#i always taste the word inky in my mind n it makes me go >:D

[hinamie]

So remember me in a softer light

[a-detraque-barista]

Sweet Milk Tea

Jeon Jungkook x Shy Reader

Genre: s m u t, 18+, college, soft boi gguk

Word Count:1.8k+

Warnings: big dicc kook, unprotected sex, sensitive thighs??, insecurity (you and jungkook), jungkook enjoys eating you out a lil too much

A/N: wassup my honey buns~ just thought i’d drop this filthy self-indulgent trash here and leave until one of my wips get done...this is straight smut and very little plot :D

“At least I don’t go around parading my dick to all the girls in our course!” your voice cracked but it somehow didn’t throw off the menacing tone.

Everyone looked at you as if you were mental. You couldn’t blame them, it was the first time they had ever heard your voice. The first time you had snapped at anybody in front of them, or in general.

You weren’t one for talking to people you didn’t know very well. It just didn’t come as naturally as it did for others. It’s made you a societal recluse and most of the time, you didn’t mind it. And the looks on your classmates’ faces gave you a major confidence boost. 

“At least people actually like me,” the asshole known as Jungkook hissed.

And there goes that confidence. Sure, you always claimed you don’t care about what other people think. However, just like any other human, we want someone to like us to create friendships and relationships. 

Just like that, you walked out of the classroom and down the long hallway as if it was a normal day.  The only thing different, you had tears in your eyes that were threatening to fall at any moment.

As you were just walking out of one of the exits, you felt someone grab your shoulder and pull you back. Your face met a solid chest, noticing the black leather jacket, you knew exactly who it was. When you went to pull away his arms tightened refusing to let go. 

“I’m sorry.”

❦❦❦

Jungkook had you pinned beneath him on his bed. How this happened was a mystery. You had agreed to go to his apartment because he wanted to give you a sincere apology. What you said was over the line as well so you agreed. Everything was fine and dandy until syrup for the milk tea had splashed on your face and neck, even ending up on your shirt.

Seeing you in his shirt had Jungkook growing an erection. You just looked so cute, so fuckable. His cock decided it was time for Jungkook’s wet dreams to come true. 

Especially now with such a bratty look on your face, all he needed was a solid yes, “Tell me, my love. Do you want me?”

You nodded, already wanting to feel him. Jeon Jungkook was sex on legs and you refused to admit how many times you’ve thought about him with your hand down your pants. He clicked his tongue, “I need your words.”

“I want you, Jungkook.”

Hearing his name come from your lips, had a shutter going down his spine. His lips crashed into yours as he firmly pressed his muscular thigh against your clothed pussy. He swallowed your gasps and quiet whimpers. Gradually, Jungkook applied more pressure but now he was rubbing his thigh back forth. 

You were trying so hard to hold back your moans and whimpers making the man above you smirk into the kiss. Even as he pulled away breathless, he had that grin on his face. Your sounds were stroking his ego at this point leading him to lick and kiss your neck to see what else can make such adorable noises leave you. 

He could still taste the remnants of the syrup on your skin. He was so very tempted to lick every part of your neck, just to make sure all of it was gone. But he removed his shirt from you instead. Placing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and neck, leaving behind a trail of purple and red marks.

You could feel your clit throbbing, begging for more attention. Jungkook could feel your hips move, creating friction against his bulge. He groaned before ripping your bra apart and began palming your breasts. He wanted you so bad but he didn’t want to rush things.

Jungkook wasn’t sure if you would wake up tomorrow and never want to see him again. He wanted to make sure even if you do want to forget about him, you won’t be able to forget the way he made you feel. His insecure thoughts were interrupted once he noticed you squirming from the addition of his muscles flexing.

You were still keeping as much noise in as possible. Jungkook wondered how much teasing it would take until you gave up. With a grin he trailed his hands down your body, squeezing every now and then. One particular squeeze of your upper thighs had made you gasp. He froze before gently digging the tips of his fingers into the area causing you to whine. 

He wanted to hear you whine again and again. 

Jungkook finally tucked his fingers into the waistline of your jeans and panties and slid them completely off. Your lips were glistening and puffy. He couldn’t help but flatten his tongue and dragged it between your folds. Jungkook’s eyes rolled back into his skull at just the taste of you. The moan that escaped your lips didn’t help his grip on sanity. 

With his control slipping, he started sucking and slurping like he was a man starving. Now you could no longer hold back your moans. And they only encouraged Jungkook even more. He kept his hands busy with massaging the upper part of your thighs making your moans sound whinier. His grip was sure to leave bruises for you to find in the next few days, reminding you of your time with the inky-haired boy.

Jungkook reluctantly let one of your thighs go to slowly slip his index finger into your tight pussy. Moving his mouth up to your clit he licked and suckled to his heart’s content. Your hands found their place in his raven curls, slightly tugging making Jungkook growl.

He couldn’t keep himself from bucking his hips into the mattress to get some kind of friction. He moaned into your pussy as he inserted a second finger. Gently stretching you so you can take him with as little pain as possible. Soon he added a third and picked up the speed he was thrusting at. You began to feel the tell-tale knot in your lower abdomen and Jungkook felt the way you started to quiver.

Right before the knot came undone, he pulled away. But he didn’t pull away enough to make your fingers leave his hair, which you tugged on in frustration.

“Jungkook damn it, I almost came,” you groaned taking your hands away from his scalp to perch yourself up on your elbows. He grumbled with the absence of your hands but loved the attitude you showed. So he sat back on his heels while running his hands along your thighs.

“But I didn’t want you to come just yet, my love. Be patient and I’ll give exactly what you want,” his deepened voice made the blush come back to your face full force. 

Licking his lips, he started to undress. Shirt, pants, and underwear made their way to the floor. His cock sprung up and leaked precum. It was enough for him to slick his dick with, stroking it just for more precum to escape.

Jungkook would love to see your pretty lips wrapped around his cock, gagging on it. But both of you have waited long enough. He tucked his hands under your waist and flipped you onto your stomach, lifting until your hands and knees held you up. The bulbous head pressed through your lips and against your entrance. You were so wet for him, making both his cock and your cunt glisten.

You wiggled your hips a bit, the anticipation beginning to become too much. He chuckled before pushing in. Jungkook took his time, making sure to stretch you out properly. Shifting his hips back every inch before pushing in more than he had previously. 

Never having taken such a girthy and long cock, the sting felt delicious as it made your walls form to his dick perfectly. The slight curve of his shaft made the head rub against that one special spot. Your breathy moans got louder the farther he went in. Jungkook growled and groaned above you. 

Once his cock completely sheathed inside of you, grating his hips against your ass felt like he was trying to go even deeper. Jungkook thrusted slow and shallow, wanting to let you get adjusted. When you pushed back he got the hint and pulled out farther only to slam back into your tight cunt.

His head rolled back as he gradually picked up his pace but it snapped back up hearing your load and wanton moans. God, why did you have to sound wonderful? He wanted to make you moan so much your throat would get raw. Your arms could no longer hold yourself up, causing you to be muffled by his pillows. Jungkook didn’t appreciate the decreased volume of your beautiful sounds so he wrapped his arms under your tits and just above your mound. 

His pace quickened as did his breaths, “Look at you, getting destroyed by my cock. What a mess. Can’t even stop moaning for me.”

You whined in response to his words as you could no longer create coherent sentences. It was almost becoming too much, your denied release coming back even harder. Jungkook’s pace became sloppy, the build-up paying off.

“Want my cum? Tell me, what do you want? Use that pretty mouth of yours,” Jungkook’s voice was now gravelly as he reached down to your clit but didn’t apply pressure.

“Please-please, I want your cum,” you gasped out, barely audible, but he accepted that.

Jungkook made quick, fast circles around your clit, causing your whole body to shake as your walls clenched and milked his cock. Feeling you tighten and quiver, Jungkook’s cock twitched and painted your walls. He laid both of you down, grinding his hips against yours until your cunt sucked him dry. He made sure not to put all of his weight on you while the two of you came down from cloud nine. 

Jungkook kissed the nape of your neck before moving down to your shoulder. He couldn’t help but love the feeling of you breathless beneath him. The feeling of you both spent and tired together, trying to catch your breaths. Jungkook was reluctant to pull his softening cock out of you but he did nonetheless. 

Leaving the room to get a damp cloth and clean the two of you up. You rolled onto your side facing him after he laid back down, also on his side. He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer. He could see the look on your face that held uncertainty. His mind went to the thought of you regretting ever coming to his apartment. Until you spoke.

“I’m sure you want me to leave now right?”

Jungkook’s eyes widening, just now seeing the insecurity in your eyes. He sighed as he leaned down to gingerly kiss your lips, “No, I want you to stay. Unless you want to leave.”

You shook your head and kissed his nose, “I wanna stay, until you don’t want me to.”

He chuckled before cuddling up with you and pulled the covers over, “Good thing I never want you to.”

[poutyhannie]

warnings: tsundere!minho, boxer!minho, fem!reader, mentions of d*ath, bl**d, kn*ves, violence, smut, fluff, angst :), dark cold minho finds a soft spot in y/n :))))

word count: +8k

The blisters on your hands burn as you placed the cash register on the shiny white counter. Finally, your life’s goal to begin a small cafe in town was complete, but this was only the beginning. Even the ache in your feet and back from the boxes and produce you carried in last night couldn’t shake the beaming smile you greet the empty store with. Golden light streams in from the freshly washed windows, bouncing off the racks of freshly baked breads and pastries. These beams of light must be the physical representation of the heavenly aroma of baking goods and you fill your lungs with it, content and elated at the prospect of a new chapter.

Among the normal baked goods, everyday items were placed around the counter, such as umbrellas and first aid kits. It was a small tactic to make a bit more profit or a thoughtful gesture, just in case customers needed something other than coffee and a croissant.

If you didn’t close the door soon, the cold morning gusts of wind would stale and harden the goods, but this display of openness was necessary to garner new customers so you quickly hopped from behind the counter to cover the goods with glass domes which served as lids.

The people of your city had been relatively friendly, spreading the word of your grand opening. Thanks to this, streams of customers filled your lavender-themed shop before the morning and evening rush. When the sun’s golden shine began to dissipate to cold blue, the goods were dwindling on the shelves, prepared to be restocked for tomorrow.

The front of your lavender purple apron was streaked with flour, chocolate, and jam as you wiped the counters of the same substances. The giddy excitement in your bones contradicted the cheerfully ticking clock on the wall that told you it was late into the night. When did the day spin away from you so quickly? Would all the days at your shop be this enjoyable? Sighing contently, you settle on one of the comfortable white chairs, finally feeling the pinching ache in your feet. You’d have to get employees once you made enough revenue, you were bound to only get more customers from here on out. Maybe you’d hire cleaners once a month to do a deep clean? 

Thoughts prospective of your future and the future of your shop were interrupted when the door swung open—you were concerned the force would shatter the glass door itself. In stalked a darkly clad man, his back was turned to you as he quickly scanned the shelves and displays of your shop. He’d ignored the ‘closed’ sign. Still, one more customer couldn’t hurt. “Welcome,” you greeted warmly, feet aching as you walked back behind the counter. The customer gruffly rolled your word off. 

The gloves on his hands didn’t have fingers and when he placed a small first aid kit and sandwich on the counter, you could see the beds of his nails were bleeding. However, when you saw his face, you realized his wounded fingers were not priority. A blistering red patch scored his cheek under his dark eyes. There was a fresh cut on his left cheekbone that matched his bust eyebrow and lip. At the state of his lip you quickly reached over to add a tube of chapstick to his order. “Don’t need it,” he grunted but made no move to put it back. “Its on me,” you explained, ringing him up, ignoring the roll of his eyes. Though his hoodie was pulled down, the sweaty strands of black hair were still visible, slightly blocking his vision. “Take care,” you offered him, placing the bag into his hand. The empty night was louder than him as he exited your store.

A month in and you’ve managed to perfect the flower-shaped croissants, exploiting the layers of dough and butter croissants naturally proved to achieve petal-like flares. Proudly, you arrange them on a baby blue decorative plate, fixing the eyebrow raising price tag in front of it. People would have to accept that baking was another type of art and that your croissants tasted as good as they look. Many customers have become regulars, your yellow post it note stuck on the cash register denotes what they usually get, just a courtesy. New people enter your store everyday, sometimes stopping to pose for pictures in front of the arguably aesthetic display case filled with your best work. A swell of pride always elates you and you remind them to tag the cafe in their social media posts.

Its because your shop has a softer, pretty theme that you’re surprised when you find yourself writing down what the bruised man from before would always order. Though you formally close at seven, you leave the light on as you close down for him because he usually enters at nine. At the end of every week, he replenishes his first aid kit, sporting nasty red, brown, and purple wounds on his face every day. His placement of the bandaids and salves are sloppy at best and as the daughter of a doctor, you can’t help but stop him before he disappears into the inky night once again. The accusative glare he shoots at you leaves you stuttering. “What do you want?” His words and tone almost have you denying that you even called him in the first place but you wonder why he’s always beat up and why he’s so cranky. “You’re not putting on the bandages correctly.” “What would you know about it?” “My dad was a doctor—here, just let me fix it for you.” You’re released from his heavy glare as he thinks over your proposal, eyes flitting around your shop before landing back on you. “Just make it quick.”

He’s never sat in one of your shop’s white chairs and he shifts on plush cushion, you across from him, preparing the first aid kit. No sound escapes him as he rips off his existing bandaids, though just watching him makes you want to wince. The used bandages are shoved into his pockets and he slouches in front of you. The wounds this time congregate around his jaw, a nasty blue-green bruise spreading from his chin to the end of his jaw. Cuts and rug burn-like patches are scattered around his face and you can’t picture what he’d look like without a black eye.

In the name of being prepared, you keep an extensive first aid kit under your counter. You gingerly smear the bruise with the respective salve before dousing the cuts with alcohol. All the while, the damaged man in front of you says nothing, but glares at you through his shaggy bangs. Though scared to anger him him, you softly push back his hair to reveal another bruise above his left eyebrow.

The tense silence tears at you and you blurt out, “Have you not met any left handed people? They’re always on your left side.”

“More like they haven’t met me.” 

“You’re left handed?” 

“Ambidextrous but they still never see it coming,” is his gruff reply. 

Slowly, as you spread salve on his cuts you put two and two together. “You’re a fighter.” 

“Boxer.” Though his uncomfortable silence had previously left you at a loss for words, you quickly get back into your old habits, “You’re a boxer? That’s why you’re always beat up. You must not be very good if you’re always getting hurt. Are you paid to fight other people or is it based on bets? You’re really young to be boxi—” 

The coldness in his eyes as they snap up to you has your words choking in your throat. “I let my opponents have a semblance of victory before I beat them. Its based on bets so I get more profit if viewers place more bets against me.”

He rises and you follow him to the door. “I-if you…when you get injured, just come here. It’ll heal faster if I tend to it.” 

A nod is all you get but its more than the silence you’ve been struck with by him before so you’re not complaining.

He holds you on your offer, coming in every night from nine to midnight. You don’t mind lingering at your shop longer because his scuffed boots find their way into your store every night. You learn that his name is Minho and that his boxing nickname is Lee Know. The air between you has melted from cold tension to quiet casualty. Though your heart clenches in wariness every time his battered face shows up, it also pangs in empathy for him. Empathy that he refuses to accept.

The glint in his eyes that he regards you with every night informs you that he scowls upon your empathy, the pout on your lips as you concentrate to clean his wounds and the worried laced in your voice as you ask him about his upcoming matches. “I’ve been preparing for the season to start. If it goes well, I can progress past my current bracket,” he explains and though his voice has been exclusively monotone, if you strain your ears hard enough, there’s a trace of hope and anticipation there. 

“You haven’t been doing matches this entire time?” You exclaim, dumbfounded that this amount of damage has been from practices and preparation for the real thing. 

For a passing second, everything in his demeanor except his voice calls you an idiot before he softens, realizing you know nothing about his underground life. “If we had matches all year, we’d kill each other in no time. No,” he laughs humorlessly, shaking his hair out. Its grown a bit longer than his eyes but you’ve secured it back, clearing his face up with a pink fluffy headband he scoffed at. “The lower division guys have up to 40 matches but the really good ones only have two or three.” 

In the beginning of your late night first aid sessions, you’d timidly ask Minho small talk questions and he’d gruffly respond with a word or two, but never a full sentence. Now, you ask him because you’re genuinely curious about his profession. “How many do you have? Do you know who you’ll go against?” 

“Twelve. Edging on the more professional bracket but still not there yet. Opponents are rolling; I don’t know until a few days before and even then, it’s not necessarily helpful. Just need to touch up on their weaknesses.” 

“What’s your weakness?” You ask him, dabbing some burn salve on the glove burn stretching over his cheekbone. At the silence stretching across the two of you, you hope your tone came across as light and playful, not offensive. Though you were acquaintances with the boxer, you couldn’t yet bring yourself relax around his dark gaze. 

“You’ll have to figure it out.” A giggle rises in your throat, maybe a nervous habit or maybe because you found him interesting.

An exhale eases out of your lungs as your legs give out, throwing yourself on your bed. The soft blue glow of your bedside lamp washes the room in a calming light but exhaustion refuses to let you bask in it. Soon, your eyelids are drooping and back is pressing into the sheets.

Danishes. 

A harsh, ringing voice rips through your head; you bolt up, pulling your neck at the speed and abruptness. Gasping, you fling your shoes on, realizing that you left the dough proofing. If it were any other dough, you’d roll over and shrug off the loss of a batch, but this dough was made with premium French artisan flour that a kind customer had gifted you. Somehow, the panic in your throat wards off drowsiness and you speed down the empty streets. Bursting into your store, you rush to remove the dough from the bowl and knead them into small loaves.

Based on how the dough smells, you don’t believe it over proofed so the worry loosens your throat allowing you to inhale a yawn, sliding dough into the warm oven.

The chairs in your cafe are plush but nothing compared to your bed. It’s making you slowly regret coming back tonight.

A loud bang rings through the silent air and immediately fear grips your heart which is thrumming in your throat. Maybe its your drowsy state that has you flinging into panic at the noise. The rubber soles of your shoes slowly squeak over the tile as you move over to grab a knife you use to score the bread. Its size won’t scare anyone off, but its sharpness is one to be reckoned with. From your fuzzy, sleepy memory, the sound came from the small storage room so with white knuckles gripping the knife, you creep over. In your rush, had the door been carelessly left open? The storage room door is ajar but you can’t see anything inside. Relaxing the slightest bit, you nudge the door open slowly, entering on tip toe. Though dimly lit, you can see that the small room is empty and relief floods you, though not completely ridding you of the former panic—your heartbeat is still in your throat.

When you return to the main room with the counter, tables, and register, cold, blinding panic returns tenfold. There’s three dark figures in your shop, crouching next to the counter, quickly stuffing their bags with the money stashed away. In a flurry, you press your back to the storage room door, cursing yourself for leaving it in there and at the front door which you left wide open.

Your mind whirls, trembling with fear and apprehension. Where was your phone? You couldn’t possibly stop these men but would the cops come in time?

“What the fuck are you bastards?” A voice rings out. Harsh. Cold. You don’t dare turn the corner to look.

A muffled cry pierces the tense air, strained grunts, and sounds of impact following in succession. There’s a loud cracking sound and a wail that raises your goosebumps and you slink back further into the shadow, hoping that whatever is happening behind the wall will leave you alone. Breathy curses and threats are thrown before visceral, bodily squelches and groans silence them. Digging your fingernails into your palms to get your hands from shaking, you tremble in the corner, even after the sounds have been reduced to low, pained moans and a pair of footsteps. They wander around, heavy and assured before edging closer to where you’re hiding. You don’t dare breath, but you don’t think breath would come even if you asked it to.

“Y/n?” At the sound of your name, your eyes grow wide, though you’re still frozen in place. The footsteps round the corner and you’re met with scuffed black boots and ripped black jeans. Squeezing your eyes shut, your mind whirls as you remember staring at those boots, tending to wounds. His wounds.

When your eyes fly open again, he’s crouching in front of you, face significantly less wounded than you’ve seen it. The sound of your knife clattering on the tile startles you into flying into his arms. He makes uncomfortable, awkward noises above you, hands floating above your back as his butt smarts from the force you knocked him over with. “Did you beat them up?” You voice is shaking and you’re either on the verge of tears or already crying into his black hoodie, filling your mind with his deep sweaty musk, “I didn’t know what to do.” 

“Yeah, its not that big of a deal though. Just call the police,” he pushes you off of him with surprising gentleness, seeing that his hands are stained with the blood of those three men. On his feet in a flash, he drops a bag onto your lap. “Here is your money.” 

There’s no proper reason why your hand shoots out to pull him from leaving. Maybe it’s because the would be thieves are still laying in your store, maybe its because you want to keep inhaling the warm scent he exudes, maybe it’s because the thought of being without him tonight scares you. “The police won’t believe that I did this,” you whisper, hoping that that will ward off his need to leave. It’s impossible to interpret what the dark look in his eyes are—you can never seem to read his thoughts. 

Only his verbal confirmation has relief flooding your chest, “Fine.” 

After tying up the perpetrators, Minho settles half an arms distance away from you, a waft of his musk filling your nose as you think you hear the piercing screech of sirens. “Were you just gonna let them take your cash?”

You were wrong. His eyes can deliver something other than blank darkness: incredulous accusation. The disbelief and an audible scoff in his question has you curling up tighter, burning with the implications he poses. You’d let these men reap the fruits of your labor; you wouldn’t try to stop them. 

“Y-yeah,” you attempt, trying to concoct a reasonable excuse that would get his disapproving stare from burning off the side of your face. “There were three of them, so of course I’d let them go.” 

A scoff rips from his throat, clawing at the back of your neck. “This won’t do. You know,” he turns to you, one eyebrow raised, “this’ll just be the beginning. Are you gonna be prepared to defend this shop, bub?” 

You bristle at his know-it-all attitude and the patronizing nickname, “Why do you care? And why were you even here this late at night?” The pale yellow suggestions of sun peak from the inky black sky as you’re reminded that you’ve gotten no sleep. Ignoring your questions, he rises, adjusting his jeans and walking over to the policemen now at the glass door of your cafe.

