#like I have enough money to select a seat

[fly-the-pattern]

[asteroshearts]

Date Night

Itadori tags along for one of your date nights and wonders how you have a completely different Nanami Kento than the rest of the world.

Nanami x Reader

Tags: she/her pronouns, public nudity?, third wheel itadori

"Good evening, we apologize for the wait. Thank you for calling Gyomei's Ginza branch. How may I help you today?"

"Hello." You could never get sick of his voice. "I have a reservation for Nanami at 19:00. I know it's last minute, but can we add another person?"

"That can be done: we can add another chair to the table you selected," the hostess responded. Grinning wildly, you turned in the passenger seat and met your fist with Itadori's. "Do you have any special requests for this party member?"

"Don't include the drink course for him," your husband stated. Broken beams of white light from the street lamps came and went across his glasses as he drove by. "He's a child."

"Of course, will this extra person need a high chair?"

A gasp rang in the car.

"That won't be necessary." Quickly shutting off the call, Nanami huffed as you burst out into giggles at Itadori's sputtering.

"Aw, he's our son, Kennie."

"Nanamin!" his pink-haired student cried from the back seat. "Why did you say that?! Now they're going to think I'm seven or something!"

"You are a child." The man didn't even bother to glance at the rearview mirror.

"Maybe we should've gone with the long con," you teased. "Do you think they would've given us a discount if we said that Yuji-kun was twelve? That could save us a bit of money at a place like this!"

"Do you think I'm broke?" Nanami scoffed before pressing down on the accelerator, taking off in Tokyo.

Itadori hadn't initially planned to crash your date night.

Although they had finished the assignment efficiently, Nanami noticed something was up with the teen despite how quickly they exorcised the curse. From the boy's slouched posture and tucked shoulders, Nanami easily got the boy to confess what was on his mind.

"Oh…it's my grandpa's birthday today…" Eyes facing the ground, his voice suddenly grew quieter. "It's the first time I've ever had it without him."

It would've been so simple to say his monotone condolences, take a step away, and move on with his day. However, one call to you later, you had no problem with inviting Itadori along your night with your husband. In fact, you were even more certain you had married the right man when he asked permission to bring his student and help take Itadori's mind off his late grandfather's birthday.

But, Itadori didn't want to third-wheel at his pseudo-teacher's date, wouldn't that be kinda weird?

Nanamin seemed just, so – well – cold. Don't get him wrong, he enjoyed the man as a mentor, but to tag along for a date? He wasn't sure how the blond managed to score a pretty girl like you as his wife, but he didn't want to spend a night with you while Nanami silently ate at his side.

However, when he brought it up to the group chat that Nanami might be paying for his meal at this place called "Gyomei", Nobara yelled at him loud enough that he could hear it through text. A Michelin-starred and free meal was something a teen boy like him couldn't pass up.

"Um!" Itadori called out to you after Nanami had parked in the underground garage of the high-rise you were going to. "Thank you again for inviting me!" Pink coloring his cheeks, you had mentioned earlier when Nanami picked you up that if they didn't allow reservation modifications, you would just let the deposit go and find another spot to have date night at. Not only were they in the most expensive area of Tokyo, but he knew from Gojo's blabbing that Nanami's coveted date nights were never a spontaneous event. They were planned weeks, even months in advance, to get you to the best venues, restaurants, and events. To think that you had just easily let him drag along…touched him more than you realized.

You chuckled at his attempt to bow in the backseat, folding your legs so you could turn in your seat. "It's no problem at all! It's always so fun to talk with you, Yuji-kun! Good thing they let us add another chair though, I've been wanting to try this place forever."

Although, he wondered why you weren't making an effort to get out of the car. Nanamin had parked a while ago, and you still haven't opened your door. Were you waiting for him to pay for your parking spot?

"Yeah! Gojo-sensei tells me these places usually don't allow modifications for reservations."

"Oh. That." Your shoulders fell before a large smile broke out on your face, laughing at your own joke. "Let me tell you a little secret, Yuji-kun." Leaning in closer and lowering your voice, you confessed, "We lie to Gojo."

Huh?

"He wants to crash our date nights all the time, but Ken would rather eat rocks than invite him," you said with a laugh. "So we lie and tell him it can't be done."

Door opening on your side, you perked up as light flooded your car and you turned you head up to gaze at your husband holding the door.

"What are you laughing about?" your grumpy husband asked. Although his voice was dull and drab, Itadori wondered how you managed to brighten up so much just at the mere sight of the blond man. He was even more confused at how you only stepped out of the car after Nanami had opened it, so much more different than the blond he knew who was strict and hated doing anything beyond the required effort.

To the Nanami who told everyone to drag their own baggage, this seemed like night and day, yet here you were, not even lifting a finger.

Where was the real Nanamin?

"Not at you," you reassured, slipping out as Nanami stepped back slightly. "At Gojo."

Face souring as if he had eaten a lemon, he quickly told you that he didn't even want to think of the white-haired man tonight, not when it was your night. "If you wanted to laugh at clowns, I should've taken you to the circus instead."

Holding on to his arm, you looked up at your husband. "Well then, good thing we have Yuji-kun with us, right? At least someone will laugh at my jokes today."

Exhaling tiredly, Nanami pushed up his glasses to hide the small quirk of his lips.

"Itadori-kun, what are you waiting for? Get out of the car."

Eyes widening, he jolted in his spot, clumsily opening the door and trying not the hit the car next to you. "R-Right!"

"Aww, maybe you should be the gentleman and open the door for him."

Rolling his eyes beneath his round glasses, he placed his hand over your hold on his bicep. "Do you think I open the door for everyone?"

In the background, Itadori watched as you were eye-to-eye with your husband.

Oh, he realized. It's still Nanamin. It was just that you got special treatment.

"You were a sorcerer too?!" Yuji shouted in the restaurant, far too loud for your comfort.

"Itadori-kun!" Nanami snapped from beside you, wine glass held up to his lips. Gasping at his mistake, he quickly scanned the restaurant, eyes skimming across lavish tables draped with silky white cloth, dainty lighting up above, and flower bouquets scattered across the room, but thankfully no wandering or surprised eyes from other patrons that were caught up in what he had yelled out.

"Sorry…" he said, dropping his eyes to look at the first few courses in front of him. Sighing, now Nanami was even more glad that he selected the most secluded table in the restaurant, far away from the other booked tables where everyone got an obstructed view of you three, but where he could see everything in the room.

You waved off your husband's irritation and squeezed his hand underneath the table. You waited until his knitted eyebrows relaxed a bit before you even thought of looking away.

"That's alright, Yuji-kun." You had met him before this, but you were sure that you had given off the impression of someone who was pampered and privileged as you opened up the door for Nanami and Itadori that one day in nothing but a simple chemise (that Nanami covered up before the teen's eyes) and your face mask on with your hair up. Certainly not battle-ready. Not to mention, you had introduced yourself as another office worker, leading Itadori to believe that was where you two met.

"You didn't know," you said understandingly before your eyes softened. "That's actually how Ken and I met — Oh, he was so different back then. He actually gave me a whole box of poetry inspired by our favorite emo bands back in — "

"Darling," he said sharply, rather than affectionately.

Laughing off the intense aura Nanami was giving off, you continued. "You know, I come from a pretty old sorcerer family. We were a big deal back in the Meiji period, but we all died off since then." With a shrug, you added, "My mom never wanted me to be a sorcerer anyway, so I guess it all worked out that I ended up quitting after graduation."

"Huh?" Itadori tilted his head in confusion. "If your mom didn't let you, how were you able to join Jujutsu Tech?" With those old coots around every corner, it was harder to get into JJ Tech than leave.

Barking out a laugh, you grinned at the pink-haired teen. "Cause I thought I was sooo edgy back then. I thought I was being so cool." Then, suddenly — you grew pacified as the onslaught of memories hit you. When you spoke up next, your voice was a lot quieter. "I was obsessed with being different and finding myself, I thought…" When your memories conjured up a certain brown-haired boy you had lost once upon a time, you faltered. "At graduation, I realized I ended up losing a lot more than I had discovered."

A large hand landed on your thigh, and you were only called back to earth after Nanami had given your leg a quick squeeze. Nothing suggestive or intense, but as you focused on the warmth of his palm and the feather-like touch of his fingers brushing across your skin, you focused again on the present.

"I was just lucky and landed myself a good job. My brother-in-law was one of the co-founders of a well-to-do startup, and they got me a cushy position, so I'm more than happy with what I have now." Placing one of your hands on top of Nanami's you made sure to point those last words at him, just to assure him. Righting yourself up to push these memories behind you, "And besides, I'm sure Ken has the short end of the — "

Slam!

When you blinked the splatters from your eyes, you realized what had happened around you. A tripped-over waitress was hands and knees on the ground, three dishes of your lamb roast had scattered across the polished wooden floors amongst shattered plates, and furthermore, your pristine button-up shirt was warm and drenched in dark red wine sauce.

"Shit," you muttered into the quiet air, and that was all you needed for chaos to descend from every corner. Itadori was yelling something in your ear, your husband was quickly trying to pat your shirt dry, the tearful waitress was extremely apologetic on her knees, and all while the owner of the establishment came rushing forward to see what the commotion was all about.

"What is the meaning of this!" the man roared, red in the face before whirling in on the girl. "Hima — !"

"M-Ma'am, I-I'm extremely sorry," she said with her head bowed while she was still on the ground. "I hope that you can please forgive me — "

"Hey," you said easily. The last thing you wanted was for a young girl to cry. "It's alright," you tried to speak up against the overlapping voices.

"Please forgive us," the owner said, head bowed as well while he gave her a nasty glare from the side. "She's new here. I assure you that this behavior is unacceptable here, and I'll be sure to — "

"Hey," you sternly spoke through. "It's fine. Really. Everyone makes mistakes," you said gently, keeping your eye carefully on the young girl. "And it's just a shirt. This will come off." Tilting your head up toward the blond man who was worriedly hovering around you. This was something that he gifted you. "This stain will come off, right?"

Giving you a quick nod, Nanami carefully pulled out the strands of hair attached to the side of your neck from the spill. "If it doesn't, I'll buy you a new one," he said immediately.

Quirking up your lip at him, you said, "That's unnecessary. Like I said, it's just a shirt." Catching the girl's eye contact, you said calmly, "Everything's fine. Please go patch your knee up." You excused her.

The boss seemingly wanted to argue, opening his mouth to argue as the girl thankfully nodded, hidden behind a curtain of her hair before she rushed away, but the sight of your husband's dark stare from over your shoulder, as he stood large, muscled, and broad, shut him up.

"Where's your bathroom?" you asked. Your shirt was becoming transparent and sticking uncomfortably.

The owner looked extremely apologetic again. "It's currently closed for cleaning, but I'll let my employees know — no more than five minutes — !"

"That's alright," you repeated shortly.

"Go get my wife a laundry bag and a towel." The owner certainly wasn't going to argue when your husband stood like a pillar behind you. Holding his clean hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, he breathed carefully. "As fast as possible."

"R-Right away." With a bow, the owner made another uneasy promise of covering your dry cleaning, restaurant bill, and that he would send someone to clean this up immediately.

"Kennie," you called. As the spill cooled, the sauce stuck to your skin and was starting to become oily and coagulated, overall unpleasant the longer it lingered. Cringing, you said, "I don't want to wear this shirt any longer, can you help me?"

No further words were needed. With a quick flash of movement, almost as fast as how he took down curses with his ratio, Itadori watched as the older man pulled his blazer off his body and stood to hold it up around you like a curtain.

The man's large arms were nearly encircling you, muscles flexing as he tilted his body and blazer to give you all the privacy you needed to change. Facing the ceiling-to-floor windows that gave you the grand view of the Tokyo skyline, you began unbuttoning your shirt.

Although Itadori caught a peek of the top of your lacy black bra, he quickly averted his eyes with pink cheeks, both out of shame, and with how Nanami's gaze could've set him on fire.

"You can put your shirt here," Nanami gestured, nodding toward the back of his chair. Nodding, you quickly dropped your wet shirt out of your hands, allowing Itadori to see the LEMAIRE tag poking out from the folds.

You patted yourself clean with the cloth napkins you had around the table, and you thanked Itadori as he handed you his. Once you cleaned off as much of the spill as possible, your bare shoulders finally met with the sleek silk lining of your husband's jacket. As you slipped your arms around the oversized jacket sleeves, Nanami finished helping you button up his jacket.

Taking a knee, the blond man cleaned up your chair before he let you sit down. The blazer was comically oversized on you, giving you broad shoulders from the sturdy padding, and the lapels gave you a low cut where your bra could still be seen, but it was better than nothing.

The blond man let out a deep sigh. If he wasn't in public, no — if you two were the only people at the table, he wouldn't waste any time to tuck his face in your shoulder or rest his head on your lap even.

"Darling," Nanami started, and immediately Itadori was shocked at how the stern and reserved Nanami seemed so soft. "This date's been a mess, I'm sorry — " Weak even, against your presence.

"Why are you apologizing?" you said with a chuckle. "The date has barely even started yet! And now we get free food!"

Giving you a frown he added, "What's the point if you had to be embarrassed like this?" Beautiful brown eyes peered up at you, and you swore you could never get sick of the sight, not even to this day.

"Embarrassed? I've done a lot more humiliating things as a high schooler — willingly too." With a grin, you reached over to pinch his high cheekbone. "And I love wearing your clothes anyway."

"I — "

"Nothing a shower won't fix," you interrupted him by grabbing his face and leaning over to give him an Inuit kiss. "And what's the matter with one 'ruined' date?" Holding up your hand, you showed off your grand wedding and engagement ring. "You locked me down anyway," you said cheekily. "I'm not going anywhere."

Yet the blond man looked regretful anyway. Ashamed that he made your night anything less than wonderful.

You wondered where it all came from, this insane pressure to give you what he deemed as a perfect life — the perfect adulthood, rather. Perhaps it was from how you constantly repeated how much you valued and appreciated him when he was being bogged down by competitive coworkers who walked all over him.

Or perhaps it was from the look on your face as you sat next to Haibara's body in the morgue, as the light slowly dimmed from your eyes.

Heart swelling with true love, you couldn't resist pulling the man forward for a real kiss. One deep and hearty, skin against skin, until space had never existed, and you could get your atoms to touch.

"Um..." Itadori squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.

Did you forget he was here?

[aylacavebear]

Take Me Home Tonight

You kept to yourself; you had to, given what you were. It wasn’t that being a hunter meant you had to isolate yourself. It was that being a Touched, you had to keep yourself safe. There was a lot of lore about those who were “touched by the Gods,” and most of it wasn’t flattering. You’d been lucky, though, as you looked completely human. One problem: you were a lot like a cat, in too many ways, including purring. The other problem was that your blood somehow healed you.

Dean x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 10,730

Warnings: SMUT! MDNI, Angst, some Fluff, Plot - if you squint.

AN: So, this was only supposed to be a one-shot, but it will have a part 2. As soon as I have it finished, I'll post it for everyone. This is to celebrate having 300 followers. All of you are amazing. Thank you for loving my writings as much as I do. I don't write smut often, so please be gentle. I do love feedback, though. :) <3 Enjoy. This is based on the song - Take Me Home Tonight by Eddie Money.

----------------------------------------- The bar was dimly lit as you sat near the back, sipping your fifth whiskey. The hunt had been successful, but you hadn’t been able to save the young woman before the vampire had given you that evil smile and drained her before you could move. So, here you were, drinking away your guilt at not anticipating the vampire’s move.

After waiving down the waitress for a refill, you sighed and leaned back in your seat, having tuned out the sounds of the bar. The hunt had been playing on repeat in your thoughts since decapitating the vampire, trying to figure out if you could have changed anything to save her. You were always hard on yourself when you couldn’t save someone. 

You didn’t hear the bell over the door, or notice the two men who walked in and sat at the bar. No. Your focus was somewhere else entirely. You leaned forward, resting your arms on the table, one hand around your glass, your gaze at the amber liquid inside.

“I hate vampires,” you whispered to yourself.

I should head back to Bobby’s.

You knew you needed some downtime, having been on the road for months, even with staying in motels along the way. A classic rock song pulled you from your thoughts, hearing the familiar tune now playing in the background. You noticed that there were a few more customers in the bar as you tapped your foot to the familiar beat.

