. “Surely your father-- no, your uncle. Surely your uncle’s talked to you about how boys and girls shouldn’t, um...you know.”

“I don’t.”

“It’s just...” He takes a steeling breath. “Miss, you’re a woman now. You can’t be naked with men.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I said I would wear my shift. And besides, you’re not men, you’re boys.”

Obi head rolls heavenward. “Only to you.”

Shirayuki gives him a considering look and pulls out her trump card. “Would you let Kiki Seiran come?”

She doesn’t know this Kiki Seiran, not from anything more than what’s been said in her presence, but she knows-- whatever a man does, Kiki does, and better too. The moment her name leaves her lips, Obi drops her a helpless glare.

“Kiki,” he says, as if savoring the word, “doesn’t count. No one lets Kiki Seiran do something, she just does it, and we all live with the consequences.”

A fond smile flickers across his lips, and for no reason at all, her stomach twists. “You should marry her.”

Obi blinks. “Huh?”

“Kiki Seiran,” she says lightly. “It seems she’s really quite impressive.”

For a long moment he stares at her, unblinking. Then he coughs, one, twice, until it’s no longer a cough but roaring laughter.

Shirayuki stares at him. “Is something funny?”

“Oh, Miss,” he wheezes. “That’s some vote of confidence, but Kiki Seiran-- she’s not for the likes of me.”

The sick knot in her stomach dissipates into affront. “Why not? There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Again, you really know how to compliment a man,” he teases. “But no count worth his acreage will marry his daughter and heir to a bastard. With her pedigree, they’re probably planning to marrying her to Elder Highness as we speak.”

“Well, that’s silly,” she huffs. “You’re worth a thousand princes Obi. Any lady would be lucky to have you.”

His smile wavers. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“You should bring her next time,” she decides. “I can talk to her.”

“Ah,” he coughs, shaking his head as he traipses after her. “That won’t be necessary at all.”

This is not how she thought she’d meet the illustrious Kiki Seiran, her wedding dress torn to rags and goose hugged tight in her arms, but it would not be the first time today fate thwarted her expectations.

“I’m fine,” Shirayuki assures her, slowly making her descent. “But do you have, um, water?”

One elegant brow arches. “Water?”

“Ah, yes.” She drops down before her-- oh, Lady Seiran is...quite a bit taller than she’d imagined, and at least twice as pretty. No wonder Obi always smiled when he talked about her. “Like a, um, lake? Or a river might do?”

“A lake?” Her gaze drops, mouth canting into a thoughtful line. “For your avian compatriot, I suppose. You think his home must be close by.”

“Yes,” she lies, because babbling about ancient texts she’s certain she was never supposed to see and magic of the blackest sort seemed a poor first impression to make. “It would probably, uh, help with the...destructive behavior.”

“He has left quite a spectacle behind. It will take hours to clean that up. Or days,” she adds with a pointed look toward the goose. “Your wedding seems to be thoroughly postponed.”

Good, she doesn’t say. This Kiki Seiran is Zen’s friend too, after all. And even if Shirayuki could have shaken him to pieces last night, she’s that too.

“Water?” she says instead.

It’s the right thing to say, since Kiki turns around, gesturing toward the treeline. “There’s a pond back there. Just follow the cobblestone path and it should take you right out to the dock.”

“Perfect.” Shirayuki takes two hurried steps before pausing, turning over her hip to add, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Kiki. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

There’s that brow again, lifted into an elegant arch Shirayuki could never hope to mimic. “Only good things, I hope.”

Her stomach lurches as she replies, “The best.”

[verfound]

Dingo Files, only a kiss!

...I am 100% certain you did not forget about this fic, but ngl I totally did until I clicked it open. 😂

The title I have in the doc is actually "Luka and Dingo, Sittin' in a Tree..." and is for the @mlweeklyprompts prompt "A: I kissed [B]! / C: Did [B] kiss you back? / A: That’s not the point!" (...from May 29 of last year I'm pretty sure 😂)

So the direction this one was going: School dance is coming up, and Dingo's been trying to get Bri to agree to go with him. He's whining to Luka about it, which turns into a "Why don't you think she likes me" shpiel. Meanwhile, Marinette had asked Luka to meet her (bc she was going to ask him to the dance), and Luka's in the "ok Ding Mari's on her way can we talk about this later?" And one thing leads to another, and Luka (for reasons I still need to work out) decided kissing Dingo to shut him up was the best option?

(It all works out in the end, but this is the "Marinette sees Luka and Dingo kissing, thinks she missed her chance, and runs off/freaks out before Luka can stop her." fic.)

“I just don’t get it!” Dingo wailed, leaning back on his elbows and glaring up at the sky through his shades. Shades was maybe a little generous, Luka couldn’t help but think. He’d worn the white frames today, the ones with the bright orange mirror coat that Luka knew was more for style than protection from the sun. Luka looked back at his guitar as Dingo kicked his booted feet out, groaning again. He’d been groaning – whining, really – for almost twenty minutes now.

Not that Luka was counting.

…ok, Luka was kind of counting, but only because Luka was waiting for Marinette, and each minute Dingo spent whining was another minute Luka wasn’t with Marinette. Granted, it also meant it was another minute closer to when she would arrive, but Luka would have been content to spend that time noodling on Claire, not listening to Dingo whine about the stupid dance.

