#jade's supposed to be leaning down here ???? idk

[crystallizsch]

💜: Jade always sits me down to drink tea with him after shifts at the lounge. I won't lie, it feels genuine and it's... honestly pretty sweet of him. The tea he makes me is really soothing, like it's made for me. It's definitely better than my regular dose of coffee every day.

getting the random urge to draw crack ship art with yuusha bc i think it’d be funny

[bluesidez]

HEY POOKS. Could you write a DBF!Miguel x dancer!reader. He just loves to watch her dance in competitions and recitals and helps her practice her routine by counting out 8’s for her <333

( maybe he can give reader a reward for doing so well but idk 🤭 )

[Rehearsal]

lab tester: Anonymous Participant (Hi @snails-doodles22) 🩻

summary: Miguel keeps you grounded as you prepare for a dance competition. 

content warning: age gap (abeg she’s 21+), secret relationship, fluff, like two suggestive?? lowkey explicit scenes so MINORS BEWARE, a few thoughts of frustration/failure but nothing serious just the thoughts of an artist

word count: 1.9k, halfway proofread

a/n: Hi hi!! This one was really a challenge for me!! and Idk if I’ll write DBF again ngl Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it! I leaned more on the age gap aspect of the relationship and pulled from how I felt when practicing for my own recitals/competitions 🤠! (I get extremely snappy and mean lol)

A Grand Adage (as best as I, not a professional ballerina but I practiced for 3 years, can explain) is a slower dance move where you stretch your leg to the front, side, and back without losing your balance. You also have to switch legs…I think. It looks like it takes a LOT of core strength, especially without a partner.

I don’t think I mention it in the story, but I’m imagining this Miguel to have salt and pepper hair, but like, in its early stages. So only a few strands of gray. 

“Damn it.”

The music started to sound more and more jaded as you failed another Grand Adage after powering through the more fast-paced part of your routine. 

You don’t know why you had the bright idea to add the most pain-inducing ballet moves to your contemporary piece, but you were starting to hate yourself for it. It was supposed to represent a crash and burn of rushing perfection which was ironic because you were feeling those emotions tenfold.

“You’re not going to get it if you keep trying to force it like that.” You heard Miguel from across the room and the music finally stopped. “It’s a pause between those last two counts. You know this, chiquita.”

You huffed out a chuckle as you got up, “Knowing and doing are two different things. I know what’s coming, which is why I keep anticipating it and messing it up.”

“The studio is all yours for a few more hours,” Miguel sighed. “Take a breath and try it again.”

“That’s so easy for you to say. You’re not the one busting your ass,” you mumbled as you got back into your starting position. 

Miguel crossed his arms, head leaning on the wall above the barre, “You want to say that again?”

You dropped your arms and stared at him, face blank. 

After a minute or so of you going silent, he unfolded his arms and beckoned you towards him. 

You dragged your feet to get to him, hands hugging yourself. 

“I know you want this to be perfect, but snapping at me isn’t going to help that.” His hands made their way to the back of your thighs, rubbing up and down the tightened muscles. 

“I’m sorry, I just-” you rubbed your eyes with your palms. “The competition is so soon and I keep fucking the routine up.”

“And you’ve also done it perfectly countless other times. You’ve got this! I know you do. I’ve seen how much work you’ve put into dancing and that’s not going to change.”

“But Miguel-”

“But nothing. I’ve seen how you become a new person on the stage. You demand the attention of your audience in a way that your peers can’t. You’re captivating and alluring so I’m not going to sit here and let you think otherwise.”

You look at him with a face that says “I know you’re right, but I don’t want you to be,” and just fall onto his lap, wallowing in his arms while you breathe in his cologne. 

He nuzzled you on the head, hands patting at your ass, hands warm and firm through your tights, “Now can you try again for me?”

“Can I have a kiss?” you say, lips rivaling a rubber duckie. 

He chuckles at you but obliges, heart too soft when it comes to you. 

You get up with new ambition, taking a deep breath as you stride back to the middle of the room. 

“I’m going to count out loud for you this time, is that ok?”

“Yeah,” you reply, arms molding into a sharp form. 

When the music starts this time, you hone in on Miguel’s voice, taking leaps and turns with his timbre. Your heart thumps all the same, but your brain isn’t as loud. 

As the Grand Adage comes again, Miguel’s voice stays calm, never wavering. You tighten your core and lift your leg high, hands framed beautifully and foot pointed sharp as you hold your arms above your head. As you bring your leg back down to begin to turn, your heart almost stops when your body remains stable and strong. You can’t believe it but try to keep the piece's emotion steady. 

You switch legs without trouble, eyes catching Miguel watching your form in the mirror. His face is serious but you can’t hear that in his voice, making you feel fuzzy. You keep up the pace, repeating the same move but gearing up to do an Illusion.

Like a flash, you bring your leg down and bend your body, foot spinning swiftly to perform the trick. Your heartbeat is roaring in your ears as you move through the rest of the routine, mind too excited from your success to completely portray the ending emotions of dance. 

Once you finish, you’re quick to get out of your position, face lit up as you turn to Miguel. When you run to him, you’re screaming with glee. He only stumbles a bit when you jump in his arms, body wrapped around him like a koala. 

“Miguel! Did’ya see it? Oh my god, I can’t believe it,” you laughed as he spun you around.

“I told you you could do it, amor. You just needed to get out of your head.”

“Ok ok, three more times and I think I’ll be ready to leave.”

“Well let’s get busy, chiquita. We’ve got work to do.”

You run through the routine again and again, becoming more confident each time. After every successful routine, Miguel’s praises get more and more loving. First a deep hug, then a few pecks to the lips, then a makeout session that has you squirming for more. 

“Is your dad picking you up today?” he said, lips on your neck.

You turn your nose up at the mention of him, “No, I took the bus.”

“Could have asked me to drop you off.”

“You were at work, Miggy. Didn’t want to bother you.”

“You’re never a bother,” he stopped to move his forehead to yours. “You can come over tonight. You need to relax after all of this hard work.”

“And what do I tell my dad when he asks where I am?” your eyes pan from his eyes to his lips, fingers reaching up to go through his hair. 

“Tell him you’re at a girlfriend’s house.”

You twist your mouth to the side, pretending to think.

“How are you planning to relax me?”

“A hot bath.”

You snickered, knowing better than to believe that was all he was planning to do, but taking his word for it. 

Hours later when you were laid on your back, hands gripping the sheets below you and Miguel holding your legs up as he stroked deep inside, your suspicions were confirmed. Your skin was soft from the bath and your muscles were like jelly after he spent an hour massaging every tight muscle out of you. The room was full of him, his smell surrounding you, and the noises of him attending to your every need. With every cry of his name, he brought you closer to the horizon. 

On the day of your competition, you didn’t even look at Miguel before you went on, nerves too bad. If he gave you a pep talk, internally, you would be appreciative, but externally, you might tell him to leave you the fuck alone. 

Knowing how you get, he supported you in the best way he could by sending you messages and a light breakfast in the morning. 

“Break a leg, chiquita”

“Not literally of course”

“I’ll be waiting for you once it’s over”

“With a surprise :)”

It was enough to fill you with anticipation, ready to give it all on the floor.

Once your number was called, you went to the center and got into position. The crowd was dark enough to feel like it was just you in the room, but your heart knew otherwise with how fast it was beating. 

When the music starts, it’s like Miguel’s voice is a soundtrack playing through your memory. You can’t see him, but you can feel him in the crowd cheering you on. Your feet move across the floor, body tightening and relaxing when needed. Your face wears a frustrated expression, portraying the sentiment of everything falling out of control. Your leaps and turns come one after another moving your form across the stage. 

The Grand Adage comes to you like lightning, you don’t even notice you’re doing it until it happens. The muscle memory takes over and you transition to the Illusion like it's nothing. Your mind wanders as you go through to the end of the routine, finishing strongly with your pose on the floor.

The cheers of the audience are what bring you back to reality. A feeling of relief washes over you as you stand and bow, smiling brightly. 

Standing with the other dancers from your category, you don’t expect the judges to call your name for first place, so when they all turn to look at you, you feel like you might have walked out in your underwear by accident. 

It isn’t until you’re handed a bouquet of flowers and a trophy that it dawns on you that your hard work has paid off. The check was no measly amount of money either. 

Looking out to the crowd, you can see Miguel standing up with his hands cupped over his mouth as he yells. Your family is standing next to him cheering as well. You wave at them, jumping up and down in excitement. Only you can see the wink Miguel gives you. 

When you meet them out in the lobby, you have to stop yourself from keeping your attention on Miguel. 

“You did amazing, honey,” your dad says, squeezing the life out of you. “That flip thing? I don’t know how you did it, but wow!”

“It’s called an Illusion,” Miguel shakes his head. “Keep up.”

“What are you, her coach or something?”

“C’mon you guys,” your mom fusses. “Don’t start bickering in the building. At least wait until we get dinner.”

“‘M gonna ride with Miguel,” you say to them. 

Knowing how much you like his car, your parents think nothing of it and walk out to their own car. 

Once they’re out the door, he turns and gives you a deep kiss, “You did such a good job. I’m so proud of you.”

“I just remembered what you said. Kept it in the back of my mind while I performed.”

He smiled and wrapped his hands around your waist, “Yeah?”

You nod and bring his lips to yours again. 

“Where’s my surprise?”

“Always so impatient.”

“You wouldn’t like me any other way.”

“Tienes rázon,” Miguel chuckled. 

Miguel brings a sparkly gift bag to your attention, placing it in your hands. You reach into the bag, tissue paper falling to the floor. You pull out an envelope and a long velvet box. 

You open the box, eyes glittering when you see the necklace inside. 

“Miguel, this is adorable!” 

“Here,” he takes the necklace out of the box. “Let me help you put it on.”

You turn and focus your attention on the envelope, fingers sliding under the sealed flap. 

Your breath halts when you pull the tickets out.

“To Paris?”

You turn to him once your necklace is latched together, eyes teary from happiness.

“You’ve been doing so amazing, I wanted to treat you to an amazing trip.”

“How much did this cost?”

“Nothing that you should worry your head about.”

You crowd his space, kissing his face all over, “Thank you so much, Miguel.”

“Of course. Anything for my girl.”

“I don’t want to go out to dinner now,” you sigh dramatically.

“Yeah? You know we can’t bail, though.”

“Not even if I give my thanks to you in the car?”

Miguel bit the inside of his cheek, watching you grin at him. He’s really way too soft when it comes to you. 

“Vamos.”

As always, like, reblog, and COMMENT. Let me know how you guys feel! 🩵

[mochinomnoms]

Here's a silly idea I just had because I'm in sleep debt! A Jade siren au where the only on who isn't under his spell of madness is Yuu! I think it would be cute especially since he would probably have a nice singing voice. So the amount of inward cuteness aggression he'll have when a human tells him is insane. Plus I'd like to imagine only sirens are immune to other sirens songs. So bonus points because someone who is unbiased tells him that he has a nice voice. (I like to think Azul made a deal which the twins where they can't use their powers against him and they get something good, idk I haven't thought that far)

✨👀 (oh yeah also I'm back from the dead. Hi! How've you been?)

(hiiiii baby welcome back i hope you slept)

Enemies-to-lovers type beat.

He'd be so pissed off that his songs aren't working, he's a SIREN, that's what he's supposed to do!!! What the fuck!! He doesn't realize that Yuu has earbuds in their ears half the time, so they can only here bits and pieces of his singing. It sounds nice, though, and they tell him that.

How he's confused and pissed still about his songs not working on Yuu, and is trying to use other methods to get them in the water so he can personally drown Yuu with his bare hands. Except…he never does the final push. When their feet are in the water, his fins brushing against them, he can't bring himself to drag them down. When they're in their rickety boat, nearly tipping over as they lean down to gleefully talk to him, he can't bring himself to tip it over himself. When they finally get into the water with him, he can't do anything. They're swimming around, wrapping their arms around his shoulders, his happen to wrap around their waist, and they shyly kiss his lips, that's when it clicks.

He may be a siren, but Yuu's managed to bewitch him instead.

[somekidnamedkai]

February 2nd- Dinner date for Malleus?

February 2nd - Dinner Date

Authors Note: Idk. It’s kind of lazily edited (sorry!) I had two tests on the day I edited, so when I got around to it, I kind of just fixed the spelling and basic grammar.

Characters: Malleus Draconia

Warnings: None

Gn!Reader

As you finished getting ready, there was a knock on the door. You quickly walked over and opened the door, and there stood Malleus. He was wearing a fancy suit and was holding a large bouquet. Malleus’ eyes laid on you, and he smiled warmly, “Hello, Child Of Man. You look wonderful.” He told you as he handed the flowers over to you.

“Thank you, Tsunotarou. You look very handsome as well,” you told your boyfriend as you grabbed the flowers and motioned for him to come inside. “Let me put these in a vase, and then we can go,” you told Malleus as he nodded and followed you around the dorm as you went to grab a vase. You found the nicest one you had in Ramshackle, which surprisingly didn’t have any cracks in it. You put the roses in the vase and turned to Malleus, and went on your tiptoes to kiss him.

Malleus leaned down and accepted your kiss. “Are you ready?” He asked as he grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

You nodded and swung your guys’ hands, “yep, let’s go.” You answered his question as you two began your walk to the Mostro Lounge for your date.

A few weeks prior, Malleus had rented out the VIP room to be sure that you two could have a private date together for Valentine's Day. He wanted it to be a date that you would remember and love forever.

Once you two got to the Mostro Lounge, Azul guided you two to the VIP room for your meal. Azul smiled, said to enjoy, and then left you alone to look at the menu. “What are you thinking about getting?” He asked as he looked up from the menu and towards you as you looked at him, your eyes meeting his green ones. Just looking at you under the light made Malleus’ heart do a flip. You were perfect to him, and he hoped that he would never lose you. “I’m thinking about getting the baby back ribs with tamarind glaze,” Malleus said as he glanced back at the menu.

You hummed a little bit as you looked over the meals before landing on one, “I think I’ll get the lasagna bolognese.” Malleus looked at the meal on the menu and nodded, “You wouldn’t mind sparing me a bite would you?” He asked curiously and smiled.

“Of course, as long as I can have a bite of your meal,” you told Malleus with a chuckle, as he nodded and voiced his agreement on the deal. A few minutes went by and Jade came by to take your order and give you your drinks, which you and Malleus had ordered when you two first got there.

When your meal arrived you began to eat, taking a bite out of your food, when you noticed Malleus staring at you. The smile he had on his face all night was still there, his eyes were soft, staring lovingly at you. “Do I have something on my face?” You asked as Malleus shook his head and laughed softly.

“You’re perfect, and I love you,” Malleus told you simply as he reached for your hand from across the table and held it. “I just wanted to let you know that.”

You felt heat in your cheeks as Malleus spoke, “I love you too. You’re perfecter.” You spoke.

“That’s not a real word, Child of man.” Malleus shook his head.

“It is now, Tsunotarou,” You remarked as you grabbed your fork and poked one of his ribs, bringing it over to your plate, “thanks.”

“Hey!” He laughed, then grabbed his fork and stole some of your food.

“Listen, we made a deal. You should honor it.” You chuckled and ate the stolen rib.

Malleus shook his head as he watched you before he ate the part of your lasagna he took off your plate, “yes, yes, I suppose we did.”

After he finished, he grabbed his glass of wine and lifted it as you did the same. You clinked the glasses together “here’s to tonight and forever. Happy Valentine's Day, child of man.”

[amidnight--dreary]

hi there! first off i loveee the new chapter of dereliktion it’s amazing and i love where you’re going with this story!! also i added a new song to the playlist! it’s i don’t smoke by mitski. i felt like it would fit loki’s pov of their “tolerate it” era lmao. here’s some lyrics that made me scream and reminded me of dereliktion:

“So if you need to be mean

Be mean to me

I can take it and put it inside of me

If your hands need to break

More than trinkets in your room

You can lean on my arm

As you break my heart”

like ahhhh and,

“I'm what's left of when we

Swam under the moon

Now the rest of my days are just

Waiting for when

You come down and tell me

I was meant for you, baby “ :(

“Just don't leave me alone

Wondering where you are

I am stronger than you give me

Credit for” ahhh

anyways, let me know your thoughts!! <3

Hi!!! I’m so happy you liked the new chapter 💖💖 and the song is brilliant!! It breaks my heart though!!!😭 Idk if you’re interested but I also have some songs to add to our playlist lol

First up: Sedated by Hozier. Also tolerate it era but more Tony pov? Him feeling detached and jaded and using sex (and Loki’s submission really) as a way to feel better and more in control, like “any way to distract and sedate/adding shadows to the wall of the cave” and “I’m somewhere outside of my life, babe/I keep scratching but somewhow can’t get in” AND “darling, don’t you stand there watching won’t you come and save me from it?/darling, don’t you join in, you’re supposed to drag me away from it” like Hnhg

Six Feet Under by Billie Eilish is just them trying to fix things and resurrect their love. I could quote the entire song so I won’t

Also Dancing after Death by Matt Maeson!! “If I don’t get better than this man in my skin/if you let go would you hold on?/would we fly?/is it safer if we just say that we tried?/are we laughing at the danger?/are we dancing after death you and I?” Like that’s just Them I don’t know.

I love listening to all songs you sent me while writing the last few chapters (I’m almost done with the whole thing now!!!) I really love them💖💖

[mythicamagic]

As usual... I can never just choose one... soo here are my top choices you choose one. Lol

1. Are you flirting with me?” “You finally noticed?

2. The worst thing is, that even after all of that, I’m still in love with you.

3.that ship has sailed. i’ve had my one great love already

4. we’re just…friends.” “friends don’t do this type of shit!

5. Did you just slap my ass?” / “Actually, I firmly grasped it.” 

Why did I decide 2 of the hurt/sad/angst.. idk.. i suppose im glutton for punishment. Dont hurt me too bad if you choose to do one of them myth.

Decided to do a part two for - this ask. 

I chose;  The worst thing is, that even after all of that, I’m still in love with you.

---

The air felt crisp and clean, biting at Kagome's cheeks as she wound her scarf tighter around her neck. Winter markets were so much fun. The vast array of cute little items on display made warmth light up her chest, even as the candy and children's toys reminded her of a certain fox she'd left behind in the past.

Kagome smiled at Ayumi as she prattled on about something or other.

She shouldn't feel guilty. Shippo had barely visited the village in the last year she'd been there. Everyone had moved on. Including herself, somewhat. She'd been so wrapped up in her whirlwind romance with a certain Daiyoukai- the feudal era had been irreparably damaged as a home for her the second they'd broken up.

But she missed her friends. Dearly.

She shook herself. It was too late to go back on her choice now. The well had sealed shut for good.

Ayumi stopped to grab some hot chocolate from a street vendor, allowing Kagome a moment to warm her hands, rubbing them together.

Snowflakes gently danced about like powdered sugar, kissing Kagome's face as she turned- almost bumping face-first into a muscular chest. Fresh scents of wild forests and thunderstorms filled her nose, and she stiffened.

He smells the same.

Kagome bit the inside of her cheek, blue eyes narrowing. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing."