Typically, you would stay in your head after the hunt you’d had, but with the alcohol coursing through your system, you wanted to unwind. You downed the last of your drink before heading over to the jukebox. The whiskey didn’t even burn anymore, but you loved the flavor. Humming to yourself, you looked over the songs available. Take Me Home Tonight it is.

A relaxed smile found your lips as you slipped the quarters in the slots and made your selection. You didn’t really pay attention to the other customers. The song wasn’t really for them. It was for you, and anyone bold enough to approach you. You were a loner, being what you were. But sometimes, you needed the comfort of someone’s arms, even if it was only for one night.

You turned so you were partially leaning against the jukebox, swaying lightly to the music as the song played. With your eyes closed, enjoying how the rhythm felt through your body, you quietly sang along with the words. 

His eyes had been on you only moments after he and his brother had entered the bar. Something about you pulled at him in a way he’d never felt with another woman. It was so bad that Sam had to order their drinks before smacking Dean on the shoulder.

“Dude. What the hell?” Sam asked, his brows furrowed in confusion and mild frustration, wondering what the hell had completely distracted him.

Dean took a deep breath, barely unable to look away from you. “Sorry, distracted.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Sam chuckled, taking a sip of the beer the bartender had just set down. “So, what’s captivated your attention so intently that I had to order our drinks?” 

Dean wasn’t the type to get swept away by a woman’s appearance. He was the confident one, suave, and all the charm in the world. But something about you, beyond your looks, had his complete attention. “Chick over at the jukebox,” Dean finally answered his brother, motioning with a nod in your direction.

Sam’s gaze went to where Dean had motioned, taking note of the woman swaying to the music: you. Your long hair was down, some over your shoulders, framing your face beautifully. The way your lips occasionally mouthed a few words of the song as it played. Sam shook his head, finding his brother’s appetite for women utterly amusing. He definitely knew how to pick them.

Before Sam could say anything, though, Dean had downed his whiskey and was walking toward you. Sam chuckled and shook his head again, picking up his beer to watch how things unfolded. Dean was typically the confident one, all charm and a cocky attitude to boot. Most women practically fell at his feet if he smirked just right. Something about you just felt different, and he hadn’t even spoken to you yet.

You smelled his scent before he even got close. The whiskey he’d just drank, the leather of a jacket he probably wore often, a hint of mint that made you wonder if it was toothpaste or gum, and a musk that was all him, intoxicating. Quietly singing along with the song, you opened your eyes, wanting to locate the source of that delectable scent. 

Now, you were used to men being interested in you; their looks ranged across the board, but never in your life had a man who looked like some Greek God ever noticed you. His green eyes were piercing as they blatantly roamed over your body as it swayed to the rhythm of the song you’d put on. The closer he got, the heavier your breathing became. “So, was that an invitation, or do you just like this song?” he asked, his voice like a seductive melody to your ears.

But your confidence didn’t waiver, a smirk playing at your lips. “Both,” you replied, leaning against the jukebox, looking up at the handsome stranger now standing less than a foot from you. You rested your hands on the jukebox, mainly to help keep them to yourself, itching to trace every inch of this man before you.

Dean licked his lips, sucking his bottom one between his teeth as his eyes roamed over your body, taking note of every curve before his eyes met yours again. You were gorgeous. But there was a mystery to you, a look in your eyes that had him wanting more than just to get his hands on you.

“Well, Sweetheart. We can have a few drinks or just get out of here. Up to you,” The words rolled off his tongue like silk, smooth and deep, shooting warmth directly to your core. 

You tilted your head a bit, looking up at him; that smirk that had been playing at your lips had finally claimed them. I must have done something right in a prior lifetime. The thought almost made you chuckle. You tried to keep your eyes on his, beautiful emerald-green orbs that were devouring you where you stood, but when he licked his lips again, the movement pulled your attention. The moment your lips parted, letting out a breath, Dean made his move. He’d been reading people most of his life, and it was clear you wanted him as badly as he wanted you. He had to taste you, and god, did you taste good. Your lips were soft, inviting, and moved against his in a way he wasn’t used to. You hooked your fingers in his belt loops and pulled his hips against yours, making him groan quietly into the kiss.

His lips were plump, succulent, and felt like pillows as they moved against your own. You teased his with your tongue, a quick movement, testing the waters, but you knew you’d be leaving with him. You felt his hands on your hips tighten when you teased his lips, causing you to smirk against his lips.

“Oh, Sweetheart, I think we should take this somewhere a little more private,” he whispered against your lips, his body pressed against yours, his need only growing when you didn’t get shy.

You chuckled, pulling only back far enough to look into his eyes. “My place or yours?” you asked, a mischievous smirk on your lips, but you let your hands roam across his chest. God, those muscles. It practically made you purr, and you knew you had to keep that in check, no matter what this man did to you. 

“Mine,” Dean told you in a low, almost commanding tone, making you chuckle a little. This is going to be fun.

“Alright,” you replied nonchalantly, but the smirk on your lips told Dean he was in for a world of surprises with you. And he was looking forward to it. He’d only come across a handful of women, if that, who were confident like you and didn’t get shy around him. “After you,” he gestured, even almost bowing his head a little as his other hand found the small of your back. 

From the bar, Sam laughed before turning away and focusing on his beer. He knew he should have gotten his own room but figured after a couple of hours, the two of you should be asleep. Then, he could sneak inside and get some much-needed shut-eye. For now, he’d hang out at the bar, nursing beer until then.

The motel where both of you were staying was only a couple of blocks away, so he walked you there. You hadn’t told him where you were staying, and now, you’d keep it that way once you saw where he was leading you. You didn’t even know his name and hadn’t given him yours. Dean’s hand was on your lower back most of the walk, drifting down occasionally to grab your ass, feeling the slight plumpness of it in his hand. 

He wanted to feel every inch of you, but he wasn’t going to rush this. No. You were different. He was going to take his time with you, savor every second, memorize every curve, and taste every piece of your flesh you’d let him. The thought of it alone made his cock twitch in the confines of his jeans.

Your anticipation was building with each step, each breath, and every heartbeat. He didn’t even fumble with the key to his door, like he’d done this numerous times before. You loved his confidence, but you were going to have him at your mercy soon. He gestured for you to enter before he followed you inside, closing the door behind him. The room looked similar to yours, only slightly larger, with two beds. You wondered briefly who he might be bunking with, although you knew it wasn’t a woman, being able to taste the scents with each breath you took. It also looked as though he and whoever else was with him weren’t staying long, as only two small duffle bags were in the room, unopened.

Dean came up behind you, one hand on your hip, the other gently moving your hair to expose your neck. He leaned down as his hand slid tantalizingly slow down your side, resting on your hip. “I’m Dean, so you know what name to yell when I make you come undone,” he whispered before placing those deliciously plump lips on your neck.

You groaned a little, leaning your head back as your hands rested over his. His lips left a trail of hot, slow kisses along your exposed skin. The man knew what he was doing, and that only fueled the fire growing within you. For a bit, you let him tease you, but the moment his fingers went to slip under your shirt, you stopped him and turned in his arms. With a mischievous smirk, you looked up at him before biting your bottom lip, taking a step back, and taking all of him in. Even in the dim lighting of the motel room, he looked intimidating, or at least would have to someone who was normal. You slipped off your shoes with your feet before moving closer to him, standing on your tiptoes and pressing your lips to his. Before he could put his arms around you, you began slipping off his flannel, effectively stopping him. Hearing his annoyed groan made you smirk against his lips.

He tried to discard the flannel quickly, but you had begun kissing down his jawline and then along his neck, sending shivers down his body. “I’m Y/N, so you know what name to moan when I make you come undone,” you whispered seductively before nibbling on his earlobe, pulling a guttural growl from him.

When you spoke, his cock twitched in his pants again, and he wasn’t sure how much patience he’d have at this rate. You did things to his body he wasn’t used to, and he wanted more, needed more. Just as you stood flat on your feet again, he managed to get his flannel off, pulling an amused chuckle out of you. Although, you weren’t going to give him a moment to catch his breath, slipping your hands under the hem of his shirt.

Your hands moved slowly over every muscle, every curve, as his hands balled into fists at his sides, trying to keep himself from throwing you down on the bed. God, your touch was intense, both soft but calculated. He leaned down, catching your lips in a quick kiss, his tongue darting out to tease you. Your eyes never left his, which only fueled the fire within both of you further.

Dean loved how you had leaned into the kiss, and had leaned closer when he pulled away. He smirked before cupping your face with both his hands and kissing you deeply, his tongue dancing with yours as your hands sent shivers and heat through his body as they explored his chest and sides. Your body instinctively pressed closer to his, needing to feel so much more of him.

The sounds of the outside world faded as you slowly lifted his shirt without breaking the kiss until he had no choice but to move and remove it. That teasing smirk found your lips again before you bit your bottom one, taking in his muscular form. God, he could probably hold me up like I weighed nothing at all. The thought sent warmth through you, and a small groan slipped past your lips. But you also knew that whatever he did for a living is what had sculpted him into the man that stood before you.

When you saw his tattoo, you paused for only half a second, wondering if he was a hunter. That could be bad in the long run, but you quickly pushed the worry aside. Tonight wasn’t about worrying about that. You’d be gone before he woke, and all he had was your first name. Plus, you had enough alcohol in your system that you didn’t really care at the moment. You’d never see him after this, right?

“My turn,” he smirked, his tone low, husky, almost commanding.

You just gave him that teasing smirk, and before he could even reach for your shirt, your lips were on his chest, leaving a trail of fire along his skin. Dean bit his bottom lip as his hands found your hips, gripping them tightly. He wasn’t used to not being able to control himself, and you were pushing him far past any level of restraint he was used to with a woman. Dean would have been lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying every second of it.

He sucked in a breath, feeling your hands tease his skin again in a feather-light dance along his sides as his hands quickly found yours, stopping them in their tracks. “Careful, Sweetheart. I’m ticklish.” he breathed out. Even if you hadn’t tickled him, you’d touched him in a way he wasn’t used to. There was a tenderness in your touch that made his breath hitch in his chest, and it scared the shit out of him.

“I’ll remember that,” you replied softly, leaning closer to leave a trail of eclectic kisses along his chest. 

It took everything in Dean to ignore the strain in his jeans or how your lips felt on his skin. Then there was your hands as they traced every muscle, every curve of his exposed body. All of it was making it nearly impossible to think straight. God and the way your hot breath sent goosebumps down his body was enough to drive him almost mad.

Dean finally managed to slip his hands under your shirt, your skin smooth under his calloused hands, and he felt you moan against his chest. It brought that pleased smirk to his lips when he felt your fingernails press against the middle of his back. Slowly, he slipped your shirt up, causing you to move your hands off of him, giving him the moment he needed to catch his breath as he slipped your shirt off.

You made a mental note of where it landed, even in your passion-induced state. The way his eyes raked over your exposed torso made your breath ragged. It was almost as if you could feel his gaze literally devouring you as you looked into his eyes. 

“Beautiful…” he breathed out before capturing your lips in another searing kiss, which you reciprocated as your fingers fiddled with his belt. Luckily, it was a simple leather belt that was easy to get undone.

His hands found your hips, but only briefly before one of his hands made quick work of the button just as you had gotten his belt loose. It was almost a race to see who could be faster, and so far, you were winning. You didn’t even break the kiss as you popped the button on his jeans open, cupping his already hard cock through the denim as your other hand found his zipper.

You smirked into the kiss as he groaned, his hips moving into your touch, needing far more than you were giving him. All he could do was pull you flush against him as you moaned quietly. Just as you felt his hands attempt to tighten on your sides, you slipped down as you slid his jeans to his ankles, looking up at him as you knelt at his feet through your lashes.

Dean let out a ragged breath, wondering just how much longer he’d be able to take his time with you. You had him on the verge of picking you up and pinning you against the wall, an almost desperate need to be buried deep inside you. When that teasing smirk found your lips again, he bit his lower lip as he made quick work of his boots, then kicked off his jeans.

You reached for his boxers, but he was quicker, grabbing both your hands and pinning them behind your back. Then, as he smirked against your lips, he slipped both your wrists into one of his hands, giving him a free hand to tease you with. He chuckled, seeing the glare in your eyes. It wasn’t fair, and he knew it, but he needed you to stop touching him so he could taste you the way he wanted to.

Now that he had you, his lips moved from yours, along your jawline and down your neck as your head tilted back, giving him more access. Electricity ran along your nerves everywhere his lips ventured while his hand slid inside the front of your jeans, causing you to inhale deeply out of surprise and how good it felt. Dean moaned against your pulse point, feeling just how wet you were while his fingers slid along your folds before he removed them from your jeans.

“So wet already, Sweetheart?” he whispered in a low, teasing tone before he sucked your juices from his fingers. “Delicious.”

Your plans sort of flew out the window the moment he had your hands pinned, but the way he teased your body was worth it. Electricity shot through all your nerves with every touch of his hands. His movements weren’t rushed, like he was memorizing every curve of your body, even if your jeans were getting in the way. 

With a ragged breath, his lips made their way along your collarbone before dipping even lower, teasing the area just above your breasts. The quiet moans that left your lips were like music to his ears. The way he held you arched your back toward him, making it almost impossible to move, but it was delectable instead of confining. 

As his hand cupped your breast, his mouth found your nipple, pulling the most sinful sounds from you, and it was nearly impossible to be quiet. The way his tongue moved over and around your nipple, finding the most sensitive spots, then teasing them as he sucked harder. Your breathing became heavy, your body now craving his touch, needing to feel his skin on yours, but you needed to feel him tense under your touch, not the other way around, no matter how good it felt.

You took a deep breath the moment his mouth left your nipple, now getting hard due to the dampness from his mouth and the slight chill in his motel room. In one swift, quick motion before his lips could claim yours again, you turned, causing him to release your wrists. Before he could even get his hands on you again, you slipped behind him, making him turn.

The tension in the room was palpable. Electricity crackled in the air between the two of you. A teasing smirk toyed with your lips as you looked into his eyes. Those wonderful emerald eyes you would always remember. Placing your hand on his chest, you gently pushed against his chest, and he complied. Dean’s mind was racing at how your confidence and need to be in control never completely waivered, even when he had you at his mercy. The way you’d gotten out of his grip would have made him question you in an entirely different way if circumstances were different and he didn’t need to feel your body under his.

As his legs bumped into the edge of one of the beds, he sat down, not even caring if it was his or Sam’s, but his eyes never left yours. He let you lay him back, your movements slow, teasingly slow, as you ran your hands over his chest, leaving almost featherlight kisses in their wake. Your fingers teased the waistband of his boxers, his head snapping up to watch you as he propped himself up on his elbows, somewhat amused. 

It wasn’t often a woman took control with the confidence you showed. He wanted to watch you, but your hand brushed over the bulge in his boxers. His head fell back as a low, almost growl bubbled up from his chest. The warmth of your hand made his cock twitch, slightly painfully in the confines of his boxers.

The way his muscles flexed under your touch quickened your breath, but you were going to take your time, memorize every curve, every muscle, every sound he made. Feeling the size of him, even through the fabric, made you lick your lips, slowly slipping his boxers down, leaving him naked before you. For a moment, you just stood there, staring down at him with your lips parted. He looked up at you when you hadn’t returned to touching him, that cocky smirk on his lips again, making you want to kiss it off of him.

“Like what you see, Sweetheart,” his honeyed words with his cocky attitude made your body quiver with need. The man was gorgeous, and he knew it. So, you just smirked before slipping your jeans off, wearing nothing underneath, now naked as well. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” you sassed teasingly, seeing the hunger intensify in his eyes as his cock twitched.

Before he could say a word, you knelt between his legs. The way your hand felt soft around his shaft had him clenching the blankets of the bed. He still had most of his control at the moment, though, keeping himself from just taking over and pinning you to the mattress so he could taste every inch of you. However, he couldn’t stop the moan that came out when he felt your warm breath on the head of his cock.

The sound that came from him went straight to your core, your walls clenching around nothing. You wondered how much of him you’d be able to take in your mouth, but you were up for the challenge, having figured out how not to gag. For a moment, you let your warm breath fan over the tip of his cock before placing soft, slow kisses along his shaft, holding the base firmly but gently with your hand. His entire body was tense as the pleasure coursed through every part of him at your ministrations. Your lips were soft, your grip firm but gentle, and your confidence in what you were doing was nearly too much for him to keep from taking over. The moment you took him into your mouth, though, his hand went to your hair, gripping it with practiced ease.

