#just had a MASSIVE fucking fight with my dad about land back

[tshifty]

.

[according2thelore]

LITERALLY that "dad I'm gay and stronger than you" post had me like ..! my friend and I have been screaming for A Week Straight about the concept of Actual Child Monarch boykingofhell!Sam manifesting his powers early on and just. he and Dean figuring this is probably just another one of those Things We Don't Tell Dad. like, Sam who always knows where the radar traps will be on the interstate, and Sam jedi-whammying the motel clerk into forgetting their overdue payments... John flipping his absolute shit when he finds out; Sam being like "you can't stop me" and John being like "... You're /twelve/, yes, I can" and Sam being like "uh. you're just a guy, dad. I have all of hell at my disposal. do your worst, I guess???" John figuring that if he can't exorcize the hell outta Sam, he can at least make sure Sam can't get out of hell; telling Dean that he really tried but that the demonic forces killed Sam before John could save him; smash cut to early-20s Dean in his first year of solo hunting encountering a crossroads case, where the vics freak out anytime they're alone with him because "can't [he] see that massive fucking hellhound trailing after [him]?!" and the crossroads demon who can't believe who they're looking at when he finally gets them cornered. crossroads demon who smokes out under exorcism, but not before telling Dean "your brother wants to see you"

...anon...holy shit anon...

you are so correct!!

i think that in this situation (growing up with (to his knowledge) a dead sam, and a dad that "let" him die) dean would be more than passively suicidal. he doesn't care about himself, he failed. sam is dead. dean gets reckless, but he just barely avoids dying more than once, just a hairsbreadth.

he drinks until he can't walk straight, gets in the car, and wakes up in the motel parking lot. he goes half-cocked into a werewolf hunt, and he's sure that there's a werewolf behind him about to take him out (and isn't going to stop it, not really), but when he finally gets his finger around the trigger and turns around, the werewolf's ten feet away looking blank and confused. he puts a nominal effort into stitching up a bullet hole, doesn't even bother digging the slug out, and passes out in a random motel. next morning, the bullet's on the nightstand, and the stitches are even and tight. it's not enough to be completely concerned--hell, dean's borderline black-out drunk at any given moment, can't remember the last time he was completely sober--but it's...weird.

animals suddenly hate his fucking guts. dean used to tease sammy about it, about the fact that animals seemed to love dean and hate sammy. they would cringe away from sam's touch, skitter out from under his feet. birds would land on the impala if dean was driving, deer would poke their heads out of the woods if he walked past. but now...dean can't remember the last time he even saw a dog.

they just...flee. even at witnesses' houses, dean sees food bowls and chew toys and hears nails clacking on wood upstairs, but they tuck tail and run as soon as he knocks on the door.

after that first case, that first crossroads case where they name the thing, a Hell Hound...dean thinks it's bullshit. he's heard of black dogs, but this is new. it's weird.

he names it hooch. he and sam had seen that movie at a drive-in one summer, and he figures he's kind of fighting crime, right? he jokingly orders an extra patty on his burger and leaves it out for his imaginary dog, and the next morning it's gone. on the next hunt, the vampire doesn't even come within fifteen feet of dean before something rips its leg off at the knee.

when he calls the demon, it keeps looking down at dean's feet warily, back and forth, like something is pacing between them, something low. the demon keeps giving vague non-answers, distracted, and dean slaps his thigh, calls, 'hooch. down, boy.' and the demon...stops.

then those words...your brother wants to see you your brother wants to see you yourbrotherwantstoseeyou YourBrotherWantsToSeeYou.

dean is apoplectic. he finds the colt, finds the gate, heads into hell without a second thought, muttering to hooch the whole way (you better fucking rip some demons up you lazy son of a bitch).

sam's eyes are yellow, all the way through. bright yellow. he's huge. grown. beautiful. it's everything dean never thought he'd get to see. he dreamed about sam being this old, about sam having hands that dwarf a machete handle, of shoulders that blot out the stars.

sam doesn't react at first, knows that dad sent dean on a solo hunt before it all went down, but doesn't know how much dean knew about it, about dad locking him down here. dean doesn't even question why he's on a throne, why demons flank him on either side, heads bowed, why no demons even tried to stop dean from getting here, why they flinched away from him like something would swoop out of the dark and steal them if they brushed his shoulders.

"sammy," dean says--begs, really--for the first time in years, sam's smile falters. his eyes are hazel again, and his bottom lip trembles, and dean begs, "come with me, come home. please."

maybe it works, and they leave, and dean pulls sam into a hug so vicious that they both cry. maybe sam works from afar, and they relearn each other. their first hunt is ripping john winchester's head from his shoulders and trading kisses in his blood.

or maybe it doesn't. maybe dean stays, because they won't be separated like this, not again. the world's got other hunters, and dean has sam, and the rest of it can go fuck itself.

and sam has the life he's always wanted: power. respect. love. dean. (those last two are the same, really). and a dog, that keeps stealing dean's shoes.

anyway anon...much to think about...i love this...and you, coincidentally, mwah.

you and your friend galaxy-brained this one i fear.

-lizzy

[leavingautumn13]

For the WIP title asks:

Rising Tide (which is also a song by Sunny Day Real Estate)!

Tell me, do Kyogre and Groudon meet at the shore to enjoy a nice playdate while Maxie and Archie fight over land/water property lines like the suburban dads they are?

this ask is sending me, oh my lord. thank you--i laughed pretty hard at this :D

and this song is within the time frame of songs i'm referencing in the fic, so that's just perfect! thank you!

"color your skin with gold, and the violence remains cover your eyes with rose, but the stain remains will you repair your life with all the holes you fill? smother your will and drain you of your passion..."

oh yeah, that's going on the playlist.

as for our beloved suburban dads, i can't say too much without spoiling the last quarter or so of the fic--though i guess i have been pretty transparent about maxie actually succeeding in catching groudon. that's a thing that happens. gonna be mum about the circumstances and implications and fallout of that, though. i'm sure it turns out fine.

as for the wip itself, it's the first chapter of eye of the storm. the title refers to the circumstances that drive may to leave home in the first place--things get to be too much for her.

for a little context about my may, she's 22 at the start of the fic, and had moved out of her parents' house at 18, back when they still lived in johto. she opted to move back in with them temporarily when they moved to hoenn (instead of staying in johto by herself), and it's a choice she starts regretting very quickly. snippet under the cut. i feel like i should add a trigger warning for this as well--it's a bad situation if you've ever been in it before but pretty vague if you don't know what you're looking at. tw for implied emotional abuse, i suppose.

This was bad.

May sat on the carpeted top stair and gripped her empty mug so tightly her knuckles turned white. A faint “godsdammit” floated around the corner that led into the living room and up to her ears. Whatever her mother was fussing with down there had her, to be incredibly mild, extremely pissed off.

This was bad, but it had probably been worse at some point before. Not that May could put a finger on when, exactly; the last four years of solitude had papered over the memory of her mother’s moods with a series of perfectly pleasant lunches and borderline enjoyable outings to the movies. The tone of voice May was catching now, in snippets from the ground floor, was a knife widening the old wound of the six years before that, during their time in Olivine, after their last big move. The first time this had happened, May had been thirteen and stupidly hopeful.

She didn’t have age as an excuse this time.

Did she really need another cup of coffee? She could turn around, tail between her legs, and head back to her room. This one locked, though that might cause her more problems in the long run. She’d already endured the years of formless suspicion about why she kept her door closed all the time, and even that particularly bad summer where the door had been removed entirely. She didn’t need, didn’t want a repeat of that. Something told her the offense her mother would suffer over a locked door would be far greater than over a closed one. Teenagers were just like that, after all. From an adult it would be an insult.

Moving back in had been a massive fucking mistake.

[annachronisme]

Steve has good parents AU.

an idea I find hilarious is where Steve's parents are good parents but most importantly they're massive giganteous NERDS but even better ? They're concretly dumbass.

I want a Mrs. Harrington - can I call her sophie ? Im calling her Sophie- who's gorgeous like hand down prettiest girl in town when she was younger but then she's goes home and she just like go full gremlin mode stained jogging headband and thick ass glasses and baggy tshirt. My girl right there is a bookworm that why she need glasses and she lounges in comfy close to read. She regret every day she did not pass the passion of reading to Steve. When steve told her letters were jumbing around the page and moving she said 'Oh yeah make sense.' Like I said : dumbass

I want a Mr Harrington - Richard ? Richard.- Ice man. Not a smile on his face, work centered, never talk except for works just as beautiful as his wife and then he goes home and becomes a man child(affectionate) like my man still don't talk but catch him on a subject he like he will neeeeever shut up. My cartoon man right there who wanted to draw cartoon too but had a shitty dad.

But I want some shade, I want SPICE. My two blorbos right there didn't love each other that much and thought the other would hate them or mock them for who they truly were until one day they discovered that daaamn. Living and loving your spouses is better when they let you enjoy the things you love ! And then they went into lovebirds mode. There's still not home often even though they try, my idea is that they're both from family that struggled with money for some times and want to provide eveything for Steve but ultimately forgot to just be there. But like post season 2 or right at the end, they get a call about Steve being in a really bad fight while protecting kids and they run home. After that they try to come home more often which always end up in board game night.

Can anyone see my vision ????

Imagine this, Nobody in the party ever heard of Steve parents even less saw them at this point they're not even sure they exist. The only one that vaguely met them were Robin after Starcourt and that's it. She didn't even talk to them she just saw a couple run in -ignoring Doctors and nurse- directly into Steve's room. Dustin at this point considered Mr&Mrs Harrington to be cryptids. So imagine their surprise when after yet another Upside Down apocalypse everyone reunited into the recently back Byers' House to celebrate and Steve didn't come. Then they started to worry and Joyce decided to call his house to check. And when he answered all she heard was arguing in the back and everyone's worry skyrocketed. Steve was very casual when answering and he apologized for not coming apparently he forgot.

Until they heard Steve yell back.

' Give me my money, you traitor !' 'NO!' 'You always do this' ' DAD! Give her your money you owe Mom !' 'NO! She's in JAIL. I'm not paying a CRIMINELLE.' 'Oh MY GOD' 'You landed on my PROPERTY RICHARD.' 'FUCK YOUR CRIMINELLE ASS SOPHIE'

and that's how everyone learned that No Steve's parents were not cryptid, dead or else and that they were very passionate about monopoly.

[lightvsdark18]

Twst Book 7.10

(Translation by Gasumasuku Gamer)

"There's no land in sight."

Just hugs Grim. "You don't have to hug me." -Grim

"But I want a hug."

"Could we hit it with the paddle?"

Is still holding Grim.

(Bored Floyd is funny)

(Hello, Jafar)

"Understand?"

"Hmm... because everything is going so well, there's nothing unexpected to keep his interest."

(Floyd floating around is amusing. I do feel bad for him)

Damn, Riddle. Of course Jade was laughing. Really?

You kinda deserved that.

"... Don't you remember what happened to Azul?"

"Don't worry, I got this. Floyd! Give me a hug! I missed you!" Grabby hands towards him. He still looks annoyed as he swims over and hugs his big sis, or squeezes the daylights out of her. "Floyd, don't kill me here."

He's still holding her while watching the video, then spins her around in amusement.

"Don't!" Squishes his face in her hand. "If Malleus shows up, our chance of escaping this dream world would be over."

Starts swimming away when Floyd grabs her by the shirt.

"I didn't know that. Why didn't you tell me?" >:(

"But can you glow in human form? Or at least your eyes because I could use you to prank Grim."

"Mwh?! Don't betray me, Kate!"

(Anime eyed Azul)

"The hell? Why is his face like that?"

(omg, the voice. It's a owo voice)

"I don't like seeing him shrimp while I'm named Shrimpy."

"This is cringy." Then Floyd yells.

Grabs Grim and pats his head as he looks upset at her.

"Let's get to a safer place."

"What are you going to do?"

Thumbs up. "Good work, Sebek!"

Laughs at Floyd being yeeted.

"Weirdos."

"Jade-" reaches out arms- "give me a hug." Wholesome hug without dying in the process.

Flatly, "Idia, shut the fuck up."

"Damn, that was loud..."

"There's videos of this?"

So this is what he actually looks like. He's fucking massive. (My hc is Azul is huge in mer-form.)

Smacks the person back.

Immediately thinks of something sarcastic and decides to not say.

Chuckles at Jade using Idia.

Pulls Grim away.

Holds Grim in place as he does the running motion like a cartoon.

"That's sad."

(No, Idia, tell him)

*Flashback to Book 3* Stares suspiciously.

No, I have it too!

Uncomfortable with the stares.

"Grim. Don't force Sebek on the dancefloor." "I'm comfortable just watching."

Alice is ready to take off her shoe and beat Azul with it.

"Good, because the food is shit."

(I think Alice's patience is getting thinner and thinner over time because she's slowly dying and it's constantly on her mind which makes her anxious and nasty)

Smirks at Azul's distress.

(i had to laugh at the twins)

("my dad's lawyer!" "And our dad is the Mafia.")

"Seriously? You're going to let your friend be dragged in the darkness because you don't want to take responsibility? And here I thought you cared about him."

(the fuck is that voice and why is it grabbing grim?)

After saying that to the twins, she immediately swan dived into the darkness to save Grim.

Stupid? Those are fighting words, Azul.

"So we just have to find the contracts and destroy them."

("Yuu is completely unknown" cool, I'm a cryptid)

Grim: "yup, Kate too. .... Before she joined yours."

Grabs Jade by the ear. "Jade, knock it off."

"Whatever, man." "I already hate this."

(poor Grim)

"I read these are pretty rare. Might make more business."

"Yeah, it was kinda just growing there."

"Okay."

Jade, what the hell.

Drops it and picks it up.

Yeet!

(what does the static mean?!)

"Azul, stupid Kate?"

"Uh, you know I didn't mean that, right?" -Azul

Rolls eyes.

"Nothing feels off to me. I think I can continue."

[whatyourusherthinks]

Land of Bad Review

Oh lord it's my first one of these. So, fun fact about me, I don't like anything that glorifies war. Never really got into Call of Duty, don't watch military movies usually, never even had gun toys as a kids. (Thank you Mom and Dad.) Like don't get me wrong, I respect our troops and veterans because God knows I can't do what they do, but the Military Industrial Complex is bad. I don't feel shame in saying that. One of my earliest memories is my parents taking me and my sisters to DC and all of us participating in an anti-Iraqi War protest. Fun times. This, along with the fact that our theater got no marketing and it's starring Russell Crowe and the two Hemsworth brothers that aren't Chris meant I was not looking forward to this movie at all.

What's This Movie About?

Liam Hemsworth is a rookie air force soldier who gets sent on a black ops mission to recover a CIA asset in the Philippines, but when his crew is seemingly killed he needs to travel across the jungle to reach an evacuation point.

What I Like.

Russell Crowe plays an air force drone pilot that is only a captain despite being active duty for a long time because he disrespects authority and while he starts as a massive jerk, I kinda liked his character by the end. There is a scene where he's trying to motivate and calm down Liam by just talking to him about banal stuff and it felt like something actual military personnel would do. I also kinda liked the ending. It was pretty tense and the speech Crowe gives is appropriately dramatic. The movie didn't didn't kill off the black guy, so good job of doing the minimal effort to fight back against racist allegations people like me are going to lob at the movie.

What I Didn't Like.

So I'm not gonna go off too much about the stuff I didn't like that just comes prepackaged as a movie about the US military. Obviously this movie gives a pretty glowing look at the US's bang bangs and woosh booms, and is also a ton of white guys killing foreigners. I find all that distasteful but if you saw the poster than you'd pretty much know exactly what you're getting. The problems I want to focus on is twofold.

One, The message of the movie is... well I could charitably call it confused. The main thematic conflict in the movie is about the new gadgets and tech that the military uses (like drones) versus just shooting guys face to face. It seems to favor the fighting up close approach, but not only is the guy making the face-to-face argument the team's SNIPER (Yeah, real face-to-face combat there), but the cartoonishly evil villain has the exact same points as him. Also, the drones in the movie are basically just the eagles from Lord of the Rings except they blow up bad guys instead of carrying the characters. Liam makes a point that using the drones helps put less lives at risk, but the sniper dismisses it because they're still killing people. Not only was that not his fucking point, but it was honestly insane to me that the movie just straight up admitted that it didn't care about minimizing loss of human life. Did you know the US military bankrolls movies and lends out hardware to so film makers can have authentic planes and weapons on set? The only real stipulation is that the movie has to have the US military framed in a positive light, showing off how effective and nice they are. That's why there are so many US gun wank propaganda movies, even in places where it shouldn't be like the Michael Bay Transformer movies. My point is that the US military saw the script of this movie, and went, "Sure, have all our tech and shoot on our bases and here's a bunch of money." So even the US military is tacitly admitting they don't care about minimizing casualties! (Whoops I said I wasn't gonna go off about this.)

Two, the camera work during the action scenes is awful. Does anyone like shaky cam? I know a little bit adds realism, but so many action movies look like the camera workers are trying to work through a seizure. You can't fucking see anything that is happening! At least there wasn't so many quick cuts in this movie, but it was still slightly nauseating to watch. You all know why action movies actually do shaky cam and quick cuts, right? It's to hide the fact that they are stitching together like thirty different takes into one fight. I don't want to take away from the hard work the actors and stuntmen do to create these modern scenes, but is this actually easier or better than just attempting to an entire fight choreography in mostly one take? I dunno, something to chew on.

Final Summation.

