#refill sage

[crestfallencrest]

A moment of respite

[problematicsashawaybright]

I think I was born to not take my antipsychotics

[waywardsalt]

tbh i might go ahead and put dungeons in as a part of the bellum x linebeck fic's plot since like. 1) struggling to actually figure out a main plot and having dungeons as sort of bit points to hit and be little bits of fitting exploration and bonding and 2) i do kinda want to do dungeons. i like thinking of them and again i do think its fitting.

[cranberrymoons]

.

[sagie-artzz]

You guys remember the days when mdyz had like... 14 fics on ao3? And now it has around 50

[ddejavvu]

Helloo!! Sooo I have a picture of mgg as my lock screen but his face isn’t in the picture and I was wonderinggg if you could write about the girls at the bau seeing your background of your phone and it’s some guy but they don’t know it’s spencer and they ask all these questions about this mysterious secret boyfriend you have and asking to meet him and r is just like maybeeee idk knowing that they have in fact met him and maybe spencer is near by and hearing all this and is just all shy and flustered. If you do write this THANK YOUUU you’re writing it phenomenal, one of a kind, it’s so good!!! <333

"Woah, hubba hubba," JJ's eyes bug out at your phone screen, and Emily, forever on JJ's wavelength, snatches it out of your hands before you can properly dim the screen.

"Who is that?" Emily asks everyone's burning question, and one of Penelope's hands squeezes yours, with nails, to emphasize her urgency.

Your lock screen is a picture of Spencer's bare chest clad only in a blazer, the front open in a lewd V that showcases the dark pink kiss marks you'd spread across the smattering of wiry curls he's grown. It's not something you'd meant to flash your coworkers with, and Spencer chokes on his water while Derek hoots and hollers at it.

"There are some things that should be kept private," Rossi drawls, eyes wide and haunted as he stands, "I'm going to get Aaron and myself another refill, just in case any worse pictures get shown around the table."

Hotch laughs at the older man, amusement lining his features handsomely as the group continues to tease you.

"So, when are you bringing this guy around? Not that we'd recognize him anyways, unless he showed up shirtless with lipstick all over him."

"Derek, you-" You barely stop yourself from saying, 'you have met him', instead swerving into an easy insult, "You're the last person I want to introduce him to. You'll never let us live this down."

"None of us will." Prentiss promises, her grin wolfish, "You'll be lucky if Garcia doesn't manage to track him down using nipple-recognition software."

Your technical analyst cackles into her drink, and Spencer makes a hasty getaway.

"I need the bathroom," He paws with burning cheeks at Derek's leg, ushering the man out of his way so that he can speed-walk to the bathroom. You watch him go, hearing Hotch let out a rare laugh at his urgency.

"Poor Spence," JJ croons, "Did you see how red his face was?"

"That kid's almost thirty and I bet he can't even say the word 'sex' without blushing." Derek scoffs.

"He can't. I've seen it." Garcia confirms, "It's pathetic."

"Pathetic," You snort, but what your team hears as agreement, you mean as contradiction. Spencer was nothing close to pathetic that night- sweet and tender, yes, but pathetic, no. He'd cupped your face while you'd spread a smattering of sticky kisses across his chest, and he'd stared into your eyes when you'd taken the picture, a smile on his face even though he'd known his grin wouldn't be in frame.

"Well get all of it out now," Hotch advises, a teasing tone in his voice, "Spencer won't come back if we're still talking about it."

"I'm happy for you." Dave states, setting his and Aaron's drinks down, "But so help me, Y/N, if I ever see your boyfriend's naked torso again, I'll kill myself."

You refrain from telling Rossi he had just seen your boyfriend's bare torso, last week when Spencer had needed to be stripped of his cold, wet clothes, and thrust into a heated blanket for warmth. No one had batted an eye at his brief nudity, and neither had you, because you'd memorized every inch of his skin. You didn't need to ogle him; you could recall his body from memory.

"I'll keep that in mind." You nod at Rossi sagely, "Just don't go through the rest of my camera roll." You see Spencer exit the bathroom, peering cautiously at your table to see if he can predict the conversation before returning, "Or you'll find a lot worse than his chest."

[boneblushed]

And, boy, you got her

synopsis Rafe’s in charge of the pledges during Rush Week. Hazing isn’t a thing. Making you feel so high school is.

wc 3.6K

a/n omgggg Euro Trip Rafe <3333 I was living on pledgetok last week and just couldn’t not write something about it

“Holy shit,” Noah mutters, surveying the crowd over his red cup, “I swear they get scrawnier every single year.”

Rafe nods gravely, taking a pull of his beer. “It’s fucking grim.”

“Like — fuck, look at those two.” Noah gestures toward the shaded veranda, a fresh coat of gloss making its balustrades shine. Huddled in one corner, attempting to take up as little space as possible, two boys donning UNC merch survey the crowd in tandem. “We weren’t that fucking scraggy as freshman, were we?”

“You two weren’t,” Kelce snorts, coming up behind them. Topper brings up his rear, mid-bite of his loaded hotdog. “Thornton definitely was though.”

“Oi!” Topper protests, his words garbled by half chewed sausage. “S’wasn’t that bad. C’mon.” He turns to Rafe then, swallowing his mouthful. “But seriously, you locked in any potentials?”

Rafe furrows his brow thoughtfully, looking back over Delta Chi’s yard. Unsurprisingly, it’s far too early to say. Though the barbecue that they’re hosting is a good way for pledges to mingle, it isn’t exactly hazing material; they’re going to have to get creative.

“Maybe,” he replies finally, shrugging. “We’ll just have to see I guess.”

He tips back his red cup again, swallowing the last dregs of beer before acquiescing. As he’s about to announce his need for a refill, a few pledges sidle up to their group, looking hopeful.

Not overtly, of course. Painstakingly hiding their eagerness behind an armour of insouciance.

“Rafe,” the tallest of the three greets, handing him another red cup. The golden liquid inside it brims to the surface, its white foam dissolving in mocking. “Hey, bro. You need another?”

Rafe raises his eyebrows, hiding a grin. “Shit. Table service already?”

The boy grins in tandem, looking a little sheepish. “Big fan, man. I’m Dylan.” He motions at the two guys on either side of him, wearing matching squints and backwards caps. “This is Rahul and Xav, we’re all here from Trinity.”

“Durham and Chapel Hill?” Noah enquires, whistling approvingly when they nod. “Fuck, we used to love having away games there. Those Trin cheerleaders…”

“Haha, shit, what was that chic’s name again?” Rafe asks then, a pull of mirth as he turns to Noah. “The one you messed around with in junior year?”

“Blake,” Noah answers, groaning in a mock-wistful sort of way. “They didn’t make ‘em like her at the Academy.”

Rafe snorts, sending the pledges a sage glance. “Nah. They made ‘em better.”

Noah raises his eyebrows, his brown eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, so we are allowed to objectify your girl then, Cameron?”

“Damn, so you’re tied down?” Xavier pipes up, his voice gravelly and low on purpose. Overtly masculine, like he’s trying hard to be red-blooded. “Your girl doesn’t mind you partying?”

Rafe frowns. “Why would she mind?”

“Uh,” Xavier balks, pulling at the bill of his backwards cap, “shit. I don’t know… like, doesn’t she get pissed that you’re constantly around sorority girls?”

“HA —” Topper laughs, and then he falters, thwarted by Rafe’s warning glower. “Uh.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Let’s just say Cameron doesn’t give her any reasons to be suspicious.”

“Because he’s obsessed with her,” Noah adds, unperturbed by Rafe’s expression. He pauses then, an amusing idea popping into his head. “Which means…” he continues, returning Rafe’s glare with a trust me one of his own, “you guys should be too.”

Rafe doesn’t trust him. Like, at all. He sends him a bewildered look, unsure where he’s going with this. “White — what?”

Noah ignores him. He downs his beer and crushes the red cup in his hand, deftly aiming it at the nearest bag of trash. “So,” he says, eyeing the three pledges with interest. “How serious are you guys about rushing Delt?”

“Pretty serious, bro,” Rahul answers, looking to his friends for support. “Think we got a shot?”

Noah throws his arm around Rafe’s neck, his strong bicep taut as he shoots them a grin. “Depends, man, I might know how we could figure that out though.” He begins to steer Rafe away from them, sending one last, faux-somber look over his shoulder. “Be right back, yeah?”

Rafe, whose bewilderment is quickly giving way curiosity, allows himself to be marshalled out of earshot without complaints.

He shrugs Noah off of him once they’re on the verandah, his features ever-bemused as he turns toward him. “The fuck was that about?”

“Bro, I know exactly how we’re going to haze these motherfuckers,” Noah replies, his voice lilted with mirth. “You know… without breaking any rules.”

The bewildered expression on Rafe’s face doesn’t acquiesce. “Okay… how?”

“Instead of getting them to be our bitches,” he answers, a mischievous grin making home on his features. “We’re going to get them to be our girlfriends’ bitches.”

Rafe frowns. “Bro. What?”

“Cameron, it’s perfect.” He swipes Rafe’s beer from his hand and takes a generous pull. “What do frat guys hate more than being called scrawny as fuck?”

“Uh. Doing assignments?” Rafe answers blankly, still frowning. He doesn’t have it in him to think too hard about Noah’s profferance. He’s on hour two of manning this boring event, hour four since he bid you farewell, and all Rafe can bear to think about right now is the imminent taste of your peach-scented lips.

Noah shakes his head. “No, dumbass. Being called a simp.”

“Wrong,” Rafe answers, “I don’t mind that shit at all.”

“You’re the exception,” Noah replies matter-of-factly. “You and Y/N have always been the exception. C’mon, I’m talking about us,” he places his palm over his breastbone solemnly, “mere mortals.”

Rafe narrows his eyes. “Fuck off. How would that even work?”

“We…” Noah pauses to think, a slightly furrow to his brow, “alright, I got it. We assign the pledges to our girlfriends, one by one. Give them a week to make a good impression — you know, carry their bags, buy them flowers, all that sentimental crap you love.”

“You really think the guys’ll agree to this?” Rafe asks, sounding reluctant. “I mean… I don’t know if I’m alright with a bunch of idiots holding doors for my girl.”

“But you’re an idiot that holds a door for your girl,” Noah answers, not missing a beat.

“Fuck off, White.”

“I’m serious. It’ll be funny. And look… if you’re worried about Y/N, I know she’ll find it adorable as fuck.”

Rafe shakes his head. “No way. She didn’t find high-school me adorable.”

Noah raises his eyebrows skeptically. “You’d be surprised, man. Besides, these guys aren’t going to be like high-school you. High-school you was a douchebag.”

“A douchebag who got the girl.”

“A douchebag who got the girl after he stopped acting like a douchebag.” Noah smirks then. “A douchebag who’d give all these fuckers a run for their money if he was pledging Delt this year.”

Rafe grins in tandem, stealing his beer back to take a big swig. “Alright, shit, alright. Harmless shit though, right? Chivalry and all that?”

“Harmless as hell,” Noah agrees. “C’mon. You really think any of these guys has the balls to make a pass at one of our girls?”

“Easy for you to say, White. You don’t fucking have a girl.”

Noah frowns. “What d’you mean? Aren’t we going halves on Y/N?”

“Holy fuck, Noah,” Rafe groans, almost spitting out his mouthful of beer. “If Y/N heard the shit you said when she wasn’t around, she’d probably kill you.”

“Nah,” Noah replies, seemingly unperturbed. “She loves me.”

“Well,” Rafe says grimly, crushing his own empty cup in his head. “She might do now, but she sure as hell won’t by the end of this week.”

—

The first time it happens, you’re understandably perplexed.

You’re en-route to your 9AM, bag strap denting your left shoulder, when a stranger falls into your step and swipes it from your figure. It’s a motion so quick and deft you initially think you’re getting mugged.

As you double back in bewilderment, he proffers, “you alright with this?”

“Uh.” You balk. “What?”

“Your bag,” he answers, readjusting it on his own shoulder. He seems earnest. Nervous, even. “It looked heavy. I can carry it to class for you, if you want?”

You allow a pause to take him in.

“No, I’m…” another pause, more of his demeanour on display. Backwards cap, crisp white polo shirt, smile lines exposing the ghost of a grin on his face. A familiar grin, the kind that pulls a soft, maudlin feeling from your ribcage. “Look, if you’re trying to hit on me —”

“No, no,” he interrupts quickly, his eyes widening in a panic. “Shit — no, don’t tell Cameron I’m hitting on you. I’m just…”

“Wait a minute,” your eyes narrow accusatorially, because of course he’s behind this chivalrous display, “you know my boyfriend?”

The stranger grimaces sheepishly. “Uh. Yeah.”

“Explain.”

“It’s… uh… well — basically, I’m pledging Delt,” he answers haltingly, self effacement juxtaposing his frat boy exterior. “Rafe’s asked us to be all gentlemanly and shit for pledge week, I don’t know. To you guys, I mean. Like… the current frat member���s girls?”

“Oh my god,” you groan. “No he hasn’t.”

“Shit.” He looks far more nervous now that he did five minutes ago. “He didn’t tell you?”

“No,” you grumble, pulling your phone out of your pocket. “No he did not.”

Rafe’s on speed dial. He picks up on the first ring, the way he always does for you.

