#i have a fic with zen

[password-door-lock]

Mystictober Day 16-- Theater

You and Saeran discuss Zekyll and White before watching Zen’s performance (866 words).

“Do we have everything we need, my love?” Saeran asks as the two of you linger outside the door to the theater. 

You consider the question, patting your pockets. “Tickets, check. Here’s yours.” You hand Saeran the small cardstock slip. “VIP badges, check.” You tug at the sky blue lanyard around your neck, which indeed contains the laminated VIP badge which will get you backstage after the show. “Flowers for Zen, check.” Saeran is holding the bouquet, which he put together specifically for this event. “Shoes, pants, shirts, et cetera, check. Am I missing anything, dear?” 

Saeran giggles at your joke. “I don’t think so, my sweet. Let’s go in.”

“Alright. Let’s go in.”

You take Saeran’s arm with an air of elegance which only serves to exacerbate his giggling as you lead him into the wonderfully decorated venue for Zen’s performance. You’re over the moon to be seeing your friend’s latest musical, especially after hearing so much about it on the messenger. You and Saeran settle into your assigned seats, which, of course, allow an amazing view of the stage.

“It’s a good thing they postponed this until after the trouble with your father was over,” you whisper to Saeran as the other members of the audience begin to file in. “I would’ve hated to miss Zen’s show.”

You know Zen has worked very hard for this— as has Yoosung, for that matter— and that he would have been devastated if you and the twins had missed the production. The director was very understanding of the safety concerns faced by the entire RFA, including Zen, and so he agreed to the rescheduling. The entire group will be able to make it to the theater, and then to the late dinner you’ve planned for this evening. 

“And it gave me time to read the book,” Saeran reminds you. He’s spent the past day-and-a-half or so utterly engrossed in his copy of The Strange Case of Dr. Zekyll and Mr. White. The novel is short, but Saeran, as it turns out, is a very close reader. He annotates his books carefully, with neat commentary written on removable notes so as not to damage the pages. 

“Hm,” you hum. “What did you think of it?” This subject has been bothering you for a while— you worry that Saeran might not feel comfortable with the portrayal of Mr. White, considering the things that he was told about himself at Magenta. As you understand it, one of his reasons for reading the book prior to the show was to ensure that he’d be prepared for the topics of the musical. An adaptation like this could easily turn into a cruel caricature if not executed with requisite care. 

“The novel is just about how everyone has a mix of good and evil in them,” he explains, “Mr. White was created by the author to make the point that nobody in real life is completely evil. I don’t relate to the story very much… Saeran wasn’t evil, and neither was Ray, no matter what Rika told me. I’m strong enough now to understand that’s the case, but the book was still interesting to read.” Per usual, Saeran’s understanding of the media is nuanced and complex. You get the feeling that he wants to say more, and you’re looking forward to talking it through with him on the drive home. 

“It was written a long time ago,” you muse. “But I can’t wait to see Zen playing both characters. I know this was a huge challenge for him.”

“Mm,” Saeran offers you a contemplative hum, “Especially considering that White is supposed to be shorter than Zekyll. I wonder how they’ll show the scene where Zekyll’s employee meets White and doesn’t recognize him.” 

“Well, I guess that’s the magic of theater,” you shrug. “I’m sure the costume changes are going to have to be really quick.” But you know Zen can handle it. He once told you that his fastest complete costume change took him only fourteen seconds.

“It might get confusing to have one actor playing both parts,” Saeran muses, “But Zen is good at his job. I’m sure he’ll pull it off. Although… I’m curious to see how the adaptation will be structured, since the book doesn’t have much plot until the very end when the main character reads the doctor’s letter. If they show the story in chronological order, it might ruin the mystery.”

“You know what, now that I think about it, what happens in Zekyll and White?” You’re familiar with the concept, of course, but you don’t know anything about the actual plot of the novel. Maybe you should’ve read it alongside Saeran to better prepare for the show. 

“Shh, my love,” Saeran shushes you gently, with a loving hand on your wrist. “The lights are coming down. You’ll just have to wait and see what happens, won’t you?”

“Oh, you’re right, darling,” you whisper. You were too engrossed in the discussion to notice the lowered lights without prompting, apparently. “We’ll have to continue this discussion later, though. I want to hear your thoughts about the play.”

“Mhm,” Saeran agrees, holding your hand tight as the curtain is raised. 

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

sometimes getting to the end of a fic is like making it to the top of the mountain where you see the sky inching closer and closer and at the end you stand there at the top and take it all in but then sometimes it's like getting to the end of a bus ride when you've been zoning out and then you glance at the sign like oh shit that's my stop

[khaotunq]

two parallel lines by khaotunq (stilinski)

It wasn't that Boston was free from blame – far from it: he was absolutely mostly to blame – but Boston's very transgression there proved the rule. Boston, when caught, didn't lie.

[nebulein]

In addition to training facilities and workshop rooms, Jonathan Toews' recently expanded wellness compound includes a shiny new smoothie bar. The bestseller? Kale-mango-chia. All recipes have been developed by Toews himself and published in an ebook to recreate at home. The bar looks instagram-worthy, though and is well worth a trip. The juice cleanse is worth the squeeze is written in bold letters across the back of it, the pink neon sign lighting up with a nice, juicy lemon next to it. "Oh, that thing," Toews laughs, clearly embarrassed when we ask about what it means. It's an old joke, custom-made and gifted to Toews by a client, a pun on a mantra every one of Toews' clients knows by heart: the juice is worth the squeeze. At its surface, the saying sounds like Toews plucked it from a motivational poster pinned to the locker room of a high school gym. But for Toews, it runs deeper than that.

"I don't believe in the struggle mentality, the whole 'no pain no gain' kinda thinking, or 'nothing good ever comes easy'. That's such poisonous bullshit, excuse my French." -- Did we mention Toews actually speaks perfect French, courtesy of his francophone maman? We told you that man is hot. Anyways -- "If we put out good into the world, it comes back to us, and life doesn't have to be an endless struggle to be worthwhile." But that doesn't mean Toews believes in giving up easy. Instead, for him the saying symbolizes that you should always keep sight of your goals. "If you remember what you're trying to accomplish and why you want that, doing what's necessary to get there immediately becomes easier." So if life hands Toews lemons, squeeze some lemonade? But Toews isn't as goody two shoes as that. "Yeah, maybe. Or break out the Tequila," he adds with a laugh.

And if life hands you a neon sign? Open a juice bar.

[sabraeal]

Rarely Pure & Never Simple, Chapter 9

[Read on AO3]

Obiyukiweek 2023, Day 6: Free Day

Bright and early comes and goes with no sign of Obi.

Shirayuki nurses her morning tea at her usual place, hips braced against the sink and eyes fixed somewhere out past Nanna’s curtains. Or they would be, had any of her concentrated efforts to grow extrasensory powers in elementary school panned out the way she’d hoped; instead she’s stuck staring at ninety-percent frill, all that crocheted lace and starched lawn an impenetrable barrier to the outside, even if it only covers three-fourths of the glass. Nothing a quick bounce on her toes wouldn’t solve, but there’s no casual way to pop on tip-toe, no elegant way to stretch up over that homemade horizon that Nanna won’t immediately read as nerves.

And so she stands there with both hands wrapped around the mug, Felix the Cat tick-tick-ticking behind her. The reflection of his tail shimmers across the glass, a ghost of itself where the sun shines through. As long as she keeps her palms pressed against ceramic, it’s impossible to tell if they tremble.

But when the long hand gives one, tenuous tremble past nine o’clock, Shirayuki finally has to admit: he’s late.

“Oh, don’t wear that face,” Nanna chuckles, shuffling up to jog her elbow. And steep her own cup of tea, but that seems a secondary errand next to giving Shirayuki a hard time. “There’s no world under this sun where that boy stands you up. He’s just running a little behind, that’s all. Your father couldn’t read a clock to save his life either.”

Ah, she’d been hoping the furrow between her brow made her look serious and concerned, not…pouty. “I’m not worried about that.”

She might have been a few months ago, back when all this was new, and Obi’s interest seemed at best mystifying and at worst circumstantial. But with almost half a year under her belt, Shirayuki’s firmly aware of where she sits in the hierarchy of Obi’s personal cosmology: disturbingly close to the top, well above his own personal well-being, but somewhere just below food. Or, well, at least below Funyons.

“It’s just…what if something happened to him?” Her stomach clenches considering what sort of grim misfortune could befall him in the three miles between their houses. “You know, they say that the worst accidents happen just outside your own home. What if he—?”

Nanna clucks fondly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “He’s a growing boy, honey. The only thing that’s gone and happened to him is hitting the snooze button too many times.”

“No one presses buttons anymore, Nanny,” Shirayuki sniffs, taking a long sip from her mug. “Everyone’s got phones now, and there’s apps where you can even—”

There’s no time to inform Nanna of sleep rhythm tracking or blue light-induced wakefulness; no, she can’t even express that there’s different alarm sounds before reality frustratingly, inevitably resolves to favor her grandmother.

An ill-tempered groan is all the warning Shirayuki has before Obi’s jeep heaves to a stop at the curb. With a few more metallic grunts, it spits him out on the front walk, whole and intact, at least from where she stands. There’s a chance he might have a scratch or two beneath the thin fabric of his vintage tee, or maybe a skinned knee where the flames at the bottom of his trunks cast a shadow, but well— she probably shouldn’t hope that her boyfriend’s hurt himself, even if Nanny’s going to be unlivable over it.

“Well, would you look at that.” Grandad rests his arm right across the top of her head, squinting right over the curtain. “Positively occult, that’s what I say.”

“Oh, come on,” Nanna huffs, giving her tea a showy little stir. “That’s hardly anything at all. You should see what I can get up to when there’s a baby involved.”

“Not any time soon, I hope,” Grandad snorts, using his arm to tip her head back and remind her, “Don’t get any ideas there, pumpkin.”

Her tea hasn’t cooled a jot, but with one hand clapped to both, her cheeks are still the hottest thing in this kitchen. “Pa!”

It’s no use, Grandad’s already strutted right across to the front door, look all satisfied with himself for a joke well-executed. His hand settles on the knob for a long moment, tentative, like he’s waiting, and then with one swift turn, opens it with a flourish.

“Ah.” Obi’s hand drops from where he’s raised it, hooking it right around to scrub at the back of his head. “Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning, young man.” Shirayuki rarely pities her father, but seeing Grandad turn that grin on Obi, she understand why he might have elected for windows as the main source of entry to this house. “Are you here to pick up some precious cargo?”

“I think cargo would be better behaved.” Obi’s head cranes around the corner, gaze sweeping the kitchen it can reach. “Is Shirayuki here?”

“And waiting!” Nanna’s wrinkled hand presses against her back, guiding her right to the door, tea mug and all. “You two have a good time now. Do you need me to put that in a cup for you, honey, or—?”

“I-I can leave it.��� It squeaks out of her, nervous, and ah, last night had seemed like such a good idea at the time, but now when she looks at him—

God. Even now the scrape of his voice leaves tingles racing beneath the frail barrier of her skin, like static electricity waiting to be unleashed on the nearest metallic surface. I would have come for you anytime.

Shirayuki’s cheeks are already flushed, but she could swear the next flood of heat could sear them from the inside out, like a sunburn in reverse.