He just couldn’t seem to escape it.

“You don’t get the dance?” Luka asked, frowning. He was pretty sure he had missed something. The dance seemed pretty self-explanatory. Most were.

“…mate, come on,” Dingo sighed. “You are so out of it today.”

“Sorry,” Luka said with a nervous chuckle. He shrugged and leaned forward, resting his arms on Claire’s body. “Guess I have been a bit distracted.”

The way Dingo grinned let him know it was more than a bit, but he supposed no one could really blame him.

It was the dance’s fault, anyway.

Not that he’d ever really been a fan of the school’s dances before. It was his final year at Sant-Saëns, and Luka had never actually been to one of their dances. Well. He supposed that wasn’t technically true – he’d been to one. During the spring of his freshman year, when a friend’s band had been set to play the dance and their guitarist had come down with food poisoning day-of. But he hadn’t actually gone – he’d been part of the entertainment. It’s not like he’d had a date or anything. He hadn’t seen what the big deal was, anyway. It had all seemed boring to him.

…he’d been more interested last year, maybe, but the person he’d maybe been interested in asking hadn’t really been in an ask-me-to-a-school-dance place. They’d been friends, and she’d been in love with someone else, and even if he’d been slowly – quickly – falling harder and harder for her with every passing day, that hadn’t changed the fact that her heart had been drawn elsewhere. Timing and all that. So he hadn’t gone then, either.

This year was proving…well. He was thinking her heart was maybe starting to redirect, but they were still just friends. There had been that moment, back at Valentine’s Day, where he had hoped…but then he’d gotten sick, and Adrien had surprised everyone with a visit the weekend of, and he’d watched their moment flap away on purple butterfly wings.

Timing always seemed to be a big issue for them.

“…wish it was as easy as it is for you and Mari,” Dingo sighed, and Luka jumped. He couldn’t have heard that right. Things with Marinette were…well. He supposed they were easier than they could have been, from what Juleka had told him, but there was that timing thing. It never felt all that easy to him.

Speaking of…he glanced at the clock hanging over the doors of the school. She had asked him to wait for her after school. There was something she needed to talk to him about – something important – but she had a student council meeting about the dance. As she was her class rep, and on several of the dance subcommittees as well, her attendance had been mandatory. But she wanted to talk to him, and he always wanted to talk to her, so he had told her he’d wait. She should be getting out soon.

…she’d be here already, if not for the stupid dance.

“It’s not easy for me and Mari,” he finally said, brushing a hand through his hair. Dingo kicked at his side, and Luka rolled his eyes. “Anyway. What do you need to be easy? Sorry. I’m paying attention now, I promise.”

“Good,” Dingo huffed. “God, mate, get a pair of pretty blues blinking at you and you’re hopeless.”

Dingo paused, looking thoughtful for a minute.

“…was that my problem? Brown eyes not really your thing?” he asked. Luka couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not. He shifted uncomfortably, his fingers finding Claire’s strings and drawing out an awkward tune.

“What?” he asked, and Dingo laughed.

“Nah, I’m messing with ya,” he said. He looked back at the sky, another thoughtful look settling on his face. “Maybe that’s Bri’s problem, though. Lu, do you think that’s it? Do you think she thinks Mari’s prettier than me?”

“…ok, what?” Luka asked again, shaking his head. “And Marinette is definitely prettier than you.”

“Well, of course you’d say that,” Dingo grumbled. He kicked a pebble off the step. “Bri won’t go to the dance with me. She says it’s lame.”

“It is lame,” Luka said absently.

[...]

Before Dingo could say anything else, Luka grabbed his face in his hands and pulled him towards him, smashing their mouths together in a hard press of lips and teeth. His nose scrunched as Dingo yelped and flailed a little – he was pretty sure Dingo’s tongue ended up in his mouth, even if it was barely a second and only a bit it was still more than he’d ever wanted to experience – and it was over as soon as it had started. Luka shoved him back, his eyes narrowed in a glare, and opened his mouth to say something scathing when they heard it.

A clattering. A quiet gasp.

They turned towards the entrance of the school to find Marinette watching them with wide, glistening eyes (eyes that looked too similar to Juleka’s when she was about to run off crying), a collection of folders and papers and art supplies and what Luka was pretty sure was a prototype Kitty Section mask littered around her feet. Her eyes darted between Dingo and him, and Luka realized all too late how bad it had to look: Luka with his hands on Dingo’s face, both of them sitting too close together from where Luka had practically hauled him into his lap, faces red and lips a little bruised (he was pretty sure his was bleeding, and he definitely needed to punch Dingo for biting him), and God if she had seen the kiss…and then she was running, turning on her heel and disappearing into the school with everything she had dropped forgotten at the top of the steps. Luka cursed and shoved Dingo away from him, ignoring the injured yelp and demands to know what the hell had just happened, and shoved himself up to chase after her.

“Marinette! Wait!” he cried, not even realizing he’d run over the prototype mask in his rush to catch her. Inside, the hall wasn’t as busy as it would have been had it been normal school hours, but the after school crowd (the clubs, the loiterers, the remaining faculty) were still milling about. And Marinette…Marinette was gone.

He didn’t care if he had been the one to initiate the kiss. He was going to fucking kill Dingo.