#its so so so bad. but like endearingly so

[skyburger]

forced my mother who i love dearly to watch phantom blood with me (not even a full episode i just wanted to show her the extent of the bad accents in the english dub) and she agrees with me that speedwagon's dub voice is probably the worst offender for a main character. in fact she said, quote, "he's worse than dick van dyke in mary poppins" so. you know its bad

[skzdarlings]

the ride ; skz ; chan x reader

original ask: requested by @rosequartsz : chan with the prompt ❛ i want to fuck you so badly. ❜ like the reader is the same age as jeongin so chan kinda feels bad but at the same time he wants to corrupt the reader so bad cushsisjsis

+

original ask: requested by anonymous : Chan and ❛ please. make me feel good. no one else can like you. ❜ ❛ have a little trust in yourself, i know you can take it. ❜

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: friends to lovers, chan is a little older than reader, reader is not actually that innocent but pretends to be and they both get off on it lol. some not very safe driving lol keep ur eyes on the road. car sex, dirty talk, teasing, corruption play, puuuuure smut. word count: 2400 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy!

-

“That’s not fair,” Jeongin says.  “I called dibs.”

“Too bad.”  You stick your tongue out at him.  “Learn to run faster, loser.”

Jeongin scowls, once more relegated to the backseat of Chan’s car.   You are sitting pretty in the passenger seat for the fourth day in a row and Jeongin is playfully annoyed about it. 

You and your twin brother have been racing into Chan’s car since high school.  You are both at university now, but Chan still offers the occasional lift.  With storm season making public transit a bigger hassle than it’s worth, Chan has been offering more rides. 

Just because of the weather.  Not any other reason.  Of course.      

You smirk, casting a side-glance into the driver’s seat.  Chan is smiling at Jeongin through the rearview mirror, looking less like Channie, the boy of your teenage fantasies, and more like Bang Chan, the man of your adult dreams.  He is wearing a baseball cap and leather jacket, his whole demeanour oozing an effortless masculinity, the bearing of a competent man who knows he can do anything. 

And still, despite his well-earned cockiness, he has an undoubtedly shy side.  When he looks at you, the tips of his ears flame an embarrassed, fiery red, and his dimpled smile is almost boyish in its sweetness. 

“Right then,” he says.  Then, like the endearingly cheesy goofball he is, he adds, “All aboard, ready for takeoff!” 

“Jeongin,” you say, blinking innocently at your twin through the mirror.  “You have your presentation notes, right?  You don’t want to forget them.”

Jeongin double-checks his bag but you already know he won’t find them.  You deliberately took them out and placed them on the kitchen counter.

“Damn,” he says, quickly unbuckling his seatbelt.  “I thought I put them in here.  Sorry, I’ll be right back.” 

Jeongin practically flies out of the car and up the driveway, leaving you and Chan.  It happens quickly, before Chan can even compute it.  You can see the gears turning in his head, but you are faster, sighing melodramatically while gathering the hem of your skirt. 

“Silly boy,” you say.  “What should we do while he’s gone?”  You draw your skirt up your thighs just enough to tease the skin of your upper thighs. 

Chan is staring there with his mouth open, his words evaporating on his tongue.  He clears his throat after a second, ripping his gaze away.  He looks across the dashboard and laughs, a shy, awkward laugh. 

“Your brother will be back in a second,” Chan says.  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, yeah?”

He is white-knuckling the steering wheel, like all his restraint is being poured into that physical grip.  Even so, it is not hard to pry his hand off the wheel.  You know a stronger, more belligerent shove could not bend a determined Bang Chan, but the softest touch from your gentle hands will have him breaking in seconds.   

You are slow, casual despite your racing heart, guiding his hand onto your knee.  He makes a little noise that turns your whole body to pure, liquid heat.  You make a similar sound, a faint whimper in the back of your throat, as you slide his hand up your thigh. 

“Channie,” you say, your too-sweet, too-innocent voice part of your acting, but your breathlessness undoubtedly real. 

“Don’t—”  His voice breaks and he clears his throat.  “Don’t say my name like that.  You know—”  

“What do I know, Channie?” you ask, blinking at him with wide eyes while you curl his fingers around your thigh.  You bring your legs together, holding his hand between them.

He visibly swallows, throat bobbing.  The redness has spread from his ears down his neck. 

“We’ve talked about this, baby girl,” he says, his tone stricter, taking on that darker edge that makes your heart – and everything else – gush.   “We’ve been good so far, okay?”   If stolen kisses, open zippers, and groping touches count as good.  “You’re my – you’re my friend.  You should be like a little sister or something to me… yeah?  Yeah… Yeah!”  He shakes his head, pulling himself out of the distraction caused by you unzipping your jacket.  He squeezes your thigh, a firm, warning grip.  “Don’t make this so hard,” he says. 

“What’s hard for you, Channie?” you ask, reaching into his lap and touching his thigh, then higher, finding the evidence of his words.  A shiver moves across his shoulders, his breath catching as you cup your palm around the bulge in his jeans.  “Is it something I can help you with?”  You lick your bottom lip then smile. 

“Oh,” he says.  His eyes crinkle with amusement but there is a score of different emotions on his face, all of them smoldering.  “You really wanna play that game, huh?” 

There is no chance for an answer because Jeongin returns, hopping into the car with his notes.  You and Chan separate, looking out the dashboard window.  You pat your hot skin and try to slow your racing heart. 

Sensing the oddly silent tension, Jeongin narrows his eyes and looks between you.  Eventually, his expression sours like he smells something bad. 

“Oh my god,” he says, then punches Chan in the shoulder.  “Are you fucking my sister!”

“What!” Chan says, getting redder by the second.  “Jeongin, how could— I wouldn’t— I don’t—”

“What, you don’t fuck?” Jeongin asks, then laughs until he is wheezing.  “You can do better, man.”

“Jeongin, shut up!”  You reach back to smack at him, rubbing your hand all over his stupid face and messing up his hair while he wails in protest.   

“All right, all right!”  Chan says, breaking you up.  “Let’s just… let’s just go, okay?  Okay.” 

“Yes, daddy,” you say, mostly out of spite. 

Chan squeaks. 

Jeongin pretends to gag then slumps against his window.  

“I’m gonna need to start taking the bus,” he says, morose.

-

Fortunately, thanks to the impromptu revelation of your shenanigans, it does not take much convincing for Jeongin to find another ride home.  When Chan pulls into the campus parking lot to pick you up, you approach his vehicle with a grin and a wink.    

You slide into the passenger seat, smoothing down your skirt while he sighs.  It sounds more amused than frustrated.    

“Where’s your brother?” he asks. 

You shrug with theatrical exaggeration. 

“Right,” Chan says, starting the car.  “Got it.”

He puts a hand on your headrest to leverage himself, looking out the rear window as he reverses the car.  That proximity alone gets you hot, the temptation to grab him already strong.  You play a patient game, as always, stealing glances and suggestive smiles while he drives. 

Halfway home, you put a hand on his knee.  At first your touch is innocent, tracing slow circles on the denim, then you get a little more brazen, fingertips brushing up his thigh. 

“Baby,” he says in that warning voice, eyes on the road.  Holding the wheel with one hand, he uses the other to stop your wandering ascent. 

“Yes?” you ask with all that faux-innocence.  Rather than fight his touch, you guide his hand to your lap, placing it on your knee. 

Unlike this morning, he does not play nice.  You make a startled, high-pitched sound when he immediately dives under your skirt, his rough palm pressing down where you are already aching.   Your thighs slam shut out of instinct but his hand is where it wants to be, his fingers curled around your pussy in a proprietary touch. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice playfully mean.  He grinds the heel of his palm against your throbbing clit.  He never takes his eyes off the road.  “Isn’t this what you wanted?”  

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, though you cannot help but rock yourself against his hand. 

“Mmm,” he says, patting your pussy then stroking your thigh, guiding your legs open again.  “We’ll see about that.” 

You keep your eyes ahead too, pretending not to notice when he glances at you.  Then you gasp because he reaches out and tugs the zipper on your hoodie.  You instinctively clutch it, wearing nothing but a bra underneath, having taken off your other layers to surprise him.  He is the one surprising you, a secret sexy menace under all that shy sweetness.  He unzips the hoodie halfway then reaches past the material to squeeze a handful.  Your body practically sings under his touch. 

“Channie,” you say, breathless again. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” he says.  “Channie’s gonna take care of you, yeah?  Always.” 

“Take care of me how?”  Your question toys with that false innocence, the little game that gets you both hot, but there is genuine curiosity there too.   This game has been escalating slowly over time.  You want more and you are starting to get desperate. 

Chan looks at you.  His gaze moves over your mouth then your body, your skirt rucked up and breasts practically spilling out of your hoodie.  He swears, looking back at the road with that red blush on his ears again. 

“Fuck,” he says.  “I want to fuck you so badly.  You have no idea.” 

His words have a raw, honest edge.  He swallows, hard.  You feel like one tightly coiled ball of tension, ready to snap apart. 

“Please,” you say in that breathy voice.  “Make me feel good.  No one else can like you.” 

You do not make it all the way home.  There is a nearby lookout point at the park, a shrouded parking area that has undoubtedly seen its fair share of hook-ups.  Chan parks there and you dive at each other like randy teenagers.  You climb into his lap, bumping everything on the console on your way, the honking the horn with your backside for good measure.  It makes you both giggle.

Then your laughter is swallowed by hot, desperate, open-mouthed kisses.

“Mmm,” you hum against his lips.  You push his hat off his head and sink your fingers in his curly hair.  “Channie, please,” you say. 

He cups the back of your neck, holding your head where he wants it so he can kiss you thoroughly.  His ravishing touch leaves you shaking with need, rocking against him to no relief. 

“Poor baby,” he says with a little laugh, squeezing your neck then drawing his hand down the curve of your chest.  He unzips the rest of your hoodie.  His mouth follows the same path as his hands, down your chest and back up again. 

He is working you up, deftly and swiftly, using just a few well-placed throat kisses, a few flicks of his fingertips across the sensitive peaks of your breasts.  He seems so composed under you, other than the flush to his complexion, the heat to his skin that has him shedding his leather jacket.   You feel completely undone, half-naked and writhing in his lap.  Your hands tangle together, fumbling around his belt. 

“Let me,” he says.  He gets his belt open and his fly undone, then his hands are on you.  He doesn’t just tug your panties to the side but rips them apart, snapping the seams like they’re nothing.  Then those strong fingers are inside you, finding just how wet and ready you are for him.  He makes a low, guttural sound, thumping his head against the headrest.  “Fuck, baby girl,” he says.  “You know what you do to me?” he asks. 

“I dunno, Channie.”  You pout and bat your eyelashes.  “You better show me.” 

He laughs.  He holds your hips and moves you, positions you where he wants you.  You are pressed so close together, chest-to-chest, so you cannot see when he finally enters you.  But you feel it, hot and hard and filling you, stretching you, almost painful but burning so good.  You slap a hand to the roof of the car, eyes closing as you moan. 

“S-so much,” you say, because it feels like you have been sinking forever and he is still not all the way inside. 

“Yeah, I know, baby,” he says.  His thumb is expertly circling your clit while your whole body seems to soften, changing to fit him, like you were made for this moment.  “That’s it,” he says.  “Have a little trust in yourself.  I know you can take it.”

His thrusts are small, his hands guiding your hips over him, grinding him deep inside you.   Then you are clutching his shoulders, moaning into his neck as he fucks you slowly and steadily.  It is everything you needed and not enough, only spurring more desire.  You know you will need him again, the way he needs you.  Just the way he says your name as he holds you, as he fucks you, as he takes you apart and puts you together again.   It feels like that when you come, when he fucks you through it, saying your name and praising you. 

“Good girl,” he says, barely above a breath.  “That’s it, baby. Just like that.”

When he gets close, he pushes the seat back.   You get on your knees between his legs and take him in your mouth.  He comes with a low groan and another breathless slur of your name.  Then you are back in his lap and his hands are everywhere, clutching you possessively to his chest.  You are both breathing hard, riding the slow come-down of your frantic desperation. 

“Fuck,” he eventually says.  He seems shy again, giggling as he looks at you with a blush on his face.  “We, uh, we just did that, in the car, uh wow, yeah, I, uh—”

“Channie,” you say with a laugh of your own, grabbing his face and kissing him.  He smiles into the kiss, returning it with the same tender softness. 

You kiss for a long time, ignoring the world around you.  Eventually you have to crawl back into your seat and mostly redress yourselves, still smiling and giggling at each other the whole time.  Your phone was buzzing in your bag so you finally check it, rolling your eyes at the message there.   

You show it to Chan who laughs, blushing again, but nods. 

“Right,” he says, “We should probably go get him.”

You laugh too, sending an emoji with its tongue sticking out in response to Jeongin’s message that reads:  My ride fell through.  When you are done not-fucking each other, can you come back and get me?  Thanks.  Sluts.   

[euthymiya]

“What’s got you so grumpy?”

Sukuna dodges your finger. It fails to meet its destination of his cheek as he tilts his head to the side, earning a frown from you before you huff and try again.

He looks up from his phone with an irritated glance when your fingertip digs into his face.

“What are you talking about?” He grunts.

He knows exactly what you’re talking about. Normal Sukuna is irritable enough—grumpy Sukuna is about as bad tempered as a hornet who’s had its nest kicked. (Which is to say: he’s pretty fucking unfriendly at the moment.)

“You’re sulking,” you point out—and that statement earns a sharp glare from him as you seat yourself on his lap. (Still, he makes room easily for you, leaning back on the couch and putting his phone down to the side so his hands can rest on your hips. Grumpy Sukuna is never grumpy enough to push your body away—if anything, it’s the one way to get him less agitated).

“I’m not fucking sulking,” he says. It’s almost petulant, but you have enough grace to spare his dignity and not point it out. “I don’t sulk.”

“Are you sure?” You raise a disbelieving brow—he clicks his teeth at the way you choose to question him, but it softens considerably when your lips peck his jaw delicately. “You look pretty sulky to me.”

“Get your eyes checked.”

“Can’t. Then I might see you for all your ugliness. We wouldn’t want to throw years down the drain once I come to my senses do we?”

It’s his turn to raise a brow, sarcastically snorting as you give him a cheeky wink. “If you wanna try ‘n be a smart ass, at least be realistic about it. Saw you checking me out just this morning through the mirror.”

“Maybe you need your eyes checked,” you huff, “I was not checking you out.”

“Pretty sure you were,” he smirks, lips pulling into a haughty grin. Getting under your skin with his smugness is about the only way to cheer him up, it seems, because he looks rather pleased when he adds, “it’s okay. Don’t blame ya for bein’ possessed by my impressive physique.”

“Too bad your personality isn’t as dazzling,” you quip back easily.

It’s meant to be lighthearted, of course—but it seems to be the wrong thing to say. Quite wrong, in fact, because as soon as the words escape you, he tenses before locking his jaw.

There’s a flash of something in his eyes. Something you don’t think you’ve ever seen in Sukuna’s face—doubt. It’s a little odd, in all realness. Sukuna is not a doubtful person. He’s confident, and he’s confident enough that it’s almost to a fault. He’s cocky and smug and sometimes a little too self-assured for it to be considered good for his health.

It’s a bit unsettling to see his face almost fall at something you say, especially when you just say it for the sake of light banter.

“Yeah?” He chuckles dryly. It sounds dangerously self-deprecating—enough that it makes you frown. “Good thing I have my abs to keep you glued to my side then, huh?”

“Well, it’s not just your abs,” you hum, one hand smoothing over his shirt to feel the ridges of his muscles through the shirt. “Your boobs are pretty great, too.”

To prove your point, you give his left pectoral a gentle squeeze. He scowls before shoving your hand away as blush creeps along the back of his neck.

“You fucking freak,” he mutters.

Something is bothering him. You know you can’t directly ask it out of him, otherwise he’ll deny it left and right, but something is bothering him. Sukuna is not good with words or emotions. In fact, he’s pretty awful at anything that has to do with anyone’s feelings. (He’s better about yours more than other’s, but he’s pretty far from good.)

You don’t mind. There’s something oddly charming about witnessing the way he navigates softening up for you—it’s like watching a baby take their first steps. Wobbly. Slow. Unsure. Pretty badly executed, but endearingly rewarding all at the same.

Except, this time, it’s not your emotions he’s navigating. For some reason, yours are easy than his own. Navigating yours means he doesn’t have to try. He knows you better than he knows himself. Knows when your feelings are hurt by the twitch of your brows alone. Knows you’re sad by the dimness in your eyes. Knows you’re pretending joy when your laugh is quieter than usual. Knows you’re faking it when your smile is a much more tight lipped and a less bright version.

But his own feelings are complicated. A lot more than he cares to try and understand them for. In true Sukuna fashion, he always aims to ignore his problems until they seemingly disappear.

But you’re too difficult to let that slide. He brushes things under the rug, and you pull the rug from under his feet and make him fall face first into his problems.

“Hey,” you nudge him, cupping his face with your hand gently, “what’s gotten into you? It’s weird when you’re not pissing me off a couple of times every hour.”

“And that’s supposed to be a good thing?” He challenges, like your words seem to tick him off more, “what are you sittin’ here for if I’m always pissing you off?”

Oh, you think. So that’s what it is.

You smile, humming before you gently tilt his face up. Something vulnerable is attached to that frown of his. Like he’s waiting for your answer because he needs something to hold onto. Some metaphorical lifeline where your feelings are attached to his own, just to keep you chained together. Where you’re always somewhere that he also is. Where he doesn’t have to care about his emotions because what you feel is what he feels, too, and as long as you’re okay, so is he.

But you care. You seem to care a pretty great deal because you lean in and brush your nose against his as you kiss his lips softly.

“Who cares if you piss me off?” You snort, “I piss you off better. I’m pretty good at it.”

