#one of them I know is wrong already but whatever

[briefeee]

Hello, it is me again, back for more as I work through all of your older arts for this AU, this one might be shorter than most posts. I finished cranking out some kind of analysis paper for uni and wanted to do something more fun with my brain 2333

I get a little obsessive with how much Jazz smiles here, I find his entire body language so fluid and full of trust for/to OP. His playful wink and smile as well, very cute and panda like of him. He's just really cute and carefree, if OP wants something, OP gets (in my head at least).

So much care in how the visor was removed from his face too, some kind of gentle swoop in and grab motion from OP's hands with how it comes clean off and it's really cute to see how OP looks wearing it. He reminds me of those really adventurous cats that love to take part in the things their owners do because it makes them feel a mutual connection (like makeup, showers, eating) a lot; their own way of bonding. I know by now my theory of Jazz knowing about the garment touching was correct (I was already following this AU when it came out), but tbh I always did wonder if he picked up on OP having cried around this time or guessed why and then this moment followed after (if im wrong, im wrong!)) Whatever led to this moment and the expression Jazz had seeing OP in his garment, I find their relationship as friends very endearing and sweet

"Something takes over when I look at you, it's a sudden rush of tenderness for you, so even if it isn't our fate, consider this an act of proclaimed love. In my memory, the moment never ends. For we stay there still looking at each other like that."

Jazz passed the test woohoo!!!! Official apprentice of Nexus Prime!!

I think I'll draw a guide to all the available garments sometime!

New fun fact! If touching was already bad, wearing another House's garment is an absolute sacrilege!! It implies that you're conjunxed to the person belonging to that House or at least, promised to them :D

[connorsui]

UNLIMITED ACCESS!

This was wonderfully requested by my beloved @madam8 who gave me such a beautiful idea for a sylus date and I couldn't let go of it until I completed it 😭😭🩷🩷 like it's so cute that even when I was studying I kept thinking of new ways to end the fic or new scenes to add into it. --- it was ...AAUGH- my heart ...tho I do apologize for how long this one took out ur girl was busy trying not to fail classes 💀💀 ...lol 💅🏻

p.s if you see my corpse surrounded by flowers anywhere you can blame it on this ask ✨️ I LOVE IT

It started, as most things with Sylus did, with...

extravagance.

He had a habit of planning nights that felt more like events—private rooftops overlooking the shimmering city skyline, candlelit dinners in places that required reservations months in advance, evenings where the very sky seemed to bend to his will.

Luxurious. Impeccable. Always grand.

And while you loved those moments—loved him—there was something else you had been craving lately.

Something... simpler.

So one evening, as he idly twirled a glass of dark liquor between his fingers and casually mentioned taking you to a private villa on an island, you leaned into his space, resting your chin on your palm, and asked—

"Why don’t we do something more…plain? Just for the day—I mean."

Sylus stilled slightly, red eyes flickering toward you, waiting.

"Don’t get me wrong, I love our dates," you continued, "but I think it’d be nice to just do something fun. Silly, even. Maybe a little childish?"

A playful smile curled at your lips.

"Just… something where you don’t have to rent out an entire skyline to impress me."

He raised a brow, surprised. "You wish for something plain?"

You grinned. "Exactly. So let’s just have a normal date. Like—oh! What about an amusement park? Or an arcade? Or the fair!"

Sylus exhaled through his nose, setting his glass down with a measured movement. "Your ideas are enjoyable… I wouldn't mind indulging in them."

"Yeah! It’ll be fun, I promise. We can see what rides you like, if you’ll actually tolerate roller coasters, or if you’re one of those people who insists they’re too predictable." You smirked. "Oh, and you have to try winning me something from one of those carnival games."

He regarded you with that ever-neutral gaze, quiet and considering, before finally murmuring—

"For you, I wouldn’t mind fulfilling that request."

You smiled, pressing a playful kiss to his cheek, already excited for whatever simple, carefree date he would plan.

Or so you thought.

Because somehow—somehow—things escalated.

Instead of just buying tickets like a normal person, Sylus had decided the best course of action was to…

Buy. The. Entire. Damn. Park.

Your favorite amusement park, to be exact.

And now here you stood at the entrance, staring up at the massive sign that should have been buzzing with families, groups of friends, and screaming children running past in excitement.

Instead, it was silent.

The ticket booths? Closed. The parking lot? Void of life.

The only people here were you, Sylus, and the staff, who stood patiently, waiting only for the two of you.

You turned to him slowly, your brain still buffering.

"Sylus… I—when I said I wanted a fun day with you… this isn’t exactly what I had in mind."

Sylus, as usual, looked completely unbothered. "Did I get the wrong park?"

You blinked. "…No, but—Sylus, what—" You gestured at the empty surroundings, struggling to form a coherent thought. "You didn’t have to—How did you even do this?"

He tilted his head, as if you had asked a genuinely confusing question. "I bought it."

You took a deep breath. "No, I know that, but why?"

Sylus blinked at you, expression calm yet calculating, like he was trying to gauge whether you were actually upset.

"Would you prefer a different one? I can acquire another if this one isn’t to your liking."

You choked. "Acquire—Sylus, I meant let’s just have a normal day at the park! With other people! Like… buying tickets, not—not monopolizing an entire amusement park for us!"

He hummed thoughtfully. "That would be inconvenient. I don’t like crowds."

Your brain short-circuited. "Okay, fair, but I’m not even sure how to react to this." You ran a hand down your face, staring at the vast, empty park. "Do I just… accept this? Should I ask you to sell it back? Is it even going to open to normal people when we're not here?"

Sylus exhaled softly, fingers curling beneath your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His red eyes, sharp yet steady, held an intensity that made your breath hitch.

"I wanted you to have the best experience," he murmured, his voice low, deliberate—like he was peeling back the layers of his thoughts just for you. "No interruptions. No strangers ruining our time. No one else pulling your attention away."

His thumb ghosted along your jaw, his touch as careful as it was possessive.

"I wanted today to be ours. Every moment, every ride, every second—only for us."

Your heart squeezed at the weight of his words.

Sylus was always confident, always in control—but this was different. This wasn’t about power or extravagance.

This was about ...you.

He had done this for you.

Damn him.

Damn him and his ability to turn something so ridiculous into something that made your heart melt.

You sighed, pressing your fingers against your temples before looking up at him again. "You really don’t do things halfway, huh?"

His lips twitched, almost smirking. "Would you expect anything less?"

You huffed, shaking your head. "Not at all."

His hand slipped from your chin to your wrist, fingers curling around it as he tugged you toward the entrance.

"Then let’s stop worrying about it and enjoy it as much as we can."

You let him pull you forward, your brain still catching up to the fact that this was happening. That you were about to experience an amusement park that was literally all yours for the day.

And honestly?

You weren’t going to complain.

But as you walked in, something felt... strange.

The park was…alive?

Despite the complete absence of other guests, the workers were still here—acting as if today was a completely normal day.

Vendors stood at their booths, flipping burgers, making cotton candy, lining up pretzels under warming lamps. The game stalls were manned, workers casually leaning against counters, ready to hand out prizes.

The park’s parade performers were still marching down the street. A princess in a poofy dress waved at you. Mascot characters moved in synchronized greetings, despite the fact that no one was here but you.

It was… surreal.

Sylus squeezed your hand as you slowed to take it all in. "I told them to proceed as usual. It would’ve been eerie if everything was frozen."

You turned to him. "So… it’s like the park is still running, but we’re the only ones who get to experience it?"

He nodded. "Yes. Don’t you think it’s better this way?"

You inhaled deeply, looking around again.

Sylus watched you carefully, his sharp eyes scanning your face. "Are you alright?"

You hesitated, then let out a quiet laugh.

“Of course! I mean—” You hesitated again, glancing around as your expression softened. “It’s nothing wrong, I promise! I love that you did this, I do, but…” You exhaled, running a hand through your hair before looking up at him again.

“I just—I wanted this day to be special not just for us entirely, but to have a moment together surrounded by everyone and everything.” Your voice was gentle, thoughtful. “The chatter, the energy, the crowds moving past us. The chaos of it all.”

You shrugged, a little sheepish. “I know you don’t like being around too many people, and I love that you wanted to make this day perfect for me, but part of what makes an amusement park so special is the shared experience, y’know? That feeling of being one in a sea of people, laughing together, screaming on rides, getting bumped into by kids running past, standing too close in lines because there's no choice…”

Your words trailed off as you searched his gaze, unsure how he’d react.

For a moment, Sylus didn’t say anything. His red eyes remained locked onto yours, unreadable, but there was something contemplative in the way his fingers idly traced over your knuckles, as if considering your words carefully.

Then, finally, he exhaled through his nose—slow and measured, his grip loosening ever so slightly.

“…I see...I- ” His voice was as calm as ever, but there was a shift in his tone.

He glanced around, taking in the completely empty pathways, the stalls with no customers, the parade performing for no one but you two. The sight of the workers, stationed and waiting, but missing the usual life of the park.

Sylus was pragmatic. He saw a problem, he solved it. Simple. To him, the best way to ensure you had an amazing day was to remove all obstacles—the crowds, the noise, the inconvenience of waiting in lines or dealing with other people.

But now, as he watched you, something seemed to click.

“…Would you like me to open the park?”

Your eyes widened. “Wait—you mean, like, right now?”

He nodded once. “If it would make you happy.”

Your heart stuttered. "Sylus—I didn’t say all that just to guilt you into—”

He raised a brow. “It’s not about guilt. You wanted to share this moment with people and I took that possibility from you” He pulled out his phone as if he could undo an entire park shutdown with a single call—which, knowing him, he probably could.

You stared at him, then let out a disbelieving laugh, reaching to stop his hand before he could dial. “Okay, hold on, let’s think about this rationally—”

Sylus merely looked at you, waiting for what you were bound to say next.

You exhaled, lacing your fingers with his properly. “Look, it’s okay. I love what you did, and I will enjoy this day with you.” You squeezed his hand. “I just needed a moment to process it, that’s all.”

Sylus was silent for a moment, his red eyes scanning your face as if committing every little twitch of emotion to memory. Then, his gaze flickered past you, landing on a nearby booth.

A teddy bear stand.

Without a word, he turned, gently tugging you along by the hand.

You blinked in surprise. “Wait—where are we—?”

He stopped in front of the booth, staring at the rows of stuffed bears lined up in varying sizes, from tiny keychains to ones nearly as tall as you. His jaw was set, unreadable, but his grip around your hand was firm.

“Sylus?” You tilted your head at him, watching as he eyed the game—a classic ring toss setup.

“I failed to give you what you really wanted,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You should at least receive something in return.”

Your chest tightened at the way he said it.

Soft, but laced with frustration.

Like he was genuinely bothered that his attempt to make you happy had missed the mark.

“Sylus…” You squeezed his hand, stepping closer. “You don’t have to win me anything—”

He ignored that, already rolling up his sleeves with practiced ease. His focus was entirely on the game now, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the distance, the weight of the rings stacked beside the booth’s attendant.

Your lips parted in disbelief.

Sylus said nothing, simply holding his hand out for the rings. The worker—completely unphased, as if watching an overpowered, absurdly rich man win rigged carnival games was just another part of the job—wordlessly handed them over.

You sighed, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. "Sylus, you really don’t have to—”

The first ring landed perfectly on the bottle.

Your mouth snapped shut.

Another.

And another.

Without missing a single shot.

The worker gave a small, almost-impressed nod. “Pick your prize.”

Sylus turned to you, expectant.

You stared between him and the game, caught between laughter and disbelief. “This your way of an apology gift?

“And would that change anything if I said yes?”

“Sylus –”

You huffed, shaking your head before pointing to one of the bigger teddy bears—one with a white soft, plush face and an oversized red ribbon around its neck.

Sylus retrieved it without hesitation, turning to face you fully as he held it out.

“ you sure you didn't have me in mind? ” he said simply.

You giggled at him, your fingers curling around the soft fabric as you accepted the gift. “mayyybee”

It wasn’t about the bear. It wasn’t about the game.

It was him.

Sylus, who never half-assed anything. Who overthought in ways you weren’t always aware of. Who, despite his arrogance, still hated feeling like he had let you down.

Your heart squeezed painfully.

“…You’re too much at times” you murmured, hugging the teddy bear to your chest.

He exhaled, shaking his head. “Says the one getting emotional over a stuffed animal.”

You shot him a playful glare, but when he reached out, brushing his fingers against your wrist, you softened.

“....Still,Thank you, for everything-- I mean” you murmured.

Sylus didn’t say anything, but his grip lingered—just for a second—not thinking of letting you go.

But as you continued walking, you caught the way his fingers brushed against his phone once more, a brief flicker of thought crossing his expression.

You narrowed your eyes. “Sylus.”

“Hm?”

“You’re not secretly opening the park back up again ….behind my back…are you?”

His lips curled, amused. “...perhaps”

[chrissturnsfav]

⋆.˚✮ valentine's day with rapper!chris and singer!reader

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬, this is a little longer than my usual blurbs :)

the night starts with chris strolling into the restaurant like he owns it, diamond chains catching the low golden light. his hand stays low on your back, a subtle claim, like the whole world should already know you’re his girl.

whispers ripple through the room—famous faces in every direction—but chris doesn’t give a single fuck. he pulls out your chair, smirking like he’s showing off, because he most certainly is.

"always gotta make a scene," you tease, sliding into the seat.

chris grins wide, his teeth glinting. "nah. the scene follows me."

you roll your eyes, biting back a laugh. "cocky fuck."

"yeah," he chuckles, rolling his eyes as he takes the seat across from you. "but you love that shit."

he’s not wrong.

dinner is stupid expensive but effortless—courses neither of you can even pronounce properly, champagne refilled before it ever empties. chris keeps the conversation wild, making you giddy, cracking jokes that make you laugh loudly even when you're trying to be proper.

"yo, you fancy as fuck right now, kid," he laughs, catching your van cleef rings glimmering in the dim light as you sip your drink.

"why, thank you," you giggle, cheeks warm.

"i told you i was gon’ do valentine’s right," chris says, nodding his head toward you before taking a sip of his champagne.

"right? you mean 'extra,'" you tease, narrowing your eyes.

he grins, shameless as he shrugs his shoulders and leans back in his seat, as if taking you out to the most expensive restaurant in paris is nothing. "my girl deserves the best, don't you think?"

you bite your lip, fighting a smile. he’s fucking impossible.

after dinner, chris pulls you close as you both head toward the eiffel tower. it’s packed with other couples—laughter floating through the air, lights shimmering against the dark sky.

you catch the glint of a paparazzi camera from the corner of your eye, and your stomach twists for a second, but chris clocks it immediately.

"fuck outta here," he mutters under his breath, shifting so his broad frame blocks the view. his arm stays wrapped firm around your waist, solid and reassuring.

"they always do too much," you huff, voice tight as you roll your eyes.

"nah, don’t trip," chris says low in your ear, "they ain't about to fuck up my night wit' my girl."

you exhale, leaning into him. how does he always knows how to keep you grounded?

the tower looks like a dream, lights flickering like stars. chris keeps making jokes to make you laugh, pointing out couples in matching outfits or doing the most for their instagram pictures.

"we look better than all these mothafuckers combined," he says, dead serious.

"dude, shut up," you giggle, but your cheeks grow pink because maybe he’s right.

afterward, back at the hotel, your breath catches when you step inside the suite. heart-shaped red and pink balloons float near the ceiling, rose petals cover the floor and king size bed, candles flicker on every surface. it smells like roses and something intoxicating—something that smells like chris.

"you did all this?" you chirp, your mouth falling open in disbelief, voice soft.

"hell yeah," chris grins, looking too fucking proud of himself. "had to flex a lil’ for you."

you shake your head, heart full. "you’re ridiculous."

"yeah, whatever," he scoffs with a chuckle, guiding you to the bed where a parade of designer shopping bags wait.

your jaw drops. "you did not."

"oh, i absolutely did." he lounges back, arms stretched wide like a king on his throne. "go on, open 'em."

you move through the bags—prada, dior, chanel, each one more jaw-dropping than the last. your chest tightens with emotion, but before you can even catch your breath, chris pulls out a sleek red cartier box.

"wait, wait," chris suddenly says, holding it up. "this the big one. close your pretty eyes."

you do as he says, heart racing. when you open them, he’s sliding a gold love bracelet onto your wrist. it gleams in the candlelight, sleek and perfect.

"know what makes this special?" he asks, voice low, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

"what?"

"only opens wit' this key," he says, holding up a tiny gold key between his fingers. "'n guess who’s got the only one?" he adds with a smirk.

your jaw drops for what feels like the third time tonight. "you’re fucking with me, chris."

chris grins wickedly. "nah, i’m serious as fuck."

"are you fucking crazy?" you laugh, shaking your head.

"maybe," he shrugs without missing a beat, voice raspy and cocky through a smirk.

your heart races, warmth spreading through your chest. without thinking, you straddle his lap, fingers threading through his curls.

"you spoil me too much," you whisper against his ear.