“Hey baby,” his gravelly timbre crackles through the phone, the low hum of frat house chatter audible in the background. “What’s up?”

“Don’t even. You know what’s up Rafael.”

A pause. When Rafe speaks again, his voice is quick and placating. “It was Noah’s idea.”

“Of course it was.”

“Dylan’s not playing up, is he?”

You raise your eyebrows at the stranger then, assessing him faux-suspiciously. “No way. He’s doing a better job than you ever did in high school.”

“Woah woah woah,” Rafe replies, a playful lilt to his tone. “That fucker’s not calling you dream girl or something, is he?”

“Worse. He’s being respectful of my boundaries.”

“Oh shit. I fucking knew this was a bad idea.”

You shake your head in exasperation, trying not to laugh. The poor stranger’s still standing there at attention, your leather bag looking ridiculous on his arm. “Rafe. Tell me he’s the only one.”

“He’s one…” Rafe starts slowly, sounding sheepish, “of three. Four, counting me.” In the background, you hear Noah pipe up and add, “five, Cameron. How could you forget me?”

“You’re un-fucking-believable, Noah White,” you shout through the phone.

“I love you too, Y/N,” Noah sings, and then he groans, no doubt shoved to the side by his indignant best friend. It’s Rafe on the phone again, voice sweet and thick as molasses as he says, “they’ll behave, baby, and make your life easier in the process. I promise.”

“What?” You accuse, fighting back a smile. “Like you did in high school?”

“Fuck no,” he replies, the grin on his face audible. “They’ll be nothing like I was, sweetheart.”

“What?” You tease. “Absolutely insufferable?”

“And absolutely in love with you.”

You raise your eyebrows. “How can you be so sure?”

“They’re under strict instruction. Have a shiner waiting for them if they pull something funny.”

Another exasperated laugh bubbles out of you, and you begin walking forward again, motioning at the boy named Dylan to follow in your step. “Right. So the boundaries are on purpose, are they?”

“The respect, too. No being inappropriate and charming at the same time.”

“And why not?” You ask faux-indignantly. “What if I like being objectified?”

“Can’t have you falling in love with them, can I?”

“Hey,” you argue, frowning stubbornly. “That is not what made me fall in love with you.”

“It isn’t?”

“Well,” you balk, “not solely that.”

“You’re fucking sexy,” he recites devotedly, almost yells, and you can hear the collective groan of his frat brothers in the background. “Are you wearing those Lululemon pants right now? Point is, I’m thinking about your ass in those Lululemon pants right now.”

“Rafe, I was fucking kidding. Stop.”

“No you weren’t.” You know he’s right; you can picture that stupid smirk on his face. It makes your cheeks warm. Asshole. “You’re blushing now, aren’t you?”

“Anyway.”

“Anyway,” Rafe agrees. “No funny business, alright? Just lots of good deeds.”

Good deeds. You suppose you could get used to good deeds, the embarrassment of attention notwithstanding.

You let out a defeated sigh, halting in front of your 9AM class. “You so, so owe me.”

“I so, so love you,” Rafe replies, and it makes your pulse leap; you’ll never get used to this feeling. “See you later, yeah?”

“Uh huh. Love you.”

Dylan waits until you’ve ended the call before saying farewell, dutifully handing your leather bag back to you and giving you a mock salute. The way he does it, all sheepish and genuine with a charming smile on his face, makes your heart twinge in a junior year of high-school sort of way. You’re feeling sentimental. It’s sweet.

You’re reminded of Rafe before he was yours, stumbling over himself to win your favour. Confusing chivalry with courting, objectifying you in the name of flirting.

Insufferable, but sweet nonetheless. You digress.

—

The next time it happens, you’re ambushed at your favourite cafe.

A dutiful Delta Phi pledge has already queued up and purchased you coffee, handing it over to you with a blushing bouquet of tulips.

You raise your eyebrows at him questioningly. “Is that…?”

“Uh, an oat iced coffee with vanilla?” He asks, sounding nervous. “I asked Cameron for your order.”

“Didn’t ask me about pastries, though,” a voice behind you adds, rough and familiar with a sweetness around the edges. Rafe circles your waist with ease and pulls you into his chest, sponging a soft kiss to your temple before handing you a brown bag.

A glossy, Daily Bread sticker shines on its exterior proudly.

Your eyes widen in surprise, and you look up at him expectantly. “Tell me you didn’t drive back home for a single croissant.”

“I didn’t drive back home for a single croissant,” Rafe replies. He grins then, looking that same, sheepish genuine that pulls a maudlin feeling. “I drove back home for twenty.”

“Rafe. Why?”

“Because you like Daily Bread,” he replies matter-of-factly, like it’s obvious.

You shake your head in exasperation, tip-toeing up to press a quick kiss to his lips. It becomes less quick against better judgement. He tastes like spearmint gum and cold brew, the hand he has held to your waist tightening ever so slightly. Slipping under your shirt, massaging the soft skin he finds there expertly, discreetly. Too much for 8am on a Wednesday morning, sans coffee. Your face feels on fire. You pull away in a hurry.

Meanwhile, the freshman pledge balks at the exchange, looking out of place.

Rafe frowns bemusedly at your diffidence, only clocking the reason when you nod over at him.

“I’ll walk her over Ben,” he says, dismissing him. “You’re off the hook, bro.”

“Shit.” The boy named Ben grimaces; he needs to get his hours in, and doesn’t deem this a fair ambush. He scrambles for an excuse. “Right. Can I still give her the flowers?”

“Of course you can,” you beam, accepting them gratefully. You look up at Rafe then, asking, “And if I want to walk with Benjamin?”

Rafe grins down at you, disbelieving. “Do you, baby?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” you say, wriggling out of his grasp. “He got me flowers.”

Rafe falters, his eyes widening in surprise. “Sweetheart, I got you a croissant.”

“Ben got me a coffee,” you hedge. “And flowers.”

“Y/N,” he placates.

“Rafael,” you echo, unperturbed by his exasperation. You take a sip your coffee. “I’ll see you later, okay? Ben’s ticking off a good deed this morning.”

Poor Ben looks helpless, taking the brunt of Rafe’s glare as you motion for him to hold the door for you.

“C’mon Ben, we’re going to be late.”

“But…” Ben pauses, his eyes flitting to Rafe nervously. “This is fine, right?”

Rafe sighs, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth in defeat. “Yeah, bro. You’re good.” He looks to you, then. “You’re unbelievable.”

You smile sweetly. “I’m wearing the Lulu leggings.”

“Oh I noticed,” Rafe replies, his blue eyes falling down your figure in slow, reverent paces. “It’s why I want to be the one holding the door for you.”

You roll your eyes. “Men only want one thing.”

Rafe grins. “Yeah. You.”

—

By the end of the week, you’re more used to the chivalry than you’re willing to admit.

You’ve enjoyed free iced lattes and filled your dorm with gorgeous bouquets, no door left unopened and no walk to class left unescorted. And really, every pledge you’ve come across has been pleasant and unassuming, albeit absolutely terrified of Rafe and therefore extra obliging on instinct.

They’ve even offered to do favours for you, got you into sought after Pilates classes and done last minute grocery runs on your behalf. It’s put you in this constant state of mild exasperation, like you can’t believe you’re worthy of this much love and chivalry.

It’s exactly the way you felt back in high-school with Rafe, and this revelation pulls lots of funny feelings from your stomach, from your chest. Feelings you’ve forgotten that are all yours and all his. Because it’s strange, having someone other than Rafe taking care of you. (Or Noah.) It’s strange because it makes you realise just how much he adored you back in the day.

These emotions come to a head at the pledge week closing bash, Delta Phi lit up with fluorescent lights in technicolour. Inebriation ensues, beer pong follows, and an impromptu DJ deck plays endless songs with heavy bass.

Rafe Cameron has you pulled close, as always, the taut muscle of his forearm pressing heat to your exposed waist. You’re a few drinks down and hyperaware of his proximity, ankles touching, thighs too, torsos close with your head resting on his shoulder.

“I think I like Dylan the best,” you announce suddenly.

“Yeah?” Rafe asks, kneading your skin absentmindedly.

You nod. “He’s sweet. Told me all about his girl back home.”

Rafe grins then, shaking his head bemusedly. “You’re such a sucker for love, sweetheart.”

“Hey!” You glare up at him faux-incensed, looking accusatory. “So are you!”

“Shhhh,” Rafe murmurs playfully. “Not so loud, you’ll fuck up my street cred.”

You scoff. “Since when do you care about street cred?”

“Shit, you’re right,” Rafe agrees easily, leaning down to draw your lips in for a kiss. He’s all patchouli and musk, beer on his tongue and unchaste intentions in his touch. When he pulls away, his lips are still an inch from yours, his voice rougher than it was a second ago, “I don’t care. Like, at fucking all.”

“Good,” Noah snorts from behind him. “‘Cause you never had any to begin with, bro.”

“There you are,” you say then, eyeing Noah over Rafe’s shoulder. There’s a mock accusatory expression on your face, softened by mirth and the alcohol on your lips. “Have you been hiding from me, White?”

Noah grins sheepishly, taking a pull of his beer. “Maybe.”

You narrow your eyes. “Tell me. When did you become worse than Rafael?”

“I didn’t become worse!” Noah insists. “He just became better. You know, after he got the girl.”

You make a face. “Smooth.”

“Hey,” Noah raises his arms in surrender, looking faux-somber, “someone’s gotta teach the next generation, don’t they? I’m committed to their education.” He raises his eyebrows then, a mischievous glint in his eye. “C’mon, don’t act like you didn’t love it.”

Rafe grins. “She totally fucking loved it.”

You aim a glare at the pair of them, failing miserably at hiding your amusement. “So maybe I didn’t mind it. Sue me.”

“Of course you loved it,” Noah says, throwing his arm around you and pulling you into his side. “You love Cameron, don’t you?”

You narrow your eyes. “Opinions vary.”

“You love me?” Noah tries.

“You fucking wish.”

“Everyone fucking wishes,” Rafe says then, throwing his arm around you too, your figure wedged between the pair of them. Frat boy sandwich, you think tiredly. If high-school you could see you now, you’re pretty sure she’d have an aneurysm. “Especially when you’re in Lululemon.”

“Rafe.”

“I’m kidding. Not really. They all love you, you know that, yeah?”

You look up at him questioningly. “The pledges?”

“Uh huh,” Rafe replies, raising his eyebrows at you. “This is what I was afraid of, you know.”

“What?” You ask, lifting yours in tandem.

“Everyone falling in love with you, like I did in high school.”

You scrunch up your nose at him, your cheeks warming in diffidence. “No one’s fallen in love with me, don’t be silly.”

“I have,” Noah pipes up unhelpfully.

“Shut up, Noah. I saw you talking to Georgia just before.”

Noah grins, pulling away and offering you a mock salute. “Guilty as charged.” He turns to survey the crowd, spotting her figure on the fairy-light lit porch. “Speaking of…”

And he’s gone before you’re able to tease him any further, leaving Rafe to guide you out of his side and into his chest. You wrap your arms around his neck, his hands exerting a warm, steady pressure into the curve of your waist.

“As I was saying,” you continue, frowning up at him playfully. “No one’s fallen in love with me.”

Rafe’s unconvinced. His gaze skates down your figure again, a tortured groan falling from his throat. “Have you seen you, sweetheart?”

You roll your eyes, face hot and self conscious. “And even if they have,” you add, “it doesn’t matter.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “It doesn’t?”

“No way. Because I’m in love with you, not any of them.”

Rafe grins then, a devastatingly handsome look on his face. “I’ll never get used to hearing that.”

“I’ll never get used to saying it.”

[nemo-writes]

⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; a new face arrives in town, and everything begins to shift. something is terribly wrong strange, but no one is talking.

⚠️ warnings; none

★ next

☆ story masterlist

As the first light of dawn filtered through the windows of the apothecary, you buzzed around, busy with substituting half-way empty jars with new ones full of elixirs and various herbs. The heavy scent of sage hung in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of brewing potions bubbling in the cauldron nestled in the corner. With a flick of your wrist, you lit the candles scattered around the shop, their soft glow casting long but warm shadows around the shop. 

Your familiar Sybil, a snow white Borzoi, twitched from her spot under the counter, slightly raising her head in attention. Not a second later, the bell above the door chimed with your first client of the day. 

“Well, well, still up with the dawn, I see.” The deep, raspy voice was unmistakable.

Alex stepped into the apothecary with his usual long strides, his dark blonde hair a touch wilder than you remembered. 

“And you're still sneaking around at sunrise," you teased lightly. “Here for Farah’s order? I was just about to pour a fresh batch.”

“Yeah,” he replied, as he handed you his usual green thermos for the refill. “She’s been feeling… well, she’s hanging in there. Just a bit more tired lately.”

You hummed knowingly, tightening your apron and moving to get the order ready. 

“Have you heard?”

“About?” You replied absentmindedly, focused on getting the exact quantity of steaming liquid into the thermos. 

“The new girl that Laswell took in.” 

That made you pause and turn to look at him. 

Laswell was a witch like you, and a deeply influential one at that. That made her difficult to approach, but even harder to earn her trust. It had taken you a year of back and forth before she allowed you to set up shop in this part of the city. So to say that you were slightly intrigued was an understatement. 