“You are,” he agrees instantly.

You give him a fleeting huff against his mouth as you mumble, “you don’t have to agree so fast.”

It pulls a small laugh from him, making his arms snake around your waist and tug your body closer. Chest to chest, heartbeat thumping in two, synchronized rhythms.

“What happens when I’m all old and expiring and my abs are gone?” He raises a brow. You hum, stroking a thumb along his cheek as you smile and admire him.

“We’ll still be pissing each other off, I bet.”

“That’s supposed to be good?” He repeats, this time much more unsure. Anyone else could hardly catch the air of hesitance in his words, but you catch it instantly.

“Why not?” You shrug, “it always worked for us, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “that’s until it doesn’t.” He spits the words out, not meeting your eyes. It’s like they taste acrid is mouth and he can’t bring himself swallow them down.

You don’t say anything. Instead, you lean in and just press a line of kisses from his chin to the corner of his lips, purposely dodging his mouth and littering small, delicate pecks along his cheek. And then his forehead. And then the bridge of his nose.

Never his lips, though. And he gets increasingly frustrated by it.

“What are you waiting for?” He grumbles, eyeing you with a look that screams: quit fucking around.

You fight back an amused smile. “Does it piss you off?”

“Course it does. Kiss me properly or back off my face—”

“Cause you love me right?” You ask cheekily. He pauses, thinking on it for a moment before slumping wearily.

“And if I do?”

“You piss me off too. Because I love you too,” you whisper, forehead against his as your hands cradle his cheeks. Because you do.

When he texts late, and makes your blood boil, it’s only because you love him. When he’s brutally honest and doesn’t say what you want to hear, you’re only mad because you care what he thinks so much. When he’s stubborn and refuses to meet you halfway, you’re only angry because there’s no one else you’d rather cross the bridge with than him.

He pisses you off. You care enough to be pissed because it’s him. And when you piss him off too, he cares enough to deal with it because it’s you.

It’s a funny, twisted little way to love and be loved, but it works. For some odd reason, it does. It’s a seamless, smooth, crackless road.

You don’t ever fix something that’s not broken.

“That doesn’t make sense,” he sighs, resigning himself to your weird, roundabout explanation. You laugh, pinching his cheek as you grin brightly.

“That’s because you’re a bit dim.”

“Yeah,” he rolls his eyes, “okay. Anything else?”

“Yeah, actually. I love you.”

He pauses. Swallows for a moment before his arms tighten their grip on your hips just a smidge before burying his face into your neck and mumbling, “me too. Love you so much, it pisses me off.”

“I like to get under your skin like that,” you stroke his hair, beaming as you add, “guess you’ll just have to deal with it.”

His lips stretch into a small grin before a low, rumbling chuckle breathes itself against your skin. “Guess so.”

————————

a/n: insecure modern! au sukuna who doesn’t admit it and refuses to acknowledge that he’s aware he’s difficult to love and can’t understand why you love him but he also doesn’t want to question it for fear of scaring you away is very near and dear to me and i’ll be talking about it from my grave still. you’ll just hear my ghostly voice spooking you through the night talking about how he’s a softie deep down under all the layers. like an ogre okay? ogres have LAYERS.

[lowkeyren]

drunk words, sober thoughts!

in which — “taking your boss home after he gets drunk for the nth time this week” wasn’t in your job description; but as emotions run high, would you still choose to resist his advances?

pairing — aventurine x gn!reader

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆  — wc: 2.1k, consumption of alcohol (aven is drunk), he’s so down bad for u its not even funny anymore, topaz + jade cameo ;) reblogs w comments are appreciated! please enjoy <3

the persistent ringing of your phone jolts you awake, pulling you from the depths of sleep. groggily, you reach out, fingertips searching for the source of the disturbance amidst the darkness of the room.

with a grunt of frustration, you finally locate your phone on the bedside table. your eyes squint against the harsh glow of the screen, revealing topaz's name flashing insistently.

"hello..?" you answered, your voice thick with drowsiness. 

"hey friend, sorry to wake you." topaz said, quickly getting to the point, "aventurine's getting wasted at the tavern here. can you come get him?" 

you rub your eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. "aren’t you at the tavern too? why can't you do it instead..." you don't mean to sound rude, but anyone's mood would sour if they were woken up in the middle of their slumber, right? 

(and please just give me one night of peace, you want to add on)

but working as aventurine's secretary means there's barely ever any peace; you are constantly living a chaotic life, exhausted by his endless and, even more annoyingly, unpredictable shenanigans. maybe you shouldn’t have taken the position, but the pay and the view of his infuriatingly handsome face makes it all worthwhile.

topaz sighs. "trust me, i tried. but his stubborn ass is refusing to leave, i can't get through to him no matter what." 

in the background, you hear your boss call out to you, “mmmh [name]... c'meeere” his words slurred from the effects of alcohol. it's clear he's drunk; way too drunk actually. is he that far gone? you aren’t even there. 

it wasn't the first time he’s gotten this drunk, in fact he’s been drinking every other day lately —much to your concern. "alright, i'll be there soon." you reply, fully aware that his drunken antics would inevitably lead to a splitting headache.

"thanks. he's in pretty bad shape." topaz adds just as another slurred whine of your name cuts through the background. “...ugh, and please come quick” she hangs up before you can respond. you sigh again, throwing off the covers, and quickly dressing yourself before making your way to the tavern.

it looks like your night’s just getting started, because this is just another reminder of how taxing it is to clean up after your endearingly troublesome boss. 

as you step through the entrance of the tavern, your eyes scan the crowded space until they land on aventurine. he’s slumped over the counter, his head resting on his folded arms, and an array of empty glasses scattered around him. you notice topaz isn't beside him, and just as you reach for your phone, a notification pops up from her. 

"jade called, i have to go." fantastic, now you're stuck playing babysitter to your incredibly drunk boss all on your own. isn’t this just adding insult to injury..? you put your phone down, and make your way over to the counter, mentally bracing yourself for what’s to come. 

aventurine, whose cheeks are flushing from too many glasses of ale, immediately perks up when he catches sight of you. his posture shifts slightly, a clumsy attempt to straighten up. despite his dishevelled appearance and obvious inebriation, a sloppy grin spreads across his face; his usually sharp eyes now hazy, but his gaze remains unwavering.

“sir, it's time to go home. you’ve had enough for tonight.” you say firmly, your expression deadpan, the exhaustion in your system weighing heavily on you. “sweetheart... *hic* i missed youuuu," he slurs, words drawn out and muddled, the alcohol coating his tongue with each syllable. 

aventurine’s bleary eyes struggling to focus as they fix themselves on you, it’s evident he has it much worse tonight.  “mmh sweetheart, have i ever told you just how gorgeous you are?" his words linger in the air; though your expression remains indifferent, you can feel a subtle heat rising up your neck.

you hate how he has this effect on you, it shouldn't stir such feelings, especially given his role as your boss. though no matter the amount of times he effortlessly (re: shamelessly) slips endearments into your conversations, you can still sense the warmth bubbling up inside you —much to your dismay.

“yes sir, for the fourth time this week. and don’t try to distract me—” before you can finish, aventurine stumbles forward and envelops you in a tight embrace, the overpowering smell of alcohol engulfing your senses. his lips inches away from your ear, the proximity borders on suffocating in its allure; he rests his chin on your shoulder, his breath hot against your neck, stirring a rush of conflicting emotions within you.

you hadn’t had anything to drink tonight, so why are you feeling hazy, your head swirling with jumbled-up thoughts, and your body unexpectedly warming up? you fight to maintain your composure as aventurine holds you close, his grip unyielding.

“ahem… sir please release me immediately. ” you manage to say, your voice trembling slightly, cringing at your own words as it didn’t come out as stern as you had hoped.

aventurine seems to hesitate for a moment, his grip loosening ever so slightly, but he doesn't let go completely. “no… no sir, i’m not your sir” he mumbles, his words muffled against your shoulder.

two weeks ago, you would've redirected his attention firmly, steering clear of any personal entanglements that could complicate your working relationship. two weeks ago, you would’ve dismissed any hint of intimacy, and suppressed the flicker of attraction beneath layers of practicality and duty. 

now, however, your resolve falters as you stand enveloped in his embrace. the logical arguments that once guided your actions seem distant and irrelevant compared to the raw, magnetic pull of his presence.

in the face of his vulnerability, your defenses too crumble, leaving you grappling with conflicting impulses and unspoken desires —so you decide to indulge just this once.

“aventurine. there, happy?” you can feel his heart racing against yours, a syncopated rhythm that mirrors the tangle of emotions swirling within you. the line between professionalism and lovers has always been blurred between you. but now as his arms encircle you and his warmth seeps into your skin, it seems near impossible to define.

perhaps, all along, it was his intention for that line to fade away, to be erased completely.

he doesn’t respond with words, but instead holds you tighter, as if seeking solace in your presence. his name escapes your lips in a soft murmur, “kakavasha…?” the sound of your voice rings in his ear, lingering in the air like a whispered prayer.

he seems to delight in the way you utter his name, evident by how he savours each syllable like a rare delicacy.  you take his silence as your cue to continue, clearing your throat, “unfortunately the chauffeur is unable to make it at this hour, so i will—”

he cuts you off by releasing you from his grasp, yet keeps you ensconced in his arms, ensuring you face him directly. in the dim light, you finally get to see his flawless features up close for the first time tonight.

“i love you.” his words hang in the air, leaving you momentarily speechless. 

he stares into your eyes, a whirlwind of emotions surge within you. caught off guard, you let out a chuckle, unsure if his words are genuine or if he’s merely attempting to charm his way out of a situation again. 

“i bet you tell everyone that.” you shoot him an unimpressed look.

he pauses for a moment, his hands finding a comfortable place on your back before pulling you closer to him.  “i do.” he nods in confirmation, his gaze steady on yours. 

“i tell everyone that i love you.”

your heart skips a beat, actually no, you think you stopped breathing the moment those words left his mouth. does he know how much he tugs at your heartstrings? though you can’t help but wonder if he'll regret everything when he sobers up tomorrow. 

“aventurine, you’re drunk.” you say softly as you divert your gaze. "yes, and you’re everything i’ve ever wanted." he moves his free hand up to gently cup your cheek, eagerly waiting for the moment the room stops spinning so he can focus on your face again.

the world around you collapses the instant your eyes meet him again, it feels like he's baring his soul to you, grounding you with his touch, his presence. you gently place your hand over his that rests on your cheek, your voice barely above a whisper. "let's get you home first, and we can talk about this when you're sober."

“alright sweetheart, whatever you say...” he drawls out with a tipsy cadence, punctuated by his tightening hold on your back. you huff out in feign annoyance before grabbing his hand and dragging him out the tavern.

you navigate through the night with a very drunk aventurine leaning heavily against your side, his arm draped around your shoulder for support. “ugh you’re impossible when you’re drunk…” you chide with a playful roll of your eyes, half-supporting, and half-dragging him along. “please be reminded to give me a raise when this is over.”

aventurine’s occasional laughter punctuates through the quiet night, drawing the attention of a few late-night pedestrians who smile knowingly at the scene. and you swear you caught a glimpse of silver-white hair as you pass by an alley, maybe the lack of sleep is really taking a toll on you.

“you’re lucky you have a pretty face to make up for all this mess you’re dragging me through.” you remark subconsciously, only to be interrupted by him abruptly stopping in his tracks. he looks at you with a sheepish grin, cheeks still flushed.

“…you think i'm pretty?” 

you jab at him, maybe you should give him a few more while you have the chance. after all, he probably won't remember any of this tomorrow, right?

okay maybe aventurine wasn’t lying when he said he tells everyone that he loves you. (and apparently “everyone” includes his coworkers too)

the constant dinging of your phone makes you seriously consider launching it out the nearest window. you open the group chat and stare incredulously at the avalanche of texts flooding your screen.

[topaz sent an attachment]

seems like you weren’t hallucinating last night, topaz really was there —and she managed to snap a picture of you and aventurine.

“topaz?? i thought you had an emergency with jade”

“nah lol, jade was in on it”

“hope you had a great night dear, and make sure to let us know what happened~”

“you guys are menaces i swear!!!!”

before you can gather your thoughts, a pair of familiar arms wrap around your waist from behind, pulling you gently against his solid chest. you tense up, part of you wanting to melt into his hold; and despite your better judgement, you instinctively lean into him.

"so, what's the deal with you getting plastered every night?" you tease, momentarily forgetting about the texts as you turn your focus to aventurine.

“what else other than drowning out my sorrows over you, sweetheart.” he quips, sneaking a quick peck on your cheek, which you dodge just in time. 

“seriously? all those drinks were because you thought i wasn't into you?"

“hmm, yeah pretty much so.” he admits, truly his shamelessness knows no bounds.

“then i guess it’s about time you learn how to handle your losses.” you jest, nudging him as he raises an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. “there’s no need. i'll still tell you that i love you tomorrow, the day after, and every day after that until you finally let yourself believe it." 

aventurine will wait for the day you accept him, more than just your boss; he will wait for the day you whisper those three words, not just into his ear, but into the very depths of his heart. he will be there, patiently, until the day your soul finally speaks the truth that his heart has always known.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ 

masterlist

©lowkeyren 2024. please do not plagiarize, translate, repost on other platforms, or feed my works into ai.

[funsize-cenobites]

@prototypelq You left this in the tags and I am nothing if not a Patty Propagandist

You're so right and you SHOULD say it louder.

Really want Patty & Vergil to meet cause there are two ways I see it going down:

1. She knows exactly who he is and what he's done. And she, being the guttiest kid in town, has no problem getting right up in his face and chewing him out for it and how much he hurt Dante

(Dante is, of course, laughing his ass off while Vergil receives a patented dose of Patty Wrath)

or

2. Dante just never once mentioned or alluded to the fact he had a twin for ten years (and somehow neither did Lady or Trish) so when she sees Vergil for the first time she gets to have the "Holy shit, there's two of them?!" experience

[plussizeficchick]

Artist Boyfriend | Jungkook x Chubby!Reader

Summary; “He’s not my real boyfriend, he’s my artist boyfriend.” (Loosely based on the movie “Dinner in America”, and this edit.)

Warnings: Street Artist!Jungkook, public sex, P in V, panty sniffing, breeding kink, mildly jealous Jungkook, somewhat bad boy!jk? (He runs from the law).

Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest when you hear someone practically fall into your flower shop. You lean your head over the oak counter, looking to see who it was. 

He had dark hair, the curls slick with sweat making them more pronounced. He was breathing heavily, and you’d be lying if you said his labored breaths weren’t causing a heat to build in your lower stomach. 

Get it together (Y/N)!

“Hey, you need some help?” Jungkook’s head jolts in the direction of your voice. You hold up your hands in mock surrender, showing that you mean no harm. 

This was bad. Really bad. Pretty soon the cops would be rounding the corner looking for “him” but there was nowhere for him to hide besides the flower shop that he accidentally stumbled into. “Uh, I-” He was at a loss for words as his eyes ran over your plump figure. 

You were fucking beautiful.

You wore an off the shoulder sundress that hugged your stomach and tits quite nicely, if he says so himself. Your thick thighs were on display, making his mouth water slightly at the thought of possibly feeling those wrapped around his head. 

“Mister?” You furrow your brows, what’s up with this guy? “Hide me.” Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head. “Huh?!” He quickly shushes you, his warm eyes softening, almost pleading with you. “Please, hide me. I’ll explain after.” You don’t know what compels you, but you end up agreeing, hiding him behind your counter, just in time for the cops to rear their heads. 

“‘Scuse us ma’am, have you seen a young man running in this direction? Black ski mask, dark clothes, the like.” You do your best to be convincing, “Yeah! Saw him run down that way, though it looked like he hopped on a bus.” You shrug. The police turn their heads just in time to see a bus leaving the stop. One tosses his hat to the ground, visibly upset, “Damn it! We had that little shit! We were so close!” You’re a bit startled at the display, eyes shifting to the fugitive that you’ve essentially housed. “Calm down, Han before you scare the poor girl.” He gestures towards you. “We’ll get him next time. Thank you for your help, miss.” You bid them farewell, and when you’re sure that they won’t be returning, you lock your door, turning over the Out For Lunch sign.

“Explain.” You say, arms folded over your chest. You may not have meant to, but the action causes your breast to accentuate, the fat practically spilling over the top. Oh to feel the sweet softness, to feel them squeezed in the palm of his hands. To fuck his dick in the middle of the soft mounds of flesh. “Hello!” You wave your hand in front of his face. Maybe this was a bad idea? “What? Oh right- sorry. Well you see I did some graffiti and let’s just say, they didn’t take too kindly to me “defacing public property” or whatever.” He brushes off, hands resting in his black jean pocket.

He was attractive, in a sort of endearingly punk sort of way. He was dressed in majority black, with pops of color from the various wristbands that he had on each wrist. Said wristbands drew attention to his hands, the few veins that ran along them and his surprisingly long fingers. What you wouldn’t give to feel them inside you. Curling up and finding that delicious spot inside you. “Hey, miss?” He snaps his fingers in front of your face, was this what he was like? It was quite… amusing.

You snap out of your reverie, an adorable pout making its way to your lips, “Don’t call me “miss”, makes me feel old.” You mutter, and Jungkook wants nothing more than to kiss your puckered lips. “Well, sorryyy,” he drags out the word as he looks down to read your nametag, “(Y/N), anyway, apparently my art is “illegal” so I kind of had to cut loose.” He clicks his tongue to emphasize his point. You size him up, “What type of graffiti?” You ask. He balks at you, it’s rare for him to find a girl interested in that kind of thing. “Huh?” “I’m pretty familiar with the scene around here, so what kind of work do you do? Tag? Blockbuster?” You prompt, and Jungkook feels himself falling for you already. 