"nah, this is jus' a warm-up," he murmurs, hands firm on your waist. "i ain’t ever done showin’ you how much you worth."

the air between you is thick, humming with tension. his voice hangs in the space, rough and deliberate, making your pulse race.

you feel the weight of his hands on your waist, steady but commanding, fingertips pressing just hard enough to make your skin tingle through the silk of your dress.

you shift slightly, leaning in until your lips hover right over his ear. "you talk too much," you whisper, voice low and teasing.

his laugh is dark, laced with something primal. "oh, it’s like that?"

"mhmm," you hum, dragging your fingers down the line of his jaw, soft but deliberate.

chris doesn’t miss for a second. in one smooth motion, he flips the dynamic without trying, his grip firming as he pulls you flush against him. your breath catches, but the surprise only fuels the rush under your skin.

"i ain't even started talkin’ yet," he mutters, voice thick with promise, lips grazing the corner of your mouth—just barely.

you tilt your head, daring him with a cheeky smirk. "then stop teasing."

his grin is lethal, all confidence and heat. "aight."

he crashes into you, mouth claiming yours in a kiss that’s hot, messy, and unrelenting—yet full of love and adoration. your hands tangle in the back of his neck, nails grazing skin as he deepens the kiss, tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that makes your whole body feel hot.

"damn, kid," chris breathes against your lips, voice wrecked but amused. "you wild tonight."

you smirk, catching your breath. "keep up."

his laugh rumbles low in his chest as he grips your thigh, fingers brushing bare skin under your dress. "oh, i gotchu, baby. believe that."

the kiss resumes, growing more and more hungry, but it's somehow still full of pure love. his fingers brush down the straps of your expensive dress, laughing cockily when he catches a glimpse of the red lace on your body as the dress sinks past your waist.

he pulls away, just to take a look at you in the red bra, little hearts embroidered into the mesh material. his eyes then flit up to your face, running his tongue over his bottom lip through a sinister smirk, "this my present?"

"you like it?" you giggle, a hint of blush heating on your cheeks, fingers idly toying with the silver chain around his neck.

chris proves to you how much he likes it when the lacy red g-string is pulled to the side, plowing passionately into your puffy cunt with loud wet squelches, rose petals shifting on the bed as he moves.

"so pretty," he grunts breathily, his fingers digging into your thighs as he holds them in a gentle yet firm grip against your chest, watching your walls swallow his cock greedily.

you whine softly, watching his pretty face above you through lidded eyes, messy curls bouncing in front of his blue irises. "c-chris...feels so...g-good..." you gasp softly, eyes rolling back as you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth.

chris hums cockily, smiling softly down at you as he leans down to peck your cheek, "yeah?" he mutters against your skin, pace not slowing for a second.

"really...good..." you whisper shakily, panting through soft moans, gasping when one of chris' hands moves to toy with your tit, brushing his finger over your hardened nipple over your thin bra.

"mhm...i know," he coos softly, huffing out a soft chuckle as his head dips down to pepper soft and wet kisses along your neck, your fingers threading through his soft hair. "jus' relax f'me, baby, i gotchu."

he grunts softly against your skin while you whimper, feeling his tip hit that spot deep within that makes your vision blurry. "wanna make you feel so fuckin' good...s'valentine's day...need my girl to be satisfied..."

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast , @mattsbratt333 , @ivysturnss , @tessasturns , @coquettechris , @courta13 , @sturniolo101 , @malsmind

@chrissturnsfav ™

[ariestrxsh]

sub!bsf!matt x bsf!reader

𖦹 content warning: smut, mutual masturbation, voyeurism/exhibitionism, edging, squirting, getting caught

𖦹 summary: matt makes a bold claim that squirting is a myth, and you prove to him that he's wrong

dividers by the one and only @vxnitra 𖦹

TUNNEL VISION

"I don't believe for a second that it's real. It's just something they show in porn to make it more exciting," Matt's voice broke the silence of the room as he came walking through the front door with his two brothers after filming their car video.

"That's a bold claim," Nick smugly responded, rolling his eyes. "Just say you're a virgin, Matt. It's less syllables." Nick started up the staircase, leaving behind the conversation that didn't really concern him at all.

"Squirting is totally a real thing, Matt. You're just dumb," Chris blankly stated. "How would you know, Chris? You ever seen a girl squirt?" Matt shot back, raising his eyebrows and shrugging his shoulders. "No, I haven't seen it, but you'd have to be an idiot to think it's a myth," Chris huffed, heading off towards his room. "Whatever," Matt mumbled under his breath.

"Hey, thanks for letting us use your car for the video. Sometimes I worry that mine is too recognizable when we take it out around here," Matt turned his attention towards you, tossing you your keys. "Yeah, don't mention it," you reached out with both hands, and they landed in your palms with a loud jingling sound.

Matt ran his fingers through his hair and plopped down on the couch beside you with a sigh. You let out a chuckle as you shook your head at his naivety. "What? What's so funny?" Matt wondered, furrowing his brow and narrowing his perfect blue eyes at you.

"Did you say that squirting isn't real?" You inquired, trying to stifle your laughter. "Yeah, why?" Matt innocently asked. "I have to show you something," you declared, standing up and grabbing him by the hand. "What?" Matt skeptically questioned you, completely caught off guard by you pulling him to his feet. "What are you going to show me?"

"Shhh," you hushed him, turning around and holding a finger to your lips. "You can't tell anyone. Just follow me." You led him out the front door and into the warm, summer night to your car that was parked in the driveway.

You demanded that he get in without any further explanation, and he climbed into your passenger seat with a perplexed look plastered to his face. You moved your chair back and lifted your hips, tugging down your pajama bottoms.

"What are you doing!?" Matt exclaimed, staring wide-eyed at you. He couldn't help but let his gaze wander over your exposed legs, awaiting your response as you discarded your clothing onto the floor of your car. "Squirting is real, and I can prove it," you answered him, looking around to make sure there were no witnesses.

"Y-you're gonna sh-show me?" Matt asked, blinking rapidly to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. "Why not? I love any chance I can get to prove you wrong," you arrogantly responded, a sly smirk forming in the corner of your lips.

You clicked on the overhead light, and you turned your body to face him to give him a better view of the show you were about to put on. Finally, you reached for your vibrator that was stowed away in your center console, making Matt's jaw drop.

"You just keep that in there?" Matt wondered, imagining how differently the car video would have gone if any of the three of them had stumbled upon it. "Yeah, I never know when I'm gonna need it. It's come in handy quite a few times," you admitted, winking at him and slowly parting your thighs.

His curious blue eyes immediately dropped to your bare cunt that was already slick with arousal. It immediately became his object of focus, holding him in a trance. "Wow," he whispered, admiring the way it glistened in the dim lighting.

He instinctively reached out to touch it, but you playfully smacked his wrist. "I said I can make myself squirt, not you can," you teased him. "This is purely for educational purposes." He just sat there silently with his jaw hanging open and his eyes wide as he nodded and pulled back his hand.

"You know what would really help me, though?" You asked, switching on your vibrator. "W-what would that be?" Matt wondered, his gaze still locked on what you had between your legs. "You should do it, too," you suggested, trapping your bottom lip between your teeth and glancing down at the tent that was taking form in his sweats.

You shuddered, and your leg twitched as you rested the buzzing toy against your clit. "You want me to..?" Matt asked, his voice trailing off as he reached for his bulge. You bit down on your lip a bit harder and nodded as you gazed into his blue eyes. "Please, Matt. It'll make me squirt so hard if you do it with me," you cooed in a soft voice that Matt couldn't say no to.

"O-okay," he stammered, reaching into his waistband and pulling out his half-hard dick. You eyed his swollen, mushroom-shaped head as he wrapped his fingers around his shaft. His mouth fell open and a strangled moan left the boy as he started to massage his cock for you. It immediately grew in size, blood rushing to it. A bit of clear fluid pooled at his slit as his hand moved up and down over his length.

"It's so pretty, Matt," you told him, gawking at the way his precum started to drool down the side of his tip. He blushed at your compliment. He'd never touched himself in front of a woman before, never mind a woman who was also touching herself, but in this intimate moment the two of you shared, he was beginning to learn new things about himself. He loved watching and being watched.

The whole time, his gaze flickered between your weeping hole and the way your face was contorted in a look of sheer pleasure. The vision that played out before him was completely hypnotizing.

He wet his lips and let out another pretty sound as he watched you take your free hand and start lining your fingers up with your entrance. He gasped and started to stroke his cock faster as he watched them disappear inside of you. He couldn't look away even if he wanted to.

You turned your toy up to the next setting, causing you to shiver again. A needy whimper unfurled from your pouty lips as you started swiveling your hips for a deeper sensation while your rode your fingers.

Matt started paying close attention to his tip, gently making circles on his most sensitive spot with his thumb and using his precum as lube. His eyebrows knitted together as he indulged in the lovely sensation. "Oh, fuck," he groaned as his cock twitched beneath his touch.

You couldn't get enough of the sight before you - his pink-tinted cheeks, his parted lips, and the look of bliss inscribed on his face as he started to stroke his length again. His blue eyes were glossy with lust, and they didn't stray from your bare pussy that was on display just for him.

The two of you watched each other intently, getting off on the other's pleasure while you each sped up your movements, both of your delighted sounds filling the car. "You're doing such a good job, Matt. You're making me so close," you whined in-between your satisfied moans. He squeezed his fingers around his shaft as he moved his hand up and down, feeling the pressure begin to build in his lower stomach.

Suddenly, you shut off your toy and removed your fingers. Despite pausing your movements, you continued to clench around nothing. Matt slowed his strokes and swallowed hard. "W-why'd you stop?" He stammered his way through his sentence, worried he'd done something to kill the mood.

"Don't worry, baby. I'm just getting started," you responded in a seductive voice, your eyes flickering up at his. You turned your vibrator back on, sinking into the wonderful sensation of being watched while you played with yourself again. You took your two fingers and inserted them once more, slowly picking up speed.

"D-does that make you squirt harder? When y-you edge yourself?" Matt nervously asked, lazily massaging his cock as he admired your delicate folds. "Mhmm," you purred. Matt had secretly always wanted to see you like this, and the reality of it exceeded his expectations.

He brushed his thumb over his sensitive tip again, sending goosebumps across his skin as a breathy groan fell from his lips. "You're so.. responsive," you told him, watching the way his cock throbbed against his palm.

"Does it feel good?" You wondered, knowing it must have but still dying to hear him say it. He bit down on his lip as his bedroom eyes raised to meet yours. "So good," he softly replied before his gaze dropped down to the way you methodically fucked yourself.

"I can't wait to cum all over my fingers for you," you whimpered, turning your vibrator up to the highest setting. Matt lifted his hips up off of the seat and started thrusting his cock into his tightly closed fist, pretending it was you. The sounds he made became more urgent, and his eyelids grew heavy as he watched you.

All of a sudden, you withdrew all stimulation again, and Matt watched as your pelvic muscles rhythmically contracted around the emptiness. "Oh, fuck. You're so wet," Matt commented as he watched your pussy drool onto the leather seat beneath you. You managed to chuckle through your panting. "I know, and it's all your fault, baby," you purred, turning your toy back on.

You took a few deep breaths, trying to slow your heart rate and maintain control as you were teetering on the brink of orgasm. Your fingers found their way to your entrance again, and Matt watched as you stretched around them.

"O-oh, fuck. I don't think I can t-take much m-more," Matt whined as he fisted his cock as fast as he could, rutting his tip into his palm as he drove his hips upward. The way Matt was tripping over his words and falling apart in front of you made it nearly impossible for you to hold off much longer.

The moisture of your combined breathing started to lightly fog the windows. You watched Matt's cock twitched before white ropes of cum squirted out of the tip, painting his hand, his clothing, and the leather interior of your car.

A string of moaning and incoherent babbling streamed from his lips as he finished in front of you. The way his face looked as he reached his climax coupled with the pretty sounds he emitted were enough to send you over the edge. Your head fell back against the driver's side window, and you slammed your eyes shut as you came unraveled.

The low hum of your vibrator reverberated throughout your whole being, leaving you at the mercy of your climax. You felt a familiar sensation, the knot in your stomach getting ready to snap. You voluntarily tensed your abdominal muscles, squirting as you finished, and Matt watched in awe as you sprayed the window behind him.

"Oh!" You exclaimed, trembling as the milky substance gushed from you again, making the most beautiful mess Matt had ever seen. "Holy fuck," Matt whispered in shock of what he'd just witnessed. You removed your fingers and shut off your toy, slowing your breathing as you recovered from the intensity of your orgasm.

"I stand corrected. That was impressive," Matt admitted, nodding in approval. At the same time, you both glanced up over his shoulder to see your arousal scattered across the glass of the passenger side door.

That's when you both noticed him. On the other side of that glass was a shocked-looking Chris, his mouth agape and his eyes bigger than you'd ever seen them before. Matt grabbed his cock again to hide it in his hand, and you slammed your legs shut, reaching to turn off the overhead light as Matt started to slowly roll down the window.

Despite the moisture that had started to steam up the car, Chris had seen everything and was just as mesmerized by your hypnotic movements as Matt was. Chris' wide stare flickered between the two of you. "I was, um, showing Matt that squirting is a real thing," you murmured under your breath.

"Yeah, I got that. Um, I just came back to check to see if I left my phone in here when we did the car video," Chris nervously replied, still looking like a deer in the headlights. You bit back an embarrassed smile as you reached for your bottoms that were on the floor.

"Uh, here," Matt said in a shaky voice as he reached for Chris' cell that was stashed in the cupholder that neither of you had noticed until this very moment. He handed it to his brother through the partially open window with a trembling hand, and Chris quickly grabbed it from him.

"Uh, thanks," Chris responded, blushing hard and glancing at the both of you one more time before he headed back inside. Each of your hearts were pounding in your chests as you made eye contact one last time before the two of you erupted in a fit of laughter at the absurdity of the situation.

"Well, now Chris can say he's seen a girl squirt, too," you chuckled.

[lilianne-tarot]

PICK A CARD: Which Artist Wrote Your Future Spouse? ✮⋆˙

I. II. III.

˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images below. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you—go ahead and read both!

˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

♬⋆.˚Pile l

Ooooh, okay, let’s get into this. You pulled The Magician, Page of Wands, and Ten of Swords—and lemme just say, this is already giving "main character energy meets redemption arc with a spicy twist". Like, your future spouse’s vibe is bold, restless, charmingly reckless at times, but also carrying some deep emotional baggage. So now, let’s spill the tea on which two singers could’ve written their essence into existence.This person has a very "put-together" look, almost effortlessly charismatic and stylish. they might look younger than their actual age or just have that playful, adventurous glow. (seriously, you’ll catch yourself staring for too long)

The Singers:

1. Bruno Mars – Because tell me why this person screams "Grenade" and "Talking to the Moon" energy while also somehow being the embodiment of "24K Magic"? Like, The Magician + Page of Wands together? This is someone who can literally manifest whatever they want and also a very smooth talker😉

2. Shawn Mendes – WELL I TOLD YOU the tortured yet idealistic lover-boy energy is STRONG. This person is the type to run headfirst into love, say all the right things, and make your heart melt, but (and it’s a big BUT) they also struggle with self-doubt and the fear of not being enough because of their bad past perhaps. They have that youthful, adventurous spirit, probably love travel or trying new things, and are always looking for their "great love story" moment.

What This Says About Their Personality:

this person is a natural at commanding attention. They know how to use their charm, words, and presence to get what they want (lowkey, they probably flirt without realizing it—you might have to tell them to chill sometimes. BABY, they love with their whole chest (WHY DOES THIS PERSON SOUND LIKE A KDRAMA 2ND MALE LEAD😭). But the downside? They might have a history of falling for the wrong people or giving their all too quickly, leading to major emotional crashes. Although This person has had their fair share of heartbreaks or betrayals, but instead of staying down, they come back stronger. One thing about them which i see is, They HATR feeling stuck. Whether it's their career, love life, or personal growth, they need movement. Stagnation = death to them. Tbh, they might have commitment issues at first, not because they don’t love deeply, but because they fear getting stuck in the wrong thing again. They believe in deep, soulful connections, but they’re also witty, a bit cheeky, and have a playful side.

Overall they have that mix of "boy-next-door but also lowkey a heartbreaker." Like they could be the flirty lead in a rom-com but also have that deep, emotional intensity. If they walk into a room, you’d definitely notice them, even if they’re not trying to stand out.

˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⟡ ݁₊ .Pile ll

OHHH, okay, i should say this, this spread is givinga "rich daddy aesthetic but also a secret softie"—and I am OBSESSED. This person is so layered, so multi-dimensional that you’re not just getting a future spouse, babe—you’re getting an experience😭. Now, let’s talk about singers.

The Singers:

1. Lana Del Rey – LISTEN. The High Priestess + The World combo SCREAMS "mysterious, poetic, and possibly on a higher spiritual plane than the rest of us." Your future spouse embody a WHOLE DAMN aesthetic. They have depth and an "I know something you don’t" energy that makes people naturally drawn to them. But oh, honey—this is someone who isn’t just vibing in They give off a "tragically beautiful but also rich and successful" vibe. SO LANA CODED.

Althtough i feel like this person has that hardcore LANA aesthetic and i wasn’t going for any other singer for this pile but i am also hearing hoizer???? Cuz look, This is the type of person who might have everything—money, status, power—but they’re still searching for something deeper, and if that ain’t this spread’s energy, I don’t know what is.

