#so yeah i think a rule of thumb is to compare yourself to some guy who has copious amounts of self confidence that he most likely stole

[yeet-the-dead-gay-corpse]

Not gonna lie I hate how it's so normalised to not have a high self esteem. It's like you're stuck in a death loop of low self esteem and how you think you're unlikeable but then you end up projecting parts of yourself that you supposedly hate other people because "how dare they think they're better than everyone" even though they most likely don't think they're better than everyone but just feel good about themselves.

Feeling good about yourself is such an anomaly to yourself that it becomes an anomaly to see in people other than yourself and it makes you uncomfortable.

And staying in a loop of low self esteem feels like a safe space because that's all you've ever known and possibly been allowed to be, whether by others or yourself out of fear.

It doesn't take much to hate yourself for whatever reason, but it takes a lot of effort to consciously break out of the loop and keep trying to feel alright about yourself. Especially if your brain is so intent on holding a bucket of ice over your head every time you seem to make a mistake. After a while you're gonna get bored of being tired and miserable.

[outercrasis]

Maybe It’s A Sign

Pairing: Modern!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 9.3k+

Warnings: alcohol, implied age difference, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, p-in-v sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming

Summary:  You and Mando have been driving across America together for months. You're happy to be with him but part of you longs for something more.

A/N: I don’t really know the time period for this, probably like anything pre-2010s. There’s no use of y/n and let me know if I missed a warning :)

Read it on AO3

The breeze from the open truck window is cool against your heated skin. It's your only relief as the sun beats down on you through the windshield, the busted A/C offering no help. You're headed down some freeway in the middle of nowhere America, riding shotgun in an old beat-up truck that's seen better days.

You've been keeping your eyes on the flat landscape surrounding you, watching as field after field passes you by. They really weren't joking when they'd named them the Great Plains. Music filters through the air, some classic rock song you've heard a thousand times before. You still hum along mindlessly, enjoying the small amount of entertainment.

Bored of the vast sameness outside your window, your eyes drift over to your companion, driver, and owner of the truck. Mando. You study him, finding him far more interesting than the fields outside.

His worn baseball cap has been pushed up, presumably from scratching his scalp underneath and not bothering to fix it. Soft brown curls peek out around the edges of the hat. He has his sunglasses on and his eyes are firmly fixed on the road ahead, as they should be. The patchy scruff along his jawline has grown out a bit from your recent days on the road and you can see a few gray hairs mixed in with his darker natural color.

He shrugged off his jacket earlier in the day, leaving him in a worn gray t-shirt that hugged his lean muscles all just right. His faded blue jeans are on and you wonder how he can stand to wear them in the oppressive summer heat. You gave into shorts days ago.

All in all, he was a far better sight than anything outside the truck. As you look him over, you muse how everything he owns seems to be worn in. His rusty truck, his old hat, his distressed clothes. They all carry a sense of being lived in, nothing new and shiny on him. Well, except for his jewelry. His silver necklace and rings always shine brightly, a dramatic contrast to the rest of him.

"Stop staring," Mando suddenly says, breaking you from your observation of him. You're a little embarrassed to have been caught, but you aren't going to let him know that.

"Why? Nothin' else to look at around here."

That rewards you with a chuckle. At least he isn't irritated by your staring then.

"Don't you have a book or something?" 

You look over at the book you had thrown on the dashboard. A used copy of Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger that you picked up a couple states back. You aren't sure you like Holden, but it's a good read at least. "Yeah, but I can't read it for long before I start feeling sick. So I guess I'll just have to look at you instead."

"Sure that I won't make you sick?" Mando teases.

You smile. He's in a good mood today. There are days where conversation with him is like pulling teeth, but it makes days like today all the more worth it. 

"Nah, you aren't so hard on the eyes." You say it cool and casual, genuine but not needy. As though you don't often think of his looks when you have the time and privacy to satisfy your needs.

Mando shakes his head slightly but you can see the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Sure, sweetheart."

He never seems to believe you when you compliment his appearance. It breaks your heart a little. Sure, he has some years on you, but you aren't blind. You know a good-looking man when you see one and Mando? He was it. If the man wasn't oblivious, he'd notice the looks plenty of women and some men throw him when he strolls into town.

Not sure of what to say next, but not wanting the conversation to end, you take to a habit that's been slowly forming over your months with him. It had begun out of boredom one day, but continued due to a desperate urge to learn anything and everything your mysterious companion will tell you about himself.

"When's your birthday?"

Mando isn't surprised anymore by your random questions. "May eighteenth."

Your eyes go wide at his answer. It was July now, meaning he'd let the day come and go without telling you. You had just assumed his birthday hadn't come around with you yet. "Mando! Why didn't you tell me? I would have at least said something if I had known."

He shrugs. "Birthdays aren't a big deal where I grew up."

"Were you raised Jehovah's Witness or something?" you ask.

"No, nothing like that." His fingers drum slightly on the steering wheel. You noticed a while ago that he did that when you got close to something he didn't want to talk about. His childhood always seems to be a touchy subject.

You want to know more, want to learn all of his secrets, but you don't want to jeopardize his good mood. Mando had shared bits and pieces of those more intimate details with you over your shared months with him, but always on his own time. His own terms. You won't push it now. Instead, you pivot to something more innocuous.

"If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be?" 

You're surprised when he barely takes any time to consider the question before answering. "Tacos."

You raise an eyebrow. "Tacos? I took you for more of a burger and fries kind of guy."

"Nothing compares to a good authentic taco from down by the border." He says it with such confidence that you can do nothing other than believe him.

"I wouldn't know," you say.

Mando cocks an eyebrow at you now. "We'll have to fix that then."

A warm flush runs through your body at his words. You know he isn't looking to get rid of you, but hearing him make plans for the future with you, no matter how tentative, makes you happier than you care to admit. Small promises that you know he'll make good on eventually given the time and opportunity.

"What about you?" he asks.

"Easy. A full breakfast. Eggs, bacon, potatoes, and toast. Doesn't matter how they're cooked or the specific options, you can't go wrong."

You stretch yourself out in the cab as you answer, throwing your feet up on the dash. Your eyes close for a moment and you miss the way Mando's eyes rake over your extended frame.

"You're never awake for breakfast," Mando comments. He's right. You enjoy your sleep and when left to your own devices you easily dream through breakfast hours.

"That doesn't matter," you retort. "Breakfast food isn't only good in the morning."

You continue that way for a while, gathering small bits of information about him and sharing your own in return. You learn that he prefers hot weather over the cold, soft pillows over firm ones, showers over baths, and most surprisingly that he has a soft spot for musicals. That fact had made you giggle, imagining Mando singing along to The Music of the Night. With all of his mystery, he wouldn't make for a bad Phantom you think.

As the afternoon wears on, you can feel yourself growing tired. Between the warmth of the sun, the lulling rumble of the truck, and the comfortable environment of the cab, you're fighting to keep your eyes open. Mando notices your struggle and reaches a hand out towards you.

You aren't really sure when this began, but you aren't complaining about it. Mando would hold your hand whenever you fell asleep in the truck, thumb gently rubbing against your skin. His hands were rough, callused from years of work, but they felt nice. They felt strong, comforting. In those moments nothing else in the world mattered. And if you thought about his hands later, touching places other than your hands, then that was your business and no one else’s. 

You wake up a couple hours later, Mando calling your name to pull you from your sleep. The sun has moved down in the sky and you guess it’s somewhere close to five o’clock. You’d check the time on the radio, but Mando never seemed to bother keeping it right due to regularly changing time zones with all the cross country traveling. 

You’re sitting outside of some 24 hour diner on a random roadside. Mando seems to be fond of these little dives, preferring them to any of the big chain restaurants you always pass. Fast food is the only exception to that rule and even that’s rare, these food stops often being one of few chances to stretch your legs when you’re on the road.

“What do you think? Do they have the best pie in America?” you joke, pointing at the sun-worn sign hanging below the restaurant’s name. You can’t count how many ‘best blank in America’ signs you’ve seen at this point. While you can’t credit their authenticity, it usually did mean there was something good waiting for you on the menu.

“I suppose we’ll have to be the judges of that,” Mando replies.

You tug on your socks and shoes that you pulled off earlier in the day and hop out of the truck. The easy conversation and warm nap have you in a great mood, one that makes you a little bolder than you might otherwise be. Walking into the diner, you grab onto Mando’s arm, smiling at him when he looks down at you in surprise. He doesn’t pull away from you though and your heart beats a little bit faster.

The diner has plenty of open seats and you seat yourselves, grabbing one of the booths. The stiff vinyl isn’t the most comfortable, but you can’t say you’re surprised. The place looks like it hasn’t been renovated in a decade. If the smell from the kitchen is anything to go off of though, the food will be just fine.

A waitress comes over to take your orders. She’s exactly what you would imagine a waitress to look like in a diner like this one. Slightly heavyset, a kind face, and a big smile to offer you. “Hi there, what can I get the two of you?” she asks.

“I’ll take a coke, ma’am,” Mando says. He seems oblivious to the flush on the waitress’s cheeks at his baritone. 

“I’ll take a coke too.”

“I’ll be right back, folks.”

You reach over to grab a sticky menu from the end of the table. The stickiness grosses you out a little, but it really does add to the ambiance of the place. Your conversation from earlier drifting back into mind, you immediately look for the breakfast section. Perfect. Their ‘two eggs and more’ option is exactly what you were looking for.

The waitress returns with your drinks and takes your orders, Mando getting himself a burger and fries. You smirk at him, taking the wrapper off of your straw. “I thought you said you weren’t a burger and fries kind of guy?”

Mando watches as you carefully make a wrapper worm, dropping the smallest amount of soda on the paper to make it move. “I just said tacos were my favorite, never said I’m a guy who doesn’t enjoy a good burger and fries, sweetheart.”

“Fair enough,” you say with a shrug.

You fall into a comfortable silence together at the table. Silence isn’t an uncommon occurrence between the two of you. When you first joined Mando you talked all the time. Trying to fill up the empty space, feeling like if someone wasn’t talking then the situation was awkward. Slowly you learned though. The silence was never awkward until you made it that way and unless Mando had something to say, he’d stay quiet. He’s not incapable of conversation, he just doesn’t like to force it.

You softly hum a tune that’s been stuck in your head, looking out the diner window and enjoying the sunset. It’s a gorgeous one today, the sky looking like an oil painting with its gradient of colors. The flat plains allow for a good view of it too, only a small building in the distance blocking any part of the horizon. You kick yourself for not picking up that disposable camera at the gas station this morning. The photo would never do it justice, but at least that way you could have a small piece of the gorgeous sky to hold onto.

Plates being set down on the table brings you back down to earth. You happily dig into your meal, pleased to have been right about the quality of food here. Nothing could beat a good meal at a greasy diner. Mando seems to enjoy his burger as well, scarfing it down well before you finish your plate.

He always ate like that and you aren’t sure why. It’s as though he thinks if he doesn’t eat it fast enough then someone is going to come and steal it from him. Early on you’d tried to speed up your eating, feeling awkward every time he finished and was forced to wait on you. Now though, you don’t care. Mando rarely ever stops moving and a meal with you is a time you can be certain that he isn’t doing anything for once. You hope that eventually it might encourage him to actually enjoy his food as well, but that still seems a long way off.

Mando picks at his fries and sips at his coke while you finish up. The waitress comes by to refill the drinks, another flush on her cheeks when Mando thanks her. There must not be many attractive men who roll through here if a simple thanks has her blushing, you think. Poor lady, she seems quite nice.

“So, what’s the plan?” you ask Mando between bites of egg and toast.

“Plan?” 

“Yes, plan. We’ve been driving west for two days now and you seem to have some destination in mind. So, what’s the plan?” What plan, of course Mando has a plan. He always does. Was it always well thought out or complete? No, but there is never a time where he doesn’t have some sort of plan, some idea of where he’s off to next. You’re the one without plans, content with travelling alongside him.

Before Mando can reply, the waitress returns to the table and clears his now empty plate. “Can we get a slice of your pie?” Mando asks.

“Of course, what flavor would you like?” she replies.

“Whatever flavor you think is best, ma’am.” That garners yet another blush on the waitress’s cheeks. Wow. Things must be really bad around here then. One good-looking customer shouldn’t have that big of an impact on anyone, much less a woman who’s clearly made this job her life’s work.

She leaves and you prompt Mando again. “So? Plan?”

“I’m going to meet someone tonight, pick up a new job. Then we’ll go from there,” he finally tells you. 

You aren’t pleased by his half-cryptic half-telling answer. He’s always doing this to you, giving you answers but never quite the whole thing. You bet he already knows what the next job is, he’s just being coy about it for some ridiculous reason.

You decide not to push it and slide your plate over to Mando. There are some hash browns left and he won’t just ask for them despite the fact that you’re clearly done. He doesn’t say thanks, just picks up the fork and shovels them in. This by now is routine too so it doesn’t bother you, but it’s still odd. Mando is just weird about food.

He finishes the last of your meal and the waitress returns with the pie. “Blueberry, winner of the county festival five years running,” she tells you.

You grab a fork and dig in, suddenly finding the room in your stomach for dessert. Best pie in America might be a stretch, but you believe their claim to the best pie in the county. It’s delicious, eliciting a small but satisfied groan from you on the first bite. You go to take a second bite when you realize Mando hasn’t moved yet, he’s just watching you with an expression on his face that you can’t quite make out.

“Earth to Mando?” you say, waving your hand. “Try the pie, it’s delicious.”

He breaks from his stare and takes a piece of the pie. “‘S good,” he says around the mouthful.

You laugh at his terrible manners. “Gross, finish chewing before you talk.”

He doesn’t have a witty retort, but he gives you a grin that makes you feel like you’ve won a million dollars. It’s one of the ones that reaches his eyes, making them just shy of sparkling. Now you really wish you had bought that disposable camera.

Finishing the award-winning dessert, you and Mando go up to the counter to pay. He’s left a tip on the table, a sizable one in your opinion, but you aren’t going to say anything about it. Mando is always leaving big tips at places like these.

You take in the diner for one last moment, not paying attention to Mando’s conversation with the waitress until she says something that catches your ear.

“-shift ends in a half hour.” Did you hear that right? Was she really propositioning Mando right now? Christ, things must be downright desolate around here. 

Your heart stops as you wait to hear Mando’s reply. He could easily accept. She’s an attractive woman with that classic middle America charm about her. Any other man would probably take her up on the offer. Would it shatter your heart into a million pieces if Mando did? Most likely. But do you have any right to feel that way? Most likely not. 

Mando isn’t tied to you, at least not in that way, and he’s certainly still a man. You haven’t known him to chase after any women the whole time you’ve been with him, but surely he has needs and the waitress is beautiful and willing. You wouldn’t be able to fault him for it. 

“I’m flattered, but the lady here and I need to be getting back on the road,” Mando says, slinging an arm around your shoulders. You do your best to keep your face neutral, not wanting to come off as rude while also trying not to make it obvious the way your heart swoops at Mando’s reply. You know he doesn’t mean anything serious by it, but the implication is still very much there.

Embarrassment washes over the poor woman’s face. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I just assumed…” she trails off, not finishing her thought. You want to feel bad for her, but you can’t help but feel sorry for yourself.

You have a good idea of what she assumed. You’ve heard a multitude of mistaken relationships by now between you and Mando. Everything from some kind of family relation, to something more perverted that’s assumed by greasy motel attendants who cast odd glances when you ask for a double instead of a single. It’s never any less uncomfortable.

 Mando brushes it off. “It’s fine ma’am, no harm, no foul.” The waitress doesn’t blush at his words anymore.

Bill paid, you and Mando leave the diner. His arm leaves you and you climb back into the truck. The radio flickers back to life and neither of you speak. You wish you could know what’s going on inside of his head. Probably just thinking about the next job. That seems like him, always focused on what’s coming next.

You can’t help but be consumed with thoughts of him. Situations like the one with the waitress always left you distracted. There’s no real way to describe your relationship with Mando. You had helped him with a deal and he had helped you with a way out of your one-horse town. Originally neither of you planned on staying together for this long, but at some point Mando stopped asking you where you wanted to go and you stopped asking if he was going to leave.

You’re comfortable around each other, content to drive across America while Mando picks up job after job. At some point your feelings deepened for him, you aren’t exactly sure when, but now you can’t imagine leaving Mando. It’s no longer just about the adventure of it for you. It’s something more, a deeper tie than you’ve ever had to anyone. However, you have no idea if he feels the same way and you don’t intend to find out. Better to love your mystery man from afar then reveal yourself and get left in the dust.

Fifteen minutes into the drive, Mando reaches over and turns down the radio. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable back there.”

You’re a bit surprised to hear an apology. After all, he had nothing to really apologize for. The waitress had come onto him, not the other way around. You know Mando isn’t the type to flat out refuse and insult someone like that. What he had done was… fine. You had hardly even considered it.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Mando,” you tell him. “If anything she did, propositioning you like that.”

A small, relieved smile works its way across his face. “It was quite bold.” 

That makes you laugh. “I’m not surprised, she was sizing you up since we walked in.”

“She was not,” Mando argues.

You shift in your seat to face him. “Are you kidding? You really didn’t notice her blushing every time you spoke to her?” If Mando was this oblivious maybe you didn’t need to worry about him catching onto you.

“Now you’re just lying, sweetheart.”

“Am not. You just don’t pay attention.”

Mando rolls his eyes and turns the radio back up. He mumbles something but you can’t make it out. You let it slide and allow yourself to relax. Your hand falls to the center of the bench seat as you look out the window. The stars are coming out now, another gorgeous sight in the vast expanse of the sky. So far away from the city, it feels like you can see every pinprick of light the universe has to offer. It’s a bit disorienting honestly. Nothing makes you feel smaller by comparison and yet, you don’t really mind.

You startle as something wraps around your hand. Looking down, you realize that it’s just Mando, holding your hand as he does when you’re close to falling asleep in the truck. You look up at him, confused. You aren’t anywhere close to nodding off. He should know that, so why…? 

Mando doesn’t look at you, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. His thumb softly rubs against the back of your hand. You relax into his touch, turning your eyes back to the stars. Confusion about Mando’s actions doesn’t compare to the way your stomach flips at his gentle touch. It feels nice, domestic almost, if one can consider a life lived out of the front seat of a rusted out pickup domestic. His hand doesn’t leave yours until he pulls into the pothole filled parking lot of some dive bar.

Mando parks and turns the truck off. You move to get out of the truck with him when he squeezes your hand to stop you.

“Stay in the truck,” Mando says. His hand leaves you and he opens his own door, jumping out onto the cracked asphalt. 

You look over at him, incredulous. “Excuse me? You know I am old enough to go in there, right?”

“I know. Stay in the truck.” Mando closes the truck door, giving you no more room to argue with him. It pisses you off. 

What is this? Soften you up by holding your hand only to leave you behind? You hate when he does this, treating you like a child that’s just tagging along with him. You suppose you are tagging along, which stings a bit more, but you could be helpful, useful even if he would just let you in. Instead he keeps you at arm’s length at times, treating you like you can’t take care of yourself. He has no right to boss you around like that, telling you where you can and can’t go.

You watch his figure enter the bar, temper rising. If this place was good enough for him, it was certainly good enough for you. A bar like this had been where you met Mando months ago, working as a bartender and server. It didn’t bring back the best of memories, but you can handle yourself. At worst a fight might break out or patrons might get a little handsy. You can avoid the first and as for the second, it’s not as though Mando would need to put someone in the hospital for getting a little too flirty with you.

After fuming in the truck for a couple minutes, you make up your mind. You look yourself over in the mirror, trying to fix your appearance to look like you hadn't just spent the last two days in a truck. Pleased with yourself, you pull your shirt down slightly to reveal a bit more cleavage. The discovery of the power a pair of tits held in dive bars was one you made a long time ago. You flip the mirror back up and get out of the truck.

You practice your walk as you approach the bar door, trying to keep it calm and confident. Mando is going to be pissed at you for this, you already know, but you refuse to be treated like a child. If coming in here without his permission is what it takes for him to view you differently, then so be it. Younger you might be, but incapable you are not.

The moment you walk in the door, you spot Mando. He’s in the corner, talking to someone with his back to the door. He doesn’t even notice as you walk in and stroll up to the bar.

The man behind the counter is old, his white shirt spotted with stains and a towel thrown over his shoulder. It’s almost too stereotypical a look and you want to laugh. The stiff look he gives you though stifles your amusement.

“What can I get you?” he asks gruffly as you take a seat at the bartop.

“I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks.” 

Whiskey is not your favorite drink. Not by a long shot. Really, you would have loved to order something fruity that you can’t taste the alcohol in, but whiskey is something you’ve learned to tolerate. You know that appearances matter in a place like this and a fruity drink would mark you as someone lost, not as someone who belongs here. You aren’t looking to get trashed anyway, just something to calm your nerves.

It doesn’t take long before someone is sidling up next to you at the bar. You don’t acknowledge him right away, instead staring up at the small CRT TV that’s playing the local news above the bar. Some murder case from a couple towns over is currently being highlighted. Lovely.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here?” he asks you.

You glance over at him, enough to get a look, but you don’t let your eyes linger. Lingering eyes would mean an invitation that you certainly don’t want to give. You have to admit, as far as seedy dive bar men went, he isn’t hard to look at. Not much older than you, clean shaven, bright blue eyes. Another time you might have gone for someone like him. Not now. These days your thoughts are only occupied by scruff, dark hair, and warm brown eyes.

“Came in for a drink,” you reply simply.

He leans in a bit closer. “Can I buy you another?”

You take a sip of your drink. “I think I’m alright, thanks.”

He pushes in even further, placing a hand on your thigh. This guy didn’t take no for an answer apparently. “Aw, come on now, don’t be that way sweetheart.”

Hearing him call you sweetheart makes you want to punch him more than him touching you does. It sounds wrong coming out of his mouth, harsh and manipulative, not the smooth and warm way Mando says it. For a moment, you do seriously consider punching this guy square in the jaw before deciding against it. You came in here to prove a point and not being able to handle a pushy guy would just prove the exact opposite of that.

You turn in your chair to move your thigh away from him. He has the decency to let his hand fall at least. “Don’t call me that,” you tell him.

“Alright then, what do I call you?”

You turn your attention back to the TV. Now they were highlighting a feel good story about an animal adoption from the nearby shelter. Odd shift in tone. You don’t reply to Blue-eyes and hope he gets the message. 

“Playing hard to get, that’s fine,” he says. You take another sip of your whiskey. The news shifts to the weather. There’s more warm weather on the way for the next week, no storms in sight. That’ll be nice to drive in you think.

Blue-eyes’ hand returns to your thigh, creeping up higher than it was before. “I don’t mind hard to get, sweetheart.”

That one garners a slap. You do it before you even give it a real thought. It’s a good one at least, making a very solid sound as his head spins. It’s a testament to the bar that no one even spares it a second glance. Blue-eyes turns back to you, furious.

“You’re going to regret that, bitch,” he hisses at you, roughly grabbing your arm.

“You’re going to regret it if you don’t take your hand off of her.” 

You’ve never been so happy to hear Mando’s voice in your life. Could you handle this guy? Probably. Do you want to? Absolutely not. You know on your own there's a near certain chance you'll end up with bruises before this guy gives up.

Somewhere in your mind you register the very real possibility that Mando is pissed at you right now. You shove it down, choosing to focus on the fact that he did just come to your defense. 

Blue-eyes is more stupid then he looks and doesn’t read the very obvious threat Mando poses. Instead he doubles down and tightens his grip on you. “Oh yeah? And what are you going to do about it, old man?”

You can't say you're surprised when Mando punches him in the face instead of answering the question. You also can’t say that you feel bad about it either. The surprise and hurt of the sudden punch makes Blue-eyes release his grip on you, giving you enough time to move out of the way as Mando moves in. Mando grabs a fistful of Blue-eyes' shirt and pulls the guy in towards his face. 