“I- Freestyle. I freestyle, really.” He says, fumbling over his words. You run your eyes over his figure before you settle on his eyes. Cute. “You’ll have to show me your work sometime.” You tease, moving to tend to your flowers. Jungkook follows close behind, your scent of warm vanilla and lilies drawing him in. “Maybe.” He flirts back. “Say, how do you know so much about this kind of stuff anyway?” He asks, eyeing a bouquet of white roses that’d look very nice in your possession. You jolt your head to look at him, an incredulous look on your face, “What? I don’t look like I know that kind of thing?” You sass. Jungkook nearly chokes on his spit, “W-what? No! No, that’s not w-” He’s cut off by the sound of your melodic laugh, “I’m just kidding, chill out.” You say, pulling a small chuckle from him. “Ha-ha very funny.” He deadpans. You smile brightly up at him, your chubby cheeks lifting at the action. “To answer your question, Mister fugitive-” “You know if you want my name, you can just ask.” He winks. “Anyway, I’ve been in the street art scene for a while. I’m not really good at doing it, but I do have my favorite artists.” You shrug. 

Jungkook’s intrigued, eager to hear more. “Really?” Who’s your favorite?” He asks, and you’d be lying if his excitement wasn’t infectious. You giggle at his eagerness, “Well, there’s not much known about him and no one has seen him yet. According to a lot of people, he never signs his work.” “And I take it that you don’t agree.” He says. You shake your head, “There’s this group that thinks his signature is in his work and I agree. The most common letters seen in his work is JK. With the type of art he does, there’s no way that you don’t want your signature on something like that. But I also understand him not wanting to take away from the art. So why not try to find a way to sign it, while also making it part of the art?” You say, looking up at him to gauge his reaction. Jungkook feels himself nodding before he realizes, “That actually makes a lot of sense. I’ll have to see this guy’s work. I mean, if I’m going to be the top artist in your life.” He smirks. You feel your cheeks heat up, a smile unconsciously making its way to your face. “And what makes you think you’ll be my favorite?” You say, tapping a finger against your chin. Jungkook plucks one of the many white roses he was eyeing, extending it towards you. “I know so.”

— —

It didn’t take long for Jungkook to come by your flower shop regularly, always sure to buy and leave a flower with you each time he came. And it took even less time for you to start dating, the tension between the both of you too palpable to ignore.

It was an accident really. You had decided that you wanted to show your closest friend one of the most recent works of your favorite graffiti artist, practically dragging him to the mural. “Hurry uppp, slowpoke. I wanna show you my boyfriend’s work.” You suddenly feel Jungkook come to an abrupt halt. “Boyfriend? I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.” He says, an adorable pout making its way to his plump, pink lips. 

So cute you just want to kiss it off.

“Not my real boyfriend, silly.” You giggle at the confused, almost puppy dog look he gives you. “He’s not my actual boyfriend, he’s my artist boyfriend. I wouldn’t actually date him.” You scoff playfully, turning around to guide him into the direction you were going.

When you both finally reach your favorite artist’s work and after a while of admiring it, you notice Jungkook shifting uncomfortably next to you. “Are you okay? We don’t have to stay.” You reassure him. You barely have time to register him grabbing your hand and practically dragging you away from the other street artists.

He pulls you into an alley, far from prying ears and eyes and before you get the chance to ask him what happened, he presses his lips firmly against yours. “I’m JK.” He says when he finally pulls away from you. Your eyes widen to the size of saucers, all types of questions on your tongue. “I had to come with you to make sure that it was me that you were talking about and now that I know I can’t keep that part of myself away from you. Especially since I’m your “artist boyfriend”.” He says, nervously gnawing on his lip ring.

How? When did he find the time? Could he kiss you like that again?

You hadn't even realized you asked the last question aloud until you hear the slight chuckle that you’ve come to fall in love with. “Sure, but are you gonna keep my secret for me?” He asks, that sinister smirk making its way to his lips. 

Before you know it you're nodding your head, eager to feel his soft lips against yours as he runs his hands along your soft body. Fuck he never gets tired of feeling you against him. The sharp contrast of hard to soft, the way you practically melt into him.

It’s just too fucking delectable to pass up.

The tension between you both builds, the kiss gradually heating up and becoming more intense as the seconds pass. You wrap your arms around his neck just as he lifts up one of your legs to wrap around him. You both groan at the glorious friction, his clothed cock grinding against your puffy pussy making slick pool in your already sticky panties. “Please,” You mewl against his lips, the chill of his lip ring feeling tantalizing against your lips. “Please what, pretty? You gotta tell me what you want.” He breathes against your lips, the smell of his mint gum and cologne pulling you in. You whine, threats of a tantrum rearing it’s head. “Kookie, please don’t tease.” Jungkook chuckles, before slightly pulling away from you.

You reach out for him, chubby arms holding onto him for dear life, “Kook, please. Fuck me. Touch me. I need something.” You groan against him as you practically dry hump him. Jungkook decides to take pity on you and all but rips the flimsy thong you’re wearing off of you. You barely had time to register before he was shoving the piece of cloth against his nose, your scent washing over his senses. 

He quickly pockets the piece of fabric. You’re on borrowed time, it’s only a matter of time before another couple comes along for their own salacious activities and as adventurous as Jungkook is, you’re his to look at. 

He just manages to tug down his zipper and pull his semi hard cock out, before he uses your slick to coat his cock, running his dick along your wet cunt. “Fuck me, Jungkook. Fill me up. Wanna be full.” You moan into his ear. The sound of your breathy voice in his ear does something to Jungkook and without warning, he slams himself inside you to the hilt. You groan at the intrusion, never truly having got used to his size as yet. “Fuck! Yes, baby. That’s it. Give me that pussy.” Jungkook groans into your neck. He’s sucking hickies and leaving small, wet kisses along your throat and the exposed skin on your chest. You moan at the feeling, reaching up to bring his lips to yours. 

He reaches one hand up to palm at one of your tits, squeezing and molding the flesh to fit his large hand. You whimper when you feel him squeeze your nipple under your dress, causing your pussy to squeeze around him involuntarily. You both moan into each other's mouths, your pussy clenching and unclenching around the thickness of his cock each time he punches the soft, gummy spot inside you. “Cum for me.” He grunts, cock throbbing as it aches to empty itself in your womb. “Soak my fucking dick, baby. Get me nice and wet, pretty. Cause I’m gonna fill you up. Stuff you to the fucking brim.” You cry out as your orgasm washes over you, your pussy squelching as you milk his orgasm for everything it’s worth. “Cum in me. Fill me up, baby. Wanna be so full it leaks out.” You moan into his mouth, eyes locked together. It doesn’t take long, a few more thrusts and he’s spilling into you, the warmth of his seed settling deep inside your stomach.

You both take a few seconds for your highs to come down and before long, you start to giggle. “Were you jealous, Kookie?” Jungkook pulls away slightly to pout at you, lips all pretty and kiss-swollen.

“Was not.”

— —

Taglist: @xogabbiexo @kinq-sleazee @dabilovesme @blkchxrryblyss @tenyaiidasslut @cherries-c0la @bookwormsenpai @bl--ankhaeji @thicksimpx @namjoonswifeyy @nasty-quillz @musicisme333 @unsatisfiedanddisappointed @celi-xxmoon @c0pkiller

[chaedomi]

𝐉𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐀 ✦ wmmap

fem!child!reader x athanasia + claude de alger obelia (platonic!yan), violence, death, suicide, unhealthy relationships; to them you were a jewel, precious and highly valuable. they, in turn, will express their strong emotions toward you, even if it means resorting to… more hostile methods. ꨄ — masterlist

IN THE novel, Lovely Princess, the story went like this. True to its title, the book contained Lovely Princesses. There was The First Princess, akin to the moon, who held a gloomy and foggy disposition. Then came The Second Princess, resembling the sun, bright and cheery. And finally, The Third Princess, similar to the stars, was reserved but gentle and a source of comfort.

You were… The First Princess’s younger half-sister. Although your mother was unknown (you were found inside a basket in the gardens crying) those jeweled eyes and your uncanny appearance close to The Emperor were solid proof that you were in fact of royal blood. It was… certainly strange to learn that the book entailed you as an 'unimportant' character. While The Second Princess was adored by the whole continent, the love the people harbored for you, The Third Princess, could put The Second Princess to shame. They treated you as though you were some supreme gift bestowed from the heavens, to be treasured and pampered. And among those who glorified you… was your father, The Cold-Hearted Emperor. You were like The Protagonist more than The Second Princess could ever be.

You were also… the best sister anyone could ask for to The First Princess. Because The First Princess was deprived of affection in her life, she mostly relied on you to fill the gaps in her heart. And you endearingly did so, trying your best to shine a light inside her darkness. It soon became that you both were inseparable, attached by the hip.

…So, obviously, you will spiral down into despair over The First Princess's death. You knew The First Princess was innocent of The Second Princess's poisoning. She was simply too sweet to commit a vile act, especially when she too took a liking to The Second Princess. But, alas, your reasoning went through one ear and out the other, and without proper evidence, your father executed The First Princess.

However, just as The Emperor's wrath was not to be underestimated, so was the extent of your grief as you promptly took away your life hours after The First Princess's execution. And that was the sad ending of your story, The Third Princess.

HOW WAS THAT ANY FAIR??? The confusion of the roles and the cheesy plotline were already bad enough on their own, but your unnecessary death pretty much destroyed the chances of her leaving a positive review. Was it done to reestablish the fact you were an unimportant character, or to remind everyone that The Second Princess is the original best girl in the story…? No amount of copious explanations can ever make ATHANASIA understand the validation for your death.

What she can come to understand however is that you, out of all people, did NOT deserve to die. You had all the rights to receive a happy ending just like The Second Princess… and that is what she aspired to make a reality as she was tossed into the fantasy world of the novel. It was obvious that it all went to hell when The First Princess was executed at the hands of The Emperor. So, in order to avoid your death, she will have to avoid hers first.

A genius plan, she dubbed it, stealing various riches from the Ruby Palace to live the rest of her life on as she escapes. She also thought of the brilliant idea of taking you along with her, after all, being inside the palace is kind of… the reason for your death, was it not!? Why not avoid the source altogether!? Or… that is what was supposed to happen before she accidentally stumbled across The Emperor four years early. Now, she will have to scrap that genius plan. Damn…

On a bright note, as time passed, using an alternative plan, Athanasia eventually evaded all chances of earning death at the hands of her father. This means that you too won’t have a pitiful ending as you originally did! Yay!

You truly didn’t deserve to die, and Athanasia will keep on saying it as much as needed. The years she spent beside you as your sister, further strengthened her motivation to keep you alive. She also understood why The First Princess had a strong attachment toward you. Innocent, Pure, Patient, Merciful, and Kind… who wouldn’t swoon over a person with such admirable traits? What struck her heart the way it did, was your affection. In her previous life, Athanasia… didn’t have people around her to provide her with love.

So, it surprised her a lot when it happened. Sure, she had love from her Nanny and the rest of the maids, but yours had her heart pumping, energy rushing through her veins. It was warm… a feeling she wanted to cling to for an eternity. Was it silly that she felt envious of a fictional character? To think that The First Princess was subjected to this kind of treatment from you… How did it feel to live her dream? Not that it matters anymore. Now, she can have you to all herself! You wouldn’t mind if she got a little… greedy, right? Of course, you won’t! After all, if you learned of her tremendous effort to keep you safe, why wouldn’t you reward her with more of your presence? What she does is in your favor. So, don’t get too upset if what she does seems a bit extreme, alright? It’s all for your benefit.

Betrayal can hurt. But, betrayal stings when it comes from the person you trusted and loved the most. You didn’t understand why it had upset her more than it upsetted you. More so, if she was so against the idea, why hadn’t she said so first? She was supportive about it too, choosing to help pick out a perfect disguise for your outing in the town. So why was it that on the day you were about to leave, lo and behold, there was your father by your doorway, inclusive of his knight… and your sister beside him, smiling triumphantly? Maybe if you had paid attention to how the shine left your sister’s eyes as you told her of your plan, you could have avoided such a dreadful punishment.

What bugged you the most was how Athanasia carried out her day normally, and acted sweetly to you, as if she didn’t partially contribute to the punishment of breaking your legs. Today was no different, as she sat on the chair beside your bed rambling on about her day. “You know, that’s the most I’ve seen Daddy upset.” She laughed, tracing her finger down your legs. “Usually, he would never dream of even hurting a strand of your hair. What you’ve done was really bad…”

She smiled at you, her jeweled eyes looking all the more terrifying under the dark lighting in your room. “I don’t understand. I should feel despaired seeing my sister in so much pain. Why does it bring me so much relief?” She sighed, holding one of your hands in hers. “...You scared me terribly with what you told me earlier. My mind couldn’t stop focusing on the many possibilities that would arise with you out there. Even worse, what if they learned of your true identity, and an enemy nearby attacks you?”

“I agreed with your plan, solely to avoid trouble. If I said no, you would have avoided me, right? I… don’t ever want to see you in danger, or place you in it, knowing I could have done something to prevent it. Not like anything like that will happen anytime soon!” She gently poked your injured legs. “I will help ensure that too.” You didn’t realize that the tears building in your eyes began to fall, your sister’s fingers quickly working to wipe them away.

In the novel, CLAUDE naturally favored you more than The First Princess. Upon your first encounter during the festival on The First Princess’s ninth birthday, with an outstretched hand, he escorted you back to the party, leaving your older sister in the dust. You lived a rather lavish life after that, him spoiling you with exquisite goods. So, it’s not like you had to form some extreme plan like Athanasia to protect yourself from the dangers that lurked inside the palace. Everyone here adored you…

Yet, not only did Athanasia’s interference with the plotline create many changes for her, but it also resulted in triggering unsettling events for you. Now that The Cold-Hearted Emperor has learned to display affection for the firstborn he originally detested, where would that place you, the daughter he always loved?

…His methods were very much frightening, even traumatizing, you may add. The numerous times you witnessed something gruesome to the eye, for the littlest offenses toward you. He would imprison, he would murder, he would execute, all in your name. His presence too, was very much suffocating, more than Athanasia, and that spoke volumes.

You hated how they both attached themselves to you, but, if you had to choose, you would pick Athanasia in a heartbeat. For the cold jeweled eyes that scrutinized every movement you made were too much for your poor heart to endure. It was as though he was waiting, waiting for your slip-up, to gain a perfect reason to permanently confine you behind the walls of your bedroom. And you fear… that the day you kissed your freedom goodbye was approaching quicker than you initially anticipated.

“What will it take for you to treat me as normally as the rest?” the (h.c) haired girl wept, clutching on tightly her father’s robes. “Shall I become like my sister, Athanasia? If I do… will I become like a free bird, and be granted more privileges?” grief-stricken jeweled eyes peered up at her father. “Will you finally release me from the shackles you trapped me in?”

“Do what you want,” her father smirked. but, as quickly as her hope came so was it shattered. the piercing concept. his voice in her ears was the cruelest of them all. “Such a thing won’t happen till the day I perish.” what a terrible vow. she knew he would do anything in his power to maintain his promise. and so, the deepest of despair like never before flooded her eyes. what have you done to receive this…?

you were very precious. nothing, not even the rarest pieces in the world could be compared to you; you were the highest value among them all. for all, it was a high requirement to treat you with the utmost importance and respect. yes, to them, to everyone, you were, the jewel of obelia.

©chaedomi. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of the works published.

[hellbornsworld]

JUNGKOOK FANFIC RECOMMENDATIONS-11

🎀 Angel Eyes by @bunnyhugs77 - OneShot

Pairing: Patient! Jungkook x Reader

"You're such a bad influence, y'know? I can't believe you really almost made me do that." His bunny-like smile is on display when he speaks, "That wasn't me, that was your instinct. For a brief second, you just listened to your heart."

🎀 Falling Skies by @fortunexkookie - Series

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader

Jeon Jiyeon was your childhood best friend; her brother, Jungkook, was something else entirely. You used to be friends, but then he had gone from endearingly frustrating dumb boy to card-carrying fuckboy so fast it had given you whiplash. Despite the teasing and fighting, Jiyeon had realized how Jungkook felt about you long before he did. It was a twin thing. 

🎀 SNOW IMPRINTS by @2hightocare - OneShot

Paring: DILF!JK X Reader

What was supposed to be a family reunion, ends in comparing dick sizes.

🎀 Peach. by @hongjoongscafe - OneShot

Pairing: Professor!jungkook X Camgirl!reader

where his lust and admiration fell for a camgirl.

🎀 slow dancing by @yoonia - Series

Pairings: Jungkook x reader / Namjoon x reader

When your countdown appeared on your wrist right on the morning of your eighteenth birthday, you had thought that perhaps the universe was on your side, especially since the final seconds were already ticking so soon. You just never expected to have your first meeting with your soulmate to be the day when you had to let him go. But hope was not lost when you still found love without the bond, and Jungkook showed you that it was possible to find happiness beyond the system that was written for you. Except that the universe doesn’t seem to have enough of its game, when your past sacrifice comes back hitting you straight in the face, just when you had believed that you had written off the perfect ending to your bittersweet tale.

🎀 Magic Shop by @jungkookiebus - OneShot

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: tea shop owner!jjk x reader 

you thought after three years the hurt in your heart for your dead husband would sting a little less than it did. in an attempt to clear your mind and start anew, you move to a small, coastal town. there, you find comfort in a tea shop run by a man named jeongguk. every day, at the same time, you come to the tea shop and soon start to fall for the bright-eyed man that listens to you pour your heart out. but the guilt settling in your stomach every time you think of your husband has you running from jeongguk entirely. do you have what it takes to let go?