What This Says About Their Personality:

This person does NOT spill their secrets easily. They’re the type to just stare at you for five seconds, and you feel like they know all your past lives. It’s giving "intimidatingly intuitive," like you can’t lie to them even if you tried. Probably has a strong work ethic, maybe even runs their own business or is at the top of their field. But here’s the thing—they’re not flashy. They’re rich in a "quiet luxury" way rather than a "LOOK AT MY GOLD CHAIN" way. (Omg i feel like i am writing a wattpad fanfic😭) . they’ve been through enough life experiences to be WISE AS HELL. So that means, ther standards? High. This isn’t someone who jumps into relationships impulsively—they observe, and they only commit when it’s real. This person doesn’t do loud, over-the-top gestures Their love language is probably acts of service and deep conversations over wine while jazz plays in the background. They have a very ‘If You Know, You Know’ Aesthetic (lana reference again💅) They have this untouchable aura. Not everyone gets to see their soft, romantic side, but the few who do? Game over. People are either intimidated by them or completely mesmerized.

So overall, They might seem reserved or intimidating at first, but once they let you in, you’ll realize they’re the kind of person who loves profoundly, protects fiercely, and builds an empire while contemplating the universe. Good luck handling this one, bestie. They’re not for the weak.😀

˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

✶⋆.˚Pile III

Your future spouse isn’t just built different—they’re built for the grind, the patience, and the long game. This is someone who knows struggle, doesn’t quit easily, and is out here crafting their legacy.

The singers:

1. Taylor Swift – I mean, COME ON. The Nine of Wands + 7 & 8 of Pentacles? This is someone who has been through battles, faced major setbacks, and STILL got back up every time. Your future spouse has that same relentless work ethic—they’re not the type to sit back and wait for things to happen; they MAKE them happen, even if it takes years. This person has had doubts, failures, maybe even moments where they felt like giving up—but they’re still here, still pushing, still thriving.

2. The Weeknd – Okay, hear me out. This person is obsessed with mastery. They aren’t just working hard for the sake of it—they want to be THE BEST at what they do. This energy is very ‘work now, enjoy later’—like they probably spent their younger years hustling, learning, and leveling up, while other people were out partying. They have discipline, ambition, and an almost obsessive drive to perfect their skills.

What This Says About Their Personality:

This person has been through hell, taken hits, and STILL keeps going. They’ve probably had moments of exhaustion, burnout, or self-doubt, but instead of quitting, they just rest, re-strategize, and come back even stronger. They’re like that one character in a movie who’s bruised, bleeding, and still smirking like ‘That all you got?’ Babe, this person is MARRIED to their work. Like, actually(you’re the third wheel) . They probably live and breathe their career or passion. Late nights, early mornings, constantly improving, never satisfied— this is someone who values progress over comfort. (Have they ever heard of a vacation? Probably not.) So by this you just know, if they are going on dates with you, giving their time to you, you’re the ONE FOR THEM🫠. This person doesn’t half-ass anything. If they’re going to do it, they’re going to do it RIGHT. They have high standards for themselves and expect the same from others. Translation: If you’re slacking, they will side-eye you.

I also see, your future spouse is strategic as hell. They’re not impulsive or reckless—they think ahead, invest wisely, and understand that real success takes TIME. (Financially stable king/queen? Love that for you.) So when they propose you, just know each of their actions were planned weeks before LOL.

˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

Thank you so much for reading till here! I hope my reading resonated with you and you had a good time reading it! Let me know what pile did you choose and i love hearing your feedbacks of my readings♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not predict the future in a fixed way. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

[kaisentine]

yippity yappity abt actress!reader and sae

“you sucked at that.” you wince at how bad this pro-soccer player plays his part. to be fair—it was quite obvious he hated this, hated filming, hated his team, hated you . . . what kind of connections did this man have to be in a movie such as this one? “yeah? well no fucking shit, i’m not an actor.” he snarls.

how has this man not been cancelled yet? he’s probably the most insufferable male you’ve met—worked with! “. . . i’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. but for the love of whatever, don’t let go so early.” you murmur, referring to the last take when he let you fall on your back because he let go.

he rolls his eyes before the director tells the both of you to get ready.

“we can’t do this anymore,” crystalline tears start building up in your lash-line just begging to flood down your cheeks. he squeezes your hands in his and holds them up to his chest, the look of sympathy just barely passing sadness is evident on his face as he stares at you. “why not?” it’s asked as a whisper one could mistake for their own hallucinations playing with their head. “ . . . no—i can’t do this anymore.” the built up water starts flowing down your cheeks, a quick warmth turns to a cool sensation against your skin.

his sympathetic look contorts into disappointment at your rewording. “i can do this. fuck . . . just trust me.” you want to believe him, you want to be convinced by his sick reassurance but you’ve been fooled once before, you can’t do this a second time. “i don’t know if i can trust you again. let me go, please.” you plead while trying to thrash his clasp on your hands away. “yes you can.” he further insists with not budging one bit, your mouth feels dry from the words you cannot speak but wet with the guilt that drowns through your body.

“how?” you’ve given up on trying to push him away because now you need the answer. the form of the answer you were looking for was not that of verbal speech but of an action. pushing his arms back so both his and your hands are now pinned to your chest, a slow lean towards you was all it took for him to lay his lips on yours.

“CUT” the director yells through his over the top mega-phone and sae immediately lets go of your hands and rebounds back to his previous stance—you want to flush your mouth out with whatever you can get your hands on just anything. “good work!” he smiles, marking the end of the filming process. you smile along with him but the red-head ( bru what’s his hair color ) remains indifferent.

“it wasn’t that hard, was it?” you ask with arms crossed while everyone else is busy with something. “i just want to get out of here.” he copies your movements but puts his hand on his hip instead. you swallow the urge to crash out on him to the point there’s probably a lump in your throat. “i wasn’t the one who brought you here, calm down—the least you could do after probably making my ass bruise.” you feel your eye twitch just by looking at him,

“wrong, you were.”

what is he talking about . . . is he now telling you that you’re the reason for his misery? “huh? what do you mean?” you tilt your head in confusion. “my team wanted me here because you were going to be here too.” he blatantly explains like you knew this already—you didn’t. your head moves back in surprise.

“why would they do that?” you give him a look that just screams ‘wtf are you on about?’. “famous actor and famous soccer player, great publicity.” he sighs before shaking his head in annoyance.

oh, you get it now. but his team better be right because if this movie doesn’t blow up, you’re going to pay someone to remove your mouth.

their predictions were right, the movie was long awaited and did blow up—more than you thought. theorists, news sites and fans were having a field day, however. making up crazy articles, fan edits, and speculations that you and itoshi sae were dating.

have they never seen a kiss in a movie? have they never heard of the concept of acting? God, you still want to remove your mouth—anything to stop you subconsciously bringing your fingers up to your lips while thinking of the dumb kiss he gave you. it’s an actual nightmare to be thinking of a man who didn’t really want to kiss you.

his team was right but was it worth it? was it worth it to have you shifting uncomfortably in your seat while waiting for the interviewer with sae beside you? was it worth the awkward bickering off camera? “i slept through the premiere.” he says lazily as if you weren’t beside him during the showing. “how are we going to do this interview, then?” you sigh, bringing a hand to your face to pinch your nose bridge.

“adlib,” he says, “i think i’ll be okay..” he finishes. “you better because i’m not carrying this interview.” you retort—knowing damn well you might be forced to because you’ve watched his interviews after games and they . . . suck.

there’s a sound from in front of you, it’s the interviewer getting set up in her chair. she clears her throat, “we’ll be starting soon.” she smiles, smoothening the wrinkles on her white pants. it’s game time when there’s professional cameras almost being shoved in your face.

the conversations and questions were quite tame . . .

“i’ve never seen you act before, itoshi. how were you so good the first time?” you feel your eye twitch.

“i don’t know, i just did what they told me to do.” he’s being way too honest. then again, he was never one to put on a filter, even in front of the cameras. you swear you see her eye twitch as well before she goes back to her light smile while turning to you.

“your performance was as great as ever! do you have anything to say about the filming?”

“ah, i’m very flattered! thank you! filming a movie with such intense emotions was quite the test for my heart.” you replicate the smile on her face. if only reputation didn’t exist—you would’ve said you had the urge to punch your co-worker in the face.

until they weren’t.

“now for the big question that’s been on everyone’s minds the moment the movie released.”

don’t you fucking say it.

“are you,” she points at you, “and him” she points at the man beside you, “dating?”

she said it. you jump in your seat at the mention of you and him dating?! “we aren’t!” you’re quick to shake your head with a laugh as a cover-up, she lets out a prolonged hum—suggesting something—in return. “do you believe that?” sae asks and you dart your eyes to him, what is he doing? is he trying to stir up more controversies? he’s got to be crazy. you silently tell him to shut up but he isn’t taking the hint to zip his lips.

the interviewer smirks. “i mean, most of us do . . . the kiss at the end was way too real.” that woman really needs that paycheck, huh? okay . . . you get it, she’ll get praised by her manager or whatever for grabbing views for this but what would sae get in return for doing this?

“that means we’re just really good actors, right?” you laugh nervously, still side-eyeing sae ‘please do something,’. “i don’t think a beginner actor would be that convincing.” he shrugs—he’s referring to himself. when you meant for him to do something, you didn’t mean for him to mix things up even more! the interviewer’s smirk falls through her jaw as it drops, this is probably the juiciest thing she’ll get out of her career. “are you saying that the kiss just might be a—”

“NO—”

“sure.”

you both say at the same time—sae’s manager is basically lunging at the cameramen to stop the recording.

maybe you’ve been blind up until this moment but now it all makes sense. the lingering thoughts of his lips on yours were totally planned by him—but what he did to make it work was still a mystery.

but the prize he’d get in return was not a paycheck but it would be you.

man, you knew he sucked that bad at acting but he sucks even more at bagging someone.

sticky note. this idea showed up in my drafts on the 31st of january but i kept changing it stop

[shinningdance]

Washed clean

Trying angst for the first time, tips are very welcome!!

warnings: waterboarding, flashbacks, nudity (no one sees or does anything), let me know if i need to add more

summery: After a bad mission when the enemy took you for information, they waterboarded you which left Memorys. After your team got you back, you're still having troubles.

words: 1755

The restrainments are hurting.

You keep pulling to try away, trying to get away from the water that's being poured over your face.

Your throat hurts.

The water getting down your throat results in gagging, which hasn't stopped yet.

It feels like you're drowning.

Which isn't right, it's way too little water and you're currently dodging that.

They keep talking, they want Information. Information you're not giving them, they'd have to kill you.

Every day for the last week they have been pouring water over your face, trying to get you to break.

They keep going for what feels like hours but realistically are only a few seconds up to barely a minute. But in that very moment, it can only be described as hours.

At this point, they should just end you. It would be mercy. No. No, you can't think like that, your teams gonna get you. Safe and sound.

With too much force they throw you on that stupid chair, ropes going around your arms and legs. Your head is yanked back by your hair, a cloth over you mouth and nose.

Almost immediately they throw water over your face, making you choke on it as you somehow try to dodge it. Head going left and right as the water follows.

"Dove?"

Your eyes snap open, starring at the white door fro where the voice came from. You look back and see the safe house's bathroom.

Right.

You're safe, you've been safe for the last 3 months. They saved you 3 months ago.

Water has been a touchy subject. While they understand what happened and how it might have affected your mind, they don't actually know how to help.

"Dove..? Are you alright?" The voice, Kyle, is followed by a small knock after you don't answer, again. "I'm opening the door.." He warns and very slowly looks inside.

You're sitting on the floor again, towel around your dry body and the shower is on. He doesn't need to ask what happened, he already knows.

He sits down next to you, back pressed against the marbel tiles. His arm goes behind your back and very softly grabs your waist, pulling you towards his side.

"Another flashback?" He asks, rubbing your arm.

You hum in responds, head dropping on his shoulder.

"You don't have to shower, there are other possibilities..." Kyle offers.

"My hair stinks." You counter, pointing at your hair.

"hm.." he huffs, smiling. "Think you can put your whole head under water?"

"..." You know the answer, yet you have to try. "..Maybe."

"Maybe what?" Johnny asks, stepping into the bathroom.

"Maybe i'll finally be able to wash this bird nest." You hum, watching as he flops down onto the ground next to you, leaning against the wall.

"It's not that bad..." Kyle interjects, his hand petting your head.

You stare at him, not believing him one bit. You have seen yourself, it's bad. Yet you couldn't bring yourself to step under the shower, the water on your face only bringing up bad memory's.

"He's wrong, dinnae trust 'im." Johnny whispers into your ear, earning himself a smack to the head by the other sergeant. "'ay!" He nags, rubbing the spot on his head.

"If something goes wrong just scream, yeah?" Kyle smiles, rubbing up and down on your arm.

"We'll save you from the water monsters." Johnny claims, wrapping one arm around your shoulder to pull you to himself.

You can't help but smile, nodding along to whatever they're saying. "My knights in shinning armor, hm?" You joke, shaking your head in disbelief.

"Yup." Kyle nods, standing up to give you some privacy.

You watch him leave, only for him to re-enter 2 seconds later. "Johnny, get your ass out and give the lady some space."

It's funny watching him almost bolt out, flashing you another grin before closing the door behind him.

With shaky knees you stand up, towel still around your body from your earlier attempt. The water is still running and you carefully reach out, checking the temperature. After making it's warm, you take baby steps and get in the bathtub. Washing your body isn't a problem anymore, with some help at the very start you could take small showers again. This isn't a small shower anymore, the water would be over your head, recreating the feeling you loath.

You drop the towel after getting in, making sure it stays dry. With a shaky breath you step closer, the shower head close to your face. Closing your eyes would only make it worse so you force them to stay open, making sure no one's forcing the water over your head.

It's touching your hair, a lot of the water it. One small step back and it's touching your eyebrow. The small bit of water that streams down your face is enough for you to step back out and wrap your body in the towel. Immediately walking to the bathroom door and opening it, you're face to face with the same men from earlier. With a sheepish look on your face you mumble. "I couldn't do it..."

You don't bother to look at their faces, already imagining their disappointment.

The two men look at each other before smiling at you. "Would you like some help?"

You think you misheard, how would they help you? You lift your head, looking at their determinated faces.

"I'm scared to ask but...how?" You mumbles and watch as they both start smiling.

Kyle softly grabs your shoulders and brings you back inside the bathroom, Johnny is already starting to fill the bathtub and...taking off his shirt.

"Easy." Kyle smiles and forces you to sit down on the floor again. "One will be in the water with you and the other will be washing your hair, that sound good to you?"

It takes you a small moment to process this words. In the tub. with you. One of them, not both. They would do that just so you can have normal hair again. With a small nod you watch as they prepare everything.

Kyle is grabbing your hair brush, Shampoo, conditioner and a leave in mask.

Johnny is putting stuff in the tub, lots of bubbles appearing within seconds, he keeps putting in his hand to make sure it's not too hot for you.

After a few minutes he gets in, shorts still on, and spreads his legs to make room for you. "I'm not peaking, swear!" he smiles puts both his hands in front of his face, Kyle is turning around, giving you a bit of privacy.

Slowly you let the towel drop and get in as well, back to Johnny's chest. You gather some of the bubbles and hide your body with it. Almost immediately you can feel his hands around your waist, holding you in place. You melt into him, head dropping to his shoulder.

"ay think I'm comfy" Johnny claims, his chest shaking slightly from his laughing.

"Very." Kyle affirms.

You might need to question how he would know that if you're leaning against him, but that's a question for later. Kyle slowly starts to brush your hair, adding a bit of water every now and then. He's careful to not get it anywhere near your face for now, you hardly notice, too busy chatting with your pillow.

"thank you..for doing this." You mumble, nose pressed against the side of his neck.

"Dinnae worry...we'll always help you out." Johnny smiles, one hand slightly squeezing your waist.

Kyle keeps working on your hair and every now and then you tense up, feeling the water close to your face. He places his hands by your Forehand, even if the water ran down the opposite side, it wouldn't get in your face.

You get a small warning from Kyle and a gentle squeeze of encouragement from Johnny before a bit of water streams down from the very top of your head to your ends. This repeats a few more times before you can only feel soft hands massaging your head. You hum and close your eyes, going very limp against Johnny

"Don't fall asleep now.." Kyle warns with a small chuckle, hands leaving your head to grab your towel and dry your hair for you.

"But it's no comfy..." You mumble, head pressing further into the side of Johnny's neck.

The water is still comfortably warm but the bubbles are slowly disappearing.

Kyle stands up and turns around but still holds the towel out for you. You turn your head, staring at the Scot who's eyes are already closed. You smile and slowly stand up, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around your body once more.

"Thank you again...means a lot." You mumble, drying yourself off while the guys avoid looking at you.

"Of course, no need to thank us." Kyle counters, lips turning into a small smile as he feels your form pressed against his.

"Ay, so i dinnae get a hug?" Johnny mumbles, standing up from the tub. He's completely wet but doesn't seem to care.

"Why are your eyes open? What if i was naked, huh?" You challenge, smiling as you clutch the towel to your body.

"Then i would have enjoyed the sight." He shrugs, smirk plastered onto his face as he grabs his own towel.