"Haven't the faintest idea of what you mean," he arranged his features into mild innocence, which was near impossible due to his smiling eyes.

"Riiight," she muttered, wishing Ayumi would hurry up.

Sesshoumaru gazed down at her, a pink gift bag in hand. Kagome grit her teeth, hating that she wondered who it was meant for.

"I did not intend to run into you here, before you accuse me of anything," his silky voice caressed her hearing once more. It sounded so lulling, designed to draw her back in. "Did you take my gift home with you or did you throw it away?" he asked, deceptively casually.

"Home. But don't think that means anything- it's not the plant's fault you're trying to worm your way back into my life."

The Daiyouki smiled to himself, obviously absurdly pleased. He began pursuing the street vendor's items right beside her, gazing at children's toys with a touch of gentleness in his steady gaze. Kagome was prepared to ignore him- until he leaned down, breath fanning 'accidentally' over her cheek as he picked up a doll and straightened.

"Do you remember Rin? And the other children-"

"Don't," Kagome said, unable to move away. She hated the thrumming of her skin so much. The way it cried out. Hated him.

Her skin flared alive, body humming with hunger. Like a shot of adrenalin to the heart, Kagome dipped her chin into her scarf to try and mask her escalating breathing due to his proximity. When they'd had sex- so many years ago- it hadn't been like human lovemaking.

He'd wired new pathways within her system via his youki. Sometimes she felt like it still lived inside her, having made a home for itself. They hadn't mated, but she felt irreversibly changed by it.

Kagome made a faint noise, squeezing her eyes shut.

Resist him-

"Kagome?"

Oh thank God.

"Ayumi, let's go," she said abruptly, facing her friend with an urgent look in her eyes.

Ayumi tilted her head slightly, eyeing Sesshoumaru curiously. "A-alright?"

"You do not need to leave," he turned, exuding a magnanimous air. "I am the one who intruded on your time, please continue," he gestured to the market, ensnaring Kagome's gaze with his own. Unblinking, unable to hide his more animalistic habits even after so many years.

"I hope to see you some other time when my presence does not disturb you," he said softly, walking away.

---

When entering work that Saturday, Kagome could already sense the buzz in the air. Someone had generously donated some priceless artefacts to their museum. The previously undiscovered finds that shaken everyone due to their rarity and mint condition. No one could stop talking about it.

Kagome's blood ran cold the second the items in question were described to her. Pushing through the crowd that had gathered, she stared in horror at the display case.

Itching for a fight, she immediately stormed to his office downtown, opening the door to reception and letting herself in. "Is Sesshoumaru here?" she burst, stopping in front of the secretary's desk.

"Mr Taisho?" the woman blinked, obviously thrown by the petite, angry miko currently glaring at her and using his name so informally. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No. Just tell him Kagome is here."

She was let into his office soon enough, trying to keep a lid on her crackling reiki. Sesshoumaru glanced up from his computer. "Miko? What a pleasant surprise."

Kagome slammed an article atop his desk. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she snapped.

He raised a brow, briefly flicking his attention to the contents. A photo of red and white silks, coupled with polished spiked armour sat in a display unit. "Something wrong? It was just a donation, given in good faith."

"Donated to my workplace!" Kagome seethed, groaning and burying her face in her hands. "Don't you realise I'm going to have to see your things now every day? I've worn those clothes! I've slept in them as pyjamas! Are you trying to mess with me because you want me back?"

"That's a little dramatic, dear one, I'm not trying to 'mess with you.' It was just a donation," he rose from his seat, face inches from hers. "And if I wanted to romance you, I'd go about it much differently."

"Don't 'dear one' me," she snapped. "You could've donated that stuff years ago- or to a different museum. But no, you had to give it to mine."

"My gift was not meant to distress you, but," he rounded the table slowly, fingers dragging over the wood. "It does make me worry, seeing you so worn thin. Is something else going on? Separate from...us?"

Kagome stiffened, avoiding eye contact. Things with her boyfriend had been strained as of late, and the Daiyoukai's sudden appearance back into her life wasn't helping matters.

"There is no 'us.' I'm frustrated and exhausted, that's all. Don't make things even more complicated by asking about that stuff."

Sesshoumaru lingered close, and Kagome didn't shy away. The one person she couldn't bear to be near was also the only being who could offer some semblance of comfort to her due to his familiarity.

"This one meant to give you something," reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a business card, handing it over. Kagome immediately froze, staring at the name. "You miss him," Sesshoumaru murmured. "The kit lives in Kyoto now with his wife and children. Call him."

Tears pricked her eyes, and Kagome bowed her head. Full lips crumpled into a wobbly line.

"If there is something I regret more than our parting, it is that you felt compelled to leave. The fault lies with me."

Shaking her head, a saddened laugh bubbled up her throat. "It was my decision to break up, and it was my decision to leave the Feudal Era. Don't...blame yourself for that part."

"You did not do anything wrong," a long-fingered hand reached out, blunt nails losing their glamour. Sharp claws stroked dark curling hair back from her neck. Kagome's breathing hitched. "When we were together- you did not do anything wrong. We were both so young. It was foolish of me to act as I did, but I think it is now... that we are in the right place for something more."

Kagome shivered, body warming to him. Intuitively, the brush of fingers on her neck made her foolishly anticipate a kiss- sorely disappointed when it didn't come. "I'm not," she forced herself to say. Seeing the disappointment darken his brown eyes, she sighed. "I miss you," Kagome admitted quietly, turning away to escape from his touch. "I miss how... we were. I'm terrified of that, though. I was...under the impression we'd be together. Permanently. Then you had to go and tell me you needed 'pure' heirs to continue the family bloodline."

She laughed bitterly, loosely holding her arms. "The worst thing is, that even after all of that, I'm still in love with you."

"You are frightened that I will hurt you again."

Kagome nodded mutely. She then forced a giggle, giving a weak smile. "Besides, you may not like me as I am now. I'm more jaded than before."

"I like what I see very much," moving closer once more as though experiencing a gravitational pull, he stopped inches away. "I have missed you too," he muttered quietly, genuinely. She could feel him inhale her scent through her hair. "Very much."

Her mouth suddenly became dry. "I'm with Natsuki-"

"Leave him," a rush of passion entered his voice as Sesshoumaru swept closer, backing her into the desk. The wood dug into her thighs, their hips meeting. "This one is not interested in being 'the other man' in an affair. Nor am I interested in watching you remain with someone less than ideal," he snorted, resting his hand over her wrist and grazing his thumb over it.

"Y-you don't know anything about it!"

"I could smell your scent. It was not bright and cheerful even before I re-entered your life the other day. His feels...murky on you. Unhappy."

Kagome swallowed thickly, glancing away. "Observant as ever," she admitted softly.

"Or perhaps you did a poor job of hiding it," backing off a little- he rested his hip next to hers beside the desk, remaining near but barely touching. And yet everything felt so close. "You've changed. But you're still the same at your core, miko," hot breath fanned over her neck, teeth ghosting over the shell of her ear. "If you permitted me, I would not be reckless with your heart again, as I was in my youth."

Her palms traitorously slid up, sliding over firm muscles- running across his chest. He felt warm. His heart was beating fast. Was he nervous? Such a thing sounded impossible.

She bit her lip, secretly longing for the sensation of silks under her hands again instead of the modern cotton of his shirt.

"I don't know that I believe you," Kagome met his gaze, rewarded with the golden glow of his eyes instead of human brown.

"I've gotta go," she said reluctantly, forcing herself to pull away. "I need to be at work."

"Very well," he hummed, unmoving. "But if you...need something. You know where to find me."

He sounded almost desperate for an excuse to talk with her. Giving a curt nod, she let herself out of his office with a long breath, shaking her head. Sesshoumaru's static youki haunted her steps for the remainder of the day.

[spencersawkward]

switchblade faith//spencer reid - chapter 8

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

pairing: Fem!OC/Spencer

word count: 3.9k

content warnings: discussion of a dead body (for a case), discussion of sensory overload (idk if that's a warning but just in case).

A/N: sorry this took so long! i've had a lot of writer's block with this series, but i'm feeling a lot more motivated with it, now. anyway enjoy!

masterlist

my feet slam into the pavement at a rate that makes me wonder if my heart can take it. I can feel the air in my lungs, stinging, and the way it never seems like enough. I can't stop. my arms are pumping and my legs burn.

I'm sure I look like a mess right now, exhausted and sweaty as I make my way up the biggest hill by my apartment. I haven't been running in a while, and this incline is even more daunting than it was before.

I use the momentum I've built from before now and force myself up. every breath rips through me violently until I'm sure that if I stop running, I'll collapse. but I keep pushing, knowing it'll be worth it.

I hated running until college. just absolutely despised the thought of getting outside and forcing myself to move quickly. the older I get, though, the more refreshing it's gotten. it helped me escape from midterms, from the pressure that constantly seemed to mount with every passing day. sometimes it feels like all of it keeps piling on, and it's never going to stop.

of course, that's not really the way to look at life. I've had things to balance out the work, friends to call and ways to let out the hammering violence that always seem to fill the spaces between my ribs. running clears my head when nothing else does.

once I get to the top, I bend over and rest my palms on my knees so that I can relax. I can hear my heart beating in my ears and can feel my pulse thudding against my throat. it's good, though. I needed to do this again, to get exercise.

I resist the urge to lay down flat on the pavement. DC isn't really a good place to do that; everyone around me is on a morning stroll with their partner or they're out for a jog themselves. I pass several enthusiastic-looking dogs out for a walk. the sheer number of people around me should make me feel normal.

it doesn't.

I straighten and stretch out my muscles, wincing at the way my calves feel if I move them funny. I don’t want to get called in for a case today, but that's naive. there will always be another case because there will always be people we need to stop. maybe I'm just not jaded enough to not care. I like to think that's a good thing, though.

...

when I head into the office a couple hours later, there's a to-go cup of coffee resting on my desk. I smile to myself, set my bag down and shrug off my coat, then peek over the divider to see Spencer with a case file open and an identical to-go cup a couple inches away.

"is this your doing?" I refer to the coffee. he nods and smiles at me, seemingly not in the mood to talk.

"thanks, Reid."

sitting down to do some work, I sneak a peek at him. Spencer is acting different from last weekend. more shy. I'm not really sure the reason, unless he just felt particularly outgoing at the party and is now back to his default self.

we get a case before the hour is up, and then my mind is occupied by the details.

jet rides, though now a familiar routine, are probably my favorite part of the job. I don't feel totally unproductive, but I still have time to unwind and talk to people on our way. Emily and I have gotten much closer within the past few weeks and sometimes she tells me stories about her old job that keep me on the edge of my seat.

there's something so mysterious about her that I just appreciate; she's like a cool older cousin to me. and she's great at making fun of Morgan, which is something that I've found enjoyable as well. sometimes he needs to be knocked down a peg-- she's the woman to do it.

"how many?" I trace my finger down the smooth skin of Derek's arm, where he's lifted his sleeve just enough to show the inked lion. it's a big tattoo, and I'm somewhat surprised he has one at all. he just doesn't really seem the type.

"five right now." he flexes his bicep flirtatiously, and I immediately remove my hand with a repulsed expression, rolling my eyes at the chuckle he lets out.

"don't feed his ego like that." Emily warns from across the table. she's flipping through one of the plant magazines that we've stashed in the snack cupboards (much to Hotch's disapproval). I turn to see Morgan's reaction.

"you a little jealous, Prentiss?" he teases. her only response is a glance that dares him to push further. they both know that Emily has absolutely no interest in him, which I suppose adds to their friendship. Morgan leans down by my ear, but he makes no effort to quiet his voice. "you should ask about her tattoos."

"you have tattoos?" my eyes widen at this, voice a little louder than usual. Hotch glances over at us from his seat a ways away, but doesn't say anything. Reid is passed out on the couch, strangely tired for the middle of the day; Rossi's writing something in his miniature journal.

"that's not anyone's business." she says more to Morgan than to me.

"I wanna see!" I set my glass of ice water down on the table and straighten up. Emily pretends to be exhausted by the persistence, but she closes her magazine momentarily.

"look, I can't show them all here." she raises a suggestive eyebrow.

"then how does Derek know?" I smirk. Emily makes a face, but Morgan is the one who replies.

"this one gets a little loose-lipped when she drinks too much." he teases. I snort and glance at Emily. I've seen her tipsy before, but never drunk. at most, she gets affectionate with all of us and calls us her best friends in the whole world. which, honestly, isn't an unwelcome sentiment.

"I do not." she argues.

"yeah, you do." Reid mumbles from the couch cushion where he's been resting his head. I jump at the sudden noise, and we all turn to him.

"look who's up." Emily smiles. Reid stretches his legs out, limbs so long that his feet hang off the end of the couch. he's wearing mismatched socks again today, one with bananas and one covered in sushi rolls. I smile to myself.

"I'm not," he argues. "someone had to correct you."

Morgan and I let out an amused laugh. my eyes dart between Spencer and the two other agents. "I feel like I'm the only one here who hasn't seen Prentiss drunk."

"yes, you have." she frowns.

"no. not, like, plastered."

"don't let Garcia hear you say that." Morgan laughs. I snort.

"why?"

"any excuse to party, and she'll take it." he shakes his head affectionately.

"she'd just call it bonding." Prentiss adds in. I have a soft spot in my heart for Pen. for all of the darkness we see here, she makes it a little bit brighter with her quips and sparkly pens and neon glasses. she's a blessing.

"what's so bad about that?" I defend for her sake.

"nothing's wrong with it, per se," Emily shrugs. "it just means we aren't as professional as we should be."

"I'd argue that our job actually means we get to let loose more when we have the time." I shrug. Morgan offers his fist to pound, and I oblige with a satisfied smile.

"you two are children, you know that?" Emily gestures between Derek and me. I shrug, about to return to my crossword when she speaks again. "how many tattoos do you have, Clea?"

I blink for a second, deciding whether or not to lie. it would be kind of cool to sound badass, but I don't know if I even have the mental capability to fib to a bunch of profilers. "none."

"what?" Morgan looks at me with confusion.

"yeah, none. why is that such a big surprise?" I laugh at their reactions. Prentiss is alarmed, too.

"I don't know-- you seem like the kind of person to get a heart tattooed on your thigh or something." Morgan shrugs. I make a face, silent.

"that's offensive."

Prentiss snorts and finishes her drink. I peek over and see Reid with his eyes closed but a slightly amused smile on his face. by the couch, I can see through the window. we're slipping through gray clouds that are saturated with rain, and the weather change causes the jet to shake a bit.

my fingertips wrap around the arm of the seat and Emily eyes me warily.

"you okay?"

"don't like flying." I answer, nostrils flaring slightly. usually with these trips, I've been able to hide my apprehension for flying by holding onto my knee below the table or something, but the sudden jerks are putting me off.

it's stupid-- plane anxiety is ridiculously common, and I don't think it's necessarily unwarranted. the problem is that to a bunch of people trained in behavioral analysis, it shows a blatant fear of not having control.

which is true, but it's not like I need that plastered all over my face every time we board a flight.

"would you get a tattoo if you could?" Emily changes the subject, thankfully, and I bite down on my bottom lip.

"I think so, yeah." it's said without much thought; all that's on my mind right now is wondering what our ETA is. Morgan shifts in his seat to smirk.

"really."

"sure."

he nods appreciatively before turning to look back out the window. droplets of moisture are collecting there, but they only distort the image of Portland stretched out below. the water is steel gray and rippled with wind.

I've never been here. for some reason, I find myself wondering what it smells like. that mingling of city scent and ocean, if they meet in the middle to form their own distinct identity. if it will settle on my tongue and in my clothes.

it's funny to me that when I go to different places and return, I don't notice how different it all smells until I breathe it in through the fabric of my shirts, and from there it all comes rushing back. Spencer mentioned during a case once that scent creates the most powerful memory reaction out of all our senses-- and I believe it.

DC smells like humidity and rain-slicked streets, Montana like dust. even the jet has a particular one that I don't associate with anything right now, but I know I will in the future. like I'm standing in the formation of a memory.

half-baked.

...

we've got the hoods of our raincoats up as we make our way into the office of our latest victim. Morgan holds the door and I wander in, staring up at the enormous glass walls of the place. a stray droplet falls from the hood of my jacket and onto my nose, rolling down the bridge and causing me to sniffle.

her boss is surprisingly dismissive of us when we get to his office, reluctantly getting off a phone call and giving me something of a dead-fish handshake. as we take a seat at his desk, I can smell the overbearing stench of his expensive cologne.

he's got exactly the kind of look that I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole: taut, judgmental face with a stiff mustache and slicked-back black hair that honestly is probably dyed. his eyes linger on me for a bit longer than I appreciate, but I clear my throat and try to brush off the discomfort.

Winona's body was found in a ditch off the side of a highway, dumped like trash. based on the ME report, she was alive when he threw her in, but died shortly after from her wounds. the whole thing is gruesome and as her employer notes her tendency to daydream and occasional tardiness, I want to reach across the table to smack him.

Morgan is able to keep his cool better than I can, nodding. I know it's important to know her behaviors in order to build our profile, but I still don't like the way this guy is talking about her.

"she wasn't really the strongest employee we've got, but she was nice enough around the office." he shrugs. I notice the gold wedding band that glints on his ring finger, the way he leans back in his swivel chair. he's got evaluative eyes.

by the time we're done, I'm practically flying out the door of his office and hurrying to the elevator. we got what we needed to know from him, if not through a somewhat convoluted method.

"nice guy." I note sarcastically after punching the down button. Morgan tucks his hands into his jeans pockets and looks at our warped reflections in the elevator doors.

"we talk to a lot of people like that. you get used to it."

"didn't seem too concerned about her at all."

"I don't think guys like that are concerned about much more than themselves."

"you should have mentioned a tax evasion investigation happening around here," I smirk. "that would probably put the fear of God into him."

Morgan chuckles and looks over at me. it would be unprofessional to fist bump with so many people around, although the smile we share is definitely a great equivalent.

as we pack into the metal box with a bunch of employees, they look at us curiously. the enormous FBI label on the back of our jackets probably doesn't help, but I pretend to look like I know what I'm doing as we step out into the lobby.

in all reality, faking it until I make it is the only thing I know how to do.

...

the late night cravings come as a surprise as I stand over a map of Portland. my eyes are starting to cross from staring at all the minuscule details for so long, and my fingers are twitching from a mixture of hunger and overloaded caffeine.

we were supposed to go to bed about two hours ago, but I know for a fact that I'm not the only one sitting in my motel room with open files and a determined expression. I do happen to be the only person rooming alone, however, and the silence has been helpful.

Reid's been working on a geographic profile, but there's something missing. I'm not sure what it is. all I know is that if I don't figure it out soon, it's going to eat away at me. based on his activity patterns, there are only a few more days before this guy abducts another woman.

except now I'm just thinking about how much time we don't have, and that sort of sends me into a spiral, too. I'm prepared to always be running against a clock for this job, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. I'm going to lose it if I stare at any more tiny lines indicating roads or side streets or whatever else demands attention.

I need to get out of my head.

before taking time to really consider anything else, I grab my phone and look up pizza places nearby. what I need right now is some sustenance and tv-- or at least something to distract me enough to recharge.