“Who now?”

He snorted, stretching over the counter to wriggle his fingers down at Sybil, and who in response raised her large snot to meet them in greeting. 

“Apparently a few nights ago Ghost saved this rando girl from the Rose District―”

“What the hell was she doing in the Rose District?” 

“Well clearly she’s not from around here.” He retorted, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, which clearly wasn’t. Even people from out of town knew to stay away from that place, especially at night. She was either from another country altogether or really, really, dumb. 

“Anyways, he took her to Laswell and she offered her a job on the spot. She even let her settle in the loft above her bar and all.”

“Well, that’s….unexpected? But good for her I guess.”

“But wanna hear the best part?” Shrugging you rang him up, throwing in a few stray herbs in a satin pouch as an extra for his wife. 

“She’s magicless, and a total smokeshow.” He was clearly trying to get a rise out of you, and honestly, he was successful. Rolling your cleaning rag tightly, you snapped it against his hand. He yelped in surprise, cradling his hands with mock-indignation. 

“Anything else?” He shook his head and dropped the exact amount for the order into the ornate dish you kept beside the register. 

“You’re no fun,” he pouted, stashing the flash into his bag before pointing at the satin bag. “What’s this?” 

“They should help with Farah’s morning sickness. Just mix them in with her morning tea, a dash of honey will help with the bitterness.” 

He gave you a wide boyish grin. “You’re the best, you know that?”

Waving him off and as if telling him ‘oh I know’, you watched him leave with a spring to his step, clearly eager to go back to his wife. You waited for him to disappear from sight, before reaching for your phone in your apron’s pocket. 

9:15 am

you: hi

you: everything k? alex told me about the rose district

9:17

👻: 👍🏻

9:18

you: lmk if u need anything

you: btw your order’s ready, you can drop by anytime

you: sybil says hi 

(picture attached) 

You didn’t get a reply right away, which was strange, but not uncommon for the half-wraith. In the end, he always got back to you. Telling Sybil to stay put and care for the storefront, you moved to the back to organise the rest of the day’s orders. 

Once upon a time, Ghost’s go-to place had gone out of business (he had personally taken it down after discovering it was a front for a fairy trafficking ring), and as per Laswell’s recommendations, he had appeared one day to commission you with a list of potions and ingredients, each tailored to his pack’s specific needs. He gave you three days, and you had gone above and beyond to deliver. 

You knew you had succeeded in meeting their expectations after he came back the following month with a much bigger and more detailed list in hand. And it was through his monthly visit that you got to know the rest of the pack. 

Simon took care of pickups and never stayed long, but long enough to listen to you rant about lousy customers, all while answering to Sybil's demands for pets. 

You never got much done with Johnny around, but his charm definitely helped you with sales, especially with the older gnome ladies. The werewolf also played tug with your familiar when the shop became notably busy and you couldn’t take Sybil for her daily walkies. 

As the only son of a witch, Kyle liked to help you with just about everything. He especially enjoyed peering over your shoulder whenever you delved into one of your many experiments, smiling like a child whenever you asked for his opinion. 

You got to know John last, a human Hunter and their de facto leader. He never dropped by, but whenever you encountered him outside your shop, he never failed to greet you with a warm smile and ever warmer shoulder-squeeze. The older man also was a worrywart to his core, always asking about you and Sybil, as in have you had breakfast/lunch/dinner yet? Did you get your windows insulated for the winter? He can take care of it for you, and oh he got a good bargain on some chicken, let him share some of it with you. 

Slowly but surely, they each had wormed itself into your stiff-witchy heart. 

10:30

👻: can’t today

👻: sendin’ alejandro

The curt answer made you falter, a mix of disillusion and confusion settling heavily on the pit of your stomach. His lack of response to Sybil's picture was also worrying, that never happened. You struggled not to push him for an explanation. 

And so, you waited. 

Alejandro made his appearance a few hours later. Again, you left Sybil in charge while you greeted him and his partner, Rudy.

“Preciosa, it’s good to see you.” Alejandro enveloped you in a tight hug and kissed you on the cheek, Rudy following right after. 

You returned their greeting just as warmly, guiding them to the back and to the crates stacked neatly and ready for them to take. You watched them work, swaying a little from side to side, before finally mustering up the courage to ask them about Ghost’s unusual absence. 

“Is Ghost okay?”

Alejandro grunted as he loaded the crates into the trunk, hand falling over his hips before he turned to regard you with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah he’s fine, por (why)?”

You shoved your hands deep into your apron’s pockets, a nervous habit. “He has never missed a pickup, and he’s not answering my texts.” 

“Oh, it’s probably that girl.” He acknowledged dismissively. As if sensing your dismay at Alejandro’s lacklustre response, Rudy chimed in. 

“Leah, the new girl working for Laswell.”

Making the most of his receptiveness, you prodded Rudy for more details. “Have you met her?”

He shook his head, tilting his chin towards his partner. “Nope, but Ale has.”

“Well she’s cute, in a mousy kind of way.” He supplied while scratching his chin, and something about his pensive gesture told you that he still hadn't exactly made up his mind about her. 

They were quick to leave however, busy with their own things, plus having to drop off the pack’s order. You watched them go, fingers twisting and turning 

Yes, hopefully this strange episode would pass.

. . .

Things did not pass, if anything, they only got worrisomely stranger. 

A few days later, you found yourself in the supermarket. It was just another part of your routine that you usually enjoyed.  You reached for a jar of honey, when you felt it—a shift in the air, a tingle at the back of your neck. Straightening, you allowed your gaze to wander, searching for the source.

And then you saw him.

He stood a few feet away, staring intently at a shelf of cereals. Your heart skipped a beat, not from surprise but from the pleasant flutter you always felt when you saw him. You  instinctively moved closer, a full smile already settled on your lips.

“Johnny, hi!” 

His head jerked up as if startled, eyes widening when they met yours. For a moment, he looked at you with a strange mix of confusion and surprise, as if he barely recognized you. 

“Och aye! Hello there! Whit ye daein' here?"

“Uh, I always shop here on Sundays?” But you know that, you’ve come with me more than once!

"Oh, dae ye no? Well, anyways!” Johnny’s brows furrowed, and he blinked rapidly, like someone waking from a deep sleep. His gaze flickered away from your face and back to the rows of cereal “Whit dae ye think Leah would fancy the most?"

That caught you off guard, so much so that you couldn't give him a rightout answer.

Suddenly, a second figure came from around the corner. It was Gaz. He walked up to the two of you, but something was off. 

“Mate, stop running off! We need to get back to—” Gaz blinked at you, as if seeing you for the first time. “Oh, hi?”

“Hi?” You parroted back with an incredulous guffaw. 

You just stood there, feeling an unfamiliar and uncomfortable sensation—like the ground beneath you had shifted and you were the only one who noticed. This wasn’t right. Your relationship had always been so easy, and filled with laughter. But now, it was like there was a barrier between you and them, unseen and unsettling.

“Is…everything okay?” You asked them, voice laced with a mix of worry and disbelief. 

Gaz looked at you again, but there was no warm recognition in his eyes. “We’re fine,” he said, though his voice was flat. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, Johnny following him like a shadow, a box of chocolate flavoured loops in hand.

He hated that kind, not even bending whenever Gaz tried to coax him into getting them as a treat. 

You watched them disappear down the aisle, dumfounded. The vibrant hum of the grocery store around you flickered slightly as your mind whirled. 

Taking a breath, you forced yourself to stay calm. You should head back to the apothecary and Sybil, maybe even check in with Laswell. 

She’d know what to do, right? She always did.

banner credit

[fayes-fics]

Right In Front Of You

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Sometimes, the thing you most need is right in front of you...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, vaginal fingering, smidge of dirty talk, orgasm. Friends to lovers, only one bed.

Word Count: 3.5k

Author's Note: Request fill for @eecummingsandgoings, who asked for only one bed trope with Benedict. Thanks to the awesome @colettebronte for beta reading and for the title suggestion! This is a seasonal-ish fic set in early December. Enjoy! <3

“You guys are so late!” 

Melanie draws you into a bear hug after her fond chastisement.

“Blame this one,” you roll your eyes and signal a thumb over your shoulder to Benedict as he wanders up the path behind you. “He was supposed to be on map-reading duty after we ran out of phone signal.”

With a big smile, he mimes being stabbed in the chest before he receives a welcoming embrace as well.

“He’s been shit at directions since uni; why the hell did you have him navigate?” she chimes, taking your coats as you peel them off and hanging them in the hallway cupboard. 

“Because you have experienced his driving,” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, good point,” Melanie guffaws.

“Starting to take this personally now,” Benedict pipes up with a good-natured chuckle as she ushers you both further into the cottage.

“This is nice!” you comment as you survey the place.

Its snug warmth is like an enveloping embrace on this cold, early December day. It's an Airbnb rental in the Lake District and looks suitably rustic but modernised with an open-plan layout—a perfect venue for a uni friends reunion. 

“Well, I'm afraid you two are so late that everyone has already nabbed the good bedrooms,” she announces. “You will have to share the other attic room, two floors up.”

“I'm sure we will be fine,” Benedict blithely responds. 

“It's only got one bed,” she cackles.

“Bagsy the bed!” you crow, turning to look at him triumphantly.

“Fine, I’ll take the floor,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes.

While chivalrous, it also seems fair payback, given that he got you so horrendously lost on a single-track country lane, going miles in the wrong direction. Sharing the drive up from London was supposed to take about five hours, not the almost seven that it ended up being by the time you eventually got back on the right road. 

Leaving your bags in the hallways, you greet and join the gaggle of friends in the living room area, crowding onto the sectional sofa and beanbags. Melanie, always the mother hen of the group, stands across the room at the kitchen island, stirring a huge casserole dish that smells delicious.

“Alright, you bastards, come and get it,” she calls not long after you settle.

So, all twelve of you decamp to the long table, and drinks flow as you tuck into a hearty, tasty stew. The group have come without their spouses or other halves, except Dave and Andrea have been together since the second year and are still going strong more than ten years later—well, and one other exception.

“Matt brought Vanessa?” you comment into Melanie’s shoulder while conversation flows in little groups.

“Yeah, I know,” she winces. “Sorry…”

“No, it's not that. I just think it’s a bit odd. She’ll have to endure so many old uni tales and in-jokes all weekend. She’ll have little idea what we are all on about…” 

Matt is your ex, yes, but you broke up almost a year ago now. You didn't get together until five years after uni, and in hindsight, you wish you never had. Vanessa is his first girlfriend since your breakup. You've been alone since—the only singleton left in the group.

“Drink up,” Melanie advises sagely, refilling your wineglass almost to the brim. “They have the other attic bedroom that backs onto yours, and even though the stone walls here are thick, I've heard rumours she is a loud one.”

“Urgh…” you take a large gulp, not savouring the idea of hearing your ex and his new woman having sex through an adjoining wall.

The rest of the evening passes pleasantly: wine flowing, a lovely time as you all catch up and trade stories. Jon recounts a hilariously disastrous holiday in Portugal that ended happily with him meeting his current partner Simon on the plane home, which earns him a round of applause. 

The first to turn in is Matt and Vanessa, and not long after, others start to yawn and make their excuses, the drive from various corners of the country taking its toll on everyone. 

Benedict grabs your bag as well as his, you trailing behind, making your way slightly gingerly up the second, narrower, steeper staircase to the attic rooms.

“I guess this is us,” he notes, nodding to the only door without a faint lamp glow leaking underneath.

You follow him into the room as he dumps the bags and flicks on a sidelight. It's not big but it’s homely, if a little chilly compared to downstairs, heated by the fireplace as it was.

“Ben, you can’t sleep on the floor; there's a draught,” you remark as you sit on the bed and pull off your fuzzy socks, a coolness wafting over your toes.            ��                           

“I’ll be alright,” he assures genially, opening the wardrobe to gather a pile of blankets.

“And there's not much room,” you assess, realising the floor space is minimal unless he lays near the chimney, likely the source of the problem. “Seriously, we can share.”

An odd expression clouds his face briefly before he agrees and quickly excuses himself to the bathroom. You do the same after he returns. He is already under the covers, peering at his phone through reading glasses when you shuffle back into the room in your PJs.

“Are you sure about sharing?” he checks as you round the bed to climb into the other side.

“Yes, you idiot,” you chuckle, playfully swatting his leg through the duvet. “Nothing for Paul to worry about,” you add in jest, referring to his boyfriend of over two years now.

He goes so still that you twist to look at him. He is biting his lip with an almost sheepish mein. 

“We, umm, broke up about a month ago,” he elucidates quietly.

“God, I'm so sorry; why didn't you say before??!” 

It strikes you as odd that he never even mentioned it in the hours you were stuck in the car together. He had just sat dutifully, supplying supportive words as you lamented the dating scene. 

“Well, you’ve been away travelling…” 

“I meant today.”

“Oh, well, I guess I didn't really see the point, seeing as everyone has left their plus-ones at home,” he shrugs, then tilts his head back. “Well, apart from that idiot,” he adds, referencing Matt through the wall.

“Yeah, I thought that a bit odd he brought her… but anyway, do you want to talk about it? Paul?” you offer, wanting to give your good friend the opportunity to vent.