Even after the robbers were detained and police left, he remains, his dark scent permeating the air around you. “Listen,” he starts, hands shoved into his pockets and the regular scowl on his face, “I was just walking back from practice and saw them in here. And you need to get protection around here.” 

“And how would you suggest that?” You throw back, fueled with remaining sass. A shrug. He turns away, walking to the door. Habit says he’ll ignore you, disappearing into the lightening city horizon, but he stops, hand resting on the glass door. You slap his hand off of it, but his hand’s grimy residue clouds a part of the door already. 

His shoulders drop in annoyance before he grunts, “I could teach you how to defend yourself.” Mouth agape and eyes wide, you repeat his words, “You’d teach me how to defend myself? Isn’t your season starting up soon?” 

His gaze drops, you think he’s taken aback at your remembering the dates of his season. “Coach doesn’t want me sparring. Get healed or some shit. Don’t get me wrong, I’m offering because it’ll be good for me to refresh on the basics and the next shop is twenty minutes away. I’ll be inconvenienced if this shop closes anytime soon.” The thought of Minho scowling down at you as a personal defense teacher scares you, but the vivid memory as you clutched the knife terrifies you. 

 “When are you free?”

**

“No, widen your feet; squat more, bub,” Minho lets out an exasperated sigh and slips behind you, hands on your hips to adjust your stance in front of the punching bag. The yellow lights overhead and the pale wash of moonlight are the only things illuminating your ‘self defense’ classes. With as much punching as you’re doing, you think it’s more of a boxing lesson than self defense.

“One.” 

Your left glove strikes the bag. 

“Two.” 

Right hand. 

Minho repeats these instructions, the two words seemingly molding together into a mash of sounds. As his cold voice continues to command you, the burning in your lungs intensifies and your thighs, arms, and stomach ache, screaming at you to stop. _Give up. _ A voice lures you, reminding you of how your knees shake and eyes sting from sweat. “I can’t,” you whimper, hands retracting as you meet Minho’s disapproving stare. It makes you avert your gaze, the burning in your cheeks from something other than physical exertion. 

“I’m heading home then.” Scoffing, Minho slings his bag over his shoulder, nodding back to you, “see you tomorrow.” 

Dejected, you fumble with the straps of the boxing gloves Minho gave you, unable to grasp them when both your hands are cocooned. The usual mocking sarcastic glint in Minho’s eyes were replaced with disappointment and his abrupt departure burns your chest. Maybe you should have pushed yourself more? Maybe he shouldn’t have.

“One, two. Don’t lean into it. One, two. Rotate your wrists. One, two. Guard your jaw, he’s gonna knock you out.

“Keep going, Y/n,” interrupts the usual ‘one, two’ and your teeth grit, pulling your elbows in and snapping your punches. Minho’s lips lift from the corner of your eye and this spurs you on, extracting energy from a place you didn’t know existed. Fueled with anger—anger at yourself for having given up last session, anger at Minho for pushing you—you pummel the punching bag, breathing harshly as the sound of slapping synthetic leather fills the musky room. 

“Okay, break.” The ground collides with your body as your legs give out under you. Your breathing must have been uneven, because there’s white patches in front of your vision. After blinking them away, you’re met with Minho’s outstretched hand offering a water bottle. His face is turned away from you, but his cheeks rise, insinuating a smile. With a breathing ‘thanks’, you practically inhale the water.

“Slow down, bub. You’re gonna puke.” 

Laying a hand over your spazzing heart, you give him the best glare you can muster, “No thanks to you, Lee Know.” He smirks at your use of his boxer nickname, sprawling on the ground next to you. 

“Y’know,” you gasp in between breaths, “I don’t think this is self defense, this is just offense.” 

Minho’s head tilts in acceptance, tongue poking out to swipe at his bottom lip. “No, what you’re doing is not boxing if that’s what you’re implying.” 

“Oh yeah?” You tease, pulling a face at Minho, “I’m in boxing gloves, attacking a poor boxing bag.” 

The veins in his forearms strain as he leans back onto his hands, “I could show you real boxing, bub. I have a match next week. I can get you in.” Your heart clenches at the thought of seeing the blood and gore you’ve seen on Minho’s face being made. He senses your uneasiness and leans forward, hand brushing over your knee almost…timidly? “You don’t have to come, but you can. I’ll text you the details,” he shrugs, “show up or don’t.”

**

Maybe you shouldn’t have worn a pastel purple skirt to a boxing match but it’s too late to turn around and change. At least you had the sense to wear safety shorts and sturdy combat boots. Yelling can be heard in the distance and while you’d usually flee from sounds like that, you find the GPS on your phone leading you right to it. 

The barbaric shouts are deafening as you stand in front of a grey building. A man, who’s arms are the size of your shoulders guards the door. “You lost, little girl?” He asks gruffly, but he doesn’t seem sarcastic. 

“I-I um,” you clear your throat, “Lee Know has a match here?” Your statement comes off more as a question and you wince at how weak your voice sounds. 

The bearded guard nods, his black shirt straining as he crosses his tree trunk forearms in front of him. “So you’re the lady he’s been babbling on ‘bout.” A blue tattoo stretches on his forearm as he opens the door, a wave of stench, heat, and yells ramming into you. Thanking the man quietly, you slip through the door. It’s an arena, like a football stadium but scaled down significantly. Burly and wiry men alike fill the seats, howling like dogs. You pull your sweater closer to you and your skirt down. The lights and sounds whirl in front of you as you try to spot Minho in the crowd. Further up, closer to the boxing ring, there’s a familiar head of black hair and broad shoulders. You hope it’s him as you squeeze past the admittedly scary crowd of men.

Tapping his shoulder, you breathe in his musky scent. It almost cancels out the stale rotting stench around you. When he turns, his eyes are dangerous and dark—you almost stumble back—but when he sees you his eyebrows shoot up. “Didn’t think you’d come,” he shouts over the chaos, “here,” he pulls your shoulders into his chest, shielding you in his arms as he begins to weave through the crowd, “my match is in a little bit so I was gonna head to the back.” 

The screams are muffled now as Minho closes the door to a small, empty room. He slouches on a chair, gesturing you to do the same. “It’s always so fucking chaotic out there. I can never focus before a match. I can never think,” he mutters, mostly to himself, so you freeze, not wishing to distract him, “My mind is always somewhere else and I can’t remember anything. It’s like nothing else but my nerves exist.” 

Only after a beat of silence, after Minho turns his wide eyes up to look at you, do you realize he was talking to you. “But you’re so good. You’ve been training all year,” you blurt out, not pausing to think about your words, taken aback at how innocent and lost his eyes look, “isn’t it like muscle memory?” 

He groans, you worry you’ve said the wrong thing, “Yeah, I know but it’s just so fucking frustrating, bub.” 

Smiling widely, you tease him with a nudge on his shoulder, “You’re gonna be great. Plus, you’ll have me cheering you on.” Awkwardly, you make punching movements, “I’ll take your opponent down if you can’t.” 

That’s the first time you hear Minho laugh. A genuine, hearty laugh. Not a scoff or a mocking tease. It’s warm and sweet and surprisingly high. His eyes crinkle, still smiling at you when he stands, “Okay sounds like a plan.”

Seeing the dark glare Minho holds his opponent with as they circle the ring, you understand why Minho sports the look so often. It takes you off guard; you feel like you haven’t seen these dark eyes in a while. A strong swallow of spit tightens your throat. You blink, his opponent strikes, mitt slapping against Minho’s blocking forearm. Gasping a breath, you freeze in apprehension as the crowd around you roars to life. The sharply muscled, bald man circling Minho does not lack in speed; the blurring blue of his mitt once again slams against Minho’s forearm. The bald man tenses, charging at Minho with a flurry of attacks. Desperation clenches your throat as you will Minho to do something. He ducks his head behind his forearms, abdomen clenching at every blow inflicted to him. Soon mutters calling Minho a ‘punching bag’ and a ‘free win’ crawl into your ears. Anger flares in your chest—you know how good Minho is at fighting. Why isn’t he doing anything? However, Minho’s wiry muscled, grey haired coach standing beside you is stoic, a stark contrast to the screaming audience, hurling saliva with every abusive word they target at Minho.

“Why isn’t he doing anything?” You whisper to yourself, too engrossed in the match to care about the raw vulnerability in your voice. The bald opponent retreats, panting as Minho continues to circle him. 

Minho’s coach growls, a smirk breaking his expressionless wall, “It’s over now.” Wide eyed, you turn back to the match, taking in the sweaty, hunched—you’d daresay weary—shoulders of the bald man, heaving with pants. A relief spreads a smile across your face. Minho had been doing something. The red boulder of Minho’s mitt slams into the side of the man’s head, jerking his neck awkwardly, hurling him into stumbling, expression blank shock. An electric wave of excitement shoots through you. Minho is merciless, unwilling to let his staggering opponent recover, pummeling him with firmly resounding attacks. You recognize some basic moves he’s taught you, only now do you realize capabilities of those punches put into action.

The red of Minho’s mitt is soon darkened with the seeping blood of his opponent and the fickle crowd now screams Minho’s name, invigorating him, causing his blows to land harder, until the bald man is thrown onto the blood spattered floor. The referee slams the ground thrice and the crowd erupts into a cacophony of cheers and groans.

A satisfied smirk cuts across Minho’s barely harmed face as he unfurls his sweaty arms in victory, bathing in the cheers of those who bet on him and the cries of those who bet against him alike. His coach turns to you, a satisfied twist to his lips, a wad of cash already in his clutched, calloused hand, “This is why he wasn’t doing anything, sweetheart,” he says, shaking the money, “Minho’s a tough kid but he’s also a smart kid.” After a pause, his coach shifts, frowning in, “You’re the first person Minho’s brought to a match. Nobody else. Take care of him,” he warns.

Minho’s panting presence behind you raises goosebumps on your neck. You turn to see his glistening bare abdomen as he towels himself off with a sweat rag. Bruises bloom on his forearm and but he ignores them, receiving the majority of the cash from his coach.

“Let’s get out of here before some ass crack takes his faulty betting out on me,” he says, resting a hot hand on the small of your back, guiding you to the back exit, ignoring jeering crowd members. The empty night greets you and he nods to a black car, gruffly explaining, “You walked here, right bub?” 

“Yes, also,” you gush, “that was pretty cool." 

He looks away, deflecting with, “Yeah, get in.” 

“Why do you do it?” You ask, strapping your seatbelt on and retrieving the makeshift first aid kit from your purse.

The car murmurs to life and Minho’s voice is surprisingly quiet and soft, “I got into a lot of fights up to high school so coach came up to me and asked me if I wanted to make it a profession,” a pause and Minho murmurs, “he took me in, taught me how to channel the joy I got from fighting. Turn it into something better. Focused.” 

“He seems really proud of you,” you observe, leaning over to rub a salve onto his shallowly cut lip. “You should put on more chapstick, Minho. Where’s the one I gave you?” 

Under flash of passing yellow streetlights, you can almost make out a dusting of pink on Minho’s cheeks. “I lost it,” he admits, tilting his head slightly to give you better access to his lip.

Sighing, you settle back onto the carseat. “I can take better care of you when we get there.” Minho’s eyes are wide, looking back from the road to you, “Where?” 

A clench of nervousness holds your gut, but you shrug, “Yours, mine, I don’t care.” 

It’s Minho’s turn to be flustered; he nods quickly.

**

Minho’s apartment is bare, only cluttered with various trophies and medals, a ground table, a tv, and a small couch. You set down his bag, you insisted you carried it and Minho opens a cabinet, retrieving the first aid kit. He settles on the couch, legs crossed tightly underneath him. For some reason, its stupidly endearing. The alcohol on his cut stings and Minho’s eyebrow furrows in pain. “Y’know, you don’t have to be tough around me, Minho.” 

His eyes are blank, “What do you mean?” 

“You barely let yourself feel pain, you’re always glaring at something, and you never open up about anything. You don’t have to be like that around me, Minho.” 

An eyebrow lifts and he tilts his head to the side slightly, “I told you about coach,” he offers. 

You nod slowly, “Yeah, that’s true. I guess, I just like seeing you smile,” you shrug, “that’s all.” 

Suddenly bashful, Minho looks down, biting his lip to repress a smile.

“That’s what I mean!” You exclaim, placing your hands on his cheeks to cradle his face, forcing him to look up at you, your heart in your throat. He groans, an endeared smile finally breaking out, “Quit being so fucking cute and maybe I could think enough to talk properly to you, bub.” 

Burning excitement fills your chest and you pose with a peace sign, “You think I’m cute?” 

An exasperated roll of his eyes is all the answer you need. “Well,” you say, patting his head, “you’re very cute too.” 

This time, his scoff is soft, “I’m a boxer.” 

You press a bandaid over his cut, “Yes, a very adorable boxer who needs to smile more.” He breaks out into laughs, filling you with bubbly warmth, gazing down at you with eyes that are anything but dark and dangerous. It’s warm and tender.  He is.  Sobering up, Minho tilts his head slightly, his eyes traveling down to your lips. 

Anticipation fills your chest and your mind whirls, not knowing what to do so you blurt out, “Oh yeah! Chapstick,” leaning over, you retrieve a tube, “Here.” Minho, however is unfazed by your awkwardness and cocks an eyebrow, suddenly confident, nodding to the chapstick, “Put it on for me.” 

Its your turn to blush, but you do still, not realizing that this isn’t clear chapstick. Its only when you pull away do you realize his lips are painted a pretty shade of pink. Clapping in joy you shove your phone camera in his face. “You’re so pretty!”  

Stuttering in surprise, his eyes bug out but he doesn’t make any move to wipe it off, “The fuck?” 

“So pretty!” You exclaim, holding his face to put more on, laughing at his shocked expression.  Minho pulls back, tumbling you with him until you’re staring down and all your laughter has been swallowed. Silently, his hand travels up to the back of your head, gently pulling you towards his freshly moisturized lips. Smiling because of nerves, you don’t need his hand to guide you.

His lips are surprisingly soft but perfectly sticky with your pink chapstick. Almost timidly, his tongue caresses your bottom lip and you whimper as he eases your lips apart. Saliva gathers at the corners of your mouth and your arm cramps from holding yourself up over him but he’s so gentle and careful with the kiss you don’t want to stop. Your arm gives out and you press against Minho, snaking your fingers into his slightly sweaty hair. Panting, Minho pulls back as he gazes up at you, his eyes wide and sparkling. “I don’t want to go too fast, Y/n,” he whispers, thumb gently caressing your cheekbone.

Brazen with unfound confidence, you pout at him, “No. Be mine now.” Minho smirks, laughing softly as his eyes crinkle up, “Okay, okay,” he reassures you, pulling you down to lay on his chest, “I’ll be yours.”

**

“Don’t you dare do that, Y/n. I’ll sue you,” Minho threatens, eyes wide but voice joking.

Giggling, you ignore him, continuing to create a new dessert of your own design called the ‘Minho Mochi’. It’s a soft peach mochi covered with waffle cone. “No, I take inspiration from you and plus,” you mention, “you said yourself that the juxtaposition of the soft sweet mochi and the shell of the waffle cone was good.” 

“Yeah,” he groans, plucking a mochi ball from the counter and popping into his mouth, “but that was before you decided to use my name for it, bub.” 

Reaching up to clean the potato starch residue on his lip you correct, “I made the mochi with you in mind first, not the other way around.” Minho mumbles half heartedly, turning away to smile but you tug his arm. He’s blushing and grinning softly; your heart clenches in adoration. 

“I can make you one for every match you have, would that make you feel better?” 

Minho laughs, bringing your potato starch and rice flour covered hand to nuzzle his cheek, “Fine, I guess this is what I get for having girlfriend that owns a purple bakery.” 

“Hey!” You deny, pulling back, “This is lavender, not just purple.” 

“Yes, yes,” he agrees quickly, tugging you into him. “I’m covered in flour,” you protest into his chest, his deep musk a relieving break from the sweet scent of mochi. You feel him press kisses to the top of your head as his arms tighten around you so you relax into him, circling his waist with your arms.

**

“You should really decorate this place, Min,” you comment, gesturing at his bare apartment. You’re comfortably draped across his shoulders from the couch as he sits on the floor. He looks back from the TV, eyes wide and a puppy-like pout graces his now well moisturized lips, “What do you mean? I have my trophies as decoration.” 

Groaning you protest, “No, those are trophies. You need proper deco here, it’s just sad.” 

A familiar, flirty smile spreads across his face and he winks at you, “You’re prettier than any other decorations I can get.” 

Though you feel your face burning, you roll your eyes at him, trying to suppress the smile bubbling in your chest. He gets up to sit next to you on the couch. Still smiling, he pats his lap, making your stomach jump in excitement. Settling down on his thighs, you play with the collar of his shirt, avoiding his stare. He ducks his head, forcing you to look at him. “Why you shy, bub?” 

“I really love you, Min.” 

His eyes are soft and you don’t expect him to say it back. You’re just content that he knows. 

“I love you too, bub.”

**

You’re at Minho’s apartment basically every day for the past year and today’s no different. The soft beating of his heart resounds in your ear while the other listens to the calming voice of the audio book you guys are working through. The plot follows a personified kitten who tries to find her place in the world that is too cruel for her. Despite the objectively morbid theme, this part of the story is hopeful—the kitten has found friends and feels at home. 

When the narrator concludes the end of the chapter, Minho reaches over to turn the recording off. You take the opportunity to crane your neck up and plant a kiss on his lips. He smiles softly, grabbing your waist so that you’re straddling his hips. One hand travels up to gently tug on your chin, deepening the kiss. His tongue is hot and lavishes against yours, a juxtaposition between his hand, methodically stroking your hair. Your fingers dance across his face, stroking his cheekbones, tracing his jawline and neck. 

Soon, your fingers are replaced by your mouth and Minho’s Adam’s apple bobs with the groan he lets out. The fire in your chest and the beginning aching in your core has you tugging at the hem of his soft black tee shirt. His breath is shaky on your cheek as you pull the shirt over his head, softly dropping it next to the bed. Sitting back on his hips, you gaze down at his bare chest, wonder and admiration filling your heart as your hands travel across his toned torso. The lightest breeze of pink blush blows across his cheeks so you lean down to reattach your open mouth to his. The whirling in your mind rids your thoughts of everything except how he feels under you. His wet lips against yours, rising of his chest against yours, his hips pressing against yours. 

So his tense voice catches you off guard, “Y/n, are you sure?” He’s pulled back and his eyebrows are furrowed softly, his pretty lips red and swollen but glossy with your spit. 

Your gaze drops, hands fumbling to play with his hair. “I want to but if you wanna still take it slow, I’m fine wit—” 

“I want you too, Y/n,” he whispers. Hungrily, he pulls off your shirt, sitting up to cradle you in his arms as he nuzzles your breasts, pressing hot kisses against your skin. Sighing contently, you unclip your bra and try not to blush at the dumb, awestruck look on Minho’s face. His rough hands come up to gently fondle them and you press kisses to his forehead and cheeks.

“You’re beautiful, Y/n,” he breathes, his hands firm against your bare waist as he gingerly turns you over so your back is pressed against the cool sheets. “We can take it slow.” Nervousness tightens your stomach and you’re sure he can feel the thrumming of your pulse as he slowly drags down your pants, maintaining eye contact. An endearing toothy smile spreads across his face and he hides it by kissing your tummy, trailing down to your pantie covered core. “Tell me if you’re uncomfortable or wanna stop, okay?”

You smile softly, “Okay, you too.” Minho nods, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, Y/n,” he murmurs, reaching to tug off your underwear. Being completely bare underneath someone would make anyone ashamed or uncomfortable and your face burns as his glossy eyes take your most vulnerable state in. His lips are parted slightly and the soft glow of the lamp casts shadows of his eyelashes onto his red cheeks. A harsh swallow has his Adam’s apple bobbing. “God, you’re dripping, Y/n” He whispers, eyes shining, “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready, Minho,” you confirm. He slides his finger into your hot, aching core, his lip caught in his teeth as he watches his digit being sucked in. Slowly, Minho pushes his finger deeper into you, gaze dancing from your face to your core.

“M-more please,” you whimper, consumed by the unfamiliar feeling of your velvety walls around something. When he adds another finger deep inside you, you gasp, a hand traveling down to clutch his free one. His thumb strokes the back of your hand as his other continues, scissoring into you as wet sounds fill his bedroom. When his fingers curl up, hot white pleasure shoots through you and Minho smiles proudly, working at that spot.

“H-holy fuck,” you moan, head rolling from shoulder to shoulder at the unfamiliar pleasure. 

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you curse, bub,” Minho muses, releasing your hand to push himself up the bed so that your faces are close together.

“I-its because of you, Minho.” 

That triggers something in him and his eyes turn dark, but rather than scaring you, it makes the coil in the pit of your stomach tighten. When Minho removes his fingers from you, it unwinds slowly but clenches at the sight of his now solid length being pulled out of his sweats. His eyelashes flutter closed on his cheeks as he strokes himself with his fingers, still slick from your juices as he retrieves a condom from the bedstand and rolls it on, hissing at the friction. “Are you ready, Y/n?” He pants softly, eyes hooded as he stares down at you, hand still moving up and down his red glistening cock in a way that has your pussy throbbing and mouth salivating. You respond by hooking your legs around his hips, smiling as he leans down to kiss your lips softly. His tip pokes at your hot core and you sling your arms around his shoulders.

Minho’s eyes are piercing as he gazes darkly at you, searching for the slightest trace of hesitance on your part. Painstakingly slowly, he slides into you. Maybe the foreplay did help to prepare you, but the stretch has tears pooling at the corners of your eyes and he’s not even all the way in you. Shakily, Minho exhales, eyebrows furrowing as he tries to hold back from pistoning into you. His lips press into the tears forming and spilling over at your eyes and he nuzzles your cheek with his nose softly, staying still until you reassure him, “Okay, you can keep going.” 

His teeth and tongue travel over your neck as he fully enters you, but his soft hiss has you unintentionally tightening around him. “Ah, Y/n don’t,” he groans, lifting his head from looking at the place you two are connected at to to smile at you. “Can I start?” 