If you can ignore the under seated politics that all military movies have, the movie is just fine. If you get an erection watching guys in camo shooting gibbering non-white people, you'll have a goddamn ball. I, however, hate that shit so I'm going to hope the trend of no tickets being sold to this garbage continues.

[pepperf]

7, 9, 10, 14, 15, 37 pweeeaaase!

7: Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

The opening to fight like a titleholder, stand like a champion:

Diego learned how to punch before he could walk. The cool gaze of the man he will learn to call ‘Dad’ peering down at him. The firm fingers that reach into the curled bud of his hand and tug the thumb free, and then press on his pudgy knuckles, encouraging them to tighten. “Better.” (Praise is always relative; never ‘good’, just ‘better’. A mild improvement on whatever shoddy state had come before.) “Now try again.” Number Two’s improved fist lashes out, aimless and uncoordinated, and, by pure luck, manages to land on the nose of one of the other babies on the mat. She starts to cry from surprise, rather than pain. Dad smiles thinly down at them, and then frowns when Number Seven’s wails set off Number Two, and then Numbers Four…One…Three… “Hmm.” Diego doesn’t remember any of this, of course, but maybe it’s a factor.

I'm really pleased with how it covers quite a lot in a pretty short time: Reggie's parenting philosophy, and how that backfires on him; the kind of effect it has on innocent little Diego and his siblings; and the effects that they have on one another as a result; a nifty bit with the backhandedness of 'better'; and just the sheer, dark humour of teaching literal babies how to fistfight.

tbh, I'm proud of the writing in that whole fic, I wish I could channel that succinct, grimy vibe a lot more, and also the technique of having the dialogue and the actions in conflict, so you get a sense of what they're trying to show vs what's really coming across.

9: Which fic has been the hardest to write?

The long ones! Meet Me In The Morning was probably the one I struggled with the most, which is ironic given that I started with the premise for that one, and then decided it needed another fic FIRST, and then when I finally got to writing that one, I hit a massive wall—but I wanted to do it justice. I rewrote it several times, and went back and forth on so many, many parts of it…well, you remember, you were there, cheering me on/bullying me into completing it! XD It was a total nightmare at times, and I was only half-convinced I would ever finish it.

10: Which fic has been the easiest to write?

I think all the ones that are mainly dialogue are the ones that flow the fastest for me, because there's more of a natural lead-on for each line—someone says something, and the next person replies to that, and it's just quick and fun, so long as my head is in the right space for it. So like – Sheesh, Diego (idk if anyone got the 'Shish Kebab' pun there?), or Nothing Good Starts In A Getaway Car.

Or the ones where it's Diego POV and he's being a massive idiot, bc then I don't have to do any research (aside from, apparently, the climate in Iceland in the late 20th century). Box of Rocks

14: What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

Lol! I mean, I think all that stuff needs to be taken with a pinch of salt, if all writing was the same it would be deathly dull. But I think the one that's worst because it stuck with me was something about…someone (I forget who) said that you should consider every line you write, and decide whether you would be happy for it to be carved on your tombstone. And like…jesus fuck, talk about pressure, it took me a long time to break free of that kind of thinking. I mean, yes, absolutely, it's good to craft your writing and make it good—but 'carved on a tombstone' good, for every single line?! Nonsense.

15: If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

Oh my goodness…I'm gonna resist the urge to say one of the smutfics, bc I would actually just die of embarrassment…I think the Walmart Batman AU, all three parts, because it has it all: fight scenes, romantic rooftop canoodling, dramatic escapes, shirtless and roughed-up Diego hanging by his wrists with a spotlight on him, unnecessarily complicated lingerie…actually, come to think of it, that one also has smut at the end, but I think it's particularly funny and characterful smut, so I'd live with it.

37: Talk about your current wips.

Talk about WHAT, though?

Okay, I have officially* 4 WIPs: the politician/bodyguard AU that was going SO well and then ground suddenly to a halt, and I need to figure out why; the Las Vegas fic that, well, ditto; my half-finished Whumptober fic from last year that I love the premise for, but don't really know what happens next; and my sequel to Skin that I'm currently working on and which is damn close to completion.

I think the three that have stalled are for different reasons: because I reached the relationship dénouement and didn't really have impetus on the rest of the story, because I got tangled in reworking where it went and the tone is all uneven; and because, just, simply don't have a concept of where it's going. Mostly, what they need is for me to sit down and focus on one of them. But hey, only four WIPs is pretty good, for me!

(*I also have a number of fics that I've marked as abandoned, and which I'm not gonna worry about unless further inspiration hits.)

Okay, I'll stop there! Thank you!

Questions here.

[according2thelore]

i am super curious if you are interested in how the younger sam & dean handle conflict between the older two? are they picking sides or avoiding the room? i just feel like the later seasons sam&dean fight DIFFERENT and it would be jarring and strange and uncomfortable for the early seasons to see.

ooh that's a great question!

i mentioned this super briefly at the VERY beginning, but i completely agree--LS!Sam&Dean fight differently. for them, almost every fight is a drag-down all-out, tears-in-my-eyes, or i can't lose you, why don't you believe in us too, or if you want to hunt, let's hunt but we can't be brothers.

the emotional stakes--while less grounded in relatable things to the audience (S1 arguing over a parent's perceived neglect/heroism vs S9 you let an angel possess me and i can't forgive you for that)--appear much more intense in the later seasons because there's so much more baggage there. (despite my personal preference for sam & dean arguing about sam being put down like a dog in s2 but i digress)

for ES!Sam&Dean i'm sure it's super confusing and frightening and strange, because these are the things they don't say out loud. they talk around a lot of the big stuff (i'm thinking "be my brother again because...just because") whereas in the later seasons they call each other out specifically on how much they care for each other ("what about me? would you trade me?").

LS!Sam says, "after everything that we've seen, after all the shit i've done, and the shit that i've had to live through--" ES!Sam&Dean can fucking feel it like a detonation. there are depths here that they cannot understand, layers and layers of sediment and fear and love and forgiveness and grudges that have shaped them into completely different people.

ES!Sam&Dean argue and it's mostly petulant and earnest--stop treating me like a kid! let me look out for you, too! be my brother again! dad was a dick, and he didn't take care of us like he should've!

LS!Sam&Dean argue and it's bloody and hurtful--you killed my friend, after i asked you not to and i can't look at you right now. you didn't look for me when you thought i was dead. i can't trust you.

as for how the ES!boys would handle it, i think they would be flabbergasted. it's like watching your parents fight (which of course only dean knows). it's very personal, but alien at the same time. they feel blows land, but don't know where they come from. they would avoid that room at all costs if they can.

but at the same time, some strange force keeps pulling them back until they're standing at the doorway, because it kind of feels like someone's talking about you when you're not there. the curiosity of knowing what they think about you is too great.

at the end of it, it's the magnitude of the fight. if they're snippy at each other, they would immediately abandon all alliances and join with their older selves, because it feels good and fun and familiar to snap back and forth.

but if it's serious--it hurts to look at them. it hurts more to hear.

honestly, if LS!Sam&Dean have a fight and storm off, ES!Dean is slinking into LS!Sam's room later that night like "🥺 i'm sorry man 🥺 you know i love you right 🥺 are you mad at me?" because he can't help but flinch hard whenever LS!Sam shouts dean! come on! in his grown-up voice during the fight.

but ES!Sam is kind of inconsolable, honestly. he's not used to being on the outs with dean. there was stanford, for sure, but that was more sam's choice than anything. phones work two ways, and sam has never really been confronted with a dean that's that doesn't want to see him. they had fights for sure when they were younger, and hit and bit and screamed at each other, but LS!Dean's anger is different. it's consuming, it's massive, it blots out the sun. i'm sure ES!Sam has to talk to ES!Dean for a little bit about unimportant shit to function again after he sees the rage in LS!Dean's eyes as they slid off of LS!Sam and onto ES!Sam.

this was long! but i have so many thoughts about fighting between Sam&Dean and how that changes so much throughout the show, and how ES!Sam&Dean would react! this ask was delicious!!! nom nom nom.

thank you, anon! <3 brilliant!

-lizzy

[diavolosthots]

Hey dear! I hope that you have a good time! I want to make a request, but please delete it if you don't feel like doing it.

I saved that request in the notes and been waiting for you to open them 😊

For request

First fight with brother (any of your choice) and one of them (I mean MC or that brother) thinks that it's end of relationship (because never had anything serious), but they reconciled in the end. I want some heavy angst with happy ending. MC can be GN if that is OK.

If you don't mind you can do for Mammon, but feel free to choose another one if you don't feel like write for him. Or if that would be better to write as headcanons for all the brothers. That's up to you!

I haven't been doing requests for ages. Please don't hate me if there is something wrong! I've read the rules, and I hope I haven't missed anything.

Anyway, sorry for long ask. And thank you for your writings!

(I forgot to look if you did anything similar, and remembered it at the end of writing that ask. Sorry if you already did something like that!)

Hey babes ❤ I did end up doing HCs for all of them because I thought it would be cooler (or more like I know someone is gonna request separate fics for all of them if I dont and I'm saving myself that trouble lol) I still hope you like it ! ❤ also this got SUPER LONG so its under a cut

Warning: angst -> happy ending-ish

THE BROTHERS in a fight with MC and thinking that they’re over (yikes)

Lucifer:

Everyone always says Lucifer is quick to lose his cool but he’s honestly been nothing but patient with you. He may have hinted at several things he doesn’t condone and he definitely has that ‘look’, you know the disappointed dad look, but he has held back a lot so as to not ruin the beautiful relationship you have with him. Everyone snaps, though, and when he finally did, it was ugly. He did NOT call you names, but oh he didn’t. He went straight for your feelings and pointed out every mistake you ever made for as long as he’s known you. Ouch. In his defense, you weren’t nice either. The argument ended nasty and ‘I hate you’s!’ were definitely thrown around, but none of them were meant, right? Goodness, he doesn’t know. After you left, he threw himself on his bed, literally, and just stared at the ceiling. His anger slowly fled away and he began to feel… guilty. Not necessarily because of the argument itself, but because he delivered some low blows and he knows that. Are you over? Done with him? You haven’t texted or called or talked… you’ve been actively avoiding him and he doesn’t like that, but his pride is such an issue, goodness. He can’t straight up apologize, that dickhead, but he’s sending you flowers and standing in front of your door with a sad face that says it all. 

“Forgive me? I made reservations at your favorite’s? We can talk over a nice dinner?” 

Mammon:

Mammon is known to get mildly agitated over the silliest things, let’s be real. He’s also quick to revert to the “are you dumb?!” argument, which is never effective. But he loves you and he would do anything for you so even if you do do something that he deems ‘dumb’, he usually bites his tongue. Doesn’t mean that doesn’t get on his nerves, though, and he definitely has a short temper, although people tend to overlook that. You just managed to push his buttons today and he used the “are ya stupid?!” argument, to which you obviously defended yourself, and rightfully so. This ended in a massive screaming match and him saying “Then leave! Ain’t nobody keepin’ ya with me!” He regretted it the minute those words left his mouth and you could see his eyes grow wide in shock at his own words, but that didn’t mean you stayed. “MC!” he tried running after you immediately but you were faster and honestly, who can blame you? He fucked up, and he knows it, and he feels terrible about it. Honestly, he’s crying just at the mere thought of you taking his words seriously and he can’t… he can’t bear to lose you, you know? What’s he gonna do? You’re the light of his life, as pathetic as that may sound to some…. So he won’t let you run away. Homie will hunt you down and beg for forgiveness. 

“Please, MC! Forgive me! I’m dumb, not you!!! Don’t leave me…” Don’t leave him. He will continue crying. 

Leviathan:

His constant need to put himself down is frankly, quite annoying. To you anyway. But you put up with it and just reassure him that, at least to you, he’s the most amazing demon that ever existed. It’s just facts. But a person only has so much patience, right? You can’t always spend your days trying to lift him up when all he does is dig himself a bigger hole. Who has the emotional time for that? You sure don’t. “Oh my God, Levi! Shut up! I can’t take it anymore!” Followed by “See! You’re just like everyone else! Leaving me!” and then you slamming the door to his room shut. It’s frustrating and understandably so. It makes you feel awful that you can’t even make your own boyfriend feel good about himself and get at least a little bit of self confidence and it’s so, so, so very draining to have to constantly listen to that. At this point, it’s affecting your own mental health and you just… you just can’t…. But Levi can’t lose you because he knows you’re right. He has to work on himself if he wants to keep someone as amazing as you with him and that’s why he’s crawling back to you now. 

“Look I… I know you’re right… I’m sorry. I promise I’ll … I’ll try. For you.”

Satan:

For being the Avatar of Wrath, you always admired Satan for his ability to keep cool. He prefers the relaxed and easy going life much more than the type of life people expect him to live, and you respect that. That doesn’t mean his constant need to one up Lucifer, through whatever means necessary, didn’t bother the hell out of you, though. You tried talking to him about it once or twice in a calm manner, but you always got the same answer “Pfft.. it’s Lucifer. Who cares?” And it never sat right with you. Just today he decided to pull a prank on the eldest and you had enough, standing in front of Lucifer and letting the bucket of cursed green slime land on you instead, to everyone’s shock. “What are you doing?!” Now that you’re thoroughly green from head to toe, you were also beyond pissed. “What am I doing?! What are YOU doing?!” But Satan matched your anger tenfold, accusing you of favoring Lucifer over him and oh! “You probably got an affair with him, too!” Which was a stupid thing on his part, but it looked like it the way you defended him. Anger doesn’t even begin to describe the emotion you felt running through you and had it not been for Lucifer, you probably would’ve physically fought Satan for such a dumb accusation. Lucifer took you to get cleaned up and lifted the course, giving you your natural skin and hair color back within a few days and plenty of scrubbing, and Satan felt like shit. You’ve always been there for him and, rationally speaking, he didn’t have a reason to doubt your loyalty to him, but he just can’t help but feel insecure beside Lucifer…. He decides to come apologize anyway, a deep blush on his face and guilt in his eyes 

“I’m… sorry for accusing you. It wasn’t my right to speak out of anger and jealousy…” 

Asmodeus:

How can anyone fight with the Avatar of Lust? Seriously, the guy is super easy going and he loves pretty much everyone. Not as much as himself, but almost. You on the other hand… you didn’t. Well you didn’t NOT love him or yourself, but you were just… you. You didn’t spend 4+ hours in the bathroom trying to get ready when you knew you were only going to the kitchen down the stairs. Like?? Although you never brought it up to Asmodeus, he constantly bothered you about skincare and what foods to eat and what not to eat, etc… It’s quite annoying, honestly, and at some point you just gave him a passive aggressive “Okay, whatever. Can we move on now?” To which he didn’t take lightly. He was still nice and sweet, trying to convince you that at least one of these things will make your skin glow brighter than a unicorn’s ass but you just had enough. “Can you stop?! You’re indirectly saying I’m ugly without that shit ton of product in my face and a diet that would make me starve before it helped me! If you want a skinny VS angel that barely holds onto their skeleton, get one!” It was more hurt and frustration speaking than anything, but your outburst still shocked him and he was taken aback for a moment. And then you ignored him for a week straight and as someone who thrives off of attention, especially the kind he gets from you, he can’t handle that! So he showed up in your room in sweats and a tshirt and messy hair and no product on his skin. 

“You’re right… we’re all naturally beautiful…. Wow that… that really hurts to say MC but can you forgive me?” 

Beelzebub:

Oh the sweet, sweet angel. He’s far from innocent and you know that. We all know that. But for this story, I will give him the benefit of the doubt. His reliance on Belphegor is just really… annoying. Belphegor this, Belphegor that. “Belphie used to…” or “Belphie said….” or “one day when Belphie and I….” Like why does everything have to include his twin? It’s so annoying and so rude when your significant other is right here !!! and planning their own future with you, Beel, thanks. It makes you feel less than and like Belphegor will always come before you. It makes you feel like shit, quite frankly, and who is to blame you? “Hey MC did I tell you what Belphie---!” “No! Shut up! I don’t care! It’s always about Belphie! The day you come to me and don’t let that name drip from your tongue is the day Jesus comes back to save me and we both know that will be never! I’m tired of always being stuck with Belphegor! We are not equals!” Granted, you shouldn’t have yelled and Beel was more than confused at your outburst, but you wouldn’t talk to him anymore after that so he left you alone. He thought you may need an hour or two, maybe a day tops, but that day turned into a full week and he even lost his appetite just because he knows you’re angry with him. It’s been a week, does that mean you’re over? His heart aches just at the thought… 

“I’m sorry for bringing Belphie up… I don’t want you to feel less than, MC. You mean a lot to me and so does Belphie, but you’re not Belphie and I need to learn that…”

Belphegor:

Honestly it’s a miracle he hasn’t lost his temper at you yet. Well, he partially blames it on his own laziness because if being angry or getting upset didn’t take so much energy out of him, maybe he would’ve snapped by now lol, but he tries really hard not to because he thinks your relationship with him after everything is pretty good, considering yall kiss and snuggle and fuck on a regular basis. But anyway, that’s exactly the issue. Considering everything, you’re still holding *that* against him. It’s never direct either, which makes it worse. It’s always said in a joking manner and something like “haha look it’s just like that one time you killed me” or “Beel’s grabbing that ham like you grabbed my throat” or “I remember seeing jesus for a moment there” and it agitates him. It makes him so angry, and he finally snapped. “I know I fucked up MC! Stop holding it against me! What do you want? A medal of honor? A survivor's certificate? Maybe a pat on the back for developing some sort of Stockholm syndrome that made you come back to your abuser?!” And then he left. And you may have cried both from confusion and your own anger, he isn’t quite sure. It’s just so…. Aggravating. He can’t deal with it. He knows it was a mistake spurted by his own insecurities and survivor’s guilt which ultimately led to his hatred but please, stop holding it against him.. He can’t keep putting up with it from the person he’s grown to love. He’s the one ignoring you and he won’t budge either because he’s a stubborn ass, but maybe if you come up first… 

“I’m sorry for yelling at you… I’m just so tired for it being held against me… I love you, and you should know that, and I do feel guilty about what happened.” 