“Very kind,” he smiles briefly. “But no. I'm sick of talking about it, to be honest. Daph has been non-stop trying to agony aunt the situation, and Eloise has been plying me with alcohol and barbs about all of my terrible life choices, not just Paul,” he grimaces mildly.

You chuckle, knowing exactly how that has likely been going.

“You know he just brought Vanessa to make you jealous, don't you?” Benedict changes tack, keeping his voice soft even though it's unlikely to carry through the thick stone wall.

“Maybe,” you hesitate, then sigh: “I'm over him and his nonsense, to be honest.”

“You were always far too good for him.”

“Hah!”

“I mean it,” he insists, an abrupt intensity to his gaze that causes butterflies.

There’s no point denying your attraction to Benedict; he's a very handsome man. But it's always felt like a harmless crush; you doubt you are his type, and he’s not been single for many years. 

“You are just trying to butter me up before you take over the whole bed like an octopus and snore in my face,” you deflect with humour.

“You never could take a compliment, could you?” he chastises gently, taking off his reading glasses and setting aside his phone.

“Please, I would never take any compliment from you seriously,” you riposte dryly. “I knew of your charmer reputation from the very first day of uni. Everyone did. Your Bridgerton reputation preceded you.”

“Entirely unfair to be tarred with the same brush as my lothario of a brother,” he sighs with mock burden. “I mean, yes, okay, at uni, I was a little…”

“Slutty?” you interject

“... adventurous..” he corrects with a narrowing of his hazy eyes, “but nothing like the rumours suggest. I just got with a couple of raconteurs early on who vastly overstated my abilities and skills,” he demures.

You know the truth is somewhere in between the polyamorous, bisexual playboy reputation and the modest version he is claiming.

“Besides, that was years ago,” he points out with a dismissive gesture. “I've had a total of five lovers in the last ten years.” 

It is indeed true. Before Paul was Tilly, Tessa, Gen and Henry. He’s been surprisingly monogamous since his earlier, sluttier years.

“Ready to sow your wild oats again?” you ask, bumping him lightly with your shoulder.

“Hah!” it's his turn to scoff.

Just then, a distinct female moan filters through the wall. When it happens again, your eyes dart to each other.

“Oh god, Mel warned me this might happen,” you grumble, burying your head in your hands.

“Told you,” Benedict clucks. “This is definitely designed to make you jealous.”

“Pfft, please. Believe me, he's not that good; she's just a really vocal one, apparently.” 

For some reason, you are keen for Benedict to know Matt is not the best you've had. Not bad, but not exactly worthy of the decidedly rousing review Vanessa is now giving through the wall.

“Want to beat him at his own game?” 

His face is all permission and danger, making your pulse race, uncertain about what that could mean. But then he breaks into a goofy grin and throws back the covers, athletically jumping to his feet on the bed next to you, looking equal parts adorable and attractive in navy tartan pyjama bottoms and a dark grey t-shirt. He takes a few test bounces, the metal springs of the bedframe under the mattress squeaking mildly in protest as he does so.

“C'mon!” he coaxes, grabbing your arms and hauling you upwards onto your feet. “I think with a few bounces and choice noises, we can make our point.”

Perhaps it's mostly the three glasses of wine, but it seems like a funny idea. You both start to bounce, grasping each other's hands and giggling, the bed beginning to rattle against the adjoining wall as you work up a jumping pace.

“Make it sound like you are having the time of your life,” he proposes, laughing.

Your attempted noise of pleasure has you flushing with embarrassment at the feeble result.

“Oh, I know you can do better than that!” Benedict incites, eyes glittering with mischief. 

“I really can't,” you protest.

“Follow my lead. I’m not above a touch of theatrics,” he winks.

Benedict groans loudly, and despite the absurdity of the situation, it makes something run hot and electric through your body. He peers at you expectantly, awaiting your rejoinder. 

You cringe as, once again, your second attempt is lacking.

“Loosen up,” he rags lightly before repeating his very distracting noise. “C’mon, just imagine I am the best sex of your life.”

Your traitorous mind finds it remarkably easy to settle on that idea. Supplying a vivid picture of Benedict looming over you, a beguiling lopsided grin on his face as he takes you apart with long fingers buried between your legs. Just the thought has you biting your lip, but not before a feral noise escapes entirely without you meaning it to.

“Oh yes, that's much more like it,” he looks slightly taken aback but entirely approving. He leans in close as he requests: “Just a little louder.” 

Then with a grin, he turns to face the wall and pounds his fists onto the thick, rough stone. 

“Yeah baby!!”  His decidedly Austin Powers-like call echoes up along the ceiling as he tilts his head back, going fully theatrical.

“WE GET THE FUCKING HINT, BRIDGERTON!!”

Matt’s muffled, annoyed yell through the wall has you exchanging looks before collapsing back down onto the bed and rolling around in fits of quiet giggles.

“Well, it worked… I don’t think you were much help at all, though, if I’m honest,” Benedict opines breezily. “I definitely did the heavy lifting.”

“Perhaps I’m just not a loud sex noises person,” you posit.

“Then you haven’t been having the right sex. Which, given you were dating Matt, is sort of a foregone conclusion,” he needles genially.

“Not all of us are Vanessas… or apparently Benedicts.” 

He laughs heartily before countering: “I bet you could be. I’d happily try to have you screaming the roof down if I thought you’d ever bloody let me…”

It's a record-scratch moment that has your stomach flipping even as outwardly, all you do is scoff at the patently ridiculous idea. He must be kidding. He has never given you any vibes of being remotely interested in you in that way.

“Let you?! Bitch, please. As if you’d want to!” you rebut, wine stealing your filter. 

He turns towards you, seemingly in slow motion, breathing slightly heavy from the recent exertion, his cadence dropping low with words that sound like a warning. 

“Don't play that game.”

“I’m not playing any game,” you frown even as your heart speeds up at the challenging glint in his eye. “Ben, honestly, I… I'm not,” you stutter, all your assumptions about him scattering. “I… I didn't think you saw me that way…”

He twists up to hover over you. It appears he reads the honesty behind your stilted words, surprise rippling across his features before a breathtaking, troublesome look takes its place.

“You never could see what was right in front of you, either, could you?” 

Although rhetorical, you have no response anyway. Buffering as his lip quirks appealingly, a burst of heat behind your ribs as he leans down closer.

“Will you let me?” 

“Let you what?” 

Your whispered response is entirely too breathy and wanton. A delicious crackle in the air as Benedict stares down at you, inches apart, lips and cheeks flushed dark, likely a mirror of your own.

“Test your theory.”

The slow sweep of his glistening tongue over his lower lip breaks your resistance.

“Yes…” 

Your shaky exhale of permission may be barely audible but seems so loud to your own ears. 

And suddenly, his mouth is on yours.

The kiss starts soft and almost hesitant, but alcohol and desire coursing through your veins make you impatient, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck to tug him closer, craving his weight and heat to engulf you. And that is what he does as his lips part yours, his tongue seeking permission you readily give as he presses you into the mattress. It’s a blur as you take from each other greedily, open-mouthed, demanding kisses that never seem to end.

“I need to hear you make that sound again,” he rumbles, kissing over your cheek, snagging your earlobe between his teeth, breath gusting hot into your neck.

Boldly, you grab his wrist and, throwing all caution to the wind, guide it lower between your legs. His fingers curl into the cotton, sinking into the heat, knowing you are seeping through the thin material.

“Are you always so wet?” He whispers, impressed, kissing a line over your throat.

You don’t answer, not wanting to say that it’s all him, instead pulling him in for another searing kiss, hoping he will get the hint. Sure enough, as you suck greedily on his questing tongue, he slowly swipes, locating your swollen clit with just one move. Just that slight nudge has your body alight, stuttering into his mouth, spine arching up off the bed, pushing your breasts into him. 

“I want to make you come,” he admits breathily, dilated pupils trained on you as you squirm under his touch.

“Please do.”

His groan is poetic, an insistent mass nudging your hip promisingly as he leans into you. You glance down, mesmerised by the veins on his hand as he moves to pluck at the bow at your waistband until it relents. His touch spiders under the material, trailing through your trimmed hair and then between your legs, a delicious noise in the back of his throat as his bare fingertips slide into your wetness. 

You want to ride his digits until you are screaming, want them buried in you so far you see stars. Want him to make you suck your juices from between his knuckles, him calling you all the filthy words under the sun as you do so.

“Whatever you are thinking of, tell me,” he pleads, his other hand sweeping into your hair, cradling the back of your head, a slight pull on your scalp that just heightens everything. “I just want you to use me. Take what you need from me; just please make that perfect noise again.”

“God Ben….” You stumble, never having had someone make such an offer before. So much pent-up desire you are quaking as you answer without artifice: “I was thinking of your fingers inside me.”

You don’t even have to ask him for it, he twists his wrist, and you moan as two fingers breach your weeping pussy, a slick noise filling the air as your body suctions onto his invasion. He utters a curse, perhaps taken aback by just how soaked you are. You inhale sharply, grasping the corded muscle of his forearm as he slides deep, his knuckles grazing your walls, reaching places you cannot.

He begins to softly stroke you, massaging in a rhythm that has your mouth slack, staring at him wide-eyed; then his thumb nudges your clit at the same time, and you are unable to prevent the loud staccato groan it elicits.

“Yessss, there it is..” he hisses triumphantly, kissing your temple. 

You nuzzle his cheek until he takes your hint, kissing you again, plundering, you making the noise again, open-mouthed, against his teeth and tongue, dripping onto his palm as he takes you higher, an electric hum racing under your skin. His thumbnail catches deliciously under your clitoral hood as he strums your swollen nub. Somehow it feels illicit, both of you still clothed in your nightwear, a tented outline in his pyjamas nudging your hip as you shamelessly ride now, a dewyness gathering inside your tank top at the flush of desire enveloping your skin.. 

“Come on, sweet girl,” he goads, “ride my hand properly. Use me.”

That term of affection would usually make you bark a laugh, but right now, it’s just blisteringly hot, him wringing the most filthy sodden noises from your body as he rocks in and out of your pussy. 

So you do. 

Scrunch your grip into the duvet beneath you and undulate on him, baring down as he surges inwards, moving like a wave together as he makes noises of encouragement, his lips warm on your cheek. His eyes don't leave your face except occasionally to glance down your writhing body, gaze lingering on your nipples pebbled against your vest. 

His feet entwine around your ankle, holding you down just a little bit, giving you just a little fight that you need, reading you like a book. With a nod and lopsided smirk, he silently bids you to keep going. And you do, getting overheated, chasing that high he is aiding and abetting.

“Don’t hold back,” he tutors silkily into your damp temple, intuiting that you are swallowing back some of the noises you want to make. 

So you follow his bidding. Stop modulating yourself, letting go, leaning into the simmering in your body, each perfect glide of his fingers spiralling you so high it's almost dizzying, your desire running down between your cheeks now. Something daring in you wants to be louder than Vanessa. To make the whole house jealous. Hell, for the entire world to know how good this feels.

He angles to catch your g-spot as well, and it hurtles you rapidly over into the blissful abyss; unable to stop yourself from spasming almost violently, screaming out, him fighting against your convulsions as you fracture apart and reassemble, breath stolen, blood pounding in your ears. You float both high above yourself and grounded in your body as that wondrous quake spreads to every corner of your being.

“That was bloody perfect,” he exhales, a thread of pride etched into his tone as you collapse down, heaving breaths as he withdraws from inside you.

“WE GOT THE FUCKING HINT EARLIER!!” 

Matt’s yell through the wall makes you both still, eyes going comically wide before you both start giggling. Benedict lands a kiss on the tip of your nose as he rolls on top of you, his rigid cock nestled against your inner thigh.

“Well, that just sounds like a challenge to me,” he quirks a seductive eyebrow. “Let’s give them something to really complain about…”

Then, without warning, his soaked fingers yank down the neckline of your vest, his warm lips suctioning onto your nipple, and you are calling out loudly once more. 

masterlist • wips • taglist (must follow this blog to be tagged)

Benedict taglist pt 1 : @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @ferns-fics @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @hanji-emo-blog @sya-skies @urfavnoirette

[sarqhsstuff]

RUIN ME - Ellie Williams

Mechanic AU Ellie Williams x AFAB (assigned female at birth) reader. There is no use of Y/N, or a chosen name for the reader. 2.5k words

Content Includes: oral sex/cunnilingus (reader receiving), kissing, cursing, pet names (pretty, baby, ex), sub!reader + dom!ellie, and overall vivid descriptions of sexual activity.

A/N: I apologize for how long it took me to put out another one-shot. I hope to start writing more again soon. :D Please comment with any suggestions about how I can improve my writing, or characters!

My fingers grip the wheel as I turn into the garage. For the third time this month, my car has an issue. First was my brakes, then my spark plugs needed replacing, and now my oil needed refilling. I push down on the brakes with aggravation as I park the car. I twist the key out of the ignition with one hand, and my other flies to the door handle. My fingers curl around the plastic, and yank on it. I kick the door open, and slide my body out of the vehicle. An exasperated breath leaves my lips as I now push the door back into place. 

My feet work quickly on the dirtied concrete floor. I could hear grunting from across the garage, and assume it was my familiar mechanic. My previously furrowed brows lift as I walk around a car to see a woman with auburn brown hair. The person in question pushes themself out from underneath a Honda, and stands up. They brush off any dust collected onto their coveralls before looking down. 