“Not too good a time,” Grandad tells them, a little arch, but she can see how a smile clings to the corner of his mouth, more teasing than warning. “Don’t need to hear about any trouble after the fact.”

Nanna swats his shoulder. “Oh, really! There’s going to be a hundred kids at this thing at least. How would they even manage to get up to anything in a crowd like that?”

“You must be getting old, Nan.” Grandad hangs from the door just like Shirayuki’s seen boys lean against lockers, giving her a cheeky grin and a wink. “Can’t remember the sort of things we used to get up to when we were eighteen.”

“Oh, hush!” Pink dapples her wrinkled cheeks, and she shakes her head. “All right, off with you two. I don’t need you getting any ideas from this old lecher.”

Grandad only smiles wider as they shuffle past him to the stoop. “I don’t think they’ll need any of my help with that, dear.”

The last thing she heard before the door shuts is Nanna’s huff, that sharp cluck of her tongue before she issues a warning, “Now, Dad…”

And just like that, the sound muffles, leaving only murmurs of her grandmother’s discontent— and the high points of Grandad’s laughter. It’s not long until she hears Nanna’s too, breathless and consternated, the last bastion against his charm. Shirayuki ducks her chin down, burying her smile in her shoulder. Nanna won’t hold out long.

“Man,” Obi sighs, a laugh bubbling under his words. “They’re exhausting.”

“Tell me about it,” she agrees, tucking a chunk of hair behind her ear. It’s only just long enough for a ponytail, and the front pieces keep trying to make a bid for freedom. “I think my heart stops every time they say we might be…”

Having sex. She can’t make herself say it. Can’t even make herself look at him, not when just last night she’d taken that picture he’s sent her and— and—

Please. It’s strange how vividly she remembers the words when she hadn’t ever spoken them out loud. All of it happened strictly in the confines of her own head. I want you. I want you inside—

Fingers slide between hers, gently squeezing as their palms come to kiss. “Hey,” he murmurs, his other hand reaching up to rub at his shoulder. “We’ll do whatever you want when you’re ready for it. I don’t care about what anybody thinks but you.”

It should be easy to tell him that it’s not about other people, and it’s certainly not about what popular opinion has them do behind closed doors, but— but about her. About what she had managed to imagine last night, all on her own, with only his chest and the hint of his erection to spur her on. About what she might be ready for if there was some way to— if only she could—

But she can’t. Not when she can’t even decide what it all means in terms of, er, readiness. So instead she just squeezes back. “I know.”

She dares a glance up at him then, taking in the faint circles around his eyes, the way his hair sticks up wildly from every direction. He must have just rolled out of bed and straight into his car.

“Sorry.” He scuffs his boot shyly on the stoop before hopping down, using their tangled hands to guide her after him. “I, uh…overslept.”

Shirayuki blinks at him, concerned. “Did you forget to set an alarm? I thought that you usually—?”

“Yeah, well, kinda slipped my mind,” Obi mutters wryly, stare pointed even from just the corners of his eyes. “I kinda had a big mess to clean up right before I hit the hay.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks prickle with heat, matching the tingle up her neck, and it’s a good thing he has his back to her to open her door. She doesn’t think she would survive if he could see her too. “That, um…makes sense.”

“And let me tell you, it was an even bigger one this morning,” he continues, so casual as she slips into the seat. “After I woke up to this.”

She glances up right into his phone’s screen, open to their messages. And there it is, in gray and white, I’m stuck

“O-oh,” she breathes, whole face so hot she’s sure it’ll crack to show magma beneath. “I, ah, forgot I sent that. I didn’t think you’d…”

See it, she doesn’t say. Because of course he would; even if he wasn’t awake to get it hot off the presses, Obi would never ignore her texts. And from the way he bends down, one hand braced on the back of her seat and the other on the dash, he’s not in any mood to forget it either.

“Too bad I missed it. I would have loved to help you.” He leans close enough her eyes cross to keep him in focus. “Only would’ve been fair after you gave it to me to so good last night.”

Ah, if he keeps that up, she might just erupt, the way kids in elementary school used to tease her. You got lava for hair, they’d always say, which suited her just fine. That’s how they drew Madame Pele in the books after all, and if it was good enough for her, then—

Obi’s gaze drops down to her lips, and, oh, well, that’s enough for her higher cognitive thoughts. “Did you…?” She licks her lips, nervous. “…Um, like that?”

“Kid,” he breathes, and that’s as much warning as she had before his mouth presses against hers, capturing her bottom lip between both of his. His tongue traces the shape of it, a gentle tease, a promise. Her fingers scrabble against the center console, trying to gain some purchase before she leans in, scraping them over his scalp.

“Jesus.” He pulls back, flushed. “Just…one second. Okay?”

She has enough presence of mind to whimper out, “Uh-huh.”

Obi jerks upright then, spine stiff and limbs loose like a marionette with a poor puppeteer, the tension of his strings all tangled. He shuts her door— gallant, like always; a gentleman, Nanna would hum, too pleased— but when he crosses in front of the grille to make for his, there’s none of his usual swagger. No flirtatious winks, no cat-like prowl that makes her flush, remembering the way those muscles feel like between her thighs. No, now there’s only a sense of urgency, a scramble to throw himself gracelessly into the driver’s seat.

He coaxes the car to a cough, its frame shuddering beneath her feet, still so stiff, not even daring to look at her.

“If you were a cat I’d take you to the vet,” she says, mild. “But I think they’d just tell me you had gas.”

That gets him to blink, to swing his head toward her. “What did you just say?”

“I was just wondering if something was wrong. I mean, if you were…” She hesitates, scrolling through her mental thesaurus until she settles on, “Upset? About something?”

“Upset?” It’s not a question, but a giggle, one that doesn’t so much bubble up as purr out of his throat, and ah, that probably shouldn’t make her toes curl or stomach drop, but here she is. “Kid, I…”

It’s with a sinuous shift that he leans over the gap between them, one hand cupping her jaw and coaxing her up to him. She doesn’t need much convincing; the second his fingers brush over the soft skin behind her ear she’s already reaching up, tongue darting across the space between them. He gasps against her; she drinks it down greedily, and the groan that follows, until he—

He pulls away. Again.

This time it’s not far, just enough to rest his forehead against hers, breath scattering enticingly over her lips.

“Last night,” he hums, breathless. “That was really good for me. So good. Distractingly good. All I’ve been thinking about this morning is how I wouldn’t mind if we” —he hisses, pained, and squirms back, hands gripping ten and two— “Ah, nope, never mind. That’s…we’ll talk about this later.”

Shirayuki blinks, head too clouded to keep herself from blurting out, “Am I in trouble?”

It’s no giggle when he laughs this time, throwing the car into drive. No, that one comes from a deeper place, one that thrums at the same pitch as something just beneath her skin, turning the space beneath her belly molten.

“Yes.” The gaze he turns on her is scorching, enough that every inch of her feels burned. “A lot of trouble. But…” He clears his throat, dragging his attention back out the windshield. “That conversation is going to have to wait.”

Her mouth is so incredibly dry. “Why?”

He snorts, like it’s funny, but she sees his grip shift on the wheel. “Because I can’t drive this car and make you come at the same time.”

“O-oh.” Her thighs clench tight, but that’s not help at all, not when he’s right here. “We could pull over…?”

“Kid. As tempting as that sounds…” The look he slides her makes her skin feel two sizes too tight. “We’re already gonna be late as it is. And the last thing we need is someone speculating what we needed the extra half hour for.”

It’s a reasonable reservation; the kind she should be concerning her with. The kind she would have been, if her body hasn’t suddenly informed her it’s been over two weeks since he’s touched her, a whole sixteen days since he last put his fingers insider her, and— “I don’t think anyone would notice if we’re only a little late.”

His narrow brows pitch toward his hairline. “That so?”

“I mean, we’ve been together for a while now,” she reminds him, voice only quivering with the barest tremble. “We’re old news. I’m sure that, er…”

“A certain friend of your will have an extremely detailed estimate of just what we could have accomplished left to our own devices?” he offers, a grin tugging at his lips. “One that, might I add, assumes quite a a few very complimentary things about my stamina.”

Shirayuki deflates, defeated. “Does that…bother you?”

“That Kihal thinks I could make you taste colors? Are you kidding me? I knew I always liked her for a reason. It’s just…” His grin doesn’t exactly fade, but the mischief leeches from it, leaving it a pale shadow of what it once was. “As happy as everyone is for us, I know some people…maybe didn’t think it would fall out this way. And I don’t want to…to feel like I’m rubbing it in.”

Zen, he means. Who had thought— who everyone had thought would, ah…

“All right.” She reaches over, squeezing his knee. He jumps, ticklish where she presses in. “Let’s behave, then.”

“Fine,” he sighs. “Can’t believe I argued for this.”

“It’s because you’re a good person,” she tells him. “A good friend.”

“No, he’s the good friend,” he mutters, pulling off onto the main road. “I’m just trying to deserve it.”

*

“Well, well, well.” Kihal slinks up jeep-side, taking the cooler Obi hands her from the back. “What’s this? Twenty minutes late and looking refreshed? Wonder what you two were up to.”

“Refreshed?” Shirayuki pants as she swings her beach bag over her shoulder, sweat dripping down her back like a popsicle left in the sun. Obi may not be old enough to drink, but by the title in the glove box, the jeep was. A pity that cars tended to age in dog years. It would have been nice to have the AC on a day so muggy not even the windows couldn’t cut the heat. “That’s a…bit of a generous read.”

“What did I tell you? Complimentary.” Obi snorts softly, shutting the hatchback. “Nice to know the girl thinks I could fuck comfortably on a Slip N Slide.”

Ah, now there’s a picture. “Could you? I mean, in theory.”

His eyebrows waggle in a more certain ‘no’ than any he could put into words. “Wanna find out?”

It’s the sort of tease that should have made her stammer and flush, pressure like a hand on her neck no matter how obvious he made the joke— or it would have, only a month or so back. But now she meets his mirrored lenses and just shakes her head, stifling a giggle. Her hair doesn’t budge from where it’s plastered to her neck and shoulders. “Nope.”

“Aw, kid,” he sighs, slinging an arm around her shoulder as they step under the trees. “Where’s the sense of adventure?”

It’s a short walk to where the seniors— former seniors; or if she really thinks about it, upcoming college freshman— have made camp on the shore, coolers and camp chairs taking up the small stretch of sand where the pine cover relents. It’s packed; if there’s not all two hundred plus of their graduating class here, then it’s close, most of them spread out on towels or splashing in the shallows

“Fyi, stay away from those coolers.” Kihal points toward four hard plastic coolers the size of a car trunk, cozened up under two extra-wide beach umbrellas. “Student Council’s covering drinks— at least as long as they last in this heat— but those aren’t ours.”

“Oh yeah?” Obi’s narrow eyebrows hike over his frames. “Who’s catering?”

Her mouth curls into a sneer. “Beer Barons.”

“Beer Barons?” There’s only a few restaurants in town, but Shirayuki’s pretty sure she’s never heard of that one. “Who’s that?”

Kihal huffs, arms crossing right over the band of her bikini top. “Oh, you know, the idiots who have been stealing from their parents’ mini bars and think that makes them master thieves?”