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

Hi, I'm back with a longer version of this because the sheer improbability of how it worked out is still making my brain do splits. so if you wanna know more about my big buff fighty girl and one of the many insane things that happened last night, READ ON.

---

SO, early on in the campaign, Val got possessed. It was from a spirit that was doing the whole seeking vengeance thing and, through a few mishaps, accidentally turned it around on us. Val happened to fail the save and was unceremoniously shoved into the back of her own consciousness to just sit and watch her body (which was EASILY one of the heavier damage dealers at the time) absolutely tear into all of her friends. It left some noticeably deep issues with her, mostly in the form of being possessed/losing control. (Which. She already had issues with, so that's fun.) Genuinely, she almost left the party that night, it was so bad. But she didn't, and they carried on.

Flash forward to last night.

We are fighting the dad of one of our monks, who in a fit of wizard hubris, grafted the partially broken soul of a god to himself in order to "preserve" it and keep its memories intact. This by itself isn't inherently evil, but he's CLEARLY enjoying this whole situation of power/command too much, and our monk is grappling with the fact that his dad ditched him as a child/ruined his hometown/fucked up his memory just to become a spirit vessel without a single ounce of noticeable regret, and he is! understandably upset! So, after navigating some very deadly places in the astral sea and getting fucked up on the way in, we finally launch what is probably the most frustrating uphill fight we've ever had. The whole arena was massive and made of small floating chunks of earth that we had to navigate, and our antagonist had ways to jump around that made him just impossible to pin down. He was a high level wizard who was throwing out things like reverse gravity, and he was stealing good luck from us to keep us from landing anything on him, and he had a small army of mobs that were chasing us too, and it was just. Jesus. It was a hard fight.

So finally, our casters/very clever monks have worn him down to under half health, and this guy is floating next to one single chunk of rock in the middle of a void, trying to push the struggling soul of the god-being he's attached to back into place, and Val is FINALLY able to clamber over and land a few solid hits with her sword (aka the natural predator of hubris wizards.) But we've encountered these god-things before, you see, and Val has a lot of sympathy for them, so she's addressing the struggling soul of this one as she fights, telling it that they can help, that they've done it before, and trying to impress her memories of the prior help they've given on it. I was thinking it was just going to help break them apart more, that we could get our god-friend to fight a little harder on our behalf. Instead, this haggard spirit looks up from where it is still sort of fused to the figure of our monk's dad, and it reaches out for her.

Recall now the scenario from earlier in the campaign. This is, no shit, directly the same set-up that Val was in when she was possessed - the frenzied spirit, the hard battle, the hand reaching out. And in that moment, she knew two things. One: this thing was scared and confused, and there was a strong likelihood that if she took that outstretched hand, it was going to possess her. And then, two: that they were just going to have to sort her out later, because anything was better than what it was dealing with right now. She couldn't leave a bid for help unanswered. She couldn't refuse a hand held out for aid.

AND THEN. AND THEN, Y'ALL. THAT BEING DID SOMETHING THAT MY BRAIN IS GONNA LIVE WITH FOREVER. It DIDN'T possess Val. It came over to her, yes, but it was just looking for something to be whole again, and it ASKED PERMISSION to search her memory to find it. She already knew what it was and directed it to it, ofc, but the important thing is that it ASKED and WAITED. THE NARRATIVE SAW HER TAKE ON THAT FEAR FOR THE SAKE OF SOMEONE ELSE, AND IT REWARDED HER WITH RESPECTED BOUNDARIES. FUCK. I LOVE D&D SO MUCH.

The fact that the fates aligned that the spiritual being that was (sort of) possessing our antagonist reached out to Val for help (whose deepest fear is losing control to something/someone else) is already so good, but the fact that they did it with a gesture of an open hand, which is something she CANNOT ignore, is making my whole brain spin.

[hansolmates]

busted in busan 

summary; you’re snowbound at the airport, when the only thing you want is to be homebound. your anxieties heighten as the snow rises, worried that you won’t make it in time for christmas where your fiancé and his parents expect you—picture perfect. when all flights are cancelled due to a massive storm, you have to turn to the hands of an unlikely, hard-headed hero who knows the fastest way out of busan (and into your heart) pairing; jungkook x (f) reader genre/warnings; a christmas detour!au, fluff, angst, slice of life, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, pining, this is a total romcom, hallmark movie galore! tw–microcheating (or not however you look at it) mentions of sex, making out, profanity w/c; 10k   a/n; for @suhdays​ holiday hallmark event! this event was totally up my lane, i couldn’t wait to post it! a huge thank u for @eerieedits​ for making this wonderful fic banner! this is totally unedited, i’ll to go back to it tonight but pls enjoy! for those of u who need a little more christmas charm this year, this is for u

if you loved this icy couple, please consider giving it a like n’share!⛄⛄⛄

“The Korean Air 1102 flight from Gimhae International Airport to Incheon International Airport will be delayed six hours due to the intense weather conditions. Please be on standby for any further updates.” 

You’re twitching, fighting the urge to nibble on your nails because you’ve just got them done for Christmas. They’re a sleek champagne gold, because your fiancé insisted that they’re far more mature than your usual red and brown reindeer art. This is awful, and is only going to get progressively worse as the snow builds and builds. Right now the weather isn’t that bad, the snow isn’t even sticking to the ground and—oh. 

Gnawing at your lip, your fingers brush over the cold window, a clear view of the landing strip you should currently be boarding. The touch is icy, and the pads of your fingers are enveloped in little rings of fog at the sudden warmth nudging the glass. Upon closer inspection and a squint of your eyes reveal that in fact, the snow is now sticking to the ground. Big, fat clumps are covering the freeway and destroying your Christmas plans. 

Your fiancé will understand if you’re a little late for their Christmas Eve party, but you’re not sure if his parents will. You’ve been on livewire all week, wanting to at least spend the morning of Christmas Eve with your family back home. Knowing that your fiancé’s Christmas Eve party would run until very late, you booked a noon flight with enough time to get ready and impress his parents. Evidently, it was an ill-prepared idea. 

Immediately falling into your terminal’s line, you hope that you can talk with the receptionist in hopes they could put you at ease. 

“How soon will you announce our flight’s departure?” A sad smile. 

“Is there any way you can put me on the next possible flight?” A shake of the head. 

“Will the weather let up?” A frown. 

Every bit of rejection weighs you down, and you’ve run out of questions to ask. For a receptionist, she’s not very receptive. 

“C’mon lady, you’re holding up the line,” a voice tugs you from behind, “you’re not the only one who’s gotta get down to the city on Christmas.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, wanting to slap the rudeness off this man’s face. Instead of falling back in line, you move to the side to glare at him. He’s unfortunately attractive, albeit in a rugged sort-of way—nothing like your fiancé. The leather jacket that he carries tall is worn and crackly at the collar. Wavy dark hair he constantly has to hold back, a gesture that looks flirtatious and to your chagrin the receptionist is definitely recepting to him. 

“Your refund should be processed in about two to four business days, Mr. Jeon,” the receptionist murmurs, the simultaneously sultry and chirpy voice making you twitch in your spot. Maybe if you drank a cup of tall, dark and handsome you’d be getting the same kind of treatment. 

“Thanks,” he replies shortly, and it’s then you notice the extremely large luggage next to him. It’s the size of you, and despite the broad shoulders under the baggy jacket, he lugs it with careful force, making sure not to bump into anyone as he wheels it away from the counter. 

It seems that your trainers have a mind of your own as you follow him down the terminal. He side eyes you as your feet pick up the pace to match his long legs, but he waits for you to say something first. 

“Why did you ask for a refund?” you ask, frowning at him, “the flight is only delayed.” 

He scoffs, “Do you see the snow? They’re just saying it’s delayed so they can hold onto your money a little longer. Besides, it’s a win-win. I get my refund sooner and some other poor sap can take the ticket and wait until five in the morning.” 

“Five A.M.,” you exhale to yourself, slowing down. 

It would be too late by then, far too late. Your shoulders slump, people start to bump into you without a care. 

“Besides,” you hear his voice say from your stricken form, “I had a backup plan.” 

That’s when your feet start to burn up, and you whip around to pump your legs, catching up with the man who’s already far down the hall. “What kind of backup plan?” you blurt, raising your voice because the crowds are starting to get noisier and deeper the further you follow him. 

He hooks his lips into a confused frown, “You’re awfully nosy.” 

“I’m in a pinch, my fiancé’s parents will kill me if I don’t show up to their party tonight.” 

“Your fiancé’s parents… will kill you?” 

“That’s an exaggeration,” you cough, immediately feeling self-conscious, “they’d kill me with their eyes. They’re really big, really pretty corporate people. They have high expectations for their future in-law.” 

“Ah, and you're the country pumpkin who managed to sweep the rich guy off his feet?” 

“Something like that,” you reply, rocking on your heels, “my dad was his dad’s former secretary, and we grew up together.” 

The stranger with a plan stops in front of a long line. It’s so long that you’re not entirely sure where it leads to. People are piling out the door two at a time, and you can see they’re trying to get through the process as fast as possible. The window leading outside is blurry and caked in white ice. He hooks one leg over his luggage, the metal and plastic case is so high that his feet barely touch the ground. Like a kid with a flat scooter, he wheels himself through the line. 

“These lines are for busses going in the direction of our flight,” he jabs a finger out the door, “if the flight got cancelled I was just going to ride one of these,” out of his pocket he pulls out two tickets, flicking it in front of your face.

“Are there any tickets left?” your eyes bug, and you immediately pull out your phone to reserve a spot. 

“Nah, been booked since last month.” 

It’s then that your eyes zero in on the second ticket he has in hand. Both tickets are addressed to the same name. You lower your phone in your pocket, narrowing your eyes. “Why do you have two for yourself?” 

He pats his luggage as a response. 

“That’s not fair!” 

“It is when you buy it, sweetheart.” 

“A literal human could be in that spot, wanting to go home for Christmas!”

“You’re just salty you don’t have a ticket, don’t take it out on my luggage,” he feigns a pout, rubbing the handle of the heavy container, “you’re hurting it’s feelings.” 

It doesn’t take long for you and the stranger to reach the end of the line. To others in line the two of you look like two companions bickering good-naturedly, but in reality the only thing you want to do is slap that smug smile off his face. 

“You want my ticket,” he states. 

“I want your luggage’s ticket,” you bite back, staring petulantly at where he sits comfortably between the handle. 

Unbeknownst to you, the man’s face morphs into a teasing grin upon seeing you glare a little too hard at the silver and black case. It just so happens that your eyes gravitate to the middle of the luggage, at the apex between his long legs leading up to a pair of black sweats. Despite the soft, baggy fabric you can see how the bulge of his thighs outline the thin cotton, looking large and inviting which—

Fuck. You’re engaged. Why are you checking out some stranger’s thighs? Your fiancé also has nice thighs, think about those! 

“How much do you want for it?” you cough, crossing your arms and turning to the side to hide your flaming cheeks. 

“Who said I was offering?” 

“I’ll pay that and then some.”

“With your rich-boy’s money?” 

If your hands were not digging into your elbows and you weren’t so concerned about your gold-foiled manicure, you’d deck him. Do the holidays normally make this person so snappy? He simply flips his hair, and you catch the shaved ends of his sides. 

“Three-hundred,” he says easily, and if he notices you staring he doesn’t say anything, “including any extra fees for my luggage.”

“Done,” you hold out your hand for him to shake. 

“I’m Jungkook, if you care,” the man named Jungkook adds wryly, practically swallowing your small hand with his larger one. You shortly reply with your name, and he merely nods, “a thank you would suffice.” 

“Thanks,” and it’s then that you manage a scarily pretty smile, one that Jungkook finds both alarming and amusing. It’s a catered smile, one that you’ve trained yourself to accomplish after hours in the mirror in fear of your fiancé’s parents seeing right through you. It’s the smile you give during work when you don’t give a shit but you need to suck it up. It’s a 9/10 success rate. 

“Scary,” he shivers, and then you realize he’s the 1/10. 

The only bus for you two to pile on is one of the smallest. Probably half the size of a regular coach bus, but at this rate you don’t care. You’ll fly by hot air balloon if the weather wasn’t so crappy. 

“Taehyung!” you startle at Jungkook’s sudden belt, and he does a big, beefy-chested bro-hug to the driver. Ah, so he has connections. You watch the two interact from your corner, pulling up your hood to stop the rapidfire snowflakes from pelting your eyes. 

The driver is a classically handsome thing, dark eyes and dark fluffy hair. His paperbag pants look absolutely frigid however, and his teeth are chattering as he regards Jungkook with annoyed eyes. 

“Listen, so plans have changed—”

“As always, Kook.” 

“—and I need you to do me another solid. Do you have room in the compartment for my babies?” 

“The answer is, and always no. That’s why you bought two tickets.” 

“I know but,” he gestures to you with a jab of his thumb, “like I said, plans have changed.” 

“Jungkook,” Taehyung frowns, “trying to do some Christmas miracles? In this snowstorm?” Taehyung shakes his head, eyes flickering to the running bus. Most of the ticket holders are already on it. “I can save you two a three-seater, but there’s no room in the compartment. It’ll be a tight fight but—” 

“It’s perfect. You’re dynamite, Tae,” Jungkook even has the audacity to reach his hands out and squish the driver’s cheeks, much to his distain. 

The two of you are ushered quickly into the bus, leaving you in the very front diagonal to where Taehyung is sitting. The three seats are tiny, it probably barely fits Jungkook’s thighs with the large luggage nestled in the other two seats. The two of you suggest to put the luggage out in the aisle and take turns holding it, but Taehyung interjects that the luggage is a fire hazard. 

“But not a human,” Jungkook decides, and he gestures for you to sit down in the available seat. You’re practically shoved against the window as Jungkook manages to squeeze his gargantuan luggage in the other two seats. He’s tall enough to grab the metal rungs of the bus, steeling himself in the middle of the aisle.

Taehyung doesn’t fight with that, and finally puts the bus into drive. Pulling out of the airport feels akin to leaving the eye of the storm. It’s going to be a long journey, and it makes you worry as to whether you’re going to make it on time or not. 

Your favorite pastime is watching the window on a long car ride, especially when the snowflakes crystalize and melt away through the warmth of the vehicle. However, you’re irked. You thought Jungkook was a bit of a wank, a little too full of himself and far too mysterious for your own good. 

Exhibit A, the luggage that’s currently threatening to wheel over and crush you against the glass. You wonder what’s so special about this luggage that Jungkook so desperately wants to protect, even so far as to buy its own seat. Sneakily, you lean over to smell the zipper. Surprisingly, it smells a little vinegary, the fumes getting you a little lightheaded within seconds. Your eyes dart to Jungkook, who’s currently engaged in conversation with Taehyung. You tilt your head and sniff again, confirming the slightly rancid smell. 

It’s then you take in Jungkook’s form once more. He dresses a little schlubby, his clothes are old, his eyes are sunken in, and his luggage is filled with weird-smelling things. 

Oh no. Is Jungkook a drug dealer? 

Your fiancé’s parents would surely have a fit if this man gets arrested and you come up in the report as an accused accomplice. It makes sense, he would want to make sure that his goods are in his view at all times, and it explains why he so easily gave you his ticket for triple the actual price. 

A giggle interrupts your thoughts. Yes, a tired, yet bubbly giggle. Jungkook’s face is pressed against his bicep, and you catch the fluttering of his eyes as he tries to keep up with Taehyung’s rambling. His grip is starting to loosen on the metal bars, and you’re worried that he might accidentally slip, or not hold tight enough in the event the car takes a sharp turn or slips on black ice. 

“J-Jungkook,” it’s the first time you’re saying his name out loud, tasting it on your tongue as you regard him steadily, “why don’t we take turns sitting? I don’t mind standing for an hour while you sleep.” 

He regards you with a sleepy smirk, shaking his head against the fabric of his jacket. “You’ll be flung in two seconds, besides can you even reach the handles?” 

Good point, but Jungkook is far more muscular and if he does end up flying he’ll crash through the window and further hinder your commute. It’s why you choose your next words carefully, and you convince yourself it’s the only reason as to why you propose your solution. 

“I’ll sit on your lap,” and since it sounds super weird coming out of your mouth, you tack on, “I’ll put your jacket over your lap as a barrier.” 

He slacks, regarding you with a scrunched face. “Is the jacket supposed to make that situation any better? I’m fine standing like this.” 

“This ride is going to take hours and you’re barely on your own two feet,” your point is made when the bus topples over a speed bump, and Jungkook looks awfully small as he moves to grapple the top bar with both hands, “my fiancé doesn’t get jealous, I’ve sat in plenty of friend’s laps before.” 

“We’re not friends,” he blurts with a raise of his brows.

“Yes, I know that,” you’re a little insulted by the curt reply, but he still looks rather horrified that you’re proposing the following, “I don’t like it either, but I’m sitting in your seat and now I’m feeling guilty as hell.” 