“Do you regret it?” Mando grits out. Blue-eyes sputters something that sounds like an apology and pushes himself away. 

Satisfied, Mando now turns on you. You were right, he's pissed. His typically soft, warm eyes are hard on you now as he pulls you away.

You flounder to tell him you haven't paid for your drink but he just ignores you, dragging you out of the bar. If you were smarter, you would think to be a little scared about making a man like Mando mad at you. Instead, your thoughts are occupied with how he's barely even trying to overpower you and yet you couldn't break free of his grip if you tried. You wonder if there's something wrong with you for how much it's turning you on.

Arriving back at the truck, Mando releases his grip. "Get in," he demands.

You do as you're told and climb into the passenger seat as Mando goes around. Nerves finally settle in. Mando would never hurt you, you know that, but he could decide to ditch you somewhere. Whatever this situation is with him, it's far from formal. He has no obligation to you and could easily choose to end it. With the trouble you’ve just caused, you wouldn’t be surprised if this all comes to a swift and sudden end.

As Mando climbs into the cab, you stare down at the floorboards, terrified that he's going to tell you he's dropping you off somewhere and leaving you behind for good. You can't imagine your life without him now. There's nowhere for you to go, nothing for you to do without him. Right back to square one.

He doesn't speak right away, which only makes you more nervous. He peels the truck out of the parking lot, headed back in the direction you came from. You still don't look at him. It's obvious you fucked up and there's nothing you can really say to fix that. Your only hope is that he forgives you.

You're headed back through the small nearby town when he finally speaks. “I told you to stay in the truck.”

You don’t say anything in response. Anything you can come up with sounds childish in your head. The exact opposite of what you'd been trying to prove. Thankfully, Mando takes your silence as an answer.

“Why would you even do something like that? Do you know how stupid that was?” His hands are tight on the wheel, glancing between you and the road as he yells.

You mumble back to him. 

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“He called me sweetheart,” you say a little louder.

“What?” He isn't going to let you off the hook with this and it gets under your skin. Some part of you thought he might be proud of you for smacking that creep and here he is berating you for it.

“He called me sweetheart, alright?” you half-shout.

Mando gives you a confused look, clearly not the answer he was expecting. “Do you- do you have a problem with that?” The heat is still present in his voice, but you can hear a little worry in it now. Shit. This is not what you wanted out of this whole ordeal.

You've never wanted the ground to come up and swallow you more. Why didn’t you just say that you smacked him for touching you? That would have been simple. How do you answer this without making everything weird? No, Mando, I don’t have a problem with that. I smacked him because I only like it when you call me that. Sure. That won’t be weird or awkward at all. 

After cursing yourself for a few seconds, you manage a response. “No, I- I just didn’t like it when he said it.”

"Oh." That's Mando's only reply.

You know he's still angry about you coming into the bar, but apparently your answer has sidelined him. If it wasn't so embarrassing, you might even be rejoicing at his reaction. Instead you just feel like a fool.

The silence remains as you pull into a little local motel with the vacancy sign lit up. Mando hands you forty dollars, way more than you need, and tells you to get a room.

Okay. So he isn't getting rid of you… yet.

You barely even listen to the attendant as they tell you they only have one single available for the night. Now is not the time to be arguing about sleeping arrangements. You take the key, room 104, and make your way back to the truck. 

You grab your bag from the flatbed and let Mando know the room number. He nods and goes to pull the truck around. You kick yourself as you walk over to the room. Why didn’t you just stay in the truck? Why didn’t you just lie to Mando about your reasons? He’s smart and it won’t take long now for him to put two and two together. Especially if he asks anymore questions.

You have no idea how Mando might react. If learning about your feelings towards him combined with what happened in the bar might be enough to leave you. He’s certainly not cold with you, but you’re not sure you’d call any of his actions romantic either. Holding your hand after the diner today is the closest he’s ever come. You wish you knew what that meant to him. You know what it meant to you.

Mando parks the truck outside of the room as you unlock the door. It’s not a fancy room, just one big square with a bathroom attached. There’s a full bed, a dresser with a TV on it, and a small table with a couple chairs. You toss your bag on the table and sit down on the edge of the bed. There’s no point in pretending you aren’t upset, Mando can always see through your lies. Might as well just get this over with.

Nervous, you hide your face in your hands, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees. You’re ready to deal with it, but not while actually looking at him. You can’t handle seeing his face as he figures things out; the way he might look at you while he rejects you. Suddenly you feel a wave of sympathy for the waitress earlier today. You hope Mando will let you down easy like he did for her.

You don’t look up when Mando comes into the room. His boots enter your line of vision and you close your eyes. You can’t look at any part of him right now. It’s too painful.

Mando says your name softly and you can sense as he kneels down in front of you. You don’t reply. Gently, he moves your hands away from your face. You still refuse to look at him and he cups your chin, lifting your head up to his.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” You wish you could resist, but you can’t. Not when he speaks to you in that soft tone. Not when he calls you that.

You meet his eye and see all the concern and worry he holds there. “I’m sorry, Mando. I should have listened to you.”

His hand slides up to hold your cheek. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you that way. I could have at least told you why I didn’t want you coming in with me.”

You’re surprised at his apology. Two apologies he didn’t need to make in one day. This isn’t something you ever expected. You assumed he would still be full of heat and anger, not this careful kindness.

“Why didn’t you want me to come in?” you ask. You need to know the reason, need to know why it is he told you to stay behind. No matter how much the reason might hurt.

Mando sighs. “I didn’t want you to come in because I didn’t want anyone else looking at you.”

You pull back out of shock. “What?” Did you hear that correctly? Could that mean what you thought it might?

He takes off his baseball cap and runs a hand through his hair. “What can I say, sweetheart? I’m a jealous man.”

A thousand thoughts run through your mind. There are so many things you want to say, so many questions you want to ask, and yet none of them can find their way out. As a result, you do the only thing you can.

You lean in towards him, slowly, giving him enough time to stop you if he so chooses. He doesn’t though, instead following your lead and moving in closer. You carefully search his eyes for any answers they may hold. Your noses bump and you both pause. “Mando, I-”

He cuts you off. “Din. My name is Din.”

You close the gap and kiss him. The kiss is careful at first, as though you’re both still looking to confirm that yes, this is what you both want. Mand- Din’s lips are soft and sweet against yours and you melt as it’s everything you could have imagined and more. A small moan escapes you, one that you’re embarrassed about until it causes Din to deepen the kiss. Caution evaporates, quickly turning into passion as your tongues meet.

Din moves, getting up from the floor and pushing you back against the bed. His lips never leave yours, devouring you as though you might slip away at any moment. He gives your bottom lip a small nip, quickly soothing it with his tongue. You pull away, needing a moment to catch your breath.

“Is this okay?” Din asks, his voice low with desire. You respond by pulling him back down into another bruising kiss. Your positions shift as the kiss continues, Din’s knee finding its way between your legs as his arms wrap around you. Both of your hands have worked their way into his hair, something you’ve been fantasizing about for months now.

Din begins to kiss his way down your neck, leaving little love bites along the way. You gently tug on his hair, pulling a heavenly sound from him that only intensifies your pool of desire. Desperate for more, you move a hand down, seeking the hem of his shirt and slipping your hand underneath. His skin feels remarkable under your fingertips.

Din pulls away from your neck and quickly divests himself of his shirt. He allows you a moment to take him in, his lean physique flexing as he holds himself above you. Scars litter his body in various shapes and sizes, but you think they look beautiful against the glow of his honeyed skin. 

Taking the opportunity, you remove your top as well, leaving you in your basic everyday bra. You wish you had worn your other bra, the sexier one, but with the way Din is looking at you, you’re not sure it matters. His lips return to your body, working his way across any and all of your newly exposed skin. One hand splays on your waist, holding you, grounding Din against you.

“You’re so soft, sweetheart,” Din murmurs against you. His lips find their way up to your chest, placing careful kisses against the globes of your breasts. He pauses and looks up at you, seeking your permission. You arch your back, allowing Din access to slip a hand beneath you and undo the clasp.

He pulls the bra away from you and you flush under the intensity of his gaze. “Perfect, you’re perfect,” Din says before reoccupying his mouth with your breasts. It seems that he has a real oral fixation, not that you mind in the slightest. His warm mouth feels heavenly against you, licking and sucking wherever he can.

Din takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his fingers playing with the other. It’s the best thing you’ve felt in months, better than any of your late night fantasies when you would try to satisfy your growing want for the man currently giving you so much pleasure. As though your attempts could ever come close to the real thing.

Din releases your nipple with a pop and returns to your mouth, licking his way inside. His kiss alone is enough to make you see stars. It makes you forget any other kiss you’ve ever shared, enveloping you in him and him alone.

You pull back slightly from the kiss, unable to take more without further relief. “Din, please, I want you,” you pant into his mouth. Din growls, actually growls, at your words. It's a far hotter response than it should be.

“Yeah, sweetheart? What do you want me to do to you? Tell me.” His knee comes up and presses his thigh against you where you want him most, causing you to moan out his name. “Use your words, sweet girl.”

He’s trying to kill you, you think. Calling you a name like that. Sweet girl. It loops in your mind until Din’s fingers ghost over your nipples again. “I want you to touch me,” you tell him.

“I’m already touching you,” Din says. He’s a tease, you think, growing slightly frustrated with him. His thigh moves against you again though and he’s immediately forgiven.

“Please, Din,” you whine, hoping he’ll take pity on you. Thankfully he does, moving his leg away and quickly removing your pants. You already know you’re soaking, your panties feeling cold against you with the loss of the other cloth barrier.

Din pauses for another moment to take you in before moving. You’re nearly bare before him, almost entirely on display. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he compliments, his hands parting your thighs. “So perfect, so beautiful, and all mine.” You can feel yourself clench at his words. No one has ever made you feel this way before. His stare only relaxes you more, his words feeling like a warm blanket wrapping around your fears and quieting them.

Din’s fingers brush against you through the thin cotton. “Is this all for me, sweetheart? I can already feel how wet you are.”

He continues to tease you, only leaving you capable of nodding your head back at him. His eyes catch yours, watching your reaction as he pushes the near useless fabric off to the side and pushes one finger between your folds. Just the small touch sets you aflame, pushing yourself down onto his hand, wanting more. 

His finger leaves you and you frown until you watch as he brings it to his mouth and licks your slick off of it. Din moans at the taste. “You taste better than you do in my dreams.”

He leans down to kiss you, sharing the taste of yourself while he pulls your panties off completely. They’re thrown haphazardly into the room, lost to be found for later. 

Din then moves himself between your legs, slowly working kisses down your body as he slides back onto his knees on the floor. He grabs your waist and pulls you to the edge of the bed with ease and starts nipping and kissing your inner thighs. Your hands wind back into his hair, while you lie in disbelief that this is really happening right now.

Gentle kisses are placed along your folds, Din moving back as you try to grind your hips down onto him. His eyes catch yours again, mouth hovering over your clit as he speaks. “I’m going to taste you until you cum on my face and then I’m going to fuck you, okay?”

This time you manage a response, frantic to let him know that’s exactly what you want. “Yes, please, I want you so badly, Din.”

It’s all he needs to hear. His mouth comes down on your clit, carefully playing with the bundle of nerves, making you cry out and clench around nothing. He pulls away slightly and then licks a long stripe from bottom to top, pausing again at your clit to give it a teasing suck. Your hands pull at his hair from the attention.

He moves back down, teasing your entrance with his mouth. He moans, lapping up your pussy, acting every part a man dying of thirst who’s found oasis at your core. You buck into him and his hands quickly wrap around your legs, holding your hips in place. Din wants to pleasure you, but on his own terms, at his own speed.

You can’t make a coherent thought as he continues to eat you out. Small snippets of words make their way out of you, none of them making any real sense in conjunction with one another. It’s not until his thumb finds your clit as he continues to lick, suck, and nip at you that you find complete words to shout. “Din, oh god, yes, right there, I’m so close...”

Moments later you feel the tension within you snap, crying out as your body shakes from the overwhelming pleasure. Din continues to work you through your orgasm, only stopping when you physically push his head away from you. He trails hot kisses along your inner thighs again, telling you how beautiful you are, how good you taste, how perfect your pussy is.

As you come down from your high, Din removes the last of his clothes, finally freeing his stiff erection. Your breath catches as you take him in, your Adonis in the flesh. He’s gorgeous, you think, wondering what you did to get so lucky.

Then he’s back over top of you, kissing and sucking at your skin. Some of those are bound to leave marks for tomorrow but you don’t mind. You want everyone to see, for everyone to know that you’re his. No more mistaken assumptions about your relationship, you want it on display for the world.

You look down to catch a better glimpse of his cock, satiating the curiosity that’s plagued you for so long. He’s big. More than enough to fill you, possibly even more than you can handle. As wet as you are, you know you’ll need him to go slow, to slowly stretch you out before he can truly fuck you.

You tilt your hips, bumping against him, letting him know that you want him. “Do you want my fingers first?” Din asks. You know you should say yes, but you can’t imagine another moment without knowing what he feels like inside of you.

“No,” you tell him. “Just go slow.”

Din places a quick searing kiss against your lips and positions himself. The head of his cock presses against your slick entrance and you feel like you’re already seeing stars. Din is muttering in your ear, holding you tightly against him as he pushes into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good sweetheart. So tight and wet for me. I can’t wait to fill you up, to feel every inch of your sweet pussy.”

You nearly forget to breath as he slowly pushes in further. You can feel every inch of him and you only want more. Din’s stream of compliments are interrupted when he finally bottoms out in you, holding himself still as your walls clench and stretch around him. “Fuck, sweetheart.”

You turn your head and pull him into a blazing kiss, loving the way he feels filling you up. You wonder how you were ever satisfied with your fingers before when this had been next to you for so long. Din is apparently thinking along the same lines, whispering to you, “I’d have done this long ago if I knew you felt this good.”

You don’t even have time to consider the words as he slowly begins to move in you. The pleasure borders on agonizing as you begin to move your hips, encouraging him to move faster. Din responds quickly to your urging, setting a furious pace as he begins to lose all control. You know you’ll still be feeling him tomorrow and the thought makes you smile. You never want to go another day without a reminder of how he feels.

His thumb returns to your clit and you don’t have time to warn him before you’re thrown into another orgasm. Your walls clench around him and you lose yourself in the feeling of cumming on his cock. Din quickly follows, pulling out of you just in time to paint your stomach with ropes of his spend. You mourn the loss of him, but once Din finishes he buries himself back inside of you, causing another shock of pleasure to zing through your body.

Din rolls the both of you over, keeping himself sheathed in you, and allowing you to collapse on top of him. You’re both sweaty and panting, trying to come up with words. Din’s fingers lightly trace along your back, causing goosebumps to erupt across your flesh. You lift your head up from his chest in order to look at his face.

He’s completely debauched, sweat causing hair to cling to his forehead, the rest completely wild from your hands. His eyes are still blown wide, happily looking back at you. His lips are pink and swollen from all the kisses and licks he’s pressed into your skin. You know you can’t look much better than him.

You give a small clench around him and smile at the expression that runs across Din’s face. “I love the way you fill me,” you tell him. Din presses a loving kiss against your sweaty forehead.

“I never want to leave this perfect pussy of yours.” You can tell he means it too. If he could, he would stay buried in you forever. You love the way that sounds. His eyes flutter closed, reveling in the feeling of having you surround him.

“Din,” you say.

His eyes pop back open and refocus on you. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

A smile blooms across your face. “Nothing, I just wanted to say it. Din. It suits you.” 

His name suits him in a different way than Mando does. Mando is the rough exterior, the front he puts up to the world. The one who punches men in bars for touching you and calling you pet names. The one that strikes fear into others, knowing that if he’s hot on their trail that they’re screwed. Din is the soft inside, the place where all of his ‘sweethearts’ originate, the cause for the hand holding and sparkling smiles. The man behind the armor that he presents to the world, the one who kisses and fills you up just right.

Din’s arms wrap around you tightly, clearly intent on never letting you go. You’re fine with that, letting it sink in that you’re finally laying in bed with the man who’s consumed your thoughts for months. A small, joyous giggle escapes you.

“What’s so funny?” Din asks.

“I thought you were going to leave me earlier. Now here I am, laying on top of you with your cock still inside of me.”

Din chuckles and you can feel it rumble in his chest. “I’m never letting you go sweetheart, no matter how much you piss me off.”

You fold your arms across his chest, letting your chin rest on your hands. “I am sorry. I just wanted you to notice me. I felt like you were treating me like a child,” you confess.

Din’s eyes widen a bit at your admission. “I always notice you, mesh’la. I never meant to treat you that way. I only want to keep you safe.”

“I know that now. Honestly, I feel so silly about it all.” He reaches up and pushes a strand of hair back from your face. 

“Next time, I’ll take you in with me. I’ll show everyone that you’re mine.” He grinds his hips up into you to prove his point. It makes you squeal, causing a smirk to settle on Din’s lips. You give his cheek a small flick in retaliation but make no attempt to move.

You lay there for a little while longer, laying your head back down against Din’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat beneath you. His hands trace anywhere he can touch on you, intoxicated by having you so close against him. Eventually though, you feel the call to use the bathroom and can no longer ignore it.

Din is almost painful sliding out of you, but you’re more upset about the loss of having him buried in you. Your legs are shaky as you stand, managing to make it to the bathroom on wobbly knees. You take a moment to clean yourself up, running a damp cloth across your body. Exhaustion hits as you return to bed, crawling under the covers and into Din’s arms.

You begin to drift off when Din asks, “Why’d you get a single? Not that I’m complaining.”

“All they had left. Maybe it was a sign,” you mumble back.

Din chuckles and presses a kiss against your head. “Yeah, maybe, sweetheart.”

[myherowritings]

order’s up!

— Osamu gets a big order of some rather strange rice ball combinations an hour before closing. He doesn’t expect that he’d find the customer who ordered to be so damn cute.

pairing: miya osamu x reader word count: 2,387 genre: fluff, post manga timeskip

a/n: first haikyuu fic and aHH it was so fun to write ,, i didn’t expect osamu to be my first but here we are and tbh i am not mad~ ;) FJSDHKJ hope u enjoy!!

“One unagi onigiri to go-- Your order’s ready!”

A middle-aged man stood up from his seat at the waiting area and headed over to the counter, thanking Osamu for the fresh onigiri and making brief small talk. As the man left, Osamu looked at the customer next in line, thankful there was only one person in here so close to closing time.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” he stated when your gaze met his, lips quirking up to give his best customer service smile.

You nodded with a warm smile of your own before looking down at the phone in your hands, murmuring what he thought sounded like “salmon, plum, beef, extra green onions, heavy on the seasoning.” Now, he liked to think there were no rules to onigiri, but part of him did hope you wouldn’t ask for all those ingredients in one gigantic, imbalanced rice ball. Maybe you were reciting a large number of individual orders.

He shrugged. Money was money, and all onigiri was good onigiri when made with his special Miya love. Miya love that was specific to Osamu in particular, of course. Atsumu could never recreate it even if he tried-- Not that he ever tried. The day he tried in something other than volleyball would be the day Osamu said he was the worst onigiri chef in Japan.

In other words, never.

Osamu hustled over to the cash register and you took that as your cue to step forward, hands fidgeting with your wallet and cellphone.

He smirked to himself in silent amusement. A shy one, were you? By now he had lost count of all the nervous and fidgety costumers he had gotten at his shop, but to allow them to stay that way simply wouldn’t do. If his patrons weren’t 100% comfortable in his care--well, as comfortable they could be in an onigiri shop--it meant he was doing his job wrong.

As the owner of Onigiri Miya he wanted to make sure every customer would leave with a smile and a desire to come again soon. That was how he built rapport and got so many regulars after all.

“I can take your order whenever you’re ready,” said Osamu in a slow pace, encouraging you to slow your rhythm as you tapped your fingertip restlessly against your protective phone case. Were you in a hurry? You seemed rather antsy, but he went on. “There’s no rush here.”

There was less than an hour until closing and he figured you would be the last customer of the day-- Meaning there was no reason not to slow down. As much as Osamu appreciated how lively his hometown could be, he also enjoyed quieter moments like these.

Not everything had to be so loud. Not everything had to be moving so fucking fast all the time. And he learned that in some instances, he could just control the pace himself.

Your worried chatter brought him out of his musing. “Are you sure? Because I know you close soon and I really didn’t want to come in so late but the guys are still down over a loss and said this was their favorite comfort food,” you said, eyebrows furrowed in a tell of concern. “It’s kind of a big order, so if you need to start cleaning up for closing I can just go to another store-- Sorry for imposing!”

He blinked. He thought he just said there was no rush to imply he wasn’t worried and you shouldn’t be either, but you didn’t seem to pick up on that.

“Hey, you’re not imposing,” Osamu soothed, somewhat alarmed at your apprehension. “You said someone was down over a loss? You on a sports team?”

Losing sucked. Osamu knew this firsthand.

Sure, in hindsight it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but while it could sure feel that way sometimes. If it was bad enough, it could take a few days to really get over and grow from it. So hearing that Onigiri Miya was someone’s comfort food that could help cheer them up on days like those… That certainly gave him reason to puff his chest up a little more.

“Yeah! Well, kind of.” You moved your head side-to-side as if unsure of your answer. “I help assist the volleyball team at my university. It’s my last year in school and I’m sure all of the other fourth years are bummed too.” Catching the small frown on your face, you stopped yourself before it spread, clearing your throat. “But it’s okay! At least we all had fun. And now they’ll be getting some of their favorite food to cheer them up-- If you’re still taking orders, that is…?”

He nodded. “‘Course I am.” Osamu flashed you a grin intended to make your worries disappear. “What kinda store owner would I be if I couldn’t make your team their pick-me-up food?”

The two of you shared a look before you tore your gaze away, biting your lower lip to hide your smile.

“Thank you, then,” you murmured, unlocking your phone to what appeared to be a notes app.

Osamu picked up his pen with a short hum. “Ready to take your order when you are.”

“Right.” You stared at your screen in concentration before listing off what you had written. “Can I have three salmon onigiris with green onions, two umeboshi and mentaiko with light seasoning and ginger, one tempura and unagi with green onions and sesame seeds and heavy seasoning, two…”

As he noted your orders, some arguably stranger than others--not that he should be one to judge, what with his own peculiar preferences--he made a mental note of how cute your voice sounded and tucked it away in the depth of his mind. Was cute the word for it? He wasn’t exactly sure, but he guessed that sounded okay enough. There was something about hearing you talk that made Osamu want to hear more, even if it was just a list of onigiri ingredients.

He huffed. Weird.

When you finished he repeated back your order, affirming it was all correct.

“Great, so I’ll be with you in about 15 to 20 minutes with your order ready,” he informed as he held the paper with the dishes he had to make. “You can have a seat at one of the tables ‘til I return.”

You nodded at his words but hesitantly opened your mouth. “Erm-- Wait!”

He looked back at you, mere steps away from the cooking area.

“Is it just you working at this hour?” you asked, standing with your hands folded behind your back as you craned your neck.

“Yeah, we don’t get many late customers on a Tuesday night so I’m the only one closin’ today.” Osamu gave you a curious once-over. Bright eyes, nervous yet playful smile, cute outfit-- Damn, he sure was using the word cute a lot today. All in relation to you nonetheless. “Why?”

“Are you sure the order isn’t too big for you in this hour?” Once again, you were fretting. He reckoned he ought to teach you some relaxation techniques and tips of how to be less...selfless. “Do you need some, uh, help?”

The corner of Osamu’s lip twitched upwards. Help? What were you planning on doing if he said yes? Learn the basics of food safety and onigiri-making in less than 20 minutes so you could assist him in making your order?

Something told him that was, in fact, what you were ready to do.

Cute.

“Stop stressin’, sweetheart,” he said with a tsk, not bothering to hide his amused grin. “I’ve handled bigger orders than this. You just rest your pretty little head and I’ll be finished before you know it.”