"Stop being a pervert." Kyle mumbles, already walking outside with the other man following.

You shake your head in amusement and start changing clothes, something comfortable.

After that you find the two men in the common room, watching some random movie. Without words you sit down between them, they don't seem to mind with the way they get closer to you.

"This is trash." Kyle groans crosses his legs.

"What?! Take 'at back!" Johnny shouts, fully offended his silly little drama show was insulted.

"There are so many better shows." Counters the other man

"nu uh. This is the best show." Johnny remarks, crossing his arms.

"What do you even like about this? Everything is so obviously fake."

"Fake like your personality-"

----------------------

"What am i looking at?" John mumbles, starring at the three sleeping people before him.

"No idea." Simon replies, equally as confused as his captain.

They were called because of some people fighting and cursing and what not and now they see this.

Kyle laying on his back, leaning against the couch.

You on top, back against chest.

And lastly, Johnny sleeping on his stomach and using your stomach as a pillow.

All three knocked out, hard.

...

"Tea?" offers John

"please" confirms Simon.

-----------------------

a/n: i've been sick since last week monday so you're going to take this and never talk that i didn't post this on the weekend :)) also not proofread!!!

[witherby]

I need anything and everything of jason being Mouses favourite. (The Littlest Wayne AU)

They get a snack/ meal - Jay Jay has to take a bite first before they eat

They have a new toy- Jay Jay has to see and play

I’ll take anything you can think of.

I am obsessed. The AU is amazing

-🤍💜

Say less! I love Jason Todd and so does Flittermouse! By the way the word count is 3100+ lol oops

The Littlest Wayne: Fist Bumps

Masterlist is Here!

"This is stupid."

"Shut up, you're just mad you won't get picked."

Tim kicks Damian in the shin, who retaliates by kicking him back much, much harder in the ankle. Tim cries out, about to start a fight, but one stern look from Alfred settles them both down. They continue to sit beside each other without fuss, and soon everyone is all neatly lined in a row while Hal uses his ring to keep you safely suspended in a bubble, playing with a little rattle.

"Alright," Dick says excitedly, "we're going over the rules one more time! No jingling any shiny objects for Flitty to chase after, no getting out of line to get closer to them, and Bruce, no bare skin! We're gonna have Hal set them down and see who they come to first."

"This isn't gonna go the way you think it's gonna go," Bruce says, endlessly amused. "Please, none of you get your feelings hurt."

"Nobody's gonna start cryin', relax," Jason says, lounging on the floor between Damian and Hal. "Kay, we ready?"

A chorus of agreement follows, and Hal gently lowers you to the floor. They all immediately call your name, or variations of your nickname, waving their hands and patting their laps to get you to come to them. Your eyes widen, startled by the sudden rush of noise, and turn your head to assess everyone across the room.

You lock on to the man you want, the binky in your mouth bopping up and down excitedly, and you start speedily crawling to Jason.

"I KNOW that's fuckin' right!" He yells, scooping you into his arms and gently tossing you in the air a couple inches, then peppering your face with kisses. "I'm the favorite you little freaks. Kiss my ass."

"Okay, whatever, we knew that already," Dick says, "now it's time to see who the second favorite is. Put them down and go away so we can play again."

"Be nice to your brother," Bruce says. Dick flicks Bruce in the ear and he scowls. "Ow. Be nice to me."

"Fine. Gotta know who my competition is for the number one spot in Mousey's heart, even if I'm winning by a landslide." Jason carries you across the room and sets you back down. "You stay for a sec, kay? Pound it." He picks up your chubby arm and makes you give him a fist bump, then walks away from you.

Before they can even start a second round of the game, you're shuffling after him again. Christ, it's adorable.

"It's because they can still see you, Todd," Damian says, scooping you up to put back in starting position. "Duck behind the couch."

Jason rolls his eyes but complies, bending down until he's out of sight. When the rest of the family calls for you again, you shuffle forward like you're going to crawl to Hal, but you veer past him and around to the back of the couch to get to Jason again.

"Oh my god, they've developed object permanence already," Tim says. Jason's triumphant laughter fills the room as he lifts you up to give you more kisses. His endless delight and your happy squealing softens the blow to everyone else's egos.

"This game sucks anyway," Dick mumbles, crossing his arms in defeat. "What idiot even came up with it in the first place..."

--

"You ask."

"Uh, no? You ask? I don't care."

"Yeah but he tolerates your questions. I don't wanna get my jaw blown off."

"Then don't ask, dumbass. It's so easy."

Jason clears his throat, causing the two goons to stiffen up and turn to face him. One of them looks upset that he was caught unaware, and the other looks one wrong move away from pissing himself.

"Hi, boss," they both greet.

"Whatcha talkin' about?" Jason asks, taking a half-step closer. "Cause last I checked, I sent you both over here to do quality control on our newest drug shipment. And I'm not seeing a lot of that gettin' done."

He turns to the more frightened man. If he didn't have his helmet on, he would've sneered at him.

"So what's the hold up? Need me to sew some mouths shut? Hmm? Want me t'cut out your fuckin' tongue? That'll motivate you real fast, I bet."

"We'll get right on it, boss," the other, clearly smarter, henchman states. "We were just. Uh. Wondering why there's... why there's a baby strapped to your chest."

Jason looks down at you. You stare right back at him, making a soft cooing noise around your Red Hood-themed binky, and reach up for his mask. He gently takes your hand instead, feeling your tiny fingers curl around the leather of his gloved pointer. He's smiling sweetly at you, despite no one being able to see it.

"This is M," he says by way of an answer. "Won't be an everyday occurrence — couldn't find another babysitter so I assured the dad I'd keep 'em safe for the night."

He doesn't mention that your dad is also his dad, and that when Jason tried to leave to do his vigilante work, you screamed the house down and would only calm down in his arms, therefore he had no choice. So here you are, strapped to his chest in a onesie padded with kevlar and vital-tracking tech, while your favorite brother carries your diapers and formula around in the same duffel he stashes his guns.

And because you're his favorite, too, he secretly hopes you throw more fits so he gets to hoard you all to himself again. Taking a few minutes to tickle your tummy or gently rock you in his arms stops him from losing his patience and blowing out the brains of several subordinates tonight — which his men clearly catch onto, because they all start telling him how nice it is to see such a cute and perfect and pleasant, life-saving baby hanging around.

Fuck yeah it's nice. S'cause you're the coolest baby ever. Jason gently makes you fist bump him.

--

"AHHH!"

Jason is out of his chair and bolting across the Manor before his brain fully registers your screaming through the baby monitor. There's surprised exclamations and footfalls not far from him as his thunderous steps stir up a commotion, but he doesn't care about that.

There are very few times in his life when he's moved this fast. Large, expansive rooms fly by him in a blur of color. He takes the stairs six at a time. If a door he needs to get through is closed, he's breaking it down with a well-placed hit with his shoulder and moving on.

When he gets to your room, he stops to yank the door open because he doesn't know if you're near it, and darts inside with a sharp shout of your name.

"What's wrong!?" He pants, zeroing in on you immediately. You've rushed into your wardrobe and climbed inside it, red-faced and crying as a crow flaps haphazardly around the bedroom. The shattered glass on the floor gives him the missing context, and he snatches the bird out of the air with more force than necessary while the adrenaline spike is still scrambling his nervous system.

Bruce is the second person to rush into your room just moments after, crouching by your hiding spot with furrowed brows and a soft, slightly winded voice.

"Are you hurt?" He asks. You whimper but shake your head, fat tears rolling down your little cheeks, and lift your hands. Bruce picks you up without hesitation and stands up.

"Jaylad?" He says, still in that gentle tone. "You alright?"

Jason doesn't answer. He's not alright, not really. The rage he'd built up thinking someone was in here hurting you is still burning through his veins, and with no outlet for it, he's struggling a bit.

Bruce doesn't take offense to his lack of response. He just offers you a small, reassuring smile and bounces you a bit in his arms.

"Let's go find Grandpa and snuggle up with some hot chocolate," he murmurs. "Jay-Jay will hang back and make sure your bedroom is safe for you."

"No!" You sob, leaning around your father's broad shoulders to reach for Jason. "Want Jay-Jay!"

"You can spend time with him in a little while, Mouse," Bruce says, starting to carry you out of the room. Your protests get louder and more frantic, pushing against him to no avail.

"Want Jay!" You repeat, sobbing openly. "Jay-Jay! Want, p'ease!! Jay-Jay!"

"Bruce," Jason utters through grit teeth. His father stops, only a few steps down the hallway, and turns back to him. "It's fine. I'll take 'em, you clean up the mess."

"...are you sure?" Bruce frowns, visibly cautious. He looks down at the bird still flapping helplessly as Jason holds it by the neck, firmer than strictly necessary.

Jason takes a step towards the broken window and tosses the crow out. After a second of frantic flapping, it straightens itself out and flies away with panicked sqawking.

He turns to you and holds out his arms. They're only trembling a little bit, but the edges of his vision are still tinged with green. Bruce hesitates to pass you over.

"I've got it," Jason murmurs, "I'm calm enough. Gimme my fuckin' sibling before you piss me off worse, B."

Bruce nods slowly. He brings you back into the room and hands you off to Jason. Your arms circle his neck and cling on tight, and you bury your face in his chest as you cry. It breaks his heart that you had such a bad scare. He can see the half-completed Lego build you were playing with on the floor in front of the window and hopes Bruce can get all the glass shards out between the bricks and carpet.

Jason carries you out of your bedroom and down the corridor to his. He leaves his door cracked open and flicks on lights as he goes, then brings you to the en-suite bathroom.

"Okay, Mousey," he mumbles, trying to set you on the sink's vanity. You clutch him tighter and whimper, and it drives a spear right through his chest. "Kid, I'm not goin' nowhere. Jay-Jay's right here, I just wanna make sure there's no glass on you."

A little more prodding and the compromise of you holding one of his hands gets you to relent. You sit miserably on the counter as your sobs slowly die down, and Jason tediously checks your hair and clothes for any bits of glass that may have landed on you when the crow crashed into the window. The slow, repetitive motions help quiet the last of his anger until he's just tired and concerned for you. He finds a couple tiny pieces, but your skin is unblemished and when he asks if you're hurt, you shake your head, which then calms him entirely.

"Alright, great job," he murmurs. "Come here, we'll go bother Alfie t'give us an icecream sammy before dinner and then cuddle in the main living room. Good plan?"

You sniffle, wiping the last of your tears away. Your cheeks are flushed and puffy. "Yeah, good pwan..."

Jason kisses the top of your head and offers you his fist. You gently bump yours against his, then lift your arms again to be picked back up. He obliges, refusing to put you back down for the rest of the day. When it's time for bed, you don't wanna go back into your room, so he spends the evening reading his current novel with a dim book light while you snooze away on his chest.

--

He's livid. Jason's got a hole in his leg and he can't run away from the rival gang leader pointing a gun at his head, and he's fucking livid.

"My first death was way cooler," he mutters. "Got blown up and everything."

"What the fuck are you saying?" The other man scowls. "I never could understand you through that thick-ass helmet."

"I'm saying, if you're gonna go down as the guy that killed the Red Hood, at least make the execution something fuckin' noteworthy," Jason rants, the pain making him bitchier than usual. He waves his hands for emphasis, pointing at the gunman much like a mother scolding her child. "Ohh I shot him and watched his brain splatter everywhere! So has every single marksman ever. I'm worth more than a bullet in an alleyway. The fuck do I look like, Bruce Wayne's folks?"

"Whoa, man," the shooter says, lifting his free hand to scratch the back of his head. "Let me get this straight. You're not mad I'm gonna kill you. You're that mad I'm not gonna kill you...in a cooler way?"

"Excellent listening ears, bucko! Gold star!" Jason coos, clapping. "Immolation, decapitation, tossin' me in an acid pit — fuck me, I'll take a stab wound over a bullet! D'you know how skilled you gotta be to get close enough to stab Red Hood to death!? If not for me, do somethin' that'll raise your own paltry street cred, shit. You're so fucking boring."

The man doesn't get another chance to weigh his options. The darkness of the alleyway pounces on him, sucking him into the void while he shrieks like an animal. Jason slumps against the wall and watches the shapeless darkness warp and twist, the gun abandoned on the ground in the gunman's initial panic. He feels his heart rate slow when you step out after a minute, wearing a thick jacket over your pajamas and a domino mask over your eyes as you hurry towards him. A flash of irritation makes him scowl as he realizes one of the others woke you up for this, when you aren't even a vigilante to begin with. The culprit's gonna get their ass beat as soon as he recovers enough to track them down.

"Okay," you stammer, kneeling next to him on the ground with a first aid kit. "Okay okay okay...Alf — umm, Agent A? I'm here, what do I do?"

"Remain calm, Flittermouse. All will be well," Alfred soothes you over the comms. Jason feels the adrenaline steadily exiting his body now that he's registered that he's safe. Now, it's a fight to stay conscious so you don't freak out even more than you're currently doing. He's so proud of you for coming out here despite the blatant fear.

Your hands shake as you pop the kit open and pull out the field tourniquet. Alfred instructs you on how to set it up, and Jason gently adjusts it when you wrap it a little too close to the bullet wound in his thigh. He grits his teeth as you tighten it, refusing to make a peep, and gives you a quick thumbs up when you tie it off.

"Okay, I stopped the bleeding. Do I bring him home, now?" You ask.

"As long as he has no other injuries, the medical bay is ready for you to transport him back to the cave."

"M'good, Mousey," Jason says, lifting his fist. "Sorry you had to come rescue your cool big bro. S'not your job."

"I was the one who could get here the fastest," you reply. After a moment's hesitation, you bump his fist with your own. "You're gonna be okay."

"M'gonna be okay," he echoes, knowing you need that confirmation. "Saved my life, kid. I'll do all your chores for the next week."

That gets a wet laugh out of you. You hug Jason tight and the shadows of the alley pool underneath your bodies. Jason closes his eyes and hugs you back, a steady anchor in the free-falling sensation entering your darkness gives him.

"My heroics are only worth a week of chores?"

"S'better than the rest get," he says. "They get one chore. Not even a whole day, just one chore."

You bury your face in his shoulder as the void swallows you and him up.

"You're my favorite, too, Jay-Jay," you mumble. Jason smiles as he loses the battle for consciousness.

--

"Good afternoon; welcome to Truce Juice. Would you like a moment with a menu or are you ready to order?"

Jason leans his hip against the counter and takes a menu off the small, laminated stack you've got sitting there, glancing over the options. Behind the helmet, he smiles as he remembers all the late nights you pulled him and your other brothers into the kitchen to taste test these drinks and snacks, desperate to make things that would appeal to many people. He remembers how proud you were to graduate from your culinary courses and the victory cry you let out when you found insurance willing to cover the building.

You smile warmly at him, waiting patiently for him to choose something off the menu for the first time in your brand new business.

"Black coffee," he says, voice warped by the modulator in the helmet, "two sugars."

"What size?" You ask, tapping it into the screen in front of you.

"Large. And a turkey panini, with avocado and pesto."

"Toasted?"

"What other fuckin' way would anybody get a panini?" He muses aloud. To strangers, he would sound angry, but you can tell he's genuinely asking. You just shrug and keep the soft smile on your face.

"You'd be surprised. Your total's on the screen; will that be cash or card?"

Jason reaches a gloved hand down. It glides past the pistol strapped to his thigh, eliciting nervous gasps from bystanders in the cafe, and into the pocket underneath, drawing out a plain, tri-fold wallet. He pulls out two hundred-dollar bills and huffs at you to keep the change, then saunters over to the pick-up counter to wait.

He crosses his arms and watches you scuttle around behind the counter, genuinely happy to make food and drinks for anybody that comes in. So far, you're uninjured and you've been able to stop any rising conflicts in seconds, which he's endlessly thankful for.

When his order is ready, you hand it to him with another bright smile.

"Alright, mister Hood, here you go. Have a great day!"

Jason nods, about to turn away, when he sees you hold your fist out in his periphery.

He grins, heart fit to burst, and bumps it back.

[imaginespazzi]

All Fell Down ~ Part 3 ~

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

* masterlist in collaboration with @azzibuckets *

summary: paige and azzi have never really been just best friends

a/n: Hello, hello my lovies <3 I'm so sorry; I literally just fully forgot to post this part yesterday because life has been so very hectic. But I think having an Azzi Fudd masterclass before this chapter is probably ideal. As always let me know your thoughts my loves!

Azzi should have expected the deafening silence that follows Paige’s name leaving her lips. If it wasn’t for the sound of the other girl’s breathing -staggered and heavy- she’d have thought perhaps it was a phantom call with no one on the other end of the line. And really Azzi doesn’t know what she was expecting; doesn’t know why she’d expected anything but exactly this when she’d picked up her phone. But when Paige’s CallerID had flashed on the screen, the buzzing of the ringtone cutting into Azzi’s pity party, there hadn’t been much else in her brain other than this sudden burst of hope. It had taken barely two rings before she was scrambling across her bed, grabbing her phone and hitting the green answer button with far too much vigor. It was one syllable but she’d wrapped Paige’s name in a desperate mixture of i just miss talking to you and please can can we fix this. And she’d gotten nothing in return.