It’s a lot of shuffling and shifting after that. You try not to laugh as Jungkook rips off his leather jacket, folding it into a perfect square, ironing out the corners of the crinkly fabric as he gestures for you to take a seat. You try not to take note of how sturdy his thighs are, or how the muscle stretches across the seat so well that there’s no way for you to fall between the cracks. 

“You’re going to sleep anyway,” you try to assure him, side eying him as he presses his forehead against the window, “it’ll be like being with a dead body.” 

“Didn’t know you were into necrophilia, but whatever floats your boat,” Jungkook mumbles, eyes immediately fluttering shut. 

At first it was easy, ignoring the fact that you’re sitting on top of a human. The drive seems endless however, Taehyung driving further and further into a sea of white ice. You force yourself to thread your fingers together, sitting on the very edge of his knees with your back ramrod straight. Eventually, you tire out and relax against Jungkook’s lax body. Your face is centimeters away from Jungkook’s. Long, dark lashes, and a strand of equally dark hair falls in front of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed from the blaring heater, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. 

Hm, for a drug dealer, he smells pretty. 

Despite the weird-smelling luggage that looms over the two of you, the white long-sleeved shirt he wears is soft to the touch and smells fresh. 

You huff, and shift in your seat. 

“Stop,” Jungkook mumbles into your shoulder, and you don’t have the heart to look at him. 

“I’m sorry, it’s cramped,” you reply. 

“I get that, but you don’t have to—hike yourself so far up here,” he sounds almost embarrassed saying it, and his hand shuffles to adjust his belt. “Literally can’t sleep because you’re making me pop a boner.” 

“Why, I’m engaged!” 

“God, I know. It’s like your personality trait or something,” Jungkook retorts, “just because you’re engaged doesn’t stop my body from reacting. I’m sure your fiancé has reacted like this, stop acting like a blushing virgin.” 

You tense, your eyes glued to the window in front of you. How do you even make a comeback to that? Wringing your hands in your lap, you feel your palms sweat with nerves the longer it takes for you to reply. This causes the gears to run in Jungkook’s mind. 

“Holy fuck, have you two not—” 

“Shut up,” you hiss, turning your body around to slap him in the chest, “shut up shut upupupshutup!” 

You make seething, burning eye contact with Jungkook. You expect him to have a shit-eating grin on his face, teasing you for your relationship. Instead, Jungkook is wide-eyed, mouth parted open like a confused guppy and his big bug-eyes looking stricken. He says nothing. 

The road starts to get bumpier, and the drive swerves from time to time to avoid black ice. Neither of you are relaxed. Combined with the heart of the storm, your heart is currently wrung on electrical wire, pumping blood with a fervor you cannot stifle. 

“I’m going to put my arms around your waist,” Jungkook murmurs softly, and you lift your arms slightly to see him lace his fingers over your belly button. “Like a seatbelt.” 

You sigh, relaxing in his hold. Now it’s awkward. He feels compelled to hold you to keep you safe, even though he clearly finds it awkward you’ve already put him in this position. 

Jungkook isn’t so bad, you think as you let your gaze linger on his hands. They anchor you to his lap, making sure you’re not jostling during the ride. He may have a razor sharp tongue and gets under your nerves just for the heck of it, but he’s kind of nice. Under the prickly leather jacket, there’s a softness to him you can’t help but gravitate to. 

It’s dark outside, save for the speedily descending flakes and the dim lights of the highway. You’re sitting on the lap of a total stranger, yet it’s a stranger who’s holding your waist like he’s a seatbelt, a stranger who’s making you feel safe to say the words that have been haunting you for the past few months. 

“I’ve tried to initiate sex,” you finally say. “I don’t know why he doesn’t want me, it’s already been two years.” 

Your eyes turn red with bloody horror. Your vision blurred by the insanity of what you’ve just blurted out to this surprisingly kind stranger who’s offered his seat (both times) to you. 

“I didn’t mean to word vomit like that. Forget I said anything—” 

“Must be his loss,” Jungkook cuts you off, and when he says it doesn’t feel impolite at all. However, Jungkook doesn’t continue on, doesn’t give you rhyme or reason, just lets you linger on his reply like a madwoman. 

Maybe it’s because you’re so touch starved, maybe you’re just seeing things, but for some reason Jungkook’s fingers feel more apparent against the seam of your jacket. They tighten a fraction, drum around the metal zipper that holds the thick fabric together. Your palms feel like a fountain, and you try to ignore the burn between your legs, the liquid heat betraying the commitment that sits on your finger. 

You’re engaged to be married, you chastise yourself. All eighteen carats that symbolize that bond glare at you, bright and eager to make you feel guilty. The whole reason why you’re on this cramped bus ride is to get to your soon-to-be husband. Some pretty stranger with strong hands won’t change that. 

“We’re here! Finally!” Taehyung cheers, and you realize now that you’re parked into a tunnel surrounded by other buses. 

Jungkook and you wait until everyone steps off the bus. The pads of Jungkook’s fingers play an unsung tune, absentmindedly drumming to a song you can’t put your mind to. 

“God, you can’t just pay the extra money for someone to take care of this?” Taehyung hauls the large luggage in the aisle seat, and you feel like you’re being revealed under a curtain, doing something you’re not supposed to be doing. 

You hop off his lap, scoop your backpack in your arm and scramble off the bus. The cold, winter air bites into every available pore in your body, replacing the warmth that Jungkook gave in the tiny bus. You hike the collar of your oversized turtleneck higher up your chin, prickling in shivers as you wait for Jungkook. 

“I don’t remember Seoul being this, empty,” you say to yourself, frowning at the lack of humans past the bus station. You peer curiously at the dark, dark road off the terminal. There’s no flicker of light, or a skyline filled with bustling sounds and flickering head beams. 

“That’s because we’re only halfway there,” Jungkook walks past you, luggage in tow. 

“What?” you pull out your phone, it’s already 4PM and it’s pitch dark outside. 

The snow is beating down as you two speed walk out of the hangar, reaching a nearly vacant parking lot save for a pure white minivan. You barely notice the vehicle with all the snow, blending in perfectly as wave after wave of ice beats down on it. The pops of rust by the tires, gaudy orange stripes is the only thing you can focus on as you try to make it to the car as fast as possible. 

“Get in and start the car,” Jungkook practically shoves the keys in your hands, gesturing for you to take the passenger seat. 

When you enter his car, you’re hit with a scent scarily identical to the one in Jungkook’s luggage. You nearly gag when you inhale too much, and your eyes flicker over to the lemon air freshener attached to the exhaust, trying its best to mask the smell. You vaguely remember all the warning stories your parents told you as a kid—never enter the white van. 

Ohmygod, you’re in a white van and all of Jungkook’s drugs are in the back. 

You shake your head, willing the car to start as you arch your back over the console to start it up. You’ve been around your fiancé’s parents too long, letting them fill your head with judgemental gab and crazy assumptions only rich people have about people lesser than them. 

Once the car spurs to life, soft holiday music plays from a pop station. The front window of the car is absolutely covered in snow, you can’t even budge the windshield wipers to scrape the layer of ice off. 

Suddenly, a blanket of ice slides off the window, swept to the concrete. You’re met with Jungkook’s toothy smile and horror-esque stare, and you have this jerk reaction to nervously laugh and jump in your seat. Your nails dig into the cheap fabric of your seat as Jungkook’s scary expression melts into a more softened one, as if happy to have gotten you to laugh in such sucky times. Jungkook continues to brush your windows, meticulously making sure no ice can cause any damage as you two go into the night. 

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” Jungkook whips the door open, throwing the snow brush at the space between your feet. 

As soon as he shuts the door, your stomachs growl simultaneously. 

The two of you break into a quick laugh, giggles that overlap the twinkly holiday chimes and the packed snow crunching under Jungkook’s boots. 

“After McDonalds,” Jungkook declares, setting up the GPS for a quick pitstop to the nearest fast food joint. 

Ten minutes into the drive, you pull into a generic food joint, too starved to find gourmet McDonalds. You make it a point to flick your card and lean over his body to meet the cashier, telling him you’re spotting the meal. Jungkook doesn’t complain, and tells the cashier to add in a vanilla sundae for good measure. 

Color yourself impressed, but you can’t help but gawk as Jungkook expertly sets up his food on the dashboard like a five-star meal, with fries in the cupholder and a burger unwrapped perfectly to catch any spills and to keep his fingers from getting greased up. For such a terrible snowstorm, he pulls out of the joint gracefully, a brief intermission in your long journey. 

“So, is my fiancé’s place far from where you need to be?” 

Jungkook shrugs, a stray fry hanging from his mouth. “It’s not far, not close either. I don’t mind, I like driving.” 

“Do you drive around a lot?” 

“Yeah, for work. It’s a little annoying that I have to spend Christmas alone, but it is what it is.” 

Pausing on your speculation, you take a big bite of your burger. You were hoping that your conversation would spur on a little more detail about his drug-esque job. However, all you start to feel is the heaviness of your fast food meal, stemming from your chest and filling your grease-filled stomach. 

“You’re spending Christmas alone?” you say, and you don’t mean to sound so sad saying it, but the thought of him being alone tonight makes you feel pinched with pain. 

“I can practically feel your puppy-eyes,” Jungkook shakes his head, not even needing to look at you as he focuses on the road. “I’m fine, don’t you worry.” 

“Do you wanna come to the party?” you offer, trying to sound as neutral as possible as you throw the suggestion on the dash.

“Not my thing,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, “with my line of work, I prefer to lay low.” 

Trying not to feel a hurt by the sudden (but expected) rejection, you practically eat your burger whole, eyes glaring on the road. You surmise it’s a valid excuse, drug dealers aren’t exactly one for highly-populated areas and with your fiancé’s reputation, you’re sure his parents would smell Jungkook’s reputation in a micro-minute. 

The drive isn’t anything special. You’re sure if it were spring, the foliage would be pretty and the sun would be setting into melty orange hues by now. It’s all black and white, boring shades that are aggressively pelting at the van and hindering your evening. 

“So, what other character traits do you have?” Jungkook cuts through your semi-brooding, as easily as one slices through butter, “other than the obvious that you’re engaged, and that you’re getting married. And oh yeah, you have a fiancé!” 

You scoff at his cheesy joke, folding your arms together. “I like spending time with my family. Watching movies under a weighted blanket. Plants.” 

His stare dips away from the road for a fraction, enough for you to catch that he’s rolling his eyes, “Fascinating. Not a plant person myself. I like those cute little succulents though. Had a bunch of those in college.” 

“I am also a ramen connoisseur,” you say pointedly, turning up your nose. 

“Ah, are you?” you smile a little when you see Jungkook’s eyes light up at the mention of food, “what’s the criteria for good ramen?” 

“Deep, creamy broth. Also, the egg. Gotta look like a custard-y, eggy sunset. It’s just,” you smack your lips together, mimicking a chef’s kiss, “perfect.” 

He chuckles, and goes on to tell you a story about a ramen shop he’s visited on his travels. It’s one he declares that you need to visit, one he still dreams about often. It takes a ferry and it’s a bit of a trek, but he says it’s worth it, and the eggs are as custard-y and sunset-y as you’d like. 

It’s between pockets of his story and pulling yourself out of this little bubble of a van you realize:  are you flirting with Jungkook? 

The longer this trip goes, the more your stares linger. They linger like the snow that sticks to the ground, unable to do nothing but cling. Layer after layer of confusing feelings, building up to a blizzard that you’re unable to quell. 

“So, your family’s also going to be at your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook asks, poking at yet another one of your personal facets. He’s being blatantly nosy, yet neither of you seem to mind. 

“Oh, no,” you shove your hands in your pockets, “they wanted to stay back in our hometown with the extended family. Y’know, the older members can’t really travel as much as they used to.” 

“Ah, so you’re splitting up your time,” Jungkook drums his hands on the wheel, eyes drooped slightly as he continues along the monotonous road, “your fiancé couldn’t make it?” 

“Couldn’t,” you reply lightly, “just, y’know, work.” 

“Been there, done that,” Jungkook replies, “I’m sure he missed out though. What’s your family like? Are they the type to bake cookies until 3 A.M.? Oh, or do they get wine drunk and talk shit about their annoying cousins—” 

“Jungkook,” the words fly out of your mouth before you can even think, “I’m engaged.” 

The weight of your words holds differently now. A whole day has passed with this man, and you’ve developed an attachment that simultaneously scares and thrills you. Not an hour goes by that you have to think to yourself that you’re taken, to the point that you can’t even tell what’s in your head and what’s being spoken out in the air. 

Instead of a snippy comment, a snarky retort of, “I know, I know!” like you anticipate, Jungkook stops the car. 

There’s no human trace for miles, so it doesn’t scare you when he slows down and pulls off to the side. He gears the car into park, roughly pulling the handle. He lays his arm over the steering wheel, turning his body so he can face you fully. The heat in the car suddenly feels too cloying, and you shrink in the seat as he leans in on you. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, and from the looks of it, he’s genuinely hurt. 

“I—Jungkook,” you plant your feet on the ground, trying to find some power in this situation, “I mean I, we—you just can’t keep doing this.” 

“Do you feel like I’m trying to steal you away? Or, seduce you or something?” Jungkook is starting to talk himself into a stupor, eyes flickering from the window, to you, to behind you, and back to you. It’s almost jarring, seeing how self-conscious he starts to get without the presence of an audience. Gone is the smooth talker that you met at the terminal, willing to haggle it all for your cash. “Are you uncomfortable? Is it weird I have a crush on you?” 

“Wait, you have a crush on me?” 

He reels back, nearly pressing his head against the window. Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deep from his lungs. “Adults still get crushes, y’know.” 

“Yeah, but not to people you met eight hours ago.” 

Jungkook arches a brow, “People fall for people in the most unlikely of ways.” 

That singular statement hits you, hard. 

Jungkook looks like he wants to get out of the van. He seems stuffy, and he unzips his coat and shoves it under his legs. 

“You’re cute,” he echoes the statement like he can’t believe that in a short amount of time, he’s attached to you, “you seem to have good taste, you love family, and your personality isn’t half bad,” the last bit is meant to be teasing, a lighthearted way to end his bout of emotion, but it only makes you ache further, “And it makes me upset knowing that you have to keep convincing yourself that you’re in a relationship that isn’t as fulfilling as you hope. This whole drive, you’ve been anxious about going to his parents, worrying that you’re not going to make it on time instead of relaxing with your family. Where you actually want to be.” 

“I also want to be with Jimin,” you say weakly, a half-hearted attempt to defend yourself. 

You never mentioned your fiancé’s name until this point. It makes Jungkook stiffen a little, finally putting a name to the man that’s supposed to have your heart. It makes the relationship concrete, palpable. 

“I’m sure you do,” Jungkook smacks his lips, evidently sealing the conversation to suffocate under the snow. 

Jungkook puts the car into drive, sliding back into your current route. 

“And to answer your question, Jungkook. No, you having a crush on me is not weird,” and smaller, quieter, you reply, “because it’s weird that I might have a crush on you, too.”

You know that Jungkook catches your statement, because he cranks the volume of the radio harder, effectively shutting you out.  

The first thing Jungkook says when you finally reach the Park’s house is: “Wow.” 

His van looks completely out of place, parked on the side as limos and Escalades drop off more and more people into the large estate. It’s pouring with elegant piano music, and the large window in the middle of their home reveals a century-old chandelier, crystals beaming and winking against the hundreds of guests that lie underneath. 

The rest of the way driving was almost painfully fast. After that awkward wave of emotion, neither of you said anything. Well, you didn’t at least. Jungkook attempted to clear the air by singing along to the Christmas songs on the radio, but it only further attracted you because to your chagrin—Jungkook’s a pretty good singer. 

The estate isn’t in Seoul persay, it’s a sizable plot of land that definitely comes from old money. It’s decked up like the North Pole, lit up and tiny crystal lines dotting the expanse of the rooftops. The snow certainly adds to it, and many guests are outside taking pictures of the picture-perfect holiday show. The blizzard has finally subsided, leaving a clean blanket of snow across their yard.

You scoff to yourself. What they find to be a Christmas miracle only derailed yours. 

Jungkook stares at you while you send a quick text to Jimin. You tell him he needs to come fast, because you don’t want his parents to see you all sweaty and dressed like you’ve been traveling for hours. 

“Oh, uh,” you finally take a look at him, and you immediately regret it because you’re getting sucked into his gaze, “I think you put my bag in the trunk?” 

“Right,” he shakes his head, “follow me.” 

He tilts his head down when he’s outside, as if the snow’s going to start back up and drown him. Your thumb scratches the ring on your finger as you hop out of the van, effectively popping the bubble the two of you have been sealed in for the better half of the evening. Is this going to be it? Is the last you’ll see of Jeon Jungkook? 

All those thoughts evaporate when Jungkook opens the trunk. 

There’s no drugs. 

In fact, you don’t even know what to think. The van is absolutely filled, wall-to-wall art supplies and canvas carefully lined up like Tetris blocks to avoid damage. The floor of the van seems to receive the brunt of the messes, and you catch recent paint stains and spray cans stacked to the side. It explains the smell. 

There’s some clear cases in a corner, protecting completed prints that are already framed. Your eyes cling to a vibrant hyacinth, coral and satin blue petals bunching in the middle of a black background. It’s absolutely gorgeous, if it wasn’t for all the paint lying around, you’d think it’s real. 

Jungkook’s an artist. 