Though you still looked concerned, you nodded and sat down, probably figuring you would be more of a hindrance in his onigiri-making flow than anything else.

“Don’t miss me too much-- And don’t even think of saying sorry or anythin’ like that!” His tone was teasing but he meant what he said. You were a customer at Onigiri Miya and he wanted no patron of his to be worrying this much if he could do anything to help it. “The store’s still open and I’ve no issue taking your order. ‘Kay?”

You blinked. “Okay. I… Thank you, uh, Miya-san.”

“Just Miya’s fine.”

“Right. Miya. Thank you.”

He sauntered off into the kitchen to get started with your order and as he went through making your onigiri, he hoped you wouldn’t still be feeling bad about a big order that wasn’t even that big compared to others he got. Besides, you had already paid for the order. There was no point worrying after the transaction went through.

Osamu soon made his way down the list of rice balls and, just like he promised, popped his head out of the kitchen along with three, full takeout containers in record time.

“For the cutest customer here tonight-- Order’s up!”

You perked up at the mouthwatering smell of his onigiri, pressing a hand to your stomach as you hummed. “I’m the only customer here tonight, but since your food smells so yummy I will choose to let that comment slide.”

Holding the bag of takeout in front of his, Osamu smirked at your surprisingly steadfast composure. You didn’t get flustered at his unabashed compliment like he thought you would, and for some reason that made you seem even more appealing.

As you accepted the order, he quipped, “Only customer here or not, you’re still the cutest.”

You wrapped your fingers around the handle of the takeout bag, the edge of your pinky brushing against his thumb. “Hmm, then-- I guess you’re definitely the cutest worker here tonight, even though it is by default.”

Osamu laughed, both in amusement and in happiness after finally getting you to feel comfortable in his shop.

“A compliment’s a compliment and I’m not above being the cutest by default,” he said with a lazy drawl, watching as you set the onigiri bag on the counter in front of you while easing into a conversation with him.

“As if you would ever have to win by default. You seem much too handsome and talented for that.”

It sounded like you were flirting. Were you flirting? He noted the mischievous glint in your eyes and the way you lingered in the store instead of leaving once you received your order.

Yeah. You were so flirting.

“Cute.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, nothing.” He smiled secretively but wouldn’t expand on what he said despite your questioning look.

You narrowed your eyes. “Sure, okay then.” Your fingers wrapped and unwrapped themselves from the handle of the to-go bag, like you didn’t want to leave just yet but didn’t know what was left to say. “Well-- Um, thank you for the order! I’m sure this’ll cheer the team right up.”

“And you as well, I hope.”

“Of course. I haven’t even tasted it but it already has.”

Just being here already has, is what you seemed to say. Osamu rather liked that implication.

“But… I still feel kind of bad for ordering all this so close to your closing hours,” you said sheepishly, rubbing the side of your neck like it had a knot. “I’m sorry.”

Osamu waved his hand at your words. “Please, what do you have to apologize for? Making me do my job?” he asked cheekily, his sideways grin showing teeth. “You shouldn’t feel bad.” He noticed the way you brought your lower lip into your mouth with uncertainty and he continued, “But if you still do...there is a way you could repay me and soothe those worries.”

You looked up, eyes widened. “How? I’d do anything.”

Dangerous words coming from such pretty little lips.

He adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves, unintentionally bringing your attention to his forearms. “Let me treat you out this weekend, yeah?”

Your gaze followed his hands as you nodded. “Yea--” You blinked to snap out of your daze and he stifled a laugh. “Wait, wait! Shouldn’t I be the one to treat you?”

“What kinda gentleman would I be if I were to ask you out on a date and tell you to pay?”

Maybe Atsumu would’ve made his date pay for their meal and activities of the day, but Osamu wasn’t him. Osamu had class.

“A date?” you parroted. “As in one with me? And you? Together?”

There wasn’t anyone else in the store he could be asking. Nope, just you and your awkwardly cute self.

Osamu nodded in affirmation. A date is just what he was asking you out on. “Well, only if you want, of course.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to contain the wide smile that threatened to spread across your face. “I wouldn’t mind a date with the cutest worker here tonight,” you teased, looking around the store before meeting landing on his face. “I still want to be the one to treat you, though. It’s the least I could do.”

As happy as he was that you didn’t reject him, he didn’t give. “Don’t worry about treating me-- Your company’s a better treat than money could buy.” You snorted at his pickup line and Osamu silently cursed his brother for saying that line would always work. And then cursed himself for believing it. “Look, I’ll pay. I insist.”

“I insist too.”

You held each other’s gaze, neither one wavering. He seemed to realize you weren’t going to give in, but he wasn’t planning on it either. He huffed, shaking his head, entertained. “Okay, then. How ‘bout we rock-paper-scissors it when the day comes?”

“Fine by me,” you laughed, hiding the bottom half of your face with your hand. He wanted to hold it in his so he could see the full smile you were covering, but Osamu decided he could save that for another time. “But don’t think you’ll have an easy win! I’ll have you know I play a mean game of rock-paper-scissors.”

“‘Course you do, sweetheart.”

And he didn’t doubt that at all.

As strange as the orders were and as nervous as you may have been at the start, Osamu found himself rather fond of you. Was working overtime worth it just for a date with a cute costumer?

Yeah, he decided. It was.

a/n: y/n’s vball team waiting for their comfort food after a bad loss while y/n and osamu are just there flirting after hours: 👁💧👄💧👁

[mystic-sky]

A/N: In honor of reaching 400 followers, I decided to make this into a short series. I don’t know how many parts it’ll be. Thank you guys for reading my stuff and showing me love 🥺💕 you’re all so sweet 😭😭😭😭😭 I would also like to thank @teoran for the precious idea that allowed this story to come to be ❤️❤️

✨Part 2 here✨ | ✨Part 3/4 on ao3 only✨

“So, you’ve never actually been here before?” Suguru let out an annoyed sigh as his best friend draped his arm over his shoulders.

“No, but I heard this is one of the nicer ones.” Satoru says. “Besides, none of them are hard to look at.”

“I would’ve been content going out to dinner with everyone else-

“Lighten up! You do that all the time. You’re single so why not spoil yourself a little?” The white haired male insisted.

“Stuff like this feels degrading, and some of them are topless.” Suguru really hasn’t been to a strip club before. He wasn’t a prude, but surely his respect for women had him steer clear of places like this.

“Yeah— strippers do that sometimes.” Satoru laughed, taking hold of his drink. 

“And it’s not degrading- they’re hard working women. Stop talking like an old man and enjoy the show.” He added, respectfully. Suguru took a sip of his drink, watching a new dancer approach the platform. A sweet, caramel skinned girl had taken the stage, swaying around the pole in front of them.

“This is Tasty.” Someone over the loud speaker introduced her. “We recommend Tasty for new comers. She’s a bubbly, friendly dancer who feels like the girl next door. Tasty is currently ranked 3rd in our private dancer line up for this week.

“Look at her,” Satoru said, pulling his lip between his teeth. “That’s Tasty. I heard so many good things about her. She’s so much more petite and cuter in person.” 

Suguru only nonchalantly took another drink, but he was definitely looking. The tan skinned girl wrapped her body around the pole, delicately twisting herself right in front of the both of them. After shaking her ass for a bit, she moved down the stage, dancing for other customers. 

“I’ve got so much cash on me, Suguru-chan~! We’re gonna have so much fun.” He nudges his barely flustered friend.

“And try not to look so serious, before you scare the ladies away.” He rolled his eyes underneath his dark sunglasses.

“You think I’m scary looking?” Suguru raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah but in a sexy way.” Satoru leant forward, almost touching noses with the dark haired male. He really had no regards for personal space. 

“Wait til the girls find out you’re a huge softy underneath.” Satoru laughed. 

The tan stripper on the stage descended down the steps, wrapping up her routine and passing the two of them. Satoru pulled his shades down, winking at the girl, and handing her a generous tip. He watched her swoon a bit before running off, bra full of singles. 

“Candy, you’re on next.” Tasty called out to you as she entered the locker rooms. You were intently positioning your false lashes on in the mirror. You heard all the girls bustling on about some attractive men who were tipping nicely tonight as you got ready.

You hum in response, bending down and adjusting your straps on your shoes. 

“He winked at me, he winked at me!!!!” Tasty said, fawning with the other girls who were peaking out the doorway.

“Girl, you have to see this. They’re the hottest guys I’ve ever seen.” Tasty cooed at you. 

“They’re so tall. I got so shy and ran off. I’m sure the one with the sunglasses was flirting with me. I’m gonna go give him a dance, I just needed time to collect myself.” The tanned skinned girl held her cheeks in her hand as she spoke.

“Tasty’s got a crush hmmm?” You say smugly before standing up straight. You look at the hundred dollar bill sticking out of her bra amongst the many singles. You raise an eyebrow at her before you take both of your breasts in your hands, doing a jiggle test to see if they’d pop out your body suit. 

“You’ll have a crush too as soon as you see them.” Tasty rolls her eyes. You’re barely intrigued. You’d been infatuated with the same man since high school, and no one could compare to him.

Granted, the both of you weren’t actually dating, nor do you believe he had any idea about your affections or actually reciprocated them. He would occasionally flirt with you, but do not be mistaken— he was a complete asshole. You often rejected his advances, telling him to fix his off putting attitude. This led him to tease and mess with you more, but he still loves to do his best to get you flustered all the while. You couldn’t date someone who lacked so much compassion. But even so, every time you saw him, your knees went weak.

You were partially rejecting him because you were also a busy woman, and you barely had time to fraternize with him the way you wanted to during your day job. When you both were younger and went to school at the academy, he actively made you feel like you were losing to him because he was such a prodigy. Being on his team really sucked because even though you were producing proficient results, standing beside him only made you look just above average.

“Let’s see what this is all about.” You say, strutting towards the huddle your co workers created in the hall. You worm your way through, getting a glimpse of the two men that had everyone’s hormones in a frenzy.

“Oh no.” 

You watched as the white haired narcissist threw his head back in laughter, conversing flirtatiously amongst the other waitresses and dancers that crowded around him.

Fucking Gojo Satoru.

“Oh no, no, no.” 

Impossible. You were upset that you’d know that laugh of his anywhere. Not to mention his hair made him stick out like a sore thumb.

The only person who knew of your double life was Shoko. And Shoko wouldn’t tell a soul. 

Beside Satoru was a seemingly mellow Geto Suguru, grinning softly towards all of the women around them.

You sought death. That was the only way out of this situation- on a stretcher, covering your face and body and keeping your anonymity.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You say, squatting all the way down to the floor and crawling back into the locker room, praying not to be seen.

“Candy, girl, are you okay?” Your stage manager peered down at you as you slumped behind the love seat in the corner.

“Those guys out there— the two of them work at my day job.” You mutter, burying your face into your knees.

“You know them?!” Tasty interjects. 

“Unfortunately,” you nodded. “And the white haired one likes to mess with me a lot.”

“You wanna go home early?” Your manager asks. You had bills to pay, and but quite honestly, one day wouldn’t hurt. 

But for some reason you couldn’t help but feel like you’d be allowing him to win somehow by doing that. It was silly- he had no idea of your existence here so this was hardly considered a competition. But this was your space, and you refused to be forced to cower within it.

You stand up, scanning the room for something unique to wear. 

“I’m not letting that bastard ruin my bag. I’m getting my money tonight.” You sway towards the vanity, discovering a silk blindfold with eye sockets. You wrap the cloth around your eyes, adjusting it so you can see properly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yup.” You say confidently, fluffing your hair in the mirror. Besides, it’s only one night, you thought.

You walk out of the prep room, walking towards the steps of the stage. You walked right past the two of them, feeling so many eyes on you as you slowly ascended the stairs.

Both their heads shifted towards you, the sound of pre-cheers and compliments from regular customers ringing with your every step. 

“This is Candy.” The host spoke into the loudspeaker. “All the boys want a piece of her. She’s the sweetest dancer here, and she’ll make you forget all your troubles with her playful smile. This week, Candy currently ranks number one in our private dancer line up.”

You were above the two gentleman who were posted up in the front of the stage. Just how did these fuckers find this place? You looked down at the two of them, like a queen looking towards her subjects. You started your routine, smiling your signature smile just like you always did. You wrapped your hands around the pole, swinging your body. The cheers and music rang through your ears. Dollars were being thrown at you, but you were so distracted by two of them.

The both of them had been eyeing you just like everyone else, but you couldn’t help but feel self conscious anyways. You swayed your hips, swooping down elegantly to pick up some of the money while you danced, offering winks to some gentlemen in the crowd. Your eyes caught on Satoru, whose sunglasses were tilted slightly downwards. Your eyes nearly met, and you swiftly shifted your gaze towards Suguru. He really dragged you here, you thought. Poor Guru-san.

You watched as Satoru threw a generous wad of singles towards you. You refused to pick it up. 

It was a 10 minute set before you would go around and flirt with other customers. You eventually collected your earnings before you gracefully walked down the steps, flipping your hair.

“Candy~” The bastard called out towards you.

You didn’t want to turn around, but you did anyway, breasts bouncing full of bounty. 

“That’s for you,” he cheekily handed you a folded wad of cash. You felt the thickness of the money between your fingers. You almost wanted to give it back to him and walk away. Unfortunately, it was custom to lurk around customers who tipped that generously. Your eyes shifted towards Suguru, who had been subtly ogling your breasts.

“Thank you.” You smile plasticly, which you don’t normally do. You were typically and genuinely nice to customers. Most of them abided by the no touch rules and were decent.

“What brings you both here?” You say, leaning on the banister, breasts in full view.

“It’s my buddies birthday.” He grinned. “I wanted him to get a private dance with this weeks number one dancer, or Tasty, if she’s not too busy.”

Your eyes panned over to Suguru, who honestly didn’t look like he wanted a dance from you. You knew better though, not all customers were forward like that, so you didn’t take it personally whatsoever. You even contemplated going to get Tasty to take your place, but something in you made you want to dance near Satoru. Knowing you could rub your hot body in his face and he couldn’t touch you turned you on just a bit. You had no idea where this power complex of yours was stemming from. 

“Sure,” he had already paid you more than what the dance costed. “So do you wanna stay out here or go for a private one? I’m fine with whatever, baby.” 

You could’ve cringed at yourself, calling your childhood friend baby. You tucked the wad of cash into your body suit. There was enough money here to pay for either kind of dance, possibly two of them. 

“I’m good actually.” Suguru says, taking a seat on the sofa. Your eye twitches a bit, and you looks towards Satoru. 

“Sugu-chan’s just shy. He couldn’t stop talking about how good you looked.” The white haired male waved his hand. It must’ve been true, because the blush on Suguru’s face was something you could’ve burst out laughing at. Keep it together (Name), you thought.

He was so reserved and gentlemanly at work. You never would’ve guessed he could look this worked up about getting a dance from a beautiful woman. You sit beside him, crossing your legs. 

“If what he said is true, thank you. I’ve done my best to perfect that routine.” You said proudly, shifting your body towards him. “Do you really not want a dance?” You ask again, completely ignoring Satoru, who had been going on about something. 

Suguru shifted in his seat, and he was obviously trying not to look at your breasts when you squeezed them together with you arms like that. 

“I guess I wouldn’t mind one.” He breathed out. You smiled at him before standing up and spreading his legs a bit. You danced in between them, while he laid back and admired you. Satoru sat on the other end of the couch while another dancer attempted to make a pass at him. He accepted her offering, tipping her nicely as well. While she danced for him, you could feel his eyes burning a hole through your back.

You whipped your ass a round, graciously showing Suguru what you had going on. You were feeling mortified on the inside considering he was your childhood friend. However, he was undoubtedly good looking. A little part of you found some sort of sweet satisfaction showing yourself to him like this. He didn’t seem to know it was you, casually sipping while he watched you do your thing.

Your eyes met Satoru’s, who had been peering at you through the body of your fellow dancer. He could feel himself getting aroused at your womanly form, shifting in his seat. He found it hard to focus on the lap dance he was getting from the lovely woman in front of him. 

So this is what she’s really like, he thought to himself.

He had been staring for so long your were getting spooked. Did he realize it was you?

For God sake’s, please no.

He offered you a wink and smirked devilishly before going right back to giving his attention towards his current dancer. Your blindfold was your safety shield, and if he stripped that away from you, you would quit your day job and the go find work in a different club. 

After some time, you and your partner finished, receiving generous tips yet again. 

“Thank you Candy~” Satoru hummed, thanking you on Suguru’s behalf. You waved goodbye, before going towards a new set of customers. He never did stop staring at you that night. Not until you completely removed yourself from the floor. Once your shift was nearly over, and you needed a breather, you seeked refuge back in the prep room.

“I’m glad that’s over,” you sighed, sinking your body into one of many beauty chairs. You decided you had made enough money for the night, removing your blindfold and setting it down on the vanity. Tasty trailed in moments after, swooning excitedly.

“What’s up with you?” You ask, removing your earrings as well.

“I got the dark haired ones number.” Tasty squealed. You were happy for her, considering Suguru was always a decent guy growing up. 

“He’s not bad,” you throw your head back, throwing your hair out of your face.

“It’s the other one I’m particularly wary of.” You say, attempting to tie your hair into a ponytail. 

“Oh yeah! The white haired one told me to give this to you.” Tasty tore another piece of paper from her bralette. 

You stared at the folded strip between her fingertips before anxiously grasping it with your own. You unfolded the thing, eye twitching in agitation.

Call me, if you want ;) XXX-XXX-XXXX

This motherfucker.

[writerwithtoomanyships]

Summary: The sides do a Secret Santa... fluff and mild chaos ensue

Pairings: Platonic DRLAMP, Dukeceit/Demus, Logicality, Prinxiety

Warnings: A little bit of self-deprecating thoughts at the beginning, and some Remus being Remus

Genre: Fluff fluff fluff!

Credit:

@multi-fandoms-posts - Thanks for the suggestion! I took some creative liberties but this is based on a suggestion they gave me.

@voltsm - Thanks for the encouragement! This person is an INCREDIBLE artist, I highly recommend looking at their amazing amazing blog!

A/N: This is the first Sanders Sides one shot I've written in a while, but I think it turned out well! Please don't repost on different websites, but reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Remus paced his room, growling in frustration. His mind wandered back to the conversation all the sides had earlier.

"Let's do a Secret Santa!" Patton had said, looking like he was going to burst from excitement.

Roman nodded enthusiastically. "That's a great idea, padre!"

"I'm up for it if you guys are," Virgil replied with a shrug.

"I do believe that doing a Secret Santa could be beneficial to our mental and emotional health," said Logan, pushing up his glasses.

All of them looked at Janus and Remus, catching both of them off guard.

"You'd really be okay with us joining?" Remus asked.

"Of course! We are famILY, after all!" Patton responded happily. Remus looked at Janus, who simply shrugged.

"I think the Secret Santa is an awful idea and wouldn't like to participate," Janus said with a small smirk.

"Why not!" Remus happily agreed.

Yet here he was now, flopping on his bed, and ironically out of ideas. He summoned something to eat, and wasn't sure if it was deodorant, a sandwich, or some ungodly abomination of both. At this point he didn't care.

He stared at the faint strip of paper labeled "Janus." Each of them had grabbed a paper from Janus's hat, and Remus had been pretty excited when he got the name of his best friend. Until he couldn't figure out what to get him.

"I'm CREATIVITY, and I've been his friend the longest! I should know what to get him!" he angrily muttered to himself. "Who am I kidding... I'm just intrusive thoughts."

"Hey Rem-" Roman said, rising up in his brother's room. He instantly stopped when he saw the poorly disguised bags under Remus's eyes. "...you okay?"

"Not really," Remus mumbled into his blankets, "why'd you come?"

Roman paused for a second. "Wellll I was having some trouble coming up with a gift for the person I got, so I was wondering if you could help. However, it looks like your having some trouble too."

Remus looked up at Roman, noticing the bags he had under his eyes as well.

"Creative block," they both muttered at the same time.

Remus laughed for the first time in days. "Wow, even the creativity gets it," he said with a teasing smirk.

"I think you mean creativities. We are both creativity, after all!" Roman happily replied. He began ranting about something he was trying to make, but Remus didn't hear a word.

Both creativity, he thought as he began to smile again, he thinks we're both creativity?

"Rem? Remus?" Roman asked.

"Oh, sorry! What'd you say? Remus asked, snapping out of his thoughts.

"What should I get Virgil?" Roman asked again.

"Virgil?"

"Yeah, Gerard Gay isn't the best at dropping hints at what he wants."

"Hm... what do you know he likes? Put yourself in his shoes. Or his-"

"MUSIC HE LIKES MUSIC!" Roman quickly interrupted. "He likes listening to music!"

Remus laughed a loud, full, laugh, making Roman smile and laugh a little as well. "If you were Virgil, what would you want?"

Roman pondered the question for a couple minutes, then suddenly shot up with an idea. "OH! I KNOW WHAT TO GET HIM! Thanks Remus!"

"No problem Roman, just remember to-" Remus began, then looked at Roman who narrowed his eyes in suspicion, "toooooo... wish him a Merry Christmas!"

"Nice save," Roman chuckled, making Remus beam. "Do you want some help figuring out what to give who you have?"

Remus sighed, mumbling a tired "I don't know," into his pillows.

"Hm... well just remember what you told me," Roman said, "what would you want if you were them?" Remus opened his mouth with a mischevious smirk, to which Roman added, "rule of thumb, if you wouldn't want Patton to get mad or pass out, don't give it as a gift." Remus immediately shut his mouth.

Remus sighed and groaned into his pillow, exhausted from having no ideas.

"Let's see... you can make things, summon things-" Roman started.

"Wait, summon things, like animals?" Remus asked.

"Of course! If you wanted to, that is. Although I'd suggest not making it lethal," Roman replied with a smile.

Remus grinned. "Thanks Ro, I think I have an idea!"

"That's great! Let me know if you'd like any help!"

"Thanks!"

Remus smiled to himself as Roman left, carefully working on his idea for Janus. He was certain it would be amazing.

~CHRISTMAS DAY~

"CHRISTMAS, CHRISTMAS, CHRISTMAS!" Patton excitedly shouted, waking everyone up in the process.

Patton had insisted on a sleepover on Christmas Eve, and none of them had the heart to deny the request.

Virgil yawned, failing to hide the small smile on his face as he noticed Roman stretch, hair messily falling down on his face.

"Nice bedhead Princey," Virgil teased.

Roman playfully glared, clutching his heart as if in agony.

"Why, Emo Nightmare, must you wound me like this? How could you DARE insist that, I, PRINCE Roman, have a-" he tilted his head back dramatically, causing him to see his reflection in a mirror and let out a very un-prince like squawk.

"I'll make the hot cocoa and then we can do the Secret Santa!" Patton exclaimed, rushing to the kitchen.

"I can assist you Patton," Logan offered, putting on his glasses.

"Thanks Logie!" Patton replied, making Logan blush at the nickname.

Remus and Janus slowly woke up as well, both a little excited although hesitant admit it.

"Well, this is not how I wanted to be woken up," Janus mumbled to himself with a soft smile on his face, oblivious to a blushing Remus looking at him. When he looked back and saw Remus staring at him, a faint blush spread behind his scales.

"Hey Janus, there's chaos and I didn't cause it!" Remus said, turning away to hide his blush.

"I'm not surprised, and I don't think you'll add to the chaos as soon as you can-" Janus began, only to see Remus already gone and probably eating something inedible.

After the chaos had died down (Roman brushed his hair and they dragged back Remus from eating Christmas lights), it was finally time for the Secret Santa to begin.

"Me first!" Patton said, rushing to grab the gift he had gotten. As soon as he found it he ran back to put it in Logan's lap. "This is my Secret Santa gift to you!"

"Do... do they know what a SECRET Santa is supposed to be?" Janus whispered to Remus who was sitting next to him, raising an eyebrow.

After taking a moment to collect himself, Logan carefully unwrapped the gift. Inside were multiple sci-fi series that he had been looking for.