I change into my pjs and wash my face while I wait for the delivery person to arrive, try to ease the day out of my bones. there used to be a whole process for me after work every day, where I'd shut off my brain. The Real Housewives of Atlanta provided ample help for this, along with fuzzy socks and glasses of red wine. I can make do with this.

once the pizza guy comes and I pay for my food, I don't even make way to my room; instead, I go to the person I know who needs this more than I do.

"Clea?" Spencer rubs his eyes as he swings open the door, glasses held in the other hand.

"hi." I smile brightly.

"what are you doing here?" his soft tone and the dim light from a motel lamp in the corner tells me that Morgan is asleep right now in the other bed.

in response to his question, I hold up the box of pizza with a grin. his eyes widen.

"I can't eat all this alone." definitely a lie, but saying that he needs to take a break probably wouldn't sway him enough.

for a second, Spencer seems to debate this in his head. when he runs a shaky hand through his hair, I roll my eyes. "it's pizza, dude. not a wedding proposal. you can go back to the case in twenty minutes."

he nods this time and looks up at me as I turn and start toward my room. closing the door gently behind him, I don't miss the way he increases his pace a little to catch up with me.

"did you get mushrooms?" he asks. I throw him a disgusted look before realizing what he's talking about and breaking into a grin.

"you remembered!" I reference my hatred of the fungus. Spencer smiles with pride, turns his gaze to the carpeted floors. I unlock the door and let us in.

"of course I remember," he snorts. "it's hard to forget."

I giggle at the way he immediately uses the sink to wash his hands, and I join him after setting the box on the bed.

"favorite soap scent?" I ask absently. suds cover my fingers as he rinses the water from his. normally, this isn't a question I'd ask, but Spencer seems like he would have a response.

"you know, I really enjoy anything fresh-smelling," he thinks about it. "like waterfall smell."

"I like those, too."

"what's your favorite?"

"there's this brand that I love that specializes in antibacterial soaps, and they have a lavender one that literally makes me ascend." I laugh. Spencer is drying his hands with a folded towel and his face lights up.

"Ravi's Organics?" he suggests. my heart leaps with recognition.

"yes! oh my god, have you used their cracked cinnamon one?"

"I have the hand sanitizer in my bag." Reid's eyes are so pretty. they sparkle with a hazel color, almost chocolatey in the cheap motel light.

"they have a hand sanitizer for it?" my jaw drops. he nods and I shake my head slowly. we walk over to the bed to eat the pizza. he seems hesitant, though, and pauses.

it takes me a second to remember that Spencer has different boundaries and is just kind of awkward in general. even though there's no obvious tension between us, I don't want to make him uncomfortable, so I plop down on the floor.

"you like Ravi's Organics." he states it back to himself more than to me, and as I pop open the box to reveal a beautiful pepperoni pizza, I nod vigorously.

"yeah, it's actually kind of a funny story," we start to dig in immediately. I lift an enormous slice to my lips and bite into the perfection. it's so good. "when I was little, my parents used to call me Rascal."

"Rascal?" he laughs through a bite of food.

"like the raccoon? from that book?" it's a kid's story.

"why?" he snorts. I take a second to chew before replying.

"I just get really overwhelmed by certain sensory things-- like, I hate being sticky or having any kind of weird texture on my hands. so whenever we went out to eat or anything, I would always sit on the outside of the booth so I could run to the bathroom and wash my hands as I pleased." I explain all of this with a slight frown on my face. it's true, I've just never really thought about it.

"I don't like sticky stuff, either." he offers.

"yeah, it got pretty bad. but I guess I just grew out of it. I'm not sure when." I pluck a piece of pepperoni off the top and slide it into my mouth.

Spencer takes in this information for a second while he eats, and I'm momentarily worried that I've overshared. he came for some food and now I've served up a weird childhood memory to accompany it.

but then he does something funny and altogether endearing.

"actually, raccoons are very cleanly creatures, despite their dietary habits." he tells me.

frankly, it makes me feel better than anything else that he could have said. "fastidious little things, right?"

"exactly." he chuckles. his shoulders are hunched, elbows leaning on his knees.

"fix your posture." I say gently, noticing the way his spine curves abysmally when he's sitting across from me. his cheeks turn a pretty pink, but he follows directions.

"is it that bad?" he's a bit embarrassed. immediately, I soften and do what comes easily, making a joke.

"if you don't work on it, you're gonna be living in a French cathedral by the age of thirty."

Spencer snorts-- genuinely almost chokes on his food-- and looks at me with his almost childlike eyes. there's something in them that I can't decipher at all, almost so obvious that it completely goes over my head.

"that was mean." he's still trying to recover from the onset of giggles, and I lean forward to grab another slice, suppressing a proud grin myself.

"your future straight-backed self will thank me."

"I'll remember that." he nods dutifully.

"I'm sure you will."

we share a secretive smile before I bite into my pizza and launch into a different subject. the more I learn about Spencer, the more I want to know. I feel like there are things beneath every new surface that would be fascinating to understand.

"what's it like having an eidetic memory?"

he frowns like he isn't sure how to answer. I thought he'd already have something locked and loaded, a prepared response for a question he definitely gets frequently. when he opens his mouth, I find myself hanging on every word. "it's... interesting."

"blessing or a curse?"

"both."

"would you ever give it up if given the option?" I narrow my eyes a bit. I'm especially curious about this.

"no." this is delivered with certainty. for a second, I stare at him with about a million more questions in my head. of course, they're completely out-of-bounds and way too personal, but they're still there.

"hm." I say instead. as usual, delivering thrilling commentary at every turn.

Spencer peeks at me over his pizza for a second, seeming to want to say something else, but decides against it. our eyes meet; I'm not sure what it is, maybe a silent agreement or something else that's unspoken, but we decide not to press further on either end.

whatever he's got tucked away in that big brain of his, he's not ready to talk about it with anyone-- much less a new colleague in a dumpy motel. there's a time and place for certain things, and boundaries to respect.

I change the subject before he can make some lame excuse to leave. for some reason, I just don't want him to leave me here in this room.

taglist (lmk if you wanna be added/removed for this series): @reidsconverse @voidsfilm

[hansoulo]

partial to the cavatina - pt. 2 (first date)

Pairing: Javier Peña/fem!Reader

Warnings: uhhhh cursing? fluff, general tomfoolery, javi is Soft™

Word Count: 1.14k

Gif Credit: x by @damerondjarin

A/N: takes place in season 3. i have. plans. >:) 

part one playlist

You could hear music playing on a small radio on the restaurant counter, faint and lively underneath the sounds of conversation and the dull swinging of the overhead fans. The place wasn’t fancy, which was something you appreciated. All the employees seemed to be family members, the customers locals and long-time friends. You got the feeling Javier didn’t make a habit of taking people here often.

The day was warm, easy and honey-slow the way Spanish countries always felt. A hand on the small of your back guided you to a table, the plastic chair scraping linoleum when Javier pulled it out for you. So chivalry isn’t dead.

A few minutes later and you held a drink in your hands, condensation gathering cold on your palms as you thanked the waiter.

“I don’t usually do this,” Javier admitted after a moment as you looked over the menu laid on the table. You glanced up for a moment, cocking your head.

“You don’t eat dinner?” you inquired innocently, still looking at the list of appetizers.

“What? No- I-”

“Kidding, Javier. It’s a joke. Funny. Haha,” you deadpanned, trying to keep your expression schooled to avoid laughing. It didn’t really work and a moment later you grinned, resting your face in your hands as you looked back at him. He relaxed at this, the furrow in his brow smoothing over. He looked nice. Handsome.

“I know what you mean,” you assured him. “I don’t really, either. Especially not with… Embassy agents.” You crinkled your nose a bit, recalling past dates involving tapped phones and botched pick-up lines.

“How’d you know I-”

“I see you leave the building sometimes,” you said over your drink, spinning the plastic straw around until the ice cubes rattled. “CIA?”

Javier coughed at this, shifting awkwardly in his seat. “No, uh- janitorial services.”

You offered a wry smile, raising your eyebrows. “Janitorial services, huh?” You took another sip before speaking. “So DEA?”

He let out a quiet chuckle, his own hand curled around a stunted whiskey glass. “Yeah,” Javier answered with a small sigh. “You’re a teacher, right?”

“Mhm. English and music over at the international school,” you said, pointing to the bag slung over the back of your chair. “I think I still have some assignments in there to grade.” You twisted around to pull out a small stack of thin paper workbooks, setting them down in front of him. “They’re sweet kids,” you mused. “Very... interesting.”

Javier huffed a small laugh, flipping through the pages. “Interesting how?”

“Well, you know how kids are,” you said as the waiter came by again. You both ordered and turned back to each other, chairs scooted in a bit closer than before and your bare knees brushing against denim. Everything was warm, your head growing slightly dizzy and light-headed. You chalked it up to the weather.

“They um-” you began, the words drifting off as your eyes caught the open buttons of his shirt. “They just…”

His expression grew concerned. “Everything okay?”

“Hm? Oh yeah, yeah I just got-” you said, following the curve of his throat as he swallowed whiskey. “Distracted,” you finished with a smile.

The rest of the evening passed by in an easy back-and-forth, a comfortable volley of stories and jibes and debates about food. When you finally admitted that yes, this is the best restaurant, okay? Javier grinned, a bit awkward and boyish in a way that had your heart stuttering on its quickened pulses.

You’d heard things about him, which was probably more than he could say for you. From girls, friends of friends that made a habit of attractive men and low expectations. It wasn’t really your scene but you caught whispers of a man, an American agent with dark hair who was only interested in things he could drink or fuck. You brushed it off then and you thought about it now, watching with curious eyes as he called for the bill.

A quiet part of your head reminded you that you didn’t really know him, that you’d never seen him when he was out in the field or at bars and for all you knew he could be a completely different person. You’d only ever talked like what, three times? Once, calling out across your apartment windows, then on the phone when he asked if you were free Friday night (you could be, why?), and then… here. Now. Sitting in a tiny Colombian restaurant practically eating off of each other’s plates, surrounded by the sound of cooking food and overlapping voices.

Javier hadn’t seemed anything like what they’d told you, though. He was sweet. Gentleman-like, in his own way. A little hollow and a little jaded but you couldn’t really blame him for that - not with everything he’d been through. Maybe only time could tell.

-------

You stood on the stoop of your apartment building, shielded from the summer rain by a leather jacket draped over your shoulders. Walking had seemed a good idea in the beginning but the first drops had come down right before you left, leaving your hair damp and your ankles wet. The glossy asphalt of city streets reflected headlights and distant sirens, streaking and dotted underneath a sky that was quickly becoming dark.

You protested when Javier took the jacket from his arms but he didn’t listen. “Let me play the hero,” he’d said as you held it above your head, enveloped in warmth and the faint scent of smoke. You smiled at this but caught the dip of his chin as you walked, his expression tinged with something empty before he caught your eye and shook his head, swinging an arm around you.

“I had fun,” you said as you reached for your keys. Javier leaned against the doorway, watching as you undid the lock.

“Me too,” he answered, his voice slightly raspy with the cigarette he’d had after dinner. “We should uh- we should do this again. If you want,” he offered. You turned towards him, leading him towards you with a hand held loosely around his shirt collar.

You weren’t normally this bold. Hell, you were never this bold. But something (someone) had filled you with adrenaline and laughter and the best damn tamales you’d ever had in your life until you felt like you could afford to take chances - today and probably every day after that.

“You’re supposed to kiss me now,” you breathed, the heat in your cheeks blooming soft until it flushed your chest and made your breathing shallow.

Javier leaned forward, reaching his arms around the swell of your waist. His nose knocked against yours and you swore you’d never seen anyone look at you the way he did - gentle and reverent and slightly hopeful.

His voice came out hoarse, whispering. “Yes ma’am.”

permanent: @ah-callie @itzagoodthing @spookypym @opheliaelysia @watsonwise @damndamer0n @amarvelousmandalorian @bunnyart-blog @agirllovespasta @pascalispedro @pascalplease @coffeencontemplation @chelsfic @lesqui @javierpenaspinkshirt @symbiont13 @glowingpena @squidlywiddly87 @1zashreena1 @hiscyarika @lostingoogletranslate @keeper0fthestars @bobafvtt @halfwaythereroyal @starwarsiscooliguess @huliabitch @rosetophighlander​

idk if i should start a taglist for this bc idk how long it’s gonna be but five bucks says i have no impulse control and turn it into some 20 part behemoth bc i’m a Clown™

part three

[chocosvt]

⚬ pairing: seungcheol x reader. ⚬ word count: 4865. ⚬ warnings: drinking / smoking. ⚬ genre: mostly angst, fluff, some suggestive/borderline nsfw scenes. a casual life!au? (meaning he isn’t an idol) 

✧✎ synopsis: seungcheol knows you’re no longer together, that he should’t be thinking about you as often as he does, and yet, you keep appearing. his heart doesn’t know how many times it can afford to split.  

✧✎ a/n: i really wanted to write smth as i work toward finishing that other massive fic. so HERE. bc i miss seungcheol ;-; and idk i just like angst lol. 

i.

Seungcheol doesn’t know if it’s right for him to be looking at you like this. It doesn’t necessarily feel wrong, but there’s a distinct craving in his gaze that spots him with doubt. You’re not together any more. The chapter where your lives were once romantically intertwined was coldly shut months ago, leaving little room for reconciliation or even the most surface-level of acquaintances. Yet, Seungcheol is struck with a sudden pining as his eyes inspect you from top to bottom across the room, finding it pure luck you were both at the same new year’s party.

There’s a doorway from the living room that leads into the kitchen. Seungcheol is sitting on the sofa with a jade-tinted bottle in his hand, though the amount of alcohol he’s consumed since first arriving has greatly subsided. He’s too distracted by you to even raise the bottle to his lips, nor does he adequately listen when Joshua attempts a conversation. You’re talking to some people he doesn’t recognize, your eyes rather milky and a shiny can in your hand. He stares at the side of your neck and thinks it would be nice if he were giving you a hickey right now.

“Hey.” Joshua bumps Seungcheol’s shoulder and the boy finally turns his head.

He sees Wonwoo and Hansol as well, who give Seungcheol a warm glance. He notes that Hansol is carrying his signature black lunchbox.

Joshua then leans toward Seungcheol’s ear in order to whisper over the music: “We’re going outside to smoke, you coming or not?”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “Pass,” he says, “I don’t really feel like it.”

He pays attention to the beer in his hand, titling his head back as he gulps down a significant amount of the tangy, bubbly flavour. It doesn’t taste that good, and the bottle’s not even cold at this point, but Seungcheol figures he should just finish it anyways. Joshua sees you in the kitchen, leaning generously against the sink while you attempt to smile at the strangers who converse with you. It was worth a try to get Seungcheol off the couch and away from lamenting at your lost relationship, but he’s unimaginably stubborn when he wants to be.

“Okay,” Joshua replies, patting his shoulder, “don’t get too hung up or anything.”

Seungcheol watches the small crowd weave their way through the congregation to reach the patio door, the last he glimpses of Joshua being his bright blue hat before he slips into the chilly night. Quickly, Seungcheol polishes off the remaining alcohol inside the jade bottle, heavily swallowing the deep burn that melts down his throat while deserting the glass on the arm of the couch. He senses a distant thrumming in his cranium, knows he’ll regret every sip by morning, but for now he cares so very little.

As he leans back in his seat, Seungcheol comes to focus on the body that’s suddenly standing right in front of him. It’s weird, who would do that? However, the breath instantly whisks from the boys’ lungs when he realizes that it’s not just some intoxicated, fucked up stranger who isn’t even cognisant of what room they’re in. It’s you. You’re standing in front of him, to which Seungcheol poorly hides the stupor that colours his face. Before he can stumble out a single word, you’re straddling his lap and settling your hands against his firm shoulders.

Evidently, Seungcheol doesn’t know what the hell is happening. Neither of you are in a sober headspace. Furthermore, he hasn’t touched you (let alone been this close to you) in almost three months. Out of habituality, he grabs the familiar warmth of your waist, the simple contact with your skin igniting an emotion that was once wholly repressed. Staring into your eyes, he sees how foggy they are. He knows his can’t look much different.

“W-What are you doing?” Seungcheol stutters, his cheeks hot and sunset pink.

At first, you don’t speak, only crack a small smile while wrapping your arms around his neck, bringing your faces in close proximity until you’re practically breathing the same air.

You blink at him heavily. “Kiss me.” You whisper against his mouth.

Seungcheol doesn’t believe he’s capable of ever denying you.

The next few hours seem to seamlessly blend together. Seungcheol remembers the intense make-out that ensued on the couch and the little regard he carried for the environment around him. Once he tastes the sharp liquor from your lips, he completely submits to that catastrophic buzz you give him. Feeling your weight push down against his lap, how your fingertips slip through his soft, onyx hair, the way it feels morally wrong to welcome your tongue into his mouth, but so physically right that Seungcheol can only pull your hips closer.

He remembers the warm, open-mouthed kisses he nipped to your sensitive neck, murmuring in a slurred, gritty tone: “let me take you upstairs, baby.”

Joshua might throw the remainder of Hansol’s stale bong water over his head if he discovered what you and Seungcheol did. Somehow, there’s an empty bedroom available at the end of the dim corridor. After falling onto the sheets, you hastily pull the white top over your head and fling it toward a dusky corner, reaching for Seungcheol as he climbs over top your body. While pressing more heated kisses against your throat, already bruising and marked with indents from his teeth, Seungcheol’s hand rubs a sweet friction between your thighs, right over your jeans.

He hears you release a small cry of his name, your nails dragging down his back.

Nothing has ever made his heart shake more.

ii.

Seungcheol is confused as to what time is it. There’s no alarm clock on the bedside table, and his phone is buried within the pocket of his navy green jacket slumped at the end of the bed. He can’t hear much from the level beneath him. Looking toward the blinds, he can only gauge slits of the night sky. All of a sudden, there’s a sickly coughing noise from behind the shut bathroom door, to which he views a small sliver of yellow light underneath. Seungcheol notes the empty space beside him. He hears another cough, followed by a pained and irritated groan.

Damn – you have to be hungover.

Stumbling drearily out from the bed, Seungcheol brushes away the black strands of hair that flop before his eyes. He almost topples over trying to get his boxers back on. The pounding in his head isn’t unbearable, and he figures he’ll be fine after getting some water in his system and dozing off to a few painkillers. Seungcheol taps his knuckles against the bathroom door.

“Hey,” he calls out, his voice still thick with sleep, “how bad is it?”

There’s a moment of silence. Seungcheol assumes it must feel bizarre to have your ex consoling you through a hangover, especially considering the history of last night.

“I don’t know…” comes your weak response, “I think I’m dying.”

Seungcheol leans his head against the wood and laughs. “You’re not dying, honey. Can I come in?”

The door swings open, and Seungcheol sees you half-dressed in your white t-shirt and underwear, a watery film in your eyes and a look of pure exhaustion draining your countenance. Then, you’re immediately collapsing back to the cold tiling, leaning your head against the side of the bathtub while the toilet sits across from you. This doesn’t feel like an unfamiliar scene. Seungcheol used to always nurture you through your intoxication, and at least this time you possess enough strength to stand without your legs trembling.