You nod, hooking your ankles around his hips, “Yeah, just go slow for now.” Minho starts thrusting deep into you, angling his hips and going slow enough to feel the drag of your soaking walls rub against his throbbing cock. “You feel so good,” he moans, reaching to hold your hand as his hips continue to rock against you.

“I-I feel so full,” you whisper, squeezing his hand and he smiles softly at you, eyes crinkling up. “C-can you go faster?” 

His tongue pokes out to wet his lips and he snaps his hips into yours, groaning. The lustful and loving sounds of skin slapping resounds in the room, mixing with both of your moans to create a beautiful sound you tuck away in your mind. Minho pulls out till the tip before slamming into you, sweat forming at his forehead. With his free hand, Minho reaches down to rub your clit in tempo with his powerful thrusts. Moaning loudly, you whimper, “P-please, Min I-I think I’m gonna,” your words get swallowed by another moan when Minho’s hips increase their pace, his stamina through the roof.

“Me too, Y/n,” he pants, “Cum for me.” 

The hot coil tightens and you squeeze your eyes shut, overwhelmed at the sensation until white, electric pleasure crashes through you and you release around Minho’s length. He moans loudly, quickly chasing his high. His face twists in pleasure as he reaches his high and your fuzzy brain is left awestruck at his beauty. Minho collapses next to you, removing the condom, chest heaving in deep pants as he stares into your eyes, smiling like an idiot.

“How was that, Y/n?” He asks, arms circling your shoulder, pulling you close. 

You giggle into his chest, fingers tracing imaginary doodles, “That was fucking crazy, Min.” 

Minho’s chest bubbles with laughter and he boops your nose, scrunching his own nose up, “That’s great cause I was kinda worried about giving you a bad experience and all.” 

Looking up and tapping your chin with a finger in mock thinking you smile, “I loved it, but I want you to call me cute names, Min.” 

“I call you bub. But you mean like princess? Babygirl?” he says, an eyebrow raised. 

You roll your eyes, “Bub is not a cute name but yes, the others are okay.” “Okay,” Minho laughs, gently rubbing his nose against yours, “You’re my princess, you’re my babygirl, and you’re always my bub.”

Minho shuffles in the sheets, turning to face you, an excited smile on his face, “Just move in with me. You’re already here more than your own place and it’s unsafe there.” Still after loving him for so long, your stomach churns with nervousness, but you laugh softly, scooting closer so that you can bury your nose into his bare chest to breathe his scent in deeply. “This apartment building is safer than mine?” His arms find their way around you and he hold you close, his chest rumbling against your face with every word, “It’s safer because I’m here.” Laughing you pull back, supporting your weight with one arm as you gaze down at him. He lifts an eyebrow, stretching his arms towards you and you can’t help but collapse into them. “Okay, I’ll move in with you.”

A shining smile breaks out across Minho’s face and he nuzzles his nose into your hair softly, gently stroking your bare back.

[1-800-roflmao]

Wash Day Delight Pt. 7

Rating:  General Audiences

WARNINGS:  None

Fandom:  Undertale (Video Game)

Relationships:  Papyri Harem.  

Characters:  Papyrus (UT!Pap), Reader, Blue (US!Sans), Willow (HT!Pap), Mutt (FSR!Pap), Red (UF!Sans), Coffee (FSG!Pap), Oak (HT!Sans), and Mentions of Other AU Skeletons

If you prefer reading on AO3

*Willow is here to save the Reader’s toes after that trip through the void.  She finally gets to have her shower and ponder.  Meanwhile, the guys discuss downstairs and Coffee reminds them Google is a thing.

*Bonus: Fluffy Willow moments.

PREVIOUS || FIRST || NEXT

Papyrus was never a fan of shortcuts and not just because his brother borderline abused them.  No, he didn’t enjoy the pervasive feel of the void around him.  The cold of Snowedin never bothered him, but the void’s cold always managed to sink and settle into his bones no matter how short their time was spent in the odd space.  By the way he could feel the human in his arms shivering lightly let him know she was feeling it as well.  Finally, the inky blackness of the void seemed to pull before snapping and his well lit home falling into place around him was almost blinding.  

“ALRIGHT, YOU CAN OPEN YOUR EYES,” Blue had yet to release his grip on Papyrus’s arm as he used it for leverage to check on their friend.  She was slowly unfurling from the fetal position she had curled into during their trip.  Had she been that cold?  His sockets took in her attire and he mentally kicked himself for not realizing how light her clothing was.  And humans were more sensitive to temperature to boot.

“APOLOGIES!  I SHOULD HAVE GRABBED A BLANKET FOR YOU.” Papyrus wanted to help rub some warmth into the bared skin of her arms and legs, but he doubted his frozen bones would do much good right now.  Even Blue was resisting touching her right now.  

She had unfurled as much as she dared and patted his chest before trying to speak.  Her teeth chattered shortly into her effort and she quickly closed her mouth with a little embarrassed huff.  He managed to stifle a giggle at the cute display as she took a moment to rub her hands together and blow hot air into her palms before pressing the warmed skin into her cheeks and rubbing more.  Blue didn’t bother hiding his chuckles and she sent him a pouty glare, “N-not f...f-f… fun-ny!” she pushed out.

Blue just grinned as he lifted a hand and made a show of removing his glove, “NOT FUNNY SHE SAYS!” he cackled as her glare quickly melted into horror and panic as the energetic skeleton hovered his hand over her bare leg.  

“D-don’t you d-are!”  she chattered, legs jerking slightly as she seemed to be holding back from moving too much.  Papyrus could feel her jump as Blue dropped his hand lower playfully.  

“OKAY, THAT’S EN-EH!!!” his statement was cut off as a new pair of skeletal hands came into view and plucked the shivering human from his arms swiftly.  It took a moment for his mind to catch up with what just happened as he snapped his head up to see who had stolen his friend.

“WILLOW!” It had been Blue calling his doppelganger’s nickname as they both watched the towering skeleton adjust his hold on her so she was pretty much sitting in the crook of his arm, tucked against his side, with his palm cupping her feet as his fingers gently rubbed at her toes.  She seemed to be shivering less and less, relaxing into Willow’s hold even as said skeleton fussed over and at her.  Papyrus and Blue weren’t exempt from a scolding though as Willow turned his attention to them and wasted no time falling into a lecture.

“I UNDERSTAND YOU TWO WERE EXCITED TO HAVE OUR FRIEND OVER TODAY, BUT THAT IS NO EXCUSE TO RUSH AND FORGET NECESSITIES LIKE SOCKS AND SHOES!  HUMANS LOSE MOST OF THEIR BODY HEAT THROUGH THEIR FEET!” Papyrus and Blue just resigned to their fate and bowed their heads guiltily. Thankfully, Willow’s scolding was halted by the human in his arms patting his chest.  

“That’s enough, Willow,” she hushed, for some reason looking guilty herself.  “Blue and Pap took real good care of me before the shortcut, so go easy on them, please?” The two she praised perked up.  “Plus, they weren’t the only ones excited to come over today,” she finished her plea and Willow took a moment to consider it before letting his shoulders and features relax.  

“FINE,” he gave in and sighs of relief resounded before a confused squeak escaped their guest as Willow turned around with her still cradled against his side and started making his way up the stairs.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

“Um… Willow?” she called, trying not to look down or around.  Willow was already tall… no, tall wasn’t enough to cover just how much airspace this particular skeleton cousin took up.  Now, they were on stairs… ascending said stairs steadily and just out of her view she knew the ground floor was getting further away and the ceiling was getting closer.  She knew he wouldn’t drop her, but lord, a fall from this height would do some damage and be extra painful today especially.  

He answered with an inquiring hum, not even glancing down at the human he had pretty much kidnapped.  “Where are you taking me?” she questioned, eyes focused on his face and nothing else.  Even the sound of rushed footfalls on the stairs behind them didn’t pull her attention.  It was most likely Papyrus or Blue trying to catch up.

“TO YOUR BATH, OF COURSE,” he answered like it was the most obvious answer.  A little “oh” fell from her lips before pouting a bit as she squinted up at him.  

“I could always walk?” she put out there.  They were literally going to have her spoiled if they kept carrying her this much.  Plus, she still had that nagging feeling that as an adult she shouldn’t have things this easy.  

Willow only hummed again, but made no move to put her down even as they reached the landing and took a left to go down the long hallway.  So, no walking for her.  Knowing Blue, he probably told the whole household Papyrus’s plan to pamper her today.  

“WILLOW!” Speak of the devil and he shall appear.  No longer on the stairs, she looked just in front of them to where Blue was pretty much jogging backwards in order to stay ahead of Willow’s long gate. And Willow wasn’t letting up, but did tip his skull down to acknowledge the small skeleton.  “YOU CAN’T JUST STEAL Y/N!” he scolded, “PLUS, ALL HER STUFF IS WITH ME.”  He gestured to the pack on his back.

“AND YOU’RE HERE WITH IT, I DON’T SEE THE PROBLEM,” was Willow’s sassy reply.  Blue opened his mouth to respond, but his teeth clacked shut as words failed him.  She giggled as Blue huffed and he sent a little glare her way.  He had to scramble out the way as they had finally reached the “master bath” and Willow wasn’t wasting any time as he pushed the door open with his free hand and stepped inside.  

This was only her second time in here and it still amazed her how extravagant and expensive a bathroom of all things could feel.  If she remembered correctly, it was Black’s insistence they have at least one bath like this.  She could see his tastes echoed in the dark marble countertops and black paneling along the walls.  Wine must have had a say as well from the cozy touches like the cypress wood flooring and cabinets, decorative towels and art pieces--she’d have to ask if Coffee made some of these.  She hadn’t asked last time whose decision it was to have not only a skylight, but a floor to ceiling glass panel next to the modern soaking tub.  Thankfully, their house was outside city limits and up in the hilly area, nestled on a cliff side.  They probably have a fantastic view of the stars come night time through that window.  Right now though, all she could see was blue skies with lazy, wispy clouds.  

“Oh, that’s new,” she commented, noticing all the new plants and even what looked like a moss mat placed before the tub.  

“HM, WHAT IS?” Willow questioned as he carried her closer to the shower.   Now able to see the just as extravagant shower, she could see another of the mats in front of it as well.   Now, that she looked more closely, the little organic mats made a cute stepping stone-like trail over to the tub.  

“That,” she pointed out, fingertip following the trail before twirling to indicate all the plants in general.

Willow’s sockets widened a fraction as he realized what she was talking about before smiling, no beaming proudly.  He straightened up as much as he could while carrying her, impressive considering his back wasn’t the best.  “THAT WOULD BE MY BROTHER’S DOING!” he proclaimed, practically glowing with pride, “HE’S RECENTLY GOTTEN INTO GARDENING AND BOTANY.  OH, YOU SHOULD SEE HIS GARDEN! I MEAN… IT’S NOT IN BLOOM RIGHT NOW, BUT IT’S STILL IMPRESSIVE AND HE’S THINKING ABOUT A GREENHOUSE ONE DAY SO HE CAN GROW FRUITS AND VEGETABLES ALL YEAR ROUND FOR US TO EAT.”  He was rambling, but that was fine.  It was touching seeing his enthusiasm for his brother’s new hobby… would it be considered a hobby?  She felt better thinking of it as a passion.  “OH! I’M SORRY, I GOT OFF TRACK,” he apologized but she just shrugged.

“I don’t mind, I actually like it,” she assured.  She adjusted her grip on him as she felt him starting to crouch down.  

“GREAT! BECAUSE I HAVE MORE TO SAY!” he chirped, sockets curving just a bit as she giggled in response.  Bent at the knees, he eased her onto her own feet which left her standing between his spread femurs with her hands on his shoulders for balance as she stretched and flexed her legs to wake them up.  He continued to chat with her throughout.  “BUT MY BROTHER’S FAVORITE IS TAKING IN RESCUES,” he started and gestured to the plants in the bathroom, “THESE ARE SOME HE’S REHABILITATED.”  He had dove into telling how Oak explained that these plants in particular thrived in more humid environments, plus how he had convinced the more bourgie of their housemates to allow the plants to be kept in this bathroom.  Apparently, it had been Wine who gave in first, but it took near half the household to convince Black.  What won him over was the moss being useful for soaking up water and the plants for their air purifying qualities.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

By the time he finished retelling the saga, she had taken a seat on one of the mats as she laughed along with him as he whispered how Black had been caught talking to one of the plants.  “HIS DEFENSE WAS THAT HE HEARD OAK TALKING TO THEM SEVERAL TIMES,” he completed his tale, his small sockets softening as he took in how even her eyes seemed to be shining with her mirth.  

“Well, I read somewhere that talking to plants actually can help them,” her words were still interrupted by cute little giggles.  Finally, she took a deep breath and held it before releasing slowly.  She had lifted a hand to fan herself and he could understand why considering the flush he could see on her cheeks and ears.  “I’m happy for Oak, it seems like he really found something he loves--aside from you, of course,” she remarked thoughtfully, “And I can hear how proud you are as well.”  

“I AM.” He had been ecstatic when his brother finally found something to focus on other than food and his condition.  All thanks to a sad little plant he had found left out to die and be thrown away with the trash one day.  It had been nothing more than a single stem with one big leaf that had shriveled and was turning brown at the edges.  

It had been confusing at first when his brother came home with it carefully cupped in his palm with soil he had dug up to cover its roots.  Oak had mumbled that he couldn’t find a pot or anything for it and he had forgotten his money at home, but it needed help, so he did what he could.  He hadn’t questioned it.  Now, that sad little plant was taller than him and outgrowing its current pot quickly, but they were waiting for the warmer months to plant it in the ground finally.  

“THE ROUTINE OF TAKING CARE OF THE PLANTS HELPS HIM TREMENDOUSLY. PLUS, TALKING TO THE PLANTS HELPS HIM AS WELL! IT STRENGTHENS HIS MEMORY,” he added, teeth quirked into a gentle smile.  She just hummed in response and he flushed a bit as he saw she was now gazing up at him with her chin resting on her braided fingers.    He wished she wouldn’t look at him like that.  So gentle, so warm, and so understanding.  It gave him hope when he knew damn well her feelings were just platonic.  Besides, he knew he didn’t stand a chance against his prime version.

Sighing, he stood up and rolled his shoulders and neck to ease the stiffness that had set in.  “WELL, I SHOULD LEAVE YOU TO IT,” he dismissed as he offered her a helping hand and pulled her to her feet; bare toes wiggling and pressing into the moss mat curiously.  He still couldn’t--no, he could believe it-- he simply couldn’t wrap his mind around how they had forgotten even shoes or socks for her.  

“Oh, I get to bathe myself?” she joked as she peeked around Willow to find Blue, but all she saw was her bag abandoned on the counter.  He must have run off while they were talking.  

Willow immediately lifted a hand to cover his now glowing cheekbones and nose ridge, “I BELIEVE THE AGREEMENT WAS THAT YOU BATHE YOURSELF.”  He heard her snort and looked down at the human as she now rummaged through her bag, pulling out a few containers, a bright colored netting of some sort, a change of clothes, and even a bath bomb.  “UNLESS YOU’VE CHANGED YOUR MIND OF COURSE,” he watched her freeze like a dear from the corner of his vision as he looked off to the side in feigned innocence, “IT IS DIFFICULT FOR YOU HUMANS TO REACH CERTAIN PLACES ON YOUR OWN, CORRECT?”  Oh, she was blushing something fierce right now.

“WILLOW!” she whined, now imitating an ostrich as she pressed her face into her bag to hide.  

“WOWIE, MY NAME SURE IS POPULAR TODAY!” he replied playfully as a muffled little scream came from the bag she was hunched over.  He chuckled and gently pushed the edge of the bag’s opening down enough so he could see her eyes peeking at him.  Well, glaring right now.  “WHY ARE YOU SO EMBARRASSED, HUMAN?  I WAS JUST TALKING ABOUT HELPING YOU WASH YOUR BACK IF YOU WANTED,” a crooked grin pulled at his teeth as her eyes narrowed further.

“Uh. Huh,” was her answer and somehow that sound carried so much attitude and meaning.  Yeah, she definitely didn’t buy it, but at least she was finally emerging from the bag and finishing unpacking what she needed.  He smiled as he saw her pull out a pair of cute fuzzy socks.  Those would have helped earlier, but at least he wouldn’t have to hunt down a pair… most of theirs wouldn’t fit anyway.  “So, how do y’ll want ta do this?” she asked him suddenly as she started zipping up the bag  again.

“DO WHAT EXACTLY?”

She was staring for a moment, looking for any indication that he was playing dumb before finally answering, “My hair?  I told Papi I’d let him help with it, but he’s off somewhere, so I can’t ask him.”  Oh?  She’s letting Papyrus touch her hair?  He really had no chance, huh?  “But I don’t mind if more of you want to help out, too.”

“YES,” the word had jumped from his teeth as soon as she finished speaking.  Taking a deep breath and recomposing himself as her now wide eyes just blinked up at him in shock.  “I MEAN I’D LOVE TO HELP OUT… WITH YOU HAIR I MEAN,” he tried again, volume and tone hopefully more casual.  He had his hands behind his back to hide his fidgeting fingers.  

One more blink before her expression, only for a second, twisted into suspicion and curiosity.  The look was gone and replaced with something neutral, but welcoming.  Just what had gone through her mind, he wondered.  “Okay…” she dragged out the vowel a bit, “So, once again, how are we going about this?  Do y’ll want me to wash my hair and you just get to do the styling, detangling, blah blah blah… oooor-”

She quieted as Willow held up his palms to her, “WE WANT TO DO EVERYTHING.”  

“Everything?” He nodded with an eager smile, fingers curling into happy fists that were shaking from tension as he withheld pumping them excitedly.  He watched her look up to the ceiling in thought before shrugging, “Alright, so I’ll just wash up for now and save my long soak for later.”  She was thinking aloud as she picked up her bag and held it out to him, “While I’m washing, why don’t y’ll pick out some products we’ll use?  Mainly focus on the scent for now.”  

He took the bag with a nod and a surprised little rep as he felt how hefty the bag still felt.  “Yeah, we probably went overboard, but Blue figured it’s better to be over prepared than under,” she explained and he could only nod in stunned silence as he turned and started to finally leave.  

“Oh!” He paused in the doorway and looked back at her.  She had only managed to turn on the shower to start warming it up and though she wasn’t looking at him kept speaking, “You guys also need to figure out how and where we’re going to wash my hair.”    

Willow’s skull tilted and he lifted a brow bone in question, “ARE WE NOT DOING IT IN HERE?” He thought the bathroom was where humans took care of all their hygiene needs.  And shouldn’t she know how to wash her hair?  She’s supposed to show them after all.  

She just hummed and took a long look around.  “I guess we could, but…” she trailed off.  

“BUT?” he pushed, genuinely curious.

“The tub is a bit tall for me to be leaning over for a long time and I know your back wouldn’t appreciate it either, plus it would require a cup or something to dump water over my head.”  She wasn’t wrong about his back.  So, that was out.  Plus, it didn’t sound pleasant to have water dumped over one’s head over and over.  “The sink in here is higher, but that would be difficult for me.  Plus, it’s a bit shallow and once again, we’d need a cup.”  Sink was out, too, then.  

“And last, the shower.  That’s usually where I wash my hair, but it’s a bit difficult with multiple people.. At least it is if you’re not comfortable being naked or in swimsuits together,” she laughed and he blushed a bit at the intimate, domestic scene it summoned in his mind.  “Other than that, the only ways I think we could make it work up here is if I leaned over into the shower or knelt down and we used the removable shower head,” she put out the idea, but he immediately knew it wouldn’t work out.

“THE WATER PRESSURE WOULD RESULT IN A VERY MESSY… WET EXPERIENCE,” he lamented and she just nodded sagely with a little shrug.  How would they get this done?  Was it even possible?

“If it helps,” she piped up, holding a hand under the spray and feeling the temperature of the water, “We usually use the kitchen sink or a utility sink.  Ylls is still tall, but I think if I stand on a chair, it might work.”  She sent him a confident smile as he perked up at the idea, “Y’ll have time to think it over.  Plus, I want to show you all something before that anyway.”  After that, she had shooed him out and he left with a promise to talk it over with the others.  He couldn’t help wondering what she wanted to show them. 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o 

Once the door closed behind Willow, she couldn’t get out her clothes fast enough.  This bath has been due for a bit and my god it already felt heavenly on just her palm from touching the water.  Leaving her clothes on the floor right where she shed them, she went to dive into the shower before remembering she needed her soap and other supplies to actually get clean.  One naked dash to the counter to scoop up what she needed and back again,plus she tossed a shower cap on at the last minute; finally, she was able to enjoy her shower.

She debated rushing as to not keep the boys waiting, but she rarely gets to experience a rain shower like this.  It was dampened-heh-by the plastic shower cap, but overall was pleasant.  She took a moment to just bask and relax, but her mind began to wander and shower thoughts filtered in.  

Namely how all the skeletons she had interacted with today had been surprised that she was letting them do anything with her hair.  Well, they hadn’t expressed their surprise with words, but their body language and facial expressions spoke volumes.   That had been genuine surprise and shock she had seen.  Add in their eagerness to help her with her hair--adorable--and it’s obvious they’ve wanted to possibly touch her hair or ask about it for a while.  

Had she done something to make it seem like she didn’t want anyone touching her hair?  At all?  She mulled over all the time she had known the skeletons and the only things she could think of is maybe they witnessed someone touching her hair without permission and she snapped on said person.  It happens less now, but it has happened.  Even that would only make sense if they didn’t hear everything she says to the person.  She always mentions consent when she gets on people with wandering, overcurious hands and fingers.  So, they would know they just need to ask? Right?

Brow scrunching, she sighed and stepped from under the rainfall to finally start actually cleaning up.  Going through the familiar motions, she continued to turn over and pick at the mystery.  It wasn’t until near the end of her shower when she was rinsing off the suds, something clicked… “Cash.”

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

“we were startin’ ta wonder if doll changed her mind, will o’ the wisp,” a skeleton dressed in mostly black with a fur lined hood and a single gold fang jeered from his seat on the living room sofa just as Willow reached the bottom of the staircase.  A disappointed grunt followed as the taller skeleton purposely ignored his comment.