"I knew you had been looking for those books, so I got them for you!" Patton exclaimed, voice nearly shaking from excitement.

For a moment, Logan was stunned into silence. However, he quickly recovered and replied with "t-thank you Patton, I deeply appreciate the thought put into this. I look forward to reading them."

Patton quietly peeped a quick "you're welcome," butterflies in his chest from the touched look on Logan's face. Logan suddenly turned back around, handing a small wrapped gift to Patton. "It's not the best, but I hope it's satisfactory."

Patton quickly looked up, momentarily caught up in the euphoria of gifts. He tore into the present to find a small, blue, crotche cat with a tiny heart on it's ear.

"Aww, Logan!!! This is purrrr-fect!"

Logan tried to roll his eyes at the pun, but couldn't keep a small laugh from escaping.

"Me next!" Roman sang dramatically, heading over to Virgil with a carefully wrapped gift and taking a seat next to him.

Virgil carefully opened his gift, slowly taking off the tape and removing the wrapping paper. Roman bounced up and down next to him, both in nervousness and excitement.

After what felt like forever to Roman, Virgil pulled out a dark purple set of headphones, with a black thorn pattern carved into them.

"Woah Princey... did you MAKE these?" Virgil asked, completely in shock at the care put into the headphones he held.

"Yep!" Roman responded giddily. "It took a lot of time, but I figured it out! The thorns were a last minute touch though. Oh! And they also block out other sounds, you had mentioned that your current headphones didn't do that a while ago."

Virgil, one of the most reserved sides, looked like he was on the verge of tears. "Thanks... I didn't realize you cared that much Roman," he said quietly, hiding his blushing face in his sleeves and gently leaning against him.

Roman gave him a soft, genuine smile as Virgil leaned against his arm. "Of course Stormcloud!"

"This is your present... it's awful compared to the headphones though..." Virgil mumbled, shyly taking his head out of his hands and giving Roman a shiny red bag with lots of tissue paper.

Roman being Roman, he quickly (and messily) opened up the gift, squealing when he pulled out a thin but elegant red crown. "It's a CROWN, put it on me, put it on me, put it on me!"

Virgil hesitantly put it Roman, who squealed impossibly louder after turning around and seeing his reflection in the mirror. "I love it!!!"

Roman hugged Virgil tightly, and after the initial shock, Virgil relaxed into the hug. To Roman's surprise, he stayed leaning against him even when the hug had ended. He didn't mind.

"Since it isn't obvious who your gift is from now, here's yours Remus," Janus said, handing a rather large bag to Remus.

Remus immediately tore into the bag, clawing his way in through the side instead of taking out the tissue paper. He gasped in astonishment when he pulled out a long, intricate sword, identical to the one of his logo.

"Woahhhh..." he whispered under his breath, admiring the sword. He looked up at Janus, a huge grin on his face. "Thanks!!"

Janus smiled, secretly relieved that Remus did enjoy his gift.

"I have your gift... I just didn't really have a way to wrap it," Remus said, a hint of nervousness in his voice. "So, uh, hold out your hands and close your eyes."

"Remus, is this something appropriate?"

"Yep!"

Janus raised an eyebrow but did as Remus had asked. A second later, he heard a collective gasp from around the room, followed by something placed in his hand.

"You can open your eyes now."

Janus slowly opened his eyes, shocked to find a small, yellow snake that fit in the palm of his hand. His eyes widened, and for a brief second his face shone like the universe had been placed in his eyes.

"You like it?" Remus asked.

Janus nodded vigorously, at a loss for words but as absolutely adoring the snake that slithered in his hand.

After opening the rest of the gifts, all the sides stayed together for a Christmas movie night. Patton was asleep on a dreaming Logan, and Virgil was asleep against a sleepy Roman who wrapped his arms around him.

"Hey, Janus?" Remus asked, yawning.

Janus looked over.

"Did... did you really like my gift?"

Janus smiled a true, genuine smile, reserved oy for Remus, and kissed Remus's forehead softly, making them both blush. "I loved it."

As Remus soon fell asleep against Janus, the slimey snake boi only had one thought.

Rigging the Secret Santa was definitely worth it.

[buckyskorpion]

11 hours - part two

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: thank you guys so much for the incredible response i got to part one!! it made me so happy so thank you. let me know wha yall think of this bit, we’ve got some plot going on which i always enjoy. i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask.

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist

part one

You don’t hear from Bucky for a while after the party. It’s disappointing - you’re self-aware enough to admit that. But you also aren’t stupid enough to expect anything else. Bucky asked you to that party as a favour, you got a one-night-only special being in his life and you’re not expecting anything else.

You had hoped it wouldn’t have impacted your nightly rendezvous, but those had stopped too. You suppose Bucky decided not to trust you after all.

Almost three weeks later and you’re at work, thoughts of Bucky barely a buzz in the back of your head compared to the job at hand. You’ve always been able to let your work consume you, and it pays off in your line of business. Being a private investigator requires attention to detail, lateral thinking, and a questionable moral compass. Your patented paranoia doesn’t hurt either. Your dad tells you every time you visit that he wishes you’d get into something more stable, something less dirty, but you’re not really good at anything else. Considering the majority of your clients are partners trying to figure out if their significant other is cheating, it also pays well for quite minimal effort.

Quick rule of thumb for aspiring PI’s: they’re almost always cheating.

Today is one of those clients. You’ve tailed the guy in question to a tattoo shop in Red Hook, which is already a red flag. He’s an investment banker and buys Louis Vuitton cufflinks for his ugly work suits. He stands out like a sore thumb in this grungy neighbourhood. You snap a few photos of him outside the store, very obviously checking left and right for a tail before entering the place. People suck at being subtle, you’ve come to realise over the years. And at being observant, because all you’ve bothered to do to hide is sit at the cafe across the road and pretend to be taking photos of the latte art on your coffee.

Entering the tattoo parlour is a no-go, even if your grunge aesthetic would fit in with the clientele more than your straight-laced prey. There are other ways, though. You leave some bills on the table and cross the street into the alley beside the tattoo shop, wrinkling your nose at the dumpster smell. There’s a fire escape which you can reach if you stand on the lid of the offensive dumpster in question, leading to a window you hope will get you some insight into what Mike Shorditch of suspected-cheating fame is up to. Maybe he has a tattooed, lip-ringed young girlfriend he meets here? Or a heavy-set biker boyfriend? Or he just wants a tattoo and his wife is as paranoid as you are.

Squeezed uncomfortably between the bars of the fire-escape, you manage to aim your camera lens at the window and zoom in - jackpot. It’s a small window near the ceiling of the high-roofed shop, letting in minimal light to ruin the dark aesthetic of the place, allowing you a somewhat clear view of the shop inside. It’s really nice, you notice, and they have good taste in music. Slowly Slowly bleeds minimally through the glass and you try focus your lens on the faces inside, catching Mike among them like a unicorn in a goth reunion. He’s talking to someone, waving his hands around dramatically while the guy he talks to towers over him, arms folded over a ginormous chest.

You know that face, you realise as you aim your lens a little higher. The shock burns, almost makes you drop your camera and fall off the fire escape you’re precariously lying on. It’s Steve, blonde head unmistakeable as he glares at your target and dismisses whatever Mike says to him with an eyeroll. Without questioning it, you snap a few photos of Steve’s imposing figure - so at odds with the friendly, downright cuddly man you met at the party a few weeks ago. Just when you thought you’d gotten rid of thoughts about that night, they show up at your work. How is this possible?

None of this sits right with you. This strange coincidence, the weird behaviour at the party towards Bucky and his friends, Bucky’s general evasiveness and the feeling you get of being watched just being around him. Nothing is adding up and you’ve never been the kind of person to leave well enough alone. You snap photos of the shop, as much as you can - Steve’s tattoo sleeve that had been hidden under a jumper at the party, the stencils lining the walls, the locks on the front door, the counter where a scrawny kid in glasses bends over what looks like genuine high-school homework and ignores the adults in the shop. There are too many variables - you have to start making sense of one of them.

The easiest thread to pull is Mike, and he’s the one you’re being paid to solve, so it makes sense to start there. Clearly it isn’t cheating his wife should be worried about, but the meeting he’s having with Steve and the others doesn’t look like a friendly catch up with friends either. His personal cybersecurity is poor enough you figure you’ll be able to solve that particular mystery easy enough.

Bucky and his friends, however? That’s going to take a bit more digging.

***

According to Mike Shoreditch’s bank records, he owes somebody a lot of money. You get this from an account his wife doesn’t even know he has, believing all their money goes into a shared account with a completely different bank. Mike has a lot of secrets but cheating isn’t one of them - the print outs of his secret bank account statements and the pictures of him at Steve’s tattoo parlour would be enough for you to close the case and get your money. But you don’t. Not just yet. You have your own itch to scratch, now.

You’ve taken to watching the tattoo shop’s comings and goings, snapping pictures here and there. Steve comes in at ten in the morning, ready to open the shop up by lunchtime for customers and doesn’t close it until midnight. His customers are the usual sort you’d imagine at a rough tattoo shop in Red Hook - heavy set guys with full sleeves and chest pieces, grungy couples who probably live upstate but are rebelling against their trust-fund parents, random walk-ins who’s nerves you can sense from across the street at what’s become your usual table. There are a few, though, who stand out. Leather jackets and motorbikes they park in the alley beside the shop, using the back entrance you snap a shot of one night once they all went home.

You’re not jumping to conclusions just yet, you’ve learnt the hard way from doing that, but you’re also not stupid. Whatever Steve is into, whatever Bucky is by association a part of, there are some shady looking people involved as well.

It’s one of those days where you’re watching the shop from the cafe, camera left on the table in favour of devouring an almond croissant and cataloguing the people you’ve now dubbed regulars at Steve’s as they enter the shop. You should probably be doing your actual job but you can’t bring yourself to, too caught up in the shady business across the street from you. Absorbed, in fact, so you practically jump out of your skin as your phone rings and you send it flying to the pavement with an errant elbow.

You pick up without checking the ID, and boy was that a mistake. Heart pounding painfully in your chest, you answer, “Hi, hello, hi, this is (Y/n) speaking,” all in a rush.

A familiar, honey-warm laugh rumbles down the phone to you and your previously racing heart all but stops beating. Bucky says, “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

Does he know? Had Steve caught you spying and called Bucky asking why the random girl he brought to a party that one time was stalking him? You glance around the street, half expecting Bucky to be standing behind you and catching you red-handed. He’s not, of course he’s not, you’re just losing your mind a little bit.

“No, no, sorry,” you say, running a shaky hand through your hair. “I’m at work. What’s up?”

“I won’t keep you long,” Bucky says, sounding amused, and you hate how the rough catch of his voice through the phone all but erases the suspicions you have for him, warning you to stay away. You had missed him, is all. He says, as if plucking the thought from your brain, “I was missing you.”

“Yeah?” you ask, glad he can’t see the grin you send to the table. “That why you disappeared after the party?”

“Let me explain over drinks?” Bucky asks, dodging your jab with ease. No, no, no, don’t be stupid, he’s bad news and you’ve got the proof, don’t-

“You’re paying,” you say instead, silencing the smart side of your brain.

“Always do,” he says, which is blatantly not true but whatever, “Nine at Joey’s?”

“See you there,” you say, and hang up before you can do anything else stupid.

You bury your hands in your hair, leaning your elbows on the table and letting out a frustrated sound probably inappropriate for a public place. How are you going to go meet Bucky and pretend you aren’t, essentially, investigating his best friend? Maybe you don’t. Maybe you use this to get more answers, full-stop some of the question marks that have been playing havoc with your head all week.

And sex. You’re not going to pretend you won’t be ending up in Bucky’s bed again, shady secrets be damned.

***

Joey’s is a divey, underground bar you absolutely adore, and you’ve met Bucky here multiple times. He introduced you to the place, actually, a week or so into meeting up him. He’d laughed at how excited you were over the movie posters they used as decor behind the booths, the bartender who squeezed fresh apple juice into your shot of Jameson, the dirty bass-heavy music you eventually convinced him to dance with you to. Bucky is clearly trying to win you over by meeting you here, and you can’t say it’s not working. Just a little bit. You’ll still make him work for it.

Bucky’s got a booth at the back when you arrive, two whiskey apple’s already waiting on the table as he stands up to greet you. He pulls you into a hug, not letting you set the tone at all, but you can’t find it in you to mind as you’re crushed into his chest and he rests his stubbly chin atop your head. He smells nice, reminding you of spiced rum or something else warm and comforting, and his hands feel real nice as they dip under your top to press against your bare skin. Had you really missed him this much? You squeeze him tightly, ignoring the thump of your heart as he starts rubbing circles into your back, and you stand there in his arms for far too long to be appropriate.

Pulling away, though, feels like you’ve lost something.

Across the booth from you, now, Bucky slides a drink towards you with his usual cheeky grin. You roll your eyes at him, popping the straw in your mouth and looking out at the bar so you can pretend not to pay attention to him. He bumps your foot under the table but you ignore him, hiding your smirk in the rim of your glass.

“Doll,” he says, exasperated, and reaches across the booth to place his giant hand on the arm you have resting on the table. You look at him then, scrunching your nose up at the pet name which makes him smile. His eyes crinkle up at the sides, all soft and blurry blue, and you feel yourself forgetting why you’re supposed to be mad at him in the first place.

“What,” you say, mimicking his tone just to watch his jaw clench. His frustration is hot, what of it? You love winding him up like this.

“Brat,” he retorts, and oh, that makes you feel something you probably shouldn’t, all low and coiled hot in your belly. “Did you think I was avoiding you?”

“You were avoiding me,” you correct, raising your eyebrows at him. He hasn’t let go of your arm, now taking to rubbing his thumb back and forth across the leather of your jacket. You refuse to let it melt you.

“I was away,” he says, eyes sparkling. He’s practically laughing at you, which is- rude. You huff, barely believing him, and he says, “I was! Did you want me to tell you I was going or something?”

“No,” you say, rolling your eyes at him. You sigh - he’s right, what did you expect? Nothing, and yet you were put out anyway, but that’s a problem you’ve got to deal with on your own. Bucky doesn’t owe you anything and he knows it. You relax, finally, putting your drink down to cover Bucky’s hand with your own. You smile, say, “I’m just messing with you, Bucky.”

“Sure you are,” he says easily, but you know he doesn’t believe you. It’s dropped, then, forgotten as you sit there staring at each other in the dim light of the bar. You really had missed him, even if you still barely knew him. His stubbly jaw, the close-cropped sides of the new haircut he’d gotten since you’d last seen him, the glint of his dog togs against tanned skin disappearing under his t-shirt. The swirl of his chest piece peeking out from the neckline, and you can fill in the blanks because you’ve seen what’s under that t-shirt. You’ve traced your tongue over it, as well as every other inch of him you’re trying to memorise in case another month passed before you saw him again. If you ever saw him at all.

“What?” you ask when you realise he’s starting to smile at you, holding back a laugh. He shakes his head, looking down to pick up his drink and take a sip. You lean back, retracting yourself from his grip and folding your arms across your chest - he’s making fun of you, you know it, but you don’t know why. He does laugh then, also leaning back in his seat and regarding you with that head tilt that infuriates you.

“Nothing,” he laughs, eyes saying the opposite. “It’s just- it’s nice to see you.”

“You going soft on me, tough guy?” you tease, but he sobers at your words, the smile dying on his pillow-plump lips. He stares you down, that deep thing that reminds you how easy it is to get lost in him (if you aren’t already).

“Maybe I am,” he says, and that surprises you. You had been joking, but the heady way he’s looking at you turns it serious. “Would that bother you?”

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to say the right thing. You don’t even know if that’s a good response or not, but you’ve done it now and Bucky nods, downs his drink, all without ever breaking eye contact with you. You get the distinct feeling you’ve just agreed to something you don’t entirely understand, entangling yourself further into Bucky without even trying to. Given what you’d been uncovering about his friends the past week, you should know better. You should leave.

But you don’t. You lean across the booth, coming to him this time, and peel his hand off his glass to entwine your fingers with his. The cool metal of his signet rings offsets the warmth of his palm against yours, and the way he grips your fingers tightly signs the deal. Bucky is too enticing to stay away from, and you are too tired of trying to.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” you ask, but it’s not really a question. You watch his eyes dart across your face, tongue flicking out over his lips, stalling for time. You wonder what he’ll say. My friends run dodgy business deals out of a tattoo parlour? I’m involved in that, too? I’m dangerous, I’m a liar, you should stay away?

“I’m a mechanic,” he says. You try not to show your disappointment, but still, this is information you didn’t have before and you’re greedy for anything. “I have my own shop in Queens. Natasha helps me out, helps me run it. I’ve been obsessed with cars and bikes and shit since I was five.”

You smile at that, imaging little Bucky running around a car yard trying to convince his dad, or whoever, to teach him how to drive even if he couldn’t reach the pedals yet. You imagine him now, the hand you’re holding all greased up and elbow deep in a car’s guts, maybe with his shirt off and sweat dripping down his back. You’ve got to see that one day before you die, you decide right then. That’s too hot to just stay in your brain.

“Your turn,” he says, shit-eating smirk in place like he can read your mind. You blush, despite yourself, and scramble for something to say that’s not I’ve been investigating your friends all week and it’s not looking too good for them.

“My dad,” you blurt out, and Bucky give you a funny look like he thinks that’s your fact - you have a dad, isn’t that something. You curse yourself for starting this, you could’ve gone with anything and you said ‘my dad’? But you’re here now, so, “He raised me on his own, like, I don’t know my mum at all, but he always said he wanted me to have something of her so he taught me Russian. She taught him, apparently, and he taught her English. Now it’s like our secret language.”

“Russian, hey?” Bucky asks, and he seems far too surprised for the anecdote you’ve just given but you suppose it is the first actually personal thing you’ve told him. He doesn’t seem off-put by it, though, like you have expected him to be because you don’t do personal. In fact he just leans closer, almost unconsciously, baiting you to tell him more.

“Yeah,” you say, compelled to keep going. “We’d leave each other notes around the house in ‘code’, y’know, but it was just in Cyrillic. Thought it was so cool.”

“It is cool,” Bucky says, smirking at you again, “You’re cool.”

“Fuck you,” you laugh, kicking his ankle under the table but immeasurably grateful for the tone change. You don’t know why you’ve just told him that. You don’t know if you’ve ever told anyone that - Russian isn’t exactly a handy language to know. You feel drunker than you should be after a tiny bit of whiskey, high on the rush of unleashing a secret. Drunk enough that Bucky unlatching his fingers from yours to grip your wrist tight, a bit bruising, tugging you close, makes you flush from your scalp to your toes.

Bucky looks at you, dark and heavy, and asks, “Want to?”

You nod, throat suddenly very dry, and Bucky tugs you out of the booth without another word. Usually you wait a bit longer before getting on Bucky’s bike, have a few more drinks, maybe dance a bit if you can coax Bucky into it. Not tonight. You’re both on the same page - it’s been too long and you need his mouth on you about five days ago.

He pushes you into the apartment by the shoulders, rough enough you stumble but you’re quickly righted as he strides through the door after you and grabs you by the hips. Bucky crushes his mouth to yours, swallowing your needy whine with soft lips and velvet tongue as you fist his t-shirt and drag you both backwards, going and going until your back hits a wall. His palm slams into the drywall by your head but you don’t flinch, only groan as he smudges his spit-slick mouth across your jaw and down your neck. Bucky bites down, sharp teeth on soft skin, and you rake your nails down his stomach as payback for the mark you’ll have later.

“Off,” Bucky grumbles as he shoves at your jacket, getting it stuck at your elbows and trapping your arms by your sides. He seems to like like this, eyes flashing something dangerous in the dark of his hallway. You hold his eyes, heart thrumming something wild in your throat at being caught, pinned, vulnerable. With Bucky, though, you like that.

You want to reach for him but you can’t, so you wait for him to come to you. Kissing you breathless, hand fisted in your hair, other undoing the front of your jeans. God, you wanna touch him so bad but Bucky has you in his grip, yanking your head back to kiss that same bruised spot.  He sucks another under your chin as you cry out, pinpricks of pain-turned-pleasure bursting at the base of your scalp.

He gets his hand in your jeans, in your panties, runs two fingers down your cunt so easy with how wet you are already before rubbing bruising, slow circles on your clit. Your whole body jerks against Bucky’s hold on you, his thighs bracketing your body into the wall and his hand still fisted in your hair. Your mouth drops open in a soundless moan and you feel, rather than hear Bucky laugh against your throat. All executive function has diverted to the radiating ache of pure pleasure from Bucky’s fingers on you.

Bucky lets go of you hair only to press his hand on your throat, cold rings digging into your burnt-up skin and pressing you back into the wall. Long fingers tilt your jaw to look at him, increased pressure warning you against looking away, but you don’t want to anyway. Bucky’s eyes are dark like a sea storm, molten blue, and he squeezes his grip just once before saying, “Still think I’ve gone soft?”

Jesus christ, but you can’t answer him like this - not with your pulse thundering against his palm and the way he picks up the pace on your clit, making your thighs shake with the effort of holding yourself up. Bucky grins, boyish and crinkly, and it’s so at odds with the way he slides his two fingers down and pushes into you, twisting to the knuckle, that you think you might be losing your mind. Unravelling, Bucky pulling at the threads, and the only thing holding you together is his hand on your throat.

“Bucky,” you say, his name a broken breath as you start to lose focus. Everything’s hazy, glassy, your toes are going numb and tingly so you know it’s coming, building tight in your stomach as he rubs his fingers back and forth inside of you. At his name Bucky makes a sound almost like a growl, pressing his body against yours and somehow further into the wall. You need that contact,  the press of his muscles holding you up as it gets harder and harder to breath with the heat coiling up inside of you. He presses his forehead against yours so all you can see is blue edged out by black, claiming your every breath and moan, drawing you in deeper and deeper because you’re his, now. There’s no way back from this.

He presses his thumb to your clit, thrusts his fingers deeper into you, mouth parting with yours as you moan as if he means to swallow the sound. You’re there, you’re right there, and then he kisses you so soft you might’ve imagined it and you’re coming, your whole body clenching up and whiting out while he finger fucks you through it.

Trembling muscles come to leant against the wall, barely holding yourself up as Bucky extricates himself and allows you room to breath. He gently tugs your jacket all the way off, freeing your arms to come up sluggish and heavy around his neck, holding on. He laughs, just quietly, letting you nuzzle your way into the side of his neck and breath in that warm honey Bucky smell as you try and regain mental functions. It’s hard. You think Bucky’s just blended up your brain with a swizzle stuck and sucked it out through a straw.

“C’mon,” he says, gravel rough, and nudges his nose against the side of your head. “Not done with you yet.”

“Hmph,” you say, but let yourself be picked up under the ass and wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you to his bedroom. You press a kiss to the skin of his neck you can reach with every second your body comes back online, digging your teeth in a little when he squeezes your ass as he walks. You’re both still fully clothes, basically, but you don’t plan to be for long. You’ve got tattoos to kiss and a dick you want anyway Bucky’ll let you. You’ve got all night, after all.

***

It’s late, you should be going, but you steal a few more minutes lying on Bucky’s chest. He’s sat up against the headboard, trying to braid little pieces of your hair with the cutest look of concentration on his face. The way he goes from dirty to dork always makes your heart do complicated things in your chest. You’re drumming your fingers on his chest, right next to his dog tags, and before you can overthink it too much you pause your drum solo to pick them up.

Bucky doesn’t pause in his hair-braiding but you can feel him watching you as you turn the worn metal over in your fingers. They’re well loved, a bit bent in places and the letters starting to rub flat  but you can still read it. His birthday, March 10th, and his name. You’d never thought to read these before - they always seemed part of Bucky’s past, something you weren’t allowed into yet. But tonight has made you bold, and you run your thumb over the letters of his name so you can memorise the feel of them.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you mumble, words half said into his skin. Bucky hums but doesn’t respond, so you say, “I always knew no mother could look at their newborn child and call it Bucky.”