“What?” She stares at the coolers, nearly as large as the one in the pub’s basement. “That’s all alcohol?”

“Kid.” Obi’s mouth twitches. “Did you not know about this shit? It’s all anyone could talk about for months. This must be their big finale.”

“Their parents have got to know, right?” Kihal cocks a hip, skeptical. “I mean this is too much booze to be a coincidence.”

He snorts. “Oh, they’ve known the whole time. You think all those surgeons and stock brokers couldn’t put together why their mini fridges haven’t been stocked since October?”

“Mm. Good point.” She shakes her head. “Rich kids.”

“Pot,” Obi hums, mouth curling into a smile. “Kettle. Black.”

“Hey.” Kihal whips out a finger, prodding it into his chest. “I’m comfortably upper middle class.”

“I…” Shirayuki’s mouth works, but there’s nothing to say, not when she can’t recall a single thing about it. She’d been more concerned with passing in projects and sitting in on rehearsals and the brief moments Zen would scrounge up to talk to her; it’d been easy for everything else to just blur away like some aesthetic backdrop on a Christmas card. And then she’d slipped into Obi’s car and asked for kissing lessons, and well—

Well, sometimes it felt like her whole world could be just the two of them, if she let it. Less so now that he’s going to Lyrias— no need to try to fit a whole relationship into six months when they have another four years to fly or flounder— but it’s hard not just reduce her attention down to just those moments that are him and her and the way he can make her feel.

“People have been stealing alcohol?” she squeaks out, finally, weathering the wide-eyed stares Obi and Kihal turn on her. “From their own parents?”

Kihal’s quiet for a moment before she snorts, shaking her head. “You really do live in your own world sometimes.”

*

“So…” Shirayuki sits back on her heels, surveying the rumpled edge of her beach blanket. A few more tugs and it might lay flat, but she can’t muster up the gumption when getting it this far has sweat pouring down her spine, drenching the back of her cover up. “Is there anything besides alcohol to drink?”

“Uh, yeah, duh,” Kihal chuckles, spreading her legs out in front of her. “Student Council brought a bunch of soda and some Capri Suns. Should be right over there.” Her chin swings over to where there’s a couple of chest coolers— larger than what the Beer Barons have dragged out, but not nearly as nice— sweating in the sand. “But if that doesn’t move you, your jolly giant friend brought water or whatever. That’s in the bag over there, the soft one— yeah.”

Shirayuki flips open the lid, and there it is— probably twenty or so bottles fit so snugly together the ice has no place to go but on top, scattered in the small crevices between them. Heavenly, in this heat.

“Speaking of tall drinks of water,” Kihal hums from behind her, head propped up on her towel. “How’s yours?”

She blinks down at the Aquafina in her hand. “I…haven’t opened it?”

“Shirayuki, I don’t mean” —a hand flies up to Kihal’s forehead, accompanied by a groan— “I mean Obi. Your boyfriend! The guy with the great ass!”

That gets her to jerk up, scanning the crowd until she finds him crouched over a cooler. One of the alcoholic ones, she realizes, his grin wide as Mitsuhide warms up to the lecture he’s launched into, and well— she hadn’t noticed before, but now that he’s bent down, shirt shucked and swim trunks draw tight over his, ah, backside, it’s clear that they don’t leave much to the imagination. It doesn’t help that for all the stylized flames licking up from the bottom, the top is just a grayer shade of tan, and with it pulled so taut against him…

Well, even though she hasn’t seen him without his pants, she can take a pretty good guess at what he might look like under them now. Skin tone and all.

“So tell me.” Kihal rolls to her side with a smirk. “Is he proportional, or…?”

“Proportional?” She stares down at her, confused. “I haven’t measured, but it looks like his legs might be longer than his wing—?”

“Shirayuki,” she groans. “I mean, his dick.”

Her jaw drops, so dry not even a sip of water soothes it. “I don’t— I wouldn’t know! It’s only been a few months, we haven’t even…”

Seen each other naked. That’s what she means to say, except it gets stuck in her teeth, refusing to budge. Because Obi has, hasn’t he? Between taking off her shirt and getting her off with his mouth, her nakedness is a technicality. But she—

“Really?” Kihal stares at her over the rim of her sunglasses. “I know you said at graduation that you hadn’t done anything but…seriously? He walks around looking like god’s gift to women and you still haven’t torn off the paper?”

—She hasn’t returned the favor. Every glimpse of new skin from him makes her temperature rise ten degrees, and yet here she is, with some…dickphobia convincing her she won’t like the rest. It’s silly, she knows it is, but…

But it’s impossible to explain to someone like Kihal. To someone who knows how to want things.

“I’ve wrinkled the edges a little bit,” she admits slowly, twisting the bottle in her hands. “But I’m, um…savoring it, I guess.”

Kihal huffs, but it’s not judgmental, like she expects. Instead it’s playful, accompanied by a roll of her eyes and a grin. “I should have known. You let your ice cream melt before you eat all of it too.”

“Well, but that’s better warmer!” she protests, crawling back onto the blanket. “Isn’t it?”

“It really isn’t.” Kihal gives her a fond smile before she sighs, “Fine, take your time with him. But you better report back when you have answers. We’re best friends, you can’t hold out on me.”

“I will.” Even if they might be thirty when she does. “I mean, within reason.”

“No, no reason! I want to know every freckle or whatever. I should be able to picture his dick fully formed in my mind, no—”

“If you’re so desperate to know about proportions,” Kiki drawls, dropping down beside them. “Then you should know, Mitsuhide is.”

“God,” Kihal sighs. “I knew it.”

*

There’s a point— later in the day, of course, when some of her fellow former seniors have finally stated to filter out and the crowd thins— where it all becomes a little much. Where the sun and the heat and the nostalgia starts to tire her out, making her feel faded, like she’s bleached at the edges, frayed. This may have been her first year at Wisteria High, but she’s lived in this town her whole life, walked these woods more times than she can count. She even has pictures of herself standing in front of this very lake, baby fat still clinging hard to her cheeks.

The water laps around her legs, sun sinking from afternoon to evening, and all at once, she knows: it will never be like this again. That some of these people will say their goodbyes, and they’ll be gone from her life, forever. There will be high school reunions and chance meetings at the grocery store and social media posts, but—

But this is it. The end of an era. And here’s her, sitting at the end of the dock, tenaciously trying to cling to the last of it. Lingering like if she saves a few sips at the bottle of the bottom, her childhood will never truly be over.

At least, that’s what it feels like before something tan and lean surges up out of the pond, cold water splashing all over the tender skin of her thighs.

“Hey, Kid,” it says, tossing back wet hair with a predator’s smile. “Carrying something heavy there?”

She’d love to wrinkle up her nose at him, to give him a good, honest frown the way she used to when her wayward ASM would get up to no good, but for as much as there’s chaos in that grin, there’s concern too.

“Do you remember when we last came out here?” she murmurs, looking out across the water. “You dared me to skinny dip.”

Most of Obi’s submerged, his arms folded across the dock like a bowline around a cleat, but what she can see— every bit of it goes tense. “Yeah,” he rasps out, turning his head out toward the water. “Kinda…hard to forget.”

She blinks down, practically boring a hole through the whirl of his cowlick. “Really? You were…? Even then?”

“Why d’you think I was so eager to go in after you?” he grumbles, shoulders oddly flushed. “I kinda…listen, I didn’t really get what was going on with me when it came to you, but when you shimmied out of that skirt of yours—”

“You said you weren’t going to look!”

“I wasn’t looking! I was peeking.” Obi does a little bit of that now too, though his eyes skitter away before she can catch them. “It’s different. Anyway, I figured it out real fast. Too fast! Thought that freezing ass pond water would help. Which it did. Mostly.”

Her eyebrows raise. “Mostly?”

“Well, I might have caught a nipple too. You bobbed up a little when you splashed me, and uh…” He casts her a guilty look, though not an ounce of it seems sorry. “Well, it helped with things later. On my own. More than a couple times.”

There’s a prickle of heat between her thighs, enough that she has to clench to keep her head from spinning. “So you…? To me…? Then?”

“Ah, we don’t have to talk about me.” He lets his mouth hook into a smirk. “I think we should talk about you. And how you got stuck last night.”

“Oh!” That had been a conversation she’d meant to have on the ride here, a small victory she thought he’d be happy to celebrate, but now that his cheek rubs against the outside of her thigh, casual like he’s just wiping off a drip of water from his eyes, well— “You don’t need to, um…worry about that.”

“Hm?” His lips linger against the smooth flesh of her hip. “But I have been. All afternoon. Haven’t been able to” —her breath catches as one of his hands drops, tracing over her ankle— “stop thinking about it.”

A sigh trembles out of her, thin and helpless as his thumb smooths over the skin there, so sensitive she almost squirms. “You didn’t…have to…”

“Of course I do,” he hums, playfully taking the edge of her suit between his teeth. “It’s my job to make sure that you don’t get—”

“It’s fine,” she blurts out, hardly able to hear herself over the blood rushing through her ears. “I handled it.”

His jaw goes slack, her suit snapping back against her skin. “Come again?”

“I, um…” She swallows, ever part of her tingling under the intensity of his stare. “I got stuck, but then I, ah…got myself unstuck?”

“On your own?” he asks, strangely distant.

“Ah…” She nods, hoping he can’t see the way her hands tremble in her lap. “Y-yeah.”

A grin breaks out across his face, as bright as the dawn itself. “You wanna show me?”

Shirayuki stares. “What? Now? But there’s people—”

“We can solve that.” His hands wrap around her waist; her only warning before he drags her down, pond water splashing up around her shoulders before she can think to swim.

“Obi,” she yelps, hands scrabbling for his shoulders. She manages to hook one on her own, but he guides her to the other, pulling her close enough that her feet can rest right on his thighs. The muscles tense beneath her toes, hard as the pylons that serve as the dock’s mooring, and haah, well, the water’s a little warmer now that she’s got that in her head.

“See?” he hums, one hand gripping the dock to steady them. “Nice and private.”

She’d like to argue, but there’s no line of sight to the shore from this side of the dock; she’d have to bob up to even see the other one, positioned right across the lake, and well—

“We shouldn’t,” she gasps, fingers clutching tight enough her nails leave little crescent on his shoulders. “Not…not right here. Anyone could just…just swim over…”

The arm around her tightens, and Obi’s grin smooths to something more serious. “You don’t have to, kid. If this doesn’t feel good, then I’ll tease but not touch.”

Her toes curl against the flex of his thighs, and, ah, each lap of the water makes her aware of how close he is, of how much she would like to be touched. “I…um…”

“But…” He leans in close, his grin so wicked her heart skips a beat. “I think you’re into it.”

“O-obi!” It’s hard to hold the moral high ground when she’s so flushed it’s a surprise water doesn’t boil when it touches her. “That’s not…I’m not…um…”

“We’re not going to get caught.” It’s a promise when he says it, a certainty. “But…it still feels a little wrong, doesn’t it? That we could get caught. That someone else could see me touching you, and they’d know how good you get it, how good I can make you feel.”

She hadn’t thought it was possible to tremble like this and be so hot, for her to be fully submerged and yet know that she’s wet.

“Come here.” He parts her legs, wrapping them around his waist, leaving her wide open to him and yet still hidden from view. “Now no one can even tell, even if they do look this way.”