“Paige?” she tries again, fighting the fresh new set of tears threatening to fall from her eyes; she’s lost count of how many times she’s cried tonight. 

There’s a sharp intake of air on the other end but still no response and whatever thin string had been holding the remnants of Azzi’s heart together seems to fray even more.

“Okay,” she breathes out, closing her eyes as she digs her fingernails into her palm, “okay Paige,” she repeats, her tone resigned and ready to accept something that feels a little too much like defeat, “I get it. I guess this was um- this was an accident or something so I’ll uh- I’ll hang-”

“Canyoucomepickmeup?” Paige’s words come out hoarse and slurred together as she cuts Azzi off.

“What?” the brunette’s eyes widen, unsure if she’s heard wrong. 

Azzi hears Paige gulp; can almost picture the blonde chewing at her lips like she usually does when she’s nervous, “I asked if- if you could um- can you come pick me up?”

“I-”

Paige begins to ramble before she can say anything, “it’s just uh- it’s just that the rest of team seems to be having a lotta fun and I- I think maybe I drank too much and my head’s throbbing and Evina says I should go home but-”

“Okay.”

“I can’t drive myself and I don’t- I don’t wanna ruin anybody else’s night-” Paige cuts herself mid sentence, taking a second to process what Azzi had just said, “wait- okay?”

The brunette has already slipped off her bed, rummaging around her bedside table for her car keys. She thinks she’s probably giving in a little too easily, thinks she should probably be more pissed at Paige’s audacity to not speak to her for two weeks and then call her out of nowhere to ask for a mundane favor. But it’s Paige. Her Paige. And Azzi knows that if the blonde asked her to show her the stars, she’d find a way to steal the whole night sky for her.

“Okay,” Azzi confirms as she slips into her sneakers, “I should be there in a couple of minutes.”

“You’re actually coming,” Paige’s voice is slightly dazed. 

There’s a pang in Azzi’s chest at the slight surprise in her best friend’s tone. It’s a testament to how much has changed between them. Those unspoken promises of we’ll always be there for each other that had been the solid foundation of their relationship seem to be clouded by fears of are we still the same us? It hits her then the depth of the abyss between them. They’re stranded on opposite sides of it and Azzi just hopes they still have enough strength to build a bridge over it and get to each other again. 

“Do you still want me to come?” she asks timidly as she steps out into the wintry Storrs air. It’s freezing cold but Azzi thinks it’s nothing compared to the way she knows her heart will ice over if Paige says no. 

That familiar silence lingers between them as Azzi waits for Paige to say something. It feels like that’s all she’s done for the past two weeks. Waited. She’d waited for the answers to her list of ever-growing questions as Paige had pulled further and further away from her. She’d waited to catch her best friend’s avoidant eyes so she could try and decipher the storm brewing in them. She’d waited, arms outstretched, for her Paige to come back to her. But she thinks that if Paige says no now, if Paige decides to keep building this wretched wall between them instead of helping Azzi tear it down, then she won’t wait again. Because the weight of waiting is just too much and there’s only so much longer that Azzi can hold on. 

“Evina said to go home,” Paige’s voice trembles when she finally speaks, “she said to go home and all I could think of- was you.”

“Paige,” Azzi whispers. 

“Azzi,” and that same desperation from before echoes in Paige’s tone, “please come take me home.”

[shanastoryteller]

Dean is taking too long in the basement.

He should have been right behind him, but he isn’t. Sam gets the kids out and goes running back downstairs, gun held in front of him, which ends up being pointless. The rawhead is head.

For a moment, he thinks Dean is too.

He’s pale and cold in the water and Sam sees the tazer and knows exactly what happened and if his brother is dead, he doesn’t care about personal gain or consequences or any of that shit, he’s brining him back no matter what.

But his pulse flutters weak and too fast under his fingers and Sam doesn’t even spare a moment for relief before he’s shouting, “CHRIS! CHRIS! I need you!”

Nothing happens.

Fear clogs his throat. “Paige! Wyatt! Leo!”

He never bothers the others. He’s trained with them, even fought with them while he was at Stanford, but at the end of the day he’s just another witch and Chris is his whitelighter. But his brother is dying.

No one comes.

He calls 911 then, because as long as Dean isn’t dead then he can be healed, and he’ll worry about what’s going on with the Halliwells later.

~

The doctors can’t do anything, Dean’s already resigned himself to death, and no one’s answering his calls.

He’s pacing in the hall outside of his brother’s room, not wanting Dean to see him unraveling but not able to bring himself to go too far away. It’s not like he’s going to drop dead the second Sam looks away, he knows that.

He knows that.

It doesn’t matter if no one’s answering his calls. He knows other witches, he can track down another whitelighter if he has to. Even then, whitelighter healing is the best solution, but not the only one. He’s loathe to attempt a healing spell on his brother, just in case it goes wrong, but he knows the stasis ones well enough. Dean won’t like being put in a glass case like Snow White, but it’ll keep him alive while Sam finds a solution.

“Sam!”

He turns to see Chris striding toward him and he should be relieved, he is relieved, but the terror and stress he’s been managing since yesterday all course through him at once and come out as rage. He grabs the front of Chris’s shirt and slams him into the wall, thankful there’s no one around. “Where the hell have you been?”

Chris doesn’t fight him, not that it would do him much good to try. Chris may be the stronger witch, but Sam can hand him his ass easily. “Sam-”

“Dean electrocuted himself saving children,” he says, “He almost died! He – they said – his heart–” It’s almost too much for him all over again, but then he notices the blood down Chris’s neck, the smell of smoke clinging to his clothes, the bone deep exhaustion that Chris is so good at hiding from everyone except for him and Wyatt and occasionally Phoebe. “Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Sam wonders if his grip is pressing him down or holding him up. “There was a demon attack, we were in the underworld. They had Peyton, we didn’t,” he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m your whitelighter, I should have–”

“Shut up,” Sam says gently. He pushes Chris’s hair aside, but whatever wound left the blood is long gone. “You’re not just my whitelighter. You’re my friend. I know you wouldn’t not answer for no reason, sorry, I just. It’s Dean.”

He offers him a weak grin. “Yeah, I know. Older brothers, right? Always causing problems.”

Chris knows that better than most.

“Sam, I can’t heal him here,” he says quietly.

“I know,” Sam says. “Secrecy, mortals, I get it. I’ll get him out of here and to the motel, then I’ll call you, alright?"

“Alright,” Chris says, then frowns. “What are you going to tell him? He’s going to have questions.”

“He’ll get over it,” Sam says firmly. “I wouldn’t expose you guys like that.”

Chris shrugs. “I mean, I get why you don’t want to tell him, with your dad and everything, but he does have a right to know. Just because his powers are bound doesn’t mean he’s not a witch too.”

Sam stares.

He frowns. “What?”

“You,” he starts, then changes tracks. “Dean’s a witch?”

Now Chris is the one staring. “Of course he is. It runs in families. If you’re a witch, Dean’s a witch. He’s just had his powers bound and you haven’t.”

“But,” he starts. “Why?”

He shrugs. “You were too young. Doing it before the child’s first birthday can lead to, uh, some strange results.”

Sam understands that him being a witch descended from Melinda Warren means his mother was a witch, but he’d never really thought about it before. She knew what he was, what Dean was, and had planned to keep it from them forever. If she hadn’t died when he was six months old, she would have bound his powers too.

He doesn’t know how to feel about that. He doesn’t have the space to figure it out now. “Okay. Well, that’s probably a conversation more appropriate for when he doesn’t have a heart condition. Go, clean up, I’ll call you when we’re ready.” Chris nods, but before he goes Sam grabs his wrist. “Hey. Peyton’s okay, right?”

He grins. “She’s good. And maybe next time she won’t think it’s a good idea to sneak to the underworld alone.”

Knowing Peyton, it probably won’t be much of a deterrent.

~

Dean isn’t afraid of dying.

It’s just that this is a really bad time.

Dad’s missing, the demon that killed their mother is after Sam’s girlfriend, never mind what the hell is going on with Sam and the weirdo vision he’d had about their house. Vision. It’s enough for sweat to prick out over his skin in worry.

And now this, him frying his heart and leaving Sam on his own, the one thing he never wanted to do.

“Hey.”

He looks up, trying to force a smirk, but it falls off and he’s just left blinking. Sam’s lost the stubborn fragility he had before, smiling at him like everything’s going to be fine. Maybe it will be. There’s a jump in his chest that he thinks might be hope and not his heart giving out on him.

“We’re getting out of here,” Sam says, slapping his leg. “AMA, come on, you know the drill.”

“Alright,” he says, bemused. If he’s going to die, he hadn’t been all that keen to do it in a hospital bed anyway.

The doctor is less than impressed. Dean lets do Sam do all the talking and eventually the doctor rounds on him and demands, “Why are you doing this? It makes no sense!”

He actually has no idea why he’s doing this, so he just shrugs. “If my brother says we’re going, then we’re going.”

Which is apparently not the right answer by the way he goes white to the lips, but Sam smiles at him, so he really can’t bring himself to care.

They eventually get out there, Sam helping him from the wheelchair to the Impala, and being back in his baby, even in the passenger side, is another hit of relief. Of course they reach a second problem when they get to the motel and Dean realizes he’s not certain he can make it to the door.

Sam rolls his eyes, parking the car as close to the room as they can get, and says, “Don’t be a baby. I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

He considers arguing against it, but he’s exhausted, there’s no one around, and he’s already lost a significant amount of big brother credibility by getting fried in the first place.

“Shut up,” he mutters, but only rolls his eyes before looping an arm around Sam’s neck. He grimaces when Sam gets an arm under his knees, lifting him up with at least a grunt of effort. He’s kind of irritated that his baby brother can lift him this easily at all, even though it’s not exactly a surprise. Sam’s grown up a lot since he left for Stanford, adding inches of height and muscle, and it’s not exactly like he was a weakling when he left. Still, being carried by his little brother like a princess is almost as bad for his ego as nearly dying in the first place.

Sam doesn’t comment on it, however, easing him down on the bed closest to the door, even though he’d be a speed bump at best to anything coming after them. It sends a well of fondness through him that he expresses through a scowl.

“Lay down and keep your eyes shut, okay?” Sam says. “No matter what you hear or feel.”

Dean blinks at him. He figured Sam had a plan, but he hadn’t expected it to be so immediate. “Why? What are you doing?”

“Not letting you die,” he answers promptly. “Don’t argue with me. It’s not going to hurt. Just trust me for five minutes, okay?”

He’s been trusting Sam for a lot longer than five minutes. “Fine, whatever.”

He lays down on his own, because he can at least do that, and Sam doesn’t look nervous or worried or guilty, so whatever thing he’s about to try is probably fine. Although he really has no idea what the hell Sam thinks he’s going to pull out that can fix his heart, but he closes his eyes and waits.

There’s the sound of the door opening and closing, which he hadn’t expected. A moment later it opens again, but there are two sets of footsteps. He tenses. “Sam?”

“It’s alright,” Sam says, his large hand settling warm and comfortable on Dean’s shoulder. “Just relax.”

Relax? How the hell does Sam expect him to relax when –

There’s a hand on his chest, one he doesn’t recognize, and he barely keeps from leaping off the bed. Then there’s a warmth, something comforting, like being held by his mother or his dad’s proud look or how it feels every time Sam reaches for him. Then he’s breathing in, chest expanding comfortably in a way it hasn’t since he was electrocuted. He’s not cold anymore, not exhausted, the creeping feeling of death chasing him whisked away in a matter of seconds.

It leaves him terrified.

“Sam?” he says, and it takes everything to keep his eyes squeezed shut.

There’s the sound of the door opening and closing again and Sam says, “It’s okay, you’re okay,” and Dean’s eyes pop open and he’s shoving himself onto his feet.

It’s nothing, it’s easy, just like it was a day ago. Sam is smiling, relieved and okay, and Dean grabs onto his shoulders and shakes him. “What was that? Who was that? What did you do, Sammy?”

“A friend,” Sam says. “Dean, don’t worry, it didn’t cost me anything.”

He scoffs. “Right, because what – hoodoo priests and witches or whatever the hell that was just help out hunters from the goodness of their hearts? What did you do?”

Sam presses a hand to his chest, where his heart is now beating strong and sure in his chest, none of that stuttery crap of before. “I didn’t give anything. It’s okay. Sometimes people just help each other out because they’re good people, Dean. Like you do, when you saved those kids last night.”

“We saved those kids,” he corrects, because he wouldn’t have been able to both fight the rawhead and get the kids out on his own. He and Sam did it together.

“Right,” Sam says, mouth tugged up in the corner. “There’s no trick, no price. They’re someone I know that was willing to help, that’s all.”

Dean presses for more information, but Sam refuses to give it, and eventually he has to give it up. At least for now.

He’s glad he’s alive. He’s glad he won’t be leaving Sam alone.

And most of all, he’s glad he’s going to be around to pry out of Sam whatever secrets he’s keeping from him.

let the beltane fires burn

The Halliwells are descended from Melinda Warren, are the branch in which the greatest power resides, the line that would birth the most powerful witches to walk the earth.

It's not the only line.

Deanna knows about hunters, knows what they don’t know and don’t understand and that they killed her family. But Samuel didn’t kill her family. Samuel’s a good man who saves innocents, the same way she was raised to, if not how she was raised to do it.

She’s all alone. It’s not safe to be a witch.

The day before her wedding, she binds her powers.

When Mary is a year and a day, she does the same to her. It’s safer this way. Better. The world is so unkind to witches, even ones like them, born into it, with their power baked into their blood. Better to fight evil with bullets and knives than the strange terrible thing she’s destined to give her daughter, that her daughter is destined to pass along to her own daughters.

She never tells Samuel. There’s no reason to.

When Mary is old enough, when she’s talking of running and rebelling and all those things Samuel thinks will never come to pass and Deanna knows almost certainly will – running and rebelling is in her blood as surely as the magic, but there’s no binding potion for that – she tells her daughter what they are. What she’ll have to do to keep her future daughters safe, if she has them. It’s the only potion she ever teaches Mary how to brew, the only one she’ll ever need.

The day after Dean’s first birthday, Marry brews the potion and feeds it to him. He cries more after, doesn’t settle as quickly, and John worries and Mary reassures him and tells herself she’s done the right thing. Whatever it is that Dean feels he’s lost, he’s better off without it. She’s going to be normal. Her children are going to be normal.

She intends to do the same for Sammy, but she burns above his crib when he’s six months old.

~

John sees Sammy levitate a toy towards him when he’s two years old and shouts so loudly that he drops it, tears running down his face and wailing in the face of his father’s anger. Dean comes running from the other room and reaches for Sammy, letting his brother’s chubby fingers tangle in his shirt. “What’s wrong?” he asks, eyes wide.

He doesn’t answer, rubbing his hand over his face and heart pounding in his chest.

What did that demon do to his son?

What did it turn him into?

Is Sammy even human anymore?

He doesn’t react to salt, to holy water, to silver. John loses his temper every time something moves inexplicably and eventually it stops, by the time Sam’s in kindergarten he’s just like all the other kids.

John watches, fear and suspicion and something uglier caught up inside of him.

What is his son?

~

Sam figures out young that he’s a freak.

Dad and Dean just think he’s weak, just think he has nightmares, and he lets them. He only practices the telekinesis when he’s alone and every time he almost gathers the courage to tell his brother or father about it, to finally come clean, he’s viciously reminded how much they hate the things they hunt, how they’d never accept it, accept him, and as soon as he tells them what he is, he’ll lose them.

He doesn’t know what he is, really. Only that he’s not normal.

Eventually he stops seeing things in his sleep, instead getting them when he’s awake, more vivid and real than the monsters that plague his dreams. He sees people being hurt, people who need help, and it goes against everything he’s been taught to leave them to their fate.

But how can he explain it to his family? He can’t.

He’s thirteen the first time he sneaks out and saves a woman from one of his visions, finding her in the dark alley he’d seen her die in. He puts a bullet in the man’s chest, but it barely stops him, and then she and him both are getting a fireball thrown at them.

Sam shoves his hand in front of him, pushing back against the heat, refusing to die the same way his mother died.

The fireball returns to the man, catching him in the chest and he screams, disappearing into the fire until he’s nothing more than a smudge on the ground.

“Wow,” the woman breathes. Sam turns to her, trying to come up with some sort of explanation, when she continues, “I’ve never met a witch with active powers before.”

“I’m not a witch,” he says automatically, thinking of bargains made with demons, of hex bags and rotting meat and blood sacrificed.

She looks between him and the smudge on the ground incredulously. “Are you sure about that?”

Yes. No.

He doesn’t know what he is.

She leads him back to her apartment, stacks books into hix arms, and then makes him a sandwich when his stomach rumbles. His age worries her, his ignorance worries her even more, and everything she’s saying sounds like kooky new age bullshit except for the way that it explains everything he’s never been able to.

There are witches and demons and monsters nothing like anything his father’s ever talked about.

~

It’s easy to research, at least, because his dad thinks there’s a kernel of truth in every piece of supernatural bullshit. Dean makes fun of him for digging into girly, feel-good crap rather than the harder stuff, but his dad just seems relieved he’s taking an interest all. Sam starts taking notes, keeps them all in a folder until Dad buys him a journal, patting his back when he hands it over like it’s a rite of passage.