“Watch it,” Bucky warns, but without any real heat. You don’t ask what the tags mean, which war he fought in, when he got back. You lay them back on his skin carefully, straightening out the chain, before turning in Bucky’s arms to prop your chin on his chest piece and look at him.

“I should go,” you say, as you continue to lie there with legs tangled and Bucky’s hand now resting idle, cupping the back of your head. He bites his lip, strokes his big hand down the back of your hair and making you close your eyes for a second. You’re enjoying his touch too much, you’re getting too close for a man you don’t know. A man who you know has secrets you probably don’t want to uncover, but you can’t stop yourself.

“You could stay.” Bucky’s words hang there, suspended in the space between you. He’s never said that before. You never thought he would say that, ever. Bucky looks at you, face unreadable, and you don’t know why you feel sick to your stomach all of a sudden but you do. There are lines being crossed that you can’t backtrack from. You’re not ready to make that step yet.

“Not tonight,” you say, and it’s not a no but it’s not what Bucky wants to hear. He withdraws his hand from you, letting it drop uselessly to the bed beside him. You take that as your cue to go, rolling off the bed and dressing silently with Bucky’s eyes burning a hole in your skin.

You’re pulling away, trying desperately to regain some distance and control from his man who already has you swallowed whole, he just doesn’t know it yet. Even still, you can’t stop yourself crawling back on the bed and straddling his lap, holding his face in your hands as you kiss him. You want him to remember this - not you saying no, but the way your body will always say yes to him as he holds your hips and keeps you there, kissing you back as desperate as you feel.

But now you know you have reason to climb through the laundry room window that night and sneak away from Bucky’s apartment building, that you’re not just being paranoid because you’ve got photos to prove it. It’s that thought alone that makes it bearable to leave him, even if your heart is begging you to stay.

Part 3

[frederikandersens]

Broken Promises (Frederik Andersen)

Summary: you promised Mitch you wouldn’t fall for one of his teammates, but things took a sudden turn as soon as you walked in the door.

Warnings: mentions of cat-calling and things of that sort. and Auston yet again being a dick!

A/N: I really wanted to write this, and because y/n and Mitch are brother and sister in this, y/n’s last name is Marner lol

Ever since your twin brother Mitch, was drafted, all you’ve been begging him for is to meet his friends. You’d constantly promise to not try and go after any of his teammates, but he knew you had a little crush on his goalie, everyone in your family knew. From Freddie’s Anaheim days people would swear you were a Ducks fan, but you would always just tell them that you liked Freddie, not the ducks and that you’d never be able to not be a leafs fan because of one player.

“You promise to behave?” Mitch raises an eyebrow looking at you, you nod your head, “keep your eyes on the road mitchy” you laugh.

He was nervous about introducing you to the team, not only because he knew they’d be all over you, but he just didn’t like the fact that his boys could find you the slightest bit arrtractive. They said it when they found your instagram, “wow she’s so hot” or “mitchy let me meet her” followed by a wink.

“I’m just glad your in sweats” he looks at you, “dressing as repulsive as possible, I mean you look like that any other day, but especially today” he smirks, “oh come on” you flick his head rolling your eyes.

You were almost at Mitchs house and you start to play with your gold chain you never took off, you were nervous to meet his closest friends for the first time. You were in Roots head-to-toe, not including your shoes however because you were wearing a pair of Jordan 1’s, and your hair was tied up into a messy bun.

“Okay, be as disgusting as possible” Mitch says, “absolutely not, I have morals y’know” you laugh as you get out.

Mitch pulls out his keys from his pocket and it’s only a few seconds steph is there opening the door, “Stephypoo!” You hug her, “hi babes” she smiles letting you go.

“Okay wow for being Mitchs sister, you are shockingly tall, when he said feternal twins I thought maybe you’d be like 5’3 while he’d be the tall one, but your both just as tall” Willy says, “he’s not that short, but I am that tall” I laugh, “oh by the way, I’m Y/N” you smile to everyone, the room is filled with hi’s.

“Off limits, got it?” He points to the boys and they all say their yesses, “especially you, Fred” mitch says.

“Oh my god, Mitch!” You hit him. He did not just say that, you had to be kidding, “she has a crush on you” he laughs, “fuck me” you sigh.

“Yeah by the sounds of it Freddie will be doing a lot of fucking you real soon” Auston laughs, Mitch was absolutely disgusted by the conversation and almost instantly grabs Zeus’ leash to take him for a walk.

“Pussy” you say under your breath, “anywho, how are you guys doing?” You awkwardly smile, they all say their goods or okays.

“You’re hot” willy smiles, “Will! C’mon man! Leave her be!” Freddie rolls his eyes, “like have some respect man! She’s a beautiful woman so I can only imagine the stuff she hears daily!” He adds.

“Thank you” you smile softly. You often did hear lots of strange comments from men on the streets, at bars, uber rides, you name it.

Mitch must’ve only taken Zeus around the block as he’s back him now and you can only wonder if these boys would settle down now that your brothers back, you weren’t exactly uncomfortable around his friends because you genuinely trusted the choices he made within friend groups, it’s just weird comments kind of catch you off guard sometimes.

“Hey Mitchy” you smile softly at your brother, “hey Y/N, are you all done being gross towards my sister or...” he waits for an answer, they nod.

As the night goes all on of you had down quite a bit of drinks, all of you were feeling the music and having conversations about whatever.

As your pouring yourself a drink you feel an arm wrap around you, sure you’d drank a bit, but you were still able to make decisions on your own, “hey” Auston smiles at you, “uh, hi” you pull away from his grip, “awe, wow” he frowns, “thought maybe you’d wanna go somewhere and do something” he says, you don’t bother picking your drink up and just walk to the guest bedroom.

Sitting beside the bed, tears streaming down your face thinking of how Mitch clearly states that you were off limits and that Auston was literally trying to hook up with you in his home, sure you were all for not following your brothers rules, but only if it were out of his house, plus you weren’t even attracted to Auston which made this more frustrating.

You had the sleeves of you hoodie over your eyes, trying to stop the tears as soon as they fall, “hey, shh, it’s okay” Freddie soothingly rubs your knee as he takes a seat beside you, “c’mere” he wraps you in his arms, “I won’t let anything happen to you, I got you.”

Eventually you pull away from his embrace, finally looking him in the eyes, “thank you, Freddie” he just grabs your hand and softly rubs his thumb on yours. Your hands were so tiny compared to Freds, and it made you feel safe, the size difference was unreal. Now seeing him in person, you understand where he gets these crazy nicknames.

“Let me know when your ready to go back out, I’ll stick with you for the night” he whispers softly, “I will, thank you”

The rest of the night Freddie didn’t take his eyes off of you, followed you to the bathroom and stood outside the door, went with you to mix drinks, he was there for you, from that night forward. And for the first time in years, you finally felt safe.

[bug13underscore]

Hi, I just found your fics on ao3 and I love them! So I wanted to ask for a prompt please. 😊 Alex/Reggie Angst prompt #13 “We never were just friends, and you know it.” “I know it, but you deserve someone better than me.” But with a Hapoy Ebd if possible. Thank you 💜💜

I totally loved this prompt, but I also just really love Alex/Reggie and love having an excuse to write more stuff for them. Thank you for this and I hope you like it <3

It had been a very long and stressful day for Reggie and it was barely even 8 AM. He never minded biking to school, usually enjoying the wind in his hair as he rode. Today, he wasn't getting any enjoyment out of it, too busy focusing on the insults his parents had chosen to throw around today. He was already halfway through his trek to school when rain began to beat down, which killed the last little bit of chance for him to be in a good mood. 

Taking a sharp left, the opposite direction from his school, Reggie decided to not even try to put up with anything today. Instead he drove towards the garage, knowing that at this point no one would be there, already heading to work or school. He could have some time alone with his thoughts, even if he knew that wouldn’t end too well.

Time alone he got, stashing his bike in the bushes beside the garage and ducking into the building. His home away from home. He let out a small sigh, quickly changing into one of the extra outfits he had stashed, drying his hair with one of the towels from the bathroom. 

He killed time by switching between writing down random lyrics, practicing a few of their songs on his bass or answering random math problems from his textbook. His thoughts spiraled despite his efforts, worsening his mood. It was on the sixth cycle of those tasks when the garage door flew open, Alex storming in. He slammed the door just as a bolt of lightning lit up the windows around them. 

He let out a sharp breath, startling at the slam of the door and then at the following clap of thunder. The fact that he now had an intimidating blonde drummer standing over him as well did not help the fear and panic rising in his chest. 

Alex opens his mouth but another loud clap of thunder keeps him from speaking, but it does jolt Reggie from his spot on the couch, snagging the blanket beside him as he bolts into the small bathroom in the back of the garage. 

“Reggie?” Alex’s voice is small through the door, meek compared to how pissed he had previously looked. “You okay?” Reggie doesn’t voice a reply, only whimpering as he pulls the blanket tight around himself. 

The bathroom door slowly opens, Alex coming in slowly and shutting the door behind him. He kneels in front of the shower that Reggie was currently cowering in. His face was completely void of any anger it previously held, replaced instead by a deep concern that almost scared Reggie more. 

Wordlessly, Alex drew the smaller boy into his arms, shifting around so that he was now on the shower floor, Reggie tucked safely against his chest. They sat there in the mostly-dark and mostly-silent bathroom, no words or lights needed. 

Every crack of thunder drew whimpers from Reggie’s mouth, which brought out hushed coos from Alex as he rubbed small circles into the bassists back through the blanket. After a while, the thunder seemed to get far enough away which put the boy at ease. 

“Thank you, ‘Lex.” Reggie mumbled, pulling his face away from where it had been tucked under Alex’s chin. “You’re a great friend.” 

“Of course.” The blonde offered him a kind smile, reaching a hand up to wipe at a few stray tears. “We were never just friends, and you know it.” 

Alex’s intent was to ease the tension, ignore the fluttering in his chest, but the ‘We’re best friends!’ died somewhere in his throat as his eyes caught Reggie’s, his fingers frozen where they laid splayed across his cheek. 

“I know it.” Reggie’s voice is tiny, just above a whisper. “But you deserve someone better than me.” He lets out a shaky breath, leaning into the hand on his cheek, as if he were trying to appreciate the contact before it was gone forever. 

“What?” Alex’s reply comes out sharp, causing Reggie to flinch slightly. “Fuck, I mean, what do you mean I deserve better than you?” He softens his voice, not wanting to send him back into a panic. 

“Means how it sounds.” Reggie shrugs, his gaze falling downward. “I’m not good enough for you, not good enough for any of you guys.” 

Alex can feel his heart practically shatter in his chest, thoughts racing through his mind. From Holy shit what does Reggie mean ‘I know it’ to Who could be better than Reggie? The bassist doesn’t seem to catch on to the influx of thoughts that Alex had been hit with, taking his silence to heart. 

“See? You can’t even say anything, maybe they’re right.” Reggie gave a bitter laugh, attempting to shuffle off of Alex’s lap. At his movements, Alex’s brain finally caught up on the moment and he pulled the boy back into him, tucking him tightly back against his chest. 

“That’s not it at all! I don’t know who told you that you’re not good enough, I didn’t say anything because I’m trying to figure that out. Reg, you’re the sweetest and best person I know.” Alex’s eyebrows were crinkled in concern, moving to cup his friend's face again. “You’re more than good enough, sometimes it feels like you’re too good for us, like you should be with better friends.” 

This time, it was Reggie’s turn to be confused and concerned. 

“Better friends? Alex, you guys are the best! All I do is drag you guys down.” Reggie shifted, moving his hand up to cup Alex’s cheek, mirroring his stance. 

“Drag us down? I know I give you shit sometimes, but you could never drag us down.” 

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better, I know how annoying I can be. I can’t even handle thunderstorms without crying.” Reggie’s bitter laugh gave a slight echo through the small shower walls. 

“I’m not lying, Reg. Sure, you can be annoying sometimes, but so can Luke and Bobby. Being annoying is basically a human quality. You can’t beat yourself up for how you react to storms, or anything else, it’s not like you want to be scared of them.”

“You say this like it’s the easiest thing ever.” Reggie felt tears well up in his eyes again, sniffling as he brushed his thumb against Alex’s cheek. 

“That’s because it is the easiest thing ever.” Alex gave him a sweet smile, gently wiping at the tears. “Talking to you, giving you advice, giving you shit, they’re all the easiest things ever.” He gave a laugh, nudging his nose against Reggie’s with his joke. “Loving you, Reg? Easy as breathing.” 

Reggie felt his breath catch in his throat, emerald eyes meeting crystal blue. He searched those eyes, looking for any sliver of doubt, any trace of a lie or ingenuity. Coming up empty, this throat easing and allowing his breath to escape. 

Surging forward and capturing Alex’s lips in his was an easy choice, his eyes fluttering shut was just an extension of that. The kiss was awkward and messy, teeth clacking together, tasting salty from Reggie’s tears, but neither boy minded. 

Reggie pulled away, taking in a sharp breath, but he was quickly chased by Alex, his lips reclaimed in a softer, gentler kiss. This one was less teeth and more just their lips moving in tandem. The salty taste was still there, though neither of them really minded it. 

They stayed in the bathroom for who knows how long, swapping smiles and kisses, so few words spoken. 

Until obviously, someone had to break the spell. 

“Wait.” Reggie pulled away, eyes narrowing at the other boy. “Easy as breathing? Alex, you have fucking asthma.” 

“Listen, I never said I was good with words, okay?” 

“Yeah, that’s why you retook Sophomore literature your Junior year.”

“Bold words coming from someone who had to be carried through Freshman history.” 

“Carried you say? Who did your math homework last week?” 

“Hey! You offered!” 

They continued on with their half-assed argument, teasing each other back and forth, it was their usual game. This time, the rules had changed and they were occasionally swapping little kisses, hesitant touches and heartfelt glances. 

Maybe today wasn’t as stressful as it had started out, but the storm wasn’t gone. Not with the lightning behind Alex’s eyes, the electricity in their touches and the thunder in Reggie’s heart, but he thinks he can live with this storm.

[picficskpopstyle]

Immoral (Part 10)

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9

Group: BTS

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Smut

You'd stopped drinking about an hour ago but your head was definitely swimming. Hoseok had been laughing and smiling for the past 10 minutes. Jimin's speech slurred every so often and his eyes were slightly lidded. Jungkook had passed out with Tae in Jimin's room about 15 minutes ago. Yoongi...well, you couldn't really tell just how far along he was. Rather than looking drunk, he somehow managed to just look tired.

“I really wouldn’t have expected you to come here” Jimin laughed, face reddened. Yoongi tilted his cup, drinking the last of whatever fruity concoction Hobi had mixed. He put his empty cup on the floor beside him.

“Why not? I’m getting to know you guys” Yoongi answered.

Jimin's smile quickly slid into a frown and he covered it by taking a sip from his cup.

"Getting to know some a little better than others," he grumbled, finishing the last of his drink. There was a slight pause as you stared at Jimin. Obviously, he was referring to you. Even if it was just a hint of it, you could hear his jealousy seep out. Hoseok must've heard it too because he seamlessly came up with a cover story.

"Yeah, we've seen you with Amanda-" Hobi teased, nudging Yoongi's arm. 

"-well, you have her until Jungkook comes around" he laughed. Yoongi didn't seem to notice the light tension in the air and you mentally thanked Hoseok.

"She scares me a little," Yoongi laughed. 

Jimin's eyes connected with yours for a split second and you stood up.

"I'm going to head out," you announced. You gathered the mess you made and headed into their small kitchen area. As you dumped your trash in the bin, Jimin walked in and leaned against the fridge. He looked you over, knowing that he'd messed up...again.

"___-" he started, apology geared up.

"Jimin, you don't need to apologize" you sighed. Truthfully, if you were comparing his past self with now, his snarky comment was basically a compliment.

He went quiet and watched you turn to face him. 

"I've been trying" he offered with a smile. He scratched the back of his head and you kicked yourself for finding it cute. You were not in the right mindset for any of this.

"Yeah, I know. I appreciate it" you smiled back. There was a quiet moment between the two of you until Hobi's laugh echoed throughout the building. 

"Come on" Jimin said, opening his arms. You walked into his hug and he kissed your cheek as usual.

"See you tomorrow" he said, releasing you. He walked with you back to the other boys and you slid your shoes on.

"It is 4 in the morning," Hoseok commented, eyes on his phone screen.

"4? We have church in, like, 5 hours" Yoongi said, sitting up. 

"Yeah, you might want to get some sleep," Jimin suggested. Yoongi scratched his forehead and grabbed his keys from the table. He looked down at them and sighed.

"I need to call a car or something," he groaned.

"I can drive your car to the church tomorrow," Jimin offered. He reached his hand out and Yoongi tossed his keys to him. 

"Can you walk ___ home? Your ride will probably get there by the time you make it to her place" Hoseok asked, beginning to clean up. Jimin didn't comment, instead moving to help clean up. 

"Uhh, yeah, sure" Yoongi agreed. Not wanting to make Jimin any more uncomfortable, you walked to Hobi and gave him a hug goodbye. He roughly pressed his lips into your cheek and you complained, smacking him away. Hoseok laughed and let you go, throwing a goodbye in Yoongi's direction.

Yoongi pulled his shoes on and said his goodbyes as he opened the door for you.

"Hoseok's fruit drink-" he said as the door closed behind you. You began walking down the hall as he tried to sort through his confusion.

Yoongi's eyebrows were drawn together as he ruffled his hair.

"You're starting to feel it?" you laughed. He looked at you and smiled, walking into the elevator. 

"My entire body just started heating up" he laughed with you. You nodded your head, completely understanding.

"You should never accept one of those after he's already been drinking. There's no telling how much alcohol he put in it" you grinned. Yoongi closed his eyes and tilted his head up.

"Church is going to be awful" he groaned before laughing.

"Well, he only gave you half of a cup so, maybe it won't be so bad?" you offered optimistically. The elevator pinged and the two of you stepped off. The walk to the exit was quick and you sighed in relief at the cool breeze gliding over your skin.

Yoongi must've felt it too because something that sounded suspiciously like a moan seeped from his lips.

"Seriously, my body feels like it is on fire," he said. You laughed and pulled his arm in the direction of your place. 

"This way" you smiled. Yoongi looked at your profile from head to toe and lightly shook his head. He had a snarky comment but now wasn't the time to go there. 

"You couldn't have changed out of that dress" his lips asked anyway and without his permission. Liquid courage.

You looked down at your dress, continuing the path to your place. You remembered his comments from the banquet and smiled.

"This is a normal dress" you laughed.

"I can almost see through it and it is incredibly short" he said, openly staring at your thigh.

"It goes mid-thigh and it's not my fault that you can't help fantasizing about me" you teased. Yoongi rolled his eyes and shook his head with a smile.

"It's hard not to fantasize when I'm being seduced" he argued. Your mouth dropped open and he laughed at your animated expression.

"Mid-thigh means that when you bend over, it just barely covers your...important parts" he said, controlling his language.

"Ohhh, I see what this is about" you said, ears burning. Yoongi waited for your explanation with confusion carved into his face.

"You can't stop thinking about bending me over, right?"

Yoongi licked his lips and looked forward, refusing to answer. The hint of a smile gave him away and you laughed.

"See? I told you in your office that we needed rules or this would be hard for you" you gloated. Yoongi scoffed and watched you stick your tongue out to tease him. There was a small moment of silence as your mind played through the possibilities of him bending you over. The thought itself was making your panties wet.

"So, what's the plan after that?" 

"What do you mean?" he asked quizzically.

"After I'm bent over? What’s next? Are you going to spank me?" you asked. Yoongi made an impressed face. You seemed to be getting more comfortable with him as the hours went by. Or, well, you could just be hopped on liquid courage like he was. 

The two of you finally reached your building and he sighed, knowing the conversation would be coming to a close soon. He pushed the button for the elevator and the doors opened immediately. 

"So?" you asked, still waiting for an answer. Yoongi watched as the elevator doors closed and smiled before looking over at your expectant face.

"I think I would have to taste you before I did anything else" he said, watching your reaction. You looked away from him for a second and swallowed, not sure what to say next. Surely there was a way to tease him but just the thought of his tongue on you made you hot. 

He chuckled lightly at your silence and tried to subtly adjust himself. The elevator pinged again and the two of you stepped off to head toward your place. 

"-but I know you wouldn't let me get that far" he said, eyes on you. His growing bulge throbbed in his pants.

You reached your door and turned around to look at him.

"You sure about that?" you asked, pressing your back against the door. Yoongi tilted his head down and kissed your lips, putting one hand on your hip and another on your neck. His thumb lightly brushed your earlobe as his tongue pushed your lips apart. With every new part of him that interacted with your body, you felt a new sensation. His fingers dug into your hips while his torso softly pressed into you. His kisses were urgent but his pacing was somehow still manageable. 

Yoongi hiked one of your legs over his hip, sliding his hand over your thigh and pushing the lacy material of your dress upward. The bulge in his jeans met with your wet panties and you moaned, breaking his kiss. Yoongi relocated his mouth to your neck, biting down with just enough force to make your eyes cross. 

Your hips angled just a bit, allowing even more pressure to build between his bulge and your clothed slit. You moaned in time with his grunt and he licked your neck, sucking the skin there. 

Yoongi could feel himself become more and more frustrated as he tried to thrust his hips. Standing in your doorway just wasn't going to cut it.

"Door" he moaned against you. He allowed you to turn around, releasing your leg, and heard the sound of you fumbling with your keys. He used that time to fiddle with the zipper on your dress. Just as he got the zipper down, you'd gotten the door open and began pulling him inside. Yoongi kicked the door shut behind him and used his feet to start removing his shoes, all the while watching your dress hit the ground. His eyes stopped on your bra and smirked.

"Lacy bra too, huh?" his voice came out gravelly. You nodded and walked around him, his eyes following you across the room. With one hand, you reached behind and slowly undid the clasps on your bra. With the other, you dug in the second drawer of your dresser to pull out a condom. You tossed it to him and he fumbled to catch it, watching your bra hit the ground next.

Walking toward your bed, you kicked your shoes off and hooked your fingers into the waistband of your panties but kept them on. Lying on the bed, you gazed up at Yoongi who'd pulled off his hoodie and tossed it in the center of the room. His fingers worked on unbuttoning his jeans while he came closer to you. He bent over at the waist, licking his tongue to one nipple then the other. 

At this point, you were so turned on that you could feel your inner walls clenching. Nearly breathless, you looked into Yoongi's eyes as he licked and kissed his way down your stomach. You could hear yourself panting despite the fact that he had yet to fully touch you. 

Yoongi's tongue touched the fabric of your panties and he internally groaned as you bit your bottom lip in anticipation. To your surprise, instead of taking your panties off, Yoongi flattened his tongue over your slit. He roughly spread your legs using both of his hands and sucked your clit through your panties. He broke eye contact and you finally felt free to close your eyes. The feeling of his suction mixed with the fabric of the panties was mind numbing and you moaned deeply.

Yoongi rubbed his thumb across your clothed nub and sucked his mouth to your inner thighs, biting and kissing the flesh there. He felt your hips bucking against him and he used his free hand to restrain you. After a few seconds of being unable to ride his face as you pleased, you got the message to stay still. His thumb moved just a bit more forcefully against your clit and you groaned, letting your legs fall open even wider. 

Yoongi reached into his unfastened jeans and squeezed his cock, a moan escaping him. This was all getting to be too much. He was so hard that it was beginning to hurt. 

He moved your panties to the side and licked his bare tongue across your naked slit. Your eyes squeezed shut and you cried out as he quickly began flicking his stiffened tongue over your clit. Your arm reached above your head, desperately trying to grab anything but could only find your pillow. Your fingers clawed into the pillow as your back arched and you panted. Yoongi stopped moving his tongue and immediately sucked your clit into his mouth. 