You hummed, sending a shiver down his body as he twitched in your mouth, indicating you were both enjoying every moment. Slowly, you began moving your mouth on him, up, then down, sucking him like a straw in a milkshake and letting your tongue conform to his shape, sliding along his shaft. Dean did his best to keep himself from getting lost in the feeling, but the skill of your mouth was fogging his mind. His grip in your hair tightened, and when your lips reached the tip, he encouraged you to move faster by pressing a little against your head. The way he tasted on your tongue had your body on fire, needing to feel him inside you, but you were enjoying him being at your mercy.

“Y/N…” he moaned quietly, and you could hear the plea in his undertone, almost begging for you to speed up.

You smirked internally, focusing on his body, his moans, his hand in your hair, and his cock in your mouth. Since his request had been so nice, you did speed up, teasing the tip with a couple motions before sliding back down, almost to the base. His hips instinctively thrust gently upward, pressing the tip of his cock down your throat. You didn’t gag but stopped your movements, then hummed again.

Dean had no choice, he had to pull your mouth off of him, or he was going to cum right then and there. He was breathing heavily as he sat up, still holding onto your hair. When he saw a smirk on your lips, though, he almost growled, looking down at you between his legs. No woman had gotten him that close, that fast before.

“My turn,” he told you with a look that said you were in for more than you had prepared yourself for. He still hadn’t let go of your hair, and you wondered just how much you could push him before he pinned you and fucked you into the mattress.

“What? Too much?” you asked, feigned coyness lacing your words. You knew exactly what you’d done and how close you had him.

He just groaned, his gaze nothing but lust as he gently lifted you closer to his face. “Sweetheart, don’t make me cuff you to the bed,” he warned in a low, seductive tone, but you had a feeling he’d actually do it. That only made your legs quiver slightly as another wave of heat washed through you.

Dean truly debated cuffing you to the bed. Your boldness and feigned coyness reminding him not to underestimate you. A devilish smirk found his lips as his grip loosened in your hair. “My turn,” he told you again, and you didn’t miss the glint of excitement in his eyes as he gently helped you stand with him.

His cock pressed against your lower abdomen, and you wanted so badly to purr at the feeling and the thoughts that played through your mind. God, I can’t. He’ll ask too many questions. So, you focused on his eyes, taking in the lust and desire in his expression. Your hands reached out to touch his chest, but he quickly stopped you, grabbing your wrists before they could make contact with his skin. 

So, you gave him a pout, hoping it’d work and he’d let you continue enjoying his body. “I will cuff you,” he warned in a low growl. Damnit! “But, how is that fair?” you asked, still pouting.

In one swift motion, Dean had you on the bed on your back, making you squeal in surprise. However, as you giggled and attempted to sit up, he had already found his jeans and the cuffs in his back pocket. Your eyes went wide when he climbed on top of you, only able to pay attention to how he felt over you as he cuffed your wrists to the headboard.

With a smirk, his eyes never left yours. God, you looked delicious under him, and he was going to take his time. “I warned you, Sweetheart,” he whispered before letting his fingers move slowly down your arms, feeling the softness of your skin.

You glared at him, tugging against the cuffs as you looked up at them. You heard him chuckle, a deep sound rumbling from his chest at your predicament. When your eyes met his again, he’d moved off of you, licking his lips and debating where he wanted to start first. In all honesty, you hadn’t exactly given him another option. If he hadn’t cuffed you, he wouldn’t be able to take his time, and he desperately wanted to hear and see you come completely undone, by him.

Dean hadn’t decided yet if he’d uncuff you. Seeing the glare in your eyes only fueled the fire you’d lit within him back at the bar. He leaned down, only a sliver of space between your lips, that pleased smirk on his face again. You could feel his warm breath mixing with yours as your heart rate picked up again. Most of the men you’d been with couldn’t please you, not the way you needed.

He didn’t kiss you, no. Instead, his hands began slowly exploring your curves as his lips trailed along your jaw, then slowly down your neck. You held back your moans at his touch. It felt like your skin was on fire. “Tease,” you mumbled grumpily, but it was only to annoy him, make him touch you where you needed him to.

All he did was chuckle darkly against your pulse point, sucking softly at first, then harder as one of his hands slid up your side, cupping your breast. You bit your bottom lip, trying not to move into his touch. Part of you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing what he was doing to you, but when his fingers tweaked your nipple just the right way, a moan slipped past your lips.

“That’s what I thought,” he stated, his tone low, gruff, and almost smug.

You took a deep inhale of breath when you felt his lips leaving a hot trail over your collarbone, along your throat, and then down your chest as you tried not to squirm beneath him. For a brief moment, you wondered how many women he had been with, as he clearly knew what he was doing to get the sounds he was after. Or, perhaps, he was just more perceptive than most men. Either way, you lost your train of thought when his mouth latched onto your nipple, teasing it just right with his tongue.

There was no keeping the moan from coming out, and you felt him smirk against your skin as your back arched, needing more. Dean took one breast in each hand, kneading them while his fingers teased the nipple his mouth wasn’t enjoying. God, you felt amazing under him, and the sounds you made had his cock throbbing with need. All he wanted to do was bury himself deep inside you, but not before he tasted your sweetness. You struggled against the cuffs restraining you, wanting to dig your nails into his skin, feel the strength of his muscles under your touch. It was infuriating and intoxicating, all at the same time being unable to touch him as he touched and teased you in ways no man had before. When he felt he’d tasted your nipple enough, he moved to the other one, getting lost in the sounds you tried not to make.

That coil began tightening, your walls clenching around nothing. You needed more. God, you needed more. You tried rubbing your thighs together, since he was straddling you, holding you in place beneath him, but it wasn’t enough. 

Dean chuckled, feeling your movements, then released your nipple with a pop while his fingers teased both your nipples, making you gasp. Just the right amount of pressure in all the right places. He was observant; hunting had taught him that, and right now, he was reading you like an open book. He knew what you wanted, needed. However, he was enjoying the feel of you, the taste of you, and the sounds he could pull from you. When he finally began sliding his hands down your sides, you attempted to steady your breathing, his lips leaving searing kisses along your skin. Whenever he found one of your spots, he gave it more attention, sucking hickeys into your skin. He wanted you to remember tonight for days to come, longer if possible.

He didn’t go straight to where you wanted him. Instead, he trailed kisses to just above your mound, then slowly down your thigh, lifting your leg so that your foot was over his shoulder. The little whimpers that left your lips the further down your leg he got only made his cock twitch more. The sounds you made were like a sweet melody, and he could listen to it for hours.

It was like he had known how close he had gotten you, just from teasing your nipples, choosing to keep you needy. You were seriously considering using your retractable claws to get out of the cuffs but knew better; no matter how badly you needed to fuck him, you couldn’t do that. As your breathing was slowly evening out, he was already making his way up your other leg, keeping the first over his shoulder. Dean left kisses along your inner thigh, sucking in places that made you squirm again. He found it interesting that you hadn’t had a spot near your ankle, like most women did, but it didn’t deter him. He’d just find others, and that was precisely what he was doing. Carefully, he nestled himself between your legs but chose to slide his right arm over your thigh, effectively pinning your lower half. You looked down at him, those emerald orbs filled with lust as they devoured you, and goosebumps danced down your body. For a moment, neither of you moved, the moment frozen as your lips parted at the sight. He was intoxicating, but there was something more there, and it scared you. So you quickly pushed that feeling away as his head dipped down, trailing his tongue over your slick folds. 

Instinctively, your hips tried to move into the sensation, needing more, but he held you firmly in place. He hummed in pleasure. You tasted divine. Dean could have stayed there for hours, just tasting you. Something about you was different, in the most delicious ways. The moment his tongue found your clit, your mind no longer worked. A jolt of pleasure shot through your body as your walls clenched around nothing.

“Dean...” you moaned out quietly, almost pleading for more.

His other hand left featherlight touches along your inner thigh, moving slowly toward where you needed him. Your body shifted and moved against his hold, but you were unable to make him go any faster than he wanted to. Dean felt like he was in heaven as he sucked your clit between his lips, slowly teasing the bundle of nerves with his tongue, noting what made you try to move, what made you try to keep quiet, and what made your body tremble under his hold. His fingers found your entrance, slipping two inside. You couldn’t stop the low growl of pleasure that rumbled up from deep in your chest. God, please don’t let him notice, you mentally prayed, knowing it was far more animalistic than you had wanted it to come out.

In any other circumstance, Dean would have questioned you, but the sound made his cock not only twitch but throb as precum dripped from the tip. The sound had sent a rush through his body, which he wasn’t prepared for, and he thought he might come right then and there. That coil had quickly tightened within your abdomen; your muscles tensed as your walls squeezed his fingers. The heat that pulsed through your body had you almost panting. Dean reached his other hand up, his fingers tweaking your nipple as he moved his fingers in and out of you, making sure to tease that spot deep inside with every thrust. He sucked your clit a little harder, finding just the right spot with his tongue.

You’d never screamed any man’s name before, but at that moment, when your orgasm pulsed through your body in waves, Dean’s name reverberated off the walls of his motel room. Hell, you swore that you saw stars when it hit you, but you didn’t have time to think as he continued, helping you ride out every second of the pleasure. What neither of you expected was the moment you almost completely came down, you began building towards another one.

It surprised him. Most women he had to coax more out of. If Dean had been thinking clearly, he probably could have formulated questions, but you were delicious. He sped up his movements with his tongue as he thrust his fingers faster, harder, teasing the sensitive spot inside you. You were nothing more than a panting, moaning mess when he didn’t stop, pulling against the cuffs that kept your upper half in place while his arm kept your lower half in place.

No man had ever played your body like he was. You typically had to take care of yourself after you would sneak out and back to your motel room. Dean didn’t give you much time to think about that as your second orgasm crashed through you. He chuckled when you couldn’t make a single coherent word as he rode you through the pleasure. You were groaning with need as your body tried to move when he slowly pulled his fingers from your fluttering walls and his mouth from your clit. He sucked his fingers clean, not letting his mind wander to things it shouldn’t. Dean used the corner of the bedding to wipe your juices from his chin and mouth before climbing on top of you, caging you in.

All you could do was meet his eyes, your hips moving seductively against his, needing him to fuck you. “I’m going to uncuff you. Behave yourself,” he told you with a look that sent a tantalizing shiver down your body.

You watched him retrieve the keys, then climb over you again, his gaze never leaving yours, even as he unlocked the cuffs. Slowly, you pulled yours down, letting them rest on his shoulders, almost purring at his muscular frame. Dear God, don’t let me purr. He had the cuffs and keys on the nightstand in seconds before his lips were on yours again, needy, desperate, but also almost intimate.

Every time your hips moved against his, rubbing his cock along your wet folds and clit, he groaned, his hips instinctively moving with you. He reached between your bodies, lining himself up with your entrance, never breaking the kiss. Dean had planned to go slowly, give you time to adjust to his size, but you were having none of that.

You wrapped your legs around the backs of his thighs, bucked your hips, and pulled him into you, making the both of you moan with how good it felt. Dean bit down on your shoulder when you rolled your hips, pushing him even deeper into the warmth of your fluttering walls.

“If you don’t fuck me, I’m going to fuck you,” you whispered before nibbling on his earlobe, pulling another groan from him as he snapped his hips hard.

Dean shifted so that he was more on his knees, your legs around his waist, and now, his hands found your hips. The smirk on your lips had him committing the moment to memory. “I’ll fuck you, but it’ll be the way I want to,” he told you in that same commanding tone.

With that, he slowly withdrew till only the head of his cock was inside you, pausing for a brief moment as the pout began forming on your lips. Then, he slammed into you, making your back arch off the bed. Dean’s smirk turned devilish as he did it again, watching your face contort from an almost pout to sheer pleasure.

The way he held your hips kept you from moving with him, and it was driving you insane. His slow withdrawal was an utter tease. Then the way he slammed back into you and hit that spot inside while also hitting your clit was keeping you close without pushing you further. It was delightfully infuriating and had you attempting to squirm for more.

However, the moment he leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss, you used the moment to roll the two of you so you were on top. If the action hadn’t sent a thrill through his body, he would have questioned it. Were your walls not fluttering around his cock as it twitched inside you, he would have questioned you.

“I said if you didn’t fuck me, I was going to fuck you,” you told him, grabbing the headboard as you ground against him, rolling your hips.

Dean’s head went back into the pillow while his hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. Then, when you began moving, rolling your hips like you were, he knew he wasn’t going to last long. However, he also knew you were close and bucked his hips, keeping in sync with your movements.

You leaned down, getting a better angle, but the moment you did, his mouth found your nipple, latching on as the most sinful sounds left your lips. He moved your hips, grinding you against him as your walls gripped his cock just before your orgasm crashed through your body. When you didn’t stop moving, riding out the waves of pleasure and screaming his name, your name left his lips as he came, buried deep inside you.

Your hands slipped from the headboard, resting on the pillows beside his head, your hair a mess, your breathing ragged, but all Dean could do was smile a little. You were beautiful. His hands moved to your back, pulling you flush against his chest while you both enjoyed the afterglow of your shared pleasure.

Neither of you moved for a while, enjoying the comfort of each other’s arms. Not even after his cock had softened and slipped out of you. Being hunters, neither of you got close to people. For you, though, you had another reason. Slowly, you moved so that you were lying beside him, not quite ready to leave.

Dean, though, got out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. Heen returned with a warm, damp washcloth. You watched him with curiosity as he cleaned you and then himself before he tossed the washcloth back into the bathroom, landing it in the sink. Then, he climbed back into the bed and pulled you close.

So, you let yourself enjoy him and the comfort you felt in his arms. He had treated you like no other man had, like you were more than just a means to his end. Dean just wasn’t ready to let you go, but at the same time, knew he had to. For him, he’d pretend, even if just for the night, that you were his and that he wouldn’t leave before you woke in the morning. 

You listened to his breathing and his heartbeat while pretending to fall asleep yourself. With you in his arms, he'd completely forgotten to text Sam, but right now, he couldn't care less.

He didn't want to think about how perfectly you fit against him or how holding you close eased the tension in his muscles. It wasn't long before he slipped off to sleep, and that was your cue.

Carefully, you slipped out of his bed, making sure not to disturb him. With silent footsteps, you gathered your clothes, dressed, and then snuck out of his motel room. 

You didn't see the man across the street watching you as you walked a few doors down to your own room. Moving quickly, you packed the few things you had out, then went back outside and to your car.

After tossing your bag into the backseat, you drove away. Sam made a mental note of the license plate number, then headed into his and Dean's shared room. 

Sam deadpanned, seeing his brother passed out in his bed and Dean's clothes tossed haphazardly around the room. With a frustrated sigh, he wrote down the plate number before hitting the sack in the unused bed.

—---------------

As the sun rose, casting away the shadows of the night, you were singing along to a random song on a random station. Maybe I should have called Bobby first. It'd been a few months since you'd seen the man who had cared for you after you had lost your parents.

Just a few more hours. The thought made you smile, and you always told yourself you would make a better effort to stop by and see him. And, every time, you ended up getting caught up in hunting. At least you remembered to call him, often.

When you pulled into his driveway, you let out a relieved sigh, killing the engine. Then, you grabbed your bag and headed to the door but never got the chance to knock.

“You had better not have even thought about knocking,” Bobby scolded you.

You looked down, about to apologize, when he laughed and pulled you into a hug. As you wrapped your arms around him, laughing with him. “I missed you too, old man,” you replied teasingly.

“Now come inside and get something to eat. I know you didn't sleep last night either,” he told you as the two of you went inside.

For the next several hours, the two of you talked, catching up on the things both of you had been up to. You made the both of you some lunch, eating together in the living room. It was the purr of a beautiful engine that pulled your attention to the window in the living room.

“You expecting company?” you asked Bobby as you tried to make out what kind of car it was. For a moment, Bobby wasn't sure what you were talking about, but then remembered how good your hearing was. “No, but sometimes people drop in an say hi, like you,” he chuckled.

—---------------------------

When Dean woke, the other side of the bed was empty. He found it slightly amusing since he was typically the one to do the leaving. The part that scared him was that he found himself missing you. He let the events of the night replay in his mind as a sigh slipped past his lips.

“You planning on sleeping the day away?” Sam asked from the table, having been up for over an hour already.

Dean sat up with a slight groan. His muscles hurt in all the right ways, and he couldn’t help but smile a little. Man, she was something else. Sam kept his eyes on his laptop as Dean got out of bed, that smile still on his lips as he attempted to find his clothes from the night before and got dressed.