To Dad, it’s his first hunting journal.

Sam runs his hand down the soft leather spine and knows he’s starting his book of shadows.

The visions don’t stop. He saves more innocents, some witches and some mortal, and keeps the record of all the creatures he’s killed in Latin to discourage Dad and Dean from snooping. He uses his telekinesis on hunts only when there’s no other option, only when there’s someone’s life on the line, and he’s as careful as he can be not to get caught.

It should be a relief, to find out there are other people like him, to know that he’s a force for good in the world.

There’s no way he can explain the existence of a different type of witches to his father without putting a target on their backs.

Some witches have been targeted by hunters, ones who were trying to help but got caught in the crossfire, ones that had turned evil and needed to be stopped, but it’s not often he finds a witch that regards hunters with anything but fear. At least when his family are the ones sniffing around, he can give them a heads up, can tell them how to avoid their attention.

He’s had a lot of practice, after all.

~

Sam is sixteen when he’s a little too slow.

The innocent is safe and the demon is killed, but his chest is torn open and he’s bleeding out on the pavement.

“Oh no, oh no,” the woman he’d saved chants, pressing her hands against him, even though it’s pointless, even though it just sends a bolt of pain through him. Fuck. He doesn’t want to die. Dean is going to devastated. “Paige! Help me! Paige!”

There’s a bright light in the corner of his eyes and an woman around his dad’s age with bright hair red hair is leaning over him.

Then she touches him, but her touch doesn’t hurt.

He looks down and the wound on his chest closes, skin clear and unharmed, pain retreating to only a memory.

“He saved me,” the woman says. “He can move things!”

The redhead’s eyebrows rise. “You have active powers?”

They’re always so surprised by that. Sam’s more impressed with the fact that she just healed him. “I get premonitions too. What are you?”

“You get,” she starts then cuts herself off. “Where’s your whitelighter?”

He stares. “My what?”

She raises a hand to her head and groans. “Oh, someone’s really messed up somewhere. Leo!”

~

Guardian angels are real, called whitelighters, and apparently witches with active powers who go around saving innocents are supposed to have them to help keep them from getting themselves killed in the process.

Leo, who’s something called an elder with a kind face, says an unconventional witch deserves an unconventional whitelighter.

Chris Halliwell is his age, half witch, and also has telekinesis.

Oh, and he’s apparently his cousin. His very, very, very distant cousin.

“Are all witches related?” he asks incredulously.

“No,” Chris says, long dark hair and hazel eyes doing more to aid his claim of family than the spell his mother had cast. He and Chris look more related than him and Dean do. “We’d thought all the other branches of the Warren line had died out. You’re a surprise.”

Great. He’s a freak even among witches.

~

It’s so much easier now that he’s not desperately trying to piece together everything on his own, with only the occasional help from the innocents he saves. Chris is sarcastic and annoying and funny and more than having a guardian angel, Sam’s relieved to just have a friend he doesn’t have to lie to for once.

The Halliwell house, with its potion ingredients and powerful witches and home cooking, is only an orb away. He mostly hangs out with Chris, of course, but Piper always invites him to stay for dinner and Paige checks in on him, feeling somewhat responsible for him since she met him first, and Wyatt’s friendly enough but Chris sends him packing whenever Sam’s there.

He’s pulling doubletime when it comes to saving innocents, doing it as a witch and as a hunter, and he’s still maintaining straight As on top of it all while lying about half his life to his father and brother. It’s a stack of cards that’s bound to fall apart.

Going to Stanford is about more than just escaping his father.

It gets him close enough to San Francisco that he won’t need to be orbed to the Halliwells. It’s supposed to give him some breathing room, to let him focus on being a witch, to let him get his education. He does more good as a witch than as a hunter, but it’s not like that’s something he can explain to his family.

He’d wanted out, needed out, before he gets himself or someone else killed trying to balance it all. But he hadn’t thought his father would kick him out. He hadn’t thought Dean would let him.

He goes to the bus station but doesn’t buy a ticket. He calls Chris and spends the rest of the summer at Halliwell manor, burying all his hurt under training with Chris and saving people and getting ready to start college in September.

~

Jess wears a pentacle around her neck and keeps salt in small bowls in each of the cardinal directions and Sam doesn’t intend to tell her that he’s a witch, but when he ends up saving her from a darklighter attack, that decision is taken out of his hands. Coming clean about the hunter part takes longer, but it’s a bit of an easier sell once the knowledge of the supernatural is already out there. The thing that surprised her most of all is that things like bullets and steel can be used successfully against monsters, rather than the existence of monsters themselves.

Three years later when Dean shows up at their door, Sam can’t bring himself to deny him. It’s one weekend. He’d never wanted to lose his family in the first place.

When he returns home to Jessica pinned to the ceiling, he doesn’t even have to think.

He yanks her down, catching her in his arms just as fire effulges the place she’d been. He pushes the fire away from them, but it fights him harder than demonic fire usually does and leaves his hands burned and blistering. He doesn’t care. Jess is bleeding and in shock but still alive, breath rattling against him. “CHRIS!”

Dean’s yelling for him, but Sam can’t let him in. He throws his hand out, keeping his bedroom door closed even as his brother throws his body against it, still screaming his name.

Chris orbs in, eyes going huge. “Sam, what-”

“Heal her then go,” he snaps, the smoke already hurting his throat. “I’ll explain later.”

He puts his glowing hands over her bleeding stomach and the wound closes, her body going slack and her breathing easing even as her eyes roll back.

Sam tenses. “Is she-”

“Fine, let’s go, your hands,” Chris says, hands already glowing as he reaches for him.

“SAM!” Dean shouts, sounding like he’s about two seconds away from trying to shoot through the door.

“You can heal me later,” he says. “Thank you. Go.”

Chris shoots him a bitchy look that Paige says they share and then he orbs away. The fire’s covered almost the entire room now and Sam finally lets go of the door.

Dean stumbles in, pale, already reaching for him.

Sam stands and finds his knees buckling, gritting his teeth to keep himself upright. “Take her,” he says urgently, pressing Jess into his brother’s arms. “We have to go.”

“You think?” he snaps, but he’s gentle with Jess. Sam shoves him towards the door, slamming it behind him just as it surges after them. Keeping the flames from killing them is one of the hardest things he’s ever done. No wonder he’s exhausted.

They stumble downstairs, away from the fire, and someone’s already called the ambulance.

The story’s an easy sell because it’s not like anyone would believe the truth. They say Jess took sleeping pills and Sam came home to flames. He pulled Jess out and has the burns to prove it. Dean saw the flames in the window and went up, helping to get them both out.

It’s almost true.

“He had yellow eyes,” Jess tells him after. “He was – Sam, I’ve seen demons, I’ve fought demons. He’s something else.”

“Different kind of demons,” Sam says. There’s the underworld, and there’s hell. Underworld demons go after witches mostly. Hell demons go after mortals and are a lot harder to kill, ironically. “It’s the same demon that killed my mother, Jess, and now it’s after you. I have to take care of this.”

Dean’s too relieved about Sam’s determination to rejoin the hunt to question him too closely about all this. He knows better than to think that will last for very long.

Chris agrees to watch over Jess for him even though she’s not technically one of his charges. They layer protection spells on her, including one cast by the power of three, and even this yellow eyed demon will be hard pressed to break through that.

Hell demons are tricky. They’re not as susceptible to witch magic. But Sam’s not just a witch.

He’s a hunter too.

[itoshiabi]

How I think your first meeting will be with blue lock characters

Pt.2: Rin, Shidou, Hiori, Kaiser.

Pt.1 - Here

Itoshi Rin- The Stray Cat Situation

You crouched down, trying to coax a stray cat out from under a bench when a tall shadow loomed over you.

"That's not gonna work," a bored voice said.

Looking up, you saw a sharp-eyed guy with dark hair staring at you, arms crossed.

"I wasn't asking for advice," you muttered.

He sighed. "Tch. You're doing it wrong."

Before you could argue, he squatted beside you, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a protein bar. He broke off a tiny piece and placed it near the cat.

Within seconds, the cat cautiously stepped forward.

"…Huh," you admitted. "Guess you're not completely useless. Anyway, thanks!"

His eye twitched. "Whatever."

Shidou Ryusei – The Street Fight Interruption

You were heading home when you spotted a commotion in an alley. A blond guy with pink streaks was grinning wildly while a group of men yelled at him.

"You bastard!" one of them growled.

"C"mon, one more round?" the blond taunted, clearly enjoying himself.

Before things escalated, you pulled out your phone. "Should I call the cops?"

Shidou turned, eyes locking onto you. Then he laughed.

"Damn, you're bold," he smirked, walking over like he hadn’t just been fighting. "Wanna grab a bite instead?"

"…Are you serious?"

"Why not?"

And that's how you met the most chaotic person in your life

Hiori Yo- The Rainy Bus Stop

You were stuck at a bus stop with no umbrella, watching the rain pour down, when someone beside you quietly spoke.

"You can stand under mine, if you want."

You turned to see a boy with soft blue hair, holding an umbrella big enough for two.

"You sure?" you asked.

He nodded. "I don't mind."

As you both stood there, sharing the small space, he glanced at you.

"You don't like the rain?"

You shrugged. "It's nice to watch, but not fun when you’re drenched."

He hummed in agreement.

The bus arrived, and before stepping on, you smiled. "Thanks, umbrella hero."

His face turned slightly red. "…It's nothing."

But as he watched you leave, he realized he kind of hoped he'd see you again.

Michael Kaiser – The Airport Stranger

Your flight was delayed, and you were stuck at the airport, sitting near a guy who looked like he belonged on a magazine cover.

Bored, you glanced at him, only to find him already smirking at you.

"Like what you see?" he teased.

You rolled your eyes. "I was just wondering why someone like you isn't surrounded by fans."

He leaned back, clearly enjoying the conversation. "Maybe I wanted a break. But now I've found something interesting."

You scoffed. "You don't even know me."

Kaiser chuckled. "Not yet. But I've got time before my flight.'

To your surprise, he kept talking to you, finding ways to make the time pass with his playful arrogance. By the time the announcements came, he grinned.

"See you around, Schatz."

[silkenwinger]

Umm so... Sexual favors/seduction gone wrong (or right) with Price... (mdni!!!)

It's not like you need money. Well, it's always nice to have it, for sure. But the job pays well already, as expected of a profession where you can always blow up in pieces.

What you seek is more along on the trail of glory, as lame as it sounds. You're a woman in an extremely male dominated field, and the very thing that has led you here is also driving you insane. Ambition, or the need to be on top at all times, is behind most of your professional choices.

Which is how you found yourself in this taskforce, anyway. Work as hard as a mule and you'll get somewhere. Except...

Well. It feels like you're not working enough. The accolades can't be there if you're not on duty most of the time, and you're doing a lot more paperwork than you're used to. You need, at the very least, the thrill of moving out and jumping out of a plane. Not obsessively checking if the printer is out of ink. This is not what Laswell had promised you.

You do have some experience with this team at least, and it has been positive. Soap and Ghost, for their eccentricities, are top notch soldiers. And John Price, your captain, is a decisive and confident man who rarely endangers his subordinates. Which is why you want to work with them. Seriously.

Seducing your boss is probably one of the lamest things you could do in your situation, straight up un-feminist, with no low chance of it blowing up in your face. But it has gotten to this point. And Price... well. If you can convince him, you get to sleep with an attractive older man and get more action (in all senses). If he rejects you, he'll be cavalier about it, you feel. You hope? You’ve seen him send you longer glances than appropriate at times. Probably not enough free time to get a real girlfriend. Your attention should be enough to mellow him to your liking. You’ll chat a bit, initiate contact, do the deed, and ask him. Linear, an exchange and a pleasurable means to an end.

Honeypot endeavors were never your specialty, but you have had sufficient training to know you need to be tempting and lend an ear to whatever ails your victim. Dressed as skin-thigh as possible with military issued clothes, you approach him in his office when it's already quite late, warm light haloing the desk. He's sitting there, reading some report or another, glasses perched on his nose and tired face.

You greet him chirpily, and he does the same a bit more mutely. He doesn’t say anything once you reach his desk, which sends you into a panic. He just looks at you with almost glazed eyes. Shit, you hadn’t counted on him being too exhausted to even consider your offer.

He raises one bushy eyebrow at your prolonged silence. You feel a rush of cold water running down your spine, but keep your smile open. Delicate.

“Just wished to know how you were doing,” you hear yourself saying, “besides the cold hard events said in briefings.”

He lets go of the paper that floats silently on the desk, and leans back on the armchair, arms crossed. His gaze is still appraising, and you think he may be biting his lower lip in thought, but it’s hard to tell with the diffused light. He recovers enough to speak to you, voice hoarse from disuse. 

“Something the matter on base?”

“Huh? No, not at all,” you reply, voice caught by surprise. His head tilts.

“Has anyone given you trouble?” He continues his inquiry, eyes thin, like he’s reading your very bones. You’re a bit uncomfortable with what seems to be genuine concern on his part.

“No, sir,” you laugh, embarrassed, “everything has been going well.” And then, for some reason unknown to you, the truth comes out of your mouth.

“I just really want to know what’s going on in the field. I’ve never been off active duty for so long…” you trail off once you realize you’ve let out much more than you wanted in the first place. Remembering why you came here in the first place, you take a step closer.

Price exhales, like the same thing has been bothering him for long. Which you doubt, seeing all the responsibilities he holds. Rolling his shoulders, he takes off his glasses and leans closer, elbows touching the desk, and you take another step.   

“I see why that would bother you. You have a brilliant record, sergeant. I don’t say that lightly. You’re very talented, but the latest missions needed small groups, and the other men and I have been working together for longer. That’s a special kind of bond that can’t be replicated without time and effort.” His tone is gentle, but the words destroy you all the same.

“Oh, well.” You breathe out, pointing your feet inwards, suddenly feeling both shame and sad anger raising inside you. So it was a you problem, and not instead sexism or whatever. You haven’t been here long enough, you haven’t bonded well enough, you don’t bring something special enough to make you stand out in any way. Swallowing, you raise your eyes again, meeting Price’s focused ones on you. The urge to cry bites at your cheeks, but you need to hold on, explain yourself before you can flee. Fuck, you didn’t even accomplish what you came here for.  

“I’m… I’ll do better. Whatever you need me to do, I will–” your voice trembles more than you want it to, but you get interrupted.

“Hey. Hey. It’s alright, you’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve been splendid, sweetheart,” he tells you, leaning over, hand coming to hold yours, remarkably hotter to the touch than yours. He runs his thumb on your knuckles, a reassuring gesture. It feels like he’s an old time knight at the service of his queen.

“It was just a coincidence. I did not intend you to feel unvalued in this team. Hell, thank you for telling me instead of sulking for years like some others,” he smiles, eyes almost disappearing. You attempt a little smile, still not feeling satisfied with your explanation. But Price won’t hear any other plead, and he apologizes to you for not communicating better. 

You go back to your room with your heart in your hand and maybe something more. Your mission failed clamorously, but you don’t feel too bad about it, somewhat believing Price’s words. When two days later you get the call for a deployment in Russia, you almost skip all the way back to your quarters.

What you don’t expect, in the biting cold of the harsh climate, is for Price to keep you glued to his side. Before, you usually went with Soap, and once you did rec with Ghost. Instead, you’re now with Price for all the entirety of the mission. He keeps close, pointing things to you far closer than he needs to. The pat of his hand on your shoulder and his low good job at one of your shots prickle your nerves like you haven’t felt in a while.

When you finish the day, the two of you huddle up in a grim safehouse. At least the fire started. Removing your gear, you send a glance to Price, who’s also removing his boots. You feel genuine embarrassment when you remember your attempt some days ago. What were you even thinking? Cabin fever got to you, in a way…

Sitting on the couch in front of the fire, you warm your frosty toes, stretching your legs. It’s been a hard day, and maybe you really are out of shape, but you think you did okay. You feel Price sitting next to you, quite close, and when you turn, you see he’s removed all layers but his black, tight shirt and his pants. You suppose you should thank him.

“Captain, I’m honored you chose me to bring along today,” you say, earnestly. You almost bite off a chunk of chapped lips, hands under your knees. Price just laughs and takes an absolute paw of a hand to your hair, ruffling it. You scrunch your nose, happy to be building this bond that is so important in this task force. But then Price’s hand goes lower, to your cheek, briefly pinching it, and then to your neck. 

“You’re a good girl,” he says, hand still on your throat, just holding and not squeezing. Saliva pools in your mouth, unwillingly. You can only look at him with suspiciously wet eyes again.

“You really had my back today,” he adds, caressing your jaw. You let out some form of strangled noise, before you find your voice again.

“Captain-”

“Call me John,” he whispers, and you feel the slight sting of his moustache before you even realize he has gotten impossibly closer, and he’s kissing you, sweetly and not demanding. You keen, but lean into it, into him. Your hand comes to grip the short sleeve of his compression shirt. His hand brushes against your side, calming, cupping your breast, and then slithers inside your pants. He pats your cunt over your underwear then, and slides his fingers under it.