“Holy shit, I thought you were a drug dealer,” you blurt, and you want to smack yourself in the face. 

 “Excuse me?” Jungkook jerks his head towards you, “did you think I was a drug dealer this whole time?” 

“N-no,” you frown petulantly, letting Jungkook loop your arms through the straps of your backpack. “Maybe. You were very shady.” 

He laughs, a genuine laugh. It confuses you, the way he tucks his hands in his pockets and bends his back over to look up at you through his dark lashes. It’s like nothing’s wrong, like he’s trying to erase the past eight hours and leave with no qualms. You don’t know if that comforts you or terrifies you. 

“So, you were willing to let a potentially dangerous man be your travel partner for eight hours so you can make it to your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook’s eyes flicker over to the front door, “you must really love him.” 

“I do,” you say the phrase like it’s second nature. Rehearsed. Practiced. 

“Merry Christmas,” Jungkook pulls out his hand, and you don’t hesitate to grasp it. 

Liquid heat sparks through your skin, one that tingles from where his large palm encases yours, all the way to your heart. 

“Merry Christmas,” you echo, and your feet feel like lead as you back away from him. 

Jungkook waits until you go inside the house, even though the valet is side eyeing him and mentally telling him to leave already. Turning your back to him is rough, like you’re without snowshoes and you’re trudging through snow. 

The goodbye feels rushed. Your heart is cold and heavy. Unfortunately, by the time you realize you haven’t paid Jungkook for his bus ticket and the ride, it’s too late. Jimin has already pulled you in his awaiting arms, and Jungkook has peeled out of the driveway. 

“You look awful,” Jimin coddles you, dusting the invisible dirt off your jacket. You know Jimin means well by the statement, but you can’t help but feel a little unsupported by his words. You did all you could to make it to Jimin in time for this party full of faceless, nameless people. And yet, Jimin inadvertently manages to put you down for finally making it.��

The hallway is relatively empty, save for one staff member who cleans the wet linoleum floors whenever someone with snow steps in. You can easily make out where the heart of the party is, the tinkly holiday music playing from the speakers, along with all the bodies huddled by the extra large Christmas tree that is brimming with presents. 

You do feel like a wet noodle, in comparison to Jimin and Namjoon’s complementary pinstripe suits. Jimin’s deep burgundy suit pops in the endless hallway of marble and light wood as he quickly leads you upstairs to a spare room for you to change. Namjoon’s more muted grey still looks stunning on him, cutting his tall figure nicely. You think it’s cute that Jimin made an effort to match with his assistant, not making him feel out of place in this big party. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Namjoon interjects softly, gesturing to the garment bag hanging on the boudoir, “I picked out your dress.” 

“I’m sure whatever you bought is beautiful,” you assure softly, stepping fully into the room. It’s an extra bedroom, you’re assuming it might be yours. 

“We’ll give you some time to freshen up and get ready,” Jimin squeezes your arm, a touch you can barely feel due to the puffiness of your down jacket. It’s just an awkward escape of air to you, a sssttt that you catch Namjoon hiding his smile for, “we’ll walk around a bit and bring you some food.” 

“I want cupcakes,” you blurt impulsively, and the two of them laugh on their way out the door. 

Once you’re finally alone, you strip yourself bare. Jacket, shirt, socks, underwear. You make quick work of taking a hot, damp towel to wash your arms and legs, scrubbing your face of any oil and dirt from the day. You wrap yourself in an indulgent fluffy robe, the plush material comforting you as you flop on the bed. 

It’s been a day. 

You take a five minute cat nap, the weight of the day taking its toll on you. When you finally flutter your eyes open however, you see him. 

It’s not exactly him, it’s his art. It’s mounted right atop the headboard, a large blown up painting of a tiger lily. The orange and gold flecks flicker and go perfectly with the decor of the room. The piece is longing, aching for you to go back to two hours ago when you could’ve phrased your words better, balm the situation into something to salvage. This must be a sign, you think. Upon closer look, you see the signature Jeon JK etched in silver in the corner. Who knew the Parks were buying Jeon Jungkook’s work, the world is smaller than you’d originally thought. 

It ignites you. You rip the zipper of the garment bag, pulling on the slinky glittery gold dress Namjoon picked out for you. It’s gorgeous, and you don’t know how he managed to find your proportions, but you figure an assistant of his caliber has access to many things. You don’t have much time, so you slap on some light makeup and swipe some highlights across your eyes. By the time Jimin returns, you’re pulling your hair up and out of your face. 

Jimin walks to the bed with a pretty red velvet cupcake, “You look beautiful,” he says immediately, and you follow to sit with him at the foot of the bed. 

You don’t hesitate to grab the cupcake from his tea plate, nearly shoving it in your mouth. You definitely need a rush, something to curb you over for the plans you have tonight. “Sugar sugar,” you chant like a mantra, and you don’t care that your lipgloss is smudged and crumbs cling to your cheeks. 

Jimin just rubs circles onto your thigh, letting you eat and relax. He knows you’re not a fan of these kinds of parties, preferring to wallflower it, preferably at  a wall closest to the buffet. His touch is comforting, and you chew slower in order to prolong the inevitable. It takes a beat for you to finish your cupcake. 

“I need to talk to you,” the two of you blurt at the same time, and you point and giggle at each other like you’re still five year olds tinkering in the sandbox. 

Jimin pouts, “Can I go first? Mine’s kind of important.” 

“Mine’s also really important,” you don’t mean to invalidate Jimin, but you really need to get this out. “I might explode if I don’t say this now.” 

The blonde scrunches his nose, obviously weak to your unusual distress, “I guess I wouldn’t want that.” 

You clutch his hand, the hand that holds the plain wedding band he picked out for himself two years ago. Your eyes flicker to how your ring kisses his, “Jimin. I love you, like really love you. I can’t imagine my life without you, you’ve been my best friend since we could crawl. But as I traveled down here, I realized that even though I love you, I think I’m not in love,” you wince at how cheesy that sounds, “I don’t want you to feel like you’re not good enough, but the whole trip down here made me realize I don’t think I can commit to this.” 

“Oh, thank fuck,” you gasp, watching relief wash over Jimin’s features. You’re not even done with your whole spiel and he’s already unbuttoning his blouse, “this makes what I’m about to say a whole lot easier.” 

“Jimin,” you trail off, squeezing his palm, “what do you mean?” 

“I mean, I think I’m in love.” 

Your jaw slackens slightly, seeing the sweat that lines Jimin’s slicked back hair. He must’ve been thinking about this all night, waiting for you to tell you this. Your chest aches, weighing in on all the sudden facts. “Who is it?” you ask. 

Jimin shrugs, “The man who does my taxes and makes sure I sleep at least seven hours a night.” 

“Namjoon,” you conclude, eyes moving to the sealed door. You think Namjoon is waiting out there right now, silently supporting you two as you go through this. Of course, Jimin’s parents would be livid if anything would tarnish his reputation. A broken engagement would be sticky to cover up, and Jimin falling for his assistant is a headline right for the books. 

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers, despite the room being vacant he feels the need to keep his words short, “You came all this way to hear this. But I guess we’re on the same page, huh?” His soft fingers make a beeline for your ring finger, removing the diamond band, “And by the way, I love you too. Which is why we’re going to come clean in the morning and work this out with my parents, together. I’m sorry if you felt obligated to follow me all this time just because our parents did.” 

“Hey, like you said, we’re in this together. Both in and out,” you chastise, pulling your engagement ring from his grasp and holding it to the light. “Can I keep this? Instead of an engagement band, it can be our best friend band. I’ll even get it re-sized so it can go on another finger.” 

Jimin pulls you into his arms, crushing you. The silky material of your dress bunches and rides, but you don’t care. The two of  you can’t help but be a little crybaby-ish about it, feeling much like your younger-selves when you had to pull each other out of trouble. 

The two of you walk out of the bedroom hand-in-hand, and Namjoon is leaning against the banister in the hallway, a soft smile melting on his tanned skin. 

“I’m so happy for you,” you gush, hugging Namjoon tightly. You’ve only known the man for a few months, but you can tell he’s taking care of Jimin and that’s enough for you. 

“I… really thought you’d be more upset.” Namjoon marvels, patting your back. 

Jimin interjects, “I think she’s found someone hotter than me.” 

“Impossible!” 

You could stay at this party, lay low until you and Jimin have to confront his parents in the morning. They suggest to get all the food they need and sneak out to the home theatre. The three of you hustle it down the stairs to another part of the house, in order for you to make your getaway and avoid Jimin’s family. 

“Hey,” you stop in front of another painting, pulling the two men to a stop. Your eyes lock on a framed droopy peony, tipped with pink dye. You realize you can’t stay here, not when someone’s home alone tonight. “Namjoon, I need you to locate someone for me.” 

Jungkook does not expect to see you at his front door. 

You’re stunning, and look as breathless as he feels. The liquid champagne number that hugs your frame does things to him, and he’s strangely attracted to the fact that you paired this expensive dress with your snow-drenched trainers. 

You showing up at the wee hours of the morning was the last thing Jungkook thought would happen. It’s nothing short of a holiday event, you look like you’ve just walked out of a gala and then ran a marathon to reach him. 

He thought when he said goodbye, it would be the last time you’d cross paths. At first, he was okay with that. After all, feelings come and go, and spontaneity only works a percentage of the time. Seeing you presently however, throws all those half-hearted concedings out the window. 

“Hi,” you finally say, drinking from the fact that you actually found him. 

“Hey,” Jungkook breathes, “you look, beautiful.” 

“Thanks,” you smile. 

“So, is this about you not paying me back for the ticket?” Jungkook suddenly feels guilty, having dipped out of Jimin’s manor once he saw him appear at the door. It was unrightful jealousy, and because of that he needed to drive away as fast as possible. “Because honestly, it was me messing with you. I really don’t need the money.” 

“I figured, from the fact that I had to take the elevator up to the penthouse of the building.” 

“So then why are you here?” Jungkook wobbles on the balls of his feet, unsure of what to do with himself. 

“My ex-fiancé is in love with someone else,” you lay your cards out just like that, and Jungkook’s unprepared to deal.  

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry—” 

“Let me finish,” you cut in gently, “my ex-fiancé is in love with someone else, and that’s okay. We’ve been best friends since we were little, and we want nothing but happiness for each other. And for me? Happiness is right in front of me.” 

You bite your lip, and Jungkook fights down the urge to run up and pull you into his arms. You must be so cold, running out without a jacket and rushing to his home. However, he lets you finish, and he holds himself down by clutching the door frame as casually as possible. 

“I also have a big, fat crush on you,” you say boldly, “and I had to tell you as soon as I could. It took a twenty-minute phone call and some serious leverage from Jimin’s company to figure out where you lived. That receptionist is definitely not letting me use my frequent flyer miles next flight.” 

“You harassed an airport receptionist just for me?” he smiles wanly, placing a hand on his chest, “I’m touched.” 

“You make me excited to try new things, to be spontaneous and do things for myself,” with every statement you take a step further, and soon enough you’re in his dimly lit apartment. The plush couch in his living room looks awfully warm and comfy, and the light music that plays from his speakers is soft and soothing. “So, let’s spend the holidays together and see where this goes. And go to your art gallery tomorrow, because I did research you on the drive and found out you had to rush here because of a big show.” 

“So you’re actually a stalker?” Jungkook teases, tugging you over to the couch. 

He takes the lead, plopping himself on the couch first and inviting you to sit next to him. You take a detour and plant your body atop of him, and with an ‘oof’ the two of you are sinking. 

“A stalker and a potential drug dealer does sound like a promising pair,” Jungkook jests, his hand palming the silky material of your ruched up ball gown. 

“I’m sorry,” you pout, wrapping your fingers around the long tresses of his hair, “can you please stop bringing that up? It was judgemental of me.” 

“I like when you’re judgemental,” he pokes your puppy-faced cheeks, ruddied with embarrassment. “I like picking fights with you and getting you all riled up.” 

“Will you rile me up now?” 

Sexy, he thinks. He figures a vixen has been hidden under you, one suppressed by a complicated engagement and many other factors he’d love to learn about in the near future. The situation at hand however, is far more pressing. Your body is finally warming up, and Jungkook tries to ignore the weight your body is causing, re-igniting an ache he felt hours ago when you two were squished against each other in the coach bus.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you declare, and you look a little frustrated that Jungkook is taking so long to process this information, “and I hope I take your breath away.” 

You taste like sugar and the softness that comes with the holidays. It’s tender and oh-so comforting, and Jungkook can’t help but squeeze your hips closer as your lips brush fervently against his. The feeling is both new and old, and Jungkook figures you’ve finally uncoiled a flame that you can no longer quell. 

Soon enough your kisses turn hungry, and Jungkook has to remind himself that you two have only known each other for a total of twelve hours, and he isn’t sure of what’s appropriate to jump to due to the speed of your relationship. Once he feels the first roll of your hips, a liquid heat that Jungkook can’t help but return back, he pulls away from your soft lips. Not too far, but a few centimeters apart so that Jungkook and you can catch your breath. 

“We should take this slow,” he starts, trying to make a reasonable impression now that you’re a guest at his home and finally settled from their long trip. “I really, really want to get to know you. And you’re so beautiful and I really do want to have sex but—” 

“Jungkook, I have not had sex with someone in two years,” you speak with a depraved tone, as if it’s been centuries since you’ve been touched. He can’t help but throw his head back and laugh, “a night full of sex sounds like the best last-minute present ever.” 

You bring his hand over to your core, the shiny glassy material of your gown doing nothing to hide the glimpses of pleasure you’re minutes away from experiencing. You whine desperately at the thought, and Jungkook’s a goner. 

“Well, I guess I’m about to pull a Christmas miracle,” he murmurs against your lips, ready to work his magic. 

[theunholygrails]

Foolish Games Part 2

Masterlist

A/N: Introducing new characters and some drama! Percy is still sexy as ever :'(.

Warnings: BJ

I woke up to a door slamming so hard it joined the symphony of my pounding headache. I groaned, hoisting myself over the back of the couch to investigate to intrusion. A brunette head of long sweeping hair rushed through the foyer, barreling towards the kitchen. A familiar mop of black hair hurried after.

Reyna was speaking so fast in Spanish my brain scrambled to keep up. I noted lots of curse words followed by a series of sentences too fast I was surprised she even knew what she was saying. Percy was answering in slow measured words, probably fighting a hangover of equal measure. I ducked behind the back of the couch, reaching for my phone plugged in on the coffee table.

It was noon. 2% battery and a couple messages from friends. Nothing from my ex thank gods. Five from Annabeth being nosey. I opened my uber app, squinting in the sunlight breaking through the cream curtains. I managed to get my driver secured.

A door slammed and I winced, peaking to check that they were in another room. I did not immediately spot my dress in the chaotic. I grimaced remembering the midnight swim. When I sat up I finally noticed the white tshirt I wore and the basketball shorts. And then I went rigid remembering what happened after the swim.

“Motherfucker,” I whispered.

Now I really had to get out of this house. I checked the arrival time of my driver. Three minutes away. Great. I made my way on shaky knees to the large wooden front door. My keys were still in the collection dish. I grabbed them quietly and turned the door handle a fraction of an inch before another door slammed open and Reyna came barreling back into the foyer, brown eyes landing promptly on my guilty ass. Behind her, Percy pursed his lips into a thin line and raised both of his hands to lay on top of his head. His biceps strained nicely against the thin t shirt.

“The fuck is this?” Reyna whispered.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” I babbled.

“It’s just Noa, Rey. Gods,” Percy said.

“I can see that, Percy!” She snapped. I was glad her spear was not strapped across her back this morning. “Why is she sneaking out of my house in your clothes?”

“People were swimming last night. Her clothes got wet.”

“I’m sure the fuck they did.”

“Zeus, Rey! You ended it with me. Why does it even matter?”

“Because I still fucking love you! I’m sorry, okay?” She burst out crying and Percy instantly pulled her against his chest. The memory of being in those arms drove me out the door like a nest of hornets.

~~~~

“I’m just saying. You have nothing to feel sorry for,” Annabeth paused to sip her iced coffee. “Unless they get back together and then you sleep with him. But as of right now, you’re good. Trust me. Been on the Percy train. We’re still friends. You’ll get over it. Just a harmless rebound for both of you.”

I groaned, laying my chin on the cool metal table parked outside our favorite coffee shop positioned between our New York apartments. Just two Manhattan women enjoying their Sunday afternoon. The air was cooling as fall neared. I pulled my baseball cap closer to the top of my sunglasses.

“Should I call him?”

“Maybe tomorrow. Let him deal with his relationship drama. Reyna is a lot to deal with. Still nothing from fuckface?”

“Nope and that’s fine.”

“Good for you. We will hydrate you, get you a good dinner, hit the gym before work in the morning and then get back on our bad bitch mental track. Agreed?”

~~~~

“Good Monday, yogis,” I chirped from my desk at the corner of my studio.

The third class was beginning to trickle in and I was settling into my rhythm. Hot yoga was next and hopefully I would sweat out all the negativity I’d allowed lately. I was in the middle of emailing back a potential client when someone rapped at the wood of my desk. I glanced up to a blonde male who waved gently.

“Heya, sansei Noa,” he said.

“That’s karate. Can I help you?”

“Do you do trial classes?”

I hit send on my email and closed my laptop. The guy was built like a poser with the defined muscles and chiseled jaw but his voice was soft and tempered. He was clean shaven and dressed like a basic gym bro.