“RED, I THOUGHT YOU HAD TO WORK TODAY?” Willow inquired as he stepped into the living room, only after hearing Blue and Papyrus’s voices reprimand the gold fanged sans.  Standing in the doorway, he could now see that the two were sitting on cushions on the floor before the tv.  From the characters running and bouncing around the screen, it looked like they were playing Smash.  Leaning over the arm of the couch opposite the one Red was sitting on was Coffee.  He spared a little wave to Willow, but went back to watching the other two play.  He was probably waiting to jump in and play whoever wins. Stretched across that same couch with his fur lined hood up and obscuring his face was Mutt.  His long legs hung over the remaining arm of the couch and his arms were crossed over his chest.  He truly slept like the dead as he didn’t budge or even twitch.  His chest didn’t fall and rise in simulated breath either.   The last skeleton in the room was Willow’s brother, Oak, and he was currently snoozing as well, leaned back against the couch with his skull lolling to the side.  

“wha’, i’m not invited ta y’lls lil’ wash day thing,” Red growled, but his crimson eyelights avoiding Willow’s gaze hinted he was simply dodging the question and not offended.

Before Willow could call him out on this, Mutt surprisingly beat him to it, “him n’ sansy had a lil’ lover’s spat.”  Ah, so he wasn’t sleeping.

“would ya’ quit callin’ it that!” Red barked, scowling as chuckles only rumbled from Mutt.      

Coffee’s soft voice just barely spoke above the noise of the other two, “Red wanted to test the machine…”

Willow just arched a brow bone as he set down his hefty load on the coffee table, “AND SANS, I’M GUESSING, DID NOT?”  He looked to Red for confirmation and said skeleton huffed, crossing his arms with a frustrated scowl marring his features.

“dun know how he expects us ta know if the damn t’ing works w’itout testing it!” he mumbled, “coward doesn’t even like ta turn it on most times…”  

“WELL, IN HIS DEFENSE, THAT MACHINE IS THE REASON ALL OF US ARE HERE RIGHT NOW,” Willow’s attempt to play mediator only resulted in Red grunting and sinking more into the cushions.

Blue had handed off his controller to Coffee who eagerly vacated his spot on the couch and took Blue’s place on the floor.  “HE’S GOING TO POUT (“m’not poutin’!”) FOR A WHILE,” he stated as he moved to kneel by the coffee table.  His eye lights were glued to the bag he remembered bringing upstairs not that long ago, “WHY DO YOU HAVE HER BAG?”  He hoped she had everything she needed upstairs.

His question had Papyrus perking up behind them, but the prime doppel refused to take his sockets off the tv, “I’D LIKE TO KNOW AS WELL!” He wished he could turn and investigate, but Coffee took his games seriously and he had yet to beat the younger skeleton at any.  Maybe today would be the day.

Willow sat in Coffee’s empty spot on the couch to ease his back so he wouldn’t be bent over as much.  His weight displaced the cushions more than Coffee had and resulted in Mutt slipping down a bit further, closer to his hip and pulling at his hood.  Said skeleton didn’t complain and just let it happen, opening his unscarred socket so a rusty blood orange eyelight swiveled to look at the bag in question.  “lil’ missy plannin’ ta stay fer while?” he inquired as he took in how full it seemed.

Blue laughed, “NEVER KNOW! WE JUST WANTED TO BE PREPARED!” he chirped.

“BETTER TO BE OVER PREPARED THAN UNDER!” Papyrus joined in before squawking in surprise and muttering a little curse.  Coffee could be heard giggling softly and whispering how Papyrus had to put money in the swear jar now, on top of his impending loss.

Mutt just nodded and Willow hummed as he unzipped the bag, “SHE WANTS US TO PICK OUT WHAT PRODUCTS TO USE.”  He plucked a jar from the bag to examine.

“why’?” Red had sat up and scooted to the edge of his seat so he could see the bag’s contents better.   “shouldn’t she be tellin’ us what ta use?” he mumbled as his eyelights expanded at the amount and variety of products in the bag, “she bought da’ whole store?!”  

Blue just snickered and those snickers were growing into laughter as Mutt finally gave in to his own curiosity and sat up.  Both sockets now open and eyelights mirroring Red’s own in shock, “never thought i’d be so thankful ta not have hair.”  He rubbed a hand over his skull, “exhausted just lookin’ at all this.  No wonder they got a whole day just for washin’ hair.”  

Willow shook his head at the two with a withered sigh as he could hear Papyrus joining Blue in poorly hidden laughter.  “THEY DON’T USE ALL OF IT,” he resisted burying his face in his hands in exasperation, “HENCE WHY SHE WANTS US TO HELP CHOOSE WHICH ONES TO USE TODAY.”  He lifted the product he had already taken from the bag and wiggled it for emphasis, “WE’LL JUST PICK OUT BASICS… SHAMPOO, CONDITIONER…”  he trailed off.  It hit him that he didn’t know what exactly could be considered basics beyond that.

“We could look up the rest…” Coffee spoke up, tilting his head towards the conversation, “...there should be something about this on the internet right?”  A harsh click of a button and snap of the joystick could be heard before an anguished cry belted from Papyrus as his character went flying to the edge of the edge of the screen.   A flash of light then the announcer chiming in loudly: GAME!  He had lost once again.  “Good game, Pap…” Coffee patted the defeated monster’s back as he dramatically sobbed into his hands.

“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR THAT FROM YOU!” Papyrus whined and they could practically hear him pouting as Coffee just giggled.  

“GREAT IDEA, COFFEE!” Blue wasted no time whipping out his phone and holding it up proudly as his eyelights formed to stars, “MWEHEHEH!  WITH THIS WE WILL PICK OUT THE PERFECT ASSORTMENT AND HELP HER HAVE THE BEST WASH DAY EVER!”  

Papyrus bounced back from his crestfallen state as heard Blue’s declaration.  He joined them at the coffee table and clapped for Blue who just beamed more.  Coffee offered his own shy clap of support as he wandered over as well and settled into an empty spot on the other side of Blue.

Red’s eyelights couldn’t roll any harder at their antics. A frown still pulled at his teeth as something wasn’t sitting right with him about this situation, “thought doll didn’t like anyone messin’ wit’ her hair?” Why the sudden change of heart? The others went quiet at his question and Mutt just hummed along, the sound giving way his curiosity about this as well.

Papyrus fiddled with his hands, braiding and unbraiding his fingers, before breaking the silence that had fallen on the room, “WELL, AS YOU KNOW--from the group text--WE CONVINCED HER TO LET ME-US TAKE CARE OF HER.”  He inhaled and looked up, looking at each skeleton in the room, “I ASKED IF WE COULD HELP WITH HER HAIR…”  A soft smile lifted the corners of his teeth, “AND SHE SAID YES.”  

Nothing was said for a bit as Papyrus’s words sank in before Mutt hummed once again, “well… let’s get ta pickin’ then.”  Nods were shared in agreement.  It didn’t answer why, but it would do for now.  

Willow started them off with the product he had already.  He read the label aloud, “HAIR HONEY?”  before unscrewing the lid.  He didn’t need to lean in to get a whiff of its scent.  Not only because his naturally more sensitive sense of smell, but it was potent and the others around perked in curiosity as well.  It was sweet and warm, but not floral.  Maybe a bit fruity?  It reminded him of a tropical drink… the color of it certainly looked like honey though.  Before he could even question what it was for, he could hear Blue’s distals tapping at his screen to look it up.

“HAIR HONEY IS A BALM FOR STYLING, MOISTURIZING, AND ADDING SHINE TO HAIR,” he read, along with a few details about ingredients.  Surprisingly, the product had very little to no actual honey in it.  

“WHY CALL IT HONEY IF IT HAS NO HONEY?” Papyrus voiced the question they were all thinking as Willow replaced the lid on the jar and set it aside.

“‘n they say monsters are bad at namin’,” Red grumbled before jumping as the cushions beside him shifted and sank.  He could hear a long, loud sniff and scowled at Oak as the larger skeleton was literally following his nasal cavity to the now closed jar. “Fuckin’ ell when did you wake up!” he griped.

Oak ignored him for picking up the jar and opening it again to take a deep sniff.  A moment later they could hear purring.  

“Missy might not be gettin’ that one back,” Mutt chuckled as he took his turn digging in the bag for a product.  They continued like this.  Taking turns picking a product, reading and looking it up, sniffing, and eventually sorting them into piles at Papyrus’s insistence.  They had started with two: YES and NO.  But the YES pile was now organized by scent.  The “tastier”--as Oak put it--scented products had been more or less hoarded by said skeleton.  It was obvious what his vote was for.

“is it really smart ta have her smellin’ all yummy and shit,” Red had scooted to the far side of the couch away from Oak.  It was too much being next to the giant while he was purring with the volume of a freight train. He swears the cushions were vibrating.  Willow’s sockets narrowed on the smaller skeleton, “I HOPE YOU ARE NOT INSINUATING WHAT I THINK YOU ARE.”  His still crooked teeth pulled into a frown.  His braces were slow to fix them.  

“THAT WAS VERY UNCOUTH, RED,” Papyrus agreed and Willow sent his duplicate an appreciative smile.  

Mutt shrugged as he watched Blue repacking the NO pile, “‘m fine wit her smellin’ like a snack~”  His gold fangs glinted as he smiled, a teasing lilt to his voice.  “‘sides it’s hard not to considerin’ half this stuff has some sort of ‘butter’ in it...” he muttered.  He had no clue what exactly cocoa or shea butter was or what it did, but it smelled amazing.  

Red agreed with the butter comment.  Hell, he was still trying to figure out how they got butter from something like olives, hempseed… MANGOES?  A god damned fruit… how?  Not too mention the different oils… it was like they were trying to purposely seasoning themselves.

Blue choked on a cut off laugh and Red had cracked a smile, snickering.  Willow had tilted his skull back with a far away, tired look to the ceiling, but couldn’t hide a light flush to his cheekbones.  Papyrus had slapped a hand to his forehead with an exasperated sigh.  

Coffee giggled quietly, “...I have a bit of a sweet tooth as well…”  That was an understatement.  He had the biggest sweet tooth out of all of them. A golden blush flushed his cheekbones as all attention had turned to him in mild shock that he had said something even slightly close to a double entendre.    

A barked laugh burst from Red and Mutt.  The taller of the two recovered first with a satisfied sigh, “well, now we really gotta go with Oak’s choice.”  

Red wiped a tear from his socket as he conceded with a shrug and amused huff, “fine, fine…”  Blue and Papyrus agreed since they were outvoted either way, but Willow had yet to speak.  He was staring down Red, frown still in place.  The skeleton currently under his harsh gaze began to sweat, eyelights wobbling and shrinking as he refused to make eye contact.  The trio on the floor shifted awkwardly and after a subtle glance between the two, they busied themselves with packing up the products they wouldn’t be using.  “what?!” he finally snapped, turning sharply and glaring up at the towering monster.

“ya still owe us an apology…” Oak rumbled, his bloated red eyelight focused on Red.  His brother crossed his arms over his chest and hummed in agreement.  

“seriously?” Red looked between the two in disbelief.  Neither held an expression that they were joking and Mutt was offering no support for him.  The trench coat clad skeleton instead was looking at the ceiling with the utmost concentration.  Traitor… Red tried holding out stubbornly and debated simply shortcutting away, but even he knew he had overstepped.  Maybe that therapist was worth the money.  “m’sorry…” he grumbled, scrunching up in an effort to hide further in the fluff of his hoodie.  

Oak looked to his brother to see if he approved of the apology.  It was a piss poor one even by his standards, but he knew they probably wouldn’t get much more than that right now.  Willow’s expression definitely said the apology wasn’t up to standard, but let his shoulders fall and his arms uncross.  It was enough of an acceptance for Red as the smaller skeleton sighed in relief at the tension easing in the room.  

Papyrus, Coffee, and Blue had finished packing by now and Papyrus clapped his hands, a bright smile lighting up his face.  “WITH THAT AND OUR CHOICE OF HAIR CARE PRODUCTS COMPLETED, I’D SAY WE’VE DONE GOOD!” he boasted and Blue nodded along.  Oak just hummed and purred happily; he turned his attention back to the products on his lap.  

“BUT WE’RE NOT DONE YET,” Willow interjected and confused, curious eyelights and sockets were aimed his way.  He was grateful the more prim and proper and strict of their household were not in for this particular conversation.  “YOU SEE, WE NEED TO FIGURE OUT HOW WE’RE GOING TO WASH HER HAIR…. OR RATHER, WHERE?” he continued on to explain that they had already scratched off the upstairs bathroom she was using, plus pretty much any other bathroom at that.  “ACCORDING TO HER, THE KITCHEN OR UTILITY SINK IS BEST FOR WHEN SOMEONE HAS TO ASSIST,” he finished.

Pensive, thoughtful looks adorned most of the occupants, except for Oak and Mutt.  Oak was distracted by his hoard and Mutt was still staring at the ceiling.

“USING THE UTILITY SINK WOULD APPEASE CERTAIN SOMEONES,” Blue noted, but he didn’t sound certain.

“it would, but knowin’ how many of you are gonna wanna hang around, it’ll get crowded real quick in that little room,” Red inputted and shot down the utility sink idea.  While his brother or Black might get huffy about the kitchen sink, it wouldn’t be anything worse than some harsh words.  Black was soft on the woman and his brother held a torch for her.  They’d be fine.  

Tipping could be heard and they half expected it to be Blue typing on his phone again, but instead it was Coffee.  A few more clicks and they could see the light of the screen shining off his pearly face and gold braces.  Blue leaned to peek over his shoulder and Papyrus followed suit.  The two sharing looks of awe and understanding.  

“ey!” Red snapped and two of the trio jerked their attention from the screen, “don’t just keep it ta yaself.  show us what ya found!”

Coffee was the only one still looking at his screen and he swiped his finger across the glass surface before turning his phone around for them to see.  On the screen was a video of a woman that had curly hair and skin like their friend.  She was leaning over a sink with a woman standing just beside her.  The other woman had short, dark coils and her skin was a deep, cool brown.  She was currently using the pull down sprayer to wet the other’s hair  and working the water into her curls with her other hand.  

“OH, WE HAVE A SPRAYER LIKE THAT!” Willow nodded, “IT WILL MAKE THIS SO MUCH EASIER THAN USING A CUP OR BOWL TO DUMP WATER OVER HER HEAD.”

“you were plannin’ ta waterboard doll?” Red joked as he continued to watch the video.  “only problem ya have left is that our kitchen sink is built fer the taller than average…” he pointed out.  It sparked new ideas to be put forth.  Suggestions that they could use a chair or stool for her to stand on.  This was shot down as Coffee reminded them that she was physically exhausted and her neck and back wouldn’t appreciate being bent over for so long after the workout Edge and Papyrus had put her through.

Papyrus sighed, “IT SEEMS MY ENTHUSIASM YESTERDAY HAS PRODUCED YET ANOTHER PROBLEM…”  

Blue patted his shoulder comfortingly,  “WE HAD NO CLUE ANY OF THIS WOULD HAPPEN.  PLUS, THINK HOW PROUD SHE’LL BE WHEN YOU SHOW HER THE CHARTS OF HER PROGRESS YOU MADE!”  It helped cheer up the positive skeleton and he nodded, mumbling a thank you to his ever supportive friend.

A deep rumble pervaded the living room and gradually morphed into amused, pleased chuckles.  All attention moved to Mutt, the source, with inquiring gazes.  Pushing his hood down and leaning forward, resting his elbow on his knee and his cheek against his knuckles, he grinned at his companions, “...think I have a solution fer that~”

[imastrangeone98]

A Gentle Touch

(A/N: behold! my first one shot! :D there may be more, there may be less. this is my first time writing for the mandalorian (Star Wars in general) and I haven’t thought about a full fledged story... yet. also I'm still working on my dmc story that no one reads sob and my bnha storyline is coming together. after I publish chapter 12 for lost and found Ill get to work on the first chapter)

(ps this is also my first time writing smut. I was dared to by a friend. this is for you [you know who you are ;)]

WARNING: (probably) unrealistic sex. also (definitely) unsafe sex. (I never had sex before, but you should probably use a condom- that’s important. safe, sane and consensual amirite?) and highly unrealistic description of spaceships and lack of Star Wars knowledge

and the oc I created (I got it off a Star Wars name generator XD) is kyla baize. maybe I’ll make a thing for her after I come up with a story to use her in. and for the purpose of this story, I’ll assume that mando’s age is around his late 30s- he and kyla met around their late teens. and this probably takes place post-ep8

Din Djarin knew very well of the life he would live the second he swore The Creed. It would be one of solitude, and silence, and the cold beskar that covered him head to toe. In all honesty, he was comfortable with it...

...For the most part.

But as he sat in his seat at the cockpit, watching his medic fuss over the Child with a sweet smile on her face, he couldn’t help but wonder if The Creed was truly worth upholding.

“There, there, little one,” Kyla cooed, her smile growing wider when the Child stretched his arms towards her. “You seem sleepy. It must be time for bed!”

The Child whined slightly, but made no further protest when she scooped him up and cuddled him into her arms. She glanced towards Din, giving him a light smile. “I’ll put him to bed and set the coordinates. How about you go down and get some sleep?”

He hummed in response, simply enjoying the sight in front of him. Twenty years they had worked together, yet she never failed to take his breath away. “I’ll set the coordinates. You get some sleep; you more than earned it.”

“So do you,” she retorted, rubbing the Child’s back. “You know what- hold that thought; I’ll be back.” She turned around and descended the ladder, clearly preparing to put the baby to bed.

For a brief moment, he saw it- a swollen belly, a slight waddle, a tiny infant’s face- a perfect combination of her and him. A boy or a girl? What kind of person would they become? A warrior like him? Or a healer like their mother?

And then he remembered- The Creed. He was a Mandalorian, a bounty hunter to the core. There would be no room for more children in his life, or more time for a lover.

He was meant to be alone.

But... His heart betrayed him. But...

“Are you alright, Din?” A hand- warm to the touch- rested on his elbow. “You seem out of it.”

Snapped out of his thoughts, he gazed up at her, unable to stop himself from marveling at her. With the helmet on, in the sunlight, in complete darkness, she was beautiful. “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

He froze. “About...”

“Is it about today? What happened in Nevarro?” She frowned, lightly squeezing his elbow.

“...Yeah.” She wasn’t entirely wrong, but it still wasn’t fully right. “You could’ve died. You and the Child. I-“ His words got caught in his throat, and he almost choked. “I could’ve lost you.”

Kyla let out a small hum before sitting at his feet, resting her head on his knee. She gave him a smile, full of reassurance and hope. He stared just a tad too long at her lips. “But you didn’t. I’m still here, and so is the Child. You could never lose us, even if you wanted to.”

“But still, I...”

She rested a hand on his own. “I know. After Kuiil and IG-11...” A frown briefly made an appearance on her face; he wanted it gone. “We lost good people today. It was already hard when they died; I can’t imagine how I’d feel if you...”

She didn’t finish the thought. She didn’t need to. He knew fully well what she was going through.

But then she wiped the stray tears from the corners of her eyes and smiled again. “So I won’t imagine it. I’ll focus on the fact that you’re still here, alive and breathing. And I’m not going to mope anymore. They gave their lives so we could live ours, and I’ll honor them by living the best one I can.”

Din couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped his mouth. She always knew what to say to make everyone feel better- he was no exception. “You’re right.”

“I know,” she teased, rubbing the side of his helmet in lieu of his cheek. He wished he could take it off. “Don’t overwork yourself; get some rest. You still have your head injury to consider.”

“Maybe later.”

She sighed, then shook her head. “You Mandalorians, I swear... Alright, but if the lights aren’t turned off in 30 minutes, I’ll make you rest.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

She grinned. “I have my ways.” Rising from the floor, she dusted herself off before resting a hand on the top of his helmet. “I’ll see you in the... morning? Something? Later.” With a shrug and a light laugh, she descended the ladder, and he could hear the sound of her cabin door sliding shut.

I have my ways.

When he turned back to the controls, he couldn’t stop the blush burning his cheeks.

He was glad for his helmet.

[...]

With the Razor Crest on autopilot, Din climbed down to the cargo hold to check on his clan.

His clan of three. The mere thought of those words had a bloom of heat blossoming in his chest.

Once more, the image from before entered his mind- a heavily pregnant Kyla waddling around, with the Child eagerly following her every move. He could see her lying in bed with her arms around her stomach, so sweet, so innocent-

He saw her face twist in pleasure, watched her clutch the ratty blankets as he continued to thrust into her warm, willing body, watched as his cum seeped out of her tight, wet-

He froze.

Fuck.

He immediately changed direction, heading straight to the refresher. A cold shower was in need if he planned on getting any sleep tonight.

[...]

He couldn’t sleep.

The nightmares had gotten worse. More faces swam in the inky darkness of his own mind- his mother and father, Kuiil, even that ridiculous IG unit...

But now, it was the Child, its tiny, limp body tossed aside by that Devaronian, Burg, who roared in sadistic laughter before turning his attention towards-

Towards-

He watched helplessly as Kyla cried out in pain, her hair tangled in the red bastard’s hands, watched as he began slamming her repeatedly into the ground, screamed and begged for him to stop, to torture him instead, and-

And he did, but she slumped to the ground; and as he finally gained back control over his body and scrambled his way over to her, he gazed into her glassy eyes and held her lifeless body close to his chest-

And screamed again when he saw his hands were stained red, and screamed and screamed and-

He jumped out of his bunk and stumbled out of his room, through the darkness of the Razor Crest (with no helmet- no one could see him anyway) and towards her room, making no attempt to be quiet. He slammed his hand on the door, begging for her to let him in, just please, Maker, let him in-

“Din? Is that you? What’s-“ Kyla stopped mid-sentence the moment he pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, sobs escaping his chest. “Are you alright?”

He didn’t answer, settling for burying his nose in the crook of her neck and breathing in her scent- sweet Bantha milk and cinnamon. She smelled alive.

“Din...” she murmured, rubbing small circles on his back. “It’s okay. I’m okay, I promise.”