“Obi…” It’s not a no. God, it’s not even a yes; it’s a please.

His grip tightens around the dock. “Show me what you were doing last night. I want to see it.”

His free fingers drop between them, pulling aside the strip of nylon blend that covers her, and haah, the caress of the water against her folds has her hand diving between them before he can ask again.

“Jesus.” Black eclipses gold until only a thin rim of it remains, trembling the way his arm does as he holds them steady. “Kid…”

The pond’s hardly clear enough for him to see the way she drags her fingers over herself, so slick and ready that she tumbles into his hand more often than she manages to brush her clit, but it’s— it’s working, a few strokes bringing her close enough to that painful edge that she whines, head thumping back against the dock.

“Fuck, wait,” he gasps, mouth slack. “Tell me…tell me what you were thinking about. Last night.”

“Obi.” How can he expect her to talk when every bit of her longs to be consumed, when all she can think about is that she’s empty, and she could— he could— “You.”

“Good.” His grin is insufferable, but there’s something about it that makes her gasp, that makes her think about him laying next to her, just watching as he— “What about me?”

“Your picture.” She should be embarrassed, mortified that she’s even admitting to getting off just by looking at him, but it’s hard to remember when he’s so warm under her hand, when he’s looking at her like he can’t decide whether to kiss her or devour her whole. “It was— you were— hard. I wanted…”

A lot more than she’s ready for, she knows that even now. “I wanted it to be you,” she manages instead. “Touching me. In my bed. I thought about good your fingers are, and I—”

She nearly comes right there from the way he groans, forehead resting against her shoulder. “You like that? Me touching you?”

“Yes. And I thought about how I could— how I might—” She whimpers, frustrated, chasing that elusive high round and round, but finding no relief. “Obi, I need— more, please—”

“Fuck. Yeah, okay I” —he laughs, the sound muffled in her shoulder— “I got you.”

Two fingers thrust between her lips, but he doesn’t bat away her hand, like she expects. Doesn’t take over. No, after that first thrust he slows, following the rhythm of her slower strokes, fingers pumping into her with a languidness that has her whining against his throat.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, so low her skin shivers. “What were you think you could do?”

“I”—she’s so close it hurts, her voice barely eking above a whisper— “I want to touch you.”

It’s not the pace of his thrusts or the teasing of her fingers that pushes her over, oh no— it’s his face, the way his mouth goes slack and he flushes straight down to his shoulders, every bit of him vulnerable, every bit of him wanting. A whine escapes her, threatening a keen, but he swallows it as she trembles, pulling her closer even as his fingers never still, pulling each last thread of pleasure out of her.

When she’s done, they’re adrift. Or, well, at least no longer hanging off the dock.

“Well,” Obi chuckles lowly, letting her tortured swim suit snap back into place. “You didn’t do that alone, but I think an assist counts.”

A laugh bubbles out of her as she presses her head into his neck, self-conscious. “It’s just…better when you touch me.”

“Haah.” They’ve floated shallow enough that he can stand, and he does, nearly dropping her straight back into the water. “I’m glad to hear it, but uh…” He squirms, trying to unwrap her from his waist. “I think I got to, er…”

She blinks up at him, only clinging closer. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing! Nothing. That’s was…” His mouth curves, utterly satisfied. “That was great. I just…have something I should go take care of.”

“What do you—?” Something twitches against her, and ah, it’s an answer. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” His flush has faded to pink, but it’s still there, lingering. “And unlike you, it’s, ah, a little more obvious when I handle myself. So I thought I might…”

His head jerks toward the wooded part of the shoreline, lingering just a few elementary backstrokes away.

“Oh, you mean…?” It’s far enough from the beach that she doubts anyone else would be wandering through, but still, she frowns. “In there…?”

“Yeah.” He disentangles himself from her limbs, setting her down gently. “I’ll only be a minute.”

He draws himself up, water coming just under his hips, and ah, it’s not just his butt that those trunks don’t leave to the imagination now.

“Wait.” She catches his hand. “Obi…”

“Really, kid.” His eyebrows raise, emphatic. “It’s not gonna be long. You, ah…did a good job out ther.”

“No, it’s just…” She licks her lips. “Can I…come?”

He blinks at her, eyes so wide she’s sure they’ll fall out of their sockets. “I thought you just did.”

“I mean…” She stands up too, only up to her waist here, shivering when the wind blows over her. “I’d like to see you come again. Maybe even…help?”

His breath catches. “Ah, yeah.” His fingers squeeze tight around hers. “Yeah, I think that would be, uh…fine with me.”

[mistythedritten]

YOURE THE AUTHOR OF THE RETRIEVAL?

…yes? I was working on the next chapter today? I highly doubt it’ll be out on Monday, but it is being worked on.

And this is why I need to post about my AUs more. 

[starcasticallyyours]

ART AND ARTIFICE

Park Jimin’s whirlwind fairytale of an inaugural season in London is abruptly ended when his older sibling passes away, forcing him to return to the country. His release from a summer of mourning coincides with the arrival of Mr Kim Taehyung, whose freethinking Romantic notions chafe against Jimin’s well-mannered upbringing. Can Mr Kim’s natural charisma win over the pragmatic debutant... even when truths are finally revealed?

Rating: T No warnings apply Complete at 70k!!

Inspired directly by @dayofkaryn​’s tweet on BTS as male Regency tropes and the stubborn determination to include them all within a single story and sequel

main vmin

side sope

yoonmin / vhopekook besties

minimoni brothers(in-law)

ksj not appearing in this fic but gets regularly namedropped anyway 

this is for the Austen and Heyer fans!

Read on Ao3

[elemental-daddy-neos]

Writing fic is kinda gay tbh. You look at your draft you haven't updated in a minute and suddenly get all embarrassed over the thought of writing more like "No way, I couldn't... I mean, what if someone sees? Me? Writing? Haha no I can't! ...Unless."

[kakusu-shipping]

Heartbeat

Mountain's Peak (Part 1) - Nepal Sanctum (Part 2) - Talk it out (Part 3) - The Fight (Part 4)

Here's hoping this is the last bit of Delinquent Zenyatta we'll be seeing for a while!! Thank you for reading!!

In which the heart is moved

Zenyatta had never understood the term "his heart sank". The human heart is a very vital organ that rhythmically pumps oxygen rich blood throughout the human body. It does not "sink", any movement from it's cadge in the chest would be catastrophic for the human in question.

He'd never understood.

A minor concussion, major whiplash, two broken ribs, three more cracked, a dislocated shoulder, a minor wrist fracture, a twisted ankle, and mild frost bite.

That was Emile's diagnosis.

Zenyatta stared passed Mondatta into the human's room, warmth rushing out from the lit fireplace. Emile lay unconscious on a makeshift bed he'd been using now for 3 months, just a pile of hay for a mattress and spare robes for blankets on the stone flooring of Mondatta's home.

"Zenyatta." Master Mondatta's voice brought Zen back from his thoughts. He stared up at his brother who stood before him and the resting human.

"Is-"

"He will be alright." Mondatta assured, "Sister Reya has tended to him the best she can, now he must rest."

Zenyatta gave another glance to the human, Emile, small as he was, bruised black and blue. He looked like a corpse. The grip Zenyatta had on Emile's broken glasses tightened.

"Emile tells me the two of you were sparring," Zenyatta flinched, and prepared for the worse. Exile, he assumed, forced out the monastery and onto the human filled streets of the outside world. He would need to sneak away in the dead of night, or Ramattra would surely follow him. "when he slipped and fell down the stairs."

That.. confused Zenyatta. That was not what had happened at all, had it? They had sparred, Zenyatta had laid his hand upon Emile until he could stand no longer.. correct...? Why would the human... lie..?

"Is this true, Brother Zenyatta?" Mondatta asked genuinely. He believed the human's words, or at least was willing to believe them if this was the truth he was willing to bare with.

Zenyatta hesitated, the glasses in his hand made a faint crunch as what little remained of the lenses fell out.

"...no.. Master Mondatta... That is.. Not what happened.."

"I see," Mondatta cupped Zenyatta's shaking hands in his own, leaning down ever so slightly to be on level with his shorter brother, "Perhaps you can tell me the truth of the events over tea?"

It was warm.. so warm... A soft chime played in the left corner, soft and mournful, a lullaby for someone no longer here..

Emile's eyes cracked open to see the now familiar blurry ceiling of his bedroom in Master Mondatta's home, the soft crackle of the fire by his feet much louder than is usually once when he'd first wake up.

Emile turned to reach for his glasses, which he'd always rested on his left side. His entire body ached at the motion, which turned out to be fruitless as his hand came to find nothing.

"Looking for these?" A voice asked, a metallic hand out stretched and slid Emile's glasses onto his face, "You have impeccable timing as always, human, I just finished repairing them."

"Zenyatta...?" Emile's eyes widened behind his cracked glasses, the Omnic in question sat in a meditative position in the opposite corner of the small room. He couldn't believe his eyes at first, assuming it some sort of dream that the monk who'd hated him most of all would pay him a visit during recovery.

Zenyatta wordlessly assisted Emile as he raised himself off the ground, leaning him against the back wall of the room, as the human racked over possible reasons Zenyatta would have to visit him.

Emile's eyes filled with tears as he came to his conclusion. He'd lost. He challenged Zenyatta and lost and had to fulfill what he'd promised to do. He had to leave.

Tears flowed down the human's face, which wasn't unusual for this particular human, but was still rather startling, "Wh-why are you crying? Are you in pain?"

Zenyatta started to get up to go get Master Mondatta when Emile responded, "I-I'm sorry- I-I said I'd leave when I lost bu-but- I-I can barely sit u-up right now-" He hiccuped and rubbed at his eyes with his one good arm, "I-I'll leave, li-like I said, as soon as I can sta-and I promise,"

Zenyatta suddenly understood the term "his heart sank"

Zenyatta grabbed the human's cheeks, they were so hot, wet with heavy tears, soft and round and so very human.

"You won."

"I- h-huh..?"

"I... Forfeited. Just before you passed out. I lost. You won." His thumb ran gently against the under side of the human's eye, brushing away another tear before it fell, "so.. no more tears.. you may stay.."

Emile breath hitched, his entire body was shaking, the news hadn't sunk in yet. He reached to put his hand on Zenyatta's, only to flinch in hesitation just as his skin brushed Zenyatta's arm. "I-I- I'm sorry-"

"It is alright." Zenyatta kept his hands firm, pushing the human's cheeks together slightly with his force, "You will not hurt me..."

Emile gripped onto Zenyatta and sobbed into his chest. More tears, wet and salty and thick drained from the human's eyes. He was so warm. Had humans always been this warm? Zenyatta wrapped his arms around Emile and held him securely to himself.

"Did you know," Emile spoke as he wove red thread together on his lap, "You make a little chime tune when you meditate?"

Zenyatta looked up from his own work, a basket, and tilted his head, "A tune? Surely I would hear it if I did."

"That's what I thought too!" Emile shifted to turn to face Zenyatta, letting his legs hang over the edge of his bed, "But I caught Master Mondatta doing it the other day and asked him about it, and he had no clue what I was talking about!"