“You want me to get you anything?” Seungcheol asks. “Water? A wet cloth? Some pills?”

He doesn’t know where he’ll get the pills. It’s probably three in the morning, but he figures the convenience store in town might still be open.

You swallow tightly and wrap your arms around your knees, the fluorescent lights gleaming against your balmy, flushed skin. It seems as though you won’t look him in the eyes. Seungcheol understands. This isn’t supposed to be happening. Neither of you should be in this bedroom.

A poignant sigh escapes your chest. “What’s wrong with me?” You ask, the water glimmering bright in your eyes. “Why did we do this?”

Seungcheol stiffens. When he catches a glimpse of his body in the mirror, he can read the hazy extent of your night together. The bruises are tinted like cherry and violets, smudged against his chest, his collarbone and neck. Even now, as he really concentrates, Seungcheol can feel the cool air sting dully against his back, which he can only hypothesize is decorated in long, deep scratches that will possibly burn like hell in the shower. His body hasn’t looked like this in months. There’s a clandestine part of him that wishes the marks will never lose their vibrancy.

He doesn’t know how to soothe your conflict.

Instead, Seungcheol takes a seat on the edge of the bathtub and stares down at you tenderly.

“I don’t know,” he replies, “we don’t always make the right decisions.”

You tilt your head back and meet his eyes. Seungcheol’s chest flutters.

For a moment, you look like you want to say something; however, an immediate grimace wrinkles your face and a tight hand is curling around your stomach. You scoot close to the toilet, holding onto its rim while a heavy cough burns acrid against your throat and suddenly, you’re upchucking the potent, venomous liquor from last night. Seungcheol collects your hair in his hand, pulling it back from your face. Once the surges calm for a few minutes, you’re too energy-depleted to do much apart from hang over the toilet, Seungcheol rubbing your back.

It’s three in the morning, but he feels like he would do anything for you.

iii.

Seungcheol opens his wallet and forks out the bills necessary to cover his lunch. He slides out from the booth first, accompanied by Seokmin and Jeonghan who suggested they go out to eat after their basketball game. Seungcheol trails behind them on his phone as they walk down a slim corridor toward the front of the restaurant. He’s texting Joshua about what their fridge looks like, and if it’s necessary to ask Jeonghan about making a stop at the supermarket. The afternoon light is dull as they enter the front house, and Seungcheol sees it’s raining outside.

“Wait—,” Jeonghan stops them before they can leave. “Let me try the gumball machine. Does anyone have ten cents?”

“The gumball machine?” Seokmin laughs. “Are you a child?”

“Shut up.” Jeonghan tuts in response. “I want a pink one. Now do you have ten cents or not?”

“Sheesh, give me a second, I’m checking.”

Seungcheol has developed the skill of tuning out their innocuous banter. He looks through the windows and into the downpour, which ripples unforgivingly against the glass and slicks the pavement. For their sake, he’s glad Jeonghan was able to find a parking spot across the street. As the boy gets down on his knee and crams the small coin into the slot, cranking the handle, something manages to catch in Seungcheol’s peripheral vision. His heart skips a beat. You’re looking out the window while nibbling worrisomely upon your bottom lip.

“Are you freaking kidding? Orange? That’s the worst.”

“Why does it matter?” Seokmin quips. “They all taste the same.”

Jeonghan huffs petulantly. “But I wanted pink! Do you have another ten cents?”

Seungcheol hasn’t seen you since your wicked hangover at the New Year’s party. Though it’s a moment of the past, he remembers the situation so vividly, even more so how restless he felt afterward. He was unable to remove you from his mind, and he thought about you so often that he felt the ache with his whole chest. You haven’t noticed him yet. Seungcheol wants to approach you, though he’s not sure how kindly you’ll react or if you’ll brush him off.

“Awe, yes! Pink!”

Jeonghan stands triumphantly from the gumball machine. He holds the pink candy between his fingers and gets ready to pop it straight in his mouth, and yet, the slippery thing flings from his grasp at the last second. The gumball hits the floor, rolling outside into the rain just as someone runs indoors with their umbrella. Seokmin starts cackling, and Jeonghan just looks like he wants to go home. But Seungcheol can’t leave right now. He decides he has to talk to you.

“Meet you guys in the car,” he says, “I have to do something first.”

Seungcheol taps you on the shoulder. You jump slightly, and he feels bad about scaring you, but he’s relieved to see that your expression is cordial rather than aggravated. It blatantly feels strange. You don’t resemble a stranger, yet you’re not extremely clear to him either.

“Seungcheol? Did you eat here?”

The boy nods. “Yeah, I came here after basketball with some friends”

“O-Oh,” you stutter, looking off to the side, “I’m just waiting.”

You then gesture out the window, toward the grey, heavy rain. Seungcheol spots Seokmin and Jeonghan walking across the street, sporting their jackets pulled over their heads, looking somewhat like imbeciles who he has a soft spot for. At one point you were close with both of them, but now Seungcheol doesn’t even know if you still keep in touch. When you broke up, your worlds started floating apart, and that included contact with each other’s friends.

“Right,” Seungcheol snaps his fingers, “you’re still doing the tutoring thing at the library, huh?”

A timid smile pulls on your lips. “I’m tutoring someone today, but it’s so rainy out. I don’t think it’s gonna pass very soon.”

Seungcheol finds that he doesn’t even process what comes out from his mouth. There’s a sudden rush of giddiness in his veins, and he feels like his nervous, sophomore-self that once crushed on you before your relationship even started. At the same time, it’s an offer he used to make without thought when you were dating, and it warps into a conflicting, emotional mess.

“Do you want my windbreaker?” He asks, plucking at the black and white fabric. “It’s waterproof and stuff.”

Your mouth hangs open for a little bit.

“Uhm… I just—I don’t know, you don’t have to—,”

“It doesn’t matter, seriously.” Seungcheol replies, staring into your wide eyes with a soft expression. “Just give it back whenever we see each other again, okay?”

You lick your lips, swallowing tautly before nodding your head. Seungcheol removes his jacket and helps you slip into the material. It’s a little bit big on you, and the hood droops down far over your face, but, god, seeing you in his clothes engenders Seungcheol’s heart to beat so unbelievably fast. He experiences a concoction of different emotions, different memories. He remembers how it felt seeing you wear his t-shirt after the first time you slept together, how he felt when you’d set up a long distance skype call and you’d be dressed in his old hoodie.

Everything comes rushing back. He doesn’t want to walk away from you, but he knows it’s wrong to linger. You don’t belong to each other anymore.

But at least he’ll get to see you again.

iv.

Seungcheol bounces the basketball a few times against the lacquered floor, feeling the leather texture brush beneath his palm. Then, he takes a deep shot, watching the ball suction perfectly into the hoop just before it echoes against the ground. He was the sole person occupying the gym after a late-night practice. Seokmin was with him about ten minutes ago, but he ended up packing his things and heading off to shower stalls, wishing Seungcheol a goodnight. Even though Seungcheol said he would be leaving shortly, he didn’t know why he was still here.

He picked the ball up and tossed it again, hearing the satisfying swish of the net.

The gym doors suddenly squeak, loud and metallic, to which Seungcheol takes out an earbud assuming that maybe Seokmin forgot something. However, the face that smiles at him doesn’t belong to Seokmin at all, and Seungcheol feels his heart soar. You’re holding the windbreaker that the boy let you borrow during the downpour last week, and he hears a relieved sigh.

“I figured I might catch you here.”

Seungcheol smiles and sets his earbud back in. It astonishes him that you can recall the days he has basketball practice, though Seungcheol supposes it makes great sense considering you used to attend all his warm-ups and games. He grows oddly fond seeing you from the court again.

“Just put in next to that black bag on the bench.”

“I never got to thank you for letting me use it,” you explain while returning the windbreaker to the rest of his belongings, “it was really pouring out, but I was definitely less wet than if I had nothing. I wasn’t too sure if you would still be here. Of course, I knew when I saw Seokmin.”

“It must’ve been weird for him to see you coming back here.” He replies. You would never come to the court unless Seungcheol was there.

“He said hi to me,” you admit, scratching your arm, “he looked kinda nervous though.”

Seungcheol can’t help but note that you seem a little saddened by the interaction. The break-up between you two was all but civilized and pretty. There was shouting, tears, bitter and cold words shanked through the thick air with infinitesimal regard for the other’s feelings. Seungcheol remembers you pushing a picture frame of you two together off the shelf, how the glass cracked, different shards scattering far across the floor. He remembers storming into his bedroom and throwing all your clothes into one heaping pile, demanding that you leave, swearing that he hopes to never see you again. Now, everything feels so pointless and stupid.

The falling out crumbled an entire web of ties between you. Seungcheol understands why Seokmin would be nervous to see you, but he hates to know how it’s upset you.

“Hey,” Seungcheol calls out, attempting to lift the depressive mood, “Wanna shoot?” He bounces the basketball.

You immediately tense. “Uh – no. I haven’t touched a basketball since we were dati—I mean, well – you know. I haven’t played at all.”

Seungcheol smiles, rolling his eyes. “Just come here.” He beckons. “I’ll remind you.”

“I-I don’t know, my friend is in the car. I shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

“It’ll take two minutes.” He reasons. “I promise.”

The boy is delighted to see you comply, even if you are hesitant and approach him with bleeding apprehensiveness. While he shows you how to hold the ball as well as the correct motion to make with your wrist, there’s a smile blooming from one corner of your mouth to the other. Sometimes the past feels exactly like it should: the past. At this moment, a warmth ignites between you two, a spark that feels passionate and ever-lasting. Once he gives a few examples, the ball is suddenly in your hands, and he watches brightly as you sink a basket.

Seungcheol collects the ball, smirking. “You wanna play?” He then asks, checking the ball straight into your chest.

“No,” you respond, sending it back harder, “you know I just said I have someone waiting.”

“It hasn’t been two minutes yet.”

“There’s probably thirty seconds left. We have no time.”

“Fine,” Seungcheol shakes his head, “be a loser.” He doesn’t wait for you, and flicks the ball through the hoop.

It hits the glossy wood, bounces a couple times, and proceeds to roll slowly across the ground. You look at Seungcheol, and Seungcheol looks at you. There’s a small moment of silence.

Until you’re both racing across the floor with arms extended, practically throwing yourselves toward the basketball. It just ghosts under your fingertips, and somehow you manage to secure it against your chest, though you’re unable to even rise from the floor as Seungcheol straddles your waist and attempts to whack the ball out of your grip. The chime of your laughter echoes loudly through the entire gymnasium. You’re too slippery and end up weaseling away, scrambling haphazardly to your feet and using your last breath to sail the ball toward the net.

Seungcheol is too late. He reaches for you, but the ball has already gone through.

As the boy wraps his arms around your waist and hugs your back against his firm, hard chest, you cry out triumphantly, pumping your fists in the air. To anyone who observed from the outside, you wouldn’t exactly paint the image of a broken relationship. You were laughing, celebrating, making harmless mockery pertaining to the other with stupid grins on your faces.

“You’re such a cheater.” Seungcheol says.

Wriggling to face him in the comfort of his grasp, you slide your arms around Seungcheol’s neck and scrunch your nose.

“How did I cheat? That was fair!”

Seungcheol grabs your hips tight, pulling you in close against his body until he can almost count the individual sparkles in your eyes and smell the sweetness of your hair.

“Uh? You said you weren’t gonna play.”

“I wasn’t!” You giggle. “Until you called me a l—,”

The metal doors squeak again. At the speed of light, you and Seungcheol detach from each other, the playful mood disintegrating as the girl who’d been waiting in the car comes looking for you. Seungcheol sees the light drain from your eyes. He watches your shoulders slump, and the deep lump you forcefully swallow upon being interrupted. Seungcheol is utterly disappointed too. His heart doesn’t quite beat the same when you bid him the tiniest, quietest goodbye before running over to your friend, apologizing to her for the unexpected wait. The doors rattle once more, and then the gym is completely empty. It stings worse than anything.

Seungcheol doesn’t understand why he can’t just have you back.

v.

It’s sometime after ten-thirty when Seungcheol finally leaves Hansol and Wonwoo’s house. It’s not a long walk back to his miniscule apartment complex crammed in the middle of town, and he loves to soaks in the calm beauty belonging to the clear, star-speckled sky. He only went over to smoke after a tiresome day at his job, but he ended up staying much longer after Wonwoo revealed his game console. They took turns playing Portal and Grand Theft Auto. It was fun, a perfect way to unwind, and now Seungcheol is ready to wash up and go to bed.

He’s wearing his earphones while walking through town, listening to old songs that remind him of you, a playlist actually, one he started making before you were even together. No matter what happens – Seungcheol is always thinking about you these days. He misses you in a way that aches deeply, like his heart has been split in two by a sharp and jagged stone. In fact, while standing at an intersection, waiting for the light to glow in a walking man symbol, Seungcheol almost mistakes someone sitting at the bus bench across the street for you.

A moment passes, and he squints through the meagre lighting. Wait—that is you.

Your gaze keeps flitting nervously from the lurid phone in your hand to the dimly lit area that surrounds you. Your knee is quickly bouncing, and Seungcheol can sense at a distance how nervous you’re feeling. He doesn’t know why you’re sitting alone in the dark, but he can’t just leave you there. Instead of walking his usual route back to the apartment complex, Seungcheol approaches you, calls out your name softly as to not make you afraid. At first you respond to him with a moonfaced expression, but then you recognize his face and your heart quiets.

“Everything okay?” Seungcheol asks, taking out his earphones.

You gulp thickly and reflect a jittery smile. “Um, kinda. My boss made me stay late for closing. I tried texting my friend to pick me up, but she’s not responding.” A frozen breeze rifles through the air and you shiver. “I-I just, I don’t want to walk home alone.”

Seungcheol doesn’t hesitate to extend his hand.

“C’mon, I’ll take you.”

A grateful smile warms your face. Standing up from the cold bench, you grab Seungcheol’s hand and interlock fingers. Your address is still fresh in his mind, to which he easily navigates the streets with you beside him. At one point, a loud dog starts barking from a few blocks over and you nearly jump out from your own skin, though Seungcheol just slides his arm around your waist, gently pulling you further into his solace. He feels you instantly relax against him. An indescribable light fills his chest. To be able to make you feel safe, like he used to, it’s aweing.

“This is it, right?” Seungcheol asks upon approaching the house porch. He knows it’s right, but he waits for you to confirm it.

“You’re right.” You tell him in a tiny voice.

His hand grazes the small of your back as you walk up the steps together, stopping before the door and its weathered, white paint. A bitterness stings against Seungcheol’s throat, a truly horrible bitterness. He doesn’t want to say goodbye – he wants to stay. He wants to take you inside and wait on your bed as you get ready for the night. He wants to experience that beautiful fluttering in his stomach when you crawl into his arms and shut off the light, his hand stroking your spine as you fall asleep, your soft, slow breaths fanning against his neck.

Why does it have to hurt like this? Seungcheol hates that he’s so in love with you, but he’d never want it any other way. Even if he has to endure this pain, it’s better than never getting to know you, touch you or love you. He swallows the hot salt and gets ready to bid his goodbye.

“Sleep well, okay? Maybe I’ll see you agai—,”

Suddenly, you’re hugging Seungcheol. Your arms wrap securely around his waist and you bury your face in his neck. He takes a slight step backward, caught off guard by the blitz of affection. He hears you suck in a trembling breath, and then he feels wet, cold droplets slide against his skin. Instantly, he holds you, one hand dearly cradling the back of your head while the other passes up and down your back. You shake in his arms and he doesn’t know why. Seungcheol just hugs you tighter. If he has to, he’ll hold you for the entire night.

“S-Seungcheol,” you release his name in a sob, lifting your head from his neck. His heart beats wildly as he looks directly into your teary eyes. “I’m s-sorry.” You cry to him. “I-I’m so sorry…”

“What?” He cups your face, collecting a few thick tears with his thumb. “For what, honey?”

“E-Everything,” you hiccup, grabbing his waist tighter, “for the st-stupid fights, the p-picture, all those h-horrible things I yelled at you – I hate my-myself because of it.”

Seungcheol shakes his head and brings your face in closer to his, brown eyes glistering. “I don’t care about that. I don’t. I said horrible things too, sweetheart. I yelled at you, I told you to leave, I made you so upset, and I know exactly how you feel.” He rubs his thumb tenderly below your damp eye, and you ease into his touch. “But that was a different time. No matter what, I’m still in love with you. What happened months ago doesn’t change that. I promise.”

You sniffle back the new pearls that nearly stain your face.

“Really? Y-You still love me?”

Seungcheol leans in. He presses his forehead against yours, his fingers delicately framing your wet, warm cheek. And then he’s kissing you softly, pouring every ounce of his heart into the contact. Your hand curls around the back of his neck. You respond passionately, keeping him as near as possible, nipping gently at his bottom lip while stealing each other’s breath. Seungcheol peers directly into your gaze. It’s glassy from the tears, but also sincere and welcoming.

“I never stopped.” He says earnestly.

He feels your fingertips thread through the black silk of his hair. You kiss him again, and his grip finds the familiarity of your hips, leading you backward until you press against the door.

“I love you too.” You admit to him between every peck.

In the rising heat, you whisper against the boy’s pretty mouth, “I want you back,” to which the words engender Seungcheol’s heart to positively melt. Seungcheol knows you already have him. It doesn’t take long before you’re unlocking the door with the key beneath an ancient flowerpot. You hop into his arms, and Seungcheol catches you like it’s nothing, sitting you on top of the corridor dresser while his kisses wander further down your neck. Every whimper he hears turns him fonder. You admit again that you love him and he smiles against your skin.

Seungcheol will always need you. He hopes he always has you.

[backtobasicbellas]

only wanted a taste of your lips

words: 3,167 relationships: Jade West/Tori Vega warning: angsty

(tbh I really don’t know what this is I just had an idea and ran with it and now it’s here and idk how to feel about it but enjoy?)

//

It starts like this.

It starts at one of the many summer parties the gang attends, the ones all their - now old - classmates throw at the start of summer in celebration of graduation and starting what they believe is adulthood.

It starts with too many vodka shots and not enough water.

It starts with Tori and Jade tumbling into the bathroom, Tori whining about how she can’t go alone and hasn’t seen Cat since they arrived.

It starts with Jade just watching her as she washes her hands, how her cheeks are flushed and how the smile doesn’t quite disappear.

It starts with Jade not moving and Tori just staring, both of them clearly not ready to open the door, both so close in this tiny upstairs bathroom.

It starts with Jade leaning in, but it ends with Tori on the bathroom counter, doing her best to be as quiet as she can as she comes undone.

They don’t say anything after, not when Jade stands up and wipes her mouth or when Tori hops off the sink and pulls her pants up. 

Not when Jade opens the door quickly and makes her way downstairs, Tori following closely behind as the music fills them up.

Not when Andre teases them for taking forever in the bathroom and Beck notices the way Jade looks distracted.

They don’t say anything, but neither of them have to.

It’s obvious: something’s changed.

And, yeah, maybe it does become a thing.

The way Jade sees it - at first - is that she’s starting a whole new life in New York this fall anyway. Who cares if she’s fucking the girl she insisted she hated for the better part of four years?