Fuck, she felt so alive in his gloveless hands, so warm-

His lips ran over her throat and he pressed them against her skin, laving his tongue over her pulse. Fuck, she tasted like heaven-

He bit down. Hard.

She jumped, a small squeak squeezing past her lips. He wanted to hear more of it. “Din, are you-?”

He hummed as his lips traveled upward- brushing against her jaw and her cheek before resting against her mouth.

He pressed closer, so close that there was no space between them. And their lips remained locked together, even as he began to maneuver themselves towards the bed.

“Din!” she gasped as they fell onto the clunky mattress, only to be quickly replaced with the sweetest moan to ever grace his ears as he ran his hands down her sides until they rested on her hips. “Din, please-“

He shushed her, stripping her of her sleeping shorts and underwear and marveling at the soft skin of her inner thighs under his calloused palms. “Fuck, you’re perfect. So fucking perfect.”

“Din, you can’t even see me...”

“I don’t need to. I already knew; I’ve always known.” Leaning down to press a kiss on her thigh, he nosed his way down to the apex, unable to stop the moan rumbling out of his chest as he breathed in the smell of her body. She smelled so alive, so mouthwatering-

He couldn’t help himself- couldn’t stop himself, even if he wanted to. Without hesitation, he dragged his tongue over her slick entrance and delved deep, eager to elicit more of her sweet noises.

“Din!” she cried out, her fingers burying themselves in his hair. “Don’t- don’t stop, don’t ever stop-“

But he did. With a final, indulgent lick of her delectable cunt, he traveled upward, pausing for a few seconds to rip off her shirt, blatantly ignoring her weak protests and effectively silencing them with a swift kiss. She shivered underneath him, her soft moans smothered with his tongue as it tangled with her own.

With a free hand, Din stripped himself of his pants and positioned himself between her legs, but a warm hand rested on his shoulder.

“You didn’t get to...” she mumbled, voice dripping with pleasure. He could get drunk off the sound of it. She tugged off his shirt; he didn’t complain. “I wanna make you feel good too.”

“Maybe next time,” he whispered; his heart swelled with utter adoration. “But right now, I just need this. Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she breathed out, her hands intertwining around his neck.

“Do you want this?”

“Yes. Please; I want you.”

And with her reassurance, he slowly pressed himself into her...

Well...

He really did try to go slow. He really did. But the second his tip pressed into her velvety warmth, he saw galaxies dance across his vision- and he was done for.

With a quick snap of his hips, he sunk down to the hilt. Kyla gasped, hands moving to his shoulders as she squirmed underneath him in an attempt to adjust.

Don’t move yet, he managed to tell himself. Let her breathe first.

But fuck, it was so hard. Even as he buried his face into her neck in an attempt to ground himself, her scent only took him higher, far past the edges of the galaxy, far past any star system, far past the universe.

“Din,” Kyla murmured. Fuck, he loved when she said his name. “You can move.” She rolled her hips, and his cock sunk in just a tad deeper.

Maker, he felt that.

Immediately, he began to thrust into her, and he was, again, struck dumb by how utterly warm she was, how divine she felt around him.

“Fuck, so tight,” he growled out, sinking his teeth into her neck, never losing his rhythm. “How- how are you so goddamn tight? Fuck, it’s like you’re made for me-“

“I’m yours,” she sobbed, her head pressed into his chest. “I’m only yours, Din-“

Her words sent a sharp jolt running through his body. Instantly, he grabbed her legs and threw them over his shoulders, absorbing her ever-increasing moans as he delved further into her warm, wet cunt.

“Kyla,” he breathed out; his black vision was starting to turn white at the edges, and at the center of it all, he saw her. “You’re my everything. You’re my sun, my moon, the stars in my sky-“

“Oh, Din...” she croaked, leaning upwards just a tad to press a kiss to his skin.

“My world revolves around you,” he moaned into her ear. “My sweet goddess, I’m yours- everything I am is yours-“

She tightened around him. He swore; comets soared underneath his eyelids, and he could just see her beautiful eyes- eyes that shone brighter than any star.

“I love you, Din,” she cried, her grip around his neck tightening just slightly. “I love you with all I have, IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou-“

And with a broken shout, they came, each whispering the other’s name, raw love embedded in every syllable, laced in the air they breathed, soaked in their skin.

And as they laid together, limbs tangled so thoroughly that neither could tell where one ended and the other began, Din knew- deep in his heart- that there was no need for fear.

She was here, with him, in his arms, tiredly and lovingly stroking the edges of his face, mapping out every crease and line in his skin, fingers tracing his lips.

“I love you,” she repeated, and he didn’t need his sight to know that she was smiling at him.

She felt warm. She felt alive.

“I love you,” he whispered, caressing her cheek and leaning down to kiss her.

She made him feel so, so alive.

———————————————————————

A/N: my god this is the smuttiest thing I’ve ever written and will probably ever write.

Help me I need to bleach my eyeballs with holy water-

[moody-blues-requiem]

This is Diavolo anon resending again: could I request a nsfw scenario of a jealous Diavolo with a fem s/o? I really love your writings by the way 😍😳

Tysm!! I sure hope you love this one too! 💜💜

(note: “regina” in Italian means queen. I use it a couple times in this)

(n/s/f/w under the cut)

Two traditional key locks, a number pad, and a hidden fingerprint scanner in the doorknob barred entry into the unsuspecting home near Punta del Miglio, a little cape along the coast of Capri. Close to the sea but far from civilization, it was one of Diavolo’s favorite safehouses. On rare nights he would pull back the blackout curtains and open the windows, letting the sound of the gentle waves crashing against the short help lull the two of you to sleep. 

You opened both of the locks, punched in the long keycode (a string of meaningless digits that you had memorized a while ago. Diavolo changed it every few months.) and let the fingerprint scanner verify your identity. When you heard the final deadbolt open with a heavy clunk, you opened the door, finding a dark apartment before you. Lights off, curtains shut. Had you not known better, you would have thought it was vacant. 

You turned around to re-lock the doors and as soon as you had, strong arms were wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. Diavolo leaned down, burying his face into your hair, practically melting against you. You reached up to stroke his long, silky hair, smiling as he leaned into your touch. “Rough day?” you asked him softly. You could feel his head shift against your skin, nodding. On days where his paranoia was at its worst he tended to live in the darkness, sitting quietly, as if waiting for something. Someone? You weren’t sure, he won’t tell you. Maybe he wasn’t sure himself. Instead you just did your best to comfort him, often talking him through his paranoid thoughts and back to reality. 

“Those two from the execution team…” Diavolo said, voice low and hoarse, as if he hadn’t spoken to you since this morning when you woke up. “They’re getting closer.”

“They’ll never find you,” you reminded him, turning to kiss his cheek. “You’ve hidden yourself immaculately.” 

He grunted. “They’re still getting information. Slowly, but they’re digging it up.” He paused. “I don’t know from where.” 

It was horribly frustrating to see your lover in distress like this, only knowing there was so much you could do for him. When you turned to reply you found his sharp green eyes staring through you like daggers. You were frozen. His voice was controlled and even, arguably scarier than an angry Diavolo. 

“Where are they getting the information, bella?”

Surely he didn’t think you were selling him out! You would never! It shocked you and hurt you all at once, having Diavolo even question your loyalty, but… you had to remind yourself, this was just his paranoia. He didn’t really believe you were giving out his information. If he really thought you were, well. You’d probably already be six feet under by now. 

“Diavolo,” you spoke, keeping your voice even to match his. “I haven’t spoken a word about you to anyone. You know I haven’t, at all, ever.”

“I know, bella.” His voice was quieter now. He pulled you in closer, hugging you tight. An apology of sorts, but you knew he wouldn’t seriously think you were selling him out. At least, you sure hoped his paranoia wouldn’t go so far as to turn him against you. The two of you stayed like this for a while, holding each other in the darkness of the apartment. Diavolo would never say it, but he liked to be held. “I wish you didn’t have to go out so often,” he whispered. “Someone could take you from me. Someone could… if they make a connection between us--”

“They won’t,” you reassured him. “I have no ties to Passione beyond you. I doubt I’m on any radars, let alone a suspect.” Your hands ran comfortingly up and down his back following the lines of his broad muscles and tracing down his spine. “I have to go to work, get coffee, visit people. See things, enjoy the sunshine. Enjoy life.” 

Diavolo brushed a stray hair from your face, before leaning in close and gently pressing his lips to yours. His lips were soft with lip balm, rather than his usual inky-black lipstick. “It would be so nice, though,” he whispered, with his lips still pressed lightly to yours, “to have you simply… stay. I’d take care of everything for you, you know you’d be my crimson queen--”

You cut off his pun with a kiss, earning a smile from your lover. “Am I not already your crimson queen?” you teased, earning a smirk from Diavolo. “I suppose you are,” he replied. Lifting you in his arms bridal-style, he began kissing a line down from your lips to your neck to your collarbone, making sure to scrape his teeth with a feather-light touch over the places he knew you were most sensitive. “Allow me to show you just how I treat my queen.” 

“By all means, my king,” you purred low into Diavolo’s ear, “show me.”

In no time (literally, with Diavolo’s stand ability) you found yourself seated on the edge of the large, plush bed you shared, Diavolo working his was down your body with kisses and playful nips. His large, strong hands caressed up your sides, working you up and soon enough, working your shirt off of you. He kissed again at your sensitive collarbones while his hands cupped your breasts, gently squeezing and rolling them through the silky fabric of your bra. He left a slight sheen of chapstick behind as he kissed down your chest, tugging your bra down and taking his time to enjoy your chest. Soft purple marks followed his mouth as he left light hickeys across one breast and then moved to the other, slowly working his way to your nipples. Something about the way he looked up at you as he took the rosy bud into his mouth, the sensation of his tongue on such sensitive skin combined with the lovestruck look in his eyes both melted your heart and made your thighs quiver with anticipation. As if Diavolo could read you like a book, he moved to the other breast and began working his hands up under your work skirt. “Already so excited?” he asked, brushing his fingers over the dampness on the front of your panties. You blushed, squeaking as Diavolo pressed harder. Through the fabric he found your clit and started teasing towards it with slow, controlled circles, each one bringing his fingers closer and closer to actually touching the sensitive bud. Diavolo just couldn’t resist seeing you squirm, so needy for his touch. 

“D-Diavolo,” you whined. “Please…”

“Hm? Please what, regina?”

“Diavolo, please… make me cum…”

He hummed to himself, as if lost in thought. His fingers pressed in harder, attention focused fully on your clit, making you gasp. “Wouldn’t you like this kind of attention all the time, bella?” he purred. “Wouldn’t you like staying in with me and living like royalty?”

Your hips were bucking at his hand, practically humping him. Looking for the friction that he wasn’t going to give up so easily. “Say the words, bella, you know what I want to hear.” 

“Diavolo!” you cried out. Even with lust fogging your mind, you were certain you wanted this. “I-I’m yours, all yours. I’ll stay with you, always.”

“Perfect, regina,” he whispered, pulling your skirt and panties from your body in one quick motion. “Perfect.”

Diavolo leaned in and ate you out with the passion of a starving man. He moaned as he lapped up your juices, loving how lost he could become in your very essence. When he felt your fingers thread through his hair and tug he only worked harder, moving from your clit to begin fucking you with his tongue. His strong hands reached around to squeeze your ass and pull you in even closer-- his enthusiasm for eating you out only served to turn you on more. You couldn’t stop your hips from shaking as you rode his face, gasping and moaning as your orgasm drew closer and closer. 

“I’m gonna…” you began to warn Diavolo. “I’m gonna--!!”

Your orgasm hit before you had time to finish your sentence, your back arching and a long, lustful moan escaping past your lips. Diavolo didn’t slow down a bit, eating you out through the entire thing, drawing out your release as much as he could. He only retreated when you gently pulled on his hair, bringing him up for a kiss. You couldn’t help but admire your slick coating his lips and cheeks and chin, showing off just how passionately he had worked you over. Your lips met his, something about tasting yourself on your lover you just couldn’t get enough of. 

“Do you want me to…?” you asked in a quiet voice, almost panting from the energy you’d just spent. Diavolo smiled, small but genuine. “Maybe later, bella. You should rest first.” He stepped towards the bathroom, filling a cup with water for you and turning on the tap to the bath. “Let’s clean up, and then we’ll see what fun may come.”

[jinjikook]

would you like a happy ending? (m)

🎃 word count: 2.2k

🎃 genre: smut ; idol-verse

🎃 pairing: reader/hoshi

🎃 warning(s)/kink(s): hand jobs, massaging, use of lotion/oil/lube, nipple play

🎃 summary: an idol’s job is not an easy one and it really takes a toll on their bodies. luckily, there’s people like yourself that work solely to ease their bodies of all that tension, and soonyoung really appreciates what you do

🎃 requested by: anon - “Kinktober request where you're a masseuse/physical therapist and hot dancer Hoshi comes in for some treatment and you notice that he's reeeaaalllyyy enjoying what your doing with your hands”

🎃 music: wanderlust - the weeknd

🎃 masterlist + kinktober 2017

gif credit

“Okay Y/N, so after Seongwoo, you have one last appointment. It’s for a full back massage, apparently they’ve been under a lot of stress and strain lately.”

“Of course they have, they’re idols. You couldn’t pay me to go through what they do on the daily and still walk straight on my feet.” You shooed away the receptionist that works the front of the massage parlor you so ‘luckily’ worked at.

The next customer came in, complaining about central pain around the base of their spine and you got to work, making sure to go lightly on the oils per the man’s request.

The idols you worked on had very specific needs and tastes, going to people like you in search for relief from all the strenuous pressure they constantly put their bodies through. In a way, you were a savior for them and their achy selves.

“Alright Ong-sshi, we’re all done here, please try to refrain from trying a move like that again.” The inky-haired boy nodded and thanked you before bowing out to retire to the steam room for the final hour he’d be here. You began to clean up your room, wiping down the massage table and replacing all the oils and creams you’d taken out to use.

Time went by relatively quickly, you sort of got lost in your own world when you got into humming and organizing. It was when you were color coding the bags of Epsom salts in a cabinet that a soft knock sounded on your door. You told them to come in out of habit, not looking up from where you were knelt down until a person cleared their throat.

“Hello? I’m here for the physical therapy?” A soft voice spoke.

“Ah, yes,” You tutted, standing up straight and brushing the excess salts that had transferred onto your clothes before bowing in greeting to the blond man standing at your door. “Soonyoung-sshi, you’re my last appointment for the day. Please, disrobe as you see fit and lay down onto the table, face down.” The boy nodded and began to let the robe fall from his shoulders, revealing planes of neatly toned muscles, skin smooth and bright.

He hummed as he got comfortable, letting the robe stay around his waist to conceal his more intimate areas as you washed your hands in the small, porcelain sink in the corner and dried them carefully.

“Are there any scents you’d prefer, maybe ones I should avoid? Any allergies?”

Soonyoung thought for a moment, pondering which he’d like before answering.

“I don’t really have a preference, though I do like the vanilla scented things. I like light scents like that,” You nodded and reached for the vanilla scented oil and a small bottle of lavender lotion, knowing it’d compliment the other well and still be a light enough smell to please Soonyoung.

As you approached, you surveyed where you’d be laying your hands. His back was smooth, almost fragile looking. He was built more compact than the last idol you’d serviced, so the comparison was probably most likely due to that recent aspect. You knew he had been particularly in pain around his lower back, mentioning about the most recent promotions for their music having taken a toll on his spine.

“Ah, careful please,” Soonyoung lightly asked as you began to knead the sore muscles of his back, treading a little softer at his words of caution. He seemed pleased with the pressure, and you followed up with a few questions to make sure it was all to his liking.

“Is the oil warm enough?”

He hummed.

“The pressure okay?”

“Fantastic.”

“Feeling comfortable?”

He nodded as best he could with his head on his crossed arms, eyes trying to scan what he could see of the room.

Soonyoung was a little too preoccupied with his wandering eyes that he hadn’t felt you traipse along a really sensitive part of his back, right where it dipped down above his ass. He hissed as you dug your thumbs there and his hips jumped, first up and then back down to try and shy away from your hands.

“I’m sorry! Was that painful, Soonyoung-sshi?” He shook his head, trying to explain the sensitivity but that it was okay to continue, that he’d grow used to it. With tentative fingers, you returned to massaging him in earnest, feeling his skin dip with the harder you pressed.

He released a guttural groan, feeling his tense back ease up and you weren’t unfamiliar with sounds like these; sometimes it felt like a miracle to have your body put in such a relaxed state that you just had to vocalize it. Like when you have a bite of the most scrumptious dessert and you have to moan at the flavor hitting your taste buds.

You let yourself get lost in your work, Soonyoung clearly feeling comfortable with your ministrations at this point. He continued to make noises of pleasure as you drifted from his lower back and cracked the knuckles of his spine, roving up to paw at his shoulders and loosen the tightly wound knots there.

“So tense—when was the last time you got taken care of, Soonyoung-sshi?”

“I have no idea, but I will never go this long again. I’ll make you my regular masseuse, Miss…?”

“Y/N, no need for the formalities. I’ve never cared much for them anyways. But I’ll gladly continue to help you Soonyoung-sshi, it’s always best to have the same person since they’ll learn about your body and your activities well enough to always give you what you need.”

You had no idea that that would entail more than just a simple back massage.

It had been about half an hour, Soonyoung already putty on your table as he almost dozed off from the gentle application of lotion onto his back. You pulled away, ready to nudge him awake to move on from his appointment but Soonyoung rose on his own, clearly not as asleep as you pegged him to be initially.

You turned away to wash your hands of the excess lotion that slicked your palms but Soonyoung laid back down onto your table face up, robe hanging haphazardly off his body and revealing one of his sharp hipbones. He groaned and let his head loll back, hand coming up to ruffle his light locks as you actually got sight of the affected area.

It wasn’t unheard of for someone to get aroused while on your table; in fact it was fairly common. For men, it was obviously pretty difficult to conceal such feelings but as a professional, you’re supposed to wave it off and allow them the decency to cover themselves.

“Y/N? I’m still feeling particularly wound up, any chance you could help me some more?” You gulped at his words, trying to keep from thinking lewd thoughts as you asked what more you could do to help him. “Well, for starters, I wouldn’t mind a good rub down on my front. You know, to even it out?”

Of course he just wanted to be pampered a little more, something that you’re sure he doesn’t get often coming from a company that doesn’t exactly live in the lap of luxury. You nodded and let him adjust his body until he found a position he was most comfortable in, pouring the oil onto his chest and trying to ignore how you’d gone against the usual protocol of warming it up in your hands to instead drizzle it onto the pebbled peaks of his nipples.

He hissed and arched his back, much like when you’d touched the sensitive bit of his back. But he didn’t protest this time, biting his lip and letting you watch the dribbles slowly slip down like honeyed sap on the trunk of a tree.

Shaking yourself out of whatever unprofessional stupor you got into, you began to smooth your hands over the planes of his chest, pointedly ignoring his pectorals for your own sanity.

“Y/N, I’d like my whole chest massaged, if that’s not too much trouble.” Soonyoung asked with his eyes shut tight and head pressed back into the massage table. You gulped audibly at what he’d asked and in your brain you yelled at yourself to get a grip and to remember that this was a client and customer that entrusted you to help him, not use him for your own personal horny affairs.

With a sigh, you flattened your palms and braced forward to stroke up and down, not missing where he’d requested for fear of being confronted again. He sighed happily and his body eased down, until your thumbs grazed the exposed wire that was his nipples, causing him to jerk steadily and chew on his lower lip.

“Soonyoung-sshi, are you alright? You look like you’re in pain.” You tried to fight the waver in your voice, instincts telling you to make sure your customer was okay before assuming the worst.

“Tell me Y/N, how much would it cost to have a full body massage?” He pointedly ignored your question, avoiding it with the aid of his own follow up.

“Well, if you wanted your legs, feet, arms, hands and head massaged, it’d cost—”

“You’re seeming to miss a key component of my body,” He lifted his head to meet you with dark, half-lidded eyes. Was it hot in here? You felt the room kick up several notches higher and you tugged on the uniform you had on to try and salvage whatever cool air remained in the nooks and crannies of the room. His eyes trailed down to his very prominent issue barely hidden underneath the powder blue robe the facility supplied customers with.

“Oh, Soonyoung-sshi, we d-don’t—”

“It may not be on the menu, but I’m asking you Y/N, since you so kindly offered to help me.”

You could lose your job! This was unethical—completely and utterly wrong.

And yet, you couldn’t stop your hands if you tried, slowly pulling the robe off to reveal Soonyoung’s aching arousal beading at the tip. The feeling of the robe dragging off the head of his cock made the man moan, throwing his head back as you finally gave into sweet temptation.

The bottle of lavender lotion was in your grip as you generously coated your hand in the cream before growing bold and replaying what you had done earlier with his nipples, dribbling the lotion over the head of his cock. It jumped with the fluid, blood thrumming in it at full force.

With a firm hand, you gripped him tight and began to give him languid pumps. The feeling of your slick hand had Soonyoung writhing, probably not having felt a hand other than his own in a long time. He tried to keep quiet but the feeling of your lithe fingers on his cock was already driving him crazy.

Soonyoung let his own hands trail up to tweak and tease his nipples, enjoying the sensitive nubs being played with while you continued to stroke him. The lotion made the sound from your hand painfully audible, wet squelches with every smooth glide as you continued to jerk him off and drag him closer to the edge.

He whimpered and panted as he got closer to his release, trying to warn you but your hand hadn’t stopped or slowed down. The pace only got quicker, Soonyoung’s hips jerking and jumping with your hand as he tried to fuck the wet, tight fist you formed around him.

“I-I’m close, I—ah, ah—I’m gonna come!” He keened, fingers tightening on the bed underneath him as he released streaks of come over his abdomen, continuously pumping his hips until they slowed to a dragging circle, milking himself until come began to drip down your fist. The head of his cock was almost purple in your grip, shiny with come and you definitely knew it was very unprofessional to clean the mess he’d made with your tongue so you settled for a warmed towel from the heated box on the counter.

It was quiet, as Soonyoung redid his robe and you washed your hands. Clinical even, as much as it’d pained you to admit.

It was he who spoke up first, breaking the ice as he approached you.