“Hello? What's got you all riled up?” Her lip jerks into a smirk as she peers at my frustrated state with amusement. As I notice this, my eyes wander around the rest of her face. Freckles litter her skin in a way which almost contours her nose. Her hair is half pulled back into a small ponytail, and is ruffled around her forehead. Strands stick out in random directions, only effectively catching my attention for a moment. What distracts me more is the woman's striking sage eyes, and pink cracked lips. Overall she looks scruffy, but in an oddly appealing way. 

“I’m sorry-” My voice slices through the air with an intensity which wasn’t intended, “Is Jesse here? My car needs an oil fill.” Unbeknownst to me, my eyes were morphing into slits as I glared at the mechanic. Additionally my lips are pouty with anger, and my hips tilt with a similar sass. 

The woman only chuckles, and rips off a glove. My sight follows her hand as she wipes her forehead. “Sorry, but Jesse isn’t here today. I’d be happy to tell him that-” She sticks her hand out to point at me, as if to ask for my name.

“Doesn’t matter. I can’t wait until tomorrow.” I am fast to respond. Both hands of mine dart to my head, and push against my temples. I rub them in hopes to soothe my increasingly growing anxiety. 

The mechanic observes my stressed state, and takes a step forward. She rests a hand on my upper arm, and pushes the limb down gently. “No need to get your panties into a twist, ey?” Her tone is still one of amusement as she speaks, but now includes a hint of false comfort. 

Her eyes sparkle as her thumb starts to rub rhythmically on my forearm. 

“Lucky for you, I’m always happy to do extra work for pretty girls.” I watch as her lips stretch into a prideful smile. 

All of my facial muscles quickly relax, and my mouth gapes open slightly. “Oh uh, thank you-” My eyes wander down her coveralls and rest upon an embroidered name tag, “Ellie.” In comparison to just moments ago, my voice is a lot softer. I suddenly feel awkward, and apologetic for my previously uncalled for attitude. 

“Always my pleasure.” Ellie’s tongue passes over her lip as she talks. Her eyes momentarily glint with something devilish. She begins to walk over to my car, determination laced in her steps. Her short hair sways with the wind and I watch it intently as we cross the cement. 

I lean against my headlights as Ellie reaches down to grab the car hood edge. As she lifts it, I watch her muscles contort under the pressure. I shield my eyes immediately from the sight. However, my efforts prove fruitless. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her hand dive deep into the car front. I suck my lip to be between my teeth, and grind down on the flesh. Thoughts run wild in my head, and I curse internally. 

After a few moments, Ellie stands up straight. She lets out a heavy sigh, and stares at the engine with a perplexed expression. “The problem is definitely not your oil.” She confirms my growing suspicions with a solemn tone.

This time I curse aloud, and my lip returns to its previous position. If I wasn’t so enthralled with my self pity, I would have noticed Ellie tracing my mouth with an enticing look. “I can’t deal with this shit.” I mumble under my breath. My eyes search the floor frantically as I try to think of a solution. When my mind turns up blank, I look to the mechanic with extreme plead. 

“It’s alright..” She responds in a soothing tone before taking a short pause. Her brows lift almost as if she had a realization. “Let me give you a distraction” Ellies’ tone switches to something more sultry and all promising. 

I inspect her demeanor for a minute while I try to find the underlying meaning of her proposal. Her pupils are swollen and her irises sparke. The hands which had been on the vehicle now shake at her sides with anticipation. “What.. What do you mean?” I can not help to hide the intrigue in my voice. 

Her smile grows with a newfound confidence from my words. She moves fast, fueled by a secret determination. Soon enough, the car hood is slammed shut and she begins to pat the red aluminum. “C’mere pretty.” The words pass through her curved lips naturally, and cause a chill to pass over my spine.

I take a hesitant step forward, and slowly turn my body around. I use my hands to push down on the hood, which lifts me up. Ellies’ hands fly to my waist, and she assists me. Once I am sat, the mechanic inches closer to me. My legs are forced to spread open to allow her to stand between them. Surprisingly, her limbs never leave my form despite my stable condition. My face muscles lift into a shocked expression, and I’m left speechless.

“I have been non stop thinking about this ever since you walked your pretty ass over to me.” Ellie admits with a smug face. Her hands start to rub up and down over my hips, and a digit catches on my clothing. I watch her eyes trail over my curves and up to my awaiting face. 

I am practically frozen in a state of shock. My face undoubtedly exposes my uncertainty, though whether Ellie saw and chose to ignore it or was too ravished with me is unknown. In a pathetic attempt to speak, my mouth gapes open slightly. My company notices this in an instant, but only chuckles at my struggling. “Do you want me to stop? Because if not, you should know I only intend to ruin you.” She talks in such a sensual and commanding way that I cannot stop the groan that escapes me. 

At this, Ellie suddenly snaps. Her body pushes against mine and her mouth greets my lips. I am momentarily unmoving, but as her tongue runs along my bottom lip my consciousness slides back into place. I reciprocate her desperation as our lips slide together. Saliva soon coats our skin, only allowing us to kiss more effectively. My lips part open to gasp as a hand snakes around my neck, stabilizing me. Ellie uses her current height advantage as she pulls backwards to crane my neck. Our heads are essentially parallel as we collide. Her forgotten hand abruptly lands on my chest. She now gropes the fatty skin through fabric, her fingers applying rhythmical pressure. This entices a groan to rumble in my held throat. 

Our mouths never leave each other as she lifts a leg. A knee ends up between the middle of my thighs, but doesn’t move any closer to my core. Thoughtless in the kiss, I happily accept the bony intrusion. Ellie leans her body daringly harsher on mine, which forces my legs to spread even further. My hips allow this stretch, though it stings and is unfamiliar. I whine against the car enthusiast's lips. Our skin pleasantly vibrates against each other, and this time coaxes a moan from Ellie. Her tongue returns to my entrances, and pokes at it impatiently. As soon as my foggy brain senses this, my mouth moves to provide an entryway. The damp muscle presses against the fleshy roof, before the tip licks at it. I struggle to verbalize my pleasure since a hand is still wrapped tightly around my neck. Only weak guttural shaking presents itself. When Ellie feels this, she tightens her digits to squeeze even harder. 

Without warning, a knee shoves against my pulsing core. The sheer contrast of temperature in the skin creates an odd nerve rattling sensation. Her knee digs deeper before starting the move up and down. The polyester of her coveralls rubs against my thin clothing article. My thoughts become clouded with dirty sin.

Lost in pleasure, I lose momentum in the kiss. Ellie struggles to keep up the arousing clash of our lips alone. With a frustrated grumble, she pulls her head away from mine. Eyes flooded with lust glare at mine. “Can’t even handle my knee, Baby?” My cunt throbbing intensifies at her taunting words. “Such a pussy drunk whore.” She spits. I am not only shocked at the harsarity of her words, but also the reaction of my body. The degradation only adds to my overflowing pleasure. 

The combination of friction against my core and Ellies’ voice lures a loud whimper. A beating force in my groin becomes intoxicatingly present. I grind my hips down against her knee in desperation, my ass sliding along the car hood. As if overwhelmed by my pathetic display, Ellies' head falls into the crook of my neck. She lets out low grunts as she continues to grind her knee into me. Her lips are so close to my ears that I swear I am able to feel my drums quaking. They shake against my inner flesh, and rattle my mind. I am so bombarded with pleasing sensations that my eyes squeeze and I cry out into the garage. 

Her hand groping my breast falls off, and lands on the hood. She flexes her fingers before using the arm to steady herself. Now her leg thrusts are much faster and reach deeper between my legs. Soft cracked lips press against the skin under my ear. I squirm beneath Ellie, and my jaw goes slack, no longer preventing myself from expressing my bliss. “I… I’m-” My brain cannot fathom to form words as my nerves are being inflicted with such delight. 

“Aw, are you close?” Ellie teases. She speaks through low laughter, and the expulsion of air blows onto my neck. 

My core tightens with ecstasy. Filthy nothings leave me as I grow even closer to bliss than before. I can feel my arousal soak through the fabric of my pants and onto Ellie’s. Just as I am about to snap, Ellie’s leg retreats from between my thighs. She presses a feather light kiss on my neck pulse, before pulling away.

She watches my face contort into a distraught expression. A boisterous chuckle echoes throughout the garage as the mechanic tosses her head back. “I couldn’t end this so soon, could I?” Her lips morph into a taunting smile, and her head tilts slightly to the side. I frown in dismay at her obvious attempt to play innocent. 

There is a soft thud as she sets her foot onto the tar. A hand then slowly moves toward my face, and cups it. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.” Ellie coos, her voice contradictingly soft in comparison to before. As she speaks, her knees start to bend. My eyes widen as I watch her slowly go down to crouch. Her face is now directly between my trembling thigh muscles, which slightly hang off the hood of the car. I can not bring myself to respond, as I am so shocked. Based on her previous statements, I anticipated Ellie to quickly get me off before fixing my car. However, that was everything but her intentions.

Rough hands travel to my waist, and experienced fingers work quickly to unbutton my pants. Her green eyes are narrowed into concentrated slits as she diligently unclothes me. Soon my pants are discarded somewhere on the cold flooring, my panties following. Her gaze twists into something more sinister as she stares at my dampened core. My folds glisten under the harsh overhead lights, and my clit is pink and throbbing. She observes my hole clenching around the air, and her lips turn into a frown. 

“El-” Just as I begin to say her name, Ellie’s face plants itself against my sex. Her tongue hungrily laps at my core, and her eyes flutter close as she admires the taste. On the contrary, my eyes grow wider. I pant out a curse, and my hands snake down into her hair. My fingers greedily pull at her auburn strands, pathetically attempting to pull her even closer. Abruptly, her muscle starts to drag up and down my folds. It gathers my juices before plunging inside of me. I moan at the impure sight of Ellie eating me out while I am sat atop my car. 

Her hands push down on my thighs, and pull them together. They cage her head in, though she seems to enjoy it. I highly doubt her ability to breathe, but she doesn’t seem to flinch. On the contrary, my entire body is shaking with delight. I cannot help but tighten my hold on her hair and yank her even closer. I don’t just need her against me, but enveloping my whole being. 

As my brain shivers with delight, it begins to dangerously wonder. If anyone were to stumble into the garage, they would be met with certainly a sight. One woman sat up on a car hood while another kneels before her and pleasures her. 

Ellie’s tongue works hard to bring me to my climax. My moans echo against the concrete walls. I suddenly feel her hum against me, which vibrates my wet folds. My core tightens and loosens uncomfortably, which causes my eyes to squeeze shut. 

“Come on, Baby. Cum on my face.” Ellie pulls her face just far enough from my sex to mumble. She speaks in such a soothing tone, that I feel I must comply. My orgasm washes over me, a slow calm wave. My nerves tingle underneath my skin as the sensation passes through. Heavy pants are the only sound being emitted from Ellie or I. Her eyes are wide and focused as she watches me.

 Once the climax has almost entirely run its course, Ellie finally draws her attention away from my lower body. Our eyes meet and we share a soft silent conversation. There is no doubt in my mind, and in hers, that I will be coming back to the garage again soon.

[szynkaaa]

02. In Which the Monkey King Is a Lightweigt

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“You were not jesting around when you said you can hold your liquor well!” 

Cups were refilled, the white liquid spilling out, but everyone was too wasted to care about the precious bit of wine being wasted. 

“So what d’ya say lassie, did uncle Shen Monkey outdone himself this time?” 

The cup was of wine was downed down in one go, with the wine liquid running down his fur around his mouth, which he quickly wiped away with his arm.  

I sniffed the wine cup carefully. It smelt faintly like rice flour, followed by something more flowery. I couldn’t place what that smell was though – not that I care too much about it. In my old traveling days with the Destined One, I learned early on that sometimes it’s just better not to ask or question what ingredients were used to make certain brews and soaks. As long as it gave you a good boost when taking a sip, it was good enough for me.  

The liquid inside my cup had a milky color, but the texture was waterier than milk. I swirled it a couple of times in my cup, before also chugging it down in one go. The wine went down my throat smoothly, leaving a sweet aftertaste as it settled into my stomach, feeling warm. I could barely taste the alcohol. 

“Hmmm.” I pretended to be thinking hard about the answer, before raising my cup towards Shen Monkey and replied with, “I’ll need another cup in order to give you an answer.”  

Shen Monkey let out a hearty laugh, very pleased with my reply and grabbed for the gourd to pour us more wine. Then we held up our cups and shouted “Gānbēi!” 

“Wait wait wait!” I interject before the Shen Monkey could take a sip, who looked the most offended that his drinking was interrupted. “Eye contact, otherwise it’s seven years of bad luck.” When I first started to become drinking buddies with Shen Monkey – and then his in official soak-and-brew-tester – he asked me about my home world. And then the conversation turned to alcoholic beverages that I liked, which then at some point turned into a conversation about all the drinking games played in my years as a university student. 

We raised our cups again, opening our eyes comically widely open to keep the eye contact and then downed it one go.  

“I’ll give this a nine point eight out of ten.” I said. “It’s good, but there is always room for improvement.”  

“You wound me, lassie.” was Shen Monkey’s reply, as he placed a both hands over his heart.  