(Okay, maybe fucking is a little too crude. They hang out before or after that part of it, too, Jade supposes. Tori isn’t as awful as Jade has insisted all this time.)

It’s not like they tell anyone; they don’t mention it, but it’s clear - neither of them say anything about it to other people. Tori seems just as content as Jade to not share the information with the world, not tell their friends when they see each other, but they can’t help the occasional glances or the way Jade’s hand brushes against Tori’s when they’re next to each other.

If there’s one person on the planet Jade doesn’t want to find out, it’s Beck. It would be awkward, Jade figures, considering they’re all friends and she and Beck dated for so long and then Beck almost dated Tori and all that.

It goes on for the whole summer that way, when Tori’s family isn’t home or when Jade’s parents are out. It’s easy, Jade discovers, being around Tori like this. Tori doesn’t hold a grudge against her for all the mean things she’s done and Jade isn’t nearly as cruel as she can be. Jade decides she likes being around Tori.

“So you move to New York next week,” Tori says one day.

“Yup,” Jade nods, trying to ignore the rising feeling in her chest. “And you’re starting at UCLA next month.”

She knew they couldn’t avoid this conversation no matter what, but Jade was still hoping there would be no final word.

“Yeah, pretty crazy,” Tori muses.

They’re both silent for a moment and then, “We’re good, right?”

Tori tilts her head, biting her lip in a stupidly adorable way. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Jade shrugs, trying to make this as normal as possible. “I mean, like, it’s not going to be weird...with you and me.”

“Oh,” Tori says after a beat, nodding. “Yeah, totally. I mean, you’re off to New York, but we’re good. It’s not like we’ll just stop talking.”

“Right,” Jade nods.

It’s not exactly the answer Jade wanted - what answer did she want? - but she’ll take it.

Tori smiles just a little. “And, it’s not like you won’t be home for holidays.”

A sliver of hope, despite her thoughts, infiltrates its way into Jade’s system.

“Of course,” she agrees.

So that’s that. Jade moves to New York, Tori starts at UCLA, and when she comes home, well, it’s like she never left.

//

They still don’t tell anyone.

Not until sophomore year when Jade has found herself increasingly thinking about Tori even when in New York, that Jade spills out the secret over coffee with Beck in between their busy schedules.

“I’m sleeping with Tori.”

Beck coughs up his last sip, eyes wide as he says, “What?”

Jade shrugs, staying a nonchalant as she possibly can. “It’s not - like, we’re not dating. It’s just..I don’t know. We hook up when I’m home.”

Beck is silent for a moment and then, “Oh.”

“Oh?” Jade repeats.

“How long has it been going on?” Beck asks.

He’s not mad, this much Jade knows. It’s curiosity in his tone that puts Jade at ease.

“Uh, the summer after graduation I guess,” Jade shrugs.

Beck nods, taking the information in. Jade tries not to squirm.

“Do you like her?” 

Instead of snapping, Jade shrugs, looking at her half empty cup of black coffee.

“I don’t know,” she says. “It’s Tori.”

“Yeah, it’s Tori.”

When Jade looks up, there is a knowing smile on Beck’s face. She rolls her eyes, kicking him under the table and asking him how his last date went.

(They don’t talk about it much after that, at least not when Jade can help it.

It doesn't stop Beck from his teasing when they visit home and Jade is too busy for him.)

//

For a moment, Jade feels like she’s in high school again.

Here she is, in her favorite hole-in-the-wall diner, sitting at the exact booth she’s always sat in. Across from her, Beck Oliver is chowing down on his fries, burger half-eaten and a chocolate milkshake at his side.

But Beck is not her boyfriend and they aren’t teenagers at Hollywood Arts with big dreams and miniscule problems. Instead, they are now twenty-one and on the verge of real adulthood. But this, this moment in the corner of the tiny diner that’s still somehow running, this is tradition.

Despite breaking up somewhere between prom and graduation, she and Beck still remained good friends. Of course, it was hard for all of their friends to understand, how quickly they transitioned from boyfriend and girlfriend to just friends, considering all the other times they’d broken up. But there was just something about the finality of it all, the way Jade didn’t scream and yell and kick and punch, as if she knew this was the only way it could go, the way Beck didn’t have to argue with her, that made sense to the two of them.

Jade still loves him, always has if she’s honest, but she knows it’s not the kind of love they both are looking for. Beck is her sounding board, he’s there and doesn’t push and just lets Jade be. He’s her best friend, if she’s being honest. The two of them still ended up going to New York after graduation, Jade to film school and Beck for acting. And despite wanting to get as far away as possible from the life she’d known in Los Angeles, there’s always been something comforting about having Beck not too far away.

But here they are now, in the diner they’d frequent over high school, where they’d go on their first date and then just because many times after. This place has been grounded in their relationship.

“I think the food just gets better every time we come back,” Beck tells her as he leans over to slurp out of his milkshake.

Jade only scoffs. “I think we’ve just been away too long.”

He gives her a look, one that she rolls her eyes at, but they both smile in the end. They flew in together last night, finishing finals just around the same time. Their stay is only temporary though, just for a few weeks. Jade landed a summer internship in New York for a film company. Beck’s got an acting gig at a local theater by his apartment. New York suits them both, Jade thinks, though she’s grown fonder of Los Angeles since she’s been away.

“So, have you made plans to see your girlfriend yet?” Beck asks, a teasing edge in his voice as he wipes his mouth with a napkin.

Jade shoots him a glare. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Sure you do,” Beck insists, that stupid smile on his face. 

“Tori isn’t my girlfriend,” Jade says pointedly, her jaw setting.

“Right,” Beck nods. “She’s just your friend who you occasionally hook up with when you come home.”

Jade resists the urge to squirm. Beck usually keeps quiet about Jade’s friendship with Tori, but the older they’ve gotten, the harder it is for him to ignore. Jade knows deep down, he’s known it all along, known it longer than Jade herself has for sure.

She’s never really hated Tori, not at all.

But she still won’t admit it out loud.

“We’re fucking adults, Beck,” she snaps. “I can hook up with whoever I want.”

Not that anyone outside of Beck knows, or that Tori knows that Beck knows that this has been going on for years now.

Beck softens them, leaning forward in his seat as he says, “Yeah, but it’s not just casual.”

Jade pointedly looks away, her jaw working. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Jade, you haven’t dated anyone since me,” Beck says softly. “I think we both know why.”

“No.”

“Jade.”

“We’re just friends,” Jade insists. “We don’t even talk that much when I’m at school.”

Beck sighs, deciding to let it go. “If you say so.”

There’s silence for a moment and then, “She’ll be at that dumb thing Sinjin’s throwing tomorrow night. Guess we’ll see her there.”

“Guess so,” Beck echoes, staring at Jade for another beat before he’s finishing off his milkshake.

//

Jade is two drinks in and she’s still not even really sure what this event is that Sinjin’s hosting - is it a birthday? A random party? Who knows - but it’s nice to have all her friends here, even Robbie and his stupid puppet.

“Where’s Tori?” Robbie asks.

Jade, too, noticed she’s the last one of their group to arrive, though it’s usually not normal of her. 

Andre looks up from his phone. “She said she’s five minutes away, she’ll be here soon.”

Jade, for her part, hasn’t talked to Tori since she got back to Los Angeles. Something about seeing Tori again always makes her just a little jumpy, though. She can’t help it if her eyes wander around, looking for the skinny brunette with those dumb cheek bones.

It’s only a few minutes later the girl in question wanders in, and hates that there’s a sense of relief that runs through her at the sight of Tori. Andre follows Jade’s line of sight quickly and begins waving, and Tori’s dumb smile graces her face and she is quickly making her way over.

Jade then notices, behind her, a blonde is following closely behind, and Jade wonders if she’s brought one of her friends from UCLA with her tonight.

“Did Tori tell you she was bringing a friend?” Beck asks, and Jade is unsure if the question is for her or for Andre.

Andre’s the one who answers, “Nope.”

“You guys!” Tori squeals, excited like she always is to see her friends from home.

She is quickly swept up in Andre’s arms, the closest to him out of everyone else here - well, if you don’t count whatever it is she and Jade are - and Jade admires it for a moment, how despite getting older, they all seem to find time to be together.

Tori makes her rounds hugging everyone, and Jade tries not to hold on too long when it’s her turn, tries not to make it obvious she misses Tori more the longer she’s away. Tori still smells like fruity shampoo and vanilla, and something about it settles Jade.

“Hey,” Tori murmurs.

“Hi,” Jade replies in a low voice, still enough to be heard over the stupid music Sinjin’s got playing. “Good to see you.”

Tori pulls away, giving her a quick smile before she’s being pulled into an aggressively tight hug by Cat. Jade chuckles softly, looking on at the exchange fondly.

(For a moment, she forgets about the girl standing behind Tori, looking in awkwardly and waiting for her chance at an introduction.)

Robbie is the one who provides it, in typical Shapiro fashion.

“So Tori,” Robbie starts as soon as Cat releases her. “Who’s your pretty looking lady friend?”

Jade notices the way Tori tenses for a moment, giving Robbie a nervous smile.

Tori looks at all of them, the nerves creeping on to the rest of her features and she reaches back and offers her hand to the blonde, who takes it and steps forward to stand even with Tori. Jade doesn’t miss the way the blonde gives Tori’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I want you guys to meet my girlfriend, Grace.”

There is a moment where out of the five of them, four are taken aback for a moment.

Robbie isn’t quite sure he heard right.

Andre can’t say he’s completely surprised, but he is still somewhat shocked.

Beck is worried about Jade.

Jade just stares at Tori, trying to process the information.

Cat, bless her heart, doesn’t let a beat pass before she’s stepping a step forward and shaking the blonde’s - Grace’s - hand.

“Hi I’m Cat!” she says enthusiastically, and it’s clear her actions put both Grace and Tori at ease.

Tori can feel the way Jade’s eyes burn into her, but she refuses to look in her direction, refusing to acknowledge what Jade is trying to convey.

After Cat’s introduction, everyone quickly follows suit, and then there are a thousand questions, and Tori does her best to answer them and make sure nothing falls apart.

Jade is quiet for all of it, her jaw working as she tries to process her emotions, process the new information before her.

Tori has a girlfriend. Tori has a girlfriend. Tori has a girlfriend.

Tori has a girlfriend and it isn’t you.

“I need some air,” Jade says suddenly.

It’s the first time she’s spoken since Tori’s announcement, and it seems like almost everyone notices. Beck is casting her a worried glance and Tori is trying to catch her eye now, but she doesn’t pay attention to either of them, walking with purpose out the door to the back of the building.

Beck watches her go, wondering if he should go after her. But then he feels eyes on him and his gaze shifts to find Tori, eyes filled with concern and eyebrows knitted together in slight confusion. Beck contemplates saying something, or at least giving Tori a look, but Tori seems to make her mind up for the both of them

“I’ll be right back,” she murmurs, squeezing her girlfriend’s arm before she’s following the path Jade just walked.

When she pushes open the door she sees Jade paces a few feet away, her jaw tight as her hands run through her dark hair.

“Jade,” she begins, though she isn’t sure what else to say.

Jade stops immediately at the sound of her voice, head turning to face her.

“You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend.”

“I didn’t tell anyone in there until now,” Tori reminds her defensively, motioning to the building behind them.

Jade’s jaw sets. “That’s different and you know it.”

Her eyes flare up in - is that hurt? - and Tori feels the pit of her stomach drop. Something about this has shifted their entire dynamic and she knows it. She knows now, not telling Jade beforehand, letting her find out just like everyone else, was a mistake.

“We...this couldn’t go on forever,” Tori tells her, voice a little softer now. “You know that.”

Jade scoffs. “Right.”

She doesn’t look at Tori, instead focusing her attention on the light post not too far away. Tori can’t remember a time when Jade’s felt so far away like this.

“What was I supposed to do?” Tori asks helplessly. “Was I just supposed to wait around for you to come home?”

“Why did we even do this, Tori?” Jade snaps, her eyes blazing. “What the fuck were we doing?”

Tori throws up her hands like it’s obvious. “We had no idea what we were doing, Jade. We graduated, you just broke up with Beck. You were moving to New York.”

Jade looks at her, cold, unmoving.

“So that’s what it was, huh?” Jade asks, her voice eerily thin, a tone that Tori’s never heard from her voice. “I was just the experiment, testing out the waters.”

Now Tori’s the one with the hurt expression.

“No, that’s never what it was.”

“But it was never enough to be anything more,” Jade continues, and Tori notices the way her jaw tightens and how her eyes walk the line between sadness and anger so well. “I wasn’t ever going to be anything more to you.”

“That’s not what it was,” Tori insists, her voice practically begging for Jade to understand.

“But it was never serious?” Jade asks, her voice coming across hard in the air between them. “Not seriously like Grace in there?”

Tori looks at her for a long moment, unable to put her thoughts into a sentence. Jade swallows the lump in her throat.

“Jade.”

They both turn to see Beck by the exit of the building, watching the exchange from there. Tori wonders how long he’s been there, how much he’s heard.

“Fuck off, Beck,” Jade responds, her eyes not leaving Tori.

“Jade come on,” Beck insists. “Before you say something stupid.”

“I don’t need you here,” Jade tells him harshly.

Beck lets out a sigh before he is walking over to Jade, who doesn’t move at all. Tori doesn’t say anything. She only watches as the pain and hurt grows more and more evident on Jade’s face.

There is something she’s missed between them all along.

“Let’s get you home,” Beck says to Jade quietly.

“Leave me alone,” she mutters looking down at her shoes, but her voice breaks and it’s clear to them that this is only going downhill now. 

“Jade,” he says again, this time softly.

There’s a pause and then, “Fine.”

Beck nods, giving Tori one last glance, an apology, before he starts walking Jade to his car. Tori realizes now, Beck knows what this is all about.

Jade turns around after a few steps. Her eyes are shining, but it doesn’t hold her back from speaking.

“You were always more than just a hookup,” she says. “Christ, Tori, you were never just a hook up.”

Tori stands there dumbfounded, watching Jade walk to Beck to his car. Even after they’re long gone, she doesn’t go back inside. She stands there trying to understand how this all went so wrong.

[kyber-kisses]

Don’t Come Looking

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: mentions of smut, cursing, pregnant!reader

Summary: after a drunken night out and Dean and y/n finally confessing their feelings . . . and other things, y/n finds out something that has her running for the hills.

A/n: this might become a series, idk my guys. But I had this idea a few weeks ago so I’m finally writing it. (also I don't write smut due to the fact that I suck at writing it, and no one wants poorly written smut.)

“Oh no-“ you mumbled, leaning back against the bathroom counter, you let your hands slide down your face. Oh no,no,no,no,no. This was not good.

It was supposed to be just a fun night out at one of the bars in Lebanon. And then some jackass started relentlessly hitting on you and Dean got up and proceeded to throw his fist into the guys face.

You usually could take care of it, but Dean never gave you the chance. It completely took you by surprise when it happened.

And then a series of events unfolded that you never expected to happen in all your life. Dean had slapped a few bills down on the table, taken your hand and left the bar.

“Dean! What the hell was that?! I can take care of myself!” You yelped, stepping out into the warm night air.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I tired to hold myself back, but the way he was looking at you had my blood boiling.” Dean admitted, leaning back against the impala to rub his temple.

“Dean, I- wait, were you jealous?”

The hunter sighed, closing his eyes. “Yes, okay? Yes, I was jealous. Trust me, it caught me by surprise too.”

You couldn’t help the fact that your eyes widened. Dean Winchester being jealous? That was not the Dean you knew at all.

“You gonna say anything or are you gonna just stare at me in silence?” He grumbled. “I made this weird, I’m sorry.”

Then it clicked. Dean had feelings for you. You never expected that either.

Closing the distance between you, you pressed your lips against his, feeling him freeze momentarily before kissing back, his hand going to rest on the back of your neck. Suddenly, he is pulling you against him, and bending his head to kiss you deeper. Deans lips were on yours. Dean Winchester was kissing you, you thought, oh my god. It was like all the years of tension snapped in that moment as you let yourself melt into him.

And things only picked up from there. . .

The shock had you gripping the edges of the bathroom sink with such a ferocity that your knuckles were turning white. It was the only way you could steady yourself.

You were a hunter. Hunters couldn’t have this. The world was too dangerous- too mean.

All you could do was keep your eyes locked on the small item on the counter. It almost felt like the pregnancy test was staring back at you.

You were pregnant with Dean Winchesters child.

You needed to think. Figure out how to approach this whole thing, but it was insane. Your body and mind were stuck in a state of shock.

This shouldn’t have happened.

Chewing on your nails, you paced the bathroom you had locked yourself in. Luckily Sam and Dean were busy doing research for a case, so the last place their minds should be was on you.

Eventually you realized you had locked yourself away for far too long, and so you swung open the door and ventured down the hallway, jamming the pregnancy test deep into your coat pocket.

“Well look who decided to show herself.”

Fuck. You were hoping to get to the kitchen without being noticed. With a sigh, you turned and looked into the library, seeing the brothers hunched over the table. The older Winchester shooting you a grin.

Damn him. You hated Dean Winchester and his fucking eyes, and his fucking freckles, and his stupid muscular shoulders. But you really hated his lips and that goddamn smirk and that stupid proud grin like he was still a five year old child.

Sucking in your lips, you couldn’t help but glare at him. Why did you have to go and catch feelings for him?

Deans face fell, seeing the way you were looking at him. “Y/n, you alright?” He spoke slowly, closing the book in front of him.

“I’m FiNe.” You croaked, plastering on a smile to try and convince them that you were. . . even though you were not. If you kept looking at him, all the words would just flow out, and you couldn’t let that happen. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” And with that you turned on your heel and headed back down the hallway towards your room.

Once you were gone, Dean turned to share a concerned look with Sam, the two clearly confused by the way you were acting.

“What the hell was that?”

Dean shook his head, unable to come up with an answer. “No idea.” He knew better than to get up and follow you. That was just a way to get you angry.

*. *. *. *. *.

You didn’t realize how long you had been lying awake in your bed until the clock on your nightstand blinked 1:30am.

You couldn’t keep going like this. Dean had a right to know, but you couldn’t bring yourself to even think about telling him. . . and you couldn’t stay here either. It wasn’t a good idea to go on hunts and when they noticed you weren’t coming, they would definitely know something was up.

It was like your fight or flight instincts kicked on in that moment, and before you knew it your feet were hitting the tile as you crossed your room. As silently as you could, you gathered as many belongings as you could, dumping them into your two duffel bags. After writing a quick note and leaving it on the bed, you changed quickly, slipping on a pair of sneakers and sliding the bags onto your shoulders.Thankfully the door to your room was quiet and you opened it with ease. Flipping off the lights you gave your room one last look.

They were going to be fine.

Dean was going to be fine.

Closing the door, you turned down the hallway heading for the garage, face set and determined. Your steps almost completely silent as you passed Deans door. Luckily his lights were out, meaning he was asleep.

Even as you reached the garage you stayed silent, easing open the drivers side door of your car and sliding in, setting your bags down on the seat next to you.

Everything was fine.

You were fine.