“Thank you, Y/N. I know I asked for a lot, and I appreciate you helping me. As an idol,” He chuckled, shaking his head and awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, “We don’t really get any sort of relief, let alone of this kind. It was… wow, it was so good I can’t even think straight.” He laughed breathlessly and you smiled, hearing the sincerity in his words.

“If I haven’t scared you off yet, I’d really love to make you my regular masseuse.”

“Of course, what other masseuse would jerk you off?” You giggled and his impression of a deer caught in the headlights was even more adorable, making you giggle more.

“N-Not just because of that!” He shook his head before recomposing himself. “You were really good at the actual massage and I think you’re right, about that whole ‘keeping the same person’ thing. Really, I’d love to have you even if that,” He gestures crudely, “never happens again.”

With a beaming grin, you turn to Soonyoung and bow politely.

“Well, I look forward to our next appointment then, Soonyoung-sshi. I’m sure we can find ways to keep these sessions… interesting.”

With that, Soonyoung smiled and left with the same grand grin plastered across his face, leaving you with a cheesy wink and a promise to return soon.

[rizlowwritessortof]

If We Don’t Make It...

@whispersandwhiskerburn - Angel, I made it!! :D 

This fic is for Angel’s 2K Follower Celebration - congratulations again, girl!

My song prompt was “Broken” by Lifehouse, and the dialogue prompt was “If we don’t make it out of this, I need you to know...”

Here’s a little taste of the lyrics:

The broken locks were a warning You got inside my head Tried my best to be guarded I'm an open book instead I still see your reflection Inside my eyes That are looking for a purpose They’re still looking for life

Sometimes darkness can be so absolute.

You lie there for a second, listening. Then you try and shift your body, feel that everything is still there and mobile, not trapped under debris or broken or bleeding profusely. “Dean?” you whisper, then try to move. God, it hurts. All of it. You feel like a football team used you as a tackle dummy. “Dean?” you say a little louder, then force yourself to sit up, moaning softly. You hear a rustle nearby, and you freeze, not sure if it's him.

A clutch of panic freezes your lungs for a moment, your heart pounding almost painfully in your chest. It couldn't be the wendigo, Dean shot that thing right in its gut, and you saw it burst into flames before it reared up, hitting the rotten timbers of the ceiling and sending them crashing down on you both. The opening you had entered through is now sealed off with tons of dirt and debris, but at the moment, you just want to find Dean.

A groan and the sound of movement shifts your attention directly to your left. “Dean! Are you okay?”

A quiet 'fuck!' reaches your ears, and then, “I'm fine. Are you hurt? Can you move?” You reach out a hand and collide with one of his, and he holds on firmly. “Are you bleeding anywhere?”

“I don't think so. I don't think anything serious. How about you? Damn it, I wish we had a light!”

“I... I think I might have a slight problem.” A flare of flame sears your retinas, leaving you momentarily blind before vision fades slowly back in the glow of his lighter. You inhale sharply at the sight before you, your hand flying to cover your mouth for a moment before speaking.

“Shit. Dean... shit.”

He lets out a laugh that’s half-moan. “Yeah. Kind of impaled myself here.”

“Dean… omg…” You squeeze your eyes shut tight for a second, internally yelling at yourself to stay calm, to act like everything’s going to be fine. It will. “Give me your lighter for a sec, let me see if I can find something to use for a torch.” He nods, swallowing hard against what you know must be overwhelming pain. You take the lighter, scanning around the room, trying not to gag at the remains of the wendigo’s past meals lying in random piles here and there. There are a few human-type touches here and there, probably from someone he… well, already ate. The creature had piled the belongings of his past kills in a corner, and you head there, digging through, hoping to find anything helpful.

A canteen, mostly full, sloshes as you shake it, and you put the strap over your shoulder, continuing your search. There are a couple of flashlights, and – hallelujah, a lantern! A backpack, heavy with its load, gets slung over your shoulder next, and you set the lantern up, lighting it before closing Dean’s lighter.

“Gotta say, I wouldn’t give this place four stars,” he jokes, his voice rough and strained.

“Oh, I don’t know – look at all these amenities,” you smile back, fighting like hell to keep the waver from your voice. You move quickly back towards him, setting the lantern down close by. “Let’s have a look at that, shall we?”

You brace yourself, digging through the backpack to hide your face, hide the struggle to control yourself. The first thing you pull out is a bottle of whiskey, and you close your eyes in gratitude. A first aid kit? Awesome! You keep digging, finding energy bars, a couple of bottles of water, aspirin, matches and several other little gifts that just might keep you sane and alive until you get out of here.

If you get out of here.

You finally take a deep breath and lift the lantern to look more closely at Dean’s injury. He has a piece of rebar protruding from his chest, a couple of inches below his collarbone on the left side. His face looks pale, but his skin doesn’t feel clammy and he’s not showing any other signs of shock. Yet. You hold up the whiskey bottle, twisting the top and breaking the seal. “Want a swig?”

“Oh, hell, yeah,” he rasps, and you slip a hand beneath his head, lifting it carefully and letting him use his good hand to help control the flow.

“So – anything else broken or busted up that I should know about?” you ask, trying to keep things light. It’s not easy, because right now you’re scared shitless. 

“I don’t think so. This’ll kinda take your mind off the bumps and bruises,” he manages to say, his teeth clenched together as a wave of pain hits.

“Just lay still. I’m gonna see if it’s possible to dig out of here.”

“One more belt of that whiskey before you leave?”

You settle back on your heels, putting your hand to his face, and your emotions almost win for a moment or two. “Of course. As much as you want.”

After you help him drink a few swallows more, you move to find a couple of pieces of broken beam, hauling them over to prop his legs up. Then you strip your jacket off, shaking your head at his protests.

“I’m gonna be warm, I’ll be digging. We need to keep you from going into shock. So just take it easy, cowboy. Let somebody take care of you for a change.” You tuck the jacket, still carrying the warmth of your body, around him carefully, then venture a look at his face. He’s looking up at you, and the expression there puts a lump in your throat. You bend to kiss his forehead, then stand abruptly and make your way over to the pile of debris that blocks your exit.

You begin to pull at the broken timbers, focusing on moving one thing at a time, determined not to let defeat weigh you down. One chunk of wood after another, and when you find a piece that’s small enough for you to manage as a shovel, you dig the dirt away as you work. The longer you work, the more angry you get. That creature, that murdering asshole is not going to win. You will not let Dean die down here.

It feels like it’s been hours. You’re exhausted, no idea what time it is, but if you don’t rest you’ll collapse. You drop your makeshift tool and make your way over to Dean. “Hey, how’s it going?” he asks, and you battle back the sob that tries to make its way from your throat.

“Slow. I need to rest for a bit.” He looks up at your, a glint of pride in his eyes.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart. Just c’mere, get some sleep. We should probably conserve the lantern, anyway.” You nod, blinking back exhausted tears, and sit down at his right side before extinguishing the lantern. You feel his arm behind you, and you lay down, head on his shoulder, letting him hold you close in the inky blackness around you. You let your arm creep over his middle, resting on his belly, and hold him right back.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s disconcerting when you wake, your eyes finding nothing to focus on as you open them. It takes you a moment to get your bearings, to realize where you are and what woke you. Dean shivers, and you squeeze your eyes closed, a wave of fear washing through you. You have to get him out of here. You feel carefully around until your fingers land on the lantern. You click Dean’s lighter a couple of times to get it going, and light the lantern, then turn your eyes to Dean’s still-sleeping face. You lay the back of your hand gently against his cheek, then his forehead. He feels hot, feverish, and a clutch of panic twists in your belly.

You carry the lantern over closer to where you are working, trying not to let the desperation of the situation overwhelm you. You will get him out of here or die trying, you tell yourself, and start working.

You actually start seeing a faint light through some spaces in the cave-in, and hope blooms in your chest. You are re-energized, yanking timbers free and tossing them aside, digging at the dirt with your crude shovel, and you turn towards Dean with a smile. “Dean, I can see light!”

That’s when it happens. The earth rumbles and you scream angrily at the fresh load of debris crashing down, dirt crumbling in around your feet. The wreckage blocking your way is just as bad, if not worse, now, the corridor outside filling in even more, your hard work made pointless. “No!! Damn it, no!” You lose control, shouting obscenities as you claw into the obstruction, pulling pieces free and flinging them wildly, digging with your fingers until you are spent and fall to your knees, sobbing.

Dean’s voice calling your name brings you back, and you grit your teeth, making yourself stop. He needs you, and you have to get through this. You grab the lantern and make your way over to where he lays, dropping to your knees beside him. “I’m sorry, Dean, I’m so sorry. It was working. It was working, but it’s all closed off again, and I don’t know if I...”

“Stop. Y/N, just stop. It’s all right.” He reaches for your hand, and swears softly. “Jesus, sweetheart, look at your hands.” Your face crumples again, and he pulls at you with his good arm, urging you to come closer. You bury your face in his uninjured shoulder, sobbing quietly as he hugs you tight to his side, murmuring calming words, his lips in your hair. “Please don’t cry, sweetheart. Please. It’ll be okay.”

“How is it gonna be okay? The one time you need me to save you, for once – and I can’t do it. You’ve always given everything for me, for Sam. I just wanted...”

“Listen.” The command stops your rant, and you turn your face up to look at him. “You worked your ass off shifting all that shit. You did the best you could, sweetheart. As good as Sammy or I could have done. It’s not your fault there was another collapse, it was bound to happen. And Sam is out there looking for us, okay? He’s looking for us, and he won’t stop until he finds us. You know that.” He looks into your eyes in the dim light, searching. Then his fingers grip the back of your head and pull you close, his lips gentle as they cling to yours. “You’re my hero, you got that? My fucking hero.”

Another little sob escapes your lips, and then you kiss him back with everything you have in you. As you pull back a bit, the lamp flickers, then dies. Dean cradles your head against his shoulder and holds you there for a moment before he speaks again. 

“I need you to listen to me, okay?” You nod, your head nestled against his neck, and he hesitates for a few seconds before he continues. After a shaky breath, he speaks softly. “If we don't make it out of this, I need you to know...”

“Dean! Please don’t say that!”

“You said you’d listen.” You bite at your lips to stop the words from bursting out, then nod again. “You know how I feel about family. You’ve been family to me, and to Sam. But in case we don’t get out of here, you need to know, before it’s too late. You’re more than family to me. You’ve always been more. I just never had the guts to tell you. Sorry I waited so long.”

You prop yourself up beside him and put your hands on his face, bending to kiss him. “I’ve loved you for so long,” you whisper against his lips. You kiss each other breathless, and then he moves just a little, groaning with pain. You sit up, feeling around in the darkness for the bottle. “How about taking me out for a drink?”

“Never let it be said I don’t know how to show a girl a good time,” he retorts, his voice strained with pain, and you grab one of the flashlights so you can guide the bottle to his lips. You both take several slugs from the bottle before you put the top on and shut off the light. You lie down at his side again, letting his arm surround you, clinging to him as much as you can without causing him pain.

You wake slowly, your head pounding. You hear muffled shouts, thudding noises, and you sit up, your eyes wide, reaching for the flashlight. “Dean! Dean? Do you hear? Someone’s here!”