“Normally you have to schedule them beforehand because of class size,” I gave my standard answer.

“Right, my bad. Sorry. I was just passing by the front and it looked like the kind of place I needed right now. Can I go ahead and pick a date then?”

I was staring too long into his pale blue eyes, honed in on the polite response. A nice change from the daily demanding consumers. “You know what? Ive got space right now if you like? Have you ever done hot yoga?”

A brilliant white smile showcasing sharp canines. “My favorite.”

“Perfect. I just need a name, number and email to get you a file started.”

He leaned large hands on my desk. “It’s Luke Castellan.”

Before he could give the contact information, I cut him off. “Wait. I know you.” His tanned skin paled significantly.

“I…”

“You’re supposed to be dead!” I blurted out.

His eyes skated around the room and he leaned in closer. “That’s not supposed to be public knowledge. I assume you’re a demigod?”

“Luke, you trained me. We took fucking sculpting together. The Apollo table was right next to the Hermes one for fuck’s sake.”

He winced. I heard a murmuring from the rest of my class I was disturbing with my volume. I collected my shock finally. “Take a seat if you want. We should talk after class. I need to start.”

“Okay. Thank you. I’m sorry Noa.”

I waved him off and walked over to my yoga mat. I sat cross legged and drew in an even breath to smooth out my emotions.

It was a slow 30 minute class. Each pose and movement dragged on. Finally, I dismissed the group and nodded Luke outside. He was waiting on the bench outside of the studio I split renting with a few other instructors. I sat next to him, wiping sweat from my face with the towel slung over my pink sports bra.

“Alright, talk,” I said.

“Not much to say. I was given a second chance at my hearing. Here I am. Starting over.” A shrug of well-defined shoulders. The muscles flexed beneath his gleaming sweat. His red tank top stuck to his chest and stomach. “I wish I remembered you, truly. That time is such a blur in my life.”

“It’s ok. You were a lot older than me and to be honest I had a massive crush on you so I probably hid most of the time.”

A surprised smile slipped across his lips. “I’m assuming the betrayal helped you get over that?”

I laughed outloud, slapping his knee. “No shit! So where are you staying these days?”

“Just around the corner actually. Got a job at the local gym.”

“Yeah I bet the fuck you did.” I squeezed his forearm between both of my hands. I wanted to roll my eyes at me falling back into my school girl giddy at him. Betrayal of the gods aside. He was even more gorgeous than ever. The scar down his face gave him a dark sexy vibe. Like a bad boy even though he claimed he was rehabbing himself now.

“So how, did you feel about the class?”

“I mean, I’d like to sign up for it a couple times a week, that’s for sure. And I’d like to take you out to dinner to make up for not remembering a beauty like you.”

I almost bit my cheek biting out the response of “Yes!”

“You’ve got my number,” he said, chuckling quietly. “I’ve got to get to work.” He shouldered his gym bag and excused himself.

The bike back to my apartment was spent reliving my tween fantasies about bad boy Luke. I opened my apartment door and screeched seeing a man sitting at my kitchen counter. Percy turned to face me.

“You know you live in New York? You should really lock that.”

“It was!” I snapped.

A quick grin. “Yeah. But it was easy to break into.”

I dropped my bag onto the floor and brushed past him to get a protein shake from the fridge. “I have to shower and get prepared for my night classes.” I told him.

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t either.”

He paused, studying my face in the shitty lighting of the single bulb hanging between us over the counter. “Are we good, Noa?”

“Of course. What’s a little head between friends?”

“Okay…I can’t read you. Can you not play tough just for a minute?”

I chugged the shake and set the bottle down between us. I leaned my arms on the chilled counter, bun knocking against the light. “Honestly, Percy. I’m fine. We are good.”

“Reyna moved back in.”

“You’re engaged again?”

I drank from the empty bottle to give myself something to do. He watched me with those green eyes. He’d known me for far too long. He was nearly impossible to deceive, but I was determined today. The fact that I had dreamt of fucking him two consecutive nights was irrelevant if he was off the table. Even if his lips did look incredibly juicy tonight. Even if they had done near illicit things to me just nights ago.

“I don’t know. She said she wanted to work on things. And it’s her dad’s house, so I can’t ask her to go and I don’t want to go to my mom’s and admit defeat.”

“You know you could stay here, Perc.”

He worked his jaw silently, then rubbed his hands over his face. “Thanks. I do know. Even if we aren’t officially back together, I think we should work on it…” he trailed off.

“And not tell her about you eating me out?” I leaned closer because I was mean to both him and myself. Because I knew this top combined with this angle gave him a simple opportunity. And he took it.

His tongue slid out between his lips as his eyes flicked down, stayed, then dragged deliberately back up. “Probably not,” he agreed.

For a long moment neither of us said anything. He had more to lose now than me. We were no longer on equal playing fields. So, I left the ball in his court. “I’m going to go shower.”

I was done washing in the first ten minutes. The second ten was giving him a little wiggle room to decide. I had my hand on the faucet to cut off the water that was beginning to go cold when I heard the door creak open. I watched through the fogged glass, catching a hold of my breath. I watched as he tugged his shirt off. My stomach flipped over itself when he reached for his jeans. What had I done?

The opening door let in a rush of cool air, perking my skin to attention. My eyes raked unapologetically over his naked, aroused body. His dark hair quickly slicked against his stubble covered jaw. His eyes were no longer the sea green but murky like the deep water of the ocean.

“Hey,” he said quietly, cautiously.

“Hey,” I giggled, reaching out to touch his rough jaw. He winced, catching my hand with his. “We probably shouldn’t kiss again.”

“Sure, whatever you want, Percy. What can I do to you?”

He groaned, turning his mouth into my palm, scraping teeth against the vulnerable skin. “Touch me,” he said.

My free hand instantly planted against his chest, scraping at the muscle. His eyes fluttered closed, head tilting back to expose his throat. I slid my other hand into his thick hair, tugging it tightly between my fingers and pulling to grant myself more access to the strong column of his neck. I bit it first, backing him into the tiled wall when he shuddered. I kissed over the reddening skin and moved my hands to his flat stomach, feeling the shuddered breaths beneath my touch.

“Like this?” I asked.

His reply was unintelligible. I kissed down his chest, moving my hand lower still as I went. When my fingers brushed over the v-line of his hips, I shifted my route away from the center and to his thighs. An annoyed grunt escaped his lips. “Hush,” I scolded, getting my knees under me. The now cold water was hitting the back of my neck and flowing down my body. I placed my hands on the inside of both his thighs, trailing them upwards and upwards until he nearly contorted when I gripped him. He let out a scandalous string of curses that quickly turned to moaning silence when I took him into my mouth.

He unraveled in minutes and I let him cum all over the breasts I had teased him with earlier. I rose in front of him, my own rosy cheeks mirroring his. “Now we’re even.”

[butwhyduh]

Last night thing

Jason todd x reader

Summary: he stopped you from stealing a $25,000 watch but missed something else. Part 2 to Late night Thing.

Warning: kidnap, fighting, smut

As Jason pulled up his pants and contemplated his life choices of sleeping with a beautiful thief on a rooftop, he came to a conclusion. You stole his damn tie clip. He had said that he would break your hand if you tried to steal it and dammit, you had. Somehow it simultaneously made him mad and horny. How the fuck had you managed that?

Jason knew that he wouldn’t find you that night. So he went back to his safe house to lick his wounded pride and plan his next move. He needed to get that clip back. It was a gift from Alfred and he would literally kill for it. Though he seriously doubted that he’d need to do that. And Jason would never admit it but he didn’t want to kill you.

He planned to find you sometime during the next week. His tie clip was expensive but not extraordinarily expensive but you had to find someway to sell it without him finding it, which would take time. Jason just didn’t know that it would be the next day that he would find you.

He heard that Bane was throwing his weight around in the drug trade for some damn reason. Wasn’t his venom addition enough for one man? So Jason was snooping around, or investigating as the bats liked to say. He fully expected a boring night of listening in a warehouse for hours and learning very little but instead almost fell through the glass at the sight before him.

You were strapped to a chair with rope. The pretty dress you wore the night before was in tatters but you were covered. Your eyes were red and your nose had dried blood underneath it. You were shivering like a leaf.

“I’m not here to negotiate with you. I’m here for Cat Woman. You are her child and she will come or you will die,” Bane said casually. You gasped.

“She’s going to be mad. Why would she work with you after this?” You asked, braver than you felt. He turned and coldly looked at you before stalking over. His giant fingers wrapped around your throat and you thrashed in the chair.

Jason stood up and moved to jump into the fight despite the fact that he really didn’t want to fight the brute. But Bane let you go and you audibly gasped and sucked air through open lips. You trembled and heaved.

“If she does not care about you, I will move on to her next kitten,” he said and you gulped. You didn’t know if she would save you. Jason looked through the room for a strategy. 2 exits and the skylight he currently looked through. 3 goons that he could easily take out. Oh, and a 300 pound juiced up super soldier. That broke Batman’s back years ago. Fuck.

“Let me go and I’ll do anything you want,” you said and even Jason up high in the rafters could hear the waver in your voice. Bane turned and stared at you and your mind almost couldn’t comprehend the massive size of him. He was easily half a foot taller than Red Hood and almost 100 pounds heavily and Red Hood towered over you.

“What could I possible want from you,” he asked with an icy curiosity. He was watching you for a reaction. You wanted to shrink away but that would be a failure.

“Anything you could want. Information,” you suggested. “About Gotham.”

“I have my sources.”

“Uhhh,” you breathed. “Gems? Money?” He shook his head. Your heart hammered in your chest. He was a man, right? You could sell that maybe? “Me?” You breathed.

He laughed before looking you up and down. “I do not want you carnally, child,” he said. You almost sagged in relief and Jason’s hand released the gun he didn’t know he was holding. “No. We will wait for Cat Woman and if she doesn’t come in 2 days, you are dead.”

You hummed in fear. Bane sat crossed legged and closed his eyes. He threatened to kill you and then fucking meditated. You helplessly pulled at the ropes on your wrists.

Jason tried to piece together how you got there and how to get you out. He knew that he couldn’t exactly call Bruce. ‘Hey dad, do you want to fight the guy who broke your back over a thief he has tied up. Why? I don’t know! I just like fucking her on rooftops!’ Never saying that.

Nope. Instead he would attempt stealth. Against one of the best trained fighters in the world for a woman that robbed him. Yea, maybe Jason should have stayed 6 feet under because he’s a fucking idiot. He sighed before slowly moving towards them. Bane was sitting cross legged with his eyes closed in a meditation back to you.

You suddenly saw Jason out the corner of your eyes and your eyes widened before going back to normal. Bane didn’t seem to notice the slight change in your breathing. Jason snuck over to untie you. He slowly pulled the rope from around your wrists and you were almost completely untied when the end of the rope barely grazed the ground.

Bane snapped his head around as Jason drew his guns. You gasped as Bane launched himself towards Jason. You ripped your hand out of the rope as bullets flew. You scrambled to the floor but was quickly pulled up by the giant man. He clutched you by the shoulder and you whimpered in pain. Jason suddenly froze.

“This is far more interesting that I first thought. I looked for a cat and found a bat,” he laughed. You squirmed in pain. He sat you down but the hand stayed on your shoulder.

“She’s not important. Let her go,” Jason said. The metallic voice from his helmet sounded bored.

“If she is unimportant, she is better off dead,” he said roughly pulling you in his arms and one hand gently wrapped around your throat but didn’t tighten it. You grabbed at his fingers and sobbed pathetically. Your eyes were wide and terror was plain on your face.

“Let’s not. Put the lady down and we can talk,” Jason said and it was weird to see Red Hood negotiating. He was usually the muscle in the situation. It really showed you how fucked you really were.

“Okay I’m intrigued. I will hear your proposal,” he said sitting you down. You scampered behind Jason. Your whole body trembled.

“I know Gotham underground better than you ever will. Sorry but you’re scary as shit but not in a good way,” he said with a shrug. If you didn’t know any better, he seemed casual. “I can get you the venom you need. No cost for a while.”

“How long,” Bane asked. He was the kind so get all the facts before proceeding. He also had the weakness of being completely addicted to venom.

“A months worth.”

“6 months.”

“3 months.”

“Deal. If you break this deal I will crush her windpipe with my hand,” he said with no emotion. It was a promise, not a threat. Jason felt you move closer to him.

“Deal,” Jason agreed. Bane moved closer and you clung to Jason. You were clinging to Red Hood. How pathetic. Jason stood taller and stared at Bane. They shook hands.

Suddenly Bane slapped Jason violently across the face and you yelped. Jason went to the ground but quickly got up to a defensive crouch. You jumped in front of him with your heart beating so fast you would soon faint.

“For invading my space and my business,” Bane said before walking away. “Leave.” He didn’t turn to watch.

You noticed a little crack in the Red Hood helmet. How hard did Bane hit him? Jason stood up and pulled you out of the warehouse with him. He quickly grabbed you and shot his grappling hook out of the area. About half a mile away, he landed on a building. You clung to him and trembled.

“Hey, you’re safe,” he said. “You can let go.”

You pulled off but shivered like a leaf.

“Shit, you’re cold. Here. Here,” he wrapped his jacket around you and it helped your temperature but not your shivering. “Come here,” he pulled you in his arms and you clung. His heartbeat felt reassuring and he awkwardly patted your hair. You could tell Jason wasn’t used to providing comfort.

“He- he,” you started but stopped. “Can we go somewhere safe?”

“Come on downstairs. This is my place,” he said and you nodded. You followed him inside and it was far warmer but you couldn’t stop the shaking. His jacket was replaced by a blanket and Jason sat you on the couch. The helmet came off but domino stayed on. You practically climbed on his lap to be closer. Your eyes were still wide with horror.

You’d been arrested, harassed, even shot at. But never kidnapped like that. And by the giant Bane at that. Jason could feel the fear and adrenaline coming off of you. He rubbed your back softly. You looked up at him suddenly after a few minutes.

“You saved my life. You put yours in danger to save mine,” you breathed. He shrugged, a little uncomfortable under your gaze. “Thank you,” you added.

“Uh you’re welcome. It’s no biggie.”

“Yes it is,” you said before kissing him. Your pace was dizzying and rough. Jason was in shock at first. Your hands roamed his body before dropped down to his belt and he almost jolted up.

“Not today,” he said, stopping your hand. “I mean, normally I’d love to but not now. Give it a few days.”

“Why?” You said with your voice all breathy. Your lips were swollen and eyes dark and he almost gave in.

“You were just kidnapped. You need sleep. Not sex,” he said sliding away from you. “Are you hungry?”

“Wh- you don’t think I could want you?”

“I’m not in the mood. Almost getting killed by Bane really kills the urge,” he lied. If he thought you were in your right mind, he would have fucked you on the rooftop or against the first surface he found. You jumped in front of Bane for him. He found it all incredibly hot. “You need a shower anyways.”

It was cold and cruel but better than sleeping with a traumatized woman. You shook and nodded before using his shower. Jason felt twinges of guilt but ignored them. He knew it was better this way.

You came in nothing but his t shirt that hung like a dress. “Nothing else fit,” you said awkwardly. He could see the scars that covered your legs and bruises around your throat.

“We can lay in bed,” Jason said just as awkwardly. He might know what to do with a woman who wants to fuck him but not just one sleeping over. “For sleeping.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t try anything,” you said with a little smile and he smiled back. You both laid in the bed and it wasn’t long until you pressed your back against his chest and pulled his arms around you. He was strong and safe. You managed to sleep all night with the anticipated nightmares. They had time later to come up. When you weren’t cradled in his arms.

The next morning you woke up warm. The rise and fall of his chest was comforting. His hand held your waist loosely and you could seriously just stay in this moment. But as soon as you moved, you almost giggled like a teenager. He was hard and pressed against your ass.

“Ignore that,” he mumbled.

“Okay... how?” You said after a few seconds. “Because it’s pretty unforgettable for the man I like to sleep with to have his hard dick pressed against my ass. Have to say.”

“We only did it once in a rooftop. Was it that unforgettable?” He said and you could hear the smirk he wore.

“It was alright,” you said playfully but you couldn’t help but press back into him. Jason grabbed your hip to stop you.

“Trying to get me horny?”

“I think you already are.”

“That’s true,” he said before grinding against your ass. You pushed back to do your own rubbing. “And you’re not even wearing any panties,” he said bunching up the fabric of his shirt you wore. He slapped your ass soundly and you gasped.

“What was that for?”

“My tie clip. I hope you still have it,” he said before slapping your ass again. You reached behind you to grasp his cock through his sweatpants.

“I’ll get it back to you,” you said. His pants were pushed down. Jason hummed and rubbed his dick between your thighs. You sighed at the sensation and arched your back so he was sliding between your folds instead.

“You’d better,” he growled but it had no true heat. Not when he was so close to finally fucking you and had his lips leaving little marks on your shoulder and neck. You tried to press back onto him but he stopped your hips.

“Do you deserve it,” he asked running a finger along your hip, every once in a while dipping between your thighs to barely touch your clit. You jumped and grabbed at his wrist to hold him there but he just chuckled and moved away from where you needed him. His thrusting between your folds felt amazing but not enough and he was purposefully avoiding sliding in your hole. Jason quite liked the way your body panted and curved in desperation.

Finally feeling that you had been tortured enough, and he wanted in your wet heat, he pressed his hips forward and filled you. You whimpered and leaned your head back against him.

“Yes,” you breathed. Jason took his time slowly thrusting, letting you fill his full length. His free hand moved from pinching your nipple to circling your clit. You were practically clenching him from the start and he loved it. You were so receptive.