“You should relax more. You have nothing to worry about,” he mouths in your ear, and you nod. Your back is arching, and your foot is coming to support you from under as you open your legs more while he starts circling your clit. Behind your closed eyes, you can feel the fireplace’s heat and the one coming from him blending, becoming the same thing and surrounding you completely. His strokes are precise, like he’s done this to you a million times, and you can hear he’s muttering something in your ear still, but you’re not understanding the words. John slips two fingers inside your pussy, still going at your clit, and the sensations become close to overbearing, almost making you jump off the couch. But he keeps you steady and close to him with his other arm around your torso, playing with your tits from over the clothes. You come with a high pitched sound, covering your face, but his muttering has turned even softer, quieter, more reassuring as he removes his hand from your pants. You sniffle, glancing at John, and he’s got the fingers he had in you in his mouth without a care in the world. 

“You can sleep now, honey,” he says, matter of fact, like you’re husband and wife, and you feel a surge of affection for this man who took your concerns to heart and more. You wish you could do something for him, too, but you’re suddenly very sleepy. He lays you gently on your side and caresses your back.

Drowsy, with your head leaning on the couch’s arm, you can’t help feeling like you’ve been taught a real lesson on seduction.

[ttalgi]

missent letters pt.2

wanderer x gn! reader

part 1 || part 2

tags/cw: academic rivals to lovers, some cursing, mc is: a Vahumana student in the Akademiya, roommates with Alhaitham and Kaveh, and a pyro vision holder.

a/n: I finally finished the book a year later (lol) which made me want to make a part 2! Also, please don't mind any ooc or wrong plot details...it's been a while since I've actually played genshin.

wc: 2.1k

“It would do your remaining few brain cells some good to stop banging your head against the table. Plus this table was expensive. I can’t have the wood scratched already.”

You stop mid head bang to send Alhaitham an incredulous look. “Please!” you plead. “Have some sympathy for me at least once in your life. My life is over.” You slump your body across the living room bench.

Without missing a beat, he replies, ”I let you live here, don’t I?” Alhaitham turns to Kaveh with a raised eyebrow, “Care to fill me in on their latest tantrum?”

“It’s not a tantrum—!”

“Long story short, they asked me to send out some envelopes for them because of their busy schedule, so I told them to leave whatever they needed sent on top of their desk. Among the envelopes was one for Hat Guy, which apparently they didn’t want me to deliver.” He takes another bite of the shawarma wrap that Alhaitham brought home for dinner. 

Kaveh turns to look at your defeated form. “If you didn’t mean to send Hat Guy the letters, why were they mixed up with the other envelopes in the first place? What’s the big deal about those letters anyway?” he asks while chewing.

You perk up your head to look at him. “Huh? You didn’t read them?” you ask.

“You see, unlike some”—he sends Alhaitham a pointed look—”people, I have basic human decency.”

“Again, I let you guys live here—”

“Basically, everytime I feel anger or annoyance towards him, I just vent about it on paper pretending that he’s the recipient. Then I just stuff everything in the same envelope because it’s easy storage that way.”

“Wait!” Kaveh interrupts. “Just how many letters have you written about him? That envelope was like an inch thick. It even cost me extra postage!”

“...What can I say? I have lots of vendettas against him,” you shrug.

Alhaitham interposes, “I don’t think I understand. What’s the big deal? So what if you told him exactly how you feel about him? I didn’t take you for being a people pleaser.”

“This is why people think you’re such a machine at times, Alhaitham!” Kaveh throws his arms up in frustration. “Some people actually care about how they present themselves to others.”

“Actually!” You interject before another one of their infamous arguments breaks out full throttle. “Alhaitham’s kind of right. I did write exactly how I feel about him, and that’s the thing. I wrote everything that I felt about him..” you trail off.

Kaveh lets out a dramatic gasp. “No way! You finally confessed your feelings for him in those letters?!”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it confessing. I just talked about how I think his eyes are kinda dreamy despite being cold at times and that he has a really pretty face and that”—you almost give yourself whiplash turning in his direction—”Wait, finally? What do you mean finally? There’s no way you could have known about my minuscule crush on Hat Guy!”

“Anyone with eyes and ears could tell that you have some romantic attraction towards him,” Kaveh sighs while shaking his head before gesturing to Alhaitham. “Even this guy is aware of it.”

“You two do know that I’m not socially inept, correct?”

Deciding to ignore Alhaitham, you slump back against the bench. “I’m doomed.”

You pop up with an idea. “Wait! Do you guys think Tighnari needs any more forest rangers? I can take a break until this whole thing tides over and just help him over at Avidya Forest—”

Alhaitham quenched your wishful thinking. “Knowing how substandard you are with your vision, you’d accidentally set the forest on fire.”

You stumble back as if an arrow pierced through your body. You mumble out, “Must you always humble me.” You turn to Kaveh with hopeful eyes.

“I thought I'd never say this, but I agree with Alhaitham. You trying to help Tighnari in the forest would do more harm than good. Plus, you'd end up a victim to his lectures again. Remember that one time you—”

Feeling your body riddling with piercing wounds, you slump against the bench once more. “Yeah, I’m doomed.” 

//

It's been five days since Kaveh accidentally sent out the envelope meant for Hat Guy and you aren’t sure how much longer you have until the letters would be in his possession. Unless they already were... 

If you were blessed by the Archons, then maybe the envelope was lost or better yet damaged beyond repair in delivery, but alas, you know better. The mail system in Sumeru City is known for its attentiveness, especially since many important Akademiya-based deliveries are sent and received daily.

You haven't seen Hat Guy around much these days, especially considering the fact that you’ve been actively avoiding him. Mandatory lectures that you both share? You now sit close to the exit, far from him. The library that you guys are known to basically reside in? You begged Alhaitham to let you study in his office instead, promising that you’d do his portion of the house chores for the next two weeks.

Deciding to go home early out of your own volition (Alhaitham kicked you out because of an important meeting), you carefully tread the halls of the Akademiya making sure to peek around each corner before continuing. As you start to believe that you're finally in the clear, you hear someone behind you clearing their throat. Taking a look down at the shadows decorating the floor, you see the silhouette of the man that you have been avoiding for your own peace of mind.

"How much longer are you going to rat around the Akademiya for? It's not like you can avoid me forever, you know."

Feeling offended by his choice of words, you abruptly turn around to tell him off; however, the sudden close proximity of your faces has you taking a step back. If you hadn’t been paying attention to his face, you would have thought that he was unaffected by the action, but the slight widening of his eyes before returning back to normal has you knowing otherwise.

You give Hat Guy a pointed glare. Wanting to defend yourself against his statement, you open your mouth to retaliate but the sight of the familiar envelope in his hand causes you to simply shut your mouth and grimace instead. 

As he notices your actions, Hat Guy lets an annoying smirk grace his face. "Come on, say what you were going to say. We both know that you have a lot to say to me," he says while lazily waving the envelope around.

To try and play this in your favor, you start to act nonchalant. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘avoiding you’. Also, what’s with the envelope? Never seen it before in my life.”

Hat Guy raises a brow. “What’s with this sudden stupid, chill guy persona? Anyways, it seems like you need a reminder. Not surprising considering our perspective rankings,” he subtly gloats.

“You little—”

”Let's see,”—he opens up the envelope and starts to smooth out the bottommost letter—”Maybe reading some of these letters will help jog your memory.” He makes a grand gesture of pretending to clear his throat before reading, and you can’t help but to cover your face with your hands to try and protect yourself from the upcoming embarrassing retelling.

“Again! Again, you received a higher score on an assigned research essay. It’s only been 2 months and 11 days since you’ve been enrolled into the Vahumana Darshan, so how is it that you’re the apparent “All-Knowing” about Time-Sensitive Commodities? Who do you think you are? The new Sumeru archon of wisdom? Oh, sorry. I shouldn’t be disrespecting our Lesser Lord Kusanali by comparing you to her—” he pauses and his eyes hurriedly shift to gauge your reaction. If anything, he should be thankful. If you hadn’t been so focused on not looking at him, you would have seen the crease in his brows mid-reading.

Hat Guy recomposes himself before continuing to read. “For Archon's sake. What’s more frustrating is your subtle boasting towards me. How could such a shitty personality even emit from a pretty face like yours? Though, I’ll begrudgingly admit that I actually look forward to these interactions that I have with you.”

“ST—!”

A coy smirk fills his face. “Oh? Why so embarrassed? Do you know these letters after all?”

“N-no…I was just clearing my throat.” At this point, you curse your pride for not being able to halt this interaction.

“Stubborn as always.”

This time he picks out a letter from the top of the stack..

“It's completely and utterly unfair how your resting face looks so serene. Why must you always be in the library at the same time as I? Your stupidly, bewitching face only serves as a major distraction, like how could I not stare! It's like your face was personally carved by a god. Also, how the hell do you make a simple fountain pen look so good? The way that your slender fingers grip the—”

“OK, that’s enough! Stop with the reciting! I admit it!” You feel your face heat up from embarrassment and your pyro vision only makes everything feel hotter. You raise your hands in frustration. “It was a whole mixup! Those letters weren’t even meant to be sent to you.” You dial back your volume towards the end.

He pointedly sighs. “Well that much I figured out. There’s no chance in Teyvat where you of all people would willingly subject themself to this. So, what are you going to do about it now?” he asks while crossing his arms.

It hurts to admit, but you felt stupid at this very second. “What do you mean?”

He tskd. “Do I need to explain every little thing to you? You’re ranked right below me, so I know that you’re not stupid. Are you going to own up to your letters and finally confess? Or are you going to just cowardly dismiss this like you’ve been doing?”

“CONFESS?” You almost give yourself whiplash from how fast you check to see if anyone’s heard you. You repeat yourself in a whispering tone. “Confess?”

“You talk about ‘looking forwards’ to our interactions, staring at my ‘bewitching face’ and ‘slender fingers’ and you think it’s absurd that I bring up confessing? Or would it be easier for you if I confess first?”

Without thinking you blurt out, “There’s no way that you actually like me back.”

“Do you ever see me bothering to interact with anyone as much as I do with you? I even surprised myself when I started to catch feelings for your stubborn self.”

You try to shake off the nerves before staring into his eyes. “Hat Guy, I like—”

“Wanderer.”

"What?"

"Call me Wanderer instead; it rolls off the tongue easier than Hat Guy. It’s a nickname that the traveler gave me. Hat Guy is a silly name that happened to stick around the Akademiya.”

“Lots of names you have there, huh?” you tease.

He lets out a sound that’s the mix between a chuckle and a scoff. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“Well, Wanderer. I like you. So…will you go out with me?”

“Obviously.” (Your eye roll at his matter-of-fact tone is instinctual) “I wouldn’t waste my time with anybody else. Anyways, let’s get out of here. You were on your way home before I caught you, weren't you?”

Your lips start to raise into a smile. “You’re going to walk me home?”

“Noo, I’m saying this so I can just go off on my own—”

“Oh, shut it. Let’s get out of here.”

As the both of you guys stroll out of the Akademiya, your hand closest to Wanderer suddenly can’t stop twitching every so often. Your head fills with thought pertaining to your new found relationship. 

‘Is it too early to be holding hands?…Maybe hand holding is too PDA for him on open streets—’

A cold hand suddenly embracing yours breaks you out of your stupor. You turn to Wanderer, clearly surprised by the action. Starting to feel embarrassed, you try to pry your hand out of his clutch, only for him to tighten his grip. “W-What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” He pivots his head to the opposite side, hoping that you won’t catch his ears turning slightly pink. “Your thoughts are so loud that even Mondstadt can hear them,” he scoffs. “Just lead the way.”

You start to walk with a slight pep in your step. “As you say!”

bonus scene?:

“Hey, can I give you a nickname too? Or is it too soon..”

He turns with a raised eyebrow. “Depends. What do you have in mind?”

“XxAssMaster69xX”

He lets out the biggest sigh. “Not you too.”

“Jokes, jokes—” you pause. “Wait, me too?”

He continues to walk forwards without you.

“Me too?! Hello???”

[tvckerwash]

hmmm I agree it could've been a way to show ambessa's cunning side, but having her be the mastermind behind the attack at all honestly feels...somewhat disingenuous to her character the more I've thought about it. ambessa's thing in season one is that she never lies about her motivations, and is in piltover because she genuinely wants to advise jayce and mel in a time of war—the problem is that she's so blatantly self serving and only doing so for her own goals that it makes it difficult for us as the audience to trust her or her word in any capacity.

for example, is ambessa wrong when she tells jayce that the council is the problem? the mind hiding behind the body or whatever it was she said? in my opinion, no. we've seen that the council was consistently an issue, and jayce himself had been growing more and more frustrated with them over the course of the season, among other things.

I want to be clear though that I'm operating along the lines of "what story beats can be cut or changed to make season two more consistent with season one" over "how can we make the existing plot of season two make more sense while still hitting all of the same beats", as while I think act one is salvageable with changes, acts two and three? nah those gotta go—but that is just my opinion as a guy on tumblr dot com. 

renni's attack on the memorial service would still happen, but instead of it being directly initiated by ambessa it could be because renni was pissed the other barons decided to work with the dude that killed her son (as lbr the only reason ambessa was such a central figure to the plot of season two, alongside mel and the black rose, is so riot could make them champions and sell a book). ambessa would then still use the attack to try and weasel her way into a position of authority in piltover’s government, but there'd be more focus on her battle of wits against mel.

if the chembarons aren't removed from power, then caitlyn would have no need to launch a strike team to take them out and dismantle shimmer since they’d already be doing it, and therefore she would have no need to use the gray. like I don’t think I need to explain why having “the good guys” in the eyes of the writers use chemical weapons is bad and needed to be handled with a level of care the they clearly were not capable of, especially when the only other characters we’ve seen use it as a weapon were silco and jinx respectively. 

IF they wanted to keep the gray, I would’ve kept it as an environmental pollutant and connected it to the forgotten dying firelight tree plotline instead of using it for shipping drama, and they could even still keep said plotline connected to hextech! 

Jayce could have seen how strong, cool and collected Caitlyn was during that attack. Let her save him at some point. I think she could have convinced him to make her Sheriff after that. Plus, Jayce folds like a house of cards any time someone he loves asks him for anything lmao.

one of the things I truly despise about season two is how people have been gaslighted into thinking jayce has no backbone and is incapable of being assertive and putting his foot down when that is not the case at all. go rewatch every interaction he has with marcus and every council meeting he's in after he becomes a councilor.

jayce already knows how capable cait is too, but whether or not she’s capable doesn’t change the fact that he cares about keeping her (and piltover!!!! he's the security guy!!!!) safe above all else. she’d end up as the sheriff eventually, I’m just not convinced it's a position that she’d be given by jayce. I could see mel or ambessa being the ones to suggest it and jayce being outvoted on it though, just swap the fucked up chest thumping dictator scene with an incredibly tense council vote.

I also think jayce being too occupied with viktor as an excuse for anything is...ehhhhhhhh because season one was constantly showing us that jayce took his position as councilor and the responsibilities that came with it very seriously to the point that he was pretty much never at the lab anymore.

anyway I don't think vi needed to break up with cait the way it happened tbh, especially because it was so obviously done for drama and nothing else. this is maybe a hot take but imo caitvi has always been the weakest relationship in the show as it functions entirely off of tropes and ship bait instead of being organically developed. they do not feel like two characters who have any real chemistry together—they feel like dolls having their faces smashed together.

any split between them should've probably revolved around vi's struggles with trying to find a new identity for herself and her remaining loyalty to jinx as her sister (and how it represents her relationship to zaun)—it's important to remember that vi is more ideologically aligned with silco than she is with vander in season one, and getting past her desire to save jinx and the "all enforcers are just asshole criminals in fancy uniforms" was going to take some character development.

the easiest and most tragic answer is to prove silco right—jinx has changed too much for vi. we've already seen her be incredibly distressed over witnessing the brutal violence jinx inflicted on the firelights in episode six of season one for example, so don't give jinx a redemption arc (because she really didn't need one, let her be a bad guy) and make vi see that her mayhem needs to be stopped because people are getting hurt. don't give her a badge immediately either, have her work alongside them like she did with jayce during the shimmer raid, and let vi be the one who decides to put it on of her own accord, not because caitlyn asked her to do so.

The thing that bugs me most about Caitlyn's arc is how obviously she was forced into the position Jayce had been set up to fill.

Jayce was the de facto head of the council that Sheriff Marcus (keep that in mind) reported directly to for city security.

He was the Golden Boy, Man of Progress, beloved by everyone in Piltover for the invention of Hextech! Charismatic! Handsome!

They didn't NEED martial law. After Jayce emerged unscathed from the terrorist attack, most of the council dead, Piltover would have been falling over itself to give him sole authority regardless of him wanting to quit the council right before the attack.

And Jayce should have been beside himself with rage! Jinx turned his invention, his dream, into a weapon that nearly killed him and the two people he loves most! Mel and Viktor, at the same time! She ruined his peace deal! (And killed Silco, but for some reason Cait and Vi never tell anyone about that)

But nope. He's just sad, and tries to talk Caitlyn down from wanting to kill Jinx.... Like wtf!! Where did his passion go?? His recklessness? Caitlyn got it all.

Let's say he's still reeling after killing the kid in his shimmer raid and fearing the consequences of violent intervention. Fine. But then there is the attack at the memorial. Now it's bigger than Jinx, and his entire city is threatened.