The facts were these: You, the Great Sage Equals to Heaven, proclaimed that of course you know how to hold your alcohol, which great leader doesn’t. To which I pointed out, I wouldn’t know because when you were still a nameless monkey wandering the four lands in search for relics, we never really sat down to get shit-faced together. And then you said, well now that things have settled, we should catch up with the gentlefolks from the Zodiac Village and get ‘shit-faced’ together (new word that you learned from me). You were sure Shen Monkey has a good stash somewhere, and you were right. 

The facts were also these: After the first round, your face was red. But you were in a really good mood. Laughing and jesting with your comrades, telling them stories of your adventures as Sun Wukong. Yin Tiger rolled his eyes, probably having heard the stories many times already. Shen Monkey and Chen Loong indulged you, while Xu Dog was looking at you starry-eyed, like you were the coolest person walking on this planet (he was right but I would never admit that to your face). 

And I have to admit, you are a good story-teller. Or maybe I just liked listening to your voice talking about anything and everything. If you would record an ASMR of you reading out loud the Terms and Condition of whatever, I would listen to it before my bedtime.  

After the second round, it looked like you were stumbling a lot more over your words, and you had a bit trouble walking in a straight line. When I offered you some water, you declined stating once again that ‘the Great Sage Equal to Heaven does not need that’ – words you probably came to regret in the morning (which you’d never admit).  

What I learned about two-drink-Sun Wukong is that you start to seek out close proximity of people. And by people, I meant me. Here’s the thing: I like being close to you. I like it when you grab my hands and rub them when they’re freeing cold, or when you just grab one of my hands to give me three reassuring squeezes. My most recent realization is that I sleep easier when you’re next to me. At some point, our ‘hey do you wanna stay the night here’ turned to ‘so will you be sleeping in your own room tonight or mine’, just so we know later in which bed we’d find each other.  

However, I was not prepared for two-drink-Sun Wukong to put his arms around me in front of the others. I did not mind us being physical affectionate in private, but in front of others in a time where this could be considered highly inappropriate? There was also the whole matter of that I’m still trying to figure out how to get home, and I’m still getting adjusted to the new you.  

You felt how I stiffened up the moment you settled your arms around me – I didn’t mean to do that, but my body reacted faster than my mind could catch up to and by then you have already removed your arm from my shoulders. I glanced at you but you kept your eyes at the zodiac villagers while telling them about how the rebuilding of Mount Huaguo is going. There was a brief of flash hurt in your eyes, but it disappeared quick enough that I could have mistaken it for the flicker of the fire reflecting in your eyes.  

I didn’t mean to hurt you, so I reached out with one hand to grab your hand quickly and gave it a firm squeeze - ‘I am sorry for my reaction, I did not mean to hurt you’. You gave me three squeezes - ‘everything is okay’.  

The drinking continued into the next round and by then, most of us were either wasted, or passed out.  

By the fourth round, your face was beet-red and your eyes unfocused. Some of the fur around your mouth and chin were wet and covered in wine, as you throw your head back laughing at something that Xu Dog said, your canine teeth in full display.  

I wondered in that moment how they would feel like if I ran my finger over them. I must have been staring for too long, lost in my thoughts because you flicked my nose with your finger. “See something you like?” At the sight of your wide shit-eating and toothy grin, and you leaning back on your two arms with your exposed chest and hair puffed out, I felt my heart beating faster and my ears flushing. 

“I see a stinky monkey.” I replied and held up my cup towards Shen Monkey. A gesture asking him to kindly refill my cup. 

You pouted at my stinky monkey remark, and I thought that was the cutest face expression you ever made. Cute wasn’t a word in your vocabulary that you would use to describe yourself as. I knew you weren’t angry at the stinky monkey remark though because your tail was swishing back and forth. 

Happy monkey, happy life.  

Eventually Xu Dog and Chen Loong have retired for the night, the latter stating that he is not as young as he used to be (probably hitting 2000 years old or something), and the former saying that he needs to check up on his furnace. The pills he was making needs to be regularly fanned at a three hours interval, which means tipsy or not, he has a job to do. Yin Tiger left after the first round already, stating that he has to clean up his workshop and make preparations for work the next day. 

Which leaves just me and two monkeys. One that was barely holding it together after three rounds of drinks, and another one that brewed the drinks and was able to hold his drink much better than you.  

By the time Shen Monkey and I were toasting our sixth rounds of drinks, you have decided that the most comfortable spot for a Great Sage to sleep off the alcohol was my lap. You didn’t even ask if it was okay to use my lap as your personal pillow. No, you just shuffled over, plopped your head down and didn’t respond to anything or anyone anymore. My ears caught the faint sound of snoring, and my eyes watched Shen Monkey’s face breaking out into a huge grin. “Ah, young love.” The wine was slowly getting to him now too, seeing how he barely managed to pour himself a clean cup of wine without spilling over half of it.  

I rolled my eyes at him, while taking another sip from my cup. Amateurs. Can’t even hold their liquid well.  

Here is a secret: I can’t really get drunk. Sure, sometimes I do feel the room spinning a bit when I stand up too fast after a drink, but usually after a glass water I am all sobered up and ready for more drinks. I have never had a hungover in my life, and never been wasted to the point of black-out drunk. I could never figure out what it was that way just assumed it had a very very very high alcohol tolerance, until I came to this world and learned a thing or two about my ancestors and some weird hidden powers locked away in my DNA.  

Ah well, stories for another time.  

With your head resting on my lap, it meant that I was stuck at where I was sitting. I knew from sharing a sleeping space with you that once you have decided to cling onto something (me), that meant getting out of your clutches was nigh impossible and I had to held onto my pee until you were awake before dashing for the loo. In this particular moment, I wouldn’t even be able to push your head off my lap. It was there to stay until you decided to wake up and take us home.  

At the eighth drink, Shen Monkey has decided that he liked having a functional liver and also retired for the night, leaving only me and you, the few empty gourds that need to be cleaned away and the dying fire. I bid him goodnight and watched him disappear into the night, and then took a deep breath to mentally prepare myself for the next task at hand.  

Waking the Great Sage up.  

I knew from past experience that sometimes waking you up was not a good idea. During our travels, it would trigger your fight and flight mode, and I have found myself enough times staring at the end of your staff, thinking that this was it, this is how I’m going to die and dammit I didn’t even get to see Taylor Swift live.  

“Alright mate, time to wake up.” I said, lightly scratching the fur under your chin. No reaction, you just kept snoring lightly.  

Then I patted your cheek few times. 

Still nothing, the most I got is a nose scrunch from you. I tried moving my thigh up, but your head was like heavy rock, keeping my thigh locked in spot. As much as I love the Zodiac Village and desperately wanted to live out my cottage core dream here, sleeping under the open sky with no blankets and pillows was not something I wanted to again for the next few years at least.  

Sighing, I propped up one arm on my free thigh and rested my chin on it, while I used my other hand to continue gently scratching the fur on your face. Your fur is very soft, it was almost like giving a cat the scratches. Stinky as you can be sometimes (not literally), you always put a lot of time into making sure that your fur was well kept and combed through and not tangled up. It certainly was a lot more care than I put into my own hair.   

My eyes swept over your face, illuminated softly by the dying fire light. A memory flashed before my eyes. The same face but smeared in dirt and dust and the fur around it was matt and sticking in clumps together in dire need of a good scrub and wash Your brown eyes still shone brightly and your canine teeth flashing from grinning while listening to a lonely six years old girl telling you about Alice Adventure in Wonderland and how she is Alice and the monkey stuck under the mountain was her rabbit and-  

Your body twitched and for a second, I hoped that you were waking up and we can finally go home, but then you rolled you head briefly to the side, which also gave me better access to scratching your fur there. And the snoring continued.  

I stopped what I was doing to ghost my fingers over your eyebrows that for once were not stuck in a permanent state of focus and scrunched together. You looked like you were at peace; this is where you are meant to be and you’d rather be here than anywhere else. And then my fingers hovered over your mouth. You didn’t have lips like humans do – and that made me even more curious about what it would if our lips brushed against each other, or what it would feel like to have your canine teeth lightly biting down on my lower lips. 

Maybe, just maybe in that moment the wine did get into my head. I found myself slowly lowering my head and moving it closer and closer to your face, until my lips almost touc- 

In a quick practiced movement, your hand grabbed mine and flipped me over. The word spun and everything was a blur and then I felt the cold hard grass on my back, a thigh pressed lightly between my legs and both of my hands being held down by a pair of strong hands – your hands. 

You were hovering over me, looking very smugly down on me, as your tail moved to wrap around my leg. The red flush was still very visibly on your face, and your eyes not entirely focused – meaning you have not slept off the alcohol yet. But clearly you were not drunk enough to not notice what was going on, or what I about to do. 

“Taking advantage of defenseless Old Sun now, are you?” You teased. You didn’t seem annoyed though. In fact, it seemed like you were quite happy with knowing what was about to occur.  

At this point, I felt how my face was glowing bright red – because I almost got caught, because I didn’t fully comprehend what I was about to do until you flipped me over, because of the compromising position we are in, and because this position was also giving a full glorious view onto your fur-covered chest.  

I may be not drunk, but I am drunk on my current view.  

“Defenseless is the last word I would use to describe you.” I shot back, trying play it off cool and tugged on my pinned down wrists a few times. Of course they didn’t even budge an inch, proving that you are the one with the upper hand here. Your grin widened, flashing your canine teeth at me.  

If my heart literally jumps out of my chest now and runs away because it couldn’t handle the slightly feral glim in your eyes, you’re getting me a replacement heart.  

“So what was my little yīnghuā about to do, hm?” You asked, running your tongue over your pointy teeth as you leaned down closer to my face, your tail also sliding up my thigh further along with your body movement.  

The whole universe knew that Sun Wukong has an ego the size of a black hole, ready to suck in anything that vaguely resembled a compliment and there was no way in hell I was going to feed it more, or give you the satisfaction of knowing that I was about to kiss you your dumb face.  

Admittedly, it was also a matter of pride to me. This stupid crush I have on you is killing my last braincells, and I really hated how it made me feel sometimes. The constant back and forth feeling of yearning to be just close to you but also wanting to push you as far away as possible. My unhealthy coping mechanism of having a crush on someone is to bury those feelings as deep as I can, and if they threaten to bubble up again, shove more dirt on top of it to push it even further down. I would eat a durian than confessing to anyone that I may or may not have inappropriate thoughts about them that includes as holding hands.  

At this point, all of the three realms knew that your feelings towards me were not entirely platonic – not that you were trying to hide in the first place. You were never shy about your own feelings. If you were angry at something, you made it known by reaching out to your ear to get your Jīngū Bàng out. If you found something funny, you would often be seen laughing out loud, sometimes to the point where you were clutching your stomach and doubling over. As the Destined One, you made your jealousy known by standing really close to me and glaring at whoever was trying to cozy up to me; sometimes you’d just out your arms around my waist and rest your head on top of me and holding me like that (although since you became Sun Wukong, I noticed that streak of possessiveness has mellowed out a lot).  

You never outright said that you have romantic feelings for me, but I’ve had my fair share of wild phases in my student days, and at some point, your gut just learns to pick up on those things. Additionally, a lot of the people we have met, including uncle Bajie, make tons of teasing remarks that are not very hard to miss, and you never. 

Unfortunately for you, I have what people call these days a wee bit of a commitment-and abandonment issue. So many what if’s running through my head. What if for some reason I was wrong, and you were always this flirty with anyone. What if after a while you find out I am not that great at all and lose interest? What if you meet an immortal that is everything that I am not, and a much better match for you? I’m used to people leaving, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less when it happens again. What if, what if, what if.  

I’ve been meaning to go to therapy for some time now, but finding an appointment takes ages, and now that I’m stuck in Ancient China, that search has been put down to the very bottom of my priority list. And my final goal still remains to find a way back home to my own time and world. You promised me you would help me with that.  

If I never admit that I have feelings for you, then it means they are not real – that was my childish excuse. If I close my eyes, you can’t find me.  

Instead of answering your question, I turned my head away, to look at anything but your face. You didn’t like that, and swiftly I felt how you move my arms from my side to above me, shifting from being pinned down by both of your hands to one. With your free hand, you grabbed my chin and gently turned my face to be facing you again. 

Your brown eyes seemed more focused now, but your face was still flushed red (the asian flush from drinking?). I could faintly smell the alcohol from your breath, with a peachy undertone. It’s a very addicting smell, which also seems to be clinging to me whenever you decide to be physically clingy again (which is like 75% of the time).  

In a last-ditch attempt to escape your clutches just to avoid having to answer your question, I kicked up my leg that was trapped between your legs. Low move, I know. As expected, you saw it coming and immediately trapped my leg between yours, preventing it from ever kicking your balls.  

“Oh, come on!” I shouted. Your nose scrunched up in laughter at my feeble escape attempt.  

And in an instant the atmosphere between us shifted and you stared at my intensely. You moved your hand from my chin to caressing my cheek, your sharp fingernails carefully gracing the skin. My hair was tussled up from being suddenly flipped over and spilled all over the place. Your fingers grabbed few strands from my face and tucked them aside, behind my ears, and then your hand stayed there, playing with my two helix piercings.  