The tension fell just a bit and your fingers loosened their grip. Why did he stop? You'd been so close. The thought to open your eyes crossed your mind but before you could do so, Yoongi slid two fingers into your pussy. He slowly began sawing them in and out of you, his lips still tightly hugged around your clit. Once again, you could feel your walls clenching and releasing. 

Yoongi noticed it too and smiled to himself, knowing that he'd be experiencing it in a minute. He pulled his mouth and fingers away from you and listened to you protest. Pushing his pants to the ground, Yoongi grabbed the condom and ripped the packaging open with his teeth.

Impatient, you pulled your panties off and tossed them away. You squeezed one of your breasts and slid your other middle finger to your clit. A sigh left your body as you put pressure back where you needed it. Yoongi's eyes were stuck to your fingers, watching as you'd circle your clit a few times before plunging your fingers inside. He groaned, slipping the condom on. Waiting for your fingers to return to your clit, Yoongi lined himself to your opening and slowly pushed in. 

"Oh God~" he breathed, his eyes closing. Your finger stuttered over your clit as you felt him stretch you open. 

Once he was fully inside, Yoongi sat still for a second, letting your walls grip and massage him. After a few seconds, he pulled out about halfway and flexed his hips to dive back in. You licked your parted lips, your fingers completely stalled as he slowly rocked into you. With every thrust, a moan squeezed out of your lips.

You watched Yoongi grab one of your legs and push it upward through lidded eyes. Once he had more clearance, his thrusts became harder, making the bed rock. He grunted and your eyes clamped shut as his rough thrusts began to pick up speed. Your breasts bounced in time with the knocking of your headboard and his grunts.

Once again, your fingers rubbed at your clit and your head rolled to the side. You clenched your teeth, feeling yourself reach the edge. Your lower half started trembling and before you could scream, Yoongi pressed his lips to yours. Your walls squeezed the life out of him as you came explosively, his orgasm pushing through immediately after. Your nipples poked into his torso as he rested against you, your breathing patterns seeming to be in sync.

MASTERLISTS

[oftheflamingheart]

Not As Planned

This fanfic is a gift for @aromanticandaromatic from the @sanderssidesgiftxchange ! I combined a few of October’s prompts for a Roman x Emile Picani Soulmate AU story. Featuring Sides with Disabilities, and Angst (but Happy Endings)! Hope you enjoy, October, and all my other guys, gals, and non-binary pals that enjoy my Sanders scribblings.  Beta Read by @creations-of-ps

Read on AO3 or under the cut below!

In many ways, winding up at some hole-in-the-wall café on the other side of the park was the perfect microcosm of how his day was going. He was in a strange place, in many ways. Literally, he'd never been here before. Roman didn't even like coffee. It had its uses; in a pinch. Especially if he was worried about what the energy drinks he frequently used was doing to him he'd switch to coffee. The cup in front of him was something the barista recommended. One of those seasonal things that's supposed to taste like some holiday treat. Which had it been? Roman couldn't remember. 

There was only one real thought in his head. Nobody he knew had ever been rejected by their soulmate. That simply didn't happen. Even thinking about it that way seemed harsh. It had been mutual, at the end. The final rejection had to have the consent of both soulmates, although Roman had suggested any number of alternatives to simply cutting things off. How did the universe mess it up? How could a soulmate be wrong?

Roman turned the cup around in his hands on the table, his fingers itching to pull his phone out and call or text a friend. Virgil would care, he'd been so supportive when Roman found his soulmate. He'd been on the phone with Roman all night after his soulmate left. Virgil offered to cut his trip short and come home, he’d left with his boyfriend on a road trip they'd planned way in advance. Roman threatened to run off to his Aunt Patty’s house if Virgil came home early. Virgil and Aunt Patty didn’t get along, but then again Roman didn’t get along well with her either. After all his reassurances, he'd only make Virgil anxious about him if he complained now. Roman couldn't be that burden.

That's what he'd been to his soulmate. A burden. From the moment he'd seen his soul-stamp in the park, Roman had inconvenienced him. Mr. Soulmate was dating a girl who's soul-mate passed away when they were kids. He'd promised her his heart and he wouldn't give it to anyone else. Not even when Roman offered to be friends. His soulmate wouldn't risk even feeling positive feelings for Roman. Roman had begged, pleaded, bargained, gotten both of their parents involved and even had a heart to heart with the girlfriend. It had all made the soulmate angry. The last rejection stung the most, giving up. His wrist still burned a little.

He raised the cup in his hands to his lips and belatedly realized it was peppermint mocha. Also it was lukewarm at best. He grimaced and looked back down into the cup as he set it back on the table.

"My father used to say the darkest times call for the sunniest smiles!" Roman looked up from his cup of coffee and into a pair of eyes equally as brown, and a smile as sunny as he’d ever seen. He hadn't even heard the other young man approaching. “I bet you have a really sunny smile when you aren’t brooding over cold coffee.”

"You can keep the flattery. I'm not your soulmate," Roman said, dismissively looking back down at his cup.

A whistle from the other side of the table brought his gaze back up. This stranger had an eyebrow raised, his smile no less charming. "Yikes, greet everyone like that?" 

Roman looked the stranger over and hesitated. Something in the guileless look he was getting made him want to talk to this stranger. "I'm sorry. I'm not very good company right now.”

"I'm Emile. I've been told I'm good enough company for two people," Emile said, waving a hand in greeting. "How do you know you're not my soulmate?"

Roman bit his lip and tried not to smile at this stranger. At any other time the interest would be welcome. On any other day, Roman would have flirted back. Instead, for some reason he decided to tell a stranger his most painful recent memory. 

"My soulmate rejected me." What little conversation going on around them died. Roman sipped his coffee before remembering it wasn't good. He set the cup down again and moved it away from himself. “Yeah wow, can’t believe I just said that in public. Look, I’m sure you’re nice, but my heart’s just done.”

Emile held his hands up, both of which held cups of coffee. "Well, I sure shoved my foot in my mouth. I’m sorry. If you’d like I can go. I did get you a new coffee, but I totally understand if you’d rather not.”

Roman waited a beat but instead of shooing Emile away, he reached for the cup of coffee, leaned onto his elbows and sipped it. “Look, this is excellent coffee but I don’t want to bring you down with my problems.”

Emile waved his free hand. “I’m sure it’s a Wonderland of a mess, but now that I’ve jumped down this rabbit hole, let me try and dig our way out. What do you say, Alice?”

“My name’s Roman.”

Emile’s megawatt smile got even brighter and Roman found the corners of his mouth twitching. 

“Roman, before you call it done-zo on your heart, maybe we should make sure it was your actual soulmate?" Emile asked. 

Roman rolled his sleeve up. One palm up, he showed Emile his soul-stamp. A Christmas tree, star on top, now sporting a red X through it. His eyes misted over as he remembered the pain of that red X appearing. He felt rather than saw Emile's hand land on his upturned palm. His soul-stamp was a five-pointed yellow star with a red X over it. 

Roman's breath hitched. "S-so I'm not alone?" 

He hated himself instantly at how raw he sounded. He'd never heard of someone being rejected. A soulmate’s death made the soul-stamp disappear over time. 

Emile nodded, turning his hand over to hold onto Roman's wrist. "Let's go for a walk, pardon the phrase."

Roman quirked an eyebrow at that, but stood up and waited for Emile to do the same. Instead, he glided around the table, seated in a wheelchair. Roman was struck for a moment, and Emile giggled. "You really were stuck in your own head, weren't you?"

"I'm sorry," Roman started.

Emile shook his head. "No, I remember how I felt when I first saw someone in a wheelchair. Felt like Aang meeting Teo. Come on, I'll get the door."

“Was that a Last Airbender…” Roman trailed off as he actually had to hurry to keep up. "Um, are you sure..."

Before he could even get the sentence out, Emile had the door open and was gesturing Roman through. "First rule. Don't underestimate what I can and can't do."

Roman nodded as he stepped outside. "Fair enough." 

Emile led him to the park. The slight nip in the air felt good. Pulling alongside a bench, Emile reached over and patted on it. Roman obliged, sitting next to Emile with a shy grin. Catching himself, Roman turned away and exhaled. 

"Okay. Would you like to share or would you like me to share my story?" Emile asked. 

Roman shrugged. "Is it right to lay all this on a stranger? Let alone someone...like you. I'm sure my problems would seem like small potatoes compared..."

"Ah! Rule one," Emile chided.

Roman scrunched his nose. "What? Oh! I'm so sorry, that came out wrong didn't it? I'm just trying to say you've gone through more than I have."

Emile snorted. "I don't agree. I've gone through something different from you, true. But I've also gone through something you have as well." Emile waved his crossed-out stamp at him cheerfully. 

"Oh. Right." Looking down, Roman rubbed a thumb over his own stamp. 

Emile reached over and covered the stamp with his own hand. "I was in an accident. Car accident. Had to use the jaws of life to get me out of what was left of my car. My...my soulmate, Henry, sat at my bedside until the doctor said that I'd never walk again. That it was likely I'd lose all motor control from the neck down. That's when it became too much for him. He left me. Left me in a hospital bed. My mother was sure I'd die of grief if the operations failed to kill me."

Roman sat back, biting his lower lip. "That's...awful. But you didn't! And you weren’t…well, at least not as bad as they thought!"

Emile sighed. "Yeah, turns out doctors tend to go with the worst case scenario. Plan for the worst, hope for the best. By the time I could move my arms again, the X was already over our mark. I don't know if he even knows what my condition turned out to be. Not that it changes anything for me. I wouldn't take Henry back. I deserve better."

Roman's mouth dropped open. "But...but he’s your soulmate!"

Emile shrugged. "Not anymore. Among the many therapy groups I went through, there was one for people who'd gone through rejection. One of my group members got remarried to their soul mate after their first divorce, but the X stayed. They stayed together another year before they got another divorce. Once rejected, the bond breaks."

"So, I'm just going to be alone forever then." Roman ran his hands through his hair.

Emile wheeled around until he sat across from Roman. "You could be. Or you could be like my group leader. She got married to a man whose soulmate passed away."

The possibility excited Roman. He sat forward, suddenly eager. "Did he become her soulmate? Did her stamp change? Did a new stamp show up on his wrist?"

Emile's smile twisted for a moment and he heaved a sigh. "No and no. But he was her husband and they were, and still are, very much in love."

Roman sat back again. "But..."

Emile interrupted. "One of my friends once told me that having a soulmate is just different than finding your own love. A soulmate is someone made for you, but your own love is one you make for yourself. And who knows your heart better than yourself? The universe?"

"God?" Roman asked.

"Are you religious, Roman?" Emile asked, eyes catching his gaze again, as if they could see into his head.

"I believe in God," he replied. "But, not the same way I was raised."

Emile nodded. "If you can believe in a different God than what you were taught, would it really be so much harder to believe that God could have, let's say, a fallback plan?"

Roman raised an eyebrow. "Like, what?"

Emile held out one hand, his rejected stamp clear to see. "Like Plan A is your soulmate." Raising his other hand, Emile continued, "But Plan 2 is you making your own way."

Roman snorted. "Don't you mean Plan B?"

"Let's not bring family planning into this." Emile said, waving his second hand.

Roman let out a shaky breath. His eyes went out over the park. Could it have been their park? If his soulmate hadn't been so stupidly obsessed with one person's sadness that he would inflict that on someone else.

"I wasn't perfect. When it sounded like Joel…” Roman faltered as he realized it was the first time he’d said the name since he was rejected. Emile waited patiently, his eyes communicated how much he understood what Roman felt just then. “...when it sounded like he would never give me a chance I reached out to his parents. His friends. His girlfriend." Roman let the tears fall. Emile's attempt at placing a handkerchief in his hand failed, so he leaned in to dab at Roman's cheeks himself.

"Nobody's perfect. It sounds like you were afraid, and made some rather unfortunate decisions that only hastened what you wanted to prevent." Emile picked up Roman's hand and pressed the handkerchief into his hand again. Roman took it this time. “But I want you to know that this experience doesn’t disqualify you from being loved.”

When he could manage it, Roman spoke. "So I'm not...bad? Because my soulmate couldn't love me?"

Emile shook his head. "I don't pass value judgments like that. Do you think you were bad? Do you think you didn't deserve that love?" Emile asked.

Blowing his nose noisily, Roman belatedly remembered the handkerchief belonged to Emile. "Uh, sorry." 

Emile produced another handkerchief and shrugged. "No worries. It's yours. Well, it's monogrammed, but that was an old wedding gift, so I'm not very attached to it."

Roman patted Emile on the knee. Wincing, Emile produced a small bottle of hand sanitizer. Roman let him squirt some into his hands. "Thanks. You know, I tried to get us into soulmate counseling, tried talking it out with him but nothing could change things once I screwed everything up. I'm...terrible. Yeah, to answer that question, I do think I was bad. I showed him how much I didn't deserve him."

At that pronouncement, Emile's permanent smile faded for the first time. Roman kicked himself again. Of course he screwed up again. A wonderful man with the same problem had offered his help and Roman sucked the happy out of him.

After an awkward silence, Emile lifted his head again. “Have you seen Beauty and the Beast?”

Roman blinked at the sudden topic change. “Uh, yeah,” he said, awkwardly reminded of the pair of beast pajamas he owned. 

"Would you say that the Beast didn’t deserve love? ‘After all, who could ever learn to love a beast?’” Emile quoted. 

Roman's eyes narrowed. "No, I guess not. But he changes. He realizes his mistakes and learns from them.”

Emile nodded emphatically. "Well, the way I see it, you made a mistake, and you can learn from it. Call it your emotional car wreck. And you could stay in the wreckage, or take the help offered you and find a way to live past it."

"But it's my fault! I drove him away. How do I live with that?" Roman shouted. 

Every time he was sure that he wouldn't put up with him, Roman was surprised by Emile's grace. Emile held a hand out. He gave him the wrong one, but Emile shook his head. Sighing, Roman gave him the one with a stamp. 

Emile poked his stamp and explained. "The only person responsible for your ex-soulmate's decisions is your ex. You were in an extremely emotional situation and reacted badly, but so did he."

Letting go of his hand, Emile smiled. "And maybe he’ll change his mind. Maybe you'll be able to forgive him completely. Maybe that will restore your stamps." His words would've been comforting, maybe, except Roman was sure he didn't think any of those maybes were likely.

"That's a lot of 'maybes,'" Roman said, narrowing his eyes. "And what about you? Are you just helping a stranger? Are you my jaws of life?"

Emile laughed, and Roman felt something, a little twinge in his stomach. "I'd rather be your friend. I’ve found it helps to have someone who understands when things have gone so wrong. But you get to decide, I’ve imposed myself on you enough. This is your recovery and you get to decide when you’re ready. I sure didn't hop into a wheelchair the day after my accident."

Roman laughed. And, for the first time in months he realized how fake his laughs around his soulmate were. Hearing the real sound for himself again reminded him of something he'd forgotten. "I think I need a friend." He pulled out his phone, wincing a touch at Sheriff Woody stars and boots on his case. 

Emile’s face lit up and he pulled his phone out as well. Roman smiled at the Buzz Lightyear logo on the case. 

Taking Roman's number, Emile looked up and smiled as he sent a message. They sat knee to knee as Roman read the text. "Well, you've got a friend in me!"

[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 4 Part 4

Hello, once again, another piece of Midnight Striga for your reading pleasure!! Everybody Clap Your Hands!!!

With a grunt of exhaustion, Boscha crashed to the floor. The spar had dragged on just long enough to make her and the demon long for rest without them actually needing it. While it may not have been the nightmare she had been dreading when she saw Luz’s smile, it was certainly its own kind of hell. ‘But,’ she mused, a small grin forming, ‘At least I’m starting to make real progress.’ She slowly traced a circle, free of the instability that seemed to plague every spell she formed lately, a small flame forming in front of her. She chuckled to herself at the irony.

Here she was, captain of the Grudgby team, Fire Magic Specialist and Potionist in Training, and she was reduced to the most basic spells she knew of. The fact that she could even get this little flame, no bigger than her thumbs pressed together, without worry was a vast improvement over where she started after that day. She sighed, hauling herself to her feet. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Luz pouring over that strange crystal thing she had brought in; it was sort of like a Scroll, apparently, not that Boscha understood how. Helping the so-called Demon King to his feet, they wandered back over to Luz.

“Ahem!” Boscha cleared her throat, prompting Luz to throw up her arms in shock, suddenly scrambling to secure her… Terminal, she called it? “So, how did we do?” She said calmly, raising a brow as Luz sheepishly chuckled.

“As much as it pains me to be in agreement with the interloper,” King began, prompting a tick-mark of annoyance from Boscha, “I too wish to know just how impressive I am, and how I can become even greater!!” It took a lot of effort for Boscha not to yell at the little menace for the ‘interloper’ comment, it’s not like she intended to come here!

“Now King,” Luz lightly admonished, “A ruler must be gracious to their guests, even unexpected ones. While you may not be comfortable with Boscha’s presence, and understandably irritated from your earlier encounter, that must not influence your behavior and judgement. A King looks after his Kingdom, and all who dwell within it.” Boscha honestly expected the pompous little demon to start screaming at that, so she was genuinely surprised that he only grumbled slightly and kicked at the ground. “If you apologize for being rude, and say it like you mean it, I’ll get you some snacks later.”

“Hmm… Deal!” King agreed. He turned to Boscha and visibly pulled himself up to his full height. “As the King of Demons, I offer my sincerest apologies for my conduct. Will you accept it?” Boscha had to admit, he certainly sounded sincere. She figured he wasn’t, but it was still impressive.

“I accept your apologies… your majesty.” Boscha said, only reluctantly tacking on the last bit at Luz’s expectant look. How was she so good at getting under Boscha’s skin?

“Well, now that that’s out of the way,” Luz drawled, a too-pleased look on her face. “Let’s take a look at what you can work on.” Boscha and King both made inquisitive noises as she turned the screen of the Terminal towards them, eyes widening as they saw their fight lay across the screen. It was something you could see on any Scroll, but this certainly cemented the fact that Humans had some analog to the communications device.

An image appeared, Boscha launching some rocks that had cracked off the ceiling in response to King’s first spell like Grudgby balls. She remembered the stinging sensation in her hands at that stunt, but the sight of King frantically dancing out of the way on screen brought a tiny smile to her face. “Boscha, you displayed some solid tactics, not instantly going for your magic and using your environment to attack with you. However,” She let the video play, showing Boscha rapidly spinning up Spells to launch… only for them to detonate and send her flying back, King sprawled on the floor in laughter at her expression. “Your muscle memories for Spell Casting, while ordinarily a useful trait for combat if you can avoid overly recognizable patterns, are hindering you while you’re recovering your skill.” Luz finished.

Luz turned to King, who straightened up with a gulp. She narrowed her eyes. “Now, on to King.” She turned back to the Terminal, tapping away rapidly before pulling up some new scenes from their spar, King nervously ringing his paws. Another video popped up, showing King launching his spell towards Boscha, thankfully without any sound coming through. The on-screen Boscha avoided the massive spell by the skin of her teeth, Boscha’s ears ringing in sympathy at her memory. She grinned at the sight of King panting after his spell ended, only to yelp and run as her on-screen double rushed him in anger. “King, I’m gonna be blunt, your magic is powerful, but it’s incredibly draining, and the fact you are totally still while using it means that when the spell ends, you are basically defenseless.” King sheepishly kicked his feet, glancing to the side, while Luz looked on.

Luz cracked again. “I got to say, I’m impressed.” She chuckled at the dumbfounded looks she received. “I’m serious, the two of you did way better than I thought you would.”

“Well, how did you think we’d do?” King tentatively asked.

“I expected you to exhaust yourself inside of a few minutes blasting away at Boscha,” Luz bluntly replied, steam-rolling past his squawk of outrage, “and I expected Boscha to lose focus and just keep trying to cast spells.” Boscha would’ve been offended, but that honestly sounded like something she would’ve done if she hadn’t gotten that demonstration of how powerful the demon’s spell was. Luz smirked. “There isn’t a whole lot I can do to help right now, but in the long run, I think I can sketch out some training regimes to cover your respective weak spots.”

Boscha and King exchanged glances, then nodded. It made sense to them. With that settled, the three decided to head back upstairs. Boscha idly wondered why Luz had the hesitant look in her eyes when she said there wasn’t much she could do, though.

Luz groaned internally, resisting the urge to slam her head against the nearest wall. She was absolutely certain that the debriefing she had gone through with Boscha and King had been a disaster. She had visually confirmed how haphazardly they had gone about things in their spar, even if they had been smarter about it than she thought they would be going in, and had basically admitted that she had thought they would’ve been brain-dead rookies only to be proven wrong! Why had she agreed to taking that job!? Oh, right, because it gave her a way to help people and covertly undermine an undoubtedly corrupt regime starting with the youth; curse her bleeding heart!

As she gathered up the assorted snacks and drinks, making care to remember to grab the treats she had promised King, she wandered out of the Kitchen. As she entered the backroom the group was using to discuss things while Eda got her rest, she was surprised to see Boscha and King laughing about something like old buddies. She spoke up, bemused. “Well, don’t you two look chummy.”

“Oh-hohoho My Titan! Luz! Boscha just told me the funniest story about a Slingshot, a Stink Potion, anda Coven Guard!” King cackled, pounding on the table as he laughed.

“Oh, really? Now this I got to hear.” Luz mused, setting the assorted drinks and snacks on the table. Half a minute later, she was pounding her fist on the table right beside King, tears of uncontrolled laughter gushing down her face. Boscha looked painfully smug at the reaction her story had gotten. “Pffff! W-W-With the Gu-guard! A-And the B-bom-b! And the Cheese!! How you did all that and didn’t get caught, I will never know!!”

“Yeah! I didn’t get caught! That’s what happened!” Boscha sheepishly chuckled, deciding against telling them she had to be bailed out by her parents for that stunt. At least it was funny, though.

As the group enjoyed the treats Luz had brought back, Luz let out a sigh of content. “This is nice.”

“Yeah.” Boscha mused, feeling relaxed after the… drama from before. “Not what I expected from the Owl Lady’s place.”

“Huh? What do you mean by that?” King queried. Luz was just as lost. Eda’s reputation wasn’t that bad, was it?

Boscha blinked, puzzled. “Wait, are you saying that you guys don’t know?” She said, something like shocked awe in her voice.

“Know what, Boscha.” Luz droned.

“Well…” Boscha drawled, still shocked at their lack of knowledge on the topic. “When it comes to the Owl Lady, rumors have always been flying around.”

King snorted. “Trust me, we know. We live with her, remember?”

“As I was saying.” Boscha enunciated tightly after being cut off. Her voice dropped into a deeper, more… mysterious sounding register. “Years ago, a Witch studied at Hexside who was gifted beyond compare. Considered a once in a lifetime prodigy, her skill at learning magic, using it, and her sheer power were without equal in her age group, even outclassing some adults. Her name was Edalyn Clawthorne.”

Luz and King paused, allowing themselves to sink into the story. They had to admit, some of what Boscha was saying lined up with Eda, ability wise at least.

“However, despite her incredible gifts, Eda was a maverick,” Boscha continued. “She openly held rules and order in contempt, and sneered at those who upheld them. Still, she was desired by the Covens, all vying for her incredible gifts, even those outside of her chosen track wanting to tap into her great power for their own agendas. Such attention made her arrogant, believing she was above the constraints of others.”

Luz and King deadpanned; while it was phrased more harshly than the reality, that was definitely Eda being described.

“One day, during tryouts for the Covens, particularly for a spot in the Emperor’s personal Coven, Edalyn boldly and publicly denounced the Coven System, proclaiming it beneath her. The crowd was shocked, unable to comprehend such a thing. As she walked away, smug in her superiority, she collapsed in pain.”

Luz and King leaned in, paying close attention to the details.