"So.. What, we make music only humans can hear while we meditate? That seems unlikely. Perhaps there is something loose in your head Reya did not pick up on the first time."

Zenyatta stood from his seated position on the floor and cupped Emile's face, rattling his head gently to emphasis his point.

Emile laughed, placing his hands over Zenyatta's, his left wrist still tightly bandaged from their spar three weeks ago. He'd been recovering well, both of them had.

"I'm serious! When we all get together for Meditation in the evening it's like a symphony! I can't believe you don't notice."

"Perhaps because I am busy meditating," Zenyatta pinched and pulled at Emile's cheek, "unlike some little human I know~"

"Oooow!! I meditate!!" Emile pushed at Zenyatta's head in a weak attempt of prying the Omnic off him. Instead Zenyatta doubled down and pinched the other cheek, pulling them both.

"Ah yes now I know the 'Chime' you are talking about, you do it too. It's called snoring."

"Aaaaaaaugh Uncle!! Uncle I tap!! I give!!!" Emile flailed until Zenyatta finally released him with a chuckle.

His laugh made Emile's heart soar and a flush rise to his cheeks, which were already red from Zenyatta's previous assault.

"Brother Zenyatta." Mondatta's voice came with a light knock to Emile's door frame, "You are playing nice with Brother Emile, yes? He is still in recovery you know."

Zenyatta flinched and spun to face Mondatta, plopping himself on the bed next to Emile before wrapping his arm around him, "Yes yes! Gentle as ever, Master!" He waved his hands as a show of innocence.

Mondatta gave a glance over the scene, before picking up Zenyatta's discarded half finished wicker basket with a soft hum. "Good then, though I hope all this playing is not getting in the way of your chores." He extended the basket to Zenyatta, who too it sheepishly.

"My apologizes, Master Mondatta.." Zenyatta held back from pinching Emile's squishy cheeks once more upon hearing the human giggle at his scolding.

Mondatta found himself admiring the quickly closing gap between his siblings. How fast they'd gone from hatred glances to sitting hip to hip. He still wasn't sure how they'd come to this, but he was happy non the less.

With a hum Mondatta motioned for the two to come stand, "Well then, if you two are ready, Ramattra is already outside awaiting us to head to evening meditation."

Zenyatta stood quickly and started to pull Emile up with him, but the human waved him off, "Go on ahead of me, I'll catch up."

Despite the quick relations Emile had formed with Zenyatta, he could tell Ramattra was still holding a distance, one he attempted to cover with a high voice and faked laughs. As much as he enjoyed Zenyatta's company, he wanted to give the monk time with Ramattra as well.

"Are you certain?" Zenyatta asked, "It's no trouble."

"I know. I'm fine, go on."

Zenyatta hesitated for a moment longer, then nodded and quickly was out of the room.

Mondatta watched his brother go before offering his arm to Emile, which the human took and pulled himself from the bed on wobbly legs. His ankle was still wrapped and stung when he'd put his weight on to it, and his chest still ached when he breathed too deeply, making meditation rather exhausting, and his wrist still occasionally seized in pain. All part of the healing process.

Still, Mondatta noticed the way his student would flinch upon stepping, or when he'd grab something with his left hand without thinking. He hated to see his siblings in pain...

Emile smiled up at Mondatta, "Shall we get going? Wouldn't want to be late."

Mondatta looked over his student once more, cheeks flushed red, glasses broken, old bruises littering his exposed skin turning green and yellow, wrapped in patchy bandaging. He wondered to himself if it was right to allow him to stay..

And then he remembered the laughing he'd heard from down the hall, a mix of human and omnic, joyfully playing together with nary a care in the world

Mondatta pulled Emile's robe up snugger on his shoulder, adjusting his clothes for a moment to be sure they kept him warm. He belonged here, same as all of Mondatta's other siblings, because he too was in tune with the iris.

"...Perhaps you should put on a few more layers first"

[consularmain]

the zenith/consular tag is really empty so i wrote this

[sabraeal]

Brewed With Intent, Part 1

[Read on AO3]

Sequel to Practical Charms

It’s been three days since Shirayuki sat across from the boys on the 49, accordion seats contracting around every corner, and glowered a confession out of them. Three days since her unwitting participation in this ridiculous underground love potion scam was revealed, not only to her but to the most talented artificer in the city. And three days since Garrack has gone to ground, abandoning her shop-- and answering her texts, or phone calls-- to do city knows what. Probably wouldn’t even come to the front door either, if Obi even let her try.

Ah, now now, Miss. It’s impossible to make herself look straight at him, but she tried in that moment, only catching a glimpse of a grin. I think that might be, er, unrelated. Give it a couple days.

So she does. Three whole days of it, imagining every possible permutation of this discussion, breaking each argument down to its diction so that every word conveys the depth of her disappointment, and yet--

Yet, it could be going better.

“We went over this before you even brewed the first batch.” Garrack stretches her legs out under the table, sending her own scurrying back beneath her chair to make room. “The only active charm in the whole bottle is a perfectly legal infusion of Come-Hither. Everything else was just to fix the aftertaste.”

“I understand that.” What she doesn’t understand is how this whole conversation keeps slipping from her grip when she is the one who was wronged to begin with. “But rosehips are an amplifier of intent and a strengthener of will, which makes--”

“The whole shebang stronger, I know.” The frizzy mass of Garrack’s hair shakes with her head, like a wind rippling through autumn trees. “The whole point was to counteract the loss of potency from infusing rather than casting. At least, that was your explanation when you came up with it.”

“W-well, yes.” It’s not fair that all her pointed turns of phrase are being turned back on her, but there’s no way to say that without having to admit she’s losing ground. “But that was for a specific client, made to order.”

The girl had blown through the door soaked to the bone, umbrella turned so far inside out it looked like a crab on its back, and, well, if anyone in the shop was going to be sympathetic to the plight of a young woman with a distracted boyfriend, it was going to be Shirayuki. Especially that day.

“There’s a difference between making something like that for a person I can trust to use it on another consenting adult--” even if he was a bit preoccupied at the time “--and just...selling it to whoever walks into the shop!”

Garrack presses a hand to her sweater, fabric shifting to bare a shoulder speckled with thumbprint-sized bruises. “Now, I don’t think that’s quite fair. I’m sure plenty of those girls were also in established, consenting relationships.”

“Better be,” Obi snorts, sprawled across the sill like he’s the neighborhood cat. There’s too much of him for it to be comfortable; one leg dangles out the window to make room for the other to brace. On anyone else it would look unnatural, but on him-- well, it’s hard to look bad in black leather and dark denim. At least the way he wears it. “Don’t think any of them were looking to spend a whole Benjamin on a nice bottle.”

Shirayuki’s jaw hangs so low it might well catch flies. “You charged them a hundred dollars? For a Come Hither?”

“Oh, what are they going to do? Report me to the Better Business Bureau?” Garrack huffs, hiking her sweater over her shoulders. The little bruises dip beneath the line of her collar, tracing down past where Shirayuki thinks it’s polite to speculate. “Bought love potion from this vendor but turned out there was just tea inside. Extremely sane sounding. I’m sure they’ll follow up on that one right away.”

“The Emerald Lady might!”

It’s the sort of threat that would have had a whole room catch its breath where she came from; an audit from the Rose Court might well mean the end of a business at best, and at worse-- well, she’d lived it. But here, in Garrack’s cozy little holdout against the mundane, no one even bats an eyelash.

No, instead Garrack snorts, tossing her head like the world’s most stubborn pony. “Haki Arleon comes from a long line of charlatans and scoundrels. Her great grandfather is still cheating half-penny hacks out of their life savings, and he’s dead.”

She doesn’t so much see Obi’s mouth twitch as feel it. “Maybe it’ll keep this time.”

“Never does,” Garrack mutters. “Anyway, the City Mistress has a lot more pressing problems than pinning our ass to the cork board over some mundies spending their pocket money.”

The last time she checked, a hundred dollars was closer to her life savings than pocket money, but Shirayuki knows better than to haggle over dollar signs with someone who can still pay property taxes in Belltown. “Altogether the material components hardly cost twenty dollars. Why would you even think to--?”

“Labor.” Long fingers wrap around the handle of Garrack’s mug, thumb resting right over a honeybee as she takes a long drag from her cup. “Expertise. Time is money, Shirayuki, and the knowledge you gained during it makes it all the more dear. Charge just for components and you’re not even breaking even. Especially not with a talent like yours.”

It’s terrible how her cheeks heat, how even as she tries to tamp down on her satisfaction it just keeps crawling under the door, sending its little tendrils licking up her neck. “That’s four hundred percent profit, isn’t it? On a potion that won’t even work--”

“So you admit it.” Her eyebrows twitch up in victory. “It won’t work. So there’s no danger in selling it.”

“That’s not--” she should have known better than to get into this with Garrack; not even Obi tries to bargain with her, not after the first time “--there’s still a chance, if the recipient is inclined toward the, er, caster--”

“Exactly.” A smirk unfurls across her face the way red carpets do for royalty. “Both parties have to consent.”

Her fingers curl so tight the bones ache. “Attraction is hardly the same thing as consent.”

Garrack waves a hand, as if simple denial could dispel the dire moral implications of her actions the way she could a charm. “There’s no harm in giving a little push now and then.”

“A push.” The word leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

“And that’s assuming any of it worked in the first place,” she sighs airily. “Which I doubt. What’s more likely is that a bunch of silly little girls wasted some of daddy’s money finding out the hard way that the school quarterback is into blondes or whatever.”

“Not so sure about that one, Chief.” Obi splits each word like a typewriter hits a period. “Sold too much not to have at least a few happy endings.”

Garrack shifts again, sweater slumping with her, and it’s not until she mutters, “In more ways that one,” that Shirayuki realizes those dark marks aren’t bruises, but-- but--

Bites. Bites because Shidan--

“In any case,” she sighs, “all’s well that ends well. Either they got what they wanted or they walked away disappointed, but either way, it was all legally above board.”

Shirayuki frowns. “That’s a very generous interpretation.”

“What can I say?” She shrugs, a cluster of those little love bites trailing down her collar bone, and ahh, Shirayuki could have survived not knowing how personally effective it had been for her boss. “I’m a generous person.”

Anyone else might actually provide an excuse to be excused, but Garrack simply unfurls herself just a hair shy of six feet and stalks from the room with the same level of satisfaction of a cat sashaying away from an empty birdcage. There’s nothing for it but to stare after her, wondering just how it all went wrong.

Obi cocks his head, threading himself through the sill. “All right there, Miss?”

“Yes. No.” She sighs, letting her palms relax against the tabletop. “I just...I really thought that would go better. Or...anywhere, I guess.”

The scent of sulfur snakes its way through the air; she’s so used to it now it’s almost comfortable. “That’s the problem with old goats like the Chief. They’ve been at it so long the goal posts change.”

She shakes her head, catching a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye. Even that much sends her eyes skittering across the table, looking for something more knowable. “That’s not really how morals are supposed to work, Obi.”

He blinks the way human eyes don’t. Too many eyelids, for one. “Maybe.”

Shirayuki collapses onto the window seat the way so many of her potions do in the last leg of their boil: with a sigh and a tangibly foul taste in her mouth. “I get that some people might want for something to happen, or even hope it would, all out of their control, but...just because you do, doesn’t mean you’re ready for it to happen now. For her to act like all’s well that ends well...”