At this point, you must have been able to hear how hard my heart was hammering against my chest.  

Then I saw how your eyes flickered down to my slightly parted lips, your gaze turning hungry. With half-lidded eyes, you began to lower your head again and this time, I didn’t struggle against your hold. A big part of me wanted what was coming next to happen.  

Your hot breath was against my face, I tried to take slow breaths to calm my beating heart down.  

The smell of alcohol became more intense, muddling my thoughts more.  

I closed my eyes, waiting for your lips to brush against mine. How would it feel if we kissed? I have never kissed an anthromorphic monkey before – how would it even feel like if we were to make out? 

FAAFO. 

Fuck around and find out it is.  

The kiss never came.  

Instead, I felt your lips lightly brushing the corner of my own lips, sliding down from the side of my face and your head was then lying there next to me, snoring again.  

The grip you had on my two hands also slackened, your whole body coming down to lay on top of mine, pinning me down.  

You... passed out again. 

I used my free hands to push you off of me, but of course you didn’t even budge and inch.  

I let out a shaky long sigh, part of me glad that nothing happened in the end because you were drunk after all; another part of me felt this immense disappointment that well, nothing happened.  

Looks like it is going to be another night out in the open.  

The fire finally died out. I moved one hand to put it on top of your head and gave you head scratches. In response you nuzzled your face into my neck, still snoring away.  

Slowly, as my eyes got adjusted to the dark, I then spotted a figure up in the trees not too far away from our drinking spot. It was the Shen monkey, who decided a drunk sleeping on a tree branch was the best way to cure a hungover. Only he wasn’t asleep, and judging by that shit-eating grin he has, he saw everything that happened. 

With my luck, by the next time I visit the Zodiac Village, every villager will know about the drunk almost-kiss.  

I decided that this was for future-me to deal with, and closed my eyes to finally get some sleep. Maybe you will not remember anything by tomorrow and we can both pretend that this never happened.  

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

I keep a bottle of rice wine at my apartment. Sometimes, when I’m feeling homesick, I pour two cups – one for you, and one for me. I would drink my cup down in one go, thinking about the evenings when it was just you and me and some good alcoholic beverages, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. 

I miss seeing the red flush on your face and your cocky smile whenever you noticed me staring at you for too long. The red flush looked good on your face.  

Your cup always remains untouched.  

Chapter notes:

干杯 gānbēi - is what you say when toasting your drinks, literally means dry cup 桜花 yīnghuā - cherry blossom. It's Sun Wukong's nickname for Oz, because she has pink hair. Also everyone uses peaches as a nickname and I wanted something different LMFAO #notlikeothergirls

Eye contact or seven years of bad luck (even bad sex) - toasting tradition in Germany. You're supposed to be looking at the other person when toasting, not your glass but when you tell someone to keep eye contact you usually just end up creepily staring at each other xD

And no, Oz cannot get drunk - which I will proooobably explain in another chapter, if not I will definitely write up post on my tumblr about it. Still hashing out some of her backstory details.

[plaguedocboi]

How are Lavender and Sage doing? (Also how did you come up with those names?)

Lavender is doing very well, she’s a zesty little girl who wants to eat me.

Sage is a toothless, underweight old man with chronic eye infections that I took to the vet last week and the vet was like Yeah we’re just gonna give you a bunch of refills on his meds and you need to medicate him indefinitely. But that’s pretty par for the course, Sage has had more health problems than any other pet I’ve ever owned and I’ve just accepted that he’s probably never going to be healthy.

Sage was already named when I got him (I got him when he was four and I’m his fourth owner) and when I got Lavender and her late brother, I decided to continue the plant theme and name them Lavender and Sesame Sid. My little herb bois.

[detentiontrack]

hi there, hope you're doing well! do you have any survival tips for freshmen starting their first semester at college? thanks!

Hello! Yes I do! Up until this Tuesday, all of my experience has been at a community college, but I have some universal advice!

Sage's supercool freshman survival guide:

You don't need expensive and a wide variety of school supplies. Here is a list of what you need:

A notebook for each class

A good pack of pens (i like gel pens)

A pack of pencils (+ sharpener) or mechanical pencils

Either colored pens, thin tip markers, or highlighters for notes

Ruler and calculator if you are taking math/science classes

A binder or folder for loose papers

GRAPH PAPER. Even just a pack of loose graph paper. It sucks when you need it and don't have it

2. it's better to take notes on paper vs on a computer unless you have some sort of reason (like dyslexia, visual impairment, or other physical disability etc) Taking paper notes forces your brain to pay attention better, and you can reference them easier than if you take them on a computer. (plus a lot of professors don't allow laptops in lectures unless you have an accommodation with the school)

3. GET A PLANNER! A PHYSICAL ONE!!!! Online calendars and planners are okay, but it is MUCH easier to forget assignments if they're out of sight. Get a paper planner, fill it out each week so you know what you're doing, and keep it opened on the current week somewhere you can see it. I personally like the planners intended for teachers because it divides the days up with individual subjects! This is the one I got for this school year

4. Get a giant ass water bottle. If you are going from class to class, you most likely won't have time to refill your water bottle. Get a huge one, fill it up at home or at your dorm or whatever, and carry it with you. I promise you it is worth adding an extra thing to carry (mine is a 1/2 gallon)

5. No one at college cares about stuff like in high school. No one cares what you're wearing or how you're doing your hair. In fact, individuality is ENCOURAGED. Wear bright colorful makeup or weird earrings. Do what makes you happy.

6. Pack yourself lunches and snacks that you can easily stuff in your face while walking to your next class. I'm a big fan of protein shakes and granola bars.

7. Ask questions! No one will think you're annoying for asking "too many" questions. It's better to over ask than under ask and not understand the topic. Chances are, at least one other person in the room has the same question as you.

8. Similar to number 7, most professors will gladly go back and explain a topic again or in a different way! Just politely and respectfully ask for them to briefly go over it again, or define a word you don't understand.

9. Unlike high school, most professors don't care, and will actually get annoyed if you interrupt their lesson to ask to go to the bathroom or take a phone call or even leave class early. Unless they explicitly say you can't leave (like during a test) you can just walk out, no questions asked.

10. Do every extra credit assignment you can. Even if you have a good grade in the class. You never know when you'll forget an assignment or lose points for something small. It's good to have backup.

11. Just like in a good relationship, communication with professors is everything.

12. Make connections with people in your classes. You don't have to be besties, but introduce yourself to a few people in class, make small talk, and get their phone numbers. That way you can discuss assignments or get notes if you miss a class.

13. DO NOT slack on first week assignments. Most professors WILL drop you if you A. Don't attend the first week of classes and/or B. Don't turn in the first few assignments.

14. Register for classes as soon as you possibly can. Like if your group is able to register at 9am, be in front of your computer with the registration site open at 8:55am, just to be ready.

15. ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS CHECK RATEMYPROFESSOR BEFORE REGISTERING FOR CLASSES!!! NEVER IN YOUR LIFE REGISTER WITHOUT CHECKING. IF YOU ARE LATE TO REGISTER AND A GENERAL EDUCATION CLASS AT THE PERFECT TIME SLOT IS COMPLETLEY OPEN, IT IS FOR A FUCKING REASON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Rate my professor is really accurate because people are able to submit honest reviews anonymously after the class is over. If someone says the teacher is a hard ass who is flakey and assigns a lot of reading, BELIEVE IT. Ideally you want a professor that has above a 3.5/5 rating.

16. There is no shame in needing accommodations for a disability, and getting accommodations in college is a lot easier than in k-12 school. You just need to make a request and submit proof of disability, and you'll meet with someone to give you accommodations.

17. DO NOT buy textbooks until the first week of class is over. This is for 2 reasons. 1. you might need to drop the class and 2. most professors will just give you a link to the textbook for free or post individual chapters every week. There is no point in spending $200 for a textbook you might not even use.

18. I think at every college, you can drop a class with no consequences or anything on your record as long as you drop it within the first week or so (the exact time differs depending on the college, but it's always on their website)

19. Colleges very often have events with free food or free merch. Even if you have no interest in the event, a free hot dog is a free hot dog yk?

20. If you're a freshman, literally no one knows each other and everyone is worrying about making new friends. Literally everyone. Find someone who seems cool, compliment their outfit or say something about the class/the college, and boom. New friend.

21. If you have time, join a club! Colleges have clubs for EVERYTHING and it's an easy way to connect with people who have the same interests.

22. Before your first day of class, if you're neurotic like me, take time to think of a few things: 2 truths and a lie, 3 fun facts about yourself, your favorite __, etc. Just so you can be ready for icebreakers (I actually don't know if other people are as scared of first day icebreakers as me.... Every semester I prepare 2 truths and a lie and fun facts about me so I'm ready. Just in case. This just might be my specific flavor of autism though...)

23. Colleges are big, even community colleges. Make yourself a playlist and bring headphones for walking from class to class

24. Jumping off 23, when you're choosing your classes, pull up a map of your campus. Learn how long of a walk it is from building to building, so you can make sure you have enough time to walk to your next class. This goes double if you have a physical disability. I personally need some extra time so I can drink water and walk slowly.

25. Prioritize comfort over style. Most people by the third week will just be wearing tshirts/sweaters with jeans/sweatpants. There also usually isn't a super strict dress code at college. I had a girl in my astronomy class that exclusively wore bikini tops and booty shorts, and she never had any problems.

26. It's easy to tunnel vision and schedule your classes back to back, but try to give yourself at least one gap for lunch, to stretch, or to just hang out. I have 3 on campus classes this semester and my morning class ends at 11:45am and my second class doesn't start until 1:00pm. You're (most likely) an adult, close to an adult, or have adult responsibilities. One of those responsibilities is to take initiative to take care of yourself.

27. College professors, unless they're abnormally strict, literally don't care about anything, as long as your ass is in the chair and you're not being disruptive to others. Drinking water in class? Fine. Doodling on your notes? Fine. Doing homework for another class? Fine, as long as you look up like you're paying attention occasionally. I wrote amphibia fanfiction in my classes, and I had a girl in my public speaking class who literally brought yarn and a crochet hook and crocheted stuff in class.

28. OH that's another thing! Literally no one cares about your public speaking skills. In college, it is inevitable that you'll have to take one class with speeches. People aren't waiting for you to slip up to mock you. Most people are too focused on their own speeches. I took a public speaking class last year, and I genuinely could not tell you the topic of even ONE other student's speech. It is very likely that 90% of the people won't even be paying attention to your presentation because they're worrying about if they're next.

29. In group projects, be a bitch. I'm serious. DO NOT do all the work. If people in your group aren't moving, assign them their share of work. If they still don't participate, threaten to leave. If they still don't, ask the teacher to work alone. You NEED to stand up for yourself.

30. Most colleges have a lot of services for free (or included in tuition) you should use. The library is a great resource, I'm typing this on the laptop I rented for free from my school, and I believe my college has completely free STD checks and birth control options available through their health services.

31. Expand your horizons! In college, you get a LOT of options for electives and classes. Take the fun classes or a topic you've never heard of! I'm taking a philosophy of disability class this semester for my extra humanities credit.

32. Build a good relationship with your professors. It never hurts to go up to them before or after the first class and introduce yourself.

33. DO NOT leave things for the last minute. I like to write down all my assignments for the week in my planner, sorted by due date, color coded, and plan which assignments I'm going to do on what days.

34. Take advantage of professor's office hours, especially if it's a subject you're not strong in. Personally, I'm not the best at math, and the summer I took statistics for psych, I was at my professor's office hours every single Tuesday. Even if you think you understand the subject perfectly, you never know when you're making a mistake without realizing it. It can just be a less than 5 minute zoom visit of like "hey, this is my answer to question 5 and here's my work/process. Is this correct? Yes? Okay thanks see you in class"

35. Summer classes, especially in community colleges, are a great way to get extra credits and make it so you don't have such a heavy load during the regular school year. A lot of summer classes are online, so it's really easy to do at home. But.....

36. ...NEVER IN YOUR LIFE TAKE A SUBJECT YOU ARE NOT STRONG IN OR A SUBJECT WITH A LOT OF WORK IN A CONDENSED SUMMER CLASS. Summer classes are always more work per week because you have less time to go through the curriculum, so be sure it's a light class. I took my world religions class as an 8 week summer class and oh my god.... I am being 100% serious and not exaggerating when I say I had to read 500-750+ pages a week......... be careful

37. Make time for other things! Even if you're full time school and work, let yourself watch an episode of your favorite show after homework or during a break. Rest and recreation is important too.

38. Treat yourself! When I was a kid, my mom would let me and my brother pick out a little candy at the grocery store for a "friday treat" during the school year. I still do that. It can be as simple as buying a $2 chocolate bar or finally trying that bath bomb you got as a gift.

39. You are inevitably going to get a low grade on something. You're going to struggle with a subject or misunderstand an instruction. Not one single person has made it through all of college without getting anything less than a 100%. Ask for feedback from your professors. Don't beat yourself up.

40. You don't have to have a backpack. I use a green messenger bag with embroidered mushrooms on it :3

Hope this helps!