He stirs a little, clearing his throat. “Yeah. I hear it.” His voice is faint, and a sense of urgency forces you to your feet. You rush over to where the doorway used to be, shouting at the top of your lungs. “Sam? Sam, is that you? We’re in here! Dean’s hurt, but we’re okay, we’re alive!”

~~~~~~~~~~

You walk into the bunker, breathing deep of the scent, books and coffee, gun oil and men and comfort. “What?” Dean asks as he stops behind you.

“Nothing. Just good to be home.” You look over your shoulder at him, smiling. His eyes are warm, sparkling as he teases you.

“Wait till you see how good it is when you actually, you know, go in.” He grins as you stick out your tongue, then head down the stairs.

He fights you, but you insist on putting him to bed. He's still fighting the fever and infection, although it's a damn sight better than a couple of days ago. He strips down to his boxers, even with his arm in a sling, and actually lets you help him get into a pair of sweats, then hits the pillow with a sigh. You cover him up and bend to kiss him, standing to leave, but he grabs your wrist. “Aren't you getting in?”

“You – want me to stay? Here?”

He looks at you, scanning over your features for clues to what you're thinking. “You know what I said back there, in the mine?” You nod hesitantly, your lip between your teeth. “I meant it. It wasn't just the heat of the moment, or me thinking I was gonna die. I meant what I said. Did you?” His voice is soft, his eyes showing the faintest hint of fear as he asks.

“I meant every word, Dean.” You can see the tension slip away from him as you speak, and he smiles.

“Well, then, yeah. I want you to stay.” You feel a little bubbling surge of joy, and you return his smile with a big one of your own.

“Okay. But first I want a long, hot shower. The one the nurses let me use at the hospital was barely a trickle.”

“I told you to let Sam take you home.”

“And I told you I wasn't leaving you. I'm just dying for our wonderful water pressure so I can feel like I really cleaned all the stink of that place off my skin.” You squeeze his hand and pull away slowly. “I'll be right back.”

When you come back he's down for the count, breathing deep, his good arm flung out to his side as if he's waiting for you. You stare at him for a few quiet moments, fully aware of how close you were to losing him. Then you push that painful thought away and climb in beside him, tucking yourself in close to his side. He sighs, his arm folding you in even closer, and you smile. His voice rumbles in his chest as he speaks, his face nuzzling into your freshly blow-dried hair.

“If we don't make it out of this – it'll be the best fuckin' thing that ever happened to me.”

Tagging my usual lovelies - don’t faint, I actually wrote something! (I know it’s been a while):

@saenalife    @salvachester    @misswhizzy    @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis    @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog    @geeklibrarian    @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid    @aprofoundbondwithdean    @mamapeterson    @mrswhozeewhatsis    @littlegreenplasticsoldier    @sleep-silent-angel    @darcia22    @winchesterprincessbride    @jessica-bones-winchester    @ellen-reincarnated1967    @eyes-of-a-disney-princess    @deangirl96    @iamflanneltrash    @deanslittleangel2y5    @melanie451    @juliaspnlover    @lovin-ackles    @spectaculacular-sammy    @dyingforlove1992    @bookchic20    @jodyri    @selma-jean   @avasmommy224    @shadowlightforcast    @tonifish    @savingapplepie-eatingthings    @angelofwinchester17    @kittenofdoomage    @masked-maiden42    @lean-mean-deanwinchester    @ericuhlorain    @undecided-garden    @ceeceewinchester    @typicalweirdbookworm    @purplecocopops    @feelmyroarrrr    @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit    @youtoldalie    @tanithlowisabamf    @deandoesthingstome    @jxackles    @nerdwholikesword    @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic    @kreweofimp    @deansbaekaz2y5    @trippleberrydeanpie    @gabavaldman    @chaos-and-the-calm67    @darkx143    @disassociativedogma    @ioanashalala    @jencharlan    @deansthirst    @randomvlogstuff    @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms    @dorky-and-i-know-it    @mischief-maker1    @hamartiamacguffin    @winchestersandwordprocessors    @percussiongirl2017​    @bringmesomepie56​

[tenpioca]

Tidal Waves ; D. Sicheng

⇢ dong sicheng mermaid!au

⇢ words: 8.4k

⇢ note: collaboration with @stormae. how do two authors take dark mermaids in their own style? see mine below and my noddle’s here.

⇢ edited? [✓]

The wind howled hoarsely, whipping the leaves on land from the branches, trailing the outline of the occupied city. The city’s night time dwelling was barely interrupted by the intense storm. Not a light flickered on for the approaching storm; the only indication of any disturbances was the whine of dogs and the cry of a baby. The dark clouds were barely noticeable in the night, but brought bullets diving into the sand, creating craters piece by piece.

The Little Mermaid sailed a few miles from the coast early that morning, and now sat in the water sucked in by the storm, hoping that they would sail safely through the wicked storm.

The boat’s mast was of a young woman. Her hair looked blown by the wind, and as they ascended from a wave her finger pointed towards the moon before dragging them beneath the tides. The tide circled the small boat, the crew entranced by the rolling water before they were sunken beneath its weight.

Miraculously, the crew arose to the surface.

The Captain turned to the water in fright, he had only seen such a terrible storm (without warning) once in his life. The familiar glimmer in the water caught his eye, and quickly his hand dove into his jacket pocket and shoved two pieces of foam into his ears.

Three women rose from the sea, staring hungrily at the men. The Captain could see their shark like teeth protruded from their gums. He shivered at the sight, turning away as their callous voices claimed the men aboard his ship.

His men were overtaken by the beautiful tones of the women, as their vocal chords strained and sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard to the seven year old child on board.

The Captain found his way to his nephew who’s shaky pale hands were resting over his ears from the annoying sound. He stared at the Ocean as best he could while the dark hairs stuck to his face in a desperate attempt to cling to something, much as he wanted to cling to his Uncle. Although, with the grating voices he didn’t want to remove his hands from his ears.

The child caught sight of another, a girl in the water with eyes like a cats as she stared in slight terror as limbs were tossed around per woman. The boy couldn’t help his entrancement by the girl, not pushed into any mind-control but she was strange. She looked like the other creatures with long, sharp teeth and terrifying eyes but her skin was pale and her hair was long and the look in her eyes screamed desperate.

The seven year old tried to find what he was looking for, but before he could piece anything together the four turned and with a flicker of a long tail, they were gone.

The Captain stomped his way over to his nephew, cradling him in his arms. They were the only two left.

“Do you want some?” Iseul asked the youngest member of the pod, holding an organ between her sharp nails. The blood dripped from the young woman’s mouth, making her look ravenous. Iseul was as she looked, they all were. Always hungry for the next boat that went to sea.

Y/N turned to Iseul, grimacing at the flakes of flesh between Iseul’s teeth, “No, thank you,” she replied politely.

Iseul sneered at the child, shoving her shoulder into hers.

“You act too much like a Mermaid, brat. Are you sure you’re not one?” Iseul mused, wrapping her body around the child’s so that she was trapped.

Y/N was shaking, from her small hands to the tail beneath her. She felt a spark, but thought nothing of it. All of the women thought this of the child from time to time, even though she were obviously one of them. Her slit eyes, long eel tale, and sharpened teeth.

“Come on, you haven’t sung once!” Iseul pointed out, her tail tightening around the child’s as she pulled herself closer, having Y/N almost floating backwards. Iseul smirked, her teeth poking through her mouth and onto her scaly lips. “Do it! I want to see if you’re a real Siren,” she hissed, a peek of her thin tongue poking between the holes in her teeth

“Ah, ah, ahhhhhhhh—” Y/N started to groan, unsure what to do. Her eyes flickered to her mother, stunned. Her body felt hot and the tell-tale signs of electricity started to coil in her tail from her nervousness.

“Iseul!” Jiyu, the eldest member, snapped at Iseul pushing herself between the child and the teenager. “This is no time to be pestering a child. We need to find a new place to live for now, before any of those Humans track us.”

Iseul glared into the black pools of her elder, huffing a long sigh before turning off to swim along Minsu, the only male in their group. Her sharp fingernails twisted along the expanse of his broad chest to distract herself, her tail intertwined with his own. Like a lover.

With Sirens, a pod would only consist of three to four women and a male, children were none to eight between them. Quite different to Humans or Mermaids, whom tended to be led by a man rather than a woman, Sirens were dependent on a man for offsprings and a woman to catch the food.

Iseul’s relationship with Minsu was obvious, and yet it would never be more than what was seen there. Lovers were never formed between four women all in need of offsprings for population to stay steady.

Jiyu stared into the dark Ocean in which they swam with her thoughts on these, always apart of the darkest depths. She held her daughter’s hand, her eyes softening at the sight of the curious girl.

It was true, Y/N acted too much like a Mermaid, and truthfully there was reason for her to do so. Her father was not Minsu, rather a man Jiyu’s age within the Mermaid community she found herself in an affair with.

Seven years prior to this moment, Jiyu was abandoned by her previous pod, and was not found by another for three more. A young man had found her injured outside of the city limits, and would bring her food and supplements to rise her strength. With no pod to hold her back, a forbidden relationship was created. As the pod she now migrated with came along, she was elated and yet terrified to leave her love.

She wouldn’t be able to survive like this though, without moving or the taste of flesh between her lips she would die soon enough.

Jiyu’s pregnancy was then held to a fact that her previous pod male had gotten her pregnant, not a Mermaid.

The pod stopped, setting up for the night. When the three other women, and Minsu fell asleep, Jiyu instantly woke her daughter.

“Y/N?! Y/N!” Jiyu exclaimed, taking the soft skin of her daughter’s in between her thin hands, and pulled her from her dreadful dreams. The dreams Siren’s deserved.

“Wha-? Mom-my?” she whispered softly, her eyes barely opened, and mouth hanging tiredly.

“Guppy!” she laughed softly in her nervousness. “My love, you have to wake up,” Jiyu whispered, the emotions tugging at her throat, turning her words into hollow sounds.

“What is it?” Y/N asked, still trying to decipher her surroundings.

“The women, they’re catching onto you. I need to keep you safe, I…” she choked on the water surrounding her. “I have to send you away,” she explained trying to smile, although the weight of her decision tugged her lips to the sea floor.

“Why Mommy?”

“Because, those who do not sing are eaten,” she whispered, pulling her daughter into a tight hug before shoving a sack into her hands. “I know you’re young, but you have to go!”

Jiyu explained to her daughter, the safest place she could go, Geomundo¹, the island of the Mermaids.

Confused and lost in the night of the Ocean, Y/N found herself crying as she followed the directions her mother had given her. She turned right instead of left at one point in her stupor, and floated into the face of a sleeping sea lion.

Y/N had never been confronted by a creature of such mass, but knew of its frightful power. Just one chomp and she would be gone, just as the Sirens would if they ever found her. She swallowed thickly, her rail nervously whipping around and hit a piece of coral. It dropped to the bottom of the Ocean with a thud, awakening the creature.

Its eyes, dark like her own, zeroed in on the eel-like girl, and quickly snapped. Rapidly, she swam along the reef as the sea lion raced for its next meal.

Then, a large woman came to her rescue. Her tail was long, her shoulders broad and her neck elongated as she floated with a pitchfork the same size as herself between her blunt fingers. A stained mark in the sand that was quickly moving with the current disappeared as quickly as the sea lion.

She was strong, unlike all of the Sirens she had ever met. Sirens were wiry and sneaky, they killed for pleasure and tricked the weak. The woman was long, her hair as dark as the inky depths of the ocean, knotted into a crown atop her head. When she turned to face Y/N, her eyes were sharp, not like a Sirens, but in the way they stared right through her. Her pupils were blown across her features, eating up all of the white in her eye with only a small ring of aquamarine surrounding it.

The woman sunk herself to Y/N’s height, smiling softly at her. “Child, what are you doing here?” the woman asked, her voice deep but elegant, she sounded like royalty.

“I, uh…” Y/N looked around herself, always dependent on her mother to explain the things she didn’t know. Although, now she wasn’t here. “My mother sent me away because I can’t sing, and also…” she leaned into the woman, so that she could whisper a name into the woman’s strangely rounded ears.

The woman’s eyes widened, leaning back to stare at the Siren child. She had seen it even before she saved the child, easily, but the name that she had whispered rattled her far more.

“Come with me,” the woman asked of the child.

The woman held her hand out, Y/N’s eyes stared at the pale hand, her fingernails colored like the sea, unlike the Siren’s natural black coloring. Her fingers curled to beckon Y/N closer. She swam the distance, but did nothing with the woman’s hand. She had only held her mother’s hand.

The woman chuckled, hovering her hand below Y/N’s until she slowly held onto the woman’s.

“If your mother sent you away to protect you, then I will be your protection,” she smiled sweetly.

Y/N’s eyes widened, staring at the woman’s strong, tense back.

“What… What was your name, lady?” the child asked.

The woman turned with a smile gracing her blood red lips, far more elegant than the frightening stains on the Sirens, Y/N thought.

“Sinjiki²,” she whispered, turning back to the current she followed to Geomundo.

“Oh, Jiyu! I know what you did, and if I ever find the fish whom you fucked, I will kill him, and that little mutt of yours as well.”

“Y/N!” Sinjiki called to the child that slept in the spare room. “Did you sleep well?” she asked, pushing the hair out of the child’s face.

Y/N opened her eyes, looking up at the woman who smiled down at her. Y/N smiled back, her sharp teeth resting on the peach of her lips. Sinjiki thought the child to be beautiful, and wanted to stare for hours, but then remembered there were things to attend to.

“We need to go,” Sinjiki whispered, handing the child a brassiere to wear for the day.

“Oh, this is very pretty,” Y/N whispered, staring at the cloth she was rarely given with the Sirens.

“Wear it well, it was made for my own daughter, but she was long outgrown it!” Sinjiki laughed, swimming out of the room.

Y/N removed herself from the large room, and joined Sinjiki in the hall where the woman ushered her quickly.

“First we’ll meet with my husband for breakfast, then we need to… discuss a few things I’m afraid,” Sinjiki told the child, running a hand through her hair. Y/N nodded, and entered the large dining hall.

“My Lord,” Sinjiki bowed to her husband as they entered, “This is the child I told you of. Y/N will be under the protection of this house.”

“Y/N!” the man exclaimed cheerily, moving out of his seat, and bowed to the child cutely.

“What is he doing, Sinjiki?” Y/N asked awkwardly.

“He’s being childish, Y/N,” Sinjiki rolled her eyes, pulling her husband up by the shoulder. “Stand up, Key³, we need to have breakfast before she starves to death.”

The three made their way to the small table set aside from the larger one used for dinner parties. Key smiled at Y/N asking all kinds of questions to get to know her. The thing Y/N found most interesting about the King was that he had no curiosities of her heritage, rather just of her. Her favorite color. When her favorite time to swim was. If July is the worst month, which is the best?

By the time breakfast finished, Y/N was bright eyes, and giggling everywhere, the faint redness of her cheeks proved to Sinjiki she developed a slight crush on the older man.

“Come, Y/N,” Sinjiki called for the child.

Y/N hugged the King before jetting out of the room in her embarrassment. Sinjiki laughed, leaning down to kiss her husband’s cheek, and followed after the child.

“She’s a sweet kid,” Key stated, his sparkling eyes gazing to his loving wife.

“She is, I’m just worried for what my news will bring,” Sinjiki whispered, running a smooth hand across his temple.

Key smiled sadly, pressing his hand onto her shoulder for comfort before she left. Key waved to Y/N poking her head out from behind the wall, making her squeal and swim away.

“Y/N,” Sinjiki called to the child behind her, opening a door for her to enter. “I have some things I would like to tell you,” her voice turned soft and almost dark, like her mother’s the night before.

The worry in her slit eyes was evident.

“What is it?! You’re not kicking me out are you? Because I’m a Siren?” Y/N asked, scared of the idea.

“No, no, no, sweetie,” Sinjiki chuckled, pulling Y/N up into a swirl, and sat her at the vanity so she could  knot her hair. “We love your company very much, don’t worry,” she hummed, kissing the side of Y/N’s head.

“Listen, there are parts of our past that us Mermaids are not proud of, and do not share often, but I must share with you know,” Sinjiki explained.

“What is it?” Y/N breathed.

“Subin… was a close friend of mine when I was younger. Much younger, not even a Queen yet,” she retold to the child, whose eyes suddenly brightened at the man’s name.

“The man my mom sent me for!?” Y/N asked, hope filling her eyes.

“Yes.” The… sorrow in Sinjiki’s voice made her deflate, that made Y/N know she would not enjoy her coming words.

“He would leave the city daily for Zeus know what, and one day I followed him. He had been meeting up with a wounded Siren, giving her food and supplements. If she were to become well again, I just… I knew she would harm our fair city.

“I confronted Subin on the issue, but he told me she was kind. She was well-mannered and knew of her races radical stories. She hated her predecessors, and yet stayed with them because that was the only way she would survive.

“‘Cannibals,’ he spat in disgust. ‘Those women have no sense of loyalty, but I know there’s something different about her.’ He was right, she was sweet, and I met her once. One of the kindest women I’ve ever met.”

“That’s my mom!” Y/N cheered.

“Yes it is,” Sinjiki laughed. “Well, the former King, Key’s brother, found out about their illegal meetings and killed Subin. She was long gone by then,” she said under her breathed, burying her face into the child’s hair. “I’m sorry, Y/N, but I believe he was your father.”

“Are… Are they going to kill me too?” she whispered in concern, turning around to Sinjiki’s tear ridden face.

“Of course not dear! Our King is the most kind man, as long as you stay loyal to him, he will forever allow you life in his city,” Sinjiki reassured the child.

Although, not everything clicked into place, Y/N nodded, her brain tired from all the things that had happened in a matter of hours.

“Today we congratulate the graduating class, for their honor and intelligence shown through these past four years. Now, Would Y/N please come forward to present her speech for the class as valedictorian?”

Y/N swam up to the podium nervously, notecards in hand shaking and her tail wrapping around her body in comfort.

“Welcome family,”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, we’re not going to be able to attend your graduation,” Sinjiki explained to Y/N softly, smiling sweetly at her adopted daughter. “We have to go to Jibum for a meeting with their King. Alliances to uphold. I know you’ll do great even if we’re not there!”

“friends,”

“Move out of the way, Eel,” a boy shouted, pushing past Y/N in disgust, his pod swimming close behind.

“Ew, her tail touched me!” one shouted, wiping his arm of the slime that coated his arm (not really).

“and everyone in between who have supported this class from day one.”

“Isn’t that the bastard child the King and Queen took in?” a woman at a stall asked the attendant who nodded his head, his eyes following the child closely.

“Although we’re young, I believe our destiny’s have started here. For who can go anywhere without having a beginning. With this as our beginning, from the biology field trip,

“Kids! Kids!!! It’s time to go!” the teacher shouted, just noticing the kids staring at the kids staring at two seals having sex.

“But why? We just got here!”

“school lunch,”

“Um, Eel, you’re supposed to use utensils, not your hands…”

“and all the long nights put into studying so we could get here.”

Y/N swam off in the middle of the night, towards the coast where she could watch the strange creatures whom stayed on the land. They had two appendages that protruded from their waist rather than a tail. It looked like they had four arms rather than two. She always found it funny as she watched them from her hiding place at the dock.

“To keep this short, because we all know we want to get home as soon as possible.”

“Or we just don’t want to hear you talk,” one student muttered under their breath.

“The future holds a lot of different destinies for everyone, and hopefully their all good, but these years in high school tell us a lot.

“Our jobs,”

Seventy-five percent of Y/N’s graduating class ended up getting an office job, and are now depressed with their lives.

“Our love,”

Forty-five percent of Y/N’s graduating class fell into a loveless marriage, while fifteen percent never kept a steady relationship after their high school sweetheart.

“Everything about us, and now I stand here today. Wishing that you all get what you deserved from completing high school in your future.”

Graduation was Hell, no one believed it when Y/N was announced valedictorian. The mutt of the school was smarter than all the teens in their class. She always fell asleep in class, everyone had seen her at least once on her nightly escapades to stare at the Humans, and from these chalked it up to the fact that she was adopted by the King and Queen.

Rather, she was far smarter than all of them, she just consumed the information in different ways.

While sleeping in class, she was rather concentrating on the teacher talking, needing not to take in all the distractions the teens gave her.

Her nightly swim to the mainland, while was not of good intentions, she did keep a stack of flashcards when she grew bored.

She wanted out of the Mermaid community, it wasn’t her, yet she couldn’t just leave her beloved King and Queen, she just wanted out of the toxicity. Somewhere she was accepted, and not because they were forced to.

No matter what Sinjiki claimed, Sirens were no more accepted as Mermaids were in a Siren’s pod. The Mermaids just weren’t allowed to kill her.

Her mind elsewhere, her body found itself caught between coarse material raising her from the Ocean. Was this the escape she hoped for? Maybe a kind Human would take her home! She looked around herself, a wide smile on her face as she giddily laughed.

“Wow! This is so cool! Oh, maybe this is my chance to escape those dreaded Mermaids… but what would I tell my parents. Well, I couldn’t because I ran away. I wonder if I could get a messenger fish to them.”

At the sound of fish flopping, a teenager woke from his strained slumber on the deck of The Little Mermaid, turning his head to the net. His eyes widened where he saw a chattering teenager stuck in his net. Although, as he looked farther down, her legs were rather a tail, frightening him.

He clamored to his feet, running across the deck before his Uncle awoke and cut the net to release her.

Y/N fell into the water with a large splash, her tail curling around her as she waited the sting to remove itself. When she pulled herself back from underneath, she glared at the teen.

“Agh! How could do this to me?! My one… One chance of escape and you ruined it!” she shouted, pointing a wicked nail towards his face.

The teen only looked at her confused, her words sounding like marbles but her face full of familiarity.

Y/N sighed at his confusion, ducking beneath the waves and leaving the Human to his thoughts.

“How can I get back at him… I’m not a Mermaid so I can’t just kiss him and get the language!” she sighed to herself, snapping her fingers thoughtfully when she remembered the tale of the Witch Mother Iseul would talk about when she was a child.

“Witch Mother? Witch Mother!” Y/N shouted into the dark cave where the woman scrapped along the walls and appeared above, her face too close for comfort.

“Yes, my child?” the Witch Mother asked with a hiss.

“I have a request! Can you please give me the ability to speak to Humans?” she asked sweetly, Y/N had always wanted to, but was never keen on coming. Now that she had a reason, she would trick the woman without another thought.

“You know what’s at stake, my dear?” the Witch Mother asked, staring blankly into the child’s eyes.

Y/N nodded, and then… it was all dark.

Winwin sat on the docks staring out into the Ocean, certain the night before hadn’t just been a strange dream like the Captain tried to convince him it was. He knew it wasn’t a dream, just like when he was seven… that wasn’t a dream either.

He sighed, throwing a rock across the water, just as a head peeked out of the water.

“Ow!” it squealed, handing clutching at her head as she turned to see the rock still skipping along the surface. “Woah,” she whispered, turning to the boy whose legs swung aimlessly. He had yet to see her, cloaked by the water.

A moment later, when Winwin’s foot stilled, and so did his mind the strangest tickle came across his ankle before something latched on, and then the sharp point of nails cutting into his skin.

He screamed bloody murder.

“Hello!” a cheery voice called, and he looked down to see the same girl… fish… from the other day staring up at him. His brain went into overdrive, and he instantly slumped into the Ocean.

Winwin awoke beneath the docks alone, he wished she were there because he still didn’t trust his mind. The stress of graduation and living life on a boat for who knows how long started to get to him, and… he just wasn’t sure what was going on anymore.

A week later, Winwin sat on the dock, hoping she would come back. The water rippled slightly and a slight bang sounded from below where she tried to stealthily hide. He had been there all week and prepared himself for this moment.

He sucked in a breath, a crooked grin on his face as he called, “I know you’re here.”

Y/N swam backwards so she would be in his line of sight with an annoyed look, crossing her arms. “You just felt me hit my head,” she muttered.

He laughed sweetly, her lips turned upwards, something she never did besides with the King and Queen. It felt nice that it was someone else for once.

“So…” Winwin muttered, his eyes circling the sky before returning to her. “You’re a Mermaid?” he asked curiously, the look in her eyes made him slap his forehead. “Sorry, stupid question.”

“Well, actually I’m like… half,” she stated awkwardly.

“How are you half Mermaid?”

“Um, my other half is Siren.”

Winwin jumped up at her statement, making sure his feet were nowhere in her sight. She breathed deeply at his reaction.

“What? You mean you’re gonna sing a creepy song and then eat me!”

“Uh, even if I could, I wouldn’t,” she stated.

Winwin stared into her eyes, seeing the annoyance and slight betrayl hidden behind them and couldn’t help the soaking guilt consume him.

“Sorry,” he apologized embarrassed by his reaction, but all those years of dwelling on seven year old him on that boat. Sinking so low, and then being raised up so high. He just couldn’t get the image out of his head.

“It’s okay,” Y/N whispered, sinking herself lower into the sea. Even here with someone of neither race, she was still being judged.

“I’m sorry! It’s just… when I was a kid, some Sirens killed all of my ship besides me and my Uncle,” he explained quickly. He couldn’t lose her quite yet, she was so etheral and familiar he felt he couldn’t let her melt away like all the other things in his life.

The sun began to rise above the sea, and Y/N yelped in surprise.

“I’m sorry, I have to go!” she shouted, turning to jump back into the sea.

“See you tomorrow?” Winwin shouted to her back, desperate as he stood on his feet.

Y/N looked over her shoulder.

“Yeah… Tomorrow,” and with the biggest smile on her face, she made her way back home.

Winwin and Y/N continued to meet underneath the dock, rather than above. There they were hidden from prying eyes, as well as being able to talk easier.

“So, what kind of tail do you have?” Winwin asked curiously, eyeing as she slapped up beside him so he could see the inky blackness of it.

“It’s an Eel, that’s what they used to call me in school, so… it’s not my favorite thing,” she explained to him, caressing her tail softly.

Heat rose up her cheeks when she felt his fingertips do the same. Her eyes flickered up to watch him dazed by the trail. She twitched when his fingertrips trailed up her hips and he quickly removed himself from his head.

“Sorry,” he laughed nervously, “It’s just… so beautiful. I’ve never seen one before,” he told her with a soft look that made her heart melt.

“Y-Yeah, but what about yours?” she exclaimed, picking up one of his legs before dropping it back into the sand.

“What about them? They’re pretty lame, I can barely get anywhere on them,” he told her with a groan.

“But you have two of them! And you all have those strange blocks for them. I don’t get it,” she explained, leaning back on her hands. She then ducked beneath the water, sucking in the oxygen through the gills on her neck before rising back up.

Winwin smiled lightly, before responding to her previous statement.

“They’re to protect them. Not as cool as tails that don’t need to be protected,” he stated, pointing a finger at her. Y/N only rolled her eyes.

“Whatever, I’ve cut up this old thing way too many times, that’s what all those white lines are,” she explained, tracing one with her finger. “Also, your hair is really cool. It’s so…” she widened her hands to explain his blonde locks.

“It’s dry,” he stated with a laugh.

“It’s what?”

“It’s not full of water like yours,” he explained.

“Can it be without water?” she asked curiously, dragging her tail off the land so she could lay with her hands propping her torso up.