You winced as you turned the keys in the ignition, the car rumbling to life. Hopefully the sound didn’t wake anyone up. Sucking in one last deep breath, you put the car in reverse and pulled away from the bunker. You said a silent goodbye to your home and to Dean before pressing on the gas and tearing off down the road.

*. *. *. *. *

Taking another sip of his coffee, Dean glanced over at the clock next to the fridge. You should have been up by now. You were always up before him.

He was worried. This and the way you were acting last night was making him uneasy. Something was bothering you, and he had no clue what it could be.

“Dean, you okay?” Sam questioned, looking up from his laptop.

“Y/ns not up yet.”

Sam let out a light chuckle, reaching for his mug, “she’s probably just sleeping in. Calm down.”

Dean was silent for a moment, weighing the probably that you could be sleeping in. . . But it was still unlikely. “Nope. I’m going to check on her.” He decided quickly, pushing himself out of his seat and heading down the hallway. All Sam could do was roll his eyes as he watched Dean retreat quickly.

Leaning against your door, Dean rapped his knuckles against the wood. “Y/n, you awake?” He waited, unfortunately only getting silence in return. “Y/n?”

Silence.

Finally growing impatient, he turned the knob, easing the door open. As he flicked on the light, his face fell- fear clouding all his other emotions.

Your room was empty. Empty of your belongings. Empty of you. Your desk once lined with collections of sunglasses, half burnt candles, seashells, and geodes split down their center was now completely empty. The only sign that anything had been there was the dust cleared places where the items had once sat.

You were gone. You had left. . . And he didn’t understand why.

That’s when he spotted the sticky note laying on the bed, just waiting to be picked up. Crossing through the threshold, he walked towards your bed, swiping up the piece of paper, jade eyes devouring the six words scribbled down:

Don’t come looking for me - Y/n

“Oh fuck this.” Dean mumbled, fingers crushing the bright piece of paper and letting it fall to the floor.

He knew something was wrong, and he wasn’t going to rest until he knew what that was. He needed to know that you were okay. That you were safe.

Turning on his heel, Dean stormed down the hallway to grab his keys and jacket, “Sam, grab your coat! We’re leaving!”

Taglists open!

[puttingfingerstokeys]

an alliance you silly fool

for lack of a better title--here ya go. I’mma call this a sequel (or maybe just a spiritual sequel) to thermodynamic equilibrium which, in turn, is a sequel to heart and fire. Should I turn these into legitimate fics? Fuck idk. 

Fire and Ice (subscorp) with tendrils of strange subplots--enjoy!

Broken Timeline

From the moment he woke up that morning, Johnny Cage knew that this was going to be the absolute strangest wedding he would ever have the pleasure of attending. The venue was idyllic with falling leaves of many colors scattered about, caught by wind and tossed here and there by eddies of breeze. Fujin’s on his game, thought the actor, passing beneath the archway that marked the entrance to the Shirai-Ryu Fire Gardens.

The place was a temple and a training complex all in one. The “facilities”, such as they were, bore the gravitas of age and deeply held tradition and dignity. The Lin Kuei dotting the area, therefore, were somewhat out of place. It was good, at least, to see them (those who remained) in flesh bodies—all save Cyrax, whose yellow chassis was impossible to miss. 

Johnny could not help noticing the amount of Shirai-Ryu, a clear testament to the late Hanzo Hasashi’s dedication to their restoration. His heart gave a little, achy beat, then, when he counted and compared their number to that of the Lin Kuei. The titan of time had taken so much from Sub-Zero and his clan. 

Kronika’s machinations had decimated the Lin Kuei; Sub-Zero had said as much, but seeing it first hand was gut-wrenching. “Great venue, though,” he commented to no one in particular.

“An ideal choice. Arctika would have been much too cold for the mortals in attendance.”

Johnny nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of his old friend, Liu Kang. It felt like an age since he had heard that voice but despite all that, it forced a smile. Johnny played it as cool as he could and turned to face the keeper of time, glowing eyes and all. I’m never getting used to that.

“Liu, ya made it—lookin’ ah… divine, buddy.” He reached out and patted Lord Liu Kang almost hesitantly on the shoulder. He was hot to the touch, but the fire did not burn, sort of like Raiden’s low-grade EMP field. Speaking of... “Where’s ah…” Johnny craned his neck and looked around, as if he missed something. “Ol’ Sparky?”

“Lord Raiden is indisposed, unfortunately—elsewhere in the timeline.” Liu Kang seemed hesitant to offer details. This sensation, along with the lack of Raiden told Johnny something was up. He would have dismissed it but for a tiny discharge of what was little more than static electricity, arcing from Liu Kang’s upper body. Johnny nodded and gave a thumbs up, catching sight of Cassie, Jacqui, and Takeda Takahashi over Liu’s shoulder.

“A’ight well, good to… y'know see ya, Liu. I’m gunna—”

“We must speak later, Johnny,” said Liu Kang, grasping Johnny’s upper arm, shining eyes boring into his, even through the sunglasses. Johnny's heart skipped a beat. Liu knew him too well to hope he had noticed nothing. “After the ceremony.”

“Sure thing, man, no problem…” Johnny paused. “You okay?”

“I think I will be, once we speak.”

That was the best he was going to get, so Johnny let it lie and moved over to see the happy couple and his daughter. Jacqui was leading one child, their eldest, a six year old named Hanzo—the child was bright and gleeful, dark eyes sparkling with wonderment at the falling leaves—and her belly was swelling with another. She was radiant. Takeda balanced a two-year-old on his hip. Her name was Sonya and she was just as inquisitive as her brother, holding a red leaf in one hand and a small blanket in the other.

“Jacqui, Takeda, glad you’re here,” he greeted, pulling them both in for a hug.

“Mr. Cage,” they both chimed, wide smiles stretching across their faces. Everyone, it seemed, was fairly fond of Cassie’s father. She stood off to one side, offering her hand to little Hanzo when the adults squeezed him out in favor of a hug and catch-up session. The boy ran to her and slapped her palm before grasping it.

“You two look great—ah, hey, Jacqui… how’s your dad?” Johnny didn’t want to pry, but felt it was the right thing to do to inquire. It was what Sonya would have done. She was always well aware of protocol and propriety. Now he had to be the master of his own manners. It had gotten easier, but it still was not easy.

“He was…” Jacqui chewed her lip. “Today wasn’t great, to be honest, Mr. Cage; he has ups and downs.”

“This one was a down,” Takeda said, shifting his grip on Sonya, “but he sent us with all his respect and… honestly, curiosity.”

“Yeah, who’da thunk?”

Presently, Cyrax, who was acting as an usher, approached and gestured that the Takahashi family should follow him. Jacqui bid Johnny goodbye and there was melancholy in her eyes, a kind of regret that she could not offer more solid information or good news on her father. Johnny crossed his arms and found himself losing focus, staring off into the woods beyond the gates, thought and memory carrying him away.

When Liu Kang had taken control of Kronika’s crown—Johnny was informed that that had been a fight literally for the ages, like all of them—he had supposedly set about restoring the timeline,doing his best to put pieces back into place, where they belonged. It meant making many painful decisions, but Liu was, as ever, aided by Raiden, who had given his chosen champion his divinity that he might fulfill his ultimate destiny.

Liu Kang had offered little information on the arrangement. Fortunately, Raiden was a little more forthcoming than ever he had been previously. He had explained to Johnny and Cassie one afternoon upon visiting Johnny’s Beverly Hills residence that he had conferred his divinity permanently, but that he was still himself, an elemental, and that Liu Kang had given him that aspect of himself back once Shang Tsung had been defeated. For what reason and to what end was evidently not for Johnny to know. 

“It will belong to Liu Kang again,” he had said, “once my mortal life is over.”

He had guided Fire God Liu Kang to make many decisions which hurt him deeply. Returning the younger versions of all of his friends to the past had been heart-rending. Johnny preferred not to think about it in depth. He had forgotten how much he liked Lao and Kitana until he had seen them in their younger forms again. It was doubly painful now to know they were back within their timelines, put into place to maintain the balance—Liu Kang’s balance. No more of that Kronika bitch, Johnny thought. That’s shitty balance.

“Something is on your mind, Cage-san.” It would be the second time that day Johnny would jump out of his skin. He whirled this time, recognizing the voice, but startled nonetheless.

“DO not sneak up on me—Jeezis…”

Scorpion shrugged. “Be more aware of your surroundings in a den of assassins.” He did not speak with malice, though his strange wraith’s eyes betrayed nothing and so Johnny had to go on instinct that he was not being menaced. Certainly Scorpion’s attire had changed; he wore the traditional robes of the Shirai-Ryu nuptial rites, rather than his customary yellow and black assassin garb. There was something comforting in that, but Johnny had laid money on there being some kind of violence at this wedding, so he was still hoping Scorpion was packing some kind of heat under all that fine fabric. Just one “get over here” would do me, I swear.

“Okay, you got me there—am I supposed to be sitting down? Also aren’t you like… shouldn’t you be hiding someplace ‘til it all starts?” He found himself observing the man’s hair, now, held up with an ornate pin that looked to be made of gold. Everything about this was weird, but also made a strange, cosmic sense. There was balance in this, too.

“Western wedding traditions and eastern ones are laid aside here,” said Scorpion cryptically. “We are neither. Shirai-Ryu descend from Outworld… But if you would be seated, we might begin.”

Before Johnny could respond, Scorpion sank into the ground in a flash of fire and heat. Johnny wondered if his hakama would be singed by so doing and chuckled, shaking his head at the thought. Heading toward the seats, he noticed that many people had arrived while he had been daydreaming and he wondered how he had missed them. Before he could worry much about that, Cassie had caught his eye and was signaling him to a seat near the Takahashi family and, of all people, Kung Jin.

“Good to see you, kid,” said Johnny, shaking Jin’s hand. Jin nodded. 

“You kidding, Mr. Cage? I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

The seats were filling, all familiar faces. Not many were complete unknowns; those who were quickly found their place among kindred spirits. This was an intimate affair, after all. Who would turn down the chance to see the legendary Fire Gardens of the Shirai-Ryu? There was low, murmured chatter, a few peals of laughter, and many wide eyes. 

All at once, however, a hush fell over the crowd prompting the laughter to die down and the murmuring to become whispers. The wind which had been moving the multicolored leaves two and fro stilled and Fujin himself touched down near the back, settling into his seat. Grey Cloud leaned over and whispered something in the god’s ear; Fujin seemed pleased and smiled a crooked grin, nodding. 

Kotal Kahn adjusted his headdress a moment, before taking it off and setting it to the side of his seat. Now is not the time to be emperor, he thought, but honored guest. Next to him, his empress’s smile was soft, approving, her hands folded in her lap. Lord Liu Kang had given them a great gift, restoring Jade to life and vitality. Their wedding had been the largest celebration Outworld had ever seen. She could not see how this could eclipse that, but was politely in attendance nevertheless. 

Erron Black leaned forward and exchanged a few whispered words with Johnny, who shook his head, pointed toward the most ornate building in the Fire Gardens which was serving as the backdrop for the “stage” of this ceremony. Swatting Johnny’s shoulder, Erron leaned back and crossed his arms. 

“Hang on! Don’t start without us!” A voice called from the entrance where a couple of Lin Kuei were struggling to lead a pair of figures who were now jogging toward the seated assembly. Johnny flew up out of his seat and lifted a hand. 

“Lao! Kitana! How…?” He was baffled, but so very, very glad to have the seats in that row filled by these two. Perhaps Liu had done something similar for them to what he had done for Jade. It was good to see her sitting next to Kotal. This was balance. 

“Divine intervention,” said Kitana simply, her face a broad, open grin. Dark eyes sparkled with delight and she looked as young and beautiful as ever. Lao had aged a bit, but he was still a knockout. Johnny flushed a little at the thought and shook his head.

“Well c’mon you acts of god, siddown.”

“You think there’s gunna be some kombat?” Lao asked, stuffing an elbow into his nephew’s ribs. Jin swatted at him and shrugged. Kitana shot a look at both and they sat back. Johnny shook his head. 

“It’s a wedding,” Johnny stated nebulously.

“You’ll be eatin’ your words come this evening,” Erron declared without looking or offering context. Cassie looked between them, eyes narrowed with suspicion. Johnny pulled a face and gestured at Lao and Kitana to sit. Everyone else had gone silent, so it was clearly time. 

A frigid bank of fog had settled into one side of the “stage”. Those closest were shivering, wrapping arms around themselves, smiling with heart-pounding anticipation. Of course this could not be a normal wedding. 

Sub-Zero emerged from the fog bank, ice coating his hands, which he opened and held out toward the right side of the venue. His attire was formal, some kind of ancient Chinese wedding garb, very traditional, as Scorpion’s had been. What were they playing at? And where’s Liu?

“This’s gonna be a helluva show,” rumbled Erron Black, sitting a little straighter. Grey Cloud leaned over and whispered something else to Fujin, who nodded, but then covered his mouth, glowing eyes wide and darting toward his companion, who crossed thick arms with satisfaction and sat back looking very much like the cat who ate the canary. 

A tornado of fire swept the fog and chill from the crowd and Scorpion stood, wearing the same garb in which Johnny had earlier seen him. Not a bit of it was scorched, which was impressive special effects, in Johnny’s mind. He tried to forget the magic bits as much as possible; it hurt his brain even now. He heard a low whistle from behind him, distracting his enchantment-driven discomfort. Evidently his gray matter wasn’t the only thing being strained constantly by their odd choice of companionship.

“It is Shirai-Ryu tradition that the intended must fight for his wife,” said Scorpion, his voice resonating over the quiet crowd without a need to raise it. “A brother, a father, an uncle, or cousin…” He gestured, arms out to either side of himself, as if to indicate that he had no relatives, that he was his only family. “I am nobody’s ‘wife’.”

This, at least, earned a chuckle, rippling through the crowd and easing some tension. Those who had been present from the beginning of the initial konflict knew well the former animosity between Scorpion and the man who had once worn the Sub-Zero mantle. More than that, they knew the rivalry between the Shirai-Ryu and the Lin Kuei, then brutalities committed against the former by the latter. This ceremony was unprecedented. 

“But, I will represent myself.”

“I challenge you, then, Hanzo Hasashi, Grandmaster of the Shirai-Ryu, for the right to call you mine.” Sub-Zero’s dress garb had not changed, but his hands had retained their icy coating and, presumably, that ice was running up his arms now. A cold snap was fanning out from his position, placing a beautiful layer of frost upon the leaves and greenery closest to him.

“I assent.”

Scorpion was enveloped, then, in violent flames, the challenge accepted. These consumed his dress attire and replaced it with his yellow, black, and red assassin garb as he walked through it, untouched. Swinging the spearpoint of his chain almost lazily, Scorpion emerged. With a swift, unforgiving motion, he hurled it toward Sub-Zero. 

“GET OVER HERE!”

The spear flew like lightning, taking Sub-Zero by surprise in the shoulder and tugging him forward into a stumble, staining his nuptial attire with blood. Scorpion was on him in an instant, pulling one of his swords out and swinging hard for the man’s face. Only a quick motion deflected it, ice coating the Lin Kuei Grandmaster’s arm and sending the blade spinning off and sticking into the fine wood of the dojo’s porch. The crowd gasped appropriately as Sub-Zero grasped the spear end and tugged it free, tossing it almost contemptuously onto the ground.

Scorpion retracted it and then began swinging it in another lazy arc as he approached, backing Sub-Zero toward a stone monument to the left of the dojo building. Before he could make another move, Sub-Zero had encased himself in ice and burst forth with a rolling tackle in his traditional blue uniform. Scorpion stood his ground and took the man’s momentum in stride, forcing him to one side and bringing a savage elbow down on his back. There was a grunt of agony from Sub-Zero, but the kryomancer did not release his hold, slowly beginning to chill his arms. Scorpion’s hand bearing the spearhead was trapped, but his other arm remained free and he beat Sub-Zero about the head and shoulders mercilessly, trying to free himself before hypothermia set in.

When his hand dropped open and the spear dropped from it, Scorpion knew he had to change tactics. He set his jaw and brought a leg up, aiming for Sub-Zero’s thigh muscle. The hit drove home and he broke away swiftly, rolling into a kick to the Lin Kuei Grandmaster’s jaw which sent him reeling onto his back. Sub-Zero manifested a snowpile—something he had recently cultivated—to catch himself.

“He’s not even fightin’,” Erron grumbled, arms crossed.

“Would you fight the man you loved? ‘Cause I wouldn’t.” Johnny’s mind flew, unbidden, to Liu Kang. “Besides, you’re still winning.”

“Damn right.”

“You’re BETTING on this?” Cassie’s hiss was so forceful, Johnny nearly jumped.

“Of course not, pumpkin, why would I do something like that?”

Meanwhile, Scorpion was bearing down on Sub-Zero, intent lacing every single one of his tightly coiled, compact muscles. He was an imposing figure, if only in reputation. As far as Johnny was aware, the man had never breached five and a half feet tall, if that—but make no mistake, he had more than earned his name. Supposedly—and everyone was inclined to believe this tale—he had, through sheer force of will and rage, fought his way through the Netherrealm to challenge Quan-Chi and demand his vengeance. The story, after that, became a bit sordid and most people did not repeat what came next.

Sub-Zero launched a few icicles in rapid succession at Scorpion, who was making a run at him. These, he leapt and ducked with almost practiced ease and then, with one tremendous heave, launched himself into the air to come down on top of Sub-Zero, spearhead kunai in hand, aiming very clearly for throat or face. Johnny could see their mouths moving from where he sat, but could not make out their words.

“Do you fight for your honor?”

“I fight for ours.”

“You will not best me.”

“I will.”

“I will kill you, Liang.”

“Hanzo… you are beautiful.”

Sub-Zero forced Scorpion’s arms, both of which were now employed in trying to drive the blade downward, up and over his own head, sticking the tip into the dirt. Both of Sub-Zero’s chilly arms had wrapped around his torso again, but the hold was much softer and without menace. He was holding Scorpion, rather than attempting to crush his ribcage.

“I… yield,” said Hanzo Hasashi, very quietly, sitting up and facing the crowd. “Before this assemblage… I yield.”

Johnny couldn’t help noticing that Sub-Zero’s hands had come to rest easily and comfortably on the yellow-clad assassin’s hips for but a moment before Scorpion stood and offered one of his own. Sub-Zero took it and stood, towering over his new husband, looking pleased, but hardly gloating. Both chests were heaving.

“That counts as violence,” Erron hissed in Johnny’s ear. Cassie was rolling her eyes in their direction, but her attention was mostly upon the spectacle before them. She had never, in her lifetime, had the privilege of witnessing the two Grandmasters really throw down. She was glad she did not have to take them on; one was enough and Sub-Zero had been toying with them. Proud as she was of her training, skill, and heritage, there was something to be said for the raw experience of age.

“Wait…!” Takeda called from a few seats down. He stood, gesturing. “Master Hasashi, your… your eyes!”

“My…” Scorpion paused and looked at Sub-Zero.

“You’ve returned to me, Hanzo,” whispered Kuai Liang, brushing a few stray hairs out of Scorpion’s face. “Body and soul.”