It didn’t take long for him to find a pattern that just got you a little more vocal and focused on that. “God, you’re fucking wet,” he breathed in your ear and you whimpered. You seemed to like what he had to say.

“Taking me so well. Acting like such a good girl,” he said and you breathed out a “Hood” in response. Oh yeah, you didn’t even know the name of the man that you let fuck you. You trusted him enough to sleep in his bed and you’d never even seen his eyes.

His finger circling your clit and cock angled to drag along your g spot had you seeing stars as you came around him. Jason grunted and held your hips tight before quickly pulling out to cum on your ass. He looked as the pretty white beads covered your skin. He wasn’t forgetting that image any time soon. He reached for a towel to clean you up.

Afterwards you turned in his arms and kissed him soundly before lying your head on his chest. You reached up to play with his hair with a little smile on your face. Jason could get used to this. As soon as he thought it, he had the urge to jump up and kick you out. He didn’t do permanent. You were just having fun.

“I need a shower,” he said roughly, getting up. Jason couldn’t help but notice the disappointment on your face that you quickly hid.

“I should get going before my walk of shame gets any later,” you said with an awkward laugh.

“Borough anything you need,” he said before disappearing into his bathroom. While in the shower he had time to think. Yeah, I’m totally not broken to be cool with fucking a woman but not being able to hold her. Not a sign of being fucked up at all, Jason thought. Probably got that from Bruce. Though my real dad probably did it too.

He came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and immediately saw a note on the bed.

Had fun, Hood. We should do it again sometimes, (your number)

💕 Kitten

His tie clip was set underneath it. Jason smiled. Okay, this could be fun. He was young and sowing wild oats or whatever, right?

There was no way this could go wrong, right?

[nexuschampion]

@accioturtur

"What the FUCK is happening Mikey?"

"HOW WOULD I KNOW??"

"Apparently you know a LOT of things you haven't told me!"

"I told you I was going to if Leo didn't, but he did!"

"Don't matter shit MIkey you shoulda told me sooner!"

"Are you SERIOUSLY more concerned with that right now?? Look at this fucking thing!"

"Any tricks to put this thing down?"

"It's not like the others Raph, I don't know. I don't know what the hell this is or what it's capable of. We're just going to have to wing it."

"Like old times?"

"Like old times bro. Be careful. I think this thing is churning up some bad vibes. I can feel it. Just remember you're my bro and I love you, ok?"

"Yeah Mikey. Love you too."

Mikey was tempted to say something alluding to the many, many times Raphael had nearly killed him and to maybe put some extra effort to avoid that impulse this time around, but he knew it was too harsh. He would try to put his faith in his brother, however foolishly, and they both proceeded to at least get the thing backed into a place where it couldn't do as much damage.

The next ten minutes were a blur. It was clear usual tactics were not going to work. It was too big and too....smart? No, not smart. More like savage muscle memory. Everything they did was either immediately counteracted or didn't even phase it. It wasn't until Leo and Don emerged from the massive hole in the street that he began to understand why.

Leo landed between himself and Raphael, Mikey glancing with clear concern at Shadow, then back to Leo.

"She's going to try and get through to him. He thinks this thing is dad. And he was ranting about Renoir too, like they were the same thing. I don't know what happened."

"Well, is it?"

Leo looked at Mikey for a moment in confusion. "Is it. . . dad? I don't know Mikey. It might be."

"What's left of him anyway?"

Leo nodded solemnly.

"What's dat mean?" Raphael growled. "Don . . . kept . . . him? There wasn't even anything left.... And what's Renoir got to do with it?"

"It would explain a few things, but we'll have to get answers later. Right now we need to stop this thing. Ideas?"

"Get it to the water. It's too big to fight here."

"How?"

Michelangelo looked around, thinking, until he pointed down the street . "Shortest path of least resistance would be that way. We'd need to clear a way, but so far it seems to be only interested in us and not the random destruction that the others had. If we can keep its focus on us we might be okay."

The other two nodded in agreement just as the grotesque representation of hell itself slammed a deformed arm against several cars, sending them flying the direction where Shadow and Donatello had been. Mikey let out a guttural cry and turned to go to them, but Leo grabbed his arm. "She can take care of herself. Don't count Don out yet either. Let's go get this thing."

He hesitated, eyes focused on the pile of cars. He was torn from the thought as a massive stump of a hand swiped at them. The three jumped to the side, barely missing it. Frozen, Mikey could only stare at it in extreme horror, disgust . . . and fear. He could feel the deep resentment and terror swimming at the edges of his consciousness, the darkness already threatening to slide in, it's tendrils reaching into every part of him. It knew his off switch intimately, and he could sense it putting pressure on it, ready to flip off his ability to even care about any of it.

Leo grabbed his arm again. ""We can do this Mikey. We've got each other's backs right?"

Mikey shifted his wide stare to his brother. "I don't know Leo?!? Do we?? I know you can feel . . . it . . . too. How do I know you won't lose control? Or Raph? You both just want to kill me under the influence of that thing, if that's what this is. Raph just wants to on a regular basis! "

"Don't let it control you. We can do this together. Fight it."

Mikey squeezed his eyes shut. "I know" he whispered, then repeated it more convincingly. "I know."

"We all gotta deal wit it Mikey but we have to. For Don. I for one am pissed and all dat anger is goin' right back into it's ugly face. That thing ain't dad. That thing ruined all our lives."

It had been the one thing that had kept Raphael from going berserk. The promise that dealing with the curse one way or another would bring peace back into their brother's heart, and that they might finally be able to be a real family again. All of them.

Mikey nodded pushing his fear for Shadow and of his brothers to the side. "Let's do this."

The next ten minutes were again, a blur. The close calls as claws and teeth missed them by inches, the stench that filled their nose when they got close, the nauseating waves of blinding fury and pure evil if they were unfortunate enough to touch it, the force of being thrown into buildings if they was a single misstep, all breaking each of them down into exhaustion.

Mikey did his best to keep their surroundings at the front of his mind as the threw everything they had at the thing, slowly leading it on. There weren't many people still outside and those who were seemed to be doing everything they could to not be, so rescues had been relatively few, thanks he assumed, to Shadow. He was relieved when he even saw Leo and Raph grabbing anyone directly in the warpath and getting them to relative safety. He knew Raphael would, but Leo had become so accustomed to murder in cold blood that he wasn't sure he'd bother. They'd made it 3/4 of the way to the docks when Mikey suddenly grabbed Raphael and shoved him desperately to the side.

Raphael, expecting to see an oozing sharp claw just above them was shocked instead to see Mikey grimacing as he grasped at the lower part of his shell, his hand covered in blood. "Mikey...?"

A blade came flying at his head and he barely noticed in time to dodge. Shock hit him as he saw not his older brother, who he knew might slip and try to kill him in a cursed rage, but instead was greeted by the form of his student.

Renoir was standing above them both, laughing manically.

"This truly is a perfect vessel. So strong and thanks to your mutant blood, nearly indestructible. Perfection. How do you like him now, Master" he sneered.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Hi, we have a potential emergency in the area of 37th and 45th. Underground danger threatening to come topside. The turtle Michelangelo is on scene and handling things underground but we need all local units to be on alert and I’m recommending you send at least a few squad cars to this location to help with preliminary evacuation procedures.”

“Oh my god I recognize your voice - you’re the wife lady, right? From the news?”

“Pleased to meet you. 37th and 45th. Evacuation.” Shadow put her hand over the speaker and put one placating hand up towards the maitre de, who had come up and started to ask for details. “One moment. We don’t know enough just yet.”

“Right, sorry. We can send someone over right away.”

“Great. I’m going to get people moving but local authorities are always appreciated. Please alert all units within a 20-block radius to be on alert. It’s on the move.”

“Yes Ma’am. Do you want to stay on the line while we dispatch?”

“No need. I’ve got things to do. Thank you and have a good night.” She hung up the phone and took a deep breath before smiling at the prim man in front of her. “Hi, hello, I recommend not taking any additional patrons and encouraging these fine folks to finish their meals quickly. Everything is underground at the moment but these things usually come above ground quickly. If you see anything, evacuate the premises through whichever door is opposite the danger. No, I don’t care if it’s through the kitchens. You will have a lot less patrons if you send them out a door that puts them directly in danger. Dead customers don’t make good return customers.”

Shadow handed him enough cash to square up their bill and started to head out the door. A nice older couple grabbed her hand as she passed. “Young lady, are we in danger?”

Shadow knelt down by the wrinkled old man sitting with his sweetheart and she squeezed his arm. “Not yet, but you might be soon. Do you need any help getting out of here safely? Do you have family you can call?”

“Oooh,” his voice wavered and he reached for his wife. “Darling, we should call Jason.”

“Yes, please call someone just in case. Finish your meal quickly and get home as fast as you can.” She stood up with one more squeeze to his arm and she grabbed the nearest waitstaff. “Make sure these nice people get out of here with some kind of help.”

She agreed to keep an eye out for them, and Shadow hurried out the door with Mikey’s clothes in her arms. The next call she made was to April to check in, and April confirmed that something strange was going on with Donatello and Renoir specifically, but Raphael was also feeling affected by something curse-related more strongly than usual. Shadow thanked April for the intel and turned her phone ringer up to its highest setting. Then reached into her purse, found the tiny battery-operated bullhorn she’d purchased after the third attack, and started directing foot traffic away from the area.

The first few minutes were always the worst. Nobody liked taking action when they couldn’t see the danger bearing down on them. Especially New Yorkers. But there had been enough attacks, enough people who recognized her voice and face, that there were a few people who immediately turned around and started walking the other way. Most kept going their own way, but at least had the good grace to look around nervously as they did so.

Until the ground rumbled.

Asphalt cracked down the middle of the street.

And then suddenly the lady with the bullhorn was significantly more interesting. And trustworthy.

Shadow pulled out her phone and called the local news station. She didn’t give them more than a minute of her time over the phone. She knew she’d be giving them plenty of airtime shortly. She also knew it was a Catch-22 to give reporters a sniff of something like this; damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. She didn’t want news vans in the area, there had been more than one reporter she’d hauled out of danger’s way over the last year. But news vans meant coverage. And coverage meant people would be informed. As a scientist (and having a moral compass like Mikey in her life) she knew the free sharing of honest information was better than waiting and hiding and keeping secrets until they grew too big to keep anymore.

Which reminded her of another phone call she needed to make. She groaned loudly, looked down at the phone, and grumbled a string of curses under her breath. The feds would find out eventually. Might as well get them information sooner rather than later, right? She definitely still had the… what were they again? Protection something. She still had their number programmed. Just in case. She just hated working with government people so very much. Even in small doses.

The asphalt cracked further, the street bulging and water spraying from cracked pipes as SOMETHING seemed to stretch and pry from below.

Maybe the feds could wait.

She put up the bullhorn and got back to her main task of getting people out of the area. By the time the street finally exploded with activity, most of the pedestrians were out of the way. Shadow had just finished helping get a mother with her two young children down a side street when the ground shook hard enough to make everyone stumble to their knees and the blast sent rubble raining down over several city blocks. She ushered the mother back to her feet and hurried the woman along before turning around and sprinting back to the explosion.

Shadow skidded to a full stop as soon as she made it on scene, her face growing pale and her eyes widening so large it was painful. Or… maybe it was the sight that hurt more than the reaction to it. There sure was a lot of dust in the air. And a giant, grotesque thing that maybe at one time had been a rodent of some kind. But it was all wrong. It moved wrong. It sounded wrong. It was even hard to look at. And at its feet was none other than Donatello.

She should have been relieved. But he looked even more deranged than usual. He was shouting something about his father, though over the ruckus and noise she couldn’t totally make out his words. She didn’t need to, though, after he hugged it’s leg like a toddler and then attacked Leonardo with a savage scream. Shadow sucked in a deep breath and swore under her breath, shoving the bullhorn back in her bag and pulling out a blue gun clip. Well… it was time to see if Donatello’s suggestion had really been as good as he said it was. She didn’t guess the manufacturers had made it rated for turtles, but maybe a few shots would be enough to slow him down for a minute.

“Sorry Donnie.”

She loaded the clip and maneuvered into position behind a wrecked car, keeping out of sight. The Thing, whatever it was, seemed plenty busy with Mikey and Raphael for a minute. But the two of them were toeing the line between keeping it entertained and keeping themselves in one piece. They needed Leo. And Donnie. But at least 3-on-1 would be better than just two. Maybe she could talk some sense into him. Or try. Figure out WHAT was going on.

It took a minute of waiting, shifting positions, waiting, and shifting positions again before she finally had a shot to take. She fired once, then leapt out of her hiding spot and fired again. A tangle of wire exploded from the end of her gun, snapping and wrapping around Donatello as it struck him. More like a free form net than anything, or maybe a spider web made by an arachnid on cocaine, the second shot tangled him further in thin but strong, uncoated wire. Leonardo had jumped away after the first shot, but rushed in as soon as Donatello was detained.

“Leo, what the hell?”

“It’s his curse! I can’t get through to him!” Leo grabbed Donnie’s shoulders and shook him roughly. “Why won’t you let me in!?”

“Fakes! IMPOSTERS! All of you! Why can’t you see that I’m bringing our father back? I’m going to fix everything! You’re just proving that you’re all fakes by attacking your own dad!”

Shadow’s eyebrows raised all the way up to her hairline as she looked at the abomination tearing up the street and trying to evicerate her husband. “Uhhhhh…. Don… if that’s your dad why is he trying to kill you?”

“He is destroying this fake world so he can bring me back to the real world! He told me! He told me he has to destroy all the fakes and imposters or we will never be free!” Donatello thrashed in the wire cabling, his struggles cutting into his skin. Leonardo’s skilled hands quickly grabbed any loose ends and tied them together to keep Donatello contained for a minute more.

“Donatello, this is real! I’m real! You’re real! That is NOT our father!”

“IT IS HIM! I know it’s him! I rebuilt him! I saved him! And now he will save me!” He struggled harder and continued to shout at Leonardo, who continued to shout back. But Shadow could see this wasn’t going anywhere and shook her head, then put her hand on Leonardo’s beak to catch his attention.

“Go. I’ll talk to him. They need help. I’ll see what I can do.”

Leo nodded, eyes sliding back to Donnie with a worried squint. But then he took off running after his other brothers. Shadow knelt by Donatello, who was still screaming. Trying the same thing, she put her hand over his eyes. It took a minute of cussing her out before he finally settled down enough for her to be able to get a word in edgewise.

“Donnie, talk to me. What tells you this world is fake?”

“It has to be.” He heaved and panted, shaking his head to try to dislodge her hand covering his eyes. “It has to be fake. I saw this fake Leonardo murder my father in cold blood and none of my brothers tried to stop him except me! It can’t be real. None of this can be real!”

Shadow sighed and pressed a little harder. “Ok. Ok. Let’s say you’re right. Let’s say it’s all fake. How does that work? Are you in a coma? Is this a dream? If I’m fake, how am I touching you? Do you feel me touching you?”

“I- I obviously feel it. But we’ve been to places that we’re just illusions before. There are whole worlds that are illusory realms.”

“And how does that work? Can you touch things there? Can you feel them? Think, Donnie. I need you to problem solve with me. Let’s test if this world is real. Ok? Scientific evidence. If all evidence points to a conclusion, no matter how improbable, you have to follow the evidence. Evidence is Everything in science. And you are a scientist. Ok. Let’s start with what we know for sure. Your body is real. Right? YOU have to be real. Either this is all in your head or your body is in a fake world. But you can feel, right? You can feel pain? So your whole body has to be present. Right? These are your hands and your arms and your feet?”

Donatello nodded, some of the fight draining from his body. That was good. Shadow glanced over his shoulder at the chaos unfolding behind him and frowned. There wasn’t a lot of time. But maybe if she could do this, maybe there would be more than just The Day they could save today.

“Ok buddy. Let’s start with that.”

[darthwheezely]

i walk the line - f.w. - 1

1950s american carnival! au

Summary: The Weasley Bros. Circus has always been a family affair...until they pick up a highly unusual girl with wicked talents...

Warnings: 1950s America and all the shit that comes with it, NSFW/SMUT MINORS NO INTERACTING :) , alcohol usage, cussing, tw violence (fights), carny folk, contortionist, language and desc of intense circus acts, clowns, sad boy George, GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF BULLYING IN THIS CHAPTER, angst

taglist or people that may like this! DM to be added or removed @cappsikle @lumosandnoxwriting @whizboingies @virgohufflepuff @officialwizardwheezes @amourtentiaa @softlyqoos @breadqueen95 @thehufflepuffwife @george-fabian-weasley @lupinsclassroom @haileymorelikestupid @sarcasticallywitty15 @band--psycho @gcdric @vogueweasley @harrysweasleys @slytherinsunrise @thisismynerdyself @loony-loopy-lupinn @writingsomewrongs @pineapplesandpinas @valwritesx @amxrtentias @theweasleyslut @oh-for-merlins-sake @alyssamalfoy @bisou-doux

“...welcome to our home!”

George listened as the crowd erupted before his father. He had always admired Arthur “Art” Weasley, for many a reason. The way he could walk in and command a room, the way he could silence an entire audience with a simple flick of his wrist of wave of his hand, the way his voice alone could stop his cries in the night, the way he would come up behind him when taking care of the animals was too much and say, “Georgie, go to sleep, son.” but most of all? The way his father noticed him.