🎀 bewitched by @jkabbi - Series

pairing: jungkook x reader

Former neighbors turned lovers, your enchanting romance with Jungkook takes a magical turn. A spell to protect him shapes your past, and now, as a flower shop owner, an unexpected reunion brings buried secrets to light. Past and present collide in a captivating tale of love and mystery.

🎀 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢 by @pennyellee - OneShot

pairings: heartthrob!jk, yandere!jk x fashion employee f!reader

You, a determined fashion designer, find yourself entangled in a collaboration with the irresistibly charming and egotistic heartthrob, Jeon Jungkook. Will this partnership remain strictly professional, or will he make the lines blur?

🎀 nepenthe by @lively-potter - OneShot

Pairing: CEO!JK X Reader

in which solaris celeste vesper, a sad girl with an unfortunate upbringing meets a man far older than her and, within his presence, her sorrow fades into nothingness.

Also in which jeon jungkook finds the sun he so desperately needed in his life.

🎀 PREDESTINED by @keen-li - OneShot

Pairing: Mortal/commer jk x goddess reader

"You shouldn't be here" you say with a smile. Legally he shouldn't be here but personally you're glad he's here.

🎀 SX Seoul by lo1k-diamonds - TwoShot

PAIRING: Jungkook X Reader

You're back in town and your first stop in a night out with friends is a new club: SX Seoul. You had no plans, but when you see your ex, everything changes.

🎀 oxygen by @gimmethatagustd - OneShot

Pairing: Mafia!Jungkook x f!Reader

If you get caught, you'll both die. Jungkook wants to be yours anyway.

🎀 ALL AT ONCE by @muniimyg - Series

pairings: unhinged jungkook + shy oc

jungkook confesses and you're in denial

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ♫♬♪ ♫♬♪

[bokutizer]

dada's so pwetty!

Includes : Sakusa, Oikawa, Suna Summary : Just a few daughters being enchanted by their dadas' looks Tags : fem!reader, fluff, domestic bliss pt. 2

You don't know what it is about SAKUSA, but you're sure he must be able to use some kind of sorcery. Because while you usually spend hours of playing volleyball with your daughter in your garden in hopes of tiring her out, reading to her, preparing a glass of warm milk for her before bed- While you do all of that to get your little mouse to sleep, all Sakusa has to do is lie down with her. That's it. Not a single effort needed. You would have kept on hanging onto your sorcery theory if one day you had not been silently standing outside of your daughter's room, the door slightly ajar and allowing you to view her and your husband lying together in her bed.

Sakusa is quiet as he lets her play with the dark curls on his head, his arm loosely wrapped around her back and keeping her close to him. He watches the way the ends of his hair wrap around her chubby fingers, the sight of it probably having an entrancing effect on her by the way her eyes slowly start getting droopier. It's usually like this. And it only takes a few minutes until her hand falls limply beside her head, and soft quiet snores start leaving her mouth. This time, however, Sakusa's able to hear her mutter something under her breath before her eyes fall shut. "Dada's so pretty." It's thanks to the complete silence in the room that he's able to hear it. And as always, Sakusa carefully gets up from the bed, tucking the blanket to her chin, and placing a soft peck against her forehead. Though, he doesn't realise that this time his lips linger there a little longer than usual. No sorcery then. Just love.

Shrieks and giggles resonate through the house as OIKAWA chases after the barely three feet short creature with a Yoda mask. You smile and shake your head absentmindedly at the tramping noises they make while speeding from the upper floor down the stairs, and into the kitchen where you're currently making dinner. You hear your daughter calling out to you for help, and you immediately lower the temperature of the stove before you feel her wrap her arms around your leg, trying to hide behind you. Both, Oikawa and you, smile knowingly at each other before he approaches you and wraps an arm around your waist.

"I see one pretty girl, but I could be swearing we had two of those in this house." Five years and one child later, and he's still the same smooth-talker, you think. But his talking does its work, as per usual, when you feel the grip on your leg loosen. "I'm here!" your daughter yells and slips her mask over her head, letting it fall to the ground. She laughs at Oikawa's faux and dramatic astonishment as he swiftly picks her up and holds her up against his chest, tenderly brushing his nose against hers. Small hands grab ahold of his face, his cheeks cradled in her soft palms when she speaks with an endearingly serious expression. "But dada's also pwetty, right mama?" She turns around and looks at you as if waiting for you to approve her statement. And of course you do, especially once you notice some moisture gathering in Oikawa's joyfully sparkling eyes as you lean over to press one peck on a chubby cheek and the other on one that somehow looks rosier than usual. "Yeah, he is."

SUNA always wonders how they do it. These menaces. These bad influences. These hooligans- The Miya twins. He will never understand why their annoyingly stupid antics are so hilarious to his daughter. So hilarious that she even once claimed wanting to marry one of them when she gets older. (At least she was referring to 'Samu, he thinks.) But as he watches Atsumu hold his daughter's fox plushy that Kita had once gifted her for her third birthday, moving it back and forth while talking in that high pitched voice, he has to admit that the twins can be quite an attraction. His daughter obviously thinks the same as she attentively listens to what Mr. Foxy (the toy - or rather Atsumu?) has to tell her.

Yes, the Miya twins are all fun and games. But there is only so much of excitement and action that a four year old's body can take. And once the exhaustion sets in, triggering her cranky and moody side, the only one she wants to be with are either her mommy or daddy. Luckily, the onigri shop has quietened down, only a few customers left that are finishing their meals. "C'mere." Suna says softly when he notices his daughter's eyes glaze over with sleepiness and she starts rubbing them. He's quick to cradle her against his chest, completely dwarfing her, as his hands rub small circles along her back when she leans her head against his shoulder. "We're leaving soon, then we'll go sleep. That' sound good?" He feels her cheek brush against his shirt as she quietly nods, but before her daddy's light strokes along her back and hair lull her to sleep, she catches uncle 'Tsumu say something to uncle 'Samu while holding her plushy up. "Check this. Mr Foxy looks just like Sunarin." Hearing their snickers, Suna swears he's about to give them a child-friendly comeback until a frail, whispering voice catches him off-guard. "Nuh-uh. Dada's prettier than Mr. Foxy." He's just glad the twins didn't catch it, otherwise he wouldn't hear the end of it.

[paleroze]

Diluc Imagines 🔞

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ ᡣ𐭩

What a sight, to see Diluc kneeling in front of you.. a smirk on your lips as you claimed the victory after he lost in chess with you. What is a great reward you could think of? To see Diluc be submissive just for once.

It was delightful, you couldn't lie. A man that is considered to be deadly, who you heard could be ruthless, a man who always has a glare on his face and the world's problem seems it put its weight on his shoulders.

Diluc who turned out to be the sweetest man you met that falls in love with you, who did everything just to have you and for you to return his feelings. What rumors does the city does to make him look like a bad guy? Sure you've heard of his stories when he personally told him his expedition, his own self-exile and slaughtered many fatui, but he's just a man. He's your man.

Your gaze upon him makes him squirm, not used to your eyes staring at his figure that always pressed you on the bed, making you scream as you take his cock whole and creampies you.

"Love?"

You hummed when he calls you, a smile on your lips never falters. Which widens when you saw how his face is red as his hair, what a cutie indeed.

"Just enjoying the sight, don't mind me," You reply as you cross you legs and rests your chin on your fist. "You look lovely, by the way." You laugh when Diluc frowns as he looked away, turning red even further from your compliment.

Many thoughts are running in your mind, and all of them involves you taking him, controlling him to the point he would beg to be inside you, to touch you. Diluc loves your body, he loves how your warm tight hole struggles to take him, how your pussy gets so wet just by being touch, your chests he would hold as he kisses your neck, your lips.

He just loves you so fucking much.

Ah, thinking about him already makes you wet.. and you couldn't help to bite your lips as your pussy clunches into nothing.

Diluc could see the hearts in your eyes as you gazes down on him, your face getting flustered as you bit your lip and smiles.

You look like you're ready to ravish him any moment..

"Take off your shirt." You ordered suddenly, which makes him look up after scanning your body, to your figure down to your crossed leg. He listens, unbuttoning his shirt until it hangs on to his shoulders, you signals him to come closer until Diluc is a feet away which you could reach him. Your fingers gently tug off his shirt, pushing it off until his pecks are out and your gaze goes lower down to his abs and groin.

"Look at you, getting pent up just by being looked down?" You chuckled, your hand traveling to his neck until it rests on his chin which he rests upon. He loves your touch.

"Because it's you.. Whatever you do turns me on." He whispers, looking at you through his eyelashes.

You hum, "Naughty boy, you are.." You whispers, clicking your tongue and shaking your head. "I should punish you."

A punishment of teasing, until he couldn't hold back. Your hands travel everywhere his body, exploring the skin you're accustomed to, the lingering marks the other night is still visible on his neck that was once covered with his buttoned shirt, you keep your palm on his face which he keeps leaning on to yet before he gets comfortable you would pull away. Diluc didn't fail to notice that your foot began to trail to his thighs until it rests on his clothed erection. You press lightly, watching his expression as it shifts to a frown as he felt the pressure.

"Eyes up here, Master Diluc." You called and lifts his chin for him to look at you.

How funny, calling him Master yet he's in no control.

"Please.." He begged, thrusting his hips to your feet that earned his a moan. "Please, let me touch you."

He calls your name endearingly, begs for it as you remain seated, not wanting for this moment to end. Diluc is a mess under you despite not you not going further into touching.

"Go on, relive yourself." You pull away and rests your back on the chair, he frowned, unsure of what you meant but slowly, he began to unzip his pants until his cock is free. Your eyes travel down to see the tip of his cock to be red and leaking of pre-cum and when his hand wraps around it, you almost moan from it alone.

Diluc is big even down there, you struggle to give him a blowjob, it hits the back of your throat but it felt so good. Even in hand, you had to use your mouth either way, but him? The way his huge hand just wraps perfectly around his cock, you realize everything that Diluc has is big, it is a surprise how you can take him... almost everyday.

You hear a whimper from him which causes you to stop from daydreaming and actually feast on the sight before you. And dear celestia, the face Diluc is making is so beautiful and hot. Your smile grew wider and you don't care if you look like a pervert at this point.

He moans your name as he pumps his cock with his hand, the fact that he doesn't need any lubricant but instead he uses his own cum makes you squirm on your seat.

"Darling.. I'm so close, please.. please let me cum.. I– fuck~" he sobbed, looking up at you teary eyed as he keeps jerking himself. "My love– please please, I'm gonna come, I want to cum–"

You leaned down and removes his hand and you began to finish him off, Diluc moaned and thrusts his hips into your hands as you move your hand up and down to his cock, your thumb rolling in circles on his tip in which he likes the most. He cried out your name as he cums on your hand, you keep moving despite the protest, his hand on your wrist doing nothing to stop you. You love it when he became sensitive, he's moaning that made you finally finally kiss him to shut him.

Diluc had never been this loud.

As you pull away, your hand also lets go of his now soft cock, still covered with cum, you took a taste.

"Come here."

Diluc moves until his head rests on your thighs, sighing as he calmed down. Your other hand brushes his red hair that sent comfort in him. "I love you." He whispers, looking up at you.

You smile, leaning to kiss his forehead, "I love you too."

[i-starcreamed]

Since you enjoy the trope, how about "only one circuit slab" with your choice of bot? :3 you know who my #1 is but go with whoever you think it would be most fun with. (If you want a more specific setup I'd be happy to toss some ideas around with you)

hopefully these are good...i had to go with OUR #1 and a couple other bots :3 although you already know that bc you helped with the silly ideas. did not edit this btw my bad if its all over the place

also human reader!! These turned out way longer than I thought, I think idk how to write headcanons and end up writing short imagines but eh, I was inspired

Post includes -> Swerve, Rodimus, and TFP Ratchet

MTMTE Swerve

A completely normal day on the LL, Swerve had closed down his bar for the day and you had stayed back to talk to him even as the last bot left the place. Being the friendly bot he is, he offered to give you a ride back to your room which you accepted

As you rode down the halls of the ship, Swerve mentioned how he has been looking for a roommate for like, ever, and since his room was big enough for another bot it was surely perfect for you.

You agreed of course and he immediately made plans to show you around his humble abode

Well guess what?

You turned the corner and instead of seeing his room there was a big ass crater in place of it

Your jaws dropped and agreed that he can stay In your room instead...at least until his room is rebuilt. Roommates, right?

Only problem blessing was that you had one bed

After some light arguing of who sleeps where, you both settled that you'll sleep awkwardly next to him where he wouldn't crush you and he would turn the other way. You settled down and stared at the ceiling as you stiffly lay there, wanting to give him his space. He respectfully gave you your space but continued to try to make conversation, although it was a bit awkward since you two weren't facing eachother

Another problem arose, you were on the edge of the bed and weren't use to not being nestled into your blankets, the ship was cold, you started shivering.

"I don't even know if you can hear me right now, I mean its not that muffled right? I can always speak a little clearer or louder but I shouldn't keep you up. Are you tired yet? I don't want to-"

"Swerve? Can you turn around?"

He turned and faced the ceiling while his helm turned towards you, he was about to inquire but was immediately silenced when you started climbing him and put down your pillows and blankets on his chest.

"It's uh, its cold. I could always move if you mind th-"

"No."

He blurted out. You could feel the metal beneath you radiate pure heat, more than usual. It was comforting. You sigh and lay down, cuddling up against your blankets and well, him, the best way you could. You could feel the soft hum of his spark beneath you, it was comforting. You didn't pay attention to the way your face heat up as your eyes fluttered shut

Swerve could only lay there, absolutely frozen. For once he was at a loss for words and he wondered if you could tell his spark felt like shooting out of his chest

He slowly reached out, his servo hovering above you for a second. You said you were cold, right? He hesitantly placed one servo above you, it ever so gently cradled your sleeping form.

You bet with that amount of warmth you got the best sleep of your life

He was NOT able to recharge that night. On one hand, he was keeping you safe and warm. On the other, the massive grin on his face would not go away

Maybe his room should get destroyed more often, or just maybe he can delay the reconstruction of it

MTMTE Rodimus

The LL had gone onto another one of its expeditions and you just so happened to have gotten lost with the most reckless but endearingly dedicated mech

It's been hours since you've been treading along this strange planet and during that time, you found out that the locals are not human-friendly whatsoever

It gets to the point where the two of you have gone way too long without any rest/recharge, Rodimus has sent an emergency signal and hoped that someone from the crew would find you two soon. However it gets apparent you both need to make a stop before you both pass out from exhaustion, especially you

Rodimus insists on transforming into his alt mode and you sleeping there until the morning, but you're equally as stubborn and insist on keeping watch for him.

He only agreed because of how blushy that made him. You, his special human, want to protect him even in these circumstances? Fine, you can sit on his shoulder and keep watch while he settles down to avoid using any more energon

Not even 10 minutes later, he feels your head suddenly rest near his neck-cables.

"Y/N?"

No response except your soft breathing, there's a soft smile on his faceplates knowing that you had fallen asleep.

He carefully takes you from his shoulder and transforms, in a split second you were laying down and peacefully sleeping in his alt-mode.

It may not be a bed/circuit slab but you're the only human he'd let sleep in his alt-mode, expect the seats to be warm when you wake up or his engines to purr if he's driving

Absolute endless teasing back on the LL btw, WILL ask for you to sleep in his alt-mode again or to have some sort of sleepover

TFP Ratchet

This medic is the definition of overworking yourself

Rarely ever he gets to recharge NEAR you and you swore you have never seen him actually recharge without Optimus or you begging him

This specific day wasn't any different, except you kept tossing and turning in your bed. Something was bothering you and you weren't sure what, it just did not let you sleep. No matter how tired you felt, your body would not let you rest.

Cue you going to accompany Ratchet and him being concerned and scolding you as to why you were up at such an hour

You responded with a slow frog blink

"I can't sleep."

He lets you stay with him a while and just hopes you'll fall asleep eventually, it had happened before after all. He puts you on his shoulder and otherwise continues working, fully expecting you to fall asleep in a couple of minutes

30 minutes go by and you're still awake somehow, your half-lidded eyes staring and probably getting fried by the screen. He has a small mental battle with himself before he sighs and decided to...stop working (explodes)

"Will you get some sleep if I...if I stay with you?"

He says it almost reluctantly. But only you know that its a genuine offer. If you weren't so tired you would've leaped up in the air and shouted YES!! But instead you sleepily nodded your head and clung onto him.

He groaned and headed over to his room which was bland besides some belongings, gifts from the kids, and his unused recharge slab.

There he would lay down, expecting to wait for you to sleep and then continue his work. But he didn't expect it to be this relaxing

You laying there with him, near his shoulder armor and neck-cables, softly breathing and huddled against him. It didn't take him long for his exhaustion to finally catch up to him. He blames you for being so...calming and wonderful.

Before he drifts into recharge, he turns his helm towards you so his cheek is still in contact with you. Hes just trying to make you comfortable obviously, no, it's not out of his own enjoyment. Hes just tired, okay?

Speak of it in the morning and suddenly he forgets how to talk and cant get an explanation out without sputtering

[libertine-past]

Alternate “Love in Vain.” Cody doesn’t call. That’s it! That’s the fic! 😂

Rogue clonked her phone back in its cradle. “Don’t you hate it when you tell someone they got the wrong number, and they argue with you? I know I have a lot of characters floatin’ around in here,” she gestured at her head, “but I’m a hundred percent sure I ain’t Linda from the Yonkers Craft Expo.”

Gambit snickered with a look of pure engrossment, shaking his head in delight. “Indeed. Linda sound pretty boring to me.”

“Oh, I bet you think you could liven her up though, honey-tongue— the way you came in all gussied up to go out on the town.”

“We don’ have to go nowhere. You don’t even have to get out of your nightgown or put down your book, ‘less you want. A date can just be you an’ me in the same room.”