Johnny was the first to stand and applaud. Others soon joined until the entire crowd was surging to their feet with wild laughter and clapping and whistles, whooping and hollering. Jade considered this ceremony adequate competition to hers. Kotal was in tears. 

“If anyone here has any reason these two should not be joined,” said Liu Kang, appearing from a portal just at the top of the steps to the Shirai-Ryu dojo. “Speak now and risk life and limb.”

“It is not recommended,” Sub-Zero added, holding Scorpion tightly.

[kingdomheartsmarts]

Oooh can we pretty please have some smut with bratty bottom Even??? I can wait though, thanks :D

yeah so uh... idk honestly what happened. i got like really horny and went ham. this is pretty filthy. anyway. 

thank you for requesting! i hope you enjoy (this long ass story)~

a-n: smutty under the cutty- bondage, brat taming, light degradation, sex toys, straight filth | 3.1 k. 

Even/Reader | Guide to Brat Taming and Loving

“Come here, Even,” You commanded him, watching your boyfriend pull at his handcuffs while he rests on his knees. 

You watched his eyes shoot up to yours, his lips pursed while he continued to fight against the leather around his wrist, his glare cutting into you while you chuckled at his unspoken attitude. 

“Come on, be a good boy,” You sneered, motioning him over with your finger, watching the way his cut into you again. 

“No,” Even simply said, looking back down at his bound wrist before you walked over to him, pulling him up by his hair- a sharp moan escaping his lips. 

“Be a good boy, Even,” You quietly warned him, watching his cock twitch against his stomach at your rough treatment, “I want to be able to reward you. Now, crawl over to the bed.” 

“No.” He said again, meeting your eyes as your grip on his hair tightened, pulling him roughly towards you as you leaned down to look him in the face. 

“So you want to be a little bratty whore today?” You whispered against his jaw, gently kissing his skin while he shivered, abruptly biting down on his neck to bring him back to you, “I have to punish brats, Even.” 

“You won’t do anything,” He confidently said, despite his body squirming with excitement. 

“Oh really? Go lay on the bed. See if I won’t do anything,” You released his hair, his obedience finally showing through as he made his way to the bed, laying down on his back. 

“I gave you three chances, Even,” You quietly said, flipping him over onto his stomach as you pulled his cuffed wrist up to the front of the bed, unchaining them from each other to tie his arms apart onto the bed, “And you didn’t listen. So now, you have to be punished.” 

You quietly left Even for a moment, admiring the way his backside looked as he laid his head to the right, facing you while he adjusted to the pillow under his head. You gently took one of his ankles, wrapping a leather cuff around it, just for Even to attempt to kick his foot, your hand roughly shoving his ankle back down as you quickly fastened it to the bedpost. 

“That’s 20, Even,” you warned him, roughly spanking his inner thigh in immediate retaliation. 

You quickly fastened his free ankle, looking down at your bound to the bed boyfriend as he continued to squirm, running your hand up his leg as you walked to your bedside table, gently pulling out your box of Even’s toys; his head away from you as you pulled out his baby blue buttplug, lube, and whip. 

“You know you’ve been a bad boy, Even,” You quietly explained, resting on your knees in between his legs, uncapping the lube while you laid the buttplug beside you, “So you have to be punished; if you act right, it won’t be too bad, alright?” 

You poured some lube onto his asscrack, hearing a soft gasp at the sudden cool liquid, just for you to spread apart his cheeks for the lube to gather at his hole. 

“You’re going to keep your plug in you while I punish you, understand?” You cut your eyes up at him, hearing him whimper and nod his head, “Use your words.” 

“Yes,” Even panted, squirming his ass against your hand while you gently rubbed over his hole with your finger, gently rubbing as he whimpered again. 

“Don’t be impatient, this part isn’t supposed to hurt,” You mumbled, your finger gently pushing into him while he gasps, “Your greedy little hole doesn’t want to be patient, hm?” 

“Please, more,” Even finally begged, your finger gently pushing against his walls while he whimpered, his focus completely on you. 

“Oh? The little whore wants more already?” You teased, pushing in another finger while he gasps again, “I bet you wanted to be a little bitch just so that you got punished, isn’t that right?” 

EVen could only moan while you continued to drag your fingers across his velvety walls, his muscles contracting around you while he relished in the pulsing pleasure, his length aching with the slow build of your teasing. Picking up his plug, you gently removed your finger despite his protest of whimpers, just to fill his aching emptiness with his thick plug, his low moan resonating through the room- his hole taking it all in greedily. 

“Little whore, loving having your hole stuffed already?” You teased, lightly spanking his ass before straddling his back, gently brushing his bangs out of his face. 

“Even?” You gently asked, a sharp contrast to your previous movements while you gently kissed his cheek. 

“Hm?” Even hummed, his breaths evening out again as he adjusted to the thick intrusion. 

“What’s the safe word?” You kissed his cheek again, his jade eyes fluttering open to look at you. 

“Peppermint,” He panted out, the thin sheen of early sweat already forming on his forehead. 

“Don’t hesitate to use it, alright?” 

“Mhmm,” 

“Do you still feel alright? Do you want to keep going?” 

“Yes.” 

Pulling yourself off of his back, you placed the lube down on the table as you replaced it in your hand with the whip, wiping off your lubed hand with a tissue. 

“I’m going to whip you Even,” You quietly narrated your movements, hearing his low growl, “Oh don’t act like that- you know you’ve wanted this, you little whore.” 

Walking beside the bed, the soft click of your heels against the hardwood while you situated yourself on the side of the bed, pressing your knee into the bed as you felt over his ass with your free hand, gently kneading the milky flesh as he squirmed under you. 

“Now, now,” You reminded him, roughly cracking your whip down over his ass, his sharp cry igniting your core while you watched his cock twitch against the bed, his length resting against the bed as opposed to being pressed against his stomach, “We need to go ahead and punish you, don’t we?” 

Crack. 

“You’re going to make me ruin my panties-” 

Crack. 

“With all your whimpering and gasps-”

Crack. 

“And you’re going to have to clean it up-” 

Crack. 

“Or maybe, I should make you wear my soaked panties-” 

Crack. 

“And make you cum with them on-” 

You heard Even’s shaky, open-mouthed breaths as you looked at his face pressed against the pillow: his cheeks flushed red in the same tone as his lips, swollen and red from biting down onto them to muffle his cries of pleasure and pain from the whip, his hair messy and fallen across his face- the sight of a completely ruined man in bliss. 

“Or you might just cum-” 

Crack.

“From me whipping you-” 

Crack. 

“Your pretty cock is just twitching-” 

Crack. 

“Against the sheets.” 

Crack. 

“Fuck-” you heard Even quietly curse, his labored breaths calling your attention to him, his hair stuck to his face from a mixture of sweat and tears. 

“It’s alright, we’re halfway there,” You gently rubbed over his stinging flesh. 

“Don’t stop, please,” Even quietly begged, his ass moving back up against your hand. 

“I knew you loved being punished-” 

Crack. 

“Just like the little whore you are-” 

Crack. 

“Isn’t that right?-” 

Crack. 

“Little masochist whore-” 

Crack. 

“Oh look at your pretty cock-” 

Crack. 

“Leaking against the bed-” 

Crack. 

“Just from me whipping you-” 

Crack. 

“God, you’re making me so wet-” 

Crack. 

“Just from watching your pretty little ass-” 

Crack. 

“Turn-” 

Crack. 

“Red,” you placed down the whip on the bedside table, the stinging red flesh making you bite your lip while you returned to in between his legs, gently massaging his sensitive stinging flesh. 

“Did you enjoy yourself?” You asked, moving up to move his hair from his face, gently kissing the few trails of tears down his cheek, pulling his hair behind his face. 

“Yes,” Even panted, meeting your eyes. 

“Still want to continue?” 

“Yes.” 

“Hm, let’s see if you have gotten stretched out,” you hummed, moving off of him to sit on the side of the bed, gently wiggling the buttplug- his soft gasps and sweet groans making you smirk. 

“Oh you just always look so lovely with a buttplug in you,” you praised him, his groan making you grind your hips down against his back. 

“Hmm, I was going to go ahead and take your plug out, but now I think I’m going to get you to help me first.”

Moving to the head of the bed, adjusting the length of the binds for a little more freedom, pulling down your panties and shoving his head in between your thighs. 

“Now take care of me~” you smirked, his tongue darting out and slowly lapping at your folds, his jade eyes meeting yours as you pressed against the headboard of the bed. 

“That’s it, such a good boy,” You groaned, your head falling against the headboard while you intertwined your fingers in his long hair, his jade eyes shutting as he let himself get consumed in pleasuring you, his soft moan making you look down at him; he always changed halfway through a night with you, turning soft and compliant through every command you gave him. 

“That’s enough; let’s get you turned over,” you pulled his head back, his chin and lips glistening with your slick, gently moving off of him while being careful of any soreness he might feel. 

“Now, I’m going to turn you over, and I’m going to ride you after I switch out your buttplug, understand?” You quietly explained, gently uncuffing his wrist as he moved it around, walking around the bed to uncuff his ankles. 

“You can move around a little bit,” You quietly said as you finished uncuffing him, moving over to the bedside table again. You heard him squirming on the bed, working out his back muscles for a moment, just for you to pull out a little vibrating egg, something Even always enjoyed despite his irritation with your teasing. 

Gently pulling his head up, he looked up at you, his eyes meeting yours with his lust-glazed eyes. 

“Turn over, spread your legs a little bit,” You commanded him, his compliance making you smile, straddling his stomach as you gently took his length in hand, gently stroking him as he groaned, gently pulling out the buttplug just to gently replace it with the egg, his low moan making you wiggle your hips in his sight. 

“Hm, I think that will be just fine; I’ll ride you and you can have a little more pleasure,” You purred, turning around- gently guiding yourself onto his length, his long groan making your mouth curl into a smile, the remote of the egg in hand. 

“You look gorgeous, Even,” You quietly teased, turning the egg on with a soft vibration- the egg resting against his prostate while his loud groan told you he felt it- and gently rolling your hips. 

“Ma-May I hold your hips,” Even panted out, his eyes meeting yours, a nod giving him all the permission he needed to hold onto your hips for some type of relief from his pleasure. 

“You look so pretty when I ride you like this~” you purred, admiring the way his hair was sprawled across the pillow, his face flushed with blush, his lips red from biting- all as you dragged his length across your velvety walls, his length stretching you out deliciously as you pleasured yourself on his length. 

Gently rolling your hips, you rest the remote on his chest while resting your hands on either side of it, using his chest as your leverage, his eyes locked on yours- your pleasure building but never releasing as he felt the same- your eyes locked on his while his nails cut into your flesh. 

“Such a good boy for me, and all you needed was a little whipping-” you purred, slowly increasing your speed as you bounced on top of him, the friction against his length making your eyes fall to the back of your head as your walls fluttered around him- 

Just for you to stop bouncing, resting on his length while he let out a low whine, his hips wanting to move but staying still nevertheless as you turned up the speed of the vibrator, his head falling back against the pillows. 

“Hm, what else should I do with you tonight, now that you’ve been a good boy,” You hummed, slowly dialing up the speed of the vibrator while Even did everything in his power not to squirm- his hands leaving your hips to clutch the sheets, his feet pressing into the mattress, his head pressed as tight as it could be against the pillow- everything overwhelming him while refusing to be enough all at the same time. 

“Please- please let me cum,” Even finally panted, his face flushed and burning while he held off his orgasm, his cock twitching inside of you while your walls clenched around him. 

“I want you to cum later,” You finally said, pulling yourself off of his cock and turning the vibrator back down to a soft hum, his soft cry of irritation at the loss of his orgasm making you chuckle. 

“You just look so pretty on the verge of an orgasm, Even,” you teased, working the vibrator back up slowly as he whimpered, his hands remaining away from his cock as he cried out, the teasing making his cock twitch. Your core ached at the sight, neglecting your own pleasure while focused on his, leaving the vibrator on while grabbing your own vibrator from your stash of toys, grabbing his strap on. 

“Since you’ve been so good and haven’t cum yet, I’m going to peg you and you can cum then, alright?” you quietly said as you pulled on the strap-on, his focus landing on you while he whimpered at the sight of you pouring on more lube to the strap-on. 

“Aren’t you just so good for me?” You praised him, his hips grinding against the air as you dialed down the vibrator once again, a low growl of irritation escaping his lips. 

“Now, now, we don’t need you to start acting bad again, now do we?” You warned him, roughly gripping his length, his velvety skin wet under your touch from your slick and his precum, his growl of irritation escaping yet again, “I don’t need to whip you again, now do I?” 

“No-” Even finally said, biting his lip as you knelt down between his legs, pulling his legs up to pull out the vibrator, just to be replaced with the strap on- slowly pushing in while you watched his eyes roll to the back of his head. 

“Good boy, taking the cock so well, you’re allowed to cum, alright?” You reminded him sweetly, gently grasping his velvety length in your hand. 

“O-okay- please move,” Even panted, gently grinding his hips against yours, your hips starting a quickened pace while he hissed under you- your down vibrator being held against you as you worked yourself towards your own orgasm. 

“You feel so good,” He panted, growing irritated at your teasing, pushing his hips against yours again. 

“Your little hole is so greedy for this cock, aren’t you?” You sneered, speeding up while you felt your own orgasm rush through you- your clit overstimulated and puffy as your walls crashed down on nothing, your hips stalling as you whimpered, your head falling back while Even watched you- his low whimper drawing your attention back to him as you set down your vibrator, holding onto his hip for leverage as you started your thrust again. 

“There you go, come on, Even,” You gently encouraged him, your own exhaustion setting in as you skillfully thrust against his prostate, his loud cries mixing with his low moans of pleasure as he clung onto the sheets- 

“Ah- ah, fuck, fuck!” Even cursed, clutching onto the sheets as you watched his cock twitch in your hand, rutting your hips against his, riding out his orgasm- his loud pants and whimpers making you bite your lip as you watched him finally come down from his high- a high previously denied, every denial only making his orgasm that much more heightened. 

“There you go,” you quietly said, pulling out of Even and setting your strap-on down in a basket to be cleaned, quickly gathering the toys that littered the bed before returning to your panting boyfriend. 

“Do you feel alright?” you asked, pulling Even into your arms as you worked to gently remove the cuffs from his ankles and wrist, 

“Mhmm,” Even quietly said, snuggling closer to you while you placed the cuffs beside the bed, leaving Even bare in front of you. “Here, I’m going to go get you some water, alright?” You quietly said, pulling the cover sheet off of the bed and throwing aside the “sex pillow” as you called it, replacing it with your regular pillows for the bed. 

“Mhmm,” He hummed again, snuggling into the bed while let you take care of him as you quickly retrieved the glass of water you had set aside for after tonight, grabbing a damp washcloth and some aloe vera on the way. 

“Baby,” you quietly pulled Even from his doziness, laying his back against your chest, holding the glass up against his lips, “I need you to drink as much as you can, alright?” 

Even nodded, sipping on the water while you grabbed a hair tie, pulling his hair back to a loose ponytail, getting his sweat-soaked hair out of his face. 

“I can’t drink anymore,” He hoarsely said, handing you back the mostly empty glass for you to place on the table, your focus returning to him as you gently wiped off his face from his sweat. 

“That’s alright, you drank enough for now, can you turn over for me?” You said, a soft disgruntled noise leaving him as he laid on his stomach yet again, the damp washcloth cleaning off his body of lube and cum. 

“Here, can you hand me that bottle?” You gently ran a hand up his back as he moved the bottle furhter down to you, uncapping the aloe and gently rubbing it on his darkened red skin. His soft wince made you worried you might have gone too far as you rubbed in the cooling lotion, his body relaxing against your gentleness. 

“Does your ass feel alright now?” 

“It hurts a little, but it’s not bad. You didn’t go too far,” Even mumbled into your pillow he was clutching onto, his exhaustion apparent as you smiled at him, pulling yourself up to lay beside him again. 

“Then let’s go to sleep; stay home tomorrow,” you quietly said, turning off the bedside lamp as you snuggled Even under the comforter, his head nuzzled into your chest. 

“Hm,” He hummed into your chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you, “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Even.”

[atamascolily]

@pleasantemperorpenguin said

   IDK. Dudebros I’ve seen hated TLJ/Sequel trilogy and Dark Fate for being ‘woke/sjw propaganda’, and the TLJ fans/Sequel fans I’ve seen were on the progressive side and didn’t think Kylo was right.    

I think it depends on where you hang out in fandom. Certainly, a lot of dudebros hated TLJ for exactly the reasons you mention, but not everbody who disliked TLJ is a dudebro. My particular circle of Star Wars fandom leans towards female-identifying progressives who dislike the ST because of what it does to our faves from the previous movies, while enjoying, appreciating, and celebrating the new characters (except for Kylo). I’ve also seen a LOT of “Ben Solo did nothing wrong!”/ “Ben Solo was abused by Snoke/Palpatine/Luke/Leia/Han/the universe and therefore isn’t responsible for any of the terrible things he did” / “Kylo is the real hero and shouldn’t have died” posts from self-identified ST fans here on tumblr.

It’s fascinating to compare the dynamics between the different factions of Star Wars fans with those of the Terminator franchise. I find it striking, for instance, that both the dudebros and Reylo shippers have wildly different politics from each other, but both groups love Kylo’s character and hate that he died in the last movie--for wildly different reasons. Meanwhile, I have observed two main camps of Terminator fans since the release of Dark Fate: women who loved Dark Fate and ship Grace/Dani hardcore, and long-time fanboys who despise it for killing John Connor. There are obviously folks in between, but I haven’t encountered them as much on the Internet thus far.

I find it fascinating that Dark Fate is frequently criticized for rehashing the previous films and making the old timeline meaningless, when one of the key themes of the Terminator films (as I understand it) is that human beings get caught in these loops  and repeat the same cycle over and over again until and unless they are able to break it. So Dark Fate’s decision to say, “well, you can change the future, but changing fate is harder because of the human tendency to keep building aggressive AI and then trying to destroy it” is well in keeping with the genre, tone, and aesthetic of the previous films, as well as a reasonable premise for a sequel.

In contrast, Star Wars is a fairy tale set in space, a fantasy--not a horror or a thriller where time loops and messages from the future are major plot points. While one of the themes of the OT is about breaking the cycles of the past and forging a new path, the ST’s reset feels crueler, because the OT is less focused on breaking down and killing off its characters, and I find the change in style, tone, and emphasis, to be jarring and off-putting. T2‘s ending is ambiguous; Return of the Jedi’s is not.

The ST also takes a very different track from the previously established Legends universe, in which Luke’s Jedi Academy ultimately succeeds (after a rocky start), and he marries Mara Jade and integrates family life with the Jedi Order. Legends!Han and Legends!Leia have a long and happy marriage with three awesome kids, and Leia isn’t kicked out of the New Republic because of her heritage. There’s a lot of stuff in Legends that isn’t all fun and games--plus a lot of weird shit that hasn’t aged well--but I don’t know if I would have been so wrecked by the ST’s decisions if I hadn’t spent a lot of time invested in a continuity that was, until 2014, canon.

(Confession: I stopped reading Legends when the first book of the New Jedi Order series killed off Chewie to show that “anyone could die” and things were going to get dark. I didn’t get back into the fandom again until a few years ago, largely because of the release of TLJ.)