As Dean sat down across from Sam, a cup of coffee in his hands, Sam finally looked up at him, chuckling slightly at his bedhead. “Aren’t you normally the one to leave before the chick wakes up?” Sam teased him.

“Normally,” Dean chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. “She was something else, though,” he added with a sigh.

Sam raised an eyebrow, “I got her plate number after she left last night.”

Dean’s head snapped up, “She left that soon?” “Yeah. I watched her from across the street a couple hours after you left the bar with her. I never got a text from you, but figured that a couple hours was plenty of time,” Sam replied nonchalantly.

“Shit. Sorry about that,” Dean apologized sheepishly, taking a sip of his coffee. That was when the other thing Sam had said finally sunk in as a smirk toyed with his lips. “Did you run her plate number?” He asked quizzically.

Sam chuckled with amusement, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah. I did that when I got up. Why?” He was going to have some fun with this one, having quickly figured out that his brother was far more into you than he typically was with any woman he’d had a one-night stand with.

Dean gave his brother an instant bitch face, not having had enough coffee for Sam’s antics. “And?” His annoyed tone only fueled his brother's amusement further.

“And, I’m pretty sure she’s a hunter, given the information I found online. She’s got at least four aliases, and has helped out on a lot of cases. Her names are on tons of police reports across the country,” Sam explained as he focused on his laptop screen again, clicking around. “Oh, and her actual name is Y/N Y/L/N.” 

“Wait, I’ve heard that before,” Dean stated quickly, now attempting to wrack his brain as to where he’d heard your name before. It was on the tip of his tongue and driving him crazy that it wouldn’t come to him.

It was Sam’s turn to raise an eyebrow as he looked over at his brother. “If she’s a hunter, it would make sense you heard her name before.” Dean’s brow furrowed. “No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, I know that name, Y/L/N. I just can’t remember where I heard it.”

Sam chuckled, “Finish your coffee. Then we’ll pack up, get some breakfast, and finish the drive to Bobbys.”

Dean’s thoughts were on your last name, trying desperately to remember where he’d heard it. It was like this while he finished his coffee, packed up his things, had breakfast with his brother at the diner, and then while he drove. He only half heard anything Sam said as the day progressed, and he never once turned on any music. 

His mind had gone over past cases, other hunters he had spoken with, even the things written in his dad’s journal, but nothing was coming to mind. “You gonna spend the whole drive thinking about her?” Sam chuckled from the passenger seat. You were probably the only woman that had ever gotten to Dean like this.

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled, his grip on the steering wheel tightening some while Sam tried to stifle his amusement. “I’m telling you, I’ve heard that last name before.” 

“Is that all it is?” Sam teased him, earning him another bitch face. “It was that good, huh?” he chuckled before deciding to shut up before he pushed his brother too far. Sam loved picking on his brother, but he knew when to drop a topic.

When Dean pulled into Bobby’s driveway, he was a little surprised to see another vehicle parked in his spot. Sam, on the other hand, sat forward a little, instantly recognizing the car. She knows Bobby? He glanced over at Dean, who only looked annoyed that his spot was taken up by some stranger. That’s when he realized that Dean didn’t know the car belonged to you and was going to enjoy the surprise on his face.

“Bobby’s got company,” Dean grumbled, killing the engine.

“He helps a lot of hunters,” Sam shrugged as he got out of the Impala.

They headed up the steps and Dean knocked on the door, being respectful, even if Bobby was like an adopted father to the two of them. 

—---------------------------

The moment the door opened and he saw you, he was speechless. Sam was doing his best not to bust out in laughter at not only Dean’s shock and surprise, but also yours. You thought you’d never see him again after you’d snuck out of his motel room, and he thought the same. 

“Who is it, Y/N?” Bobby hollered from the living room, pulling you and Dean from your thoughts.

“Not sure. Looks like a couple of hooligans,” you replied with a smirk as Dean gave you his bitch face, not amused.

Bobby had a feeling he knew who it was, but went to the door anyway, just to make sure. Seeing who it was, Bobby chuckled at what you had called him, shaking his head. “It’s just the Winchesters. Let 'em in, Y/N.” 

You opened the door the rest of the way before heading into the living room, not entirely sure how to react. This was the first time you’d run into a one-night stand after the fact. After returning to your seat, you grabbed your beer and finished it off, just as the three of them entered the living room.

“Sam, Dean, this is Y/N. She’s practically my daughter, so behave yourselves, or I’ll let her kick your ass for being disrespectful,” Bobby stated sternly, and Dean froze as his eyes met yours.

Shit, I’m a deadman, Dean thought to himself as the realization finally hit him as to where he had heard your last name before, but it had been years ago. It wasn’t helping that you were acting as though the two of you hadn’t had the most amazing sex of his life the night before. He watched as you stood, extending your hand to each of them.

“Nice to meet the two of you. Bobby’s mentioned you two idjits a few times,” you told them both teasingly and playfully.

God, the mouth on her. Those lips… Dean shook his head before shaking your hand, his eyes never leaving yours. That was when Bobby’s hand came up and smacked the back of his head. “Owe! What was that for?!” Dean grumbled as he rubbed the back of his head. You just chuckled before sitting down, noticing that Sam had done the same. 

“If she doesn’t kick your ass, I might,” Bobby warned him. “She doesn’t need you leadin’ her on.” And with that, he sat back behind his desk, sipping his whiskey and keeping an eye on Dean and where his eyes wandered.

Dean gave you a questioning glare but chose to sit down and not look directly at you after that one. Sam had a hard time not laughing at the entire situation. It was clear you hadn’t said a word to Bobby about your night before or that you at least knew Dean’s name. He wasn’t about to be the one to say a word. The last thing he wanted to do was be the one to spill the beans. Plus, this was far more amusing.

You played it cool, pretending as though last night hadn’t been the most amazing night of your life. Hell, you had to after what Bobby said. It wasn’t like you needed your practical father knowing you had one-night stands from time to time. Then there was what he said about Dean, and it made you wonder if he was like other typical hunters, leaving behind a trail of women from every case he took. 

For the next several hours, they caught up on each other’s lives. You mostly listened. At least now you remembered where you had heard Dean’s name before. Thanks to the alcohol and the way he had made your body feel, you hadn’t even thought twice about it the night before. When you went to go cook something for dinner, Dean glanced over, but only slightly, watching the gentle sway of your hips.

Bobby wasn’t stupid. He’d practically raised you. He just wasn’t going to pry into things that were none of his business. You were an adult, after all. However, he wasn’t about to let anything happen in his house with his daughter, well, adopted daughter, technically. Bobby leaned back in his chair, sipping his whiskey, watching Dean. The old man didn’t miss much.

“Go help Y/N with dinner,” Bobby told Dean, his tone stern. “And keep your hands to yourself.”

Dean didn’t say a word but quickly got up and joined you, leaning against the counter. At first, he wasn’t sure what to even help with, so he focused on doing the few dishes that were in the sink. You watched him from the corner of your eye as you set things up on the counter and stove. Neither of you spoke for a while, the tension in the kitchen building as each silent second passed.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Dean whispered, not wanting Bobby to hear.

“When?” you whispered, focusing on cooking instead of looking over at him. You weren’t sure if he meant the night before or when he and his brother showed up at Bobby’s.

“Last night? Today? Pick one,” he grumbled quietly.

You glanced over at him, then back at the food. “Would it have mattered?”

He knew you had a point. It wasn’t like the two of you were anything to each other, but he couldn’t shake the way you’d make him feel when he had held you afterward. He just couldn’t bring himself to say it. “No,” he sighed. “Guess not.” And with that, he began setting the table.

You felt a pang in your chest but reminded yourself that it had only been a one-night stand, no matter how it had felt being in his arms afterward. So, you focused on finishing dinner, keeping up that mask to hide the things you didn’t want to deal with. Being a Touched was lonely and for a little bit, Dean had made all those feelings go away. You just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that now.

Bobby knew something was up, but he wouldn’t broach the topic, not in front of the brothers. He silently watched you, Dean, and Sam while interacting with the conversation over dinner. The boys were planning on heading out in the morning for another case. You were going to hang around for a few days, which he appreciated, even if he couldn’t always say it. 

After dinner, when you went to do the dishes, Bobby stopped you and then told the brothers to take care of the cleanup. So, you went to shower, pushing your thoughts aside. Pajamas were a pair of sweats and a slightly baggy, comfy shirt. You took a moment to listen to what was being said before standing in the entryway of the living room.

“I’m heading to bed. It was nice to meet the two of you. Be safe out there,” you told the brothers before giving Bobby a hug.

“It was nice to meet you, too, Y/N,” Sam replied, but Dean said nothing, terrified of the emotions you evoked in him.

You kept that hunter's mask up as you went to your room. It was just a one-night stand. Get it together already, you mentally berated yourself as you stared at the ceiling from your bed. Even though you hadn’t slept since the night before last, you didn’t want to sleep, almost afraid you’d dream of him. 

Over the course of the day, you had learned that you and Dean had a lot in common but had kept your mouth shut. Luckily, Bobby hadn’t said anything either. “God, this is stupid,” you mumbled as you finally got yourself comfortable under the covers for the night. Your mind wasn’t quite ready to drop the topic of Dean, and it took you another hour before you could fall asleep.

Morning came, like it always did, and you just looked at the light trying to penetrate the drawn curtains. You didn’t get out of bed, though. Your dreams were still playing on repeat in your head. All of them of Dean. Hunting with him and his brother. Being with him. The part that scared the hell out of you was that in the dreams, it all felt so… right, like it was meant to be, just like how it had felt when he held you close that night.

It was hearing the Impala’s engine that made you finally get out of bed and go to your window. Gingerly, you reached out and moved the curtains so you could see. Dean was behind the wheel, and Sam was saying something to Bobby. However, when you looked back at Dean, he was looking up at you. There was something in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat while at the same time, took your breath away.

I’m glad I got to feel that with someone, even if it was only for one night, and I’ll never see you again.

—--------------------------

Dean couldn’t get you out of his head. You’d acted like it was only sex that night, but something kept nagging at his chest. It was both driving him insane and scaring the hell out of him. He had only half interacted with Bobby and Sam the night before after you’d gone to bed. You were a puzzle to him, a mystery, and no matter how badly he didn’t want to admit it to himself, he wanted to figure you out and learn everything he could about you.

God, what’s wrong with me? It was the one main thought that kept circling his mind as he had tried to find sleep on Bobby’s couch while staring at the ceiling. His gaze kept drifting to the hallway that led to where your room was. He wanted to ask you about so many things, but he was both terrified of the emotions you brought out in him and of Bobby kicking his ass for having already touched you.

When you hadn’t come out of your room that morning, he felt his heart sink. He wanted to see you, even if you didn’t feel a thing for him. He knew he felt something for you. Sam tried a few times to engage him in conversation, but Dean’s focus was on his coffee, and thoughts of you. 

Now, sitting behind the wheel of his Baby, he dared to look up at Bobby’s house, not sure which window was yours. He tried to just focus on the purr of the engine, but the moment he saw you at your window, he couldn’t look away. The way the sun hit you just right, dancing off your features through the window. Your hair still messy from sleep. To him, you looked like an angel for a moment, and the look in your eyes caught him off guard. There was something there. Something that made his heart skip a beat and butterflies dance in his gut.

“Earth to Dean,” Sam’s voice pulled his gaze for a brief moment before he looked back at your window, but you were gone. “Are we going or just sitting here?”

“We’re going,” Dean grumbled, and with that, he drove away, trying not to wonder if he’d ever see you again, or that pull in his chest to go back, to you.

—---------------------------------

You hadn’t even bothered changing out of your pajamas when you joined Bobby in the living room after getting some coffee. There was no hiding that you were dealing with something, and he could instantly see it, letting out a quiet sigh as he leaned back in his seat. Bobby had done a lot of research on Touched, especially those from Bastet. “You found it, didn’t you,” he asked with both sincerity and concern.

Without looking up from your cup, you answered him. “Yeah,” you whispered, as you hadn’t wanted to admit it, mainly because Dean hadn’t seemed to feel it, the pull you did, or the pain of walking away. You didn’t want to admit that he was your soulmate, and now, you were a little worried about possibly being pregnant.

----------------------------------------- Can't Fight This Feeling Speaking Through Songs Mini-Series Touched Master List Main Master List

Permanent Tag List: @roseblue373 @flamencodiva @reignsboy19 @stillhere197 @foxyjwls007

@hobby27 @megs-gadom @cheekygirl2309 @mxtansy

[tarot-archives]

Soshiro H. x reader— rich boy AU

is this really an AU? he’s a from a rich family in canon. anyways, fluff | established relationship | a n g s t.

Soshiro comes from Generational wealth. His family has been in the business since ancient Japanese times where sharp Katanas were the best way to kill Kaiju.

He grew up in those traditional homes with sliding doors, tatami mats, tea rooms, and nannies wearing kimonos. He even has a garden—a FREAKING ACRE OF GREENS, ZEN GARDENS, WITH THOSE KOI PONDS.

He used to play with those ornamental fishes when he was younger. Not caring that they cost over a thousand dollars, as if they were those cheap goldfish won in a festival fair. He accidentally, killed one because he overfed his favorite golden Koi, and all he got was a gentle lecture.

Anyway, enough about his childhood. Do you want to know why he’s as skilled as he is? Because he has talent and the money to spend swinging the sword rather than worrying about rent or his next meal.

It was surprising to know how down-to-earth he actually was. he’s kind, eager to have a good time, and a very loving boyfriend to boot.

Coming from a poor family, where circumstances pushed you to join JAKDF, you didn’t know the Hoshina’s. You just came to know Soshiro as a friend you made along the way since joining the selection.

You have sweat together in training. You have bled together on the battlefield. he pushed you to greater heights, and you were his newfound sunshine—the light of his day.

So of course he has to treat his girl during their anniversary. He has planned everything to the last second, just enjoy the surprise.

You looked down at your watch. It was a few minutes before the agreed time for a chauffeur (a fancy word for his hired driver) to pick you up. You had thought he had contracted one of your colleagues or spent a good amount for a taxi, not THIS. This being a limousine with a butler carrying a huge bouquet for you.

You tried to clear up the mistake. Maybe there was a different rich guy who shared Soshiro’s name, or a fancy lady with yours. But no, it was YOU.

It was difficult to accept, but Soshiro spent a good amount of money on this already. It would be wasteful to reject the day he made especially for the two of you, so you followed. The plan went off with a shopping day in the high streets of expensive fashion outlet stores in Tokyo. You begrudgingly accepted the dress your boyfriend chose for you, and internally you were screaming.

Then came the spas. Then the beauty parlors. Then finally the big dinner at the end of the day. And of course, it’s one of the most exclusive membership-only restaurants in Tokyo. You wondered if they take credit card installments for the bills.

You were guided to the seat where your boyfriend had reserved. He was already there, sitting with one hand resting on his cheeks, completely bored out of his mind until his eyes landed on you.

His eyes widened, scanning your entire form from head to heels. A noticeable blush bloomed on his cheeks.

“you look…” he swallowed, unable to say the words he wanted to say out in public.

You gave an awkward chuckle, “expensive?”

“Breathtaking,” he managed to say. His hands went to your shoulders to assist you with your fur coat, but after seeing your skin, he pulled it back up again. “you’re easily cold right? It’s a very chilly restaurant. You better keep it on.”

You agreed, but the redness of his ears tells another reason for his suggestion. And it made your heart flutter.

The dinner went smoothly, but there was this nagging voice at the back of your head. Everything was too expensive for a first date that you had worried about Soshiro proposing tonight, too soon for your liking. He can see that you’re a bit bothered now too as dinner comes to a close. The anxiety from the impending doom of the bill and the costs looms over your poor brain.

Soshiro reached for your hand, careful not to move too quickly or you’ll fly. “what’s wrong? Do you not like your food? Did I get you the wrong dress?”

“No, it isn’t that… I mean, maybe it is?” you squeezed his hand, trying your best to keep calm. “don’t you think this too… expensive?”

“I just thought our first anniversary should be special.”

“Yes, I know,” your mind reminded you of the price tag, “but the limousine, these clothes, and the dinner? Hoshiro, how much did it cost you?”

And that’s when he explained about him and his background, which made everything else about him click. You don’t know whether to cringe since your situation was like those K-dramas of a rich x poor trope. Would a cranky mother offer you a billion yen to leave her beloved son? then would she splash water in your face when you refused? This day was too tiring to think about the what-ifs.