God, this man’s standards couldn’t get any endearingly lower. She puffed some fallen white hair out of her face. “Welp. You ever seen Baywatch? It’s kind of a guilty pleasure, like these Harlequin stories. Hnh. What am I sayin’. Of course you have. Men sure appreciate the um.” She rolled her eyes and made curvy gestures. “Casting.”

“Eh. That show irrealiste. Petty t’ieves always blowin’ up oil rigs or something. Nobody that dumb.”

“So your big takeaway from a show fulla bathin’ beauties is the shitty portrayal of crime?” she laughed.

“Oh, I see them beauties. How do you think I do all my trainin’ for look don’t touch?”

“You can always use more of that. Alright then. You, me, and bad TV it is.”

“Ey, what happen to your bedpost?” he asked, finally noticing.

“Trainin’ for knockin’ your dang block off.”

They sat on the rec room futon in the glow of the TV, under a blanket.

“Aw hell, this is one of those filler episodes with like three beach montages,” Rogue said.

“Yeah, I hate watchin’ people just enjoyin’ themselves,” Gambit winked. “You gotta have filler in life, chere. Can’t be all life-or-death drama.”

She looked him over. “The way you dress like Don Johnson on Saturday nights, I feel like we should be watchin’ Miami Vice reruns instead.”

“You love it.” He pulled off his scarf and draped it around her shoulders.

“Didn’t say I didn’t.”

And it happened—the long, hungry look that usually made her run. She didn’t, but she wasn’t above a quick subject change. “God, they use same underwater footage over an’ over.”

“Well, folks can’t hold their breath forever.”

She knew this wasn’t a dig at her, but she retreated into overthinking. “…you’ve been tryin’ for a few years with me, Remy.”

“Chere. Don’t. That’s never what this feel like.” He pulled her hand out from under the blanket and kissed it. “A barrier doesn’t phase me none. It’s you underneath. That’s all that matters. It’s the 90’s. Everyone big on protection, non?”

“Oh yeah, I’m blendin’ right in with today’s generation. …I-I’m sorry. I just can’t seem to stay off this topic, can I?”

The silence wrapped around them as the TV continued its soapy glow on their faces. Gambit didn’t realize that she’d mostly fallen asleep on his shoulder.

“You know why I like this show?” Gambit said. “I can relate, ‘cause Rogue always come to Gambit’s rescue.”

“…..mhm. Cuz iloveyou, caj,” she mumbled.

He exhaled hard. He knew the declaration probably didn’t count, but he clung to it like a life ring.

[theaudacitytowrite]

Stay Awake! - Part 1

Materlist

Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

A/N: An attempt at a spooky fic:) This is based on a creepy story my siblings used to tell me when we were little and back then it scared the shit out of me. Whether it really is scary is debatable^^

Time wise it starts a day before Halloween.

Also, since I only started watching SPN (on S4 currently) I'm quite sure this might be a bit off timeline wise. For example I needed an animal for the story but I have no idea when/how long Mircale is around in the series.

warnings: dolls, cursing, implied smut, bad horror (Season 1-esque storyline), Canon? What's that?

Golden divider = new day

black dividers = new setting/some time has passed

word count: 5.891

Dean’s feet lazily dragged over the ground. He groaned and huffed, sometimes a yawn would leave his throat.

„Come on, big boy. Let’s try it here.” you dragged him behind you while holding his hand so he would actually follow you.

You stepped up to the bed and breakfast, a rustic little single-family house. Dean and you were in desperate need of a place to stay the night. You had just finished a gruelling hunt and were beyond exhausted. But so far you hadn’t had any luck. All the motels in the area were booked.

“We can just sleep in Baby,” Dean muttered groggily.

“So you can whine about your sore back for the next couple of days?” you looked over your shoulder to look at him with a raised brow, “No thanks.”

"I wanna go home! My feet hurt, my back aches already and I'm tired! We've been on our feet the past 3 days!" he whined, pouting like a little overtired child.

“I know, my feet hurt just as bad and I’ve been awake just as long as you, you little baby.” you teased, “And I want to go home, too, but I don’t think it would be a good idea to drive another 5 hours to get home, while you nor I can keep our eyes open.” Dean grumbled but seemed to follow you more willingly now as he heard your reasoning.

When you entered the B&B a foul smell made its way to your nose immediately. It was sweet yet sour at the same time. You were surrounded by weird-looking paintings, figurines, and a collection of creepy dolls. It was quite dusty and weirdly gloomy in the house, and something just didn't feel right.

"Since when are bed and breakfasts worse than motels?" Dean muttered into your ear as he tried to not touch anything while walking through the small, crammed foyer to head to the unoccupied front desk.

"I don't know. We rarely visit bed and breakfasts." you shrugged as you let your gaze wander through the odd room. Dean scrunched his nose and almost pressed himself against you as he followed you like a shadow.

"Something wrong?" you glanced at him with an amused look.

"Nah." he shook his head and took a step back, "Just hurry up and ring the bell, so we can leave again."

“Leave again? You don’t think they have any vacant rooms?” you chuckled, “You’re so pessimistic.”

“I hope they have no free rooms.” Dean huffed.

"We have to tell Sam about this cosy little B&B. He'll love it here!" you snickered as your eyes roamed over the décor.

"He sure would…" Dean pressed his lips together, trying to breathe as little as possible. He bumped into you when you suddenly halted your steps, your gaze fixed on the fireplace in the next room.

"Do you see that doll?" you pointed in the direction of the fireplace. On top of it sat a little wooden doll with a rancid-looking dress. What caught your attention was, besides her size of an actual baby, her fluent movements. The doll seemed to wave in your direction, a wide grin plastered on her face.

"You mean that spawn of hell that creepily waves at us?" Dean dryly asked.

“Mhm… unnerving.” you hummed, completely focused on the doll.

„Good evening!“ the warm voice of an elderly woman suddenly chimed up, making you and Dean jump. “Oh dear, I didn’t mean to scare the two of you.”

“All good.” you chuckled, clutching your heart.

“How can I help the two of you?” the woman smiled endearingly.

“We were wondering if you still have a room available for one night. We tried every motel and hotel, but they’re all booked.”

“Yes, my dear. We still have enough rooms.” the woman quickly looked through her little notebook, “We got two with single beds and another free one with a double.”

“I wonder why…” Dean muttered next to you, earning a swift nudge from your elbow into his ribs.

“We would love to take the one with the double bed.” you smiled sweetly at the woman.

After checking in the old woman led you to your room. To your relief, the room itself was much brighter and less smelly than the foyer. And even the number of dolls was drastically lower and the décor was much more modern.

“Heh… weird.” Dean chuckled as he looked through the room.

“What?” you hummed as you rummaged through your bag.

“Isn’t that the doll that sat on the fireplace downstairs?” Dean inclined his head as he approached the doll that sat on an old commode.

“Maybe she got two?” you shrugged, heading into the bathroom to take a shower.

"Mhm." was Dean's only response as he inspected the doll. It seemed like there were no mechanics at all. Still, her motions were so fluent and lively. Dean carefully picked her up to not break her. He pulled away the crunchy feeling fabric as he searched for the battery pocket but couldn't find one, no matter where he looked.

"Must be some kind of solar thing," he murmured to himself and shrugged. He plucked down the little dress the doll was wearing when an idea popped into his mind, a mischievous grin spreading on his lips.

As you returned from the shower half an hour later and opened the door without suspecting anything bad, you jumped immediately.

“For fucks sake, Dean!” you growled as the doll sat in front of the bathroom door, smiling sympathetically at you as she waved. Dean meanwhile was giggling while lying on the bed, elated that he had scared you successfully.

“Got you!” he cackled triumphantly, making you roll your eyes at him.

“You're lucky I love you.” you grumbled.

“I know.” he smiled sweetly, before heading for a shower himself, pecking your cheek swiftly as he passed you. "Shouldn't have let your guard down..."

The two of you soon settled down in bed, overripe for a good night’s sleep. Dean was out almost immediately as his head hit the pillow. You on the other hand seemed not so lucky.

You lay wide awake in the bed, not knowing why. All you wanted to do was sleep. Maybe it was the unfamiliar surroundings, maybe it was the rest of the adrenaline from the hunt that still ran through your veins. And it didn’t help that Dean was felling trees right next to you. One day you’d smother him if he wouldn’t get that snore checked out.

You jumped slightly when there was a soft thud echoing through the room. You glanced at the clock that stood on the bedside table. A few minutes past 3a.m. You glanced at Dean who was still fast asleep, completely unbothered by the sound. He really was exhausted.

You sat up in the bed and scanned the room. You chuckled when you realised that your duffle bag had fallen from a chair onto the ground. You lay back down and sigh, trying to give sleep another try. You nuzzled against Dean who quickly encased you in a hug, pulling you against his chest. You hummed contently and finally managed to drift off to sleep.

The next morning you and Dean woke up early, quickly throwing everything into your bags before you zipped them up and quickly checked out.

The old woman wasn’t too thrilled that you declined her breakfast buffet which consisted of off-colour sausages and weirdly looking eggs. She was appeased when Dean and you at least took a bread roll each before saying your goodbyes and hurrying out of the smelly B&B.

As soon as Baby rounded the corner, you threw out the stale bread rolls in favour of stopping at a drive-in to get a quick breakfast that wouldn’t get stuck in your throat and take you out.

It was around noon when Dean and you finally arrived back at the bunker, and you quickly started to get your bags out of the car and restock the ammunition and the rest of your weapon arsenal. You'd had a lot to get done, unpacking your dirty clothes to get them washed and repacking the bags for the next hunt as soon as possible. This had been all you've been doing lately, hurrying from one case to another without getting a real break.

When you wandered into the bedroom and opened your duffle bag you almost fainted.

“DEAN! What the fuck!?” you screamed enraged.

“What?” Dean looked at you innocently as he entered your shared room.

“Don’t look at me all innocent!” you scolded him, “You know exactly what you did!”

“As much as I want to take the praise for it, …I don’t.” Dean dryly replied, smiling at you tight-lipped.

“Then please enlighten me how else this freakish thing appeared in my bag!” you pointed into your bag in which the doll from the B&B laid neatly on top of your belongings.

“Dunno.” Dean shrugged, “I swear, Y/N. I didn’t put it in there. It must’ve fallen over when we packed. I mean, I didn’t even touch your bag until you gave it to me to put it in the trunk.”

“Sure.” you glare at him, not believing a single word.

“I swear.” he chuckles, trying to get your good grace back by hugging you tightly from behind, peppering your cheeks with kisses.

“Don’t suck up now.” you giggle.

“But I gotta cheer you up.” he murmured.

“Then be a dear and throw it out. I’m not gonna touch that thing.” you muttered, looking at the doll in disdain.

“Sure thing, my love.” he gave you another peck on your cheek before unravelling his arms from your waist. He picked up the doll, holding it in front of his face. “Bye-bye, Y/N.” he tried to mimic a creepy voice as he walked backwards out of the room.

“You’re such a dork.” you chuckled, shaking your head and continuing to unpack.

It didn’t take long when you heard another shriek resound through the bunker. You quickly hurried to the source of the turmoil, coming to a halt in front of Sam’s room. You were met by Dean who was toppled over in laughter while Sam was sitting on the floor, chest heaving while the doll was sitting on his bed, smiling endearingly as she never ceased to wave.

“Dean, you’re an idiot.” you can’t help but giggle a little.

“I had to, darling.” Dean wipes away a tear he had shed from laughing so hard.

“Did you?!” Sam snarled, scrambling to get back to his feet.

“Oh come on, Sammy. T’was just a joke.” Dean grins triumphantly, shrugging innocently before patting his brother's back teasingly.

“You good, Sam?” you tried so hard to bite back a grin yourself. Sam cleared his throat and nodded.

“Now that I got the two of you here, we could talk about the agenda of the coming days.” Sam changed the topic, earning a groan from Dean.

“How about you let us come back and settle in first.” Dean huffed annoyed.

“Bobby called me repeatedly already. He needs us down at his house. He got a pressing case for us and told me to come down as soon as you two came back.”

“Can we at least have one more day?” Dean bargained, letting his head fall back, “I still need to wash my clothes, else I’ll have to wear my boxers inside out.”

“Gross.” you grimaced.

“If you wanna take the blame for the delay.” Sam hummed, raising his arms in surrender.

“I’ll handle that.” Dean scrunched his nose, “Then it’s settled, we’re going for drinks tonight.” Dean proclaimed with a cheeky grin.

“What? What about your laundry?” Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean.

“What ‘what?’?! Can’t do much while it's in the washer, now can I? Might as well grab a drink then.” Dean smirked smugly. “And I know exactly where we’ll go!” Dean waved a piece of paper around. You swiftly grabbed it from his hand. Sam peeked over your shoulder to get a glance as you read over the flyer.

“ ’Come dressed up - get a free shot’ …?” Sam read out, raising his brow sceptically “Really, Dean?”

“Admit it, you just want to dress up.” you hummed as your eyes drifted from the flyer to Dean. You almost snorted when you saw his eyes sparkle gleefully. He definitely already knew what he’d wear.

“Nonsense.” he protested nonetheless, “I just think a free shot would be neat.”

“Sure, Dean…” Sam shot him an incredulous glance and shook his head.

As you and Dean walked back to your room you could tell that he wanted you to guess what he'd wear. He stared at you expectantly, not watching where he was going.

“Let me guess…” you hummed amused, trying to hold back a laugh. “Cowboy?”

“Cowboy.” he grins giddily, nodding enthusiastically. “What’s your pick?”

“I dunno… I’m not that big on costumes.” you shrugged.

“You can’t tell me you don’t have any costumes.” Dean gasped almost offended, closing the bedroom door behind him.

“Welp… I don’t.” you shrugged, "Unless you count our disguises as a costume."

“And you’re supposed to be my girlfriend…” he tsked and shook his head in feigned disappointment. Suddenly a mischievous grin tugged on the corners of his lips. “I got an idea for the perfect costume though… and we could probably modify some of your clothes for it…”

„If you say sexy nurse, I’ll hit you,” you warn him, shooting him an unamused glare.

“Ok, no sexy nurse then…” he raises his palms in defeat, “But… I’m sure it would suit you perfectly.”

"Of course, you’d think that…“ you shake your head, rolling your eyes at him.

"I‘m being truthful.” he grins, pulling you closer by your waist. “You‘d look irresistible… but then again you look irresistible in everything." Dean purred into your ear.

"Nice try Romeo.“ you push him away gently but firmly, “I will wear something a little less cliché.”

"Was worth the try…" he shrugged, pecking your lips before letting you go to get ready.

The night at the bar was just what you needed. Dean, Sam and you drank together, bellowing to the music in the bar and indulging in old memories.

Around 3 am Dean and you came back completely hammered. Sam had opted to go home with a girl in a devil costume.

As Dean and you barged into the bunker, you were leaning on each other heavily as you giggled together. You barely made it to your bed when you fell onto the mattress. Dean immediately hugged you close to him, nuzzling into your neck as he took a deep breath. He lazily pressed a few kisses along your neck, making you squirm against him, but his lips stopped just as quickly as they had started. Soft snores resounded from him, his warm breath hitting your skin. But you couldn’t bother, you were already drifting off as well when Miracle suddenly started to growl lowly.

“Mira’ shut up.” you slurred annoyed, but Miracle wouldn’t stop. “Miracle!” you groaned, searching for a pillow around you and throwing it into the darkness.

You heard a dull sound and Miracle fell silent. You could hear him sniff around but soon darkness encased you fully as your drunken mind fell asleep.

"Y/N?" Dean called through the bunker hoarsely when he had finally fallen out of bed.

"I'm in the library," you replied, cradling your pounding head between your hands as you sat at the table. Even the smell of your coffee in front of you made you slightly nauseous. You regretted the last three shots from last night.

There was a moment of silence in which you could hear him waddle towards the library.

"Did you put that creepy doll in the kitchen?! You scared the shit out of me!" Dean’s face was still pale as he entered the library in his bathrobe. You weren’t sure if it was from the hangover or the shock. “Was that your revenge for yesterday? I swear I didn’t put it in your bag!

"I didn't.“ you mumbled slurred, not even bothering to look at Dean as your eyes were closed, „I wouldn’t have touched that thing for a lame revenge like that. Probably was Sam.” you shrugged, “He came back like an hour ago… probably wanted to pay you back.”

"Sammy!" Dean bellowed, already taking off to Sam’s room. You winced at his loud voice and groaned when you heard the brothers start to bicker.

After an agonizing hangover that lasted till late in the evening, you finally felt good enough to help Dean pack for the next morning when he'd leave with Sam. You felt extra clingy tonight even though you knew that they would probably be back in two or three days.

But as the tradition dictated, Dean and you cuddled in bed together before going to sleep.

"When do you have to leave again tomorrow?" you murmured against Dean’s skin as you lay on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"We gonna leave at… like 7.30-ish?" Dean hummed, his hand lazily running up and down your spine.

“That early?” you whined to which Dean chuckled. He softly kissed your forehead, wrapping his arms tighter around you and holding you close.

“The earlier we leave, the earlier we get back,” he mumbled against your neck.

“And how long will you be gone?” you huffed against him.

“A day, maybe two?” Dean hummed, “So you only have a single night without your handsome and wonderful man.” he grinned against your skin, making you chuckle.

“Now that I’m thinking about it, I can probably survive a night without you.” you retorted in feigned annoyance.

“Oh really?” he smirked, starting to tickle your sides.

“Hey! No! Stop!” you started to squirm against him, trying to wriggle away from his attack. Dean grinned triumphantly as he continued to tickle you for a moment before stopping.

“Still think you gonna be fine without me?” he looked at you challengingly.

“More than ever.” you grinned cheekily, biting your lip.

“Don’t be mean now…” Dean murmured, leaning down to capture your lips in a tender kiss.