Obi slips from the sill to the seat, long legs stretching across the floorboards. “Doesn’t quite jive with your experience, huh?”

Even at the other end of the cushion, his heat rolls over her; not the way an open fire does, so hot that you never forget it can burn, but more like a wood-burning stove, gently radiating warmth in a way that tempts her to scoot closer. “Yeah, something like that.”

A corner of his mouth twitches; if only she could look long enough to see if it was a smirk or a smile. “It’s heavy burden to be so cute when you’re unconscious.”

“If it just happened once, I could understand!” she huffs, crossing her arms. “But twice is just weird.”

“And different guys too,” he says, like she could somehow forget. “Guess you’re just that irresistible.”

“Don’t start.” He’s lucky mortal eyes can’t bear his aura, otherwise she’d give him such a glare. “I’m half convinced it’s a spell. Raj I can understand, but Zen is an entirely reasonable person, and still he--”

The thump is so quick, so sudden, that’s she’s on her feet before her words stop, heart pounding so loud she can’t hear Obi until he repeats, louder and slower, “You alright, Miss?”

He’s half out of his seat too, body twisted to put himself between her and the window, but--

The tension huffs from him on a sigh. “Ah.”

“O-obi?” She takes one shuffling step forward, reaching out but not quite daring to touch as she peers around him, into his cupped hands. “Oh!”

There’s a pigeon in his hands-- or a dove, maybe; she’d never quite known the difference besides color-- its wings flopping limply over his fingers, head hanging at an unnatural angle. Broken, she’d guess, probably from colliding with the window.

Her fingers bury themselves into fists. The last thing she needs is her magic to go wild with sympathy. “The poor thing. It must have just missed the opening...”

Obi shakes his head. “It’s cold.”

“Cold?” She leans closer, frowning. “But it only just--?”

Its whole body shivers, and with a blink of its glassy eyes, its neck swivels. “Shirayuki?”

She doesn’t scream, but whatever strangled noise escapes from her isn’t much better. “Is that...?”

“Suzu says this should work.” Yuzuri’s voice pours from its beak, as clear as if they were face to face. “Even though it’s weird. Anyway, Shidan’s finished your order. You should swing by and get it. It looks pretty dope or fly or whatever word Obi’s using for cool today.”

“Huh.” Obi lifts the thing, poking and prodding at its feather like the charm might pop out if he tries hard enough. “That’s sick.”

“It’s...something,” she agrees, willing her stomach not to turn. “Not what I--”

“End message!” the bird shrills. “Is that how you finish this thing off? Suzu--?”

It’s a clean cut that severs the sound from its beak. The body falls limp again, as if it had never moved.

“You don’t think...?” Shirayuki peers down at the grotesque display cradled in his palm, desperately trying not to think too hard about...any of it. “They didn’t...?”

“Ah, don’t worry, Miss.” Only Obi could sound positively jaunty in the face of questionably legal-- let alone moral-- magicks. “Pretty sure it was already dead.”

It’s a strange mental exercise, trying to decide whether reanimation is better than body borrowing, but she’s saved from having to think any further by Garrack sweeping in, Ryuu following resignedly in her wake. “Oh, is that one of Shidan’s creepy little messengers? I don’t think I’ll ever get used to them” 

Shirayuki blinks, trying to sweep frizzy blonde from her vision. “Oh, is he, ah, known for this?”

“No.” Garrack rocks back on her heels. “At least, not until recently. But one of his students has a talent for them, and it saves him having to dig in his pockets to put a charm on a dime or something.”

“On a dime?” She can see it now, Roosevelt’s profile turning to face her, serious as he says, the time is now. “Did it...talk?”

“I wish,” she huffs. “It would just glow, and do you know how easy it is to lose those things? Half the time I’d just go swing by myself just so I didn’t have to keep track of it. And he tells me that I need to learn responsibility and--”

“Couldn’t he just...text?” Shirayuki suggests, strained. “Or, er, call, I guess?”

Garrack frowns. “Where’s the drama in that?”

“Is this for the glamour?” Ryuu asks, pitched just loud enough to hear. “That’s...”

“Good?” Shirayuki supplies, when he doesn’t.

He nods. “Quick. I would have expected a week, at least. A month even, for his advanced charms.”

Obi’s brows hike toward his hairline. “It’s only been three days.”

Garrack grins, insufferable. “You’re welcome.”

It’s not until Shirayuki tugs her jacket off the hook, pulling the denim taut across her shoulders, that she dares to ask, “You don’t really think that, er...?”

Obi doesn’t answer so much as look attentive, all of his baleful gaze bent on her.

“It’s just...I know he’s the best artificer in the city.” She tugs the jacket tight over her chest, more from nerves than chill. “But not everyone wants to make the hike up to Capitol Hill and have to deal with, ah, mundanes. So surely...?”

He hums, a token display of support.

“He was probably already working on it.” She glances at him, as much as she can bear. “So it’s probably not that she...I mean, you don’t really think...?”

“Oh!” A wide flash of white hints at a grin. “That Garrack fucked us up the list? Absolutely.”

“Ahhh!” She claps her hands to her face. “You don’t have to say it that way. Maybe--?”

“Oh, my my. Is my favorite apprentice and her hellish escort on their way out?” Garrack turns the corner, a smile flanked by two ceramic cups. “Going to go reap the fruits of my labor?”

It’s no use, Shirayuki slumps. “Please don’t call it that.”

Her mouth sharps to a smirk. “A spade’s a spade, sweetheart.”

“Well, we’re not just doing that.” She infuses her tone with a sharp edge of officiousness, as if that might go some way in reminding anyone in this front hall that this is all supposed to be business, not-- not--

“Miss is gonna take us on our rounds too.” Shirayuki may not be able to bear his unholy aura long enough to see his expression, but she knows it must be a jaunty one from the way he kicks one leg over another and leans. “Put Shidan’s work through its paces, you know how it is.”

Garrack’s thick brows twitch, too suggestive for what amounts to a work meeting. “Mm, don’t I.”

Shirayuki fails stifle her sigh.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Garrack clucks, and if she’s the one disappointed with the turn of this conversation. “Here, I know things got a little heated today. Have an olive branch.”

Shirayuki stares as the cup fits into her grip, Garrack giving her knuckles a small pat for good measure. The smell of something sweet and floral wafts up from the lid’s vent. “You made...tea?”

“Hey!” she huffs. “I know how to boil water!”

Obi snorts. “Experience says different.”

Garrack may fold her arms over her chest, may tilt her chin, all high-handed and cool, it only takes a single quirked brow for her to admit, “At least the electric kettle does.”

“Ah,” Obi sighs, flipping open the lid. “There it is.”

“All right, all right, if you’re quite done, why don’t you two head out already.” She watches him take sip, mouth curling. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Out of the corner of her eyes, she catches the twitch of Obi’s eyebrows. “That’s a short list.”

It’s with a strange satisfaction that Garrack says, “It sure is.”

The door closes behind them, close enough that the displaced air shoots up her jacket, sending her shivering.

“Huh.” Obi takes another sip. “Well, that’s ominous.”

[droaxa]

✧ tags: yandere cheater x reader pt. 2

✧ warnings: violence and force, yandere behavior, descriptions of dismemberment, blood, stalking, police, nsfw content, kissing, angst, smut, breaking in, attempted murder, cuts, dead dove, probably more stuff

✧ a/n: my most requested fic at the moment! i decided to take some of your suggestions and add my own twist at the end + yandere name reveal!

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

yandere cheater wrestles you into his car after he drags you outta the cafe you’re in, unyielding as you try to pull away. the second he shuts the door and jets to the drivers side, you force yourself out the door and sprint down the street.

you hear his yells as you increase your speed, you knew you wouldn’t be able to outrun him for long. not only was he more athletic than you, but a look back revealed his terrifying expression. he was clearly set on catching you, having the advantage in his relatively relaxed clothing opposed to you, who was dressed for a date.

knowing you couldn’t beat him you came to a sudden stop of to the side of the sidewalk and he rammed into your side. stumbling back a few steps you stopped him. eyes wide and hair blown back, he looks at you mildly surprised.

“wha-” you interrupt him this time, taking advantage of his surprise by slapping a hand over his mouth.

you bring on an expression that you think is intimidating, “leave me the fuck alone, i don’t know what the hell you want but i’m not taking you back”

he scoffs like he has you all figured out, taking your hand off his mouth to reveal a smirk underneath. “guess mother dear will find out about your… escapades then”

smack!

you slap him across the face sharply, sound reverberating around you and leaving a tinge of red on his cheek. his mouth gapes as he looks back at you even more surprised, what happened to the mild mannered girl who he had cheated on dated?

“release those anywhere and i will fuck up your life asshole” you fume, hand still in the air as if to threaten him for another slap. “you’re the one that decided to cheat on me with every girl we knew. fucking own up to it”

you were sick of his shit, who did he think he was? you huff out a quiet fuck off as you pass him, shoulder bumping against his. as soon as you rounded the corner you sprint to a nearby parked cab, slamming the door on your way in.

“to the university dorms please”

yandere cheater runs after you too late, rounding the corner as you take off in the cab. poor baby, you were still hung up on him cheating? he didn’t even really like those girls anyway, they weren’t good for anything except their bodies.

but you, you were it for him. he’d do anything to see your cute smile again, to see you whimper on his cock. he felt his swollen cheek, your anger may come in the way of him proving his love, but you’d understand in the end. how deep his love ran. all he had to do was prove was that those girls meant nothing.

two weeks had passed, two long peaceful weeks. your ex finally seemed to give up, the barrage of text messages and calls diminishing to radio silence and constant gifts at your doorstep suddenly stopping. maybe you were more intimidating than you thought.

the second you got home after the encounter, you had called your mother and explained everything. although she did yell at you for a solid hour due her disappointment in you sending out explicit photos of yourself, she understood your situation. after giving her instructions on blocking your ex if he tried to reach out to her you were finally at a peace of mind. at a zen. maybe you could turn a new leaf, you deserved it.

of course you had fucking jinxed it, just when you finally thought it was all over, your ex had tried to force himself back in your life again. deep down, you knew he wouldn’t give up that easy. he’d always be stubborn to a fault.

two weeks after the encounter a small navy present box appeared in from of your new dorm room door. still groggy with sleep you rubbed your eyes and picked up the box, bringing it inside. after contemplating for a minute, you finally decide to open it. in your sleep ridden state, you reasoned that it was probably something you’d left behind at your ex’s house.

it takes a minute to register the contents of the box, but when you do

“OH MY GOD”

you scream and stumble back.

two bloodshot green- brown eyes were pressed into the shiny white silk inside, the area around them a tinge of red. that alone could be passed off as a cruel prank by some immature students but the unmistakable metallic scent of blood lingering in the air said otherwise. that and the only other item in the plush silk: a silver bracelet with the initials ‘e.r’.

only one person you knew owned that bracelet and had those eyes, your ‘friend’ eva. but you had blocked and lost contact with her after you found her and your boyfriend together in the bathroom of the mall. there’s no way she would have just lost this bracelet either, you remembered her bragging about how it was permanent. being soldering together around her hand.

you were nauseous. oh god. you knew it was him, you just knew. sure you hated her but you didn’t want her to die. what the hell, what the fuck do you even do?

before you could think you grabbed your phone calling the only person you could think of.