I suppose you could argue Dark Fate did the same thing by erasing the events of T3, Salvation, and Genisys, but I don’t get the impression that fans were attached to those films the same way they were attached to T1 and T2. Or maybe they feel the way I do about some Star Wars Legends novels--”This is 100% garbage, but I love it, and I will fight you if you mess with it because of the bits I do love so much”. I honestly don’t know.

But maybe the biggest difference between Terminator and Star Wars for me is that I grew up with Han, Luke, and Leia, and their adventures in the Legends universe, and that’s a huge part of me on some deep emotional level because I read those books when I did. To see that ripped away on screen was personally upsetting for me, and I confess that much of my antipathy towards the reason for my faves’ unhappiness (Kylo Ren) may not be rational.

Meanwhile, I just watched Terminator for the first time last fall, with zero childhood expectations in the mix. A large number of people who report loathing Dark Fate self-report that seeing young John Connor in T2 was a formative and meaningful experience, and I get how that would hurt to see him die on screen. That doesn’t justify many of their other negative comments, but I can see from my own experience with Star Wars sequels how this could impact their feelings towards Dark Fate as a whole. 

tl;dr: sweeping generalizations about large groups of people are tricky, emotional attachments to media are real and valid, and I find the whole business of contrasts and parallels both within and between major media franchises really interesting.

[carolunea-matea]

Steak And Potatoes

Chapter Forty

I didn’t know a human could run as fast as Jade was heading towards us.  Dean pushed off the Impala as I grabbed the door handle.  I threw the door open as Jade reached me and I pushed her in ahead of me before slamming the door shut, just as I heard the first gunshots ring out.  I stared out the window in horror as I watched the boys drop three werewolves like it was nothing.  They made quick work of the rest of them before turning to the Impala.

Sam was at Jade’s door with a quickness that was kind of shocking.  Dean was opening mine a moment later.

“Are you guys ok? Everyone in one piece? No bites?” Dean asked checking me over.

“I’m good, babe.  Jade? You ok?”

“Define okay?  No blood. I’m not hurt,”

“Thank God!” Sam exclaimed pulling her into a big hug.

“I think we should get out of here,” Cas said rubbing Jade’s back.

“Sam, Cas, you stay with Jade.  We’ll ride home in Baby.” I instructed as I walked around to Jade and gave her a hug.  

“Can you drive, Sam? I’m a little shaky.” Jade handed Sam her keys.

“Of course.”

We all got in the cars and pulled out of the parking lot.

Dean and I drove in silence holding hands. When we all got home we just kind of stood in the garage for a few minutes.  Everyone was exhausted and trying to process the night.

“Jade, would you like me to watch over you tonight?  I don’t sleep so you will be safe all night.  You look like you could use some rest.  All of you.” Cas offered.

“That would be awesome.  Thank you.”

We all said our good nights and headed off to our rooms.

Once Dean and I were changed we both fell into our bed.  Our bed.  I still love the sound of that.  I didn’t think I would ever find happiness like this.  Especially after all the crazy lately.  Yet, every night I fall asleep with Dean next to me, it’s like this is how it is supposed to be.

I shimmied over to him and laid my head on his chest, sighing happily.  He wrapped his arms around me furthering my blissful feeling.  

“This is what home is,” Dean muttered into my hair.  I could feel the smile on his lips as we both fell asleep.

Early the next morning we both awoke slowly.  I burrowed further into him as he pulled me closer.  We didn’t say anything.  Just laid there for a few minutes holding each other and enjoying the slow wake up.  Eventually I moved to look up at him.  Dean leaned down to kiss my softly.  We were just deepening the kiss when there was a knock at the door.

Dean groaned and I laughed.

“Come in!” I called out.

“Sorry if I am interrupting anything,” Jade slowly opened the door.

“No, no, just having a lazy wake up.  Is anything wrong?” I said stretching my arms as I climbed out of bed, much to Dean’s dismay.

“No, nothing’s wrong.  I was just wondering if you guys thought it was safe to go back to my place yet?  I don’t want to continue to impose on you.”

“First, we can all go check after breakfast.  Make sure everything is safe and sound.  Second, you aren’t imposing.  This is one of the safest places.  There are a billion bedrooms and a crap ton of food.  We could go days without running into each other if we really wanted to.  You can stay here as long as you want, or whenever you want.” I walked over and put my hand on her shoulder.

She smiled at me.

“Thanks!  I may take you up on that offer from time to time.  But, I miss my apartment.”

“I completely understand.  Let’s go make breakfast and let Dean get changed.  Dean? Can you grab Sam and fill him in?”

“Sure thing, Sweetheart.”

I kissed Dean quickly as I pulled my robe on.

Jade and I walked down to the kitchen, chatting about different bar stories. We both had a ton of funny stories about crazy drunk people.

“I’m thinking waffles and bacon this morning.  But, first, coffee!”

“What do you need me to do?”

We set to work and in no time had a platter of homemade waffles made with pans of bacon frying.  We fell into step easily and I couldn’t help but wonder if this was another person that was going to be in my life for the long haul.  Well, however long that haul would last with everything that goes bump in the night.  It seems the more you know about the scary things the more they made themselves known in your life.

Sam, Dean, and Castiel walked into the kitchen together with their mouths practically watering.

“I may not need to eat, but, you make it impossible to not want to, Caroline.”

“Thanks, Angel Man!” I stood on my toes to kiss his cheek.

“Don’t go trying to steal my girl, Cas,” Dean joked.

“I would never do such a thing, oh, your joking.” Cas shook his head.

We all laughed as we carried our plates and mugs to the table.  I got that feeling of family again and couldn’t stop my smile from getting wider. Dean squeezed my knee under the table aiming that million-dollar smile at me.  

Jade and I let the guys clean up the mess while we went to get dressed.  I was just finishing my hair when Dean burst into the room and grabbed me spinning me in circles.  I laughed happily while he held me.

“What was that for?” I asked slightly out of breath.

“You just looked so happy this morning.  Its contagious.” He kissed all over my face, making me laugh all over again.

“Come on, let’s go!  Jade wants to go home we need to make sure its secure.” I pulled him out of our room.

We all met in the garage.  We decided to just all ride in Baby because that’s where all the gear was anyway.  

“Shotgun!” I called before Dean could even open the door.

Everyone laughed as I stuck my tongue out at Sam and he returned the gesture.

“Alright, kids enough fighting,” Jade laughed.

I could tell Jade was nervous about going to her place.  I knew that feeling all too well.  Turning in my seat I looked back at her.  

“Sam and Dean are going to go in first, check the whole place make sure it’s safe.  Cass is going to stay in the car with us.  If all is safe and well, we can head up.  Everything is going to be ok, sweetie.  Either way you will have a safe place to stay.  You are part of this family now, and family doesn’t turn their back on family.”

Jade nodded, chewing on her bottom lip from nervousness.  Cas laid a hand on her shoulder, calming her almost instantly. Sam put his arm around her as a show of support.

Dean pulled into a spot in front of Jade’s building.

“We will call with the all clear,” he kissed me before getting out and casually walking into the building with Sam.

We waited for what felt like an eternity before my phone rang.

“It’s all clear babe.  You guys can come one up.”

“Awesome, Thanks Dean!” I turned to Jade and Cass,” We got the all clear. Time to go clean up so you can have a nice first night back in your place.”

An hour later we had her place cleaned and ready to be lived in again.

“Well, let’s head back to the bunker and I’ll make us some lunch before you pack up.” I suggested.

“Sounds good to me.” Jade still looked a little nervous.

“What’s wrong, Jade?” Cass asked looking concerned.

“I guess I’m just nervous about being alone here.  And I’m going to miss you all.”

“I can stay with you tonight.  Or until you feel safe again.” Sam offered.

“The rest of us are just a phone call and twenty-minute drive away,” Dean added while enveloping Jade in a big brotherly hug.

“I told you, you’re stuck with us little sister.” I joked.

Jade nodded and we all headed down to the car.

“Shotgun!” Jade yelled running to the front passenger’s side door.  We all laughed and piled in for the ride home.

Tag List:

@idk-wtf-is-happening   @greengellybean   @read-the-reid

@anjiepot24   @wandering-rosebud   @xcarapherneliabearx

Chapter 39    Chapter 41  

Master List

[wind-in-the-weirwoods]

Hogsmeade, Chapter 1

A/N:  hello friends I got inspired to write the Harry Potter AU I didn’t know I wanted.  I haven’t thought this out too much so brace for some errors. because it’s my AU, Harry is of Indian descent and Hermione is Black (she hasn’t appeared in this chapter, but may show up later. we’ll see. mainly I want to make that very clear right now)

idk how long this is gonna be bc I’m just flying along while I’ve got the energy to put these ideas into writing, so please just enjoy it for whatever it turns out to be

thanks for reading!

Jon Snow looked out at the Forbidden Forest and sighed.  The Owlery was Hogwarts’ highest point, and one of his favorites.  He could see for kilometers from up there, the forest spread out before him.  He knew all the landmarks – the lake, the groundskeeper’s hut, the fierce old Willow – but his sight was drawn to what lay beyond.  Smoke rose invitingly from the chimneys of Hogsmeade far off in the distance.

Jon sighed again and looked away, bending to draw a stiff-haired brush from its bucket of steaming water.  He lifted his wand and paused, then put it back in its place at his belt.  He adjusted the thick yellow-and-black scarf at his neck and brooded.

Lord Stark’s advice had been clear:  working hard was good for one’s character.  Cleaning the Owlery with magic would have been the smart thing to do, but sometimes Jon needed to work with his hands and feel it in his back.

He set to scrubbing. His fifth year had been a whirlwind so far, stuffed to the gills with difficult coursework and responsibilities as one of his House’s leading lads.  His favorite outlet for expressing frustration, Quidditch, had even eluded him thanks to Gryffindor’s new seeker; the talented second-year was coming into his own and had dealt Hufflepuff a heartbreaking defeat.

Jon, a beater, had sat helplessly and watched as the Potter boy outraced their own seeker in pursuit of the snitch.  The thin lad was even nearly as good at scowling from a balcony as Jon was; they had passed each other on the castle walls as Jon was ascending, the bespectacled Indian having likely sent off a letter by owl-post.  Jon couldn’t escape him.

So here he was now, angsting in the turrets of the Owlery with a bucket of soap.

His best friend Sam had promised to help later after he was finished tutoring first-years for the day.

“Honestly, Jon, why go through the trouble?” Sam had questioned while seated in the common room hours before. He had leaned in from the armchair he slouched, and whispered, “Do you not remember the automation charm?  I can go over it with you again.”

Jon’s cheeks burned. “I know how to do it.  It’s just something I’ve got to do.”

Sam shrugged and reached for a thick book.  “If you say so.  Still,” he licked his finger and turned quickly through the pages, “all those stairs, all that scrubbing.  There’s better uses for your time.”

At that Jon had stood up and muttered something impolite.  He turned and stalked away.

Sam sniffed placidly and began to read.  “It’s your time.”

Jon had cleaned the first three rows in the Owlery and just started the third when he heard soft footsteps approaching.  His shoulders rose and fell before he turned, wind whipping the dark curls framing his face into a frenzy.

He had started to speak but his voice caught in his throat and his thoughts froze.  Sansa Stark approached, dark robes clutched tightly against the wind.  The witch’s eyes darted from the foamy brush in Jon’s hand to his unruly hair, then settled inquisitively on his face.

They knew each other, though not well.  Sansa’s younger sister Arya had joked that Jon was their American cousin, though that wasn’t quite right.  Jon’s father, some Muggle businessman in New York, had never acknowledged him before his mother’s death so he had been adopted by her distant family back in Edinburgh as a young boy.

Jon’s potential for magic had emerged not long after, quelling any fears that he may have been born a Squib.  Lord Ned Stark, a prominent voice in the Ministry of Magic, had raised Jon as his own. That met with varying success in the family:  Sansa’s brother Robb embraced Jon unquestioningly, as did her other siblings. But she took after her cold mother Cat and had always given Jon a wide berth.  He had silently preferred it to outright distaste.

“Hello,” Sansa greeted cautiously.

Jon replied too quickly, cutting her off.  “Hey. Why are you up here?”

The tall girl collected her thoughts.  “I was looking for you.  Sam Tarly said you would be moping up here.”

Jon seethed.  “Well, he’s right.”

Sansa had not yet moved from her spot atop the stairs, but she raised an eyebrow and glanced at Jon aside. The gesture seemed owlish to him. “Why?

“It’s something your lord father always said,” Jon answered slowly, dropping the brush into the bucket and shaking his hands dry.  He crossed the room and knelt to collect some of the dried straw, tossing the rubbish into a sack.

“I know what he said about working hard,” Sansa replied coolly, following Jon as he cleaned. “But why this?”

He paused before speaking. “When I was in my second year, old Professor Aemon caught Sam and me in some mischief or another.  He had us help him clean the Owlery twice a month for detention.”  Jon lifted a hand, index and middle fingers outstretched.  “It still needs cleaning, and I need something to keep myself busy. So two birds, one stone, you know?” He closed his fist for emphasis, but had to brush his long hair away.  It was beginning to annoy him.

Sansa digested that for a moment and waved towards the stairs.  “Well, could you step out with me?  It’s dirty in here.”  The wind howled and her brow furrowed.  “And it’s loud.”

“I’ve been cleaning,” Jon protested, but she took him by the wrist and stepped down into the staircase, protected from the northern winds.

Safe from the elements, Sansa faced Jon with an inscrutable expression.  “We’re going to Hogsmeade this Saturday.”

Jon blinked in surprise. “You and Margaery?”  The Tyrell heiress was nearly inseparable from Sansa, the politician’s daughter, especially in public.  Even if Slytherin prefects did not usually escort Ravenclaws to and from their classes, chattering happily all the while.

That got Sansa to drop her façade.  She rolled her eyes and exhaled deeply.  “Hardly. She is going with Robb.  And you’re going with me.”

“She’s with Robb?” That was newsworthy, at the least. How hadn’t he told Jon?

Sansa was tentative, but the exasperation never left her voice.  “Well, not with him.  But I’ve seen the way she looks at him.  Now they’ve gotten a date, and I suppose it’s only a matter of time.”

Jon leaned against the mortared wall.  He hadn’t realized how tired he’d gotten, having spent most of the morning in the Owlery. What time was it?

Sansa looked at him strangely.  Almost nervously, but that couldn’t be right?  It occurred to Jon suddenly that he’d gone longer than was appropriate without responding to her.

“Right, then, so Margaery’s going to Hogsmeade with Robb.  And we’re going too?”

Relief flashed across Sansa’s face so quickly Jon doubted if it truly had.  She spoke confidently in a rush: “We are.  I’ve already reserved the carriage and ordered breakfast for the ride into the village, we’ll have more time to shop that way.”

Jon’s voice was apprehensive.  “Who is ‘we’? Arya and Bran can’t go yet, they’re just in their second year.”

Sansa’s lips were set in a firm line and Jon tried not to pay them much attention.  “We are,” frustration edged in as she stressed the first word, “you and I.  The day passes are addressed to Sansa and Jon.”

Jon blinked. “That’s,” he searched for a word, lost, “that’s specific.”

“Yes,” Sansa said through gritted teeth, “so you’ll be ready?”

“Um,” Jon replied.

“We’ll just be doing some shopping,” Sansa explained soothingly, “and some eating, we can find lunch in the village.  And maybe some drinking.”  Her eyes sparkled and Jon failed to look away.

Jon was still stammering. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

Sansa stared at him hard, blue eyes intense.  “It sounds nice,” she answered flatly.

Jon’s mind was racing now. “It really does,” he insisted, “I need to do some shopping anyway.  I’m out of yarn, and this scarf has been fraying,” he tugged at it helpfully to display the loose ends.

“You knit?”  Her voice fell to a bizarre tone of confused approval.

“I do, Gilly taught me some years ago.  It’s taken me time, but it’s not so hard once you get into rhythm…”

“I know how to knit, Jon.” Sansa shook her head slowly.  “I don’t know that you know anything.  I’ll see you Saturday morning, and remember not to worry about breakfast.”

She spun and descended the stairs, leaving Jon shaken and alone with his bucket.  “What just happened?”

*

Sansa sat at Ravenclaw’s House table in the Great Hall, absentmindedly listening to her friends Jeyne, Sheila, and Mya argue about something or another.  She reached for a lemon-crusted scone when it was intercepted by a green-jeweled hand.

“Hello, best friend!” Margaery slipped into the vacant seat beside Sansa and offered her the pastry.  “Really, love, you’ll turn into a lemon if you eat them everyday.”

Sansa snatched it away wordlessly and took a bite.  Margaery laughed and playfully nudged her shoulder.  “Don’t be so sour,” she warned lightheartedly.

Slytherin’s favorite daughter sitting at the Ravenclaw table had drawn attention in the past, but Margaery’s continued pushing on that boundary had lessened its impact.  Now even her most jaded critics suspected she genuinely liked the Stark girl.

“If you want sweetness,” Sansa said, then paused to placidly sip her pumpkin juice, “you should see my brother Robb.”

Margaery’s eyes nearly sparkled.  “And why would he be so sweet to me?”

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” Sansa said while staring hard at her dinner plate.

Margaery tapped a nail thoughtfully against the wood table.  “He’s sweet to my eyes, sure.  But he’s interested?”

“Of course he is,” Sansa answered, forcing herself not to answer so quickly, “why would I bring it up if he wasn’t?”

The hazel-eyed girl nodded, counting off each point against her fingers.  “Slytherin and Gryffindor.  Two prefects of opposing Houses.  A year’s gap in ages.  It has the makings of something scandalous.”

Troubled, Sansa turned and looked Margaery eye-to-eye.  “Not that you’re seeking to start a scandal.”

“Of course not,” Margaery replied softly, placing a comforting hand on Sansa’s, “I just have to be aware of these things, given our families’ standing.  Of course you understand.”

She knew that all too well. “Of course,” Sansa agreed, “but you really should speak with him.  He’s free this Saturday.”

Something playful danced across Margaery’s expression.  “Why isn’t he telling me this himself?”

That was because Sansa had coerced Robb into cooperation, threatening to tell their mother why he had really stayed at school for Christmas holiday during his fourth year. Things hadn’t worked out between him and Alys, but Robb still didn’t want those details reaching home.

“He wanted me to test the waters,” Sansa lied helpfully.  In truth, Robb wasn’t at all opposed to Margaery’s affections.  She was as pleasant as anyone could be, much less a Slytherin, though he didn’t know as much of her as he would have liked before agreeing to distract her for a day.

Sansa could dispatch Sheila and Jeyne easily enough, and Mya was quick to take a hint.  But Margaery had been a more-difficult nut to crack, and Sansa found herself elated at the scheme working out.

“I’ll have to call on him, then,” Margaery said sweetly.  She stood and stepped lightly away, gracefully navigating the crowd of dining students.

Sansa took another bite of the lemon scone and savored it.  This contrived trip to Hogsmeade may work out for them all after all.  But her goals were lower than most – not that she dismissed the difficulty of it.  If she could get the dour Jon Snow to smile just once, all this scheming would be worth it.