Picture the end of episode 1, with the council gathering in the basement after the memorial attack and it is JAYCE marching in to announce the strike team, with Caitlyn and Vi beside him, with their shiny Hextech weapons.

They didn't need to give Caitlyn political power. She could have become Sheriff under Jayce! She would have had nearly the EXACT same scenes. She doesn't get a single moment where she acts like a political leader in Act 2 anyway!

We never see her do anything the sheriff wouldn't do, which tells me this was a late change to cram all the remaining story into one season, to every character's detriment. If Caitlyn had just been following Jayce's orders until running into Vi, her flip would not have felt so jarring.

She loves Jayce as an older brother, she's grieving her mother, she and Jayce could have BOTH been manipulated by Ambessa. Let Caitlyn be at the forefront of all the awful shit she's ORDERED to do, instead of ordering it HERSELF.

By giving her ultimate authority instead, the few clipped scenes of her redemption, her "I know" and letting Jinx go free are nowhere near enough to get the audience back on her side. As evidenced by how many people hated her arc this season.

[icallhimjoey]

I miss poppy and mark still and I miss that version of joe (and always bookstore joe) but that joe please he was such an idiot😭 I miss him and this is all your fault (said with so much love bye going to reread everything (again))

ok so it took me a good second, but, here you go bby <3 to the girls unfamiliar with poppy and mark: maybe have a look here Wordcount: 2.3K

---

Won’t Say It Until You Will

Sometimes you still don’t quite understand how you’ve gone literal years thinking Joe couldn’t fucking stand you.

You’d gotten so used to his stand-offish demeanor. To the arrogant smirks you’d catch just before he’d bite them back, just in time for Poppy or Mark to notice. To his overall unapproachability, and the heavy judgment that would drip off of him.

For years you thought you didn’t like Joe, simply because you were convinced Joe didn’t like you.

Didn’t like you as a person.

As Mark’s friend.

As someone that, through Mark falling for Poppy, was going to be in his life now.

You think you’re still adjusting to the sudden change. And the change was definitely sudden. Learning that, actually, Joe was trying to keep as much distance as he possibly could for the exact opposite of what you thought had been quite the shock. You might be adjusting for a while longer, still.

Which makes sense.

It is all quite the adjustment.

Joe used to be so weird around you, and you were always left to figure out why all by yourself.

The big difference now, though, is that every time Joe sees that you doubt yourself in whatever interaction you have with him, he’s quick to set the record straight.

He’s not allowed to say I love you yet.

You have to say it first for it to feel normal. Granted, barely anything about how this started feels normal to begin with. But this is something you hold onto. You tell him to shut up all the time, because you have come to know this look Joe will throw you.

This soft, adoring sort of dreamy stare Joe has a hard time containing. It’s truly quite something to be looked at like you’re the single best thing in current existence to someone. Like you’ve got shimmery diamonds and liquid gold where your heart should be.

It’s a shame it makes you frown the way it does.

“Shut up.” You’ll warn before he’s even gotten the chance to say anything.

And Joe used to reply with, “I didn’t say anything.”

That has since changed to a very dopey, a very smiley, “Okay.” that makes your nose scrunch.

Joe knows the rule.

Won’t say it until you will, no matter how many times the words will pop into his head and will beg to be released into your ears via his mouth. It’s nothing short of agony, because there’s moments where you’ll look at him like you used to. Before. When he kept his distance and would say the wrong thing, crack an unfunny joke that accidentally hurt your feelings, and – God, if he could just say those words and put your mind at ease the way the so desperately wants to...

He’s found different ways.

Has had to find different ways.

If you can’t hear the words, that’s fine. He’ll make you feel them just the same.

When you get into bed, one night, over at Joe’s place, you suddenly pause, halfway in.

“What?” Joe asks, already sort of smiling at your expression as he slides his legs under the covers on his side of the bed.

“Remember when...” you start, and immediately Joe’s aware that this can go one of two ways. You could either end up a giggling heap underneath the covers, or he’s going to end up kissing you silly to reassure every doubt from your mind.

You glance at one of his wardrobe doors and squint your eyes a little.

Joe’s scared it’s going to be the latter of the two options.

“I’ve actually never seen you wear that shirt again– have you...” you don’t finish whatever you were about to ask, and instead walk around the bed to check something. To see for yourself.

“What shirt?” Joe asks, sat up in bed, both hands in his lap over the covers, tongue pushing into his cheek as he watches you open the wardrobe.

You’re met with a meticulously well-organised row of shirts, jackets– Joe’s even got all of his trousers and jeans folded over hangers. All pressed and ironed, ready to make Joe look far smarter than he’ll feel.

You used to fall for it all the time, but you’ve since learned to see through most of it.

“How often do you get rid of clothes?” you ask, hands filtering through.

“All the time,” Joe says a little sheepishly, and jokingly adds, “You know I really only like... three things.”

Joe watches you filter through hangers at lightning speed, metal wire gliding over the rod and clanging together in your search.

You’re looking for something specific. Unsure of what made the thought pop into your head, you’d just remembered a specific shirt Joe wore once and wanted to see if he still had it. If there was maybe a reason why you hadn’t seen him wear it ever since that one night.

And, morning.

“Hmm... it’s not here.”

“What shirt are you even talking about?”

 You throw Joe a look over your shoulder, eyes squinted, and for a moment you look like you’re contemplating something. Like you’re milling something over.

Then, suddenly, Joe gets it. He knows exactly what you’re looking for, and is immediately embarrassed.

“Oh. Yea, no. Do you mean the white– my white button down? I, um… that shirt, it’s… you’re right, it’s not– it’s not there.”

Joe stutters through a bad excuse, and for an actor, he’s a fucking terrible liar. You shove aside some of his jackets, and then…

“Come back to bed, please.”

There it is.

The white button down shirt you were looking for.

You grab the hanger and pull it out, ready to happily show Joe you found it, but as you move the fabric into the light, you notice it.

See it.

“Found i– oh, my God…”

This is the shirt Joe wore to Mark and Poppy’s wedding shower. The one he said he’d get dry cleaned after he wiped your face with the sleeve, after he dabbed both your make-up covered cheeks. The one of which he’d pulled the cuff into his palm to get the fabric real close under your eyes to get rid of the wet mascara that had traveled there through tears.

You’d shown him the brown and black marks right after he’d done it, and he’d said he was going to get it dry-cleaned.

“Joe, what the…”

You’re holding a dirty shirt.

Had this stains not come out?

Clearly not.

You’re both looking at a dirty shirt. At old make-up stains that… well, this shirt is ruined. Your eyes quickly glance at the tag in the collar, and you wince.

That is too expensive of a brand for a shirt to be ruined like this.

This is the reason why you hadn’t seen Joe wear it again.

You’d ruined his shirt.

God, and you had even told him that next day, that next morning, that a regular cycle in a machine wash was going to get the stains out fine.

Obviously, it hadn’t.

Because you’re staring at caked blotches of bronzer and dark streaks of mascara and– ... you can feel how you shrink in on yourself, stood there, in his bedroom, with a stupidly expensive badly stained shirt he’d been hiding from you because he hadn’t been able to get it clean and–

Upon the sight of your face dropping, Joe gets out of bed, careful not to make any sudden movements.

“Um.. I’ll have that.”

Two slow hands come into vision and carefully take the hanger from your grip.

“Thanks.”

The shirt, in all its dirty glory, gets gently put back in its place, hidden behind Joe’s jackets, before Joe closes the wardrobe doors entirely.

“Sorry,” is all you can think to say, voice small, a little wobbly. “I’m sorry, I thought… I ruined your shirt. That should’ve come out in the wash. Sorry. I will– I’ll replace it. I’ll–”

“No you won’t.”

You drop both your shoulders just as Joe grabs hold of both of them. His grip is strong enough to bring you into the room a bit more.

“And don’t look at me like that. I didn’t… that’s… I’ve never washed it.”

What?

“You didn’t ruin the shirt. It’s just unwashed.”

Joe softly chuckles at your face and you get lead back to bed as you try to puzzle together what you’ve just been told. What that even means.

There had been plenty of whispered conversations, late at night chats in the dark, where Joe would reassure you that he had never hated you. The outward dislike had always been an awful way to hide how he really felt, and Joe was going to be kicking himself until the end of time for how that had always make you feel.

Joe is never going to be able to make it right, he thinks.

But he can fucking try.

“That’s…”

“Disgusting? Yes. Absolutely.”

He’ll die trying.

“Why haven’t you…”

You’re scared to finish the question because you fear you already know the answer.

“Didn’t want to. So don’t worry about it.”

You get tucked in as your worries easily get dismissed, but it’s difficult to make your confused frown disappear.

Joe sighs when you keep looking at him like that, sits down on the edge of the bed next to you and goes, “You’ll make fun of me. But... that’s the… that’s what I wore when you slept in my bed for the first time. It’s not ruined. Washing it would ruin it, actually.”

Everything about that is confusing and will take a minute or two for you to process. Now, here, in the moment, it just makes you grimace with horror, and that in and of itself makes Joe laugh. Makes his eyes twinkle as he bites into his lip, head titled back and to the side a little.

He can’t really help it.

“To be fair... you were never meant to find that. Can you not tell Poppy?”

“Okay. I won’t tell Poppy.” You easily agree.

“But you’ll tell Mark?”

“But I’ll tell Mark.”

Joe drops his head forward in a silent laugh. Of course you will tell Mark.

And, that’s fine. Because it’s a memory he’ll cherish forever, even if you were violently drunk that night, and your hair still smelt of vomit even though Mark’s mum had really done her best to rinse most of it out. You had found Joe’s bed on your own, and had pulled him in to nap with you and– ...he doesn’t think that it was the exact moment where things changed a little, but it was a moment momentous enough to want to keep a souvenir.

It’s why he never washed the dirty button down shirt that proved to him he hadn’t dreamt it up.

He’ll never tell you how he also still has the empty yoghurt carton he had found in his kitchen after you’d left the next morning.

And he’ll also ignore the weird fall out you had after when he lied to Poppy about it. That’s not part of the memory.

Only the good stuff.

Like how he’d barely slept at all.

How he’d gotten to stare at you all night long.

How he’d finally, after hours of collecting courage, had softly let one of his fingertips stroke along the skin of your arm.

How that made you hum contently in your sleep.

If he thinks about it for too long, he could easily make himself cry. Looking at you now, all relaxed into the pillows of his bed, he could make himself cry.

When Joe looks at you a little too long without saying anything, dopey grin and all, your frown only deepens.

“Shut up.”

Joe knows it was bound to be said, but it still tickles him and he lets a throaty laugh escape him before he turns faux-serious.

“Ah. It’s made a return.” Joe scans your features and talks like he’s in a film, speaking to a villain. “That face. Are you even aware of how powerful it is? Makes me feel how much my soul wants to escape my body.”

That gets a little grin out of you, and it’s cute enough for Joe to want to tell the whole entire world how much he loves you. He wonders if you know how much it pains him. How often he can feel the scratch of the words in his throat, the violent urge to just let them free ever present.

But he won’t.

You’d just told him to shut up, so he will shut up, and instead will let those three words seep out in other ways. Through his hands that wander up to your neck. Through his fingers that swipe under your jaw, tipping your head back a little so he can easily kiss you.

You happily accept his kisses, because even though you’re still adjusting to all these little changes in your truth, it all ultimately means that Joe really, really likes you.

Really, really, really likes you.

And of course you know it’s more than that to Joe.

And that he really wants to tell you already.

But he’s not allowed.

Not yet.

Which is fine. He can just kiss you. And he will. Like he’s doing right now.

Joe still can’t quite believe he’s kissing you in his bed, and he can’t believe there was ever a time where he wasn’t.

When he pulls back, still sat on the side instead of under the covers with you, he hovers over you a little. Gives you a quiet moment, just in case you want to tell him.

And you will.

With time.

But not now.

“Shut up.” you repeat, giggling now at how lovesick he looks, and Joe can’t help grin in the way that he does.

He used to reply with, “I didn’t say anything.”

Instead he says, “Okay.” and goes for another kiss when he sees your nose scrunch.

Joe knows the rule.

Won’t say it until you will.

---

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Add yourself

[daylighted]

FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ─ㅤDEAN & LITTLE FOX ! READER !

" take a look at the sky just before you die — it's the last time you will ! "

file. all the man who never prayed wanted was someone that would listen and hear him. beggars could not be choosers when it came to the listening ears that lent themselves.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ———

dean came to terms with the simple fact that he, as a single individual in an undersaturated business, could not save everyone. but when he watched as you fell from the sky that night, he wished only for the ability to save you.

something had happened in the confines of the clouds before you fell. blood stained your face, your teeth, your pouting lips. your eyes were glossed in utter devastation, the front of the cream-colored silk slip you wore glossy maroon, clinging to your skin.

but it was not any of these details that made dean determined to help, in whatever way he could. it was the wings, wide and bright and untouched on your back. they glimmered like dusts of glitter upon feathers underneath the moonlight, something made of beauty attached to something that looked so wrong to the images in his head.

you don't look at him as you wail into your blood stained palms, the sound of your broken cries ricocheting around the forest, bouncing between tree trunk to tree trunk, muffled in the wind and in between the leaves.

dean doesn't exactly know what to do in this situation. a lot weighed heavily on him, and sure, a few times in these last few months had he begged for someone in the stars to just hear him, but he didn't expect for that someone to fall.

you looked like he felt — broken and shattered and damned. you were beautiful, though, in your ruins.

your red rimmed eyes shift up to meet his at the first sound of grass crunching beneath his feet, daring a step closer.

"what happened?" feels like too harsh of a way to address something so wounded, but it's all he has to offer you. the hand that hovers awkwardly in the dead space between the both of you doesn't seem to be working any miracles for your state, either.

you grasp at the silk clinging to your skin, your hand pulling away shiny and red. the sob you let out cracks through all of his armors and breaks him. "i don't know."

dean hadn't... ever seen an angel so human, before. so utterly unashamed of the tears staining your cheeks, so connected to the vessel you possess that you can't even seem to help yourself.

he'd help you.

hell, how many times had dean held crying girls in his arms and picked up their broken pieces for them? how many times had he clutched the loved ones of people overtaken by monsters, lost to the unnatural and the uncanny, and promised that it would be okay, even knowing that things would never again be the same for them?

you were not something that dean couldn't handle. that he hadn't already handled.

maybe he should have walked away. the gods and the angels didn't once answer him before, and somehow tonight, one literally lands directly in front of him? just for him?

something was off about it. unnatural, uncanny: but nothing that he hadn't dealt with before.

he crouches down to your level, and your eyes are striking. there is definitely something other about you, something a little off that people not trained in his expertise wouldn't pick up on. you could pass as a human more than any other angel could, but up close, he picked at the details with a finetooth comb.

your eyes were not blue, but purple. your ears were a little pointed at the tips. your grateful smile a little too cruel and unfeeling to be genuine. still, when he tried to find a word to describe you in his mind, he could only settle on beautiful, like no other word existed.

he might have asked you what you were. but his pessimism didn't seep all the way down to the marrow of his bones and his heart, and his heart screamed that you were an angel sent just for him. his angel. the one for him to keep safe, and to keep him afloat.

the words die on his tongue, and when staring at you starts to make your expression twist in his trick-playing eyes, you tilt your head up to look up at the starry skies.

"i haven't seen stars in forever," your voice is laced in awe, gaze flitting between each sparkling dot in the deep blue night, like you couldn't seem to settle on one.

dean wants to say, me neither. wants to lay beneath the canopies of leaves and drink in the rare moment of peace he's found here with you. this broken thing still taking the breaths to memorialize beauty through the pain inside of you.

instead, his mouth opens, and something less expected comes out. "come home with me."

there is that flicker in your eyes again. the something other that he can't seem to place, that he loses the moment he clocks it. again, all dean sees when your eyes meet his is that devastating purple, and a devastating amount of shimmering hope in them.

"home?"

dean's face flattens. "...is a motel, an hour or so away."

"a home is a home," you say, and the blood on your hand is dry now. dean knows it because you close the crusted fingers around his own, finally, and allow him to pull you to your feet. "i have not had a home in forever, either."

you won't get the innuendo or jest in his joke, but he says it anyways. "i get to be your first?"

your eyes dance now, those pretty lips once again wicked. "if only you were."

notes. short asf but u just need an intro... b4 we get juicy ok. AND IT'S GONNA GET JUICY QUUUUICK. I AM JUST WRITING THE FIRST TO SAM & TO DEAN TONIGHT SO IF I LET THEM GET LONG ASF IT WILL LIVE IN MY DRAFTS FOREVER </3 ok bye.

tags. @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @honeyryewhiskey @ultravi0lence14 @figthoughts @theosaurous @stereotypicalbarbie @whyyouegg @eepwtf @rositaslabyrinth @rubyvhs @aileenunfiltered @abox-of-rocks @sunsbaby @bluemerakis @jollyhunter @misatxox @sunsettsam @angelblqde @bombarda-babe @unfortunate-brat @funkycoloured @chevroletdean @chiierful @cowboysandcigarettes @voidsuites @bitchykittenconnoisseur @beausling if u want added or taken off pls lmk <3