“does it bother you?” he asked. His hand still not leaving yours as he waited for your reply.

“it doesn’t, but I hope you know I didn’t date you because of your background. I honestly didn’t know,” you had to make it clear. Another anxiety blooms from your head. It’s the one about life status, financial compatibility, and your background. But you want to give him a memorable night, even if it’s the only one you can give (the only one you can afford).

“do you want to come over to my place?” the homemade gift you labored over was forgotten, along with your pride.

an: my first soshiro piece! man, me realizing he came from generational wealth did numbers on my brain. also, y/n made him a bracelet for their anniversary, but since she wanted to give him something else, i wonder what it was…

[oracle-of-dream]

Photo Finisher

Minors DNI

Summary: Yechan is from the rookie idol group, 82Majors, and his managers have set him up in the studio to get some amazing photos. But he's heard of your other prizes for good behavior, so he's interested in your other services...

Warnings: Male Reader, Blowjob, facial, degradation, domYechan, cum eating

Wordcount: 1.7k

You spent your morning selecting the songs for the playlist vibe you needed for today's photoshoot. Rookie idols were always tricky to deal with. Most were scared so stiff that they could hardly count as models...

Today, Yechan from 82Majors was your muse. The appointment was a last-minute order from management, and someone must've paid a chunk of money to call you in before noon. It's a part of your contract that you don't have to work before noon without an extra fee determined based on your mood for the day. It was 8am, so you told your boss to push for 40% higher than your usual rate. This usually moved companies away to pick a later time, but your boss immediately texted you back, telling you to get ready.

It was ten minutes before the photoshoot was supposed to start. Your staff set up everything from lights, cameras, software, and canvases. There was murmuring in the prep room, which is the room before entering the main studio, which meant the client had arrived. After some time, likely for hair and makeup to work him over, a young man with brown hair and strong cheekbones entered and greeted you.

"Hello, photographer y/n. It's a pleasure to be working with you, and thank you so much for taking our call so late minute." He bowed deeply.

"Yeah, hi. Just called me, y/n. Photographer y/n is a little much."

The boy nodded. "I-I'm Yechan, from 82Major!"

"I know who you are. I read the paperwork," you replied dryly.

Your morning coffee hadn't kicked in yet... This was going to be an extremely rough morning.

Yechan took his time to go around to the rest of the staff and introduce himself to each of them, handing out small gift bags from his company.

You looked at your phone for the time. 8AM.

"Okay, that's enjoy chitchat. I'm already at 30% on the irritated scale, and being behind schedule will make it jump to 50%."

With your clear directions, everyone hopped to attention and started scrambling to their stations. Yechan hustled off to get his hair and makeup re-touched before stepping onto the canvas.

"Yechan, if you have any issues or questions with the photos, tell me. The one thing I hate more than waking up early is someone who can't speak on issues.

Yechan nodded eagerly and took followed directions beautifully. Every single angle, down to the degree, was perfect. Clearly practiced. Because of that, you managed to wrap up the first set of photos easily.

"Let's take 10 and switch outfits. We're making excellent time, so let's keep the pace up." You announced to the team.

As you went back to your studio chair, Yechan approached you meekly.

"Yes?" you asked without looking at him, more interested in your phone.

"Um... I'd like to ask you about your services, sir." Yechan mumbled.

You rolled your eyes before looking at him. "My services? I'm a photographer. I take pictures. Be clear about what you want."

"Okay, then I'll be straightforward." Yechan took a deep breath before continuing, "I'd like to please you."

You raised an eye. "Please me? I'm happy enough that we're ahead of schedule. You want me to be happy? Keep working hard."

Yechan shook his head. "I don't know if there's some sort of secret code or something... it's honestly a little embarrassing to just say, you know."

You giggled in your seat, finally looking up from your phone. Yechan was a pretty good-looking man. Knows his angles, good body proportions, and a face card that doesn't look like it'll decline with its high limit. You bet he was about 6 1/2 inches, with a left curve. You read that he was from Canada and the brother of another idol, but you can't remember the brother's name...

You sat back in your chair. "Do you mean you want to have sex with me, boy?"

Yechan's face got pink instantly. "Well, they said you were really frank. But I still didn't–"

"So it's a no?"

"It's a yes! I do want to have... s–sex with you."

You smiled. "And what did you have in mind, young man?" The age gap between you wasn't big, but you could tell he was melting from you treating him like he's the younger in this situation.

"I want to do whatever makes you happy."

"So you have no plan? That's not very well prepared of you."

"I'm pretty skilled though! I got a few tricks!"

You smiled bigger. "Tricks? And what if I refuse? Yechan's face turned white. He clearly didn't consider the possibility of you saying no to him. "You didn't think I was some prostitute, did you? That you could just say, sex, and I'll give it?"

He shook his head, "No! Of course not–I'd never think that."

"Then tell me, what would you want? If you can have anything from this."

He looked around before getting closer to whisper. "Um... If I could choose. I think I'd be really into cumming on your face after you suck me off, and maybe I call you a few names and stuff..."

"Oh, that's it?"

He shrugged. "I'm a rather simple guy..."

"Then, simply guy, let's finish this up so we can get busy," you winked at him as you went off to find more of your staff, leaving him alone with a clear boner.

The photoshoot resumed, Yechan in his new outfit. The crop top really complimented his figure, and honestly got you more excited for what was coming. You could also tell he was pretty excited. His cock could barely stay inside his pants, a few pictures had his tip peeking out, and you personally deleted those to save him from the embarrassment.

After the photoshoot, Yechan went into the dressing room to get changed. You dismissed the staff for the night, thanked everyone for being present, and then walked into the dressing room.

"Hello? Anyone home?" You called.

Yechan let out a small yelp, covering himself. "I'm in here!"

"Yes, obviously. I came here to find you." You closed the door and locked it behind you. "I'm here to give you the reward you requested for being such a good boy today."

Yechan's face was red, his shirt and underwear were on, but his pants were still on the floor.

You winked at him, "easy access? For me? How considerate."

"That's not–"

You dropped to your knees and started crawling over to him. "This is your reward, remember? Anything you want goes, but if either of us says stop, we're done."

Yechan nodded, still covering his crotch.

You crawled right up to him, your face inches away from his dick. "Are you going to hide all day? Isn't it your desire to take charge?" You unbutton your shirt, letting it sensually slide down your shoulders, but not taking it off completely.

"So, I can just go?" Yechan asked again to be sure.

"Yep, just–" Yechan pulled your hair and pushed you into his crotch, making you huff his musk. Slightly sweaty, but pretty clean. You could feel his cock throbbing under the thin fabric, 6 1/2 inches, and curved to the left... You moved your hand to touch it, but Yechan slapped it away.

"Did I tell you to use your hands, s–slut!?" He hesitated at calling you a slut. But the submissive look in your eye reaffirmed him. "Use your mouth to take it out."

You maneuvered your mouth to his waistband, nose grinding against his abs, and dragged his boxes down. His cock smacked you in the face as you moved. His balls were heavy and full, he was throbbing like crazy, and even a slight graze earned a guttural groan. Yechan had really been waiting for you...

"Get to work, whore."

You look up at him, still keeping your hands off him as you caught his cock in your mouth and started licking.

"More than that, I don't want you half-assing it. I'm a busy man!" He pulled on your hair, pulling you into him to make you take more.

Yechan was starting to get more into it, which made you want to mess with him. He wouldn't last long if you tried to push him to it, but if he's so busy, then he can handle it. You straightened your back, corrected his hand to move your head and not pull your hair, and relaxed your jaw. Yechan noticed the change in your attitude as he started getting greedy. Pushing you deep, holding you there, all while telling you how much of an attention whore you are. You pressed him more, flattening your tongue and turning off the gag reflex. You were taking over.

"Wait, holy f–fuck," he moaned as he grabbed a nearby table. "Oh, you're so good. So, so, good at this." You squeezed his balls, earning more praise. "My balls too! Fu–fuck, baby just like that. Keep chugging it." He pushed you down, controlling the tempo, making it faster. "Your mouth is amazing, I–I'm gonna fucking cum." He almost whined as you pulled off of him, jerking him off and licking his tip. His pressure was building. Fast. "Please let me cum on your face!"

You giggled. "Say it in character!"

Yechan's words were still fumbling. "I–I will cum on your face?" He questioned before you squeezed his balls firmly. "God Damn," his cum shot out and landed on your face. "My... g–god." He wouldn't stop, pump after pump. It was at last 8 pumps, full of cum, now on your face. Each was accompanied by a thrust and whining moans from Yechan. You stroked him through it all, milking him completely before giving the tip a lick and a kiss.

"All done?"

Yechan breathlessly smeared his cum on your face, using his cock. Pushing it toward your mouth. "I'm sorry for the mess..." He said breathlessly.

You pulled out your phone and took a picture with Yechan. Cock still out and cum on your face, but a little less as you wiped some off. You put the tip back in your mouth for your picture, earning more begging from Yechan.

"P–Please! No more, I can't cum again!"

You help Yechan finish getting dressed and clean yourself up, sending him on his way and adding his photo to the folder with the others...

[bleachbleachbleach]

Joe Shinigami Job Market

Last month I read an article about tennis rankings that--as would surely be true of most people who read it--made me think about the Gotei:

The greats in tennis often become known by their first names – Roger, Rafa, Serena – but the rest of us are known by a number, our world ranking. To a greater extent than in any other sport, world ranking determines who you play, where you play and how much money you make. Tennis players have a deep and lasting relationship with their highest ranking. (Mine was 129.) [x]

You have your famous, Captain- and VC-ranked shinigami, whose names you're more likely to know than not; and maybe some of the higher-seated officers are named entities, too, if you're really up on your Gotei trivia. And then after that you have your Joe Shinigami. People within the same division might have a decent sense of who those officers are in seats 3-20, but beyond that you're probably relatively anonymous. All the same, there's probably a whole complicated hierarchy that only the people embroiled in the same vicinity of it as you are have any clear sense of that Captains and probably VCs, too, cannot make heads nor tails of, even if they tried (and only some do). These finer hierarchies are probably related to that reiatsu ranking element that comes up like twice re: Kaien and then in the Hell Chapter, but we're never told how that works so let's leave that for now.

The tennis article goes on to discuss what it means to be the "best of the rest," where in comparison to the world population, you are insanely, insanely talented!! But because of the size of the stage, you're no one. And this is a really compelling space for me, in terms of contemplating how a lot of Joe Shinigami live in the world, and how it feels to be them, because the gap between Captains and unseated shinigami is stupid huge, insurmountable, and because the tasks at hand are so often Captain-levle and not, in fact, Joe Shinigami-level, even extremely talented Joe Shinigami level:

The true unfortunates, though, were the ones who were talented enough to rationally hope to advance. These were people who grew up as the best tennis players in their country, but were stuck between 300 and 600 in the world, not quite contending for the Challenger Tour nor the qualifiers at grand slams, but winning just often enough to keep their tennis dream faintly alive. [x]

Like, these are the seated or the not quite seated. The ones who might get good enough at zanjutsu or kidou to distinguish themselves, or maybe even have a shot at shikai. That upper echelon being highly-seated is completely out of the question, realistically, like "no matter how hard you flap you cannot fly" out of the question, but you're pretty good. You're good enough it makes sense to strive for a seat, or for shikai. Even as you're just utterly useless in the scheme of all these bankai people, or in a war where, frankly, all those bankai people are themselves getting mowed down without too much fuss. It's a hard place to be!

The "true unfortunates" being described are probably all the elite, highly-talented shinigami we're introduced to as being fairly useless. The Shinos and Ryuunosukes and Kurumadanis and that-one-guy-who-gave-us-outsider-narrative-before-Mayuri-blew-him-up of the world. Even the Iemuras, and that guy's actually very highly-ranked.

I just really like the duality of all these guys coming across as hapless and a little pathetic, and I think that's probably real; but at the same time they have been trained. They had to make it through the Academy and get selected into a division. I think that speaks to that massive divide in perspective/experience between the people at the top and the rest of everyone. Like, what do you really want to look for when hiring Joe Shinigami? Aptitude for shikai is probably, honestly, an unreasonable benchmark. Plus there's a good chance they're going to die whether they're Very Good or Pretty Good, because everyone's in that band of "probably in over their heads with this," even when there's not a TYBW going on, because it kind of seems like shinigami were getting eaten left and right by regular Hollows in Karakura, too.

And what are they getting paid for that honor? 2 million kan a year? That's about 700,000 kan above minimum wage in yen in 2001 (or, let's say as a very rough estimate, 7000 USD). I've seen Reddit people say is not that much money; and that's true, but it's also about what a well-paid grad student would be making (that is, the ones who are being paid at all). Most grad students are probably not at risk of death every day of their sad little jobs, but to my mind that seems like a reasonable point of reference for what kind of training and what sort of expectation one might have of a Joe Shinigami.

If you, too, would like to read an article about Joe Shinigami, I recommend that article, which is about Joe Shinigami, not competitive tennis!

Which brings me to the other side of the equation, and the Division job ads in the SC issue of Colorful Bleach, which I love dearly. In these ads, each division's captain and VC share qualities that a successful candidate would have, as well as pertinent information about their division. Except that everyone's answers have almost nothing to do with actual job qualifications (Sasakibe wants someone who can grow plants) and reflect very little thought about who they want. It goes back to what I said earlier: If they meet the base requirement of having graduated the Academy, they're probably gonna get in somewhere, unless they are truly Too Weird for the Gotei and the Vibes are Bad (see: vindictive not-shinigami in Bleach filler arcs).

Hitsugaya's is my favorite (from the unbiased and objective perspective I always strive for in fandom) because they are the LOWEST EFFORT OF THEM ALL aside from Soi Fon's (Soi Fon refuses to respond to almost all of the questions).

I mentioned in an earlier post that the soundbites read like the SC journalist was running after people who were preoccupied with something else, and said journalist just transcribed whatever nothing answer fell out of their mouths, and that's on display well here, because the answers are in very casual spoken vernacular. Bro did not spare a single thought for this exercise:

[Colorful Bleach]

[Desired personnel?] Guys who work hard.

[How is the division's atmosphere?] Good, wouldn't you say?

[Application requirements?] Nothing in particular.

[Any words for the prospectives?] Anyone who's interested can come whenever.

Which, like, yeah, if that's what your job ad says, then of course you're going to get hapless, somewhat pathetic Joe Shinigami! You've brought this on yourself!

But this also feels kind of legit to me, because even pre-TYBW and everyone dying, you're trying to fill seats and stay staffed to fulfill whatever slate of duties you drew from the pile of things the Gotei doesn't quite have the numbers to manage. And I think it speaks to an important part of the perspective here, which I think is partly not putting effort into answering the question; partly an issue of scale/demand outstripping supply; and partly struggling to really be able to (or care to) gauge the difference between 670th-ranked shinigami recruit and 863rd-ranked shinigami recruit. From your POV (the POV of outlier class) all Joe Shinigami are kind of the same, practically speaking; that is, everyone is statistically toeing the same baseline. For this purpose, what separates a good recruit from a bad one isn't really about existing qualifications, but the ability to be trained into whatever protocols your division operates by, and going from there. So yeah, be willing to work hard, in this case, and whatever will be will be!

[velvetvexations]

Spreadsheet-reading anon, just wanted to say I do think it's pretty fucking awesome that there are like 7-10 trans people on Dropout shows given how typically there is like. One or two of us, if that, and seeing the diversity in gender presentation and pronoun choice makes it feel so wonderful and welcoming, and on top of that while they have been around for a long time they've really only like become semi-mainstream in the last couple of years and still have a pretty limited selection of shows probably due to budget and time issues, so like I think them doing what they've already done is phenomenal and should be celebrated and they should be encouraged to add even more trans and queer cast members as well, but like. Idk sorry something about transradfems going "the rep of non-tfems is SO MUCH HIGHER than the rep of tfems like it's INSANE how many more there are and clearly shows bigoted casting choices" and then seeing it's a difference of four fucking people just. Like my god y'all. That's so small. Why are we throwing a fit about Dropout having a realistic balance of trans people given like, money and time and cast-size restraints and accounting for who prefers to be on what show and is free at the right times and who is even able to do what any given show asks, and not being happy that this place has multiple reoccurring and one-off trans cast members and keeps adding more!!