Baltimore, Maryland. 1933.

George Weasley was on the run. Again. Charlie Dooley, a boy from his class, and his gang of (as Fred said) “chickenshit babies” had made it a habit of following George home from school and doing one of the following: a) chasing him on bikes, b) cornering him in the bathroom, or c) sprinting after him on foot.

Today, it had been on foot.

“C’mon monkey boy!” Charlie howled, the other boys closing in on him. George sprinted a quick right realizing he dropped his lunch box and thinking a violent but rapid mom’s gonna be so mad, oh no oh no-

George barreled down the street, his house in sight, tears stealing on his cheeks from the sheer speed and necessity to get home. His feet seemed to be operating without him knowing, his body throwing itself backwards and forwards with the blinding need to be home, to hug his dad and say he wasn’t going to school anymore, to ask his mom to stop packing bananas in his lunchbox even though it was his favorite snack because mom don’t you know they call me monkey boy-

“Thought you could really get away from us this time huh, Georgie boy?” Charlie had pinned him to the concrete, George’s heart screaming in his ears. He could barely register that his lip was bleeding, and that maybe if he focused on the sky, his eleven year old shrimp of a body wouldn’t feel-

Pow.

Isn’t that what superheroes say? Pow? Let’s think about superheroes, Georgie, Charlie doesn’t last long with punches anyway just keep lookin’ at the sky, he thought wildly before-

Pow.

Pow.

He vaguely felt his eyes roll back into his head, but he made a very clear rule to himself that he wouldn’t cry, Fred wouldn’t want him to cry, not that Fred was mean, Fred just hates seeing him cry-

Pow.

P-

And suddenly there was something off his body. He could hear punching noises but they were not aimed at George, but rather someone else. When he was able to open his eyes he saw his brother, Fred, landing blow after blow to Charlie Dooley, Charlie mewling under Fred.

“Touch my brother again, and I promise I won’t just break your nose next time, yeah?”

-

Art Weasley sat with his son George in the red chair in his caravan. It was George’s favorite chair, as he learned the word “red” from that chair and then equated “red” to his own hair.

Arthur had known his son would have it harder. It wasn’t his fault the boy was different, he loved him just the same for it if not slightly more so for the way he was a bit quieter, the way he listened and thought and thought and then wanted to make choices. The way he asked his mom if he could pack Fred’s lunches for school because only George knew Fred hated crunchy peanut butter sandwiches with white bread.

But more so for the way George wasn’t afraid to show love. To cry. To feel things Art sometimes couldn’t articulate.

George was curled into his father, tears staining his button up shirt and his body shuddering with every anxiety laden breath. Art put a hand on his son’s back and put his lips to his hair.

“George, you have to breathe for me or you’re gonna get sick.” He rubbed his son’s back soothingly.

“I’m sorry, dad, I promised I did what you said and tried to protect myself and when I couldn’t do anything else I just didn’t look at h-him I p-promise, dad p-please don’t be mad at me...” he took another shudder and released a cry into his father’s shoulder. Art was not a helpless man, but there was something that destroyed and cracked his very soul at the sight of his most vulnerable child, the most angelic of his seven children. The one that everyone protected. And at times like these, sometimes all a father can do is hold his child. So that’s what he did.

“I know, son...I know...”

-

“George?”

George jumped out of his thoughts, his palms sweaty from the inevitable stage fright that always accompanied him before a show. It was no matter how many times he grazed the trapeze with his sister Gin and his brother Ron, the nerves were always the same.

At least this time, no pows would be administered from anyone besides himself.

He heard his name again, the daze breaking as he looked at his oldest brother Bill.

“George. You’ll be fine. You always are, baby brother.” He said softly, placing his hands back on, Cora (short for Corazon) the lion. George gulped and nodded, and Fred patted his back, giving a hearty wink. George smiled a small smile, clapping Fred’s forearm.

“Ready, Fred?”

Fred grinned.

“Ready, George.”

-

George belonged to the trapeze. The way his body seemed to elongate with grace and dexterity when he grabbed his sister, the way he gave flirty winks at the girls in the crowd, the way he never dropped a muscle unplaced-

The way their father always noticed.

Fred saw these things in his younger brother and couldn’t help the fit of jealousy in his stomach. Don’t get your tightrope in a twist, he was possibly the most proud of his brother, and his hand to God if he didn’t say he hooted his name the loudest watching him do his thing.

But he never felt like he could ever match that.

He knew his hands were meant for something greater, same as his mind. Juggling came almost as easy to the older twin as breathing, smoking cigarettes, witty banter, and sex (in no particular order). But George had something Fred didn’t have.

Approval.

Fred was, for all intents and purposes, a good person. A great person. But his habits could’ve said so much otherwise.

Fred had a nasty habit of letting his temper get the best of him. Ever since he could talk, he had taken on the role of protector to not only George, but to Ginny and Ron as well. Frequently, his hands always seemed to have more things to say than he could which says a massive fucking lot. At the ripe age of 20, he’d gotten into more bar fights and straight up blacked out sober more than his own father, and all of his other siblings. He’d been in and out of detention when he did go to school, and in and out of-

Well, you get it.

The one thing that always seemed to follow him? His charm.

Fred Weasley was a charismatic motherfucker.

And he knew it.

It was simple. All he had to do in between acts was make a couple jokes, a few magic tricks, and by the end of his little charade? He’d have at least 3 girls lined up for that night. And if he was in a particularly bad mood?

Well, it could get a little more than that.

On nights like this, he was fine with just two.

I mean...Fred knew what he was doing.

And on a night like this - he was damn proud of it.

Until he saw you...

Last night.

Fred’s dessert was named Candy. He honestly couldn’t remember what her actual name was, but he did remember she said:

“Call me Candy. I taste like it, too.”

And honestly? That was really all he needed.

It didn’t take him long to press her small body against his caravan. She wound her arms around his neck and fisted into his flame colored hair and yanked, his hips rolling as he moaned into her lipstick stained mouth.

Fred always did have a thing for gals in red.

Fred realized his pants had begun to be a tad too tight, as Candy’s tongue licked into his mouth. his hands found their way under her dress, fingers kneading at her thighs and she squeaked. He lifted her legs at her noise and he wrapped them around his body, his bulge pressing into where she needed him the most.

“Fred, please” she whined, his mouth attaching to the valley of her breasts, the exposed skin of her dress warm and inviting.

“Please what, doll?” He teased roughly, his free hand sliding to cup her ass and squeezing. She gasped at his rough touch and he bit her collarbone.

“Fred, please, fuck me” she said airily. He smirked before pressing a quick kiss to her mouth.

“Absolutely, baby, see how easy that was?” He licked her bottom lip and bit, before pressing his forehead to hers, the sheer strength of his body pressing her against the van enough to use his hands to pull her panties down enough for her to kick them away. She reached down to unzip his pants when he motioned for her to do so, his hard cock free of his boxers.

“You ready, pretty girl?” He growled against her earlobe. Candy whispered a breathy “please” and Fred slid into her cunt, her wetness echoing sinful noises at the contact. They groaned at connection, and Fred continued to go deeper into her until he bottomed out. He looked at her for confirmation to keep going and she nodded. He pulled out and slammed back into her, beginning to set a rough pace against the van.

“Freddie, fuckfuckfuck you feel s-so good” she sputtered, Candy’s back hitting and arching against the van, causing it to move slightly against her. Fred nipped and sucked at her neck, determined to always leave a map of where he left his treasure behind...

“Look at you, unraveling like a ball of twine. Never had cock this good, doll?” He reached a particularly good angle in her causing her to claw deeper at his back, biting in a scream.

“Thereeee it is, baby. You like that don’t you, c’mon be a good little cock slut and tell me what you want, want everyone in this whole fucking camp to know I’m fucking you so good.” His hand went to her clit, circling it harshly. He wanted her to finish, his dick was twitching all to hard in her and he needed her to release before it was his turn. Her moans and gasps and mini clawings were getting sloppier, losing their tempo.

“Fred-Fred-“

“Yeah, baby, I’ve got you” he groaned against her mouth at her clenching pussy. She gave a final sputter and screamed into his shoulder, a hot electric wave coursing over his cock, with one, two, three harder pumps, he released into her as well. He leaned his forehead against hers and kissed it lightly. But when he looked back at her face, she was already losing interest. Just like the others. But it didn’t bother him...at least not anymore, right?

Just another night.

-

Memories of Candy and Janie and Jessica and Portia and all the other girls seemed to wash away at the sight of you waiting after the show. Your eyes were full of life but somehow had something tired behind them. The way your hair wasn’t perfectly coiffed but still looked like you had tried to, the way your dress was crinkled at the bottom like you didn’t give a shit if it was crumpled in the bottom of your dresser.

And then you looked at him.

Fred Weasley could have sworn time stopped at the way you walked across the hay to him, your body positioned in a way that would’ve given him every reason to hold you. he realized his face began to flush at the sight of you getting closer.

That, he thought, was an alien feeling.

“Hi.” You said warmly to him.

“You’re Fred, right? I loved your act.”

He blinked twice and then returned your smile.

“Yeah. Thank you so much, I...I really try, I am so sorry but what is your name?” His eyes scanned your face. You stuck your tongue in your cheek and returned the search on his face.

“Y/N. Y/L/N. I’m looking for a job.”

[han-shinsuke]

🔞🔞 TOJI FUSHIGURO

To the man I love,

Can I really make you fall in love with me? The answer is no. I could never replaced her. She was your beginning and she would be the end. I did tried my luck in hope of reviving your heart. You said it died with her and you weren’t capable of loving anyone aside from her. That’s where you were wrong about yourself. You may not have realised it, but you just did and you continue pouring everything you can give; to me, to Megumi, and to those who deserves it. You are not what you think you are. I see no evil in you. I see light and hope in your existence. Forgive me, for I am not enough to make you feel what it was like to love again.

May you find the right one for you, Toji. May you find peace in the love you are looking for.

//////

“You dated someone before?” Must I relive the time where I was the most happy? That’s what people do when they long for someone or feeling they had once experienced.

There was a chapter in my life I can never forget. It was the time of stupidity, bravery, and letting go, “I only dated one man in my life.” He has this kind of beauty that any woman my age that time would find hard to resist. “I seduced him to screw me. He is a man and a man has needs.” It was a good fuck indeed. “I had taken him by force. We were married. He could not say no. I was a minor.”

Jesse was in awe. Her mind probably couldn’t process all the shits I have been telling her. “When was that?” Only few of my closest friends knows about these. “During my college days.” A hearty laugh follows.

Again, it was the time of stupidity and bravery and shits. “I told my Dad to drop all the charges against him. He deserves peace and time alone. Of course, with his son and deceased first wife.” It has been five years. I hope he is in perfect shape and stabilized condition. He must be. I am out of his life.

“What would you feel if you meet him again? You left him after a night of rough fuck and a letter.”

Meet him? Again? Who would want to meet the nightmare they wish to disappear? I am a nightmare disguised as a woman. I shall perish.

“I’d be glad.” But he wouldn’t. He will be reminded of the times he had spent with me. “You know what? No one in their right mind would dare cross path with me again.” I may not be able to hold back and cage him in my arms and be the old freak I used to be.

Wherever you are right now, Toji, please, do not show up. I’m tired of being selfish and manipulative and loser when it comes to loving you.

I can’t make you mine.

You were never made for me.

“I will see you tomorrow.” I have started a new life in Kelowna. Alone. I made friends with some locals and luckily, landed a good job in here that pays well. Dad offered me a position in the company but I refused.

My house is not that far from where I work so I always walk home at night; to enjoy the darkness, to feel the coldness of the night and to be at peace under the watch of stars from above.

The keys jingles in my hand as I open the door and closed it again. I head straight to the kitchen without turning the lights on. I grew familiar with every corners so there’s no need to. The light coming from the open refrigerator flooded the kitchen and when I turn to get a glass on the kitchen counter, there is a man sitting there, wearing a plain white shirt and a pajama.

I scream so loud that it destroys the silence of the night and the neighborhood I am living at.

“Fuck!” Toji jumps on me. Two large hands covering my mouth. “It’s me! It’s me!” He points the scar on his face.

If he show up, I will not hold back.

I pounce on him fast. Knocking him down against the counter and in just a heartbeat, my lips are connected to his, kissing him with so much hunger that only him could satiate. I pull onto his shirt and drag him closer when he returns the kiss boldly. Without hesitation, Toji scoops my weight and put it on him as he walks to the couch near the fireplace. My back landed on the soft cushioned seat and my determination to keep him close and lock up between my arms increased. I won’t hold back. I won’t. Toji removed his shirt and the massive built displayed in front makes my throat run dry. I run my fingers from his scar, down to his neck, to his hard chest and to the trenches on his lower abdomen. I had these once. I got to taste the heaven that this body offered.

“Just say ‘no’ and I will stop.” My fingers slips into his pajama, playing with its band. Toji feels no love towards me. What he feels whenever I am this near and close and intimate is just pure heat and thirst. So when he said, “don’t stop.” I switch position with him. I expected it. He’s hard and his eyes don’t lie. I hurriedly discharged of my clothes and top him.

“I will ride you now daddy~” He just nodded. I pull his pajama down to his thighs and just like before, I acted as the thirsty harlot that I am. I am just a harlot, right, Toji? After this, I will drive you away.

He has gotten bigger and longer. I am familiar with his thing. I could tell if there has changes on it. And there was. It does not fit. It feels bigger. Toji seems to notice my struggles in putting him in. He spat on his palm and rub the essence around his length.

“I apologize for the discomfort.” He says, guiding my hips down to his saliva-coated manhood. Our ’thing’ slips into each other smoothly and its presence inside me made me remember the night we had in Mt. Romelo. Toji locks his gaze with me. There’s lust in it and there’s an unknown inhabitant in it fighting against the heat. I cannot withstand it. With my eyes closed and shedding in tears, I capture his lips using mine. Kissing him again hungrily. The rough movements of my lips causes his mouth to part ways and voluntarily lay a path for my tongue.

“Shit baby~ your kiss alone can make me cum~” Toji cried in satisfaction when I bit his bottom lip and tugged on it until he let out a long moan.

“Squeeze my ass daddy~ squeeze me hard~” I guide his experienced hands below and did what I told him to do. Toji squeezed me there hard and even spanked it until it sting. “Great daddy~ do it again please~” My tongue rest flat on his lips and I lick him and kiss him torridly before it goes down his chin which I rewarded with soft kisses and bites before attending his weakness. His neck.

“Fuck...” another long wail from him after I bit him there and suck the skin that has my teeth marks. “Ride me baby~ daddy’s hard for you~” he didn’t have to tell me. I will anyway. I’m just preparing him. Toji likes it when I’m on top and moving.

I continue the hard kiss and lick on his neck while I started pumping my cunt against his leaking cxck. It was slow at first, grinding gently, letting our muscles to adjust to the absence of intimate contact for years. “You want me to go fast daddy?” I know you do, Toji. The way your chest moves up and down and the choke-like-breath you are releasing, confirms it. “You taste so fucking good daddy~ cum inside me daddy~ you’ll love it.” I run my tongue in circular motion from his neck down to his nipplesx and then give what his body was asking for. I fuck my cunt deep and fast against his erection and Toji tightens his grip on my waist as he helps me move easily.

“Shit. Shit.” I love how he put stress to each word. Toji looks beautiful and helpless underneath me. He just makes me wanna ride him more. I push him flat on his back. I even pin his muscular arms above his head and kiss him torridly while riding him. “More baby~ ride daddy’s dickx like that aah yes~”

“Cum daddy~ cum~ flood my hole with your seeds ooohh fuck~” Toji managed to turn the situation in just a click of his tongue against my jaw. He have my hands behind my waist as he cocks his hips upwards, hitting my core in full strength while his lips moves on my neck and anywhere it reaches.

“I’m gonna cum baby~ stretch your pussyxx for daddy yeah? Almost there baby~ Fuck~”

“Ooohhh daddyy~ give it to me fuck~”

A harlot. That’s just what I am. I drown my thoughts with his kiss and flood my mind with his warm loads gushing into me.

I need to drain him so I could leave without him noticing it.

“Another round daddy?” I pulled him out. “I want to ride your face, too.” I will not let him protest. I kneel and sit on his face.

//////

“I booked you a cab. Get your things, Toji.” My plan failed. He didn’t pass out. It was me who got knocked down pretty bad. He fucked me in every positions and he only stopped when I begged him.

Toji cornered me against the window seat and smiled maniacally, “your plan won’t work on me twice baby~” I growled at him when he cupped my breast and taste its bud. I’m just wearing a bathrobe so access is easy. “Let’s give Megumi a little brother, yeah?” He cups another and nibble it. My hands move on instinct. I grab on his hair and press his face harder on my exposed chest.

“Aahh gosh, Toji!’ His tongue is swirling and flicking against my nipplesx. I can’t suppress my moans! “Aahh! St—stop seducing me aahhh!” Now, his fingers finds its way on my folds and immediately proceeds scissoring my hole.

“Oh!” Toji suddenly stops. I pant in anticipation and desire. I want his mouth and fingers back! “I need to return something from you.” I kick my feet when he leaves to get the thing he mentioned from the suitcase.

“What?” I asked. Annoyed. Lips pouted.

Toji pulled me up and was laughing when he pushed me down on the bed. He held my hand and to my surprise, a ring—our wedding ring, was put back in my finger.

I wasn’t sure how or when did I start sobbing when Toji leaned down and claimed my lips then whispered,

“Stay with me and let me love you.”