“Before the gaze of the crowd, Edalyn’s body twisted, growing in size. Feathers sprouted from her arms, her hands and feet twisting into sharp talons. Her body warped into an Avian form, sprouting wings large and powerful enough to hold her aloft. Her eyes became as dark as night, drinking in even the brightest of lights. Her jaw warped to accommodate a mountain of jagged fangs. She had become the Owl Beast.” Boscha paused, with Luz and King gasping in shock at the tale.

Clearing her throat and taking a drink, Boscha continued. “As the transformation ended, the monstrous beast was beheld by the crowd, and found to be repulsive, a monster. The crowd jeered, and chased the beast into the woods, it’s haunting cries echoing through the town. Eventually, Edalyn returned, and proclaimed herself a Wild Witch, and an enemy of the Covens. The Emperor’s Coven declared her transformation a punishment from the Titan for defying the system, making her to be an example. And thus, the Owl Lady was born.” Boscha finished, voice returning to normal. She leaned back, adding, “And ever since then, she’s basically been used as a scary story by parents to warn their kids about the dangers of pride and going against the system.” 

Boscha shrugged. “I mean, I never really believed the story, not any more than any of the other kids, but it was still a big thing to learn about, and a lot of the more free-spirited kids growing up got less outspoken after hearing her story.” She paused, scratching her chin in thought. “It probably makes it more believable that she lives outside of town and regularly shows up and causes trouble. Seeing someone described as a once-in-a-lifetime prodigy reduced to a crazy old bat, no offense,” She quickly raised her hands placatingly at an angry King and Luz, “probably made a lot of kids treat the warning more seriously.”

Luz froze, not entirely sure how to process this. King was stock still, glancing at his pauses in confusion. Clearing her throat, Luz spoke up. “Well, that was certainly entertaining, I’ll admit, but how does anyone know she actually-”

“HOOOOOTTTTT!!”

Luz abruptly cut off at the sound of Hooty’s pained scream. The three glanced at each other, before quickly rushing out the door. As they crashed into the Living Room, they froze in horror. The place was ripped apart, the couch shredded, the assorted piles of random junk strewn about, Hooty’s door knocked off its hinges with Hooty himself out cold. Claw marks covered the walls.

The three scanned the room, stomachs filling with dread. As they wandered the room, Luz took stock of the damage; whatever had caused this either wasn’t very high on the intelligence level, or was insanely scared and angry. King crawled over to Hooty, sniffing at him, feeling a surprising degree of relief at the sound of his breathing. Boscha positioned herself in the center of the room, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. Just as she was about to speak up, Boscha stilled, feeling hot, heavy breathing across the back of her neck.

With trepidation, Boscha slowly turned around, blanching at the sight behind her. A large, feathery body, twice as tall as she was. Long heavy wings pressed tight against its sides, but doubtless capable of spreading to full length in an instant. Deep pools of darkness where its eyes would be. A jaw filled with jagged fangs. Boscha screamed. The beast roared. Its claws slashed down towards the panicked witch.

[ditch-witches]

Dramatics (Dean-Charles Chapman Fluff)

requested: yes/no

pairing: Dean-Charles Chapman x reader

warnings: fluffnone

a/n: Happy Valentine's Day everyone! Thank you for all your love and support! It really lights up our days hearing from you guys! Send us some requests and let us know what you think!

You pulled Dean's suit jacket closer around you as you waited for him to get the front door unlocked. Your feet were killing you but the pain was nothing compared to what 1917 had just put you through. He pushed the door open for you and stepped in after you, tossing his keys in the bowl beside the entryway. You felt his gaze attempting to catch yours as he kicked off his dress shoes.

"Are you alright, love? You barely said anything on the way home." You finally turned towards him, your eyes locking to his almost crystal blue ones. You could tell he was tired from the night out, but he softened as you looked at him. He sent you a small smile and tilted his head at you.

You felt tears welling, clouding your sight. You still held tightly onto his jacket. "Are you aware of how many times I have seen you die, Dean?" You nipped, your voice slightly breaking in hysterics. It took every ounce of his being not to grin at how distraught you were. He opted to part his lips slightly and furrow his brows, plastering on an understanding expression. "I could handle it with Tommen. Caster---well that was obvious. I could even stand Thomas, despite how awesome your hair was and you were literally a knight in shining armor..." he let out a soft chuckle and ran his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger. "But Blake." Your shoulders dropped like you had been defeated. "God, Blake was something else."

Dean shoved his hands in his pockets, realizing how serious you actually were about this topic. "Yeah... I know." His shoulders seemed to angle towards you like he was ready to pull you into a hug after you were finished explaining yourself. "I got pretty attached to him too. But you know, people died."

"Haven't you seen Scream? The virgin is supposed to live!" Dean's eyes snapped to the ceiling, knowing that if he looked into your eyes, he would laugh and ruin the moment. "Come on, you can't tell me Blake wasn't a virgin!"

Dean took a step to engulf you in a hug this time, wrapping his arms around you tightly. His shirt smelled of the cologne your sister bought him that you could only describe the scent as "blue," mixed with expensive champagne and a cigar that Sam insisted on giving the boys in celebration of the premiere. His lips pressed against your neck before he sighed into your hair. "I think that only counts for scary movies..."

"Fuck off. Blake should be included in the rule." You gave in and relaxed against him, stringing your arms beneath his and around his waist. "I think I liked him so much because he was so... you." Dean leaned back, the sparkle in his eye prominent as he looked at you lovingly. He rested his hands against your jaw, a thumb darting out to wipe away a tear that had fallen. You tilted your head to rest your cheek completely in his palm and he grinned. "Stop looking at me like that."

He chuckled. "Like what?"

"Like I'm being overdramatic."

A smile danced behind his eyes as he jumped to defend himself. "Hey, I never said that." You rolled your eyes and bit back a grin, unable to feel down in the dumps for much longer. Dean could always make you feel better, even if he wasn't really trying. Something about the way he looked at you---even in situations bigger than one of his characters dying---made you felt like everything was fine.

He brought you closer to him again, his thumb lightly brushing the base of your neck in a soothing manner as you held onto him for dear life. "You're definitely thinking it," you quirked, digging your face into his neck and breathing deeply.

"I mean, Blake... he doesn't have to go away completely..."

"What?" You hummed in response.

He paused momentarily. "Maybe Blake can make an appearance once and a while if you're really good."

You clicked your tongue in annoyance and pushed him off of you as he giggled at his own joke. "Don't be gross, Chapman!"

He pulled you back to him and gave you a sweet peck on the lips, letting his laugh die out. "Go change. I'll order take out and we can finish that episode of Survivor."

You smiled. "Fine, you've convinced me. Give me your tie." He kissed you again before slipping the garment into your hand and heading towards the kitchen, rolling the sleeves on his white collared shirt. His suit jacket still perched on your shoulders, keeping the feeling of his hug on your mind. Even if Blake hadn't made it through, you were glad Dean was around.

[chelsfic]

Princess (for @1zashreena1) - Diego Jimenez x Reader - Starz Power Fanfic

I wrote this fic for @1zashreena1, my spirit guide in all things Maurice Compte. Happy months-early birthday, dear! Hope this *very* explicit fic isn’t too weird between friends!? 

Warning: Pure Smut.

“How much did he just charge us?!?”

You stare at your friend, agog at the figure the bartender just charged her for two drinks. You are definitely a long way from home, that’s for sure.

“Relax,” she waves you off and hands you your glass, “It’s your birthday!”

“But you realize we could buy like...four pitchers at Margarita’s for the price of these two tiny drinks, right?” Yeah, the whole idea had been to come into the city and pretend to be rich and glamorous for one night--but you know Lisa’s job doesn’t pay her much and you don’t want to bankrupt her for your birthday...at least not this early in the evening. “Well, I’m getting the next round!”

She nods and turns back to the dance floor, eyes glittering like a predatory cat as she watches the dancers sway, gyrate and generally commit public indecencies. You smirk and let your eyes roam as well. You might be letting your natural sass make you a little contrary, but you have to admit you love this. The music--so loud you can feel it pulsing in your bones, the contagious energy of the crowd...you don’t even care that you stick out like a sore thumb among all these supermodel thin girls and--frankly--out of this world hot guys. You have no clue how Lisa managed to get you into the most elite club in New York for your birthday but...you’re going to make the most of it.

“Should we show these skinny bitches how to dance?”

Here’s the thing: when it comes to confidence? You outshine everyone else on this dance floor. This is your night! You take Lisa’s hand and lead her out into the throng and the two of you move with the music like you were born with silver spoons and not a care in the world other than having a good time. Monday you’ll go back to work, back to daydreams and deadlines, but tonight is yours and you’re not going to waste it.

You’re working up a sweat, rolling your hips with the music and not giving a damn if you look silly, just losing yourself in the dance. 

“Hey!” Lisa leans close and has to yell into your ear to be heard, “There’s a Latino sex god checking you out right now!”

You roll your eyes at her and scoff, “What are you talking about, Lisa?”

“Look! Casually!” she nods her chin over your shoulder and you do a little not-so-casual spin to glance behind you. Okay, yes, there is a staggeringly beautiful man a few feet away who’s currently being worshiped by three female dance partners. Your mouth actually drops open in shock as you look at him and you have to consciously close it while your eyes rake over his body. He is a well-built man. Tall, broad, muscles straining against his black button-down shirt and suit jacket. He’s digging his fingers into one of the girl’s hips and his hands are absolutely huge. You slowly raise your gaze to take in his stubbled jaw, full, smirking lips, wide cheekbones and bottomless, brown eyes. Brown eyes that--yup--are staring right back at you.

You spin back around and collide into Lisa’s arms. 

“Okay!” you yell. “He’s definitely looking over here.”

This guy has three supermodels hanging off of him and he’s staring at you like he wants to eat you up.

“Okay, okay, girl,” Lisa launches into her life coach voice and you groan. “This is your night, remember? You need to go fucking get down on that dick.”

“Jesus!” you laugh and shake your head at her, but you’re already glancing back over your shoulder. He’s still staring and now his lips are curled up in a grin. He raises a hand and crooks his finger at you. Oh, he thinks you’re at his beck and call, huh? You turn back to Lisa and dip down low, jutting out your ass and throwing your wild curls over your shoulder as you slowly, slowly roll upright. 

“He’s gonna have to earn it!” you yell and Lisa is shaking her head in disbelief. 

“You’re something else!” she exclaims.

You throw yourself back into the dance in earnest, but this time it’s different. This time you’re putting on a show. You dip, roll, gyrate and sway, all the while locking eyes with the dark haired stranger across the dance floor. He tries beckoning you over again and you shake your head with a smug grin, crooking your finger back at him. You’re setting the rules tonight. He actually breaks into a full smile at your boldness and you nearly swoon over the dimples in his cheeks.

He finally breaks away from his gaggle of admirers and makes his way toward you. You play it cool, like you couldn’t care less if he wants to dance with you, but inside you’ve got some serious butterflies. The butterflies only ramp up when you notice the two stern, bodyguard-types who break away from the wall and seem to track his movements as he walks over to you. Shit. Who is this guy?

He strolls up to you, inserting himself into your dance space and planting his greedy hands on your hips. His fingers dig into your flesh and the touch sets you on fire. He’s a good head taller than you and he has to lean down to rumble into your ear, “Bonita! You’re gonna make me work for it, aren’t you?”

You smirk up at him and tilt your chin past his shoulder, indicating the dejected groupies still lingering behind him, “I don’t like to share!”

He laughs, letting his hands wander to your backside, squeezing your ass as he grinds his hips against yours. 

“You think you can handle me all by yourself?” he asks with a cocky head tilt. 

You reach up your hands and thread them through his hair, dragging your manicured nails over his scalp, his neck, his chest, lower still. 

“I’m a big girl,” you quip. “I’ll manage. What’s your name?”

“Diego,” he answers and his dark eyes are fixed on the contour of your bust in the tight dress you’re wearing. It takes him a minute to formulate his next words, “What’s your name, bonita?”

You grab him by the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling his face down to yours and whispering your name in his ear. When you draw back he takes the opportunity to grab your face, locking his lips on yours and capturing you in a searing, intense kiss. His hands reach down to cup your butt and lift you onto your tiptoes as he deepens the kiss. The rest of the club falls away and it’s just you and Diego. You let your hands wander over his body, running down his chest, teasing the waistband of his tailored pants and trailing back to make your way up to his strong, muscled shoulders. But you stop short when your hand brushes against the cold metal handgun sticking out of the back of his pants under the jacket. 

Your breath catches and you pull away from the kiss. You feel a warning creep down your spine as you lock eyes with him and he grins, amused at your sudden qualms.

He leans his forehead against yours and growls against your lips, “You don’t know who I am, little girl?”

Your eyes shift to the two body guards lurking nearby and then back to Diego. You shake your head slowly and answer, “Somebody dangerous, I bet.”

Diego’s eyes glint with unhinged humor. He nods his head, running his hands firmly up and down your sides, cupping your breasts through the fabric of your dress. He’s bold. And used to taking what he wants. 

“Si, bonita. I’m dangerous. You still think you can handle me?”

What the fuck. It’s your birthday.

You drag your own firm hands over his body, lingering over his abdomen and then plunging downward to hold him through his pants.

“Diego,” you hiss, giving him the faintest squeeze, “do you think you can handle me?”

***

You feel a little guilty ditching Lisa but in the end she’s the one urging you to seize the night.

“I’ll be fine, girl! My friend just texted me she’s at another club--we’re gonna meet up. Go get that dick! Happy birthday!” she practically shouts the last part and you slap her arm.

You glance over your shoulder where Diego is looking less than patient waiting with his entourage. 

“Okay, but listen. Here’s the address I’ll be. If you don’t hear from me tomorrow--”

“I’ll bust in the place myself, I got you!”

****

Diego leaves the guards behind as you enter the elevator. If you hadn’t already been clued in by his style, clothes, bodyguards and vehicle--well, the outlandishly high class penthouse he lives in really solidifies how out of your element you are. Diego isn’t just wealthy. He’s wealthy and powerful... and used to getting what he wants when he wants it. You’re feeling a little overwhelmed in your knock-off dress, comparing what he has to your own modest apartment back in Pennsylvania...and feeling just the tiniest bit inferior. But you hold your head up as you stride across the marble floor, entering the penthouse like visiting royalty. Something tells you Diego’s attracted to your confidence and you’ll be damned if you’ll let him intimidate you.

“Nice place,” you comment dryly, affecting disinterest while your eyes widen at the view from the floor to ceiling windows.

“Thanks,” he remarks casually before practically jumping you. His hands are everywhere he’s kissing every inch of your face like he can’t get enough. You let out a breathy moan as he inches his fingers under the short hem of your skirt and brushes your inner thighs. His beard rasps against your cheek as he growls, “I’m going to fuck you on every surface.”

He works his fingers between your thighs, rubbing you through your panties with firm, punishing strokes as he grinds his erection against your stomach. For a moment you want to surrender entirely and let this man do whatever the fuck he wants with you. You think about the cool metal of his gun and wonder what it would feel like ground against your clit. This man is doing things to your brain.

But you come to your senses and place a calming hand on his wrist, cursing yourself mentally but instinctively knowing that you need to assert yourself here.

“That sounds like fun,” you say in a firm voice, removing his hand from between your thighs and straightening your dress. “But when I sleep with a man for the first time I expect to be treated like a princess. That means you’ll be taking me to your bed.”

Diego growls in frustration, wrapping his arms around you and molding you against his body. But you can see the look of respect in his eyes even as filthy words fall from his mouth, “Of course, Princess. But after I’ve fucked you to your satisfaction you’re gonna get on your knees for me and beg me to put my cock in your mouth.”

Rather than answer him you simply cup his cheeks in your hands and drag another kiss from his lips. The burn of his stubble on your face is delicious as your tongues clash. Diego pulls away first, his eyes are almost black with lust and his lips are swollen from kissing. This cocky, dangerous, powerful man is coming completely undone for you.

He takes your hand in his and leads you up the stairs to his bedroom. It’s a huge room with minimal decor, which is what you expected based on the rest of the penthouse. His bed is gigantic and covered in a silky black coverlet that probably costs as much as your whole bedroom set. You run your hand over the soft fabric and perch on the edge of the mattress, legs crossed daintily. Diego stalks toward you like a predator. You can see the calculations running behind his gaze. He’s not used to women like you. Assertive, strong, no nonsense. For once he’s the one feeling as if he needs to make an impression.

He drops to his knees before you and wraps his hands around your high-heeled foot. 

“Well, Cinderella,” he smirks up at you, slowly removing the shoe and letting it drop to the floor. He wraps his hands around your little foot and drags his fingers up your calf. “Are you ready for your prince?”

Your breath is coming hot and heavy as his hands inch further up your legs. You try for a smug smirk but when he delves his fingers between your thighs again you let out an undignified moan.

“N-never saw a Prince Charming like you before, Diego,” you pant, falling back on your elbows as his long fingers creep under the fabric of your panties and slip between your folds. 

“No, Princess,” he smirks, dipping one finger inside you without warning. “I think I’m more like the villain.”

He’s on his knees for you but his touch is a reminder of the man he is. He is not gentle. He pumps his fingers into you with brutal force, delighting in the little squeaks and mewls that fall from your lips whenever he slams your pussy especially hard. And his words. His voice. You’ve never been more turned on.

“You like that, Princess? Huh? You like when I fuck you with my fingers? Oh, bonita, you are tight, girl. You don’t know what's coming for you, huh? Are you gonna take my cock like a good girl, huh?”

You’re writhing on the edge of the bed, desperately trying to grind your clit against the heel of his palm and making needy, pitiful noises that are entirely embarrassing, but you don’t give a fuck. 

You try to wrest back control, sitting up suddenly and grabbing the hem of your dress, pulling it off in one motion and (thank god) not getting stuck with it half-way up your body.

You look down at Diego kneeling at your feet, still fully dressed and his expression rabid with desire. You smile and stroke your fingers through his hair. You let your hand cup the back of his head and pull him forward until his face is hovering over your pussy and you can feel his hot breath ghosting against you. 

“I want to take your cock, Diego. But first show me how much you want me.”

He flashes a crooked grin up at you before dipping down between your legs and drawing his wicked tongue through your folds. You let out a hoarse whimper but Diego is relentless. He presses his flattened tongue to your clit, licking and circling the sensitive bundle while dragging the rough stubble on his chin over your sensitive skin. You fist your fingers in his short hair and cry out for him no to stop. Keep going. Keep going. But just as your thighs are starting to clamp down around his head with the force of your coming orgasm, Diego rips himself away and stands up to stalk around the side of the bed. You scramble back towards the headboard, eyes fixed on him as he removes his shirt, revealing his sculpted chest and shoulder muscles. 

He comes up to the side of the bed, looming over you with a wild look in his eyes.

“I’m in control now, baby,” he hisses, unbuckling his belt and letting his pants and underwear fall to the floor. 

Your eyes fall to the massive erection jutting between his legs and you actually whimper in anticipation. 

He stands there staring at you, waiting. When you don’t get it he reaches out and smacks the side of your thigh with his open palm, “Who’s in control now, baby girl?”

You know you’re out of your depth now and everything about this man screams danger, but you find yourself nodding and panting with need, “You’re in control, Diego!”

He turns to his nightstand, grabbing a condom from the drawer and deftly slipping it over his cock. He climbs up on the bed, crawling between your open legs and rubbing himself through your folds. He catches your eyes and leans down to press a surprisingly soft kiss to your lips as he plunges inside you. He wasn’t boasting before. You’ve never had anyone this big, he stretches you to your limit. When he finally seats himself fully you cry out at the pleasant, burning pain of being so thoroughly filled.

He brings his hands up to your face and runs his fingers through your hair. You look up at him and see the muscles in his jaw clenching and his eyelids fluttering as he holds himself back.

“You good, Princess?” he asks with a grunt that sends twinges straight to your core. Watching this man lose his self possession for you, because of you...it’s something you could see yourself becoming addicted to very quickly.

You nod up at him, “I’m good, Diego. I’m good.”

You are. You want to experience this man unleashed and unhinged. You want to know what he means when he says he’ll fuck you to your satisfaction. You don’t have to wait long. At your words he lets out a moan and starts brutally pounding into you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and lays sloppy kisses along your tender skin as his cock grinds into you over and over again. His hands are everywhere--but mostly your tits and ass, let’s be honest. 

He rears back his head and looks down at you with those dark, unreadable eyes and he orders, “Come, Princess. Come like a good girl for Diego.”

You want to hold out just to spite him, but he’s already edged you so close with his lips and tongue that his words are all it takes to crash you into your orgasm. You tremble and clench around his rigid cock as you ride the waves of your pleasure. All the while Diego is grunting and slamming into you with abandon, taking what he wants. When his orgasm follows shortly after he goes rigid for a second, clenching his fingers on your hips to hold you still as he presses into you with bruising force.

“Ahh,” he cries, falling forward and nearly smothering you with his solid body. His skin is slick with sweat and he’s sticky against you. You can feel his cock softening inside you, sending fluttering sensations through your core. He pulls out rather abruptly and you give a little cry of protest. You watch him remove the condom and drop it over the side of the bed before he crawls back over to you and collapses at your side.

“You did well, Princess,” he praises you, cupping his massive hand around the side of your head and threading his fingers through your curls.

“So did you, Mr. Villain,” you laugh, still a little out of breath.

He pulls back and lays flat on his back, breathing heavily, “Now. I think there was something mentioned about you on your knees?”

[punkscowardschampions]

Mattie & Jay

Mattie: I am, as of about 54 seconds ago, freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Mattie: Finally, although that Geography exam was MUCH easier than the 7 hour lock-in vibe we had for our Art project 😨😱

Mattie: The hand cramp might be permanent, I’ll never be able to hold a pen or a pencil again… What a shame 😏

Jay: The news I’ve been waiting for, I can’t hear about another bloody exam, Mats

Jay: not yet old enough to look back fondly, you know 😬

Jay: Can help you think of a more top drawer excuse not to get a summer job in publishing though

Mattie: but old enough it is but a distant memory 😆

Mattie: um yeah right, dad knows my summer plans do not involve a single book this year, not even the trashy beach read

Jay: Yeah, yeah, I’m in the winter of my life and you’re about to have the summer of yours 🤫

Jay: Not even a travel guide? Boooo 👎

Mattie: Winter is a little harsh

Mattie: but it’s the end of August, definitely

Mattie: you’re such a 🤓

Mattie: I already know where I’m going

Jay: Ouch x 2

Jay: but go ahead and tell me your plans then

Mattie: Noah loves it

Mattie: How many countries are you trying to tick off yourselves this summer?

Jay: He loves to spend a week in each, with 3-4 days as a rule of thumb per city but some are doable in 2, I’ll be able to budge him and keep you posted

Mattie: That sums you both up so well

Mattie: You know where to direct my postcards

Mattie: Well, I will *hopefully* be spending some time in Switzerland, if all goes well

Jay: Um… that’s a winter destination, we’re discussing summer here

Mattie: Who asked you to write the rulebook, Miss 🤔🤪

Mattie: Switzerland still very much exists in Summertime, it looks beautiful, actually

Mattie: But I do have a reason for going

Mattie: Reasons

Jay: I’m getting the feeling that those reasons aren’t summer glacier skiing in St Moritz and the melted mountain snow making the Rhine Falls a must visit

Jay: so, which boy has keys to his parents' holiday place and how long have you wanted this scenario to play out?

Mattie: Whilst those are all undoubtedly excellent reasons, definitely worthy of a best-selling beach read, so maybe you should pitch them to dad instead actually…

Mattie: You know our actual mum ended up having those twin girls, when I was like 3 and you were what, 9 or 10? Obviously you know but anyway

Mattie: And we’ve not had contact with them because it might make us super emo and dad and the grandparents didn’t really want us having contact with real mum because it’d be damaging, potentially

Mattie: Well, I’m finally gonna do it, schools over, I’m an adult now too

Mattie: And she isn’t Benny’s mum, they aren’t his sisters, so I don’t feel like I have to wait for him to age up to do this

Mattie: They board in Switzerland, assumedly they’ll be back for the Summer, they have a house here too but I’d like to go see them there, as that’s where they spend most of their time

Mattie: If they want to, grandma has to set it up but she will now I’ve said I want to

Jay: Mattie

Jay: slow down

Jay: When did you decide this?