“Mhm… ok… maybe that’s something I’m gonna miss…” you smiled against his lips.

“Is that so?” Dean smirked smugly, giving you a passionate kiss, “I can remind you of a few more things you gonna miss.” he grinned, swiftly flipping you to lay on the mattress. You yelped in surprise as he towered over you, trailing hungry kisses down your skin, making you gasp in delight.

You groaned softly when you woke up in the middle of the night without seemingly any reason. At first, you thought it was thanks to Dean’s snoring. As you glanced at your alarm clock it was shortly after 3am… again.

It seemed to become a daily occurrence for you to wake up around that time, you just couldn’t understand why. Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard a soft shuffling around your bed. You tensed for a moment, glancing around the room. Your eyes landed on the slightly ajar door that you were sure had been closed when Dean and you went to bed.

You rolled your eyes amused at yourself for being scared for a moment when Miracle had probably just pushed open the door to get to his sleeping spot at the foot of your bed.

You nuzzled back into your pillow, closing your eyes to go back to sleep when there suddenly resounded what could only be described as a giggle. Your eyes widened immediately, and your hands tightened on your blanket.

You swallowed hard as you listened into the darkness.

"Dean!" you whispered. No response. You began to shake him slightly, "Dean, wake up!" you whisper-yelled panicked.

"Hmm… what's wrong." Dean groaned sleepily as he began to stir awake.

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That giggle!" the fear in your voice was apparent.

"Giggle? Go back to sleep Y/N, your imagination is playing tricks on you."

The floorboards softly creaked making you jump.

"Did you hear that!" you almost shouted.

"Yes, I did. It's just the wood settling, telling you to get some sleep. Nothing more." Dean mumbled, pulling you closer to him before he fell right back to sleep. You rolled your eyes at him.

"Thanks, douchebag…" you muttered, pulling your covers up to your nose and staying alert.

Every creak and crack made you scoot even closer to Dean until you were pressed against him completely. You battled with falling asleep as exhaustion seeped into your bones but once the clock struck 6am the bunker fell silent apart from Dean’s snores. Your eyelids became just too heavy to keep open and soon you were fast asleep.

"Outch!" you cried out, clutching your hip. You were still half asleep when you pottered around in the kitchen. When you had turned around your hip crashed into the open standing cutlery drawer, "For god’s sake Dean! How often do I have to tell you to close these damn drawers!" you hissed in pain at Dean who sat on the table, nursing his coffee. He looked up, startled for a moment.

"I wasn't even near that drawer," he replied groggily, his hand rubbing over his cheek.

"Sure." you grumbled, “That seems to be your standard excuse.”

"No, for real! I only got my coffee. Don��t need cutlery for that." he defended himself and held up his cup. You narrowed your eyes at him.

"Don't give me that look Y/N!" Dean warned you jokingly, "I swear, I'm telling the truth. Maybe you opened it in your delirium and forgot about it."

"Maybe." you grumbled as you took a spoon out of the drawer and closed it, "But you can't blame me. I slept awful."

"Why? Didn’t I tire you out enough?” Dean smirked into his mug, “You seemed really exhausted when we fell asleep…”

“Sometimes I wanna smack your pretty face…” you sighed, shooting Dean an unamused glare, "I woke up in the middle of the night because I thought that I had heard somebody or something shuffling through the house. There was creaking and giggling the whole night."

"Giggling?" Dean drawled amused, raising a brow at you.

" I know it sounds weird but I know what I’ve heard.”

“Maybe it was just the whistling of the wind or something like that." Dean shrugged dismissively, “Maybe Miracle whined in his sleep."

"Cause I can’t tell the difference between a dog whine and a giggling sound?" you scoffed, “Miracle wasn’t even in our room last night cause of certain activities…”

“Maybe you were making up things in your post-blissful haze.” Dean grinned cheekily, immediately receiving a hit against his shoulder, “Ow!” he chuckled, “Why are you being so mean to me lately?”

“I’m not mean! You’re just a dick at the moment.”

“Am not!” Dean protested amused, rubbing his arm, “You’ve been on my case ever since we returned from our hunt.”

“Because you started the war with the doll!”

“I didn’t do that!” Dean laughed, “But maybe that’s why you’re so jumpy. Your subconsciousness still tries to get over that little scare.”

"I’m a hunter, Dean. Spooky shit is my daily bread, so I doubt that a little doll could scare me into hallucinating sounds at night.” you scoffed, “And it's not like I was dreaming. I was wide awake!"

"So, you wanna tell me some creature scampered through the bunker last night?” Dean looked at you sceptically, “I would’ve heard it as well. I mean, I was right next to you… Wait a minute… is that why you tried to wake me up last night? It feels like we talked about this already."

"Yeah… and you jackass fell right back asleep.” you huffed, “You wouldn’t have heard a fire alarm over your snoring!”

“I don’t snore!” Dean scoffed offended.

“Oh trust me, you do.” you huffed dramatically, “And yes, I know, there wasn't anybody scampering around… I just. I don't know, ok? Something just felt… off."

"It was probably the wood settling over the night. The nights are getting colder now, the wood draws together.” Dean reasoned, gently rubbing your arm up and down in a soothing motion.

"Presumably…" you mumbled unconvinced.

"And the most plausible," Dean added with a shit-eating grin.

"Bite me!" you quipped, glaring at him as you shrugged off his hand.

"You know, only in our bedroom!" he called after you with a cheeky grin as you walked out of the kitchen, flipping him off.

When the boys left the bunker to drive down to Bobby, you left with them through the garage, saying your goodbye to them before heading in the other direction towards the town to get some groceries so you wouldn’t have to get takeout yet again. Sam, Dean, and you had been almost exclusively on the road for the last couple of months, so the pantry looked quite meagre while other chores had piled up around the bunker. You would have to get to them as soon as you came back from grocery shopping and running a few errands as well.

Around noon you finally found yourself back at the bunker, the trunk of your car filled with multiple bags and the dry cleaning you had picked up on your way. Dean and Sam had the bad habit of wearing their suits until they started to reek and would bring almost every suit they owned to the dry cleaning at once. Usually, you refused to bring or pick up the clothes since it was hard to carry the 10+ suits back and forth but you actually had to pick up a coat of your own, so you tried to be a doting girlfriend and friend for once and picked all of the clothes up.

Just as you killed the engine and tried to figure out how you could carry everything inside without having to take too many trips, your phone began to ring.

"Perfect timing, Mister Winchester." you chuckled as you accepted the call.

"Just came home?" his raspy voice resounded from the speakers. He sounded tired.

"Yup, had a busy day already. How’s the trip going? Taking a break?”

"Sammy had to stretch out his freakishly long legs.” Dean hummed and you could hear a muffled ‘Hey!’ in the background.

“But traffic’s ok?”

“So far, it’s been a breeze. We almost passed the halfway mark, we should get to Bobby around 6pm if we’re lucky.” Dean hummed.

“Where are you right now?” you asked curiously, getting out of the car to walk around to the back.

“Somewhere in the middle of Missouri… I think.”

“How’s it there? Any better than in Kansas?” you tried to keep Dean talking, already missing his voice. You pinned your phone between your ear and your shoulder as you opened the trunk and got the first few bags out of it, walking towards the bunker's main entrance.

“Slightly better weather-wise but I'd much rather be with you right now," Dean murmured into your ear.

"Aw, you're sweet. I'd love that too… then I wouldn't have to carry in all these suits that I picked up at the dry-cleaner's and all these groceries on my own." Dean only snickered on the other end of the line, “We really have to get them cleaned in more reasonable batches instead of every single suit you guys have been wearing till they smell.”

"So, what do you have planned for tonight?" Dean tried to change the subject.

"Not much," you said while fishing for your keys in your coat pocket while balancing the grocery bags on your leg, "Maybe do some of my laundry.”

Dean could hear you unlock the front door and suddenly you screamed and there was a thud.

"Y/N?" Dean asked concerned, his brows furrowing as he listened attentively for any sounds.

"Dean what the heck! Was that necessary?" you panted into the speaker as you picked up your phone from the ground.

"Was what necessary?" he asked confused.

"Don't act so innocent. You have to stop with those pranks!" you laughed, your heart still racing, "You scared the shit out of me. Again. Congratulations!"

"…and with what exactly?" Dean chuckled bemused.

"The doll you sat directly behind the door?"

"Ahh… erm… yeah. Got you!" he forced a laugh. Hadn’t he thrown that weird thing out before they went to the bar 2 days ago? Maybe Miracle had found it in the trash outside and dragged it back inside.

"Ok?" you raised an eyebrow and kicked the doll out of your way, "Moving on. Please remember to tell Cas that he has to come by the next couple of days for the translation of the Enochian we found." you carried the bags towards the kitchen.

“Why me?” Dean grumbled.

“Cause Cas only answers your calls…” you hummed amused. Dean sighed exasperated.

"Yes, sweetheart, I will." he groaned.

The rest of the day you busied yourself with the chores. You started a load of your and Dean’s sheets while tidying your shared room, vacuuming, and dusting off every surface. Afterwards, you busied yourself with restocking the pantry and cleaning out the fridge from unidentifiable containers of what arguably had been food at some point in time.

After cooking yourself a late dinner you let yourself fall into a recliner in the Dean cave. Miracle joined you, getting a few bites of your pasta dish as the two of you watched a movie. In the middle of the movie, your phone vibrated, notifying you of a goodnight text from Dean and the info that he and Sam were on their way back to the bunker and should be back around noon. You quickly send back your reply before stashing the phone into the side of the recliner and turning your attention back to the movie.

You didn’t even realise how tired you were until you woke up in the middle of the night to a completely dark room. The TV must’ve shut off a while ago and Miracle was nowhere to be seen.

You sighed as you tried to wake up enough to get up and wander back to your room. That’s when you realised that you had forgotten to put the sheets back onto the bed after you had washed them and put them into the dryer. You groaned and shuffled in the opposite direction to the laundry room. You didn’t bother turning on the lights, hoping you would be able to fall asleep quicker if you didn’t get blinded by the harsh lights of the bunker.

As you gathered all the sheets out of the dryer you hummed in delight as the scent of freshly washed laundry filled your nose. You couldn’t wait to fall asleep while being encased in this heavenly smell. Your thoughts were rudely interrupted when Mircale suddenly started to bark out of nowhere.

“What is it, Miracle?” you called out annoyed. Maybe he was scolding you for not being in your room when he wanted to sleep, “I’ll be there in a sec…”

You were a little confused when his barking turned into growls and snarls.

“Miracle, what’s your deal?” you groaned.

Your heart stopped beating for a moment, your eyes widening as you froze in the doorway. You swallowed hard and tried to pull yourself together. This probably was just a nightmare. Or as Dean would tell you right now, just the wood settling. Very amused Wood being in a giggly mood…

You felt a chill run down your spine when you heard it again.

The giggling.

“H-hello?” you asked into the darkness, thinking that maybe Dean had already talked to Cas who had come by.

But you never got a response. And usually, Miracle wouldn’t snarl at Cas either, nor would Cas sound like a giggling toddler. So, this was more than odd.

Your stomach felt queasy as you crept up towards your room cautiously. Your heart was dancing tango in your chest. Suddenly you heard pitter-patter grow louder behind you and without another thought you booked it to your room, not even looking back. As soon as you reached your room, Miracle scurried in after you and you slammed the bedroom door close.

You panted as adrenaline shot through and your brain was slowly processing what just had happened. You began chuckling and shook your head amused.

“Miracle, you scared me.” you chuckled slightly relieved and a bit amused that you got scared that easily when a sudden slam against the door made your heart sink again.

You quickly locked the door, backing away immediately and stumbling backwards a few steps until the back of your knees hit the mattress. You threw the washed sheets onto the bed, your eyes never leaving the door as you searched for Dean’s emergency blade under the bed. Once you had the knife secured in your hand you searched for your phone in desperation. It slowly dawned on you that you had forgotten your phone on the recliner, so you had no chance of calling the boys for support. But then again, they probably couldn’t help you in your situation right now anyway since they were still thousands of miles away from the bunker. All you could do was wait it out until they came back and stand on guard.

At some point during the night, you gathered the courage to slide a chair under the handle of the door before you sat down on your bed again. You didn’t hear anything anymore outside of the door, but you didn’t trust the silence one bit. You invited Miracle into the bed for emotional support. Dean would kill you if he found out that you had let the dog sleep in bed with you, but you didn’t really care right now.

Harsh pounding against the door jerked you awake. You had no idea how late it was or when you had fallen asleep. You almost fell to the ground when you scrambled out of bed.

“Darling? Y/N?! Are you in there?” Dean’s worried voice resounded from the other side of the door, the handle turning frantically as he continued to knock against the door.

You quickly scurried to the door and pulled the chair away before you opened the door, trying to act as nonchalant as possible.

“You’re back.” you tried to sound enthusiastic, but the grogginess was quite apparent on your face.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” Dean asked worried, grabbing your shoulders as he inspected you, “What happened? Why did you lock yourself in our room? You look pale.”

“N-nothing.” you stammered sheepishly. You didn’t want to tell Dean what had happened. He probably wouldn’t believe you and tell you that you had probably just imagined it again. Or he’d turn it around and tease you about ‘how much you had missed him’ and that ‘your strong, handsome man was back to protect you from bad dreams again’. And you really didn’t need that right now, especially with the lack of proper sleep.

“Look who we brought,” Sam announced suddenly, making you sigh relieved as the conversation was stirred away from you when Sam stepped aside to reveal Cas tagging along behind him.

“You look awful.” Cas greeted you in his monotone voice.

“Hi, Cas… nice to see you, too.”

Taglist: @hellowgoodbye @fuckyoutommie @loz-3 @whorefordean @kayful00595 @drasticemotions @deans-spinster-witch @tweakingin2 @winharry @jackles010378 @marvelfanfn2187a113

Divider by @talesmaniac89

[painted-bees]

August 12, 2008.

 Magritte had only ever heard good things about Vancouver's Granville Island and so, naturally, it was the first place she set out to find upon arriving in the city. The Greyhound station her bus pulled into had been only a short walk from the Skytrain that would carry her two minutes to Granville Station. And it was here that Magritte had the good sense to find a nice, unintrusive space to sit cross-legged and lay her old, faithful piano keyboard across her lap.

  The instrument, pulled out of its cozy bed from within her large duffel bag, was a well loved Yamaha PSS-270. Its dull, black, plastic body was covered in ancient, disintegrating stickers, and a generous amount of electrical tape served to hold its batteries in place.

  With an affectionate press of a button, she woke the machine up from its slumber, selected her choice presets and, with no specific setlist in mind, began to improvise a little tune. Something cute and fun, perhaps a little bit like Donkey Kong’s Stickerbrush Symphony in tempo and progression. Or just…”Stickerbrush Symphony”, wholesale, why the hell not? Improvisation melted seamlessly into the classic video game tunes that were fondly familiar to her.

The beloved instrument cradled in Magritte’s lap had been pulled apart and reassembled more times than she kept track of. But still, it held together and played its charming FM sounds dutifully. A tidy row of silver metal switches, lined up along the side of its body, were left carefully undisturbed as her fingers danced across the yellowed plastic keys. Magritte had learned very early in her busking career that the general public did not appreciate the unpredictable discordinance of a bent circuit as much as she did. And so that row of silver little switches connecting the data lines stood stoically in their ‘on’ position, not allowing for any delightful surprises, but also not deteriorating the synth-chip’s sound into glitchy noise on a bad turn. Perfectly vanilla, perfectly agreeable, endearingly nostalgic.

 She had placed an old ball cap upside down infront of her, tossing in a few quarters of her own as a way of inviting more from friendly pockets. Ideally, she’d play an hour or two and leave with enough change to buy a coffee. Not just a Tim’s coffee–no. She wanted a decadent foamy latte from a cute, artsy little cafe she could sit in. She couldn’t bear to walk through the streets of Granville Island without having the spare change to treat herself on an impulse. And so–she’d not leave the train station until the passing public funded her frivolous spending habits.

After all, it was her birthday. She deserved a little gift.

 Busking in a transit station was always a bit of a trade-off. It was a bustling place full of foot traffic but the people here were focused on reaching their destination; busy and preoccupied. In a place like this, Magritte had no expectation to captivate loiterers. Not many transit-goers could spare a minute or two to sit and listen while she hammered out her cheap little tunes on cheap little piano keys. And so, when a well worn pair of tan colored, loose-laced Timberlands entered her field of vision, stopping definitively to stand before her, Magritte turned her gaze upward to welcome the listener with a wide, sloppy smile.

 Without giving her brain time to register the face she was speaking to, Magritte opened her mouth to chime a cheery greeting. She was cut off faster than she could process his expression.

  “You’re in my spot.”

  The man’s voice was curt, and the cold annoyance in his tone was mirrored in the expression on his short, square face. Pale blue eyes looked down a sharp, slightly bent nose at her. His narrow lips were pressed narrower still in a stern line, framed by a full, sandy colored beard and moustache. Atop his head, long hair of the same light color was pulled back into a small, tight bun; more slick and tidy, but far less full than the sloppy bun that Magritte’s unruly mane of curly rust colored hair had been wrangled up into.

 Her dorky smirk dissolved with a few confused blinks into a slack jaw of nervous apology. “O-oh! I uh-s-sorry!” 

Her startled gaze snagged itself on the acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder, and the instrument’s exciting potential made her straighten her back with intent.

 She found her smile again. “What if–maybe we could jam? For a few minutes! And then I can scoot on outta here and leave you to it if you want. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the chance to–”

 “Do you have a permit?” His tone was unchanged by her eager proposition.

 “Huh?” It wasn’t that Magritte didn’t hear him, but she needed a moment to process what was being asked.

 “You can’t be here without a permit. Not the stations, not anywhere in Granville either.” The unaccommodating man took a few steps towards her duffel bag and used the top of his foot to lift and slide it away from where she had safely tucked it. “Get a move on.”