It really just reads as bitching that trans people you don't consider trans enough are getting a couple extra seats at our ultimately small yet still pretty fucking big and very nice, all things considered, table. And given how many of the trans cast presents feminine and are I presume afab and how TRFs like to use "theyfab" as I slur I just. I just wonder if maybe deep down they don't think cast members like Erika or Vic or Jiovanni are even trans at all.

Anyway thank you for standing up for Dropout against the people trying to tear it down, it really does suck to see people go after one of the best, most inclusive small creative platforms on earth for not having enough of one specific type of trans person. Like we're doing SU Crit all over again, anything that dares to be queer inclusive will eventually be destroyed by asshole terminally-online queer people for not being 100% perfect 100% of the time and it sucks to see. It just really fucking sucks.

It sure does fucking suck.

[j0eyj0rdis0n]

RAMMSTEIN - HOW YOU MET

TILL LINDEMANN - sex shop

You were trying your best to keep your eyes down and focus on what you were looking for. Searching through the aisles for the toy you wanted. You tried to stay away from other people in the small store, decently embarrassed you were even here. You should’ve just ordered a new vibrator online…

You felt like you looked through half of the store before you found the aisle you needed. But of course. Someone else was also looking for the same item.

Shit.

Half of you wanted to leave and just forget about it. But the other half of you was dragging you towards the man who stood in front of the vibrators. Why you ask? Fuck if you knew.

You felt like dying as you stepped up next to him, looking quickly over the selection.

“So we have the same idea.” The man’s deep voice spoke.

You could barely meet his eyes, looking at him briefly before nodding and going back to the task at hand.

“Shy are you? Or do you speak Deutech?”

“I can understand you…” you replied, honestly not wanting to stay and speak.

The gruff man reaches over and places a finger under your chin, lifting your gaze to him. “Pretty girl you are… Shy or not.”

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his. As if entranced by his stare.

A wicked grin spreads across his face. “Take my number, give a call if you are interested in other toys. I’m sure I could give you a demonstration.” He lets his hand fall to grab yours, pulling a pen from his pocket and writing his number down.

You stood shocked, letting him give you a knowing smile with a wink for the road.

PAUL LANDERS - at the park

The spring breeze swept your hair off your shoulders as you walked through the large park. It wasn’t super often you went out like this, but you felt a change of pace would do you good. This was one of the first nice weather weeks of the year so you couldn’t help going out and enjoying the fresh air.

It didn’t take long for you to find a nice place to settle and paint. You sat with your legs crossed on the shaded bench, beginning to paint the scene in front of you in your small sketchbook.

You barely noticed the man watching each of your brush strokes until he spoke up. “Schönen kunstwerke!” He beamed.

Your head snapped up, startled with his sudden appearance. “Oh- uh… I don’t… Nien deutsch…” you responded, feeling horrible you haven’t learned enough German to understand what the man was saying.

“Oh! You are a great artist!” He quickly spoke, leaving no time for you to be embarrassed.

“Ah- thank you…” you smiled graciously.

“Do you paint people? Or just the green?” He asked, gesturing to the land around him, making sure you understood his English.

“I can paint just about anything.” You can’t help but smile, appreciating him communicating the best he could.

He took a seat next to you on the wooden bench, his smile never once leaving his face. “You’ll show me?”

“I don’t have much material with me right now…”

“Mat…erial..?” His thick accent was dare you say it, adorable.

“Artwork!”

“Ah… material!”

The two of you exchanged names and spoke cheerfully about your artwork, flipping through your unfinished sketchbook. You didn’t realize that it had been hours since you two began talking until the sun was kissing the horizon

“It’s getting dark… Do you mind giving me your number? We can continue to chat, and maybe someday I’ll paint you.” You offered, handing your phone to him.

He put in his number, saving the contact before handing his phone back to you. “It was nice to meet you! I am excited to talk again!”

CHRISTOPH SCHNEIDER - restaurant

You were working at a fancy restaurant in the city, just another normal busy evening. You were making decent money and weren’t opposed to going home early with your hard earned cash.

But of course you weren’t surprised when your boss came over and asked you to take a party of six. And of course, you agreed. Making more money wasn’t a problem after all. Usually parties were good tippers in a place like this.

You greeted the group of gentlemen kindly, your eyes quickly falling on one particular long haired man.

Damn…

The guy was absolutely stunning. I mean all of them were good looking. But you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away from him as you took their orders. You made sure to quickly make your exit once everything was written down, trying hard to hide your blush.

Throughout their meal you watched them laugh and joke, checking in on them periodically to refill water, give them more drinks, and to make sure they were doing well.

You passed out checks at the end of the meal, thanking them for coming in and wishing them well. They all paid and signed their checks, leaving one by one.

“Entschuldigung, miss.” A low voice spoke behind you, you turned around quickly to be met with the long haired man from your table. “Ich wollte dir sagen, du bist schön. Ich hoffe, dich wieder zu sehen.”

He handed the check back to you before following his friends out the door.

The tip doubled the total of his bill, with what you could only assume was his number written next to his signature.

“Schneider…”

FLAKE LORENZ - library

You didn’t expect to grab the same book at the same time. Feeling resistance as you tried to pull the book from the shelf.

“What the hell..?”

It took you one hard yank before you realized your hand wasn’t the only one on the book. Looking through the bookshelf to see the man on the other side.

“Oh god!- I’m so sorry!” You exclaim, trying to keep your voice down.

“Nein nein. Bitte übernehmen.” He responded seriously.

Your German was rough, so it took you a second to translate his brief statement. “Are you sure..?” You asked, mentally face palming yourself for replying in English. You were sure the man thought you were an idiot at this point.

“I am sure. I will find another to read.” His English was probably about as rough as your German was. Well… He could at least form a sentence in the language he wanted. “Your name..?” He asked through the library bookshelf.

“Y/N.”

“Y/N… I will teach you German. You need to learn if you need to live here.” He said matter of factly. You tried your hardest not to be offended in the manner in which he said that.

“Come tomorrow? We will start.” He gave a small smile before realization flashed over his face. “Flake. Nice to meet you.” He extended a hand through the small book shaped hole.

“Bis morgen Flake.” You laughed quietly, shaking his hand before going to check out your book.

RICHARD KRUSPE - clubbing

The two of you met at a club, you had been ditched by your friends and were sitting lonely at the bar, stirring your drink in discontent. You didn’t even look up when Richard slid up to the bar, ordering a drink with an accent that made you raise your head.

He looks down at you and raises an eyebrow, his gaze intense but concerned. “Are you lost, miss?” He asked, giving a quick glance around the room to see who might be missing a cute girl like you.

“My friends ditched me for some random guys they just met.” You said bitterly.

He nodded in understanding, getting his drink and sitting next to you.

“Assholes.” He stated with a charming smile. Trying to lift your spirits the best he could.

You laughed at his comment, looking him over closer with a smile on your face. “Where are you from? You have an accent.”

He held his chest where his heart would be, playing mock offense. “Damn… thought I was doing good losing the accent. I’m from Germany since you’re so curious, fraulein.” He winked at the addition of ‘fraulein’.

“You’re a long ways from home then.”

“I’ll be back home soon enough my dear.” He pulls out a pen from his pocket and scribbles some numbers on the small drink napkin, handing it to you as he stood. “I’ll be here a few more days, if you decide you’re ready to ditch those friends back.” He smirks, placing the napkin in your hand before kissing your knuckles and walking away into the crowd.



OLIVER RIEDEL - grocery store

You met the guy at the grocery store of all places. He was looking through the produce as you walked down the small aisle.

Looking up from your list you two meet eyes and it feels as if the world falls away. And only when he gives you a cheeky smile do you realize you’re staring. Shit…

“Do you need help finding something fraulein?” He asked, his tone matching that teasing smile he wore.

“Oh no- no- I’m fine. Danke…” you replied, blush dusting your cheeks.

“Let me see your list, maybe I can help. You seem… lost.” He smirked, holding his hand out for your list. You hand him the list and he briefly looks over it, gently taking your pen from your hand and writing something down on the paper.

“Bread is right down that way mein liebling.” He gestures down the way to the aisle, swiftly handing you your list and pen back before continuing toward the checkout with his basket of groceries.

You stood there stunned at the quick encounter. Watching as he left before looking down at your list, a phone number written down below your last item, bread.

[matthewswifeyx]

Photo booth <3

Warnings- kissing, fluff

Me and Matt were still in the early stages of dating, we were currently on our 3rd date. Matt had planned that we go to the mall, to watch a movie and then go to the arcade. I had been so excited to go with him. I was really starting to like Matt, he was the sweetest guy I had ever met and he was such a romantic. He gives me butterflies from literally doing anything.

At the moment, me and Matt had just left the movie theatre and heading to the arcade near by. The movie was really good, me and Matt snuck a few glances at each other, and even held hands!! Even though Matt's hands had felt a bit clammy, it showed that he did care about his impression on me, and that meant the world.

We were talking about our views and opinions on the movie until we arrived at the arcade. There were blinding lights scattered in every corner of the building, with kids cheering, screaming and running around, it had really reminded me of my childhood.

We both headed towards the cash machines to draw out quarters and loose change. I went to but a bill in the machine, but Matt stopped me.

"Y/N i'll pay." He stepped in front of me and put his bill in the machine.

"But Maatt." I whined. "You always pay, I'm starting to feel bad." I admit.

"Well that's I'm supposed to do, if i'm taking a girl out." He smirked.

"You're really sweet." I mumbled just loud enough for only him to hear. The smile didn't leave Matt's face after I said that.

Matt had taken the loose change from the machine and then we looked around for a game to play. We found 'The walking dead' game to play, where you just have to shoot zombies. Matt inserted the amount for two players and we began playing.

We laughed, and I screamed at one point from a sneaky zombie appearing on my screen suddenly. I had lost late into the first round. But Matt was going strong. He managed to last 5 rounds, he got his money's worth.

I cheered whenever he progressed in the game. His eyes were to fixated on the screen to react to me. I thought it was cute.

When Matt finally died, he huffed sarcastically and then laughed with me.

"C'mon, lets go find another game." He smiled.

Most of the games were occupied, so we were just lingering in the centre of the room, waiting.

"Do you want a slushie?" Matt proposed.

"Sure!" I looked up and smiled.

We both walked to the food stand, I ordered my drink and I waited for Matt to order. But he didn't, Matt paid for me again.

"Why didn't you order?" I asked sadly.

"I don't really like the flavours. But I don't mind. As long as you're happy." he smiled down at me. I blushed at his comment. Matt was a true gentleman.

My order was finished preparing and I took it off the counter and started drinking. It was blueberry, my favourite. We walked back into the arcade and I spotted a basket ball game free.

"There's a free game over there." I pointed.

"Great, let's go!" Matt said cheerfully.

We reached the game. It was one of those, where you had to shoot as many baskets in one minute.

"I'll watch this time." I say.

"You sure?" Matt asked.

"Mhm."

Matt slotted in his cash and the game started, the balls rolled towards Matt and he started shooting. Matt's aim was on point but the odd ball would roll off the rim of the basket. It was a shame, but i was still impressed. the counter counted down with urgency. It was nearing 5 seconds. Matt shot two more balls and missed. he grabbed one more, jumped in the air and threw. I chewed on my straw the whole duration of the game, admiring his resilience. The ball went in the net right on zero, and the point counted.

Matt cheered.

"That was amazing Matt!!" I said to him.

"Thanks." He smiled at me once more. "Do you wanna go to that photo booth." I looked over to the corner where the lonely booth sat.

"Sure!" I said.

We walked over and matt pulled the curtain for me to walk in first. I sat down and waited for Matt. The seat was really made for one person, but we made it work. I touched the screen and selected how many photo's to take. 5.

I went to reach my back pocket for my wallet, but Matt beat me again. I laughed. Matt slid a final note into the machine and it started.

On the first photo we simply just smiled at the camera. It counted down and took the photo with a flash. The second photo I pulled a silly face with a peace sign, so did Matt. It counted down and took the photo with a flash.

"Y/N." Matt grabbed my attention and I looked at him. "I just wanted to say that I really, really like you. And, I was kind of hoping we could move out of the dating stage?" It felt like time had stopped. This couldn't be happening? I couldn't believe it.

"Oh Matt, I like you too! Of course." His eyes were piercing through my own, they flickered down to my lips momentarily.

"How would you feel if I kissed you right now?" He asked, with no hesitation behind his eyes.

"I would feel relived." I laughed. So did he, but Matt also moved closer to my face. Click. And kissed me softly. Click. The last two photos were taken.

Matt's lips were so soft, my hand went up to grab his shoulder, and Matt placed his hands on my waist. We moved with each other slowly, never wanting the moment to end. I could feel Matt smiling against my lips and I did the same. But then he pulled away for a quick breath.

"I would be relieved too." He smiled again and gave me one more peck. We both only realised that the whole moment was captured from the photo booth when we exited. Treasuring that memory forever.

Banner credits to @issysh3ll <33

Hey guys!! I hope you really enjoyed this fanfic! if you have any suggestions/requests please do not hesitate to send me a quick message, and i will try and get back to you asap! <3

[f1-05-writer]

Blurb: Redbull racing welcomes a new doctor to the medical team but she the boss daughter and has caught the eye of max verstappen…

So this is the first part of my story hopefully you like it! It will be a bit of a slow burn!

Part 2 posted!

Length: 1145 words

I brace my knee braced on top of the hard plastic and give an almighty pull of the zipper and yet it still doesn’t budge. The sheer amount of clothes I’ve crammed in are refusing to be contained. “Come on you can do this!” I mutter, trying desperately to psych myself up. With a final burst of brute strength, the zipper eeks closed. “Fuck yes!!” I shout triumphantly settling down on top of the conquered suitcase. I survey my surrounding and settle further into my new position, realising that this is the last thing I have to do. My apartment is now fully packed up. However, the tranquillity of this moment is quickly interrupted by the sweat on my forehead making it's presence known, I grimace as the hem of my shirt comes up wet after swiping it across - Brisbane humidity is not something I will miss. After being here for five years for my medical degree, I'm ready to leave. To do something new. The first stop of that is heading to Bahrain –for the first Grand Prix of the year. Just as I'm about to stand and start wrangling this stupid suitcase out the door of my flat I hear the ear-piercing ring of my phone. Muttering out a curse at the stupid tone and swipe to answer not bothering to look at the name – I already know who it is based on the fucking ringtone.

“Hi Dad, what are you calling for” I query

“Y/N/N,” he starts with, using the shortened version of my name, “I can’t wait to see you again only a few more hours till you are in Bahrain with me! The start of many races together. I was just calling to check that you’re all sorted for the plane – it will be on the tarmac waiting for y-”

I do a double take at that comment and “Wait what! I've already booked my flight you didn’t need to send the plane down – I’ve told you it will make people look at me differently if they see me coming in on the company plane – they will think I only got the position because of you!” I screech, running my hand through my hair, this however, does nothing to sooth my frustration as my fingers get tangles in my mess of curls. Whilst my battle rages with my curls dad continues unperturbed, “Darling, you know that’s not true I had nothing to do with the selection process for Dr Trome.” I finally freed I continue exasperated “I know that dad, but other people don’t! it already hard enough people think I get handouts for being a girl and now people will say I only got it cause I'm RedBull’s Team principles daughter”

My father, Christian Horner sighs “I'm sorry darling, I just wanted to make your day easier – will you at least take the car from Bahrain airport to the track?”

I mull my options over – an Uber on Grand Prix week will cost me and arm and a leg, I know shit about Bahrain public transport and nor do I particularly want to wrangle my luggage around on it. Knowing my options are slim to none I agree to the car picking me up. Pleased with my answer my father finishes the call with a rushed I love you. `

 

I look down at my phone and my heart drops “FUCK” I scream. Frantically I grab everything do a curtesy sweep of my flat – it was really nothing to write home about – despite my very wealthy parents I am determined to make my own way – I want my successes to be mine, that everything I have earned in life is due to my own hard work not my last name, not my parents’ money but my skill. Jumping into a Taxi without a second to spare if I want to make my flight on time, I tell the driver to head to the terminal. An excruciating  25-minute drive later I arrive. With barely enough time to breath, I make it in time to check in. Finally, I have a chance to breath once seated on the plane – I'm always on edge in airports, the sheer mass if people, the lack of control it all sets me on edge. Checking my emails for the details of my position with Dr Trome.