“Yeah, but I doubt you’d be able to get it since you have to get air underwater all the time,” he explained with a shrug of his shoulders.

Y/N groaned loudly, wanting to know what her hair would be like without the weight of water.

“Maybe one day I can bring a hair dryer.”

“Please do!” Y/N exclaimed. “Wait… what is that?”

Y/N sat on the shore waiting for Winwin to arrive. He apparently had a surprise for her. “So… I wasn’t sure what you ate, so I got you fish and vegetable,” he told her, holding two pieces of food out to her. “Whichever you don’t want, I’ll eat.”

“Uh, vegetable!” she exclaimed, as he presented the meal to her.

“What is this?” she asked, eyeing the thing in front of her.

“It’s Gimbap!” he cheered, as if that explained it all to her.

“O...kay,” she agreed, taking a bite out of one of the slices. “Oh, this is… very strange,” she told him, holding her hand in front of her mouth so he wouldn’t see the nasty sight.

“Really?”

“Yeah, there’s nothing like this where I live,” she explained to him, turning to look at him with wide yes. “But it’s very good, thank you. I’ll have to bring you one of our dishes sometime,” she told him.

As promised, Y/N appeared with a dish fit for a King. Literally, a giant swordfish in Y/N’s left hand, she put it on the sand and smiled widely, her sharp to showing for Winwin to see.

He eyed the swordfish, and then her and chuckled lightly.

“Y/N, I can’t eat this,” he muttered.

“What? Why not, I ate your weird food,” she defended, tearing a piece of meat off for him.

“Y/N it’s raw!”

“Huh?”

“On land, we cook all of our food,” Winwin explained.

“What?”

“We… put it on fire so that it gets hot and it tastes different because of it.”

“Is that why my food tasted so weird?” she asked him with a raised eyebrow.

Winwin could only sigh loudly as she watched her eat the swordfish politely.

Footsteps, loud and abrasive hit along the concrete sidewalks beside the beach and entered the police station. The teenager had no clue where else to go but to them, and hopefully they believed him.

“There’s a… There’s a Mermaid on the shore!” he shouted into the office, not even going to anyone in particular.

One man walked out of his office, turning to the boy with a curly haired eyebrow raised his way. “What?”

“A Mermaid…” he huffed, leaning down to catch his breath. The teen straightened back up, looking at the middle aged man. “I went down to see what my friend was doing and he… was sitting there with a Mermaid!”

“Okay kid, what’s your parent’s number? I’ll let them know,” the man chuckled, stepping behind the boy and pushing him over to his office by the shoulders.

“You’re not… listening to me!” he shouted, moving his shoulders from the man’s grip. “There was a Mermaid on the beach. She had long hair braided into a crown and these… sharp nails that dug out a swordfish’s flesh and her tail was long and looked almost slimy! You gotta believe me! I just! Saw! It!” he shouted, rattling the walls and made the eldest member of the police crew to step out of his office.

“Mister Park! I’m sorry to have disturbed you, I’m trying to get this kids number so we can get him home,” the man told the other, bowing slightly.

“You didn’t see a Mermaid, son,” the white haired man claimed.

“Thank you, Mister Park,” the police officer still latched to the teenager’s shoulders breathed.

“You saw a Siren,” he replied, smoke falling from his lips.

Winwin had left only moments before, and Y/N couldn’t get her mind off him. She could feel it, the swelling of her heart and it just wouldn’t stop. She was falling for a Human. Sinjiki knew it too, Y/N had told her about the land boy who she spent her time with, and Sinjiki joked that she was just like her mother.

She swam on her back, staring at the stars in happiness, before the feeling of hands wrapped aroung her tail revived her. She pushed back, prepared to see the boy whom stole her heart, only to find men in black cloths standing before her.

“Come on, fishy,” one of them whispered into the night, “We’re not going to hurt you.”

She remembered Winwin’s warnings about other Humans, if she were ever to be confronted by anyone to run away.

The men had others on a boat, tracking her. They knew it wouldn’t be that easy to take her, but to put on a tracking device was.

Y/N swam down into the darkness, hoping the cloak would hide her from the men above, but a slippery voice from behind told her she was far from safety.

“Oh, little Y/N, what a pleasant surprise,” the voice cooed, and quickly Y/N turned to see the haggered face of Iseul. A grin pulled at her sagging lips and her fingers curled between Y/N’s floating hair.

“Ah… do I know you?” she asked hastily, hoping she would leave her alone.

“Don’t you remember? It’s me, Iseul! From your pod, before you became a traitor,” she hissed, moving closer as to wrap her tail around Y/N’s body. She quickly slipped from her grasp. “Oh, don’t run away. I just have to keep the promise I gave to your mother,” Iseul claimed, the blood dripping from her lips from her last victim.

“Iseul, I’m sorry but I really have to get going,” Y/N claimed, trying to swim away.

Iseul tsked, her bony fingers grasping in a deadlock around Y/N’s wrist. “It’ll only take me a minute to kill you. I swear,” she whispered, her voice so calm that Y/N was almost confused as to what she heard.

“I-Iseul!” she exclaimed, pulling her wrist and starting to swim as quick as she could.

“You, brat!” she screamed, pulsing forward and blocking Y/N down onto the Ocean floor. “I promised your mother I’d kill you, just as I killed her,” she hissed, diving down to rip the artery in Y/N’s throat out.

Before Iseul could barely penetrate her pale skin, a gut wrenching pain was found in her abdomen. Her sticky fingers making their way to find a rusted pole stuck into her stomach, liquid draining out of her.

“You fucking brat,” she groaned, but Y/N was long gone.

She swam and swam and didn’t even realize she had gone back. Hoping for the comfort of the boy she loved but ended up with a trap, tangling herself into the net.

“She’s in.”

The net started to tingle before it stung, and then it jolted her body around, making her jolt back. She fell into the pits of darkness, unable to tell him.

When Y/N awoke, the room was bright, a color she had rarely seen but it seemed so intense. The white feeling expansive, lifeless and she worried for her sanity. Had she died? Was this Heaven or Hell? She didn’t want to know, really.

A gush of prickling air entered the room, and she turned to see a young man enter with circular frames perched on his nose as he blabbered away.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, but I doubted it was fish so I got some seaweed, and some… Hmmm… fruit… and I didn’t know what else?”

He looked up, brushing the bangs out his eyes, his smile so kind that Y/N began to cry.

“Ah, uh! I’m sorry, I know this is a lot to take in,” he told her, handing her the plate. “Are you comfortable? They didn’t really give you a big place to swim, I mean… all you can do is sit,” he muttered, looking at the glass tank that was more like a bath.

“Um, I’m sorry. I just thought you’d be a lot meaner and… try to kill me,” she whimpered.

The young man’s dark eyes softened, and took her hand in his. The doctor’s hand was soft and felt like a soothing wave while she feared for her life. What if he was just here for a few days and then they’d ship her off? What if he was just a nurse and the real horror was about to come?

Y/N’s breathing shallowed, and the anxiety worsened in her throat.

“I’m so scared,” she whispered to him.

“I know, love, but you’ll be alright. I’m not going to kill you, all I need is for you to be okay with me helping you. Alright?” he asked, making her nod her head. “Now, my name is really long and difficult so you can call me Ten.”

“Like the number?”

“Yeah!” he cheered. “Now, what was your name?” he asked, turning around for a test tube.

“Y/N,” she sniffled, staring at the pink liquid in the tube.

“Alright, Y/N, now all I want to do is help you, and you can help me if you want. I noticed when they brought you in that there seems to be barnacle latching to your side. I want to see if I can remove it. Then when you’re all fine and dandy I want to check a few things for a book I’m publishing soon. There is nothing invasive, I promise!” Ten explained, his soft words made her melt.

“As… As long as you tell me what you’re doing before,” she asked of him and Ten nodded quickly.

“Yes, of course!”

Ten did extensive work on the barnacle embezzled onto Y/N’s skin, making sure to x-ray and test the area before doing anything potentially dangerous. The barnacle seemed to latch on like any kind of mole and was easily removed although it left bright red sores that healed into scars.

This process took two weeks and never once did she complain.

Ten was very kind, the first day he had asked her, “You have a friend on the surface correct?” between x-rays.

“Yes, his name is Winwin,” she told him with a smile that showed Ten her love for the boy.

“Oh, Sicheng!” Ten exclaimed, excited Winwin had come to known the Mermaid-Siren, she really… loved him and he knew of his love for her from all the times he’s spoken of her.

“No, Winwin,” Y/N corrected.

Ten laughed at her, marking a few things off his chart. “Sicheng is his real name; Winwin is a nickname.”

“Well…” Y/N stated, trailing off unsure of how to reply. “I like Winwin more. It suits him, because no matter what, I know he’ll win what he wants.”

“Like your heart?” Ten asked cheekily,

“Uhhhhh,” Y/N replied, slowly sinking herself into the tub.

At present time, Ten couldn’t stop teasing the teenager. The barnacle was gone, she was happy for once and Winwin was knowledgeable about his whereabouts rather than stressing.

Y/N had requested Ten to give Winwin a letter so that he could send it by messenger fish to her parents. He wasn’t… too sure on how it worked but three fish and soaked clothes later he got it.

“Fun fact, did you know there are plenty of men and women on the surface that are actually Mermaids,” Ten stated offhandedly while looking down Y/N’s throat.

“Yes, they told us this in school. It’s because of the little mermaid,” Y/N replied, staring at Ten curiously. “How did you know that? Humans don’t really know about that.”

“Well, they had to have someone give them legs, and tour them around Human culture,” he explained, turning his back to her gaping features.

“You can… You can turn me Human?!” she asked loudly, turning to him.⁴

“I can give you legs, I can’t turn you fully though,” he explained, turning to her. “But… you have to really want it,” he told her.

“I do! I do!”

“Why?” Ten asked, a taunting grin testing his lips. “Ah, ah, don’t hide again! Tell me, and I’ll give you legs!”

“Because I love Winwin,” she whispered, her fingers gripping thed edge of the glass, barely peeking her head above even though he could see all of her.

“Do you really?” he asked, honestly, Ten thought it to be an infatuation between two strange yet compelling species.

“Yes, I really, really do!”

“Alright then, you’re barnacle has healed and… look, how it works is that you’ll have legs when dry but any sea water that hits you,” he snapped his fingers, “you’re… you again,” he explained. “Tap water, fresh water, sweat, you’ll be fine but just… be careful,” he explained.

She nodded, listening to everything he said.

“And I still want you to come round for check ups, questions I have, as long as not too personal you’ll give me.”

She continued to nod, jumping up and down in her tank. Ten turned back to the test tube he played with her first day, the pink solution swishing inside. He poured a drop into the water beneath her. It shimmered and glowed and slowly her tail split in two, a strange feeling coming upon her as toes wiggled and Ten quickly threw a blanket across her.

“Let me find you a dress,” he stated, turning out of the room.

He returned with a long flowy dress, and helped her out of the tank. She stood in front of Ten, her legs giving way from her weight. Ten caught her between his arms and laughed as she almost dragged him down.

“Now, we just got to get you used to them,” he laughed.

“Woah! My hair is dry! Like Sich… Winwin’s,” she cheered, holding the strands in between her fingertips. “Ah, my fingers aren’t pointy! Woo, my teeth are still pointy. Who would I be without those?” she sighed.

Ten heartily laughed at her narration of her transformation before escorting her outside. “To the dock?” he asked.

“To the dock,” she agreed.

Winwin had sat outside on the dock, tired of waiting yet he knew she would be okay in the hands of Ten. He was a kind man who had never caused him any harm.

The Captain of The Little Mermaid joined his nephew, staring at the sea in curiosity and limerence.

“It was eleven years ago, you weren’t wrong, Sirens attacked our ship. Those nightmares of yours weren’t a lie. They ate the crew all but myself and you. When I was your age, my father’s ship was taken by the devils and before I knew it I was all alone. As a child, they can’t tamper with your head. I was lucky that I always held those stupid foam pieces with me, but I never thought to warn the crew,” he sighed, turning to look at his nephew.

“Just… make the right choice,” he whispered, standing to his feet. He turned to see Ten and Y/N approaching, the young woman and old man made eye contact for a few moments before he left.

“Sicheng!” Y/N called, smiling widely at Sicheng who turned to the two seeing Y/N on Ten’s back.

He couldn’t believe it, she was okay. Like, really okay. She wasn’t probed and prodded and told by Ten she was okay just to spare his feelings. Ten would never do anything but his co-workers, he had no idea.

Winwin stood to his feet, kicking off the sandals on his feet and running to the two. When he approached the two, he couldn’t help the grin on his face.

“You’ll have to teach me how to do that,” Y/N stated, referring to Winwin running to them.

“Yeah, I will,” he agreed, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.

Y/N climbed down Ten, about falling over but was caught by Ten before straightened out. She patted his arm, thanking him softly before turning to Winwin.

“So, I can’t stand very well, you’ll have to hold me,” she explained to him, starting to fall forward.

Winwin caught her and she chuckled to herself.

“What is it?” he asked nervously.

“You’re pretty strong,” she remarked. Winwin turned bright red and couldn’t help but look away. “Don’t…” she whispered, and he turned to look at her peach colored lips whisper to him. “I love… the look of your lips,” she told him, leaning forward, “So please, won’t you kiss me.”

He took her quickly, swooping down to take her lips full pressed against him, the scrape of her sharp teeth against his lips and slowly, the fade of the world around them as nothing could tear them apart again.

Besides the click of a camera and Ten smiling as if he were the one being taken of. “Wow, gorgeous, you look so beautiful like that,” he gasped, holding his phone towards himself.

“Oh! Ten…” she exclaimed, trying to run towards him but ended up falling onto the ground. Ten chuckled, jogging over to her and squatting to hear her request.

“Yeah, I think it’ll work, if not well… sorry,” he replied, with a shrug, the two turning to Winwin.

Winwin sat in swim trunks staring at Ten swishing around the pink test tube. “Hopefully, this will work,” Ten responded. “If you die…” Ten started. “It’s not my fault.”

“Well, who would I be to sue?” Winwin replied sarcastically.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me mister,” Ten stated, frowning at the boy and dropping some into the tank.

“Holy shit!” Winwin exclaimed, looking down at the giant tail that flopped out of the tank. “Um…” he turned to Ten and Y/N. “Now what?”

“First you have to dry out, and then we’ll get you to the Ocean,” Ten explained.

“I figured it out,” Winwin stated, staring at Y/N who sat beside him while he dried out in the tank, her hand clasping at the hair dryer he told her about once.

“What’s that?”

“You were there. When I was seven, and my ship was wrecked, but you just… stood there. It was so surreal and yet… I still thought you were the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen,” he whispered, pulling her in for another kiss.

“I remember,” she whispered on his lips, dragging her chair closer.

Y/N and Winwin stood on the dock where they first spoke, where many memories lied.

“Are you ready?” she asked, turning to him.

“Yeah, you?”

“I think I am,” she whispered, the two taking a step back and jumping into the Ocean.

Trumpets sounded along the seafloor as she returned after a month’s disappearance. “The princess has arrived!”

“Princess?” Winwin asked, swimming awkwardly beside Y/N, their hands held together.

“Ahh, did I not mention?” she asked innocently.

“No.”

“Well, my hair was in braids!” she pouted, the look of royalty under the sea.

“Everyone where’s braids on land.”

“What? Really?” she asked curiously, turning to him, “Why don’t you?”

“My hair isn’t long enough,” he laughed loudly.

“Y/N!” Sinjiki shouted, pulling her daughter into a hug, shaking wildly at finally seeing her daughter after a month’s disappearance with only one letter from her.

“Hello mother,” she whispered to her.

“Are you well? They didn’t hurt you, did they? I know how hard it is up there,” she explained with a sigh. “Ah, who’s this?”

“Winwin, or Sicheng is his real name,” Y/N explained, smiling at her mother as she held the boy close to her.

Sinjiki could see her happiness just in the teenager’s eyes, no other motion would be needed for her to catch on that this was true love.

“Well, Winwin, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Sinjiki greeted, bowing and kissing the young man’s hand. “I hope the sea will be to your enjoyment.”

“Oh, you have no idea, My Lady,” Winwin replied, taking in the sights in his fascination.

“Oh, I didn’t notice how nice your eyes look,” Y/N replied, staring into Winwin’s widened pupils. Winwin grew embarrassed at her words and stares.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Please, I hope you will join us for dinner,” Sinjiki asked of Winwin.

“Yes, of course,” Winwin agreed, Sinjiki leading the two to the dining room.

“Wait, mother…” Y/N called, rethinking their conversation a moment.

“Yes, darling,” Sinjiki called softly.

“What did you mean…  I know how hard it is up there?”

Sinjiki looked over her shoulder with a smirk, “Because… I was the first. I was the Little Mermaid.”

¹ Geomundo is an island in the tale of Sinjiki. [x] ² Sinjiki is a South Korean legend about a mermaid who warns fishermen of oncoming storms and typhoons.[x] ³ Key is a singer of the popular Korean group Shinee, not NCT. [x] ⁴ I’m no scientist, I just pulled in a H²O reference and hoped for the best. [x]

© 2017 tenpioca  

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Imagine Brian had been delayed going to the funeral when the redcoats arrived at Lallybroch on that fateful day.

The Prisoner: Part 1 -

The words swirled around her, a haze swirling behind her closed lids as she tried to stave away the nightmares.

She could hear his voice battling through the darkness; but only in intermittent bursts. Like light, it would shine and burst before dying out again, allowing the inky black to consume her.

“Ye should ha’ left me there, da,” Jamie whispered, his fingers entwined with Claire’s as she lay curled by his side. This was the only contact she would allow, and he would take anything she gave to him. “I ken why, but she didna deserve this…”

“Neither did you, Jamie. You,” Brain returned, a feral hint to his voice as he stepped out of the shadows and into the dim candlelit room, “are *my* son. My responsibility. No’ a…”

“No’ a *sassenach*?” Jamie spat back, his voice low --dangerous.

Claire felt Jamie tense, his hand clenching against hers as he tried to stem his anger.

“Don’t fight,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Jamie sat bolt upright, his ire forgotten.

She’d been completely silent since the rescue, not so much as a sigh.

He’d worried for her, of course, but Jenny had assured him that she wasn’t in any immediate danger from her wounds. No swelling or fever. Simply put; she would wake when she was ready to and not a moment before.

Certain that they’d settled, the sense of anger in the room dispelling at her words, Claire sighed and unfolded her legs.

Blood rushed through her veins, sending tiny shockwaves through her underused limbs as the pins and needles took over. Wincing, she kept her eyes closed as she allowed the feeling of discomfort to dissipate.

“Please don’t--”

“Claire, are ye feeling well?” Jamie interjected, too eager to be at her disposal in any way he could.

Brian folded his arms and leaned against the door watching as Jamie assessed Claire, his eyes darting over her cowering form without withdrawing his hand from hers.

Before giving her the chance to respond, Brian cut in, his cheeks flushing as he wiped the perspiration from his brow. He kent the look on Jamie's face well. He had worn it all those years ago in the presence of a pretty wee slip of a lassie.

The Mackenzie brothers had been a formidable pair, however it was nothing in comparison.

No, he could not --would not-- allow Jamie to embroil himself in this. Not if he could help it.

“She'll stay until she's well. Do ye hear, Claire? Jamie?”

Standing, Jamie turned on his father, a look of frustrated anger igniting behind his eyes.

Brian paid him no mind.

“She's his, Jamie. Dinna be sae foolish. His by law, and he will come for her. Ye ken it well!”

Claire kept silent, knowing full well that Brian Fraser meant business. Gripping the thick bed sheets between her throbbing fingers she took a deep breath, holding back the tears as she nodded into the pillow.

She understood.

But Jamie didn't.

Reeling, he wiped the spittle from his lips, rage filling him from head to toe.

“Fathe--”

“No, I said, Jamie!” Brian bellowed, the walls rattling as he thumped his hand against the open door, “she's Randall’s wife, his property and I willna have ye tried and hung under the charge of treason.”

Tears of anguish and anger built in Jamie's eyes as he clenched his jaw shut, his heart pounding as he held his father’s gaze.

“Do ye understand me, son?”

Assuming his forced acquiescence, Claire swallowed back the bile had risen steadily along her throat. Reality slipped away once more as she fell into unconsciousness, the fear pummelling her under --no longer could she resist its powerful pull.

Memories swirled behind her eyes, taunting her into a panic induced slumber as she remembered the moments that had led her here, to the sanctuary of Broch Tuarach and Lallybroch.

“Stay wi’ me Claire, please…” she heard him beg, his voice sounding muted and far away, as if she were listening him talk under water.

She wished she could obey, but she was too far gone to pull herself back.

“...you can't ever leave me, Claire. I'm here. Always…” --a voice returned. A different voice. Not Jamie's voice.

Her heart stuttered as the cruel lines of his face came into view, the glint of horror alight behind his eyes as he slapped his belt against his open palms, a smirk appearing across his lips as the resulting slap made her twitch and shake.

“No matter where you are, I -will- find you...Claire *Randall*”

--

The wind whipped through her hair as she stumbled and fell, pushing herself up, her fingers getting lost in the detritus on the forest floor.

She had to escape.

She *had* to get away.

Forcing herself to continue, she ignored the constant throb of her lungs as they struggled to pull in enough air. Her legs ached, but she couldn’t stop now. She mustn’t.

Black dots prickled in the corners of her eyes, making it hard to see as she ran and ran, the green and brown swirling around her in a strange heady mix. It smelt of bark and freedom. Suddenly scents she hadn’t smelt for years invaded her senses and she almost stopped to take it in.

Almost.

She didn’t notice the great hulk of a man in front of her until it was too late. With an almighty ‘oof’, Claire smacked into his chest and nearly fell to the floor.

“Easy there, lassie,” he mumbled, keeping his voice low --for which she was grateful--, “where are ye off to in such a rush?”

Pulling her arms free with a strength she didn’t know she had left in her, Claire escaped his grasp, flitting to the side in order to get away.

‘He won’t be far behind you…’ she told herself, shaking her head as she tried to dispel the images of her pursuer.

But the stranger wouldn’t let her pass. Dodging to the side, he had hold of her again before she knew it and this time he kept a firm grip.

She would have to beg.

The thought made her stomach retch and she had to swallow back the acrid taste of acid as it rose up her throat.

“Please, just let me pass. I’m nothing, nobody…*please*”

Looking her up and down, the tall highlander appraised her, his lips twitching into a small smile as he checked her over, making sure she wasn’t a threat no doubt.

“Naybody, ye say?” He teased, licking his lips as he gently let her free.

Claire, taking no time to think, shot off, leaving the poor boy in the dust as she fled the scene.

If she’d turned to watch, she’d have noticed the small group of redcoats close on her heels. She might have even seen as they harassed the poor lad and dragged him off. As it was, she didn’t. Too consumed with putting as much distance as she could between her and that wretched fort.

As night fell, Claire busied herself with finding shelter for the evening. Not wishing to spend it out in the open, she quickly discovered a small logging shed and bust open the door. The faint whiff of wood rose up to greet her as she hunkered down, letting the mass of logs surround her, coating her in an odd sort of natural warmth.

Yawning, she closed her eyes. Leaning her head against the softest of the logs, she slept, her dreams invaded by Fort William and the horrors that had been thrust upon her behind those walls.

--

“Oi!” A soft masculine voice called, pulling Claire from her slumber. She jolted awake at the last second, remembering, only vaguely, how she’d come to be here.

Scrambling to her feet, she wiped the sleep from her eyes as she steadily grew accustomed to the dim light. Stepping backwards in an attempt to put some distance between herself and the man in the doorway, Claire tripped on a stray plank of wood, toppling the precariously balanced bulk to her side. Jumping forwards, she leapt free just in time for the heap of firewood to collapse.

The man, sensing a good opportunity, took her in his arms and forced her outside.

“Who are ye? And what are ye doing in my shed?” He barked, his whole demeanour reeking of fury.

“I’m n--” she began, her eyes watering as he dug his fingers into her forearms.

“Yer the lass they’re after, aren’t ye?” He shouted, clearly in no mood for her lies. “Did ye ken he took my lad, eh? ‘Perverting the course of justice’, or some such nonsense.”

“I…” Claire stuttered, her heart sinking at the image of the gentleman in the forest at the mercy of *him*. She couldn’t find the words.

Her shoulders shook as she tried to form an explanation, one that wasn’t going to be brushed aside as fibs and slander.

How many times had she tried to tell people? How many times had she been shot down, led away by the same guards who were under *his* payroll? Locked away in some squalid dungeon, she had whiled away the hours grateful of the loneliness that accompanied her. If she wasn’t alone, *he* was with her, and that was worse than anything solidarity could throw her way.

“Don’t take me back,” she pleaded, her eyes filling with tears as she tried to find something --anything-- to use as a bargaining tool, “j-just go there...tell him he d-didn’t see me, please, sir?”

Even as she said the words, she knew he wasn’t buying it. She knew herself how merciless *he* was. If he wanted something, he was going to get it, and right now, he wanted Claire back in his clutches. For why, she didn’t know.

“Dinna make false wi’ me, sassenach,” he spat, tugging her in the direction of his stationary horse, “we both ken that isna an option! He willna let Jamie go wi’out ye back, and I am no’ about to gi’ ye a free pass and let my boy be locked away for treason!”

Letting her whole body go numb, Claire lost her will to fight. All she could picture was that poor man, bound and gagged, kneeling at *his* feet as he begged a reprieve. Something she’d been privy to way too many times to count.

His father was right, she couldn’t let an innocent man suffer for her.

“But nor shall I trust his word.”

Breathing in a jagged breath, Claire’s heart rose at his words. “H-he came to you, asking for me?”

“O’ course,” he returned, the anger fading now, “he said if I brought ye to him, he’d let Jamie free --wi’ a warning.” Continuing his diatribe in a foreign tongue, her new captor muttered as he readied them for the journey. Claire went willingly now, allowing herself to be tossed astride the horse. “But if he thinks I’m about to march ye to Fort William wi’ no further promise, he’s another thing coming. First, I’ll take ye home and send my eldest off wi’ word of yer capture. Then I’ll take ye.”

Gripping the pommel, Claire felt the cold prickle at her spine, the frigid sweat dripping down her back as she tried to remain calm.

They rode towards his home in silence, Claire clenching and unclenching her toes the entire way.

As the big house came into view, the sun peaked in the sky, it’s bright yellow glow blinding the pair as they rode.

“I’m Brian Fraser, and I’d say pleased to meet ye --but I amne, and I dinna lie.”

“Claire,” she murmured, tipping her head forwards and allowing her loose curls to cover her tear stained face.

“I ken.” He replied, with a grim sense of finality.

Hauling her through the front door, Brian thrust Claire up the wide staircase and into a tiny bedroom before closing the door and locking it behind him.

The fire was roaring in the small, intricate fireplace, making the room instantly like a furnace.

Wrapping her shaky hands in the soft ruffles of her skirt, Claire padded over to the tiny cot and knelt on the floor, letting her head fall forward against the heated sheets.

Sobbing, she clasped her hands together in sombre prayer as she whispered her apologies to the poor boy she’d led to the slaughter, tears trickling down her warm face and dripping onto her linked fingers.

“D-dear Lord,” she hiccuped, “forgive me, and k-keep Jamie safe --please…”

Curling up, she lifted the blanket a little, simply hiding her toes and leaving the rest of her to the elements, unwilling --whilst Jamie Fraser lay in a frozen cell-- to allow herself any comfort.

Her fault, the voices mocked as she dozed, her fault an innocent boy had fallen into Randall’s hands. Her fault and she should never be forgiven.

Soft voices woke her as the door creaked open. Twisting her head to the side, Claire peeked her eyes open to survey her visitors. Twin sets of eyes stared back, neither of which seemed particularly unfriendly. Jamie’s siblings, probably.

Turning herself over properly, Claire waved. A small gentle thing that barely registered on the faces of the two people currently stood in front of her.

“I’m sorry…” she mumbled, closing her eyes once more, “I’m sorry he took your brother.”