 Magritte protectively reached out to grab her bag as the man carelessly footed it out of ‘his’ space. And in doing so, she caused her keyboard to slide off her lap, forcing her to clumsily abort her duffel-grabbing effort in favor of clutching her instrument before it could somersault over the edge of her knees and land face-down onto hard ground.

 The man, it seemed, was done with words and had already begun moving into the small space that shoving her bag out of the way had created. She felt her face turn hot as she began to gather up her items. Any desire to engage the guy more than she already had was lost along with her nerve.

 As she relented to stowing her keyboard back into her duffel bag, an unfamiliar hand shoved a cold, unopened can of Coke in front of her face.

 “Here you go.” Another man’s voice. A softer one, this time. Magritte glanced up to meet eyes with the stranger who was offering her a free drink, only to gaze into a pair of red, plastic, star shaped dollar store sunglasses.

He gave the soda can a little shake, prompting her to take it into her hands. “Sorry I took long, I had to give someone directions to the aquarium.”

 “Is this…for me?” Holding the can in both hands, Magritte stared at the unopened beverage, unsure what to do with it.

 The new stranger leaned onto his back foot. “You said coke, right?”

 Before Magritte could stammer out a response, the new stranger turned his attention to the man with the guitar. “‘Ey, Kurtis. You mind, dude?”

 The unaccommodating man, ‘Kurtis’, had just started settling in, and looked towards the new stranger with an expression that appeared as perplexed as Magritte herself felt. He turned up both his palms in a slightly contentious gesture. “Didn’t know you were playin’ here again. I’ve had this spot for, like, a year. People don’t usually park here without asking me first.”

 “Okay, but you can’t just kick ���em out like this, man.”

 “I didn’t know she was with you–”

“Doesn’t matter,” Magritte’s new best friend replied. “Sixty minutes. It’s not a long time to wait if you gotta wait.”

 Magritte, who had been watching Kurtis’ confidence slowly drain from his body with each passing second, turned to examine the cut of her spontaneous new accomplice. His hair was a shade or two darker than Kurtis’, and trimmed much, much shorter, with longer locks in front that fell in straight tufts over the tops of his ears and just past his thick, blocky eyebrows. His eyes remained obscured by the cheap plastic shades, and their childish novelty paired strangely with the well trimmed goatee that fanned out from under his lip to define the curve of his somewhat long but gentle chin. And he had with him a rectangular instrument case of…some variety. Not big enough for a guitar, not small enough for a flute. It didn’t give away the shape of the instrument inside, but the black oxford cloth and gold colored metallic detailings of its exterior gave it a classy, charming look she had not seen for an instrument case before. It was cute. Magritte wondered if such a style was available for portable keyboards.

 His hands, which wore white fingerless driving gloves, cracked open his can of sprite, and he took a casual sip while waiting for Kurtis to, “Get a move on.”

  Relenting, Kurtis shuffled away from the spot he had been deliberately crowding Magritte out of. With a snort and a nod of his head towards her, Kurtis said, “Can’t exactly play Paganini on a Portasound, Raf. What’s on your setlist?”

  Raf brandished a lopsided smirk and jutted his chin in the direction of Magritte’s upturned hat on the ground. “Put a toonie down and I’ll show you.”

  “Fuck off.” Kurtis’s scoff was accompanied by a laugh–one that sounded surprisingly genuine to Magritte's ear. “I came here to earn change, not spend it. But I’m curious to hear how the Ephrem Classical pairs with Toy Piano.”

 Raf let out a low groan that could have been mistaken for a growl. Moving into the corner that Kurtis had surrendered, he unslung his instrument off his shoulder with a shrug. “There’s plenty you can play on just forty-nine keys.”

 Being very confident about this fact, Magritte couldn’t help but provide her insight on the matter. With an enthusiastic lean-in, she interjected, “Yeah, like Kirby’s Dreamland!”

 Raf’s head flinched in her direction almost imperceptibly, and if she had caught the subtle downward twitch of his eyebrows that betrayed a pang of confusion, she might have felt a bite of embarrassment. But instead, she heard him agree. “Like…Kirby’s Dreamland, yeah.”

 He turned to look over his shoulder at her, his sunglasses mercifully hiding the bafflement in his eyes. Magritte beamed gleefully back up at him.

  “Well, have fun.” Kurtis levelled a stern yet somewhat pleading glance at Raf.” I’ll be back here in an hour. Don’t let anyone else move in if you leave early, please.”

 Raf simply shrugged and sipped loudly from his can of sprite in response.

  As Magritte watched Kurtis disappear into the foot traffic, she began to tentatively scoot back towards where she had previously sat. “I didn’t mind giving that guy his spot back, he was just kinda–”

 “A dick. Nah, I saw that. S’why I stepped in.” Raf had carefully set his instrument case down, and was in the process of zipping it open.

 Leaning slightly to get a peek at what he was playing, Magritte said, “Thanks for the pop, by the way! I can pay you back after. If uh–you’re actually gonna stick around and jam with me.”

 He pulled his instrument out of its protective cradle; a pale varnished wooden violin. “Don’t worry about it.”

Inside the carrying case, Magritte noticed two bows neatly stowed. The bowstrings on the bow Raf selected was a standard white color, but the strings on the one he left in the case were an eye-catching red.

“Truth be told,” tucking the chin rest of the violin beneath his chin, he played one string, and then two experimentally, “I don’t really play anymore.” His fingers closed around one of the tuning knobs at the head of the violin, but if he had tweaked it at all, it wasn't perceptible. “So it’s gonna be pretty rough. But uh…gotta commit to the bit, I guess.”

  Magritte took the moment to open her soda and enjoy a refreshing sip. “What kinda music do you normally play?” 

  “Classical,” he replied almost too quickly. “You?”

  Magritte hesitated for a second. She should have had an easy answer for this by now, but all she could manage was, “a bit of everything. Anything, really!”

  Raf ran his bow over the strings again to hear their tune before turning to look at her. “Yeah?” His eyebrows were raised, and his smirk favored one side of his face; an expression Magritte interpreted as incredulous. He fidgeted with a tiny, lone knob on the violin's body where the strings ended.

  “Y-yeah! I, um…” Settling her keyboard back into her lap, she turned it on. “You can just play whatever, and I can fill it in. I can improvise, I think.”

  Raf paused and stared down at Magritte’s little Portasound with a sigh much heavier than he intended. The thing was lacking, not just in keys, but in sound. It was a struggle to think of something he could play that she’d be able to accompany. The titles which did come to mind where…overplayed and would have to be simplified considerably to suit the keyboard's limitations. Weighing it in his mind, however, he decided that ‘simple’ may benefit not just the limited range of her instrument, but of her musical skill as well.

 He ran the bow over his strings to measure their tune one last time before tentatively, very slowly playing the first few crystalline notes of Für Elise. He felt a tension he didn’t know he was holding melt off his shoulders as he watched Magritte’s face light up. She curled over her little piano in a hurry to play his accompaniment. She knew this one.

  She picked a soft, more ambient sound from the keyboard’s voicebank, electing to quietly cushion the violin’s notes rather than chafe against them. It was…difficult. Her little yamaha and its quaint library of FM chip sounds did not get along nicely with ‘real instruments’ that were being played ‘straight’. It wanted to be weird and annoying, just like her. But the notes Raf played, while simple, were extremely clear in tone; neat and tidy. The bow did not once stutter on the rough strings, it glided with practised ease. And with a great deal of restraint.

  This guy…he was playing beneath his skill level. For her sake, presumably. Like a gentleman.

 As Raf brought Für Elise to a close with the last, steady draw of his bow, Magritte swapped her soft, ambient voicing out with an annoying music box sound, and began hammering out a choice section from the 3rd movement of Appassionata. Her fingers slammed the keys harder than was necessary, solely because she enjoyed the percussive sound it added to each obnoxious, feverish note. 

  Lowering his violin, Raf watched Magritte’s fingers flutter furiously across the mini keys with respectable precision. Holding both the bow and the neck of his violin in one hand, his free hand reached up to remove his sunglasses and he rubbed his eye with the heel of his palm. A humbled snort escaped through his nose. “Yeah, okay.”

  “Play any song.” Magritte slowed her fingers to a stop without completing the movement. “Even if I don’t know it, even if it goes beyond the range of my little piano, I can improvise something nice for it, I promise!”

  Fitting his sunglasses back on, Raf let out a tentative hum. “I’m not much of an improviser–”

  “You don’t have to improvise anything! Play whatever you want, however you wanna play it. I will improvise around whatever you give me!” Magritte’s voice had risen to an excited shout, and instinctively, she withdrew into herself just a little bit, as if making herself smaller would also make her voice smaller, too. “It’s my favorite thing to do. It’s a lot of fun.”

  His incredulous smirk returned, but this time his brow furrowed slightly, encouragingly, under his growing sense of intrigue.

  “It’s–” Magritte held up both hands haltingly, “it’s probably not gonna be like how you know it should be. Just…so you know. It might even be…bad? In some parts? But-! Mostly it’ll be neat! I promise!”

  “Neat…” Raf brought the violin up once again to rest under his chin. “Neat’s cool. Alright, let’s see, then.”

  As though he had been inspired by Magritte’s aggressive interpretation of Appassionata, he began with a series of fast, chirpy, clean notes of his own. A wholly different song, but Magritte recognized this one too. She had most often heard it as a phone ringtone, but she couldn’t recall who composed it nor what the song was titled. She provided a jaunty, equally bouncy accompaniment that she’d have described as ‘percussive’. The violin’s unwavering confidence was a delight for Magritte’s deft little fingers to dance around. He never fell out of tempo, and she was able to punctuate his notes with hers in perfect time. Maintaining synchrony for the entire length of the fast paced composition filled her with such satisfying joy, she had failed to properly appreciate an obvious fact about her musical accomplice until he brought the song to a close; he was a skilled musician.

  Staring up at him from her spot on the floor, Magritte’s wide eyes almost sparkled with delight. “You’re like…Concert hall good, aren’t you? Are you part of the local orchestra? Or at least like–aspiring to be?”

  Raf’s gaze hung on her as both his jaw and posture slackened. “Uh…” 

  She didn’t give him enough time to respond, hitting him with another question. “What was the title of that song? I just know it as one of the Nokia ringtones.”

 “P–” Raf’s stunned silence cracked with a laugh that sprang forth from his chest and took him by surprise almost as much as Magritte’s line of questioning had. “Paganini. It’s–it’s Paganini, Caprice number…number 24.” The response was punctuated with warm chuckling. “Or, you know, that one phone ringtone, yeah.” He smirked at her for a moment longer, studying her for any sign that she was putting him on. “How do you…accompany me that well, on that little machine, and not even know the song?”

 Magritte waved her hands in front of her. “No, no, I knew the song! I’ve heard it before, I just didn’t know what it was called.”

 “Yeah, alright.” He snorted one last incredulous laugh and brought his violin back up for another song.

 Magritte stopped him before he could settle on his next pick. “Do you play professionally? I mean, it sounds like it but, like–”

  “No.” Before Magritte could inquire further, the first notes of their next song filled the space between them, drawn out of his violin with long, purposeful strokes of his bow.

  The next several songs, Raf played seamlessly one into the other–without pausing for conversation. That was just as well for Magritte. It had been ages since she was given the chance to play music with someone, and never had she played with someone who was so…solid? Consistent? The real deal. Usually, she had to avoid getting carried away when playing with another person. It was very easy for her to close her eyes and get taken to places that her musical partners could not follow along with. But with Raf, she was finding herself challenged to keep up with him. Most of the songs he had chosen, she had not heard before. And so she needed to keep an attentive ear out if she wanted to pick out repeated phrases, and predict melodic trajectories.

  Finally, they arrived at the end of an especially eclectic piece, and Raf did not immediately follow through into another composition. Instead he lowered his bow, and Magritte took her opening to converse again.

  “I really liked that one. It was super janky, in a fun way.”

  “Yeah,” Raf said. “I was always fond of it, too.”

  “I liked the plucky bits. Did you write it?”

 “Did I–” Raf palmed both his bow and violin in one hand, and massaged his eyes and browline with the other. “No, some guy named Ravel did. Tzigane, that one’s called.”

  Magritte chewed the inside of her cheek. “R-right.”

  He furrowed his eyebrows at her. “You knew that one, though.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “...You just let me solo the first four minutes based on vibes?”

  “I thought I missed the bus on it.”

  “The actual composition has no accompaniment until about half way through, so…bravo.”

  “Wait, really?” Magritte leaned forward eagerly. “Did I play the accompaniment correctly, too?”

  “Not even close.”

  “Drat.” She slumped.

  “Was good, though.” Raf picked up his sprite from where he had placed it, on the ground next to his case, and drained the last bit of its contents.

  Magritte perked up again. “Yeah!?”

  He held the lip of the empty can between his teeth as he began tucking his violin back into its carrying case. “Mmhm.”   

  Magritte watched him pack up for a moment longer than it should have taken her to realise, “Wait, you’re leaving already?”

  Raf zipped his instrument safely away before removing the empty soda can from his mouth. “Yeah, I gotta get going. But look,” He bent over to collect Magritte’s upturned ball cap off the ground. The few quarters she had started with now had a generous handful of friends with them; more quarters, some loonies, a few toonies and–

 Magritte accepted the hat when Raf handed it to her, and pulled a crisp twenty dollar bill out of it. “W-who left this!? I wasn’t even paying attention, I should have said thanks!”

  “A mystery.” He slung his violin case over his shoulder.

  Magritte urged him to wait, fluttering a hand at him. “Half of this is yours!”

  “Nah.” He favored her with a smile. “Genuinely, this was a treat in itself. It’s been a long time since I’ve played for fun like this. It…was fun.” That last part sounded as though it came as a surprise to him.

  Frowning, Magritte pleaded with him. “Okay, okay but–okay. Lemme treat you to a coffee then, at least? If you’re in no real hurry.”

  Raf paused to regard her with a measuring stare. He then sighed and shoved his hands into the pockets of his black denim hoodie jacket, waiting for Magritte to stow her keyboard away into her bag.

  Zipping the duffel closed, she hoisted it with effort over her shoulder and beamed up at her new friendly acquaintance. “If you know any cute, cozy coffee places with a real decadent latte, I’m open to suggestions!”

  “There are…a few.” 

  “I’m Magritte, by the way!” She extended her hand out to him.

  With slight hesitation, Raf shook it. “Rafael.”

  As the two of them began to make their way out of the station together, he dared to ask, “Are you here visiting, or..?”

  “Oh!” She bounced on the balls of her feet, “I just came in from Calgary like…two hours ago. Ideally, I’d like to stay until the spring, but that’s gonna depend on things.”

  “Calgary?”

  “Yeah! I was in Edmonton before that, and in Winnipeg before that–but that was mostly a fever dream. I wasn’t there long. Montreal before that, though, was nice..!” She talked the entire walk, and he was content to quietly listen. part ii

[pseudowho]

Nanami Kento, and the Curses of an Unusual Nature

In which Nanami Kento is employed to exorcise curses which are frankly demeaning, pretending to be household objects

WARNINGS: Foul language, British/Danish sense of humour

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Nanami Kento strode through the halls of Jujutsu High, pausing briefly, at intervals, to greet colleagues and students. Today was a good day, he noted; his new shoes weren't pinching, he hadn't seen Gojo once, and he'd woken up naturally, before his alarm.

He glanced at his wristwatch as he slowed before a closed door. 5 minutes early, he thought. Well-timed. Politely early. As he straightened his tie, and raised his fist to knock on the door, it flew inwards with a bang hard enough to rattle the walls.

"Godammit, Tako, I said gently! And let visitors knock first."

Principal Yaga stood behind his desk, preparing two cups for a cafetière already steaming with, what Nanami hoped, was bad coffee. Yaga only brought out the good coffee when he planned to charm someone into an unappealing task.

Nanami bowed, passed greetings, and leaned carefully behind Yaga's door to glance at Yaga's new assistant.

A small orange clockwork octopus, about the size of a football with vastly overlong mechanical tentacles, clacked anxiously at Nanami, glancing up at him and twisting two tentacles together.

"Another cursed doll, sir?"

Yaga sighed, throwing a stern look to Tako, who let out a shrill squeak and raised its tentacles to cover its golden eyes.

"I'm trying to create one with manners, Nanami. One with tact, some domesticity, and, dare I say it, a little self-control."

Nanami looked thoughtfully back to Tako, who was now gently closing the door, and  patting the dent on the wall left by the doorknob. It skittered back to Nanami, gears winding, and, reaching up to take his hand in one of its tentacles, led Nanami to a plush armchair by the windows. Tako let go of Nanami, and patted the seat of the armchair, golden eyes glinting endearingly as it crooned.

Charmed, Nanami sat.

"Thank you, Tako-san. I think you're doing very well. I know students and teachers here who are less polite than you."

If mechanical cephalopods could blush, Tako would have. Instead, it raised two tentacles to hold the sides of its face, and scooted with a happy whirring under the opposite armchair, where Yaga sat as he offered Nanami a steaming cup of coffee.

Nanami took it gratefully, blowing away steam, and taking a sip. Ah, he mused, it's good coffee. He gazed momentarily out of the open screen doors, and felt the breeze carry his good morning away from him. Nanami allowed a taut silence to grow, feeling Yaga strain to find the words to begin.

"Curses have been evolving in some unusual ways lately, wouldn't you agree, Nanami-san?" Nanami nodded slowly and let out a hum of agreement, biting his lip as Tako plopped sugar lumps, one at a time (three, four, five...) into a distracted Yaga's coffee, which he'd rested onto his knee. Tickled, Nanami did not, of course, interrupt Yaga to tell him.