[augustinewrites]

before the start of each academic year, the akademiya hosts a welcome ceremony. back when alhaitham was a student, he really didn’t care to attend. there was no academic advantage to attending, and he didn’t care for the research opportunities he could glean from networking. 

his reasoning came more from contrarian deposition rather than moral conviction, and has not changed since. not when he was a student, not when he was a graduate student, not even when he became the scribe. it was simply because he’d gone once and it was, in his opinion, incredibly boring.

the two of you basking in the afterglow of post-coital bliss when you bring it up.

you’re tracing soft, nonsensical patterns across his chest, lulling him into a false sense of comfort. “so…about the welcome ball…”

“i am not going.”

“haitham,” you pout. “we have to go because we’re faculty. think of it as mandatory fun!” 

“you’re using an oxymoron,” he points out flatly.

“no, you’re the moron.” you giggle, reaching up to poke his cheek. “you’re also the grand sage.”

“acting grand sage,” he corrects, turning his head and biting playfully at your finger. “and as far as i’m concerned, attending social functions is not in my purview as the temporary replacement.”

the two of you have been going back and forth about this for the past week. but alhaitham, the former captain of the akademiya’s debate team, had beaten you at every turn. now you were delivering your final rebuttal, which was smartly planned to happen following your…ahem, illicit nighttime activities, when he was more pliable and susceptible to suggestion. 

“it may not be in the grand sage’s job description, but in your job description as a boyfriend? i declare that it’s mandatory.” 

“so this is a dictatorship, not a relationship. noted.” 

he laughs when you smack his shoulder. “if you don’t come, i’ll tell everyone you’re stuck at home due to uncontrollable bowel movements.” 

“and i’ll tell them it’s due to your poor culinary abilities,” he counters.  

you gasp loudly, clearly offended. “what if i tell them that the great haravatat alumnus, the akademiya scribe, and current acting grand sage alhaitham fell asleep reading a book?”

“what will you tell them i was reading? your thesis?”

you smack him in the face with your pillow this time, rolling over with a decisive hmph and taking the duvet with you in an act of petulant defiance. 

his face breaks into an easy grin, chuckling softly as he reaches out to curl an arm around your waist, pulling you close. he presses his lips to the top of your head. “i’m just teasing. if you want me to go, i’ll go. you don’t have to blackmail me.” 

“you don’t have to,” you hum. “ i’ll just go with general mahamatra cyno. he’s probably a much better date than you anyway. he’ll hold my hand and refill my drink. i bet he’s a better dancer than you are too.” 

“i suppose i’ll just have to prove you wrong then.” 

_____

the welcome ball is…tolerable at your side. alhaitham may be the acting grand sage, but sumeru’s international relations would certainly suffer if he was left to his own devices when it came to navigating small talk. 

he’d been in the role long enough to learn not to outright insult other dignitaries, but he was always quick to point out what could be improved or what wasn’t working with little discretion. 

that’s where you come in. you’ve always been inclined to politeness, effortlessly easing yourself into conversations and saving him. he appreciates it, even when he has to watch lord kamisato of inazuma’s tri-commission kiss the back of your hand with the utmost reverence.

perhaps it's his jealousy that prompts him to ask you to dance. or perhaps it’s because if alhaitham had to choose between making a fool out of himself and proving you wrong, or maintaining his dignity and proving you right, he’d choose victory nine times out of ten. 

(he’s quickly realizing that he should have let this be the tenth.) 

the room that was much too hot and crowded came alive with movement as the quartet began the smooth notes of a waltz. 

he’d read up on the basics the night before, studying the correct steps and positions and commiting them to memory. he considered himself well enough informed that he didn’t take kaveh’s offer of a dance lesson. more time on contemplation, less on execution, right?

wrong. he still steps on your toes and dips you on the wrong beats. 

but you, with your starry optimist eyes and unending patience for him, don’t let go of his hand, telling him you’re not going to let him leave until he’s given you a proper dance. 

reminding him with a teasing grin that this is a dictatorship, after all.

[nekohime19]

Mini Mac # 22 : Monkey vs dragon

They meet Ao Lie and go on with the journey!

Macaque was curled up inside Wukong's heart-pocket, the golden-furred monkey called it like that because he sewed it right on top of his heart. The sage's heartbeat was the sweetest of lullabies, Macaque often than not found himself soothed by it. The pocket was comfortable, soft and warm, Macaque wouldn't mind spending the entire journey cuddled up there. Nonetheless, the black-furred monkey woke up when he smelled fruits, he stretched and straightened himself, his head perking from the pocket. Wukong patted his head affectionately the moment he saw him.

“Hey there, sleepy head. Here.” Wukong gave him some pieces of plums which Macaque nibbled on it. As he ate his fruits the black-furred monkey noticed how the sage was glaring at the monk, his eyes boring holes in the kid's back.

“You're still angry.” Mumbled Macaque.

“Of course I am! I protected him from thieves and he put this cursed circlet on my head!” Huffed Wukong, one of his claws flicked the golden headband tightly circling his head.

“... The headache sounded painful.” Whispered Macaque, he left Wukong's pocket and climbed him until he sat on top of his head. Then he saw how the flesh under the circlet was swollen and sighed, he began to apply a balm around the circlet to ease Wukong's pain. The sage sighed in relief and relaxed ever so slightly.

“It was.” Pouted Wukong, he crossed his arms, tail flicking in irritation.

“Let me talk to the kid, okay? I'll try to solve this.”

“Is there even something to talk about?” Grumbled Wukong.

“If we have to journey together, shouldn't we at least try to get along?” Replied Macaque, he took some strands of Wukong's fur and began to braid them by habit, Wukong's tail flicked happily and he let Macaque do as he pleased.

They walked until they came across a stream, Wukong called it the Eagle Grief Stream. They settled on the bank of the river, Macaque climbed down Wukong and took some of his vials to refill them with water. But the moment Macaque tried to touch the stream rippling surface a white dragon emerged from its depths. The golden-furred monkey threw away the luggages he was carrying and violently snatched Sanzang off his horse; he then carefully picked Macaque with his tail and ran behind nearby boddlers as the dragon gobbled up their horse.

“Master” Said Wukong with a hint of sarcasm, disliking calling someone master. “The dragon ate our horse.”

“W-what? But how can I travel West without a horse?? Are you sure it just didn't run away in fright?” Nervously asked Sanzang as he clutched his staff. “I'll never make it!” He whined.

“I have you know I have golden vision, you namby-pampy-”

“Wukong has great eyes, kiddo. He can see far and wide, he would know if the horse ran away.” Replied Macaque, cutting Wukong before he could say something harsher.

“... I'll just check for the dragon and try to get our horse back.” Sighed Wukong, he then looked at Macaque and groaned in frustration. “I'm sorry I yelled, Master.”

“Oh…I-it's okay. But you'll leave me? What if I'm attacked or a demon comes by or the dragon returns?”

“I'll stay with you.” Sighed Macaque as he pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Sun Wukong lingered a bit before kindly patting Macaque's on the head and jumping out of the boulders, staff in hands, ready to battle the dragon.

“He's really kind to you.” Observed Sanzang.

“Are you afraid of him, kiddo?” Sanzang flinched and averted his eyes. “Look, I understand him killing those thieves frightened you but the circlet business? That's not gonna solve anything. I'm quite angry at you for this actually.” Explained Macaque with narrowed eyes.

“But…how can I teach him Buddhism? He's… I can't control him. And Guanyin gave it to me…”

“How about I talk to Wukong about it? But you have to promise to not use the circlet again.” Compromised Macaque, he sat on the kid's knees, looked up at him and extended one of his lil paws. Sanzang stared at him for a bit before shaking Macaque lil paws with one of his fingers.

“I'll try, Mister Fairy.” Sighed Sanzang.

“I told you to not call me that.” Groaned Macaque as he threw his head back.

“But you really are like a fairy.” Mumbled Sanzang with a small smile.

Wukong returned shortly after, wet and frustrated, with someone new on his toe and Guanyin behind him.

“Bodhisattva!” Exclaimed Sanzang as he straightened himself.

“Fear not, Tang monk. The local spirits informed me of what was going on at Wukong's demand. I'm here to inform you the dragon is named Ao Lie, he was sentenced to death by the Jade Emperor for setting his father's palace on fire and will be redeemed if he accompanies you on your journey.” Then with a flick of the wrist Guanyin transformed the dragon into a pearl-white horse. Wukong was sulking, for some reason, and glaring at the bodhisattva every now and then. Guanyin paid him no mind and even gifted him three magic-imbued hair to help him on the journey. The sage mood was a bit better after receiving his gift. As Guanyin left on her auspicious cloud Ao Lie turned back in his human form and smiled at Sanzang.

“Hi! I am Ao Lie, pleasure to meet you.” Excitedly greeted Ao Lie, then his gaze fell on Macaque and his eyes widened in curiosity. He carefully grabbed Macaque and lifted him to his face to take a better look. “I never saw someone like you before.”

“I'm Macaque.” Nervously waved the black-furred monkey, he was lifted by the scruff of his neck before he could say more and held protectively in a very familiar pair of palms.

“Don't lift him like that.” Mumbled Wukong as he held Macaque close to his chest.

Macaque just hoped this new addition wouldn't bring any more chaos already.

+ cut scenes

Guanyin : Wukong why did you attack the dragon I hired him to go with you all on the journey? 🤨

Wukong : he attacked first! 😠

Ao Lie : omg you guys are the pilgrims? Sorry I ate your horse 🙏

Wukong : Does that mean I can't fight the dragon? 🥺

Guanyin : no 😑

Wukong : sad monkey noises 🥺

Wukong : Okay, the fight was kinda fun, maybe I can get along with this guy? 🤔

Wukong *see Ao Lie pick up Macaque* : this is war 😠

Ch1 / Previous / Next

[shintaru]

Signature scent | cologne WB characters wear pt.1

pt.2, pt.3, pt.4

m.list ♡ taglist Dom Kang ~

Acqua Di Gio Giorgio Armani

Fragrance Family:

Woody Aromatic Aquatic

Key Notes:

Marine Notes, Green Mandarin

Sage, Lavendin, Geranium

Vetiver, Patchouli

Fragrance Description: Acqua di Giò Eau de Parfum is a long-lasting cologne for men where marine notes blend with mandarin, sage, vetiver, and patchouli. This men’s fragrance is captured in a refillable bottle and is perfect for lovers of the classic Acqua di Giò olfaction who seek something more intense and long-lasting.

About the Fragrance: Giorgio Armani Acqua di Giò Eau de Parfum is a men’s cologne for the future that is a statement of sustainability focusing on four key pillars: eco-conception of the cologne bottle, refill ability in all sizes, natural and sustainably sourced ingredients, and forest preservation programs in Guatemala.

I smelled this at Sephora it smells like “hot rich daddy that I’d like to fuck” Jay Jo ~

Acqua di Giò Profondo Fragrance Family

Fougere Aromatic Aquatic

Key Notes

Marine Notes

Cypress, Musk

Rosemary, Lavender

About the Fragrance: Profondo explores a different dimension of Acqua di Giò's origins: the deep sea. It has a long-lasting, mysterious trail. I smelled this one at Sephora unfortunately I don’t remember the exact smell but everything I smelled from this brand smelled so good! Minu ~

TOM FORD VANILLA SEXStyle: Warm, spicy, amber. Notes: Vanilla Tincture India, vanilla absolute, sandalwood essence.

Fragrance Description: Vanilla Tincture India, an ingredient created specifically for Vanilla Sex, exudes a soft sensuality. Vanilla reveals a pristine glamour, warmed by mysterious florals and bitter almond essence. A timeless sandalwood quality mingles with enticing tonka absolute and an exquisite Ultravanil™ molecule. 

About the Fragrance: Addictive by nature and glamorous by design, a captivating interplay of deep and bright vanilla notes stars in Vanilla Sex. It’s an unforgettable experience and an icon of sensual pleasure that’s far from innocent. 

Never smelled this one, but I love the scent of vanilla. Every Tom Ford cologne that I’ve smelly has always smelled good. I love vanilla, so I have a feeling Minu would smell like vanilla Vinny ~

it depends on which crew he is with. if he is with humming bird he would smell like a mix of Dom, Jay, and Minu’s cologne due to them sleeping over so much. Dom & (Jay acqu di go, minu vanilla sex) if it’s sabbath crew then he would smell like Wooin. Wooin ~

Dior Sauvage (it autocorrected to sausage at first, just thought y'all should know)

Fragrance Family

Citrus & Woods

Key Notes

Bergamot

Vanilla

Nutmeg

Fragrance Description: This cologne is a sensual composition of spicy Calabrian bergamot, nutmeg, and vanilla absolute for a smoky accent. Inspired by the magic hour of twilight in the desert.

About the Fragrance: "I didn't create Eau de Parfum Sauvage by working on power. Its signature is already very identifiable. It was not a matter of exaggerating or saturating the composition. I was striving more to enrich each of the dominant notes to give it a new color."—François Demachy, Dior Perfumer-Creator

I smelled this one at the mall it’s strong ASF but it smells good. You could smell it from a mile away no joke 😭😭 Joker ~

Like Vinny, Joker would smell like Wooin (Dior savage) I don’t see him buying cologne since he works to take care of his brothers but I feel Wooin refuses to go around with him smelling like sweat from fights or just like their shampoo and body wash so he would let him use his cologne.

Dedicated to @cozyunderworld @samuelseowife @inosukehana @ankita607