 

Dear Y/N,

 

I hope you are traveling safe and once again congratulations on securing the position

Now that you are on your way, I just want to reaffirm what the expectation and the duties that this position involves –  you are my one of back up team doctors you will be mainly responsible for the wellbeing of your assigned driver – this has yet to be determined but you will be informed once you have arrived in Bahrain.

This includes a whole multitude of aspects but as this is merely an internship with RedBull Racing’s Medical team you will NOT be responsible for making decision merely informing me of your proposed medical plan and talk through the rational with me, we will then decide the course of treatment – this experience is meant to challenge you showing you what life as a team doctor is like – the taxing pace of travel, athletes in their peak physical health and give your hands on training.

When you land at 4pm please come straight to conference room 140E for the run-down of operations.

Once again Congratulations and welcome to RedBull Racing

 

Kind Regards,

Dr Trome

MD, BSc

 

Unable to contain my excitement a wide, slow smile spreads across my face. This is it. The start of a dream. Heading into medical school I was unsure of where I wanted to end up hospital rotations left me feeling drained and unfulfilled – I yearned for travel and excitement. My view of hospitals was probably warped due to the pandemic, but I was desperate not to suffer through that now. When the medical faculty at university had posted about an internship at RedBull racing I just couldn’t pass up, I dared not speak a word to my family about this – I knew my father would inject himself into the situation despite my protests and the obvious ethical violations. So, I quietly applied, not telling anyone and then 3 months ago after the whole interview process was complete, I got the internship. And that’s why I now find myself seated on a plane headed for Bahrain. I look out the window imagine the exciting possibilities that await me when this plane lands

 

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, the current time in Brisbane is 6pm the flight time to Bahrain is approximately 18hours and 45 minutes so settle back, get comfortable and enjoy your flight. We thank you for flying with us.

 

I settle into my seat and get ready for the start of my new life.

[caspersickfanfics]

Written for @monthofsick Day 13: Professionalism Failure

Prompt List | AO3 | Ask | Rules

Warnings: Vomiting, fever, implied scat/diarrhea off screen

Anon asked:

Hey! I was wondering if I could request the professionalism failure for sick Cyno Tighnari caretaker? Maybe cyno has gotten food poisoning from a work event and has to somehow keep it together until tighnari can rescue him? Or maybe he can’t and has to deal with the embarrassment of it all. I just can imagine Tighnari being really protective over him if the other academy members give him a hard time~

A/N:

I don’t think this really makes sense in the canonical progression of things, but as I wrote this I imagined it taking place before Nahida had time to select actual good sages to replace the old ones. So the sages here are like the default ones who were next in line after Azar and that group. Essentially, they’re connected to Azar still but weren't directly convicted of any crimes and they have a lot less power. Idk, thinking about politics too much even in fiction makes me mad so I’m just gonna do a bit of a hand wave here.

This meeting has been a thorn in Tighnari’s side since the sages demanded to arrange it weeks ago. Despite his best efforts to wriggle his way out of it, the thorn had stuck. They’d backed him into a corner of sorts; the Akademiya demanded his presence specifically to even consider allocating funding to assist in the healing and maintenance of the Avidya Forest. Somehow, now that he’s in attendance, it’s even worse than he’d expected.

He scowls at the itinerary in front of him. It’s weighted so that anything anyone’s interested in will happen at the very end. No chance of leaving early. He probably shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up.

The one saving grace is that Cyno is here as well. While the matras’ financials are essentially secured as a matter of tradition, the specific way in which the money gets distributed is up in the air. Depending on the outcome, Cyno’s internal sense of justice may be placed in alignment with or in opposition to their mandates. This meeting may be even more important for him than for the forest rangers.

Which is why Tighnari is alarmed when, about 45 minutes into the 5 hour meeting, Cyno’s head is pillowed in his arms, resting upon the ridiculously long conference table. Although Tighnari is seated a distance away, he thinks he can see sweat matting the matra’s hair down. With any luck, he’s just being paranoid, though that seems unlikely. Even more so when Cyno raises his head and suddenly stands. His typically warm skin tone has paled to an ashy brown. He’s hunched over, too. His posture is altered so slightly that Tighnari doubts anyone else has noticed, despite all eyes turning his way at the scrape of his chair, but it’s glaringly obvious to him. Not to mention - this is Cyno’s second time interrupting the meeting. For the second time, too, he quietly excuses himself for the bathroom.

It’s fortunate that Alhaitham is still Acting Grand Sage. Tighnari had been somewhat grumpy towards his friend for the fact that he hadn’t been able to exempt him from the meeting, but the fiery grudge is doused when the ex-scribe’s glare silences annoyed complaints from the other sages about the General Mahamatra’s exit. If Alhaitham’s lingering frown is anything to go by, he’s noticed something off about Cyno as well.

The meeting continues on, and its participants are forced to split into breakout groups. They’re meant to be discussing the continued importance of knowledge to Sumeru, though no one seems to care enough to stay on topic. Instead, the people around Tighnari begin trash-talking Cyno.

“That’s enough gossip, I think,” Tighnari asserts dryly. He recognizes a handful of the nuisances around him as Bimarstan employees and smirks as they pale before him. “Sorry, who was it you were saying is unprofessional? I, for one, wonder about the ethical repercussions medical personnel might face if they were, say, reported for rudely speculating on a past patient’s personal life.” He resists the urge to make specific jabs at a particularly loud doctor whom he has quite damning intelligence on, but keeps the option available for future use as needed.

Fortunately, his colleagues are just barely smart enough to catch his threat. They carry their discussion to the topic at hand, and then onto some other irrelevant gossip that Tighnari doesn’t care enough to comment on. Instead, he’s distracted by tracking the time that Cyno’s been gone. Ten minutes, then 15. When the door finally creaks open, conversation lulls. Heads turn.

“I apologize for the disruption,” Cyno says upon entering. He looks… marginally better than he had when he’d left. The sages accept his apology with minor grumbling that is cut surprisingly short - again, likely thanks to the Acting Grand Sage. Tighnari will thank him, later. He tries to let his concern fade away, but is unable to resist clearing his throat.

“I’d like for the General to join our group, if that’s alright? I believe his insight would be rather beneficial to our current discussion.” A discussion to which Tighnari has been paying no attention. He is grateful once again for Alhaitham, who nods and silently leaves no room for disagreement.

Up close, Cyno looks exhausted. Tighnari was right to be worried. Cyno runs hot, but doesn’t tend to sweat; definitely not this profusely. He’s quiet by nature, but has never hesitated to voice his opinions. Now he says nothing even when their colleagues unapologetically speak with microaggressions and horribly biased misconceptions about the Eremites. His eyes are unfocused; Tighnari wonders if he’s hearing the conversation at all. As time passes, Cyno’s condition only worsens and he drifts closer to Tighnari’s side. Eventually, the matra’s stomach makes an angry noise and his cheeks flush. Tighnari pulls him aside.

“Do you need to leave?” He asks gently. Tighnari silently dares anyone else to comment with a quick glare at the rest of the group. They continue to chatter amongst themselves, shuffling out of earshot. Perhaps out of respect, an effort to grant some privacy; perhaps simply to gossip more. Tighnari simply does not care - not right now, at least. He’ll deal with it later if he needs to.

“I’m sorry,” Cyno says, voice weak. “I’m okay. My–” He sucks in a sharp breath and winces, his hand shaking as it drifts to his midsection. A moment passes; the pain intensifies and then relents. When he speaks again, Cyno’s voice is dulled. “My stomach is just disagreeing with something I ate.”

Clearly. If his partner were feeling better Tighnari would argue that this is a severe understatement. “You’ve been feeling bad this whole time?” Tighnari asks instead. The General shrugs.

“It’s manageable.”

Very deliberate phrasing, Tighnari notes. Outwardly, he nods. “Let me know if that changes, Cyno.”

The meeting carries on. It’s boring and obnoxious. The loud doctor continues to be vocal about his nonsense. Tighnari rebukes him occasionally for the sake of a bit of entertainment, but the other man is easily cowed. He defers quickly to Tighnari’s judgement each time. Uninteresting, but probably for the best; there’s no point in getting worked up over someone who will likely lose his position for malpractice in the next few months.

For his part, Cyno remains unspeaking in the presence of the rest of the group. He sits off to the side and fidgets, looking at the floor. His cheeks are flushed, which Tighnari suspects is due to both a fever and humiliation. When the side of his face comes to rest against the table, Tighnari resists the urge to remove his heavy headdress only because he knows that doing so would embarrass Cyno further.

Next on the itinerary is free discussion, meaning that everyone at the meeting is supposed to get up, walk around, talk to people… Tighnari does not care for this sort of connection making. He doesn’t bother moving, and responds politely but vaguely to anyone who approaches him. More importantly, he responds the same way when anyone tries to approach his partner - perhaps with a touch of extra heat. Of course, Cyno could fend for himself, even in his current state, but Tighnari has no doubt that at least some of their colleagues have picked up on the General's vulnerability and are deliberately targeting it. He’s just sent someone away perhaps a bit too forcefully to be called diplomatic, when a cool, clammy hand wraps around his arm. Cyno is looking up at him.

“Tighnari. I feel sick.” A queasy burp escapes him. Tighnari frowns.

“You’re nauseous? Cyno,” he chides. “You need to rest at home.”

Fortunately, Cyno nods in agreement. “I’ll let the sages know that I’m leaving. You should stay,” he says, waving away Tighnari's skepticism. “I can handle this and - hic! - there’s no need for the forest to suffer for my failings.”

Tighnari nearly rolls his eyes. He’s sure that neither the forest nor the matra need to face consequences as a result of an illness entirely out of Cyno’s control; though he can acknowledge there is some benefit in his presence here, if the other man is able to hold out on his own. If he stays, Tighnari could at least ensure nothing disastrous happens regarding either of their positions.

Still. He would easily sacrifice that for the sake of Cyno’s wellbeing.

He watches the sick man approach the sages, who sit in large, looming chairs, making Cyno look tiny. Alhaitham stands, as if to stretch his legs, and moves close. Frustratingly, with all of the chatter and the distance between then, Tighnari can’t hear a thing without imposing on the conversation directly. He can see Cyno speak, and then Alhaitham nods. The elder sages frown and one says something, before two more join in. Cyno's head bobs, then shakes, and then he muffles what looks to be another burp into his fist. He’s still for a moment, aside from his Adam’s apple bobbing frantically. 

Even without knowing the exact words exchanged, it’s more than evident that the sages are unwilling to respect Cyno’s needs. Tighnari is about to interfere when Alhaitham’s voice jumps up a notch - likely deliberately at a volume just loud enough for Tighnari to hear.

“So,” he’s saying to the other sages, “you’re saying that a doctor whose medical skills are acknowledged by the Akademiya must verify that he’s ill?”

Tighnari tenses. He immediately glances around the large room, eyes searching. Alhaitham is still speaking.

“For example,” he continues. “A Bimarstan doctor?”

There’s no use checking whether the sages agree - Alhaitham has them cornered. Now Tighnari just needs to— Ah. There.

He barely resists grabbing the doctor by the ear and latches onto his wrist instead. Under his breath, he speaks with venom, “Cyno is sick, clearly, don’t you agree?”

The man is silent, probably stunned, and Tighnari continues. “Or would denying the obvious truth be worth risking—”

“Oh no, yes, you are correct, Master Tighnari,” the doctor rambles nervously. Tighnari pushes him before the sages. They glance at one another. Cyno looks up, as well, but stays quiet, taking measured breaths.

“Well?” Tighnari asks. “He’s a Bimarstan doctor.”

With the glares of both Tighnari and Alhaitham pinned on him, the eldest sage slowly nods. Tighnari turns his gaze to the doctor and taps his foot. “Go on, then.”

“Oh! Um, yes, I believe that the General Mahamatra is experiencing some, uh, gastrointestinal distress. He should rest at home for the quickest recovery.”

“And,” Tighnari jumps in before he gets a chance to scurry away. “Would you recommend that someone assist in his care during this time, perhaps due to the strain of having been forced to stay on his feet for so long?”

“Ah, yes. Master Tighnari is correct, it would be wise for him to accompany the General. Should– should you all agree–” His backtracking cuts off with a wheeze as Tighnari stomps on his foot.

The eldest sage doesn’t look pleased, but he sighs, unsmiling as he spits out begrudging words. “I will allow it. But the forest watcher must agree to reapply for his funding and return to the city in a few weeks' time... Should he still be interested in the Akademiya’s support, that is.”

Tighnari grits his teeth. These geezers always need to get the last word in. “Fine,” he snaps, foregoing any pretense of politeness. He all but drags Cyno out of the conference room - gently of course, though he’s sure they’re equally eager to be elsewhere.

As soon as they’re through the door, Cyno stops.

“Tighnari. The bathroom— urp!” He lurches forward with an empty heave, then scrambles away. Tighnari is quick on his heels, and finds Cyno in an unlocked stall, trembling with his head hanging over the toilet. He hasn’t been sick yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

“Hey,” Tighnari speaks quietly. “Deep breaths, okay?”

Cyno glances at him briefly, then nods and squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. Tighnari scoffs.

“For saving me from that meeting? Cyno, please.”

The matra shakes his head. “It was important. And now you’ll have to come back. Not to mention– ugh,” a queasy shudder runs through him before Cyno is able to speak again. “Not to mention having to do the paperwork a second time.”

It’s an annoyance, but the paperwork isn't a big issue. Tighnari tells Cyno as much. “Just focus on getting better.”

The sick man has lost a great deal of the color in his face, and sweat glistens on his temples. His whole body is tense. Tighnari brushes his hair back, hoping to protect it from any mess and provide some comfort at the same time. “Try to relax,” he says.

“Guh,” Cyno moans. “I feel so… gross.”

Tighnari aches in sympathy. For as ill as Cyno looks, he’s sure he feels even worse. Minutes pass slowly. Cyno’s stomach makes angry noises and he’s periodically wracked by hiccups and burps. Eventually, Tighnari coaxes him into leaning back against his chest. His hands card through Cyno’s hair as the sick man turns, pressing his face into Tighnari's neck.

“You’re okay,” Tighnari murmurs. There are warm little puffs of air against his neck and it tickles, but he remains still.

He’s just beginning to sweat from his partner’s body heat when Cyno lurches away from him, hunched forward over an empty but gut-wrenching belch. His entire body heaves three times until he’s burping up a flood of vomit. It pours out of him with alarming urgency. Tighnari keeps his hair out of the way, but he can do little else but watch as Cyno violently empties himself. Each time he thinks it may be over, Cyno’s stomach contracts again. He sways; Tighnari steadies him just in time for another jet of puke to splash into the toilet water.

Disgusted shudders run through Cyno while he tries desperately to catch his breath. When he gets close, he is overtaken by coughs that bring up more bile. He groans.

Fortunately, there’s only so much in his stomach. When Cyno’s retching fails to bring anything else up for a handful of minutes, Tighnari half-drags him out of the stall, away from the sour smell. It seems to help. Cyno wipes his face and swallows thickly.

“How are you feeling?” Tighnari asks.

Cyno shrugs. “Bit better. For now.”

Tighnari hums; it’s to be expected. He suspects a bout of food poisoning or the stomach bug, so the next 24 hours or so will likely be challenging.  It’s a humbling thing, being able to do so little in the way of comfort at such a time. Still, he does what he can, massaging the back of Cyno’s neck, feeling him relax in time with his ministrations. He only stops when the matra begins drifting off.

Tighnari pokes his cheek. Cyno cracks an annoyed eye open, and Tighnari raises a brow. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want to sleep here? In this bathroom? Where our colleagues will eventually find us?”

Cyno nods. Cheeky bastard. His words are slurred when he speaks, as if his mouth has relaxed along with his body. “As long ’s you keep doin’ that…”

With a snort, Tighnari pulls them both to their feet. “Let’s go, you big lummox. I’d much rather give you a massage on your couch than on these gross tile floors.”

“Mhm,” Cyno mumbles, leaning heavily against his partner as they walk. “Nari… thank you.”

Chest warm, Tighnari ruffles the other man’s hair lightly and presses a quick kiss to the top of his head. “Any time.”

———

Fanart for this fic!!!

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If you enjoyed the fic, feel free to let me know by replying directly to this post, by sending me an ask, or by sharing your thoughts with me privately and anonymously through this survey! I would super appreciate it <3 Thank you so much for reading!!