“can you come over quick, please?”

20 minutes later a dark haired man rushed in through your front door, spotting you curled up in the corner. your eyes wide and still staring at the open box.

“(y/n) what’s going on?” he asks softly, approaching you slowly. you just point to the box and he takes a peek, immediately slapping a hand over his mouth as his eyes shoot open “fucking hell…”

you turn to him, eyes teary “ray what do we do?”

ray was your one real friend through everything your ex put you through, and ironically your ex’s older brother. he was one that introduced you to your ex and thus he blamed himself for letting him hurt you, even though you’d reassured him that you didn’t find him at any fault.

he was reliable and kind, a shoulder to lean on when things got tough. you’d known him for almost two years longer than your ex and honestly if you didn’t meet your ex, the small crash you harbored for ray may have grown. after you met you ex you assumed that your feelings for ray had naturally died out but you couldn’t lie about the strange biting feeling in your chest whenever you saw him.

and even now he was talking care of you, taking you to the police station to talk to the police and turning in the bloody present. a few hours later you both were back in your dorm, sitting on the edge of your bed as you discussed the situation.

“look i really appreciate all this, you didn’t have to come with me to the station”

he smiles, “anytime (y/n), if it’s for you”

you smile back, face a little warm from his answer “that’s sweet”

he moves a little closer, your pinkies now you touching. “you’re sweeter, my asshole brother doesn’t know what he missed out on.” and you swear that you see his eyes flicker to your lips.

“really?” you ask coyly, leaning in slightly.

he nods slightly hesitant “if i had a girlfriend like you i wouldn’t dare disrespect her like that, i-i mean you’re thoughtful and pretty and-” he gets cut off as you lean up and press your lips to his. he immediately freezes up and you take his response as rejection, pulling away. fuck, he was obviously just being nice who even likes their brothers ex?

“i’m so sorry i though-” before you can finish apologizing ray’s lips smash onto yours, one of his hands in your hair to pull you closer and the other guiding your lips to his by your chin. in between heated kisses he mumbles,

“god i was waiting for so long,” a kiss.

“prettiest girl i’ve ever met” another heated kiss. his words of longing slur as he continues to kiss you, pulling you ever closer. his plush lips trail down your neck and to your stomach, slender hand playing at your waistband. his hooded eyes look up at you as his other hand wanders under your shirt. “can i?”

you give him a shy nod and he smiles, pulling down your pajama shorts to reveal white cotton panties. you cover your face with your arm out of embarrassment and he reaches out, keeping your arm down.

“wann’ see your pretty face, waited for it” you nod meekly and he flashes his dimples, continuing to pull down your panties and throw them somewhere behind him. your cute cunt, glistening with arousal was right in front of his face. fuck. gliding a finger up the slit, he watches as the slick from your pussy coats it. fuck.

an hour later he was in heaven, or at least you felt like it. buried deep inside your wet cunt as you moaned and squirmed under him

“ngh- fuck, so good fa’ me baby”

this was the stuff of wet dreams. he speeds up as he feels his orgasm approaching, praises and grunts slipping from his lips as he slams his hips against yours. soft skin against muscle, hot breath on your face from where he was above you. finally he pulls out with groan, wanting to stay buried in your warm. spurts of warm cum shoot up your stomach as he finally finishes.

ray collapses beside you, both of you sweaty and nude as you bathe in the afterglow. weakly, you smile at his tired form as you close your eyes, drifting to sleep in your warm bed.

bang!

you wake up with a start, wearing a shirt too big to be yours. must be ray’s. you look around the dim room and reach for ray, feeling nothing in the space next to your body. did ray… leave? that couldn’t be right. your bare feet hit the wood floor as you step towards your lamp and turn on the light. nothing.

you look around the bedroom and then head to the kitchen, turning the corner and switching on the light. immediately the kitchen floods with light and you gasp. the floor was tracked with blood, a trail leading from where you stood to your bathroom. was he hurt?! you cautiously approach the bathroom, a sharp metallic scent dominates your nose as push open the half open door.

“took a while to wake up didn’t you sleepyhead?”

your blood runs cold. it was your ex boyfriend. if the crazed grin in his face wasn’t unsettling enough the blood smearing on his cheek and splattered across his body sent alarms going off inside you. looking behind him you see the source of all the red.

ray. deep cuts run down his body, clothes shredded, and body half submerged in the now murky red water of the tub. on the tile floor next to him was your kitchen knife, covered in blood. without missing a beat you turned and sprinted to your bed stand, searching for your phone. there’s no way you would make it to the door in time, you needed to call the police and at least save ray.

haphazardly searching your bed and nightstand, you still can’t find your phone. where is it?

“oh lookin’ for your phone?” you turn to him. in his hand was the aforementioned object, light pink case looking uncharacteristically cute opposed to his blood-ridden form. “you’re a pretty deep sleeper hon, i mean i was rummaging around right next to you for this and you didn’t even hear”

“what are you doing raph?” you ask terrified, slowly inching away from him.

in response he approaches you, “what do you think? my girl runs off on me and the next time i see her she’s fucking my brother. you tryna make me jealous baby?” he leans in, expression seemingly amused but you knew better. he was pissed.

“and you’re wearing his shirt too” his large hand plays with the round collar of the tee, fingers ghosting over your collarbones.

“take it off”

eyes wide, you look up at him, “no i won-”

“take it off or he dies” raph’s face is dead serious, no traces of amusement left, stare burning into your face. “you want him to live right? i’ll call the police as long as you take it off”

you hesitate then slowly peel off ray’s shirt, letting it fall to the floor. raph had seen your body before right? it was a small price to pay for saving rays life. the action left you in only your cotton panties as you tried to preserve your modesty with your hands.

raph lets out a low whistle and steps forward, pulling you closer by the curve of your waist. chucking as you shiver due to his cold touch

“already forgot i feel baby? might needa reteach ya”

you look away from him, refusing to see the smug expression playing on his face.

at that moment you felt a wave of self hatred crash over you, why couldn’t you do anything about this? were you so weak that you couldn’t protect yourself, much less ray? but who were you kidding, you weren’t faster or stronger than raph. there’s no way you could get out of this situation with both of you alive without giving into raph.

raph places a rough hand at your jaw, forcing you to look at him. unlike his brother his touch was demanding and rash, the only purpose of it being to prove that you were still his silly girl. no matter how hard you tried to run away.

he coos at your troubled expression “where’s all that fire from before huh?” he grins at your submissive state, the one that he caused. “i’ll be nice, put your own clothes on. quick.”

was he playing with you? you take a look at ray’s shirt on the floor and then approach your closet under a guise of calmness, but a look at your shaking hands would disprove your confidence. putting on a bra, followed by a bottom and a top, then outer wear. anything to put more layers between you and him.

a look up at him reveals that he was already looking at you, probably to stop you from pulling another trick on him. he leans down to whisper in your ear but instead decides to press his face into your neck, inhaling the sweet smell. he mutters, face still in your hair “god i missed you” the sincere tone in his voice scared you the most.

he pulls away, expression distant and somewhat melancholy. “you know if you acted like a good girl from the beginning i wouldn’t have to do this”

before you can question him, his open right hand presses against your face, hard. the other hand supports your head to stop you from pulling away, body trapped. the bitter smell of something pressed on the tissue between your face and his hand floods your senses.

for the second time that night all your senses dull, and everything goes dark.

a/n: i know i know you guys wanted reader to get away from him! i just though this was more interesting then the reader getting back at raph and getting away with it. i like to make my yanderes stubborn loll. hope you liked the twist might write a part 3 ^^

[elemental-daddy-neos]

Coming to the realization that I'm going to have to come up with yet another ship name my damn self, and this time it's literally about two main characters

[weewoo911]

So I wrote a little something loosely based on this post I made about Eddie subconsciously associating his future wedding as being with Buck- I haven't written for ages but I thought if I was gonna make it into a fic I'd also have an accidental drunk confession to Buck in there- and this is that. If I ever wrote a whole fic of this there'd be no cheating so dw dw

"It must be nice," Buck says from the floor, "Marr-Marriaging, -having a wedding. I want that, I'd want-"

"I know what you want," Eddie laughs confidently from the empty tub. It feels very zen, lying here with his legs hooked over the circular tub, like lying inside a big cereal bowl. He is so drunk, and giddy and totally at peace with everything, "You want a spring wedding because you want a frankly ridiculous amount of flowers. You want it far enough away from the city that you can see the stars at night, but not so far that it'd cost too much for everyone to travel there. You like the idea of releasing lanterns but you're worried about the environment so you'd probably want - like- doves or butterflies instead-"

"Butterflies," Buck says from the floor, his voice thick, "Eddie, what-"

"M'not finished," Eddie continues with the gravitas of someone so hammered they cant feel their legs but who is nevertheless making an Important Point, "Butterflies, then. You want a light coloured suit, something that breathes well because you'll worry about sweating. Bobby would be doing the ceremony, so maybe Athena to walk you down the aisle? And of course Maddie as your best man. Woman. Person."

"… Maddie?"

"Well yeah," Eddie shrugs, transfixed by how the ceiling seems to be slowly tilting to the side, "Because Chris would be mine, and that way they can both be involved."

There's a frantic shuffling noise from the floor, and Buck's voice is much clearer when he speaks again, "Eddie. Eddie are you talking about- me and you getting married?"

"Who else?" And in his alcohol-soaked state, it's as simple as that- who else. God knows he's tried to fit other people into that role and they just never fit right because the void in his life is so decisively Buck-shaped. Haha, God knows, his chest begins to shake with silent laughter, it's funny, right? Because of the Catholicism.

"And that's-" Buck sounds kind of upset, which makes Eddie pause, why would Buck be upset when there's good booze and the ceiling is tilting and they're getting married? "That's something you want- the-the spring wedding and the butterflies and the-"

Oh, Buck's simply misunderstood, that's easy.

"I just wanna be the guy standing next to you."

[mysicklove]

𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆

DAY 24: SPREADER BAR

With: Zenitsu Agatsuma

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Sub! Zenitsu, gn! reader, crying, reader kinda is pushy but Zenitsu is fine with it, VERY sensitive Zenistu, overstimulation,

A/N: I hope i didn't take this too far. Reader is kinda pushier than my other fics, but idk. kinda nervous about this one for some reason. tbh, I'm not really liking any of my kinktober fics </3

Zenitsu squirms. Plain and simple. Kiss his cheek and he is giggling like a school girl, touch his chest and he is shrinking away from you with a whine, stroke his cock and he is accidentally closing his thighs together. It was just instinctual, he’s sensitive, and even if he likes the touch, he seems to struggle staying still and letting it happen.

So, you bought him a spreader bar. Zenitsu adores handjobs, but its always a pain to keep respreading his legs (You once slapped his thighs as a warning to keep them open, and he immediately sobbed and begged for forgiveness. You never slapped him again). It was good to take measures into your own hands. 

But, he happened to be a little nervous about it.

“Y/NNNNN. Is this really necessary?” Zenitsu whines, his face pink from embarrassment at being completely bare in front of you. You were clicking on the cuffs to his ankles, while he lays against the headboard. 