Mattie: I’ve been thinking about it seriously since I was about 16

Mattie: but then they would’ve been 13 and I don’t think anyone needs any more potential angst and drama at that age, it wouldn’t have been fair

Mattie: You can’t say you’ve never thought about it, surely?

Jay: What did dad say when you told him?

Mattie: He didn’t say I couldn’t, or shouldn’t

Mattie: Obviously he had plenty of words of warning about her

Mattie: and I respect his experience, of course

Jay: but you’re going to do it anyway

Mattie: It’s different

Mattie: I’m not going to be in a relationship with her, or ask her to raise any children

Mattie: I just want to meet her

Jay: Meeting her is inviting her to have a relationship with you, why would you want to open that door? It’s closed for a reason

Mattie: Because I want to know her, who she is

Mattie: even if it’s bad, she’s still half of me, us

Mattie: And if she was that keen to form a relationship with us, she would’ve tried long before now and we’d know about it

Mattie: That’s evidently off the table

Jay: Off the table when she didn’t want it, but when you show up wanting it, that’s her way in, that’s who she is

Mattie: It’s been a long time

Mattie: Like my whole life and I’ll be 19 soon

Mattie: She’s clearly got her own life that she’s happy with, she’s still with the twins dad

Mattie: I’m not saying you have to come if you don’t want to

Jay: People don’t change that much

Jay: she’s happy, they’re bound to be miserable

Mattie: All the more reason to meet them

Mattie: but we don’t know that, Grandma would’ve told me if they were, I think

Mattie: and done something about that, more to the point

Mattie: And Dad changed, people can, I don’t think that blanket statement is fair

Jay: No, she tried to change him and couldn’t, he met Ava and was allowed to be himself

Jay: Grandma has kept us away from them as agreed, if she really thought you should meet, she’d have done something about that

Mattie: She didn’t want us to be jealous, as kids

Mattie: and that makes sense

Mattie: but I’m not now and I’m not trying to steal their life or anything like that

Mattie: I know she did a lot wrong, to dad, to us and in general but that doesn’t change the fact I want to do this

Jay: It doesn’t make sense to me that you’d want to do this

Mattie: I know you feel differently

Mattie: and I get it, for you

Mattie: It’s just weird to me that they’re out there and I’ve basically never met her, never mind the twins

Mattie: Why wouldn’t I do that, if I have the chance to

Jay: Them maybe, but she doesn’t need to be involved if Grandma is helping you

Mattie: I have no idea if she will want to see me

Mattie: but I want to know that I reached out to her too

Jay: Like you said, if she wanted to, she could’ve

Jay: I don’t want you getting hurt

Mattie: I know you don’t

Mattie: and I do appreciate the concern, no sarcasm intended

Jay: Yeah, none detected

Mattie: I’ll be fine, I promise

Mattie: I have no expectations so I can’t be let down

Jay: If you had 0 you wouldn’t be reaching out, you’ve been thinking about this for years, of course there’s some expectation there

Jay: be careful

Mattie: I just want to know what they’re like, whatever that entails

Mattie: Obviously if she/they refuse to see me, that’ll be disappointing

Mattie: but I don’t think Grandma would’ve offered if there was no chance they’d also be into it

Mattie: Assumedly, they’ve discussed this possibility too

Mattie: I’m always careful, it’s my middle name 😋

Jay: Your middle name is unsuspecting or unjaded, something like that

Mattie: A prefix, how classy 💅

Mattie: What’s yours?

Jay: Take the un away and boom, there’s mine

Mattie: Oh, slightly unoriginal when it came to me then

Mattie: could’ve been like Jay ‘this baby is definitely yours’ Pemberton-Howard

Jay: That’s what happens, originality goes out of the window in favour of cutesy matching

Jay: and there’s no need for my middle name to do the work my actual already did

Mattie: Benny is lucky there’s been no 2nd child in his case

Mattie: I’ll just be here languishing in the forgotten middle 🥺

Mattie: At least Jay is a decent name, compared to her usual naming style, a win there

Jay: Yours is fine too, since Tilly never stuck

Mattie: Not on paper though

Mattie: Let’s just pretend your official name is Jacinta or something too 😆

Jay: Let’s not

Mattie: Alright spoilsport

Mattie: Keep your cool name 😎

Mattie: They can call me Mathilde, so Swiss

Jay: She owes me that much at least, for everything you don’t remember

Mattie: You can tell me about it

Mattie: when you feel like it

Jay: I’d be a proper spoilsport doing it now

Mattie: Of course not

Mattie: I told you I’m not going into this with 🤩

Jay: You’re doing this to find out for yourself what she’s like

Mattie: Partially

Mattie: Doesn’t mean you can’t talk about your experience with her too

Jay: It means there’s no point talking about it, you won’t be talked out of anything and I definitely won’t feel any benefit

Mattie: Fair enough

Mattie: So tell me what you guys have been up to

Mattie: Now I can think about anything that isn’t my exams

Jay: You mean well, but I remember her like a kid, I hate her and I am afraid of her like a kid, it’d sound crazy

Jay: maybe unreliable should be my middle name

Mattie: That makes sense, you have nothing else to go on

Mattie: and the potential risk of finding out what she’s like now outweighs any potential reward for you

Mattie: I do understand, it’s just different for me, that’s all

Mattie: It doesn’t mean either of us is wrong

Jay: I’m so glad it’s different for you, seriously

Mattie: I won’t say I’m so sorry for you

Mattie: because that sounds the opposite of how I want it too

Mattie: but you know

Jay: Yeah, don’t ever say that 😏

Mattie: anyway, you’ve turned out alright

Mattie: mostly 😉

Jay: Oh thanks

Jay: I’ve just been working btw, no news to rival yours

Mattie: Ahh, the joys of being old

Jay: Less cheek if you want to get to my age

Mattie: Sorry but sound like less of a grandma 😅

Mattie: You can redeem your cool and youthful points by helping me pick what to wear to the leaving party tonight

Jay: Surprised you want my help, but sure 😎

Mattie: It’s not my usual crowd that’s throwing it

Mattie: but like the entire year is invited, so I can’t not go

Mattie: I’ll need a little help to match the vibe, I think

Jay: Okay so expensive but not attention-seeking

Mattie: Definitely

Mattie: There’ll be enough people looking for attention without me even making that attempt, no thank you

Jay: What do you have rn that’s vintage or looks classic?

Mattie: [selection from your own wardrobe and Ava’s]

Mattie: 😬😬😬 idk how I’m going to decide in time

Jay: You should decide on the last one and keep your hair and make up lowkey, but the one before that if you’re thinking of a statement eye or lip

Mattie: A statement lip is not lasting the celebrations

Mattie: and I mean 🥂 not 💋 before you start

Jay: 💋 proof works for 🥂 too

Mattie: you have a point 🤔

Mattie: Ugh, I need food before I can concentrate

Jay: Before you go…

Jay: whenever you talk to the twins, ask them if they want to meet both of us

Mattie: Of course if they want to meet me they want to meet you too, dummy

Jay: It’s not a no from me, is what I meant though

Mattie: Okay, I will let them know

Mattie: I’m sure they will, why wouldn’t they

Jay: If she’s lied about us and Grandma hasn’t been allowed to say anything, they could think all kinds of things

Mattie: If they’re anything like me they’ll wanna find out for themselves

Mattie: besides, you were a little kid, I was a literal infant, what kind of shady bitches could we have really been, wouldn’t add up

Jay: We don’t know anything about what they’re like yet

Mattie: Come on though

Mattie: Who says no thanks to surprise cool older sisters

Jay: Venus

Mattie: Oosh, fair point

Mattie: I was mostly joking anyway, time will tell, they’ll be who they are and we’ll see if they want to know us too

Jay: Yeah, it’s out of our control

Mattie: and that’s okay

Mattie: breathe 😌

Jay: I’m fine, I’ve done this before

Mattie: True

Mattie: It’s a bit different this time though

Jay: Easier because we’re all older and I’m not getting a 3rd dad as well

Mattie: No luck on a different mum, I’m afraid

Mattie: We look a bit alike and that has to come from somewhere

Mattie: But seriously, don’t you think being younger was easier?

Mattie: like you can’t fully wrap your head around any of it so you just roll with it

Mattie: maybe that’s totally wrong

Mattie: it didn’t happen to me so I don’t know

Jay: I already had Ava and Rio when I needed one

Jay: being a little kid made it overwhelming and scary

Mattie: I’m sorry I couldn’t do much but cry and be annoying in various other ways a toddler is

Jay: How much you cried around her used to be my favourite thing about you, don’t apologise

Mattie: Well, it was my pleasure 😅

Mattie: and 🤞 I’ve gone up a bit in your estimations since for more than just 😭

Jay: Maybe a little bit, I suppose

Mattie: Charming 😏

Mattie: I’m feeling a tantrum coming on now anyway

Mattie: Couldn’t eat before that exam and now I’m hangry 😡😡🤬

Jay: I remember you saying you needed a 🍼

Jay: we can talk later, when you’re too hungover from the leavers party to call me an old dork or whatever else, that’s fine

Mattie: Attack when I’m weak 😲 rude, smart but rude

Mattie: I’ll try not to buttdial you past your bedtime, grandma 🤙✌️🤟

Jay: Noah’ll appreciate it, undoubtedly

Mattie: If that was an attempt to throw him under the bus as the old nerdy one

Mattie: Both can be true

Mattie: match made in heaven

Jay: Bye, Mattie

Mattie: Love you 💗💗

[slashiest-slasher]

How about a male s/o who has chronic lower back and tailbone pain? To the point where they cant walk or sit most of the time uwu I love ur writing

uwuwuwuwu thanks, i love when you guys send stuff in! i don’t know who specifically you want so i’ll go with my default slashers. i struggle with back pain a lot so i feel this, there's a reason i only sleep on my front lmao wish i had a big beefy slasher to make it all better tho

warnings for some nsfw (sorry, can’t help myself, jerking off helps when my back’s hurting so *shrugs*)

Michael Myers

□ Lets be honest here, at first Michael isn’t going to really care. Yeah, you hurt, big whoop, everyone has back pain. You don’t see him laying around whining about it. (Michael blease, you get thrown around and shoved off building enough to know how much it hurts….)

□ But as he starts to care about you more, and sees how bad it is, when you can’t get out of bed and you’re crying so hard that you’re not making any noises or tears any more because your pain pills are all the way in the bathroom. That’s when he starts becoming more considerate and, dare I say, soft.

□ He always makes sure the pills are on your nightstand, and there’s a glass of water usually waiting for you. When you refuse to take your pills, but are obviously in a lot of pain, he’ll hold them to your lips until you take them. But the damn bastard isn’t likely to do anything else.

□ Except maybe lay in bed with you to keep you company, though this tends to line up with his own back pain since this dumbass has wrecked his back doing some pretty stupid shit over the years.

□ If your pain is particularly bad, and the pills aren’t doing anything to help, he does have one solution he learned over the years. It’s best not to ask where he picked it up from. And if you’re not already in a sexual relationship you better get real comfortable, real fast.

□ He lubes up his index finger and slips it in, and massages your tailbone between it and his thumb. At first it feels odd, especially if you and Michael haven’t crossed that line yet, but pain starts to lessen so you don’t say anything.

□ Once Michael notices that you aren't crying anymore, he switches over to ruthlessly fingering your prostate, catching you off guard, but making you cum all over his mask in record time (since he didn't exactly have the foresight to move away). And damn, as awkward as that might've been, it did work, at least for now.

□ Michael is going to make you be a whole hell of a lot more conscious about everything you're doing to help with your back pain, because if he can cope, so can you. Though you do smile at the advertisement for spinal injections for back pain slipped in with the mail.

Jason Voorhees

□ You normally sleep in pretty late compared to Jason so he’s not at all surprised to see you stay in bed late while he gets up and does all the early morning chores. What /does/ worry him is when he comes back home and still finds you in bed, hiding your face, and your pillow stained with tears.

□ He immediately starts to panic, thinking he might’ve done something to hurt, and starts trying to gently roll you over to face him, but stops as soon as he hears you whimper. He’s breathing pretty heavily and if could, he would start crying, but he hovers instead until you explain to him that you’ve been dealing with back pain for a while now, but you've run out of your pain pills and it hust hurts really bad.

□ Say no more! Jason rushes off to his little collection of loot he has saved from the campers over the years. Pain pills, close enough to your prescription, included. Once you take them and they've kicked in, Jason gets you sitting up so he can start helping you stretch your back muscles, and going for a walk.

□ After all, that what his mom always did when her back hurt from being up on her feet all day. But if walking around starts bothering you too much, he'll carry you back to the shack, and will instead lay down with you and will but either a really warm, or ice cold hand on where the worst of the pain (depending on if he's dead or not, since he's nice and chilly when dead, but unnaturally warm when alive).

□ Jason will be extremely careful with you from then on, and will ensure that you're taking care of yourself, sleeping the right way, and doing anything he can to lessen the strain on your back, which includes stretching your back and holding you through the worst of the pain.

Thomas Hewitt

□ The moment Thomas sees you struggling to get out of bed and making pained noises, he immediately knows what's up. Come on, boy grew up in rural Texas, where back pain is exceedingly common. He immediately goes downstairs to get an ice pack (usually reserved for Charlie) from the freezer and pushes you down on your front and makes it clear that you're not getting up any time soon.

□ He contemplates raiding Charlie or Monty's pain pill stash, but he knows that wont fly, so he asks Luda Mae to do it instead. And once she finds out you've got bad back pain, expect to be doted on by both her and Thomas.

□ On your bad days, if you can even get out of bed, Luda Mae has you on light household chore duty, just to keep you moving. Stagnation, after all, will only make things worse. Charlie will call you a lazy bastard, but it doesn't have the same mallice as usual.

□ And of course at night Thomas will sit there and rub where the worst of the pain is with those giant hands. He will also still want to have sex with you, since Charlie sat him down to give him the dirty on how to help with back pain. And that dirty old man couldn't help but tell him fucking your brains out would do the trick.

□ But he doesn't want to hurt you further, so he is extremely gentle. He has you on your back, several pillows underneath your hips to ensure you're comfortable, and fucks you nice and slow, making sure to jerk you off in time with his thrusts. There are times when Thomas will only chase his own pleasure and worry about you later, but when you back pain is real back, he makes sure it's all about you, and pampers you.

□ He takes the utmost care of cleaning you up, and rolling you onto your front, and cradling you in his arms when the two of you go to bed for the night.

Brahms Heelshire

□ You've had your back issues since before Brahms ever came out of the walls, but you had been ensuring that you were taking your pain pills, stretching, and sleeping right to cope, so he was never the wiser.

□ And even when he revealed himself to you and came out of the walls, he never picked up on how much your back bothered you. He always thought the stretching and pills were because you were a health nut or something. And Brahms is, after all, intensely curious.

□ So when Malcom brings in a fresh pill bottle around the same time your current one is running a little low, he snatches up the new bottle and hides it in his loft. A few days later, he skipped right ahead to sitting at the kitchen table and waiting eagerly for you to come down and make breakfast.

□ But you never do, and Brahms just thinks you overslept, but he's waiting there for an hour before he realises you aren't coming down. And you're being naughty and breaking the rules, and he isn't very happy about that, so he storms upstairs to wrangle you down, but he slows his roll as he gets closer to your room.

□ He hears you crying inside.

□ And he thinks the worst, that someone broke in and hurt you.

□ So he rushes, ready to beat someone up, but all he finds is you laying on your front, crying into your pillow. For a brief, split, second he thinks it's because of him, that you hate him and this is what you do in private because you can't stand him.

□ And he's about to start crying right where he stands, until he sees the empty pill bottle on the nightstand and he puts two and two together. Oh, it was just about your medicine. You were upset about that.

□ When he makes himself known, you're still crying but asking him where your other pill bottle is, that your back hurts so much and you need your medicine to deal with it.

□ Oh Christ! That's what the medicine is for? Without saying anything, he rushes off into the walls at mach speed to grab the bottle from his loft. He apologizes over and over again for inadvertently hurting you like this. He was just curious.

□ He's running all over the house that day trying to make it up to including, including trying to make breakfast for you, which is either going to be tea with slightly too burnt toast with marmite on it, or whatever leftovers he deems appropriate to heat up and serve to you.

□ Once he's settled down, he'll crawl into bed and try to massage your back. It's definitely amature, but it feels good at least, and you make sure to let him know. Once your muscles are all nice and loosened up, he'll roll you onto your back (making sure to cushion you), and slips between your legs.

□ Before you can ask him what he's doing, his mask is already off, and he's suckling on your dick. Christ, you never knew someone could look so shy while sucking dick, but Brahms manages it. If his mouth wasn't full, you know he'd be asking if he was doing a good job, if it felt good. So please be sure to pet his hair and tell him what a good boy he's being, and how he's doing so well.

□ By the time he's gotten you off, he's already cum in his pants, so please stand by while he sneaks off, face red and heavily embarrassed to go change his clothes, before coming back to cuddle with you until you're feeling good enough to get back to tending to him and the house.

□ Honestly if this is what it takes to get Brahms to be a well-behaved and submissive, it might just make up with how much your back hurts. Well, maybe not, because it does hurt pretty bad. But at least it softens the blow.

[helpinghanikan]

Pulse Point

The mandalorian (Maybe Dyn Jarren?) x Reader

Sum: It’s a one stop shop, one where everything gets done, and there’s nothing really new. Until there is new, then it’s up in the air whether it’s bad or not. 

AN: I’ve been watching the Mandalorian recently and came across this post, and it inspired this. Because I have papers to write and this just makes absolute sense. 

It’s incredibly difficult to map out sporadic encounters. This place was a spot and leave point; travelers come because their trips are longer than they expected. Just wanting a bed, wanting food, maybe company, all for one night and never to be thought of again. To be considered a regular at your one stop shop is to come in more then once a month.      

         And a regular this guy was. Not the first Mandalorian to come in, not the first to come in multiple times, but the first you had a real response to.

           Although you couldn’t map out his stops it always seemed to be right after a delivery. Boss lady yelling at you to bring in the crates, stacking them one on top of the other. First set down, he’s not there. Third set down, he talking to boss lady, running his fingers down a resources list to be delivered to his ship. By the last set, he’s still by the counter. This time waiting for you to lean against the same surface, the sign that the fruit, at least, has been sorted.

           It had been a little dance at the start; “Where are you coming from?”

           “Western reaches, heading back to deliver my catch.”

           “Bounty or merchandise?”

           “Bounty,”

           “Anyone fun?”

           “Not as much as I was hoping for.”

           “That sucks,”  

           “Yeah.”

           After listening and watching these dances for years you were an expert at it. Finally finding a good enough partner that make it short. One that was almost as experienced, you didn’t even have to take his hand to lead him anywhere.

           Big boss lady was the face of the stop, only stepping into the back to make unseen exit. And on delivery days it was just a coincidence that every other worker disappeared until the day shift would be done. When the only thing left of the delivery was the heavier things you wouldn’t have been able to move by yourself.

           Those same things made your “regular” visits easier. You’ve known very few who have been with the Mandalorian people, and even less that has seen under the armor, that being none. Plenty of people have their two credits to say about what is under it. Supposedly some race so hideous they wore the armor as shame, others say that they scar themselves in a secret ceremony, so they’d be shamed if they ever did. In the end did you really care? The point was that armor only ever came off just enough.

           Even with that small amount, there was an unspoken rule that you weren’t allowed to look. After that first dance came another you had never done. Starting with a tip toed kiss to the top of T of his helm. An alteration to the first question not asked after going somewhere private. The answer coming when his thumbs, hands holding either of your elbows, gently press and rub against your skin. Not quiet a spin, but more of an encouraged turn for you to face the boxes.

           This was the way it you had done it every time. One arm protecting your forehead from the uneven metal crate, the other reaching back. Grabbing the thickest part of his thigh, sometimes reaching far enough to catch his backside. Had it not been for his thicker pants there might have been a few handprints, you having to squeeze hard just to let him know you were reacting.

           It’s funny how opposite he is compared to the presence he makes. Only time his hand went into your hair was to move it out of your face. Those gloves were a little too rough for your bare skin, grunting through closed teeth at his attempt to slide the gun worn gloves any further down. Instead massaging your through the work shirt, sometimes venturing under to your bra but even then, it was teetering on this side of rough.

           It was up to you to find your own end. Either having to sacrifice your face to harsh surface of the crate or release your firm hold on your partner. Either way the decision came only when the voice inside you demanded it. Groaning in annoyance, every time, when you had to make your decision. Only needing a few movements, chasing the spot as your hips arch to stay with his.

           Although you could hear through that helm it was it’s cool touch just below your neck that shouts when he’s close. One hand gripping your breast like a life line, the other holding himself up next to your head, bracing from pushing you too hard into the edge of the crate.

           It took a little bit before you realized what was different this time around. Those too rough gloves moving your hair, pulling strands out of your mouth before bracing against the box. A few inches from your face, glove slacking in it’s job being rolled just a little up. The bracing over his forearm pulled just a little too tight that day, showing just a few (barely two) inches of exposed wrist.

           It wasn’t hideously scarred like your childhood friends had said, no tattoos or odd colored skin. Based on what little evidence you had he was likely humanoid. Skin was tan, looking like it was from birth. The side facing you, inside of his wrist, was slightly tanner then the outside.

           You hadn’t meant to reach for it. Letting your head take the brunt of the crate in exchange for gently touching the only exposed skin of his you had ever seen.

           In hindsight you had taken a step too far over the line touching him. Jumping straight over the line to gently hold him. Any illusion you gave to taking hold of him was acknowledge when he slowed. Cold between your shoulder blade was gone, abuse from the crate against your head leaving just as fast. Complete stopping on his part was only momentarily, starting again, only this time slower, knees bending to go deeper.

           Your mouth opening was the only sign on your part that the change was acknowledged. Instead focusing on your lucky find. In another world you were just another scavenger who had found something great, something that worth more then any trader could give you. Thumb gently rubbing over the pulse point like it was a coin, pretending that rubbing it enough would show you anymore secrets. A hard breath more then you meant to give, a celebration on both ends worth voicing.

           Just like a precious coin the urge to kiss your prize was almost overpowering. The terrifying thought that your prize could be ripped away by being greedy was stronger. Instead appreciating from a distance. Instead focusing on the excitement that had been growing in the deepest part of your stomach since your treasure first showed through the sand.

           When that excitement reached your breasts, your thumb pressed a little harder then it should. Any fear of bending your treasure was gone with cold pressed almost too hard between your shoulders. Closing your eyes against the feeing that was more then overpowering, sight of your treasure possible lost forever.

           This was the first time your idiot coworkers decided they actually had a job. Rounding through the doors with a laugh, immediately catching sight of an Mandalorian tightening his armor. Famous helmet T staring right at them. To anyone who wasn’t looking for an active fight, it was better then any glare. Especially when the woman behind him was stepping into his shadow, a hand trying to guard her face.

           Although this time around was different the ending was the same. What little dressing was done was done mostly alone. Little gestures he had done before all meant so much now, pulling your skirt back down when he was done. So quickly you didn’t think that it was anyone but gravity, now feeling the press of his clothes on your back to move the fabric.

           Most of the time you didn’t look at each other before departing. When you did, you’d just say; “The big boss lady should have your order ready by now,” with a small laugh. Making an exit while chuckling at your own joke that wasn’t a joke.

           Again, this time was different. “Sorry,” You just said, leaving before he could stop you. Out another door that led to really nowhere, just somewhere to think.

           You’d still be thinking about it when the next delivery came. Pretending not to be looking through the patrons for that specific helm.