"There have been some curse-related incidents lately, Nanami-san, which are nothing short of...weird."

"Weird, how, sir?"

Yaga paused again, reaching for words. He lifted his coffee cup to his mouth, now a mountain of saturated sugar lumps. His jaw clenched, but he remained calm.

"One lump, Tako, not one bag." Tako raised the bag of sugar lumps to its eyes, sighing in dawning understanding. It took the cup from Yaga with a bow, and coiled away to rectify its mistake. Yaga gripped the arm of his chair, before slapping it briskly with an open hand.

"Godammit! You know I'm not good with words, Nanami, so I'll get straight to the point. We appear to be dealing with a spate of curses which appear to have evolved to look like common items. They're hiding in plain sight. The list of missing persons is growing, public awareness is increasing in an uncomfortable way, and we've had multiple sorcerers injured and flummoxed by them, to the point where we're not getting on top of it at all."

Nanami raised his eyebrows, and nudged his glasses back onto his nose.

"So you're saying this needs a Grade One sorcerer? They're powerful curses?"

Yaga tipped his open hand from side to side, "It's not that they're especially powerful," he elaborated, "they're just cunning. And strong sorcerers don't necessarily equate to smart sorcerers. As we don't really know the power of these curses, you were the first sorcerer to come to mind with the mental and physical abilities required to reliably destroy these bastards."

"I'm flattered, sir. What information do we have so far? We should start with the most dangerous, and go from there."

Yaga was already rifling through a narrow folder of papers, neatly typed.

"So there's certainly at least one hiding in a large shopping centre- perhaps you know it?" Yaga handed the paper to Nanami, who skimmed it cautiously. Ginza, he noted. Very upmarket. Where I bought my watch. Other details were scant, he assumed, because the two Grade Three sorcerers sent to resolve the situation appeared to have been missing for a week. Four other men were also mysteriously missing, reportedly during visits to clothing stores.

Nanami folded the paper and tucked it inside his suit jacket.

"Jujutsu sorcery is only marginally less ridiculous than being a salaryman. At least, it has been up until now. Am I going to regret accepting this assignment, sir?"

Yaga twiddled his fingers together delicately, declining to answer. Tako returned to Yaga and pushed a flowerpot, brimming with coffee, into his lap, confident that the sugar to coffee ratio had now been corrected. Nanami barely restrained himself from laughing out loud, and stood briskly to excuse himself before the urge overtook him.

Yaga patted a proud Tako on the head, exasperated.

"Who knows, Nanami-san? Maybe it will even be funny."

Nanami scoffed, and as he reached the door he heard Yaga call out for him.

"Oh and, Nanami-san? Please take Kugisaki Nobara-san with you. She knows the shopping centre well, and this could be a good teaching opportunity."

"Have I done something to upset you, sir?"

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"Nanami-san, if we're done quickly, do you think we could stay for some shopping? I love Ginza. I'm not rich enough for it, obviously, but a girl can dream."

Nanami shared a withering sideways glance with Ijichi at the driver's wheel. Streetlights flooded through the car's windows, casting shadows on Nanami's chiselled jaw.

"Do recall the shops will be closed. We certainly can't get away with a mission like this during the daytime, veil or no veil." He heard Nobara groan in the back seat.

Nanami took off his glasses, polishing them thoughtfully.

"I must also remind you of some ground rules for this task, Kugisaki-san." Nobara sat to attention, as Nanami continued, "My priority is to keep you safe. Eliminating the curse is secondary to me if you are placed in danger." Nobara opened her mouth to argue, but Nanami raised a hand and interrupted, "So if I tell you to get to safety, if I tell you to leave me and save yourself, I fully expect you will do as you're told. Do I make myself clear?"

Nobara pouted furiously, but acquiesced, and softened when in turn, Nanami thanked her, gently and sincerely. She recalled eating lunch under the dappled tree-shade with Yuuji and Megumi, as Yuuji waxed lyrically about how protective Nanami was, how kind, how eagerly he wished to shield the students from evil. Nobara wondered what had happened to Nanami to make him this way.

Nanami pondered the night-time Tokyo traffic, Haibara Yu ever on his mind. Ijichi pulled the car into a layby, putting his warning lights on. Briefly, he handed Nanami a master key for the shopping centre's shutters, wished Nanami and Nobara good luck, and waved them off as they stepped into the cool night air.

Nanami and Nobara let themselves into a fire exit of the Ginza shopping centre, Nanami holding the door for Nobara, as he watched Ijichi's veil drip a dome around them.

Mounting the stairs two at a time to catch up with Nobara, the sorcerers soon reached a vast, well-lit atrium, surrounded on all sides by high-end shops, advertising clothes, jewellery, and more. Nanami turned to Nobara, who gazed around the shopping centre with stars in her eyes.

"All we know so far, Kugisaki-san, is that six men are missing, two sorcerers amongst them. Does this tell you anything?" Nobara pondered.

"Well...it could be a coincidence that all the victims are men. Or maybe the curse is hiding somewhere largely men visit."

"Very good. I think we should start with suit shops and mens' apparel, perhaps. However, it's also reasonable to assume this curse can both disguise or diminish its cursed energy, and shapeshift. It is managing to hide in plain sight, after all."

Nobara stretched her arms in front of her, flexing her fingers. Walking over to a large display board, she spoke.

"So there are some men's bathrooms on this level, and two suit shops. Which one do you want?"

"While I don't normally encourage young women into men's bathrooms, I'm betting on the clothing stores as our most likely suspects. But, Kugisaki-san, the first hint of a curse, you call me, agreed?"

Nobara clasped a hand over her heart, "I promise, Nanami-san!" she proclaimed, but only because you're such a sweetheart.

Nanami watched her skip away, anxiety gnawing at his guts. Should I have let her go, Yu? he questioned internally, doubting himself as a mentor. He reached between his broad shoulders to unsheath his blade, and walked briskly until he reached the first suit shop. Using his master key to open the shutters, he began to sweep the shop, deep breaths broadening his senses and mind to cursed energy.

Nothing, he thought, nil. He doubted himself again, but glancing across the marbled hallways towards the second suit shop, he stopped. This suit shop is the better one, he considered, because all the arsehole finance guys go to that one. Because they're vain, self-impressed little boys who think a skinny, ill-fitting suit cuts an impressive figure.

Nanami unbuttoned his jacket, and paced confidently across the hallway, kneeling to unlock the shutters on the second shop. He was grimly satisfied as he felt a thrill of cursed energy through his belly.

New shoes squeaking, Nanami stepped slowly into the store. Low-lights glinted against polished mahogany surfaces, the clothing racks oozing money. Nanami's abdomen clenched and unclenched as he breathed deeply, seeking the source of the cursed energy. Whatever this thing is disguising itself as, it's doing a good job. Nanami pondered over a mirror, wondering if enough vanity and pride pouring into it would be enough to generate a curse. Alas, no.

Thoughtfully, Nanami leaned against a circular rotating rail, laden with shirts. Fingering one of the shirts while he stared around the shop, he had enough time only to consider the shirt to be a very poor material, before the arm of the shirt whipped outwards and coiled tightly around Nanami's arm and hand.

Quick as a flash, Nanami was yanked into the circular rail, which began to spin frantically, twisting him like a ragdoll.  Nanami coated his body in cursed energy as he felt metal hangers rip and claw at him. Arms too constrained to swing his blade, Nanami kicked hard and expelled himself from the flurry of shirts. He hit the ground hard with a grunt and rolled, hair mussed and face covered in scratches.

The clothes rail shivered menacingly at Nanami, who lay on his back, gobsmacked and evaluating his life choices.

"What the fuck", he gasped. Standing up, he realised his jacket was missing, and his shirt torn open from hip to shoulder. The clothes rail let out a tinny little burp.

"You little bitch", growled Nanami, twizzling his blade in his hand. With his eyeline full of ratios, Nanami swung hard at the clothes rail, and absolute mania ensued.

Lights flickered and danced in the shop as shirts fired at speed in all directions. Mirrors shattered as clothes hangers hit them at high velocity, and Nanami slipped and slid on cheap polyester, spitting pocket squares from his mouth and pulling ties from his eyes, failing miserably to land a hit on the demonic carousel, spinning wildly in front of him.

Nanami was yanked in and out of the clothing rail, being spat out more undressed and dishevelled each time, cursing and spitting venom at the godforsaken curse. Lying on his back again, and realising one of his new shoes was now gone for good, Nanami stood up, now shirtless but oddly with his tie remaining.

Checking he still had both nipples, he ducked beneath the spinning rail and landed a resounding hit at its base. The curse shrieked and buckled, becoming animated, grotesquely leaning towards Nanami and circling an outstretched metallic pole around his ankle.

Raised aloft with a yell, Nanami hung upside down, and desperately undid his belt. Sliding free of his trousers, he landed like a cat, and swung downwards in a fully committed arc through the top of the rail, down to the floor. The curse let out a deafening screech and split like a banana, fleshy, gaping mouth exposed, hideous tongue reaching for Nanami's legs.

Nanami uttered a noise of total disgust, ripped off his remaining shoe, and tossed it into the curse's gaping maws. The curse choked, and Nanami took the chance to grab it by the tongue, swiftly slashing it off. The curse shrieked again. Nanami now soaked in thick, hot blood, he landed a final deathblow through its bloodied mouth. The curse roared at Nanami, flipping his tie upwards into his face.

Nanami stood, panting, as the curse feebly spat one last pocket square at him, which Nanami used to clean his face as the curse  withered and died.

Nanami took a long breath in through his nose, and breathed out as he surveyed the broken, bloodied carnage of the shop around him.

"Yu, did you see that? I hate this stupid fucking job."

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"Eyes forward, young lady."

Nobara blushed deeply, eyes now wide and looking anywhere but at Nanami, who limped towards her, leaving bloody footprints across the marble floors. Clad in only his tie, glasses and underwear, drenched in blood and gripping his blade with a white-knuckled hand, he reached out an impatient hand for Nobara's phone. He spoke curtly to Ijichi, requesting immediate collection from the shopping centre.

Stood together in awkward silence, Nobara walked into the neighbouring suit shop, and wordlessly brought a black shirt to Nanami. He silently nodded, and began to button himself up.

"At least you kept your underwear, sir."

"Very bold of you to assume these are the same pair I walked in wearing, Kugisaki-san."

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EXTRA:

Megumi walked towards his dorm room, but despite his best efforts to ignore the sound of laughing, was drawn to the tone of absolute hilarity coming from Nobara's room at the end of the hall.

Knocking at her door, he heard various shushing noises and quiet footsteps approached the other side.

"Who is it?" came Nobara's voice.

"Only me," said Megumi, and the door instantly swung open, to reveal the whole of Jujutsu High's student population gathered around Nobara's laptop. Panda wiped tears from his eyes. Maki had popcorn. Nobara grinned wickedly at Megumi.

"Perfect timing. I managed to bully Ijichi into giving me the security footage from the shopping centre. You know, the mission I went on with Nanami? You've got to see this."

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Hopefully there are many more of these to come. Poor Kento, I love him so!

Also got some smut, angst and fluff planned in other stories.

If there are any other inanimate objects you want to see poor Kento fight, hit me up. I wonder what's next? 😈💀

[m00mis]

hello~ i saw that you're accepting requests and i really like how you write seventeen. 🥺 if it's not too much can i please request a scenario where seventeen tries to make up with their partner after a fight? thank you and i hope you're having an amazing day/night! ♥️

thankyou! that’s the best compliment <3 i took my sweet time doing this sorry they’re kind of long… hope you enjoy!

how seventeen would make up after a fight

cheol - he is devastated. so angry at himself and always blames himself for every fight. cries after bad ones because he cant imagine losing you. he would be very scared to attempt to make up with you because what if he says the wrong thing? so he writes his thoughts down and memorises what he wants to say but when your eyes meet his he forgets it all. it doesnt matter though because you can tell how sincere he is, he’s on his knees with his big eyes, long eyelashes wet, begging for forgiveness. he doesn’t need to say how he’s sorry when its written so clearly right there on his face

jeonghan - would text your best friend for advice on what he should do, not because he doesn’t know how to make up with you, but because he needs to know if you had said anything that he could fix and how angry you were at him. after confirming the details he would trap you in bed with him lying on top of you, smiling at your irritated expression, pressing tons of kisses to your whole face until it softens. when you finally gave in he would sit up and hold your hands in his saying how sorry he was and how you should forgive him because honestly what you were angry about was a little silly (“have you been messaging friend’s/name again? goddammit hannie.” “i had to know! it’s not like you were in the mood to tell me what was wrong 🙄”)

joshua - loves making you something to show how much he appreciates you. your bedroom is covered in trinkets and little crafts he has made for you to express his feelings so this time he decides to sculpt a vase. he picks out the flowers for it especially, making sure all the flower’s meanings amplified his apology. he also got you jewellery that you had been wanting and waits by the front door for you to return home to present them to you. he would say how sorry he was, taking your hand to show you the table where the vase with flowers is surrounded by candles, with your favourite food laid out. “i love you so much y/n, i’m truly sorry”

jun - he dislikes confrontation so would avoid you to give you time to cool off. the fight was accidental, he wouldn’t have hurt you on purpose but he takes time to understand your point of view. endearingly sits next to you and listens to every word you say. after you’ve explained yourself he would give you a big hug “i understand now, i’m sorry for what i did” and give you a little kiss before trying to lighten the mood by playing with your hair or booping your nose or something lmao

hoshi - he would lock himself away and rake through his song library to find the perfect song that encompasses all his feelings, then find you and drag you to his room, making you sit down and listen to this perfectly selected song that can speak for him and he stands there facing you grooving to it, mouthing along to some parts and clutching at his heart at the end. luckily the fight wasn’t too serious or you would beat his ass. he’s too cute (and cunning), he knows that this way you would forgive him, but he’s still scared after the song ends when he has to start using his own words “what i say always gets me in trouble”

wonwoo - this one is hard because i really can’t see him getting into that much difficulty in a relationship? i think if something came up it would be because you wish he would communicate a bit more with what goes on deeper inside him. but he would apologise straight away after he saw the slightest change in you and explain that he just couldn’t find the right words to express himself eloquently. but i also feel sometimes he would stay up late and talk about things that would metaphorically say what he wants to tell you, very poetic man when the time is right

woozi - man is extremely gifted with his words and knows just what to say to you at any time. a huge comfort knowing that he is a word wizard because no matter what, he says what you need to hear. i actually don’t think he would like writing songs for you in the sense that his work and you are completely separate to him and if he merges them in any way it will lessen the importance he holds for you. he gives you himself in his raw form and wants you to accept that, as he’s such a perfectionist in his work. polishing his feelings for you in a song would take away the raw power of love he has for you. so he would just give you his feelings right there, apologising and letting the words fall so he gets his feelings out before he starts overthinking and they have the chance to form into something he doesn’t mean

dk - his emotions are so big he wears them on his sleeve which means when you two fight he is so visibly upset. overthinking 101 and might go to one of the members, probably minghao for advice. he would book a hotel in your favourite city, so you could get out of the environment that is straining your relationship. he would pack everything for you and would plan out your trip with a plan a and b incase you just wanted to relax together. he’s so giving and just wants to see you happy. it really hurts him when you’re stressed out. he’d serve on you hand and foot and that’s how he would apologise. at the end of the trip he would say he’s sorry for letting things get so rough between you two and promise to take better care of you

mingyu - he would knock on your bedroom door and whisper through it explaining how sorry he was, edging the door open, slowly shuffling in just so he can hold your head in his hands and wipe away the tears he caused with his thumbs. you wouldn’t make eye contact with him but he pulls you in to his chest to cuddle and rocks you while apologising and tries to sort the misunderstanding out while stroking your head. later on he would cook you your favourite meal and watch you eat it. he would refuse to eat any because its all for you, “and anyway, i’m already full with love”

minghao - goes for the longest walk to take time to mull it over and analyse. he’d learn from his mistakes and realise what he should have done and how to improve himself for you. but he wouldn’t take it as a negative. he would come home with food he had bought walking back to your place and explain how you two fighting is a sign of good emotional boundaries. it shows you still stand up for yourselves as individuals, not neglecting your own values and views. he would respect you even more and it’s a learning curve, just a bump in the road that strengthens your bond.

seungkwan - would be extremely worried and stressed out, replaying the fight over and over in his head. he would approach you very gently, wanting to talk. because you two always confided in each other, when you didn’t tell him what was going on he would begin overthinking and spiralling, he wouldn’t sleep or eat. he knows you need space but because you were so close, not knowing how you were feeling was wrecking him. he just wants to listen to you and know what is going on in that beautiful mind of yours!

vernon - classic romantic guy that will do acts of service and buy gifts like flowers, chocolates, clothes, cute classic apology gifts. he can’t figure out the right thing to say when he’s the one who made you upset, he doesn’t want to make it worse. only after the air had cleared a bit he would sincerely apologise and promise not to repeat his mistakes. he would take you out on a date to a fancy restaurant, but you would feel so out of place that you leave and go get takeout and ice cream instead, eating it in his car while listening to music. he would joke about how uncomfortable it was in the restaurant and how this is way better but he really wanted to treat you to show how much he cared for you. you'd have a very long, deep talk together in the car before heading home

dino - he would be so confused if you didn’t accept his apology right away and he’d ask all the members “why wont she forgive me i’ve done everything wikihow told me to” making them sigh in disappointment. when he starts to accept you’ll hate him forever, you finally forgive him. he is so happy, practically jumps on you to get you to go out and drink with him to celebrate. after way too many drinks he would confess how scared he was, how much he loves you and how he would do anything for you. you had to drag him home and tuck him into bed while he rambled on about how you’re the love of his life. he only stops saying that he loves you when he passes out in bed. when you get in he wraps his arm around you and mumbles “i love you” again before starting to snore in your face