You kiss the inside of his knee, before moving up closer to him. “You know it is. How am I supposed to make you feel good if you keep moving away?”

He pouts and looks away. “Don’t mean to.”

“I know baby, you’re just so sensitive. I love that about you,” You coo, leaning forward to kiss his temple. You rest your hand on his abdomen, and he flinches, eyes flickering to yours out of nervousness.

He looks down at his open legs and covers his face. “So embarrassing.”

“Hmmm. It’s cute, legs spread like a little whore. Only for me, hmm?” He whines at the slight degradation, moving closer to you to seek comfort in your warmth. But of course, he agrees, slightly nodding and playing with his fingers.

Your hand moves down to his cock, and he lets out an airy breath. Immediately you hear the clanging of the cuffs as he tries to move. You grin, glad his thighs aren’t stopping your antics, and pump him once, and then twice. His hand grips onto your pants and he looks up at you with pleading eyes. 

You continue, now going faster, and he keens, back slightly arching off the bed. He tries to keep his mouth shut, but it gets harder with every second. A minute goes by, and he is already spasming.

“F-Fuck slow down–You know I can’t!” He isn’t used to this, he usually gets a small break in the moments you take to pull away his legs. A chance for him to calm down, to not let his oversensitive body overwhelm him.

His legs are trembling and flexing as they try to force themselves together, but can’t. You continue your merciless pace, and his mouth hangs open, moans and whimpers falling with every second. Tears have already begun to well up. “I can’t. Wait, please! I can’t! Too much. It’s too much!”

You slightly slow your pace at his words and watch the way the pre drips down your hands. His thighs are shaking and he is twitching. Tears begin to spill over as he finally has a chance to catch his breath. You rub his face, brushing the drops away. “’m sensitive! Can’t keep up. You are going too fast, Y/N!” He sobs, and you coddle his face in apology, glancing back at the way his whole body seems to jerk when you reach the head of every slow stroke.

You coo at him, murmuring sweet nothings into his ear, as the spreader bar clanks with his movements. “But doesn’t it feel good, Zen? Your body is so reactive. You just need to relax and let it happen.”

He looks up at you with crocodile tears in his eyes and lets out a couple of sniffles. “Well, it did feel good. Just scary. Don’t got any control over myself,” He warbles, burying his face into your clothes for comfort.

You smile at him and begin to pick up the pace of your hand again. His hand tightens into a fist on your clothing. “Let me take care of you. I won’t let anything happen to you. Just gotta relax for me, yeah?”

A second goes by, and then two. “Mhmkay. Just, try to be gentle. Please?”

“Of course. Doing so well, ya know. Being such a good boy,” You praise, and he lets out a happy hum, soaking up the words. 

You slowly make your way to your original pace, ignoring the way he jumps, or tries to hyperextend one of his legs at the feeling. He begins to pant, and he’s clutching at you desperately, trying to keep himself relaxed, but also grounded.

Eventually, you reach your original pace, and his knees are caving in. He wants to close his legs desperately, but he can’t, and his body is reacting immensely to the intense pleasure. “Fuck. Fuck. Its a lot. It’s too much!”

“How does it feel, Zenitsu?”

He thrashes around the sheets, crying again, but seeming to enjoy it more than before. He doesn’t look afraid, just simply letting it happen. “Good! Mhmmokay im okay. Just–Just hard. Cant….Think!”

The bed creaks from his sporadic movements, and you are even having trouble keeping your hands on him. His hips are turning from left to right, and his back is arching occasionally. His mouth is open again, and his eyes are hazy. “Can’t last. I can’t!”

The bar continues to rattle, and his legs continue to strain against it. You are even worried that he might break it from the force of his movements. “You can cum whenever you want, my love.”

He doesn’t respond, just nodding his head, with his eyes slightly rolled back. His hands can’t stay still, interchanging from clutching at you or the sheets, to holding onto his legs to try to help stop force against the bar.

With his upcoming orgasm, the pleasure becomes more intense, and he begins to sob. “Fuck. S-Sensitive. Oh god, feels weird! Gonna cum. Please please please! It’s too much again!”

“You already have my permission, Zen. Relax, let it out.” He nods into your clothing and clings onto you like a lifeline but listens.

He cums, and it’s much different than before. He can’t curl up into himself, as he usually does, but tries to anyways. His body goes stiffer than usual, and he lets out three high pitches, broken moans. He shuts his eyes and arches his back into you. The white liquid coats his stomach, but he can’t even feel it, instead focusing on riding out the waves. 

He looks cute like this. It seems like it was his strongest orgasm in a while, and you are intrigued by it. Your hand slows down, and forces out the last couple of drops from the tip. 

You accidentally overstimulate him, and his whole body jerks and he lets out a whimpering sound. You gulp and pull away, trying to think of other thoughts, because overstimulating Zenitsu may be adorable, but if he reacted the way he does with a handjob, you may kill the poor boy with anything more.

But he blinks at you, eyes red with tears. “Again?” He breathes, still twitching occasionally from the aftershock. 

You gulp again, not sure if going again would kill him, or you.

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[dcxdpdabbles]

DC X DP Fic idea: Retired-Rouge.

Danny gets into making teddy bears. He didn't start that way; honestly, he was mostly trying to fix Bearbert Einstein after his mom accidentally burnt him with a misfired ray gun.

Jazz had broken down into tears, and it had ripped apart his heart and his core to see her so distressed. He went to the local- and only- fabric store in Amity Park to find materials and try to repair his sister's beloved teddy bear when his mom's attempts to fix the bear only made him look worse.

Just his luck that the only fabric shop for miles around was Weston Fabrics and that the person manning the cashier was Wes himself. The other boy had nearly thrown him out when Danny walked in, but thankfully his older brother Kyle had talked Wes down and helped Danny find fabrics for Bearbert.

Surprisingly, Wes had even helped him set up one of their sewing stations to get started on Bearbert.

The strange part was when Danny turned the machine on and found his hands moving independently. As if he had been doing it for years, he expertly put together the bear and even went through the other fabrics to make him new outfits. Wes had watched the whole time, raising a brow when Danny got up to pay.

"Thought you didn't know how to sew?"

"I thought so too. Must be a ghost thing." Danny replied then smirked as the redhead glared.

"A ghost thing?" Wes all but sneers. He still trying to expose Danny as Phantom and had yet to get proof, even with Danny teasing him in the open. As it were, Kyle, who was unpacking new needles rolled his eyes behind the red hair teenager.

"Yeah, since I have a protection core as Phantom, it sometimes transfers into my human side. Do you know how teddy bears guard children at night against bad dreams? Same thing"

Wes pauses, then slowly blinks; he whispers with a small baffled smile, "That's kind of adorable. A teddy bear to keep you safe through the night."

And Danny? He didn't mean to, but he found Wes sort of hot at that moment. Not the Wow, that guy is a celebrity hot but a Be careful who you call ugly in middle school because Puberty made them delicious over the summer break hot.

He will admit that he returned to Weston Fabrics to flirt more with Wes and made so many teddy bears as a disguise. The good news was that all his works were a hit, and even some kids at school started asking for special commissions when word got around about the special Nightmerica teddy bear he made for Sam's birthday.

He makes money, gets a boyfriend, and when he donates the teddy bears to a local hospital, he discovers a new power. Through items he made himself, Danny can send waves of comforting energy to the people around the item, like a miniature zen distributor. The patients that have his toys start to show greater rest from both nightmares and lower anxiety, depression, and general sadness.

He lets Wes name this power, which later becomes the name of his teddy bear business- Phantom Relief. After dating for two years and graduating, both boys agree the spark had been lost but remain good friends. Danny takes his thriving teddy bear-making skills to his new college in Gotham while Wes leaves for Star City.

In Gotham is where things get....stranger. See, Danny knows someone new to the city will never truly understand a city's problems. But the rapid amount of homeless kids is so shocking he starts making clothes and blankets to try and give them out because they shouldn't be out there freezing like that! He even tries passing along some teddy bears to them, hoping to soothe their pain with some Zen waves.

The key word is tries.

Gotham kids do not trust or like free handouts. Danny burst into tears when a thirteen-year-old asked if he wanted the kid to use his hand or mouth in exchange for the new blanket. The street kid seemed surprised when Danny was horrified by the question. No one else found it strange, the kid said, wrapped in a Superman blanket that Danny made only a day before, it's just how things are done around here.

The worst part is the homeless thirteen-year-old is right. Everywhere he looks, Danny finds more people needing protection- physically, emotionally, and mentally. Gotham is just filled with people suffering. He couldn't keep up. It's tearing him apart trying to help everyone.

His core feels like it will burst from all the overloaded cries of help it can pick up. One night Danny can't take it anymore, so he shifts into Phantom and flies out to the old Drake manner, abandoned since Janet Drake's murder, where the cries are muffled, and dials Wes' number with shaking hands.

His ex picks up listens to his sobs and tells him "You can't save people who don't want to be saved. But you can try to reach them in a way they understand."

It's precisely what he needs to hear.

Ancients, but he misses the man sometimes. Why did Danny ever let Wes Weston go? Well, as they say, Right person, wrong time. Maybe that was why.

So Danny decided the only way to get to Gotham was to be like Gotham. And who were the people that dramatically changed the city with every random plot? With every random heist?

Gotham Rogues.

So all Phantom had to do was become one, which shouldn't be too hard since people in Amity Park still debated if he was good or not years later. He fixes up his Phantom suit to something more Gotham villain, keeping the colors but removing the jumpsuit and adding a suit and vest alongside a mask and two giant needles.

He appears in Crime Alley- because that's where the most cries come from- and just challenges everything and everyone to take the area from him. He fights off so many gangs- even Red Hood, who puts up a great fight- but after the dust settles, he now runs the place.

He then starts- fixing the place. Starts sending out clothes for the homeless, starts fixing up buildings, gives Phantom Reflief out-teddy bears to kids, fake emulates to adults, starts sending the gang kids back to school, forces landlords to lower the housing, and illegally makes everyone get along.

He spreads his tyranny to the rest of the city, fighting the good and bad sides of the law. The bats give him one hell of a challenge, but Danny beat the Ghost King when he was an untrained brat. This is nothing. Batman gets better with every fight, and so do his associates.

Things look good until the Joker tries him too much when the clown somehow gets to Wes. Has the love of his life tied to a bomb with enough Joker Venom to fill half the city, and Danny sees red.

When he comes to, it's to Wes holding him in his arms, whispering reassurances, and Joker nothing but a smear on the ground. Danny can't live with what he's done; he runs away, shifts into his human side, and vows to never be Phantom again.

After four years of peace due to Phantom's hostile takeover, Gotham mourns the loss but doesn't fall into so much crime now that the ghost crime lord is gone. Danny thinks he's done his job and chooses to melt into the background. He opens a little shop for fabrics and custom-made teddy bears.

Wes finds him, agrees to try and rekindle their love, and a year later agrees to the marriage.

All is well until seventeen-year-old Tim Drake strolls into his fabric shop. Clutching a superboy teddy bear, he gave a shivering fourteen-year-old the first week as Phantom Gotham Villain with a stern look in his eye.

"Phantom- I need you to help me find Batman, who is lost in time, or I will expose your secret identity to the rest of Gotham."

Well, shit.