[sinofwriting]

I've thought about how jarring a socioeconomic class jump would be. Going through your routine to prepare (both physically by readying your things and mentally) to take transit/go to the airport with enough time budgeted for any hiccups, only to sit with your shoes on, bag in your lap because your husband takes a car straight to the destination/skips tsa and gets to the airport right before takeoff. Suddenly having to redo all your routines to get through life sanely because they're no longer needed and you'd waste your time. There would also be a loneliness of being a bit isolated in the upper class, no longer able to people watch or feel that vague sense of company from being with the masses. Luckily you have a husband overly eager to do anything and everything for you. Following a half step behind to memorize your routine, sitting next to you-shoes on- for the hours to kill before you actually have to leave, helping pack your bag while your brain is a bit scattered trying to establish a new routine and runs his fingers over your belongings with reverence, stroking your hair/hugging you when you get antsy feeling like you'll be late, arm around you keeping your whole side pressed against him in the car/through the airport, distracting you from that isolation with excited conversations, bubbling questions, and big, shining eyes (but I don't mean that in a Stockholm syndrome-y way). Sorry this is weird lol. -🦢

Okay, but things like this were doing through my head when I was traveling (which I rarely if ever do) and it would be so jarring.

No more long lines at security, waiting for your zone to be called to board, getting stuck with the middle seat cause you could only afford basic economy and couldn't shell out the additional money to select your seats. Having to take care what you pack because you can only bring a personal item and carry on because those are free, but checked items are not.

It would be so jarring.

And there is the distraction of your new husband, who is watching as you try and roll up all your clothes to fit easily in your carry-on, and he watches as you debate between two pairs of shoes because you can only bring one pair (the pair your wearing on the plane) before he finally steps in and dumps three different shoes into a suitcase and all the clothes you had looked sad to not take with you before zipping it and telling you not to worry.

His fingers intertwined with yours is so new and distracting you don't even notice you've gone through security and are now seated on the private jet, his arm now also wrapped around you, seat belt buckled by him, while his other stretches across his lap to still hold your hand.

[trtyutr]

Attention of the Court V

Ryan lies on his couch, clad on in his boxers. His hands lie on his five week baby bump. One lies on top of the baby filled mound while the other paces the side of the bump that looks more as if it six months along if it were normal. It was the last week he was staying in his apartment before he moves to a small condominium. Then the packages arrive.

It takes him a bit to get up to the door. He opens the door a crack before taking a peak outside to see if there's anyone who would see his nearly naked form. When he saw that the coast was clear, he looked down to see two boxes, one small and red, the other large and blue. He moves as quickly as he can with his over one hundred kids weighing him down. He manages to push them inside just in time for him to hear some another door down the hallway open up. He's safe. He grabs blue box. Its cardboard is that same dark shade of blue as the envelopes. He rips off that the blue tape to find a piece of paper on top of a bunch of neatly folded up clothes. The paper says that he was given ownership of a managed account with $112,500 in its portfolio. "It's increasing by 50% each time. I think I can get used to it. "The clothes are also pretty nice." He said as he picked through them. There was a variety in the selection, t-shirts, fishnet tank tops, to white button down dress shirts. These actually came at a great time, because he down to three boxers, two sweat pants, and a hoodie that barely covers half his belly. He tries on a t-shirt. It's a bit tight, but it fits. It even covers his baby bump. It doesn't leave a lot to the imagination, though. He turns to the red box. It flips open easily to reveal an amulet on a silver chain along with a note. "You only have to wear it for five minutes for our deals. I don't think it's my style, but I want the money." He sets an alarm for ten minutes, just to be safe. He puts it on. The metal is cool, and for some reason wearing it makes him feel off, like his thoughts can't form. It wears off after five minutes, and when the alarm goes off, he puts the amulet off and forgets it. Three days later, he's at the gay bar. He's sitting at a table alone. He's wearing a tank top, a jock, and jeans. He sips his water, when he hears "Can I buy you a drink?" He turns around to see a shorter man with bit chin scruff and a brown leather jacket. "I'm fine with water, but I would like your company." Ryan says patting the seat beside him. "I'm sorry if this is forward, but are you" "Pregnant? Yes. I'm about five weeks along." The strangers face knits together as a few gears start to turn, but soon he smiles again as the glamour pushes away all those bothersome questions. "I was going to ask single, but pregnant is good is good to know too. It's hot." He scoots his chair closer. The man puts his hand on Ryan's leg. "You're hot." Ryan's at the stranger's place. He's peeled off the tank top and lying on the bed. He's being showed a series of strap one. "Which one does Daddy like?" Ryan points to a ivory white eight incher. "This one, and don't worry, I'm loose enough." He says taking off his jeans. "No wonder a slut like you is pregnant. That's even hotter." A condom, some generous lube, and a transman rutting into him, Ryan's cumming into his jock hand's free. "Dear Peers, my game is covered, and our fertile Ryan is growing like a garden, but only with his womb, so I'm going to send him a fruit basket with everything that a growing father needs. Every vote of yours will add your voted fruit to the basket. I have some wonderful Milky Coconuts, great for building pectorals. I have Juicy Peaches, great for the glutes. Heavy Avocados that hang low and heavy on the tree, perfect for making man virile. Long Bananas, which will help his manhood. Maybe Fatty Olives to add some fat on his form. Or maybe Protein Packed Berries to help build his muscle. " (Instead of winner takes all, each vote in this poll will make Ryan grow in whatever you vote for.)

[kleyamarki]

HI so i wrote the implied meeting between salman paak and kleya. it's part of my magnum opus eat your young andor concept fic. this is ultimately going to be bix-centered, focused on "throw enough rope till the legs have swung" (pretty on the nose for ya, sorry paak)

anyway, it's below the cut. maybe let me know what you think? idk i'm bored.

The man has Ferrix written all over him. It’s in the way he leaves the seats in the room for those much older and those much younger, the way he genuinely listens to everyone in the room, and the mechanic’s oil he’s tried to wash out of the jacket he wears. Kleya selects him as her mark out of the packed room. A speaker drones on about the injustices the Empire has rought, and Kleya nods along – she agrees, obviously. But speaking to a room of people will ultimately do nothing. It’s her job to pick out people she believes will be willing to take an extra step. She has hope for the man who would come all the way from Ferrix.

[ok itty bitty time skip (because i’m impatient with my writing brain and want to share this anyway), like a matter of a few minutes, think rebel meeting but more like a lecture. kleya looks like she should be part of it, like she could be one of the leaders of this little group, even. but she stands on the outskirts of the room, like she’s the lowest rung of the leader totem pole. in reality she’s not one of them, but she’s there to see if she can get anyone for her & luthen’s purposes. she also introduces herself to paak. obviously with a different name and all that. okay onto the rest]

“You know,” Kleya says over a cup of caf, “If you’re serious about this, you could be our liaison on your homeworld.” She uses ‘our’ lightly in terms of the current surroundings. She hopes he doesn’t notice the leaders of the group aren’t fraternizing with the attendees. Her network needs this. The Separatists here might too, but there’s a reason she’s handpicked him specifically. They don’t need to know that. 

Paak lets a huff of air out of his nose, a laugh, maybe, “Ferrix? They’d rather take the Empire’s money and ignore them.” Kleya’s brow furrows as the words leave his mouth. “They have each other, they can ignore the rest.”

“But you’re here.”

“But I’m here,” he sighs.

Kleya spies her opening. “I can offer more money for the Imperial toys you trade already.”

“You don’t want some uprising?” Paak raises an eyebrow, silently saying what Kleya wants him to realize – you’re not the same as them, the Separatists she’s playing. Maybe he even thinks their arrangement would be less dangerous than an overt uprising. She hopes, for his sake, he doesn’t have to learn the truth of the matter. 

“We know the game you salvagers play,” Kleya says, revealing just enough to reel him in. “And we could put it to better use. A use you’d probably like more, anyway, considering you’re here.” She sips her caf, looks back at the room.

Paak is silent for a moment longer than Kleya would like. He sips his caf too, thinking. She interjects, “You’d get a radio, signal when you have something for my buyer. We’ll catch it, he’ll pay a visit. All fairly simple, if you can get your hands on equipment we need at the right time.”

At that, Paak nods. Although he still looks the slightest bit uneasy, Kleya knows she’s got him. “As long as the radio’s alive, you’ll get a stipend too.” She debates for a split second what she’ll say next, but goes ahead anyway, “All the better for your family, right?”

Paak raises an eyebrow, but there’s something in his eye that says he’s in for the guarantee of a regular income stream. “You said liaison,” he says, finally, “Could I bring someone in, put them in contact with your buyer?”

Kleya doesn’t want to say yes, but they need Ferrix. “Sure, you’re the one on the ground.” A half-truth. He doesn’t need to know that. 

Paak nods, “You have a deal.”

Kleya suppresses a smile. She can still be happy about the small successes. “We’ll send you the radio in the next few weeks. Signal, and the buyer will come.”

[bleachbleachbleach]

Senkaimon Travel Procedures

"There are many benefits to being a marine biologist."

Even though 99.99% of interdimensional travel is baked into normal Gotei procedures that shinigami use every single day, I feel like the Gotei has probably made it difficult for no other reason than it's not anyone's job to make it not difficult.

Like, it'd be nice if you could receive your Living World Assignment and then, at 7AM on launch day, show up at a senkaimon and go through it. Cake! (Or--well, you know what I mean, this being Soul Society.)

But I feel like this line from my work’s website about there being "many benefits to using a travel management system" exists because our previous travel management system was so bad it felt like it should be regulated by the state as a form of gambling. I see no reason why the Gotei's version would NOT be like this. So:

You cannot, in fact, simply show up and walk through a senkaimon, on the date the Gotei itself told you you would need to do so. You need to go to the physical Travel Management Office, which is run by like two dudes from the Kidou Corps.

You will give them your deployment summons, which they will cross-reference with the copy they may or may not have received. (You need to time your trip to the Travel Management Office such that you have enough time to make your arrangements, but the mail also has enough time to make it through the entire Seireitei postal system.)

Despite the fact that this paperwork is handled entirely analog, the next part of this process involves a giant mainframe like the ones they have at the 12th. It prints data matrices that only these two Travel Management Office Kidou Corps guys can translate into dates, times, and--most importantly--prices.

Yes, you have to pay to use the Senkaimon. Well, not you personally. Your Division does. But you will at some point have to submit your receipts to your finance officer along with your other qualified expenses and it's a whole thing.

Also you had to submit a budget for your own mission that the Gotei is telling you to go on, but you had to base those prices on Death.Net's info, which is not the same info as these Travel Management Guys have.

By the time they've translated and you've selected, the mainframe prints out another matrix. Cue more translating, and more selecting, because the senkaimon time/date you've chosen is now a completely different price, well above what was originally printed. It's also at a different time, and a different day... (+/- 2-17 hours).

Expect to go through this several times, choosing time/date/price packages completely at random because you know that by the time they come back for second confirmation they'll be different. This is the gambling part of your trip to the Travel Management Office (you set aside the whole afternoon, right? You told your 10th Seat where you were going?).

The constantly shifting data is because despite being the "refined" way to travel to the Living World and back, senkaimon travel is still fairly complex, and the ability to travel (or how much energy it takes, hence the cost) is dependent upon... who knows. Solar flares. Whimsy. The stoichiometry of souls. How many people are on duty at the Kidou Corps. Obama. Bitcoin.

Speak of "and back"!!! You need to arrange that, too! If you miss your date, imagine doing all of this. But via denreishinki, instead of in person. Imagine.

Those fancy trips where it seems like captains/VCs just jump through a senkaimon? It's because instead of arranging a particular "flight" they just bought out every single opportunity within a block. This is hideously, hideously expensive. But: 1) Sometimes it's subsidized by the Central 46, if the circumstance is dire enough (but it's a reimbursement, not an advance. So, fill out that paperwork when you get back, if you don't die!). 2) This can be paid for with personal funds if it's in excess of the division budget. What else are they gonna do with all that money, right?

Even this doesn't mean there will be an instantly available senkaimon portal to avail oneself of, so sometimes after spending 7 million kan to buy out a senkaimon block you still have to wait a bit behind the doors in that little receiving room space. Yeah.

It's possible to have someone else go to the Travel Management Office and make your arrangements for you, if you have better things to be doing. But a lot of Captains/VCs actually still go themselves, either for security clearance reasons (you can't outsource your travel plans if you're on a top-secret mission lmao), or because they're private and don't want people handling their business. This means if you're the two guys who work at the Office, it's a pretty cushy gig if you're into meeting celebrities (or what passes for them in this place).

The only downside is that they're almost universally in a rush and fucking angry that they're at the Travel Management Office.

As they say, never meet your heroes!

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @mk-writes-stuff, this is a new one for me!

Siren Tag

Rules: mythological sirens sang about someone’s greatest desire. What would some OCs see if they sang to them?

Let's get the whole gang in on this!

Izjik: All she wants is a simple life, really. Her friends are successful, End never invaded her mind, and she's free to cavort through the forests and rivers on wild adventures that are for fun rather than necessity. There's probably some smokin' babes in there too, tbh.

Sepo: First off, obligatory Illari siren song doesn't work on Illari sirens, but I'll say the mythic ones are different. Sepo deepest desires are split, I'm afraid. Most of him is happy on the surface world, and wants nothing more than to see his friends happy and find renown as a composer. But a little, buried piece of him still wishes he was back at the Saryimastra Seat where life was so much simpler and he had a god that loved him.

Twenari: Sirens would sing to her about power. The power of the Araunian desert wielded as a hammer massive enough to tip the scales of the universe towards justice. The power of rune craft able to let her finally understand the world down to its basest level. The power to never be powerless again.

Djek: All he wants is a loving family, really. He would be welcomed back with open arms by his parents as they cried over how wrong they were to abandon him. He would be able to show the other Outcasts how strong and capable he is, how easily he can keep them all safe.

Astra: In her wildest dreams, Astra is just as skilled of a mage as she brags she is. She's wealthy, respected, maybe a little feared. Her parents live in a big house bought on money she made from patented inventions. Mashal is at her side in the human body he longs for so dearly.

Mashal: Speaking of! Sirens would sing to Mashal of the warmth of sunlight on his face again, air in his lungs, and the burn of exertion as he rides into the sunset. He's human again and has his memories back. Astra is at his side, a famous mage, and I'm gonna stop these musing here before they get too rated R ;)

Ivander: He wants to be free of his curse. After that, I'm not sure if even he knows. I think maybe he'd like to track down his mother again and hear her say that she never meant to leave him with his horrible family. Probably, he's still just hanging out with Ceyrel at the BAI, except no curse.

Elsind: In Elsind's dream world, they were never kidnapped and get to see their mom every day. Changelings are accepted, so she can walk freely in her natural form. I think she'd own a cute little book shop with fresh flowers in the windows and the best selection of steamy romance in all of Salis.

Avymere: They would never admit this even to themself, but in their deepest longings, Avymere isn't heir to the duchy. They're a regular person, maybe some sort of traveling caravan guard, with friends and no responsibility for millions of lives hanging over their head. I think they'd throw up if they ever saw this though

Faalgun: No gambling addiction, let's go! Sirens would tempt Faalgun with a life where he doesn't feel that constant hollow itch inside himself, only quieted by moments of the highest stress. He's an officer in the Flying City Ten'ka, successful and unbothered.

Nyda: Fuck all that astronomy shit, the sirens would show Nyda her life as a mercenary of legendary renown. She's badass, unbeatable, strategic. Her family sings her praises, and her name is spread far and wide, not for the Burningrock Method, but as Nyda Burningrock the warlord.

Kaulakri: Honestly? Her dearest dream is a massive, uncharted archipelago where she can sail to her heart's content without having to worry about food or disease, mapping even the tiniest of outcroppings as she goes. In this dream, Nyda also admits Kaulakri is the better scientist and agrees to start taking actual notes.

Pashananath: In this dream, Pash isn't one of the Fair Folk. He's one of those gross little elves with their gross sets of inhibitions. He doesn't have to worry about getting stabbed because he stepped on someone else's toes, and he can play music and explore without worrying that he's not fulfilling his Contribution. He can be good without feeling weak.

Anarac: Come on, man, he just wants his sons back. That's all. Matter of fact, even just one short conversation would do, then he'd be happy to face oblivion. Also, I think he really wants to eat an incredibly good sandwich again. Simple man, simple tastes.

I'll tag @wyked-ao3 @leahnardo-da-veggie @thecomfywriter @mysticstarlightduck @seastarblue and anyone else who wants in :)