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sokkascroptop · 4 years

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traitor. (sokka x f!reader) pt 11

part 1 | part 10 | part 12

A/N: I’m over here like, “how to write Sokka and Y/N simping over each other, but like lightly simping?” Also, I guess we learn some more about Y/N family?

Y/N thought back to when she learned how to use a sword. She was young when her father told her she needed to choose something to master. If she couldn’t train to be a firebender, she was going to train to be something. She’d picked the sword because she’d seen him practice with her two older brothers in their courtyard, and spirits, she just wanted to make him proud for once. She worked nonstop and became the best she could be because there was no margin for error. Failure wouldn’t be tolerated.

“And this is supposed to train me how?!” Sokka asked. His arm dropped six inches. Y/N lifted it back up so it was even with his shoulder and straightened out his elbow more.

“Holding my sword out straight for hours will not only show me that you have the dedication to learn but it will also help you build up strength.”

“Hours,” he echoed.

“Look, if you don’t want to do this, that’s fine!” Y/N started to walk away.

Sokka grabbed her shoulder and spun her back around. “I’ll do it. I’m not happy about it. But I’ll do it.”

Sokka widened his stance and looked out over the water as he settled in. Y/N joined Toph in leaning up against the railing. “Is this really something that your teachers made you do?”

“The sword was much lighter but yes, Father said it was essential that I show my commitment.”

“Sounds like a nice guy.” Y/N didn’t miss the sarcasm in Toph’s tone. She also couldn’t refute it. He wasn’t a nice guy, and he was a worse father.

---

Half an hour and Sokka’s arm was shaking, Y/N could see it from across the deck.

“Tired yet?” she asked. Even though it was still morning, the sun was blazing. A drop of sweat dripped down his face and the tip of the sword dipped before he corrected it. “Nope,” he grunted. “Just peachy.”

“Sure. Let me know when you’re done?”

“What?!” the sword dipped again. “I thought you were the one telling me how long I was doing this.”

“I never said that.”

“But… that’s what you meant right?”

Y/N shrugged. And Sokka didn’t move.

“How long has he been at it?” Katara asked as she sat down next to Toph and Y/N. She handed them each a bowl of rice and smoked fish.

“Three hours,” Toph said around a bite of fish. Katara’s eyes widened in disbelief. “And whenever Y/N goes to check on him, his heart races like he’s afraid she’s going to make him do something else ridiculous.”

“Hey!” Y/N protested. “It’s not ridiculous. He’s training.” Even Y/N couldn’t keep a straight face while saying it. She hopped to her feet and approached Sokka.

“There it goes again!” Toph yelled.

Y/N ignored her. “You hungry?” she asked Sokka.

Sokka’s arm seemed to tremble a bit more. He forced a stoic look across his face. “Nope.”

“Are you sure?” Y/N asked. She picked up a piece of fish with her chopsticks and held it out. “If you’re so adamant about holding the sword, I can feed you lunch, if you want.”

An expression that Y/N didn’t recognize crossed his face and for a moment she thought he was actually going to say yes. But then he looked over her shoulder. “I’m good.” His voice was strained.

“Oh, for spirits sake, Sokka put the sword down and come eat!” Katara called from where she was sitting.

Sokka looked back to Y/N, his bright blue eyes drilled into her own. She held his gaze longer than necessary, because this was more fun than she had anticipated. And then Y/N realized what was happening. He was waiting for her to say something. Her stomach flip-flopped.

“Put down the sword,” She murmured.

She flinched when the blade clattered to the deck and her reverie broke. Sokka’s arm hung limply at his side and he collapsed on one knee. “Tui and La, that was the worst thing I’ve ever done!” He fell sideways on the deck and rolled onto his back. “My arm is numb. I can’t feel it. Is that normal?”

Y/N picked up her sword and examined the edge for nicks. “Sure.”

He leaned up and snatched the bowl of food from Y/N’s hands.

“Hey!”

Sokka balanced the bowl on his stomach and shoved the biggest piece of fish in his mouth. “I desermph it!”

“You didn’t have to hold it that long!” Y/N exclaimed. “I told you, you could stop anytime you wanted to!”

“I thought you were joking!” he shouted back.

Y/N turned back to the girls. “Is he always this dramatic?” She asked.

“All the time.”

“Always.”

“I am not dramatic!”

---

“No. Do that move again. Your shoulder is flying open too far. You’re leaving yourself vulnerable.” Y/N poked Sokka in the stomach to prove her point.

Sokka did, lunging forward with his sword but keeping his shoulders turned inward. He looked towards Y/N for any critique.

She leaned back on the rail with her arms crossed. “Much better.”

Sokka grinned. “Can we spar now?” He was always tired of just practicing new moves. He wanted action.

Y/N unsheathed her sword. “If we’re careful. Katara nearly killed me when I cut your arm last week.”

They’d been at sea for a few weeks now. Sokka and Y/N practiced every morning and every evening on the deck of the Fire Nation ship. There wasn’t much else for them to do but spar which meant that Sokka was learning a lot, and learning it fast. Only last week had she started letting them use real swords though; Sokka had taken a Jian sword similar to Y/N’s from the ship’s armory. In the weeks before, they had just used broken broom handles to make sure no one got hurt. After days of splintered hands and bruises all over from the “beatings” he said Y/N gave him, Sokka begged to use swords. With great reluctance she’d said yes, as long as he made sure he listened to her. It was an extra precaution for Y/N too, she was worried that if something happened to Sokka, they’d throw her overboard.

“Arm up, yes!” Sokka parried as Y/N thrusted her sword. She ducked under his sword and landed a punch to his side. “Gotta be faster though!”

She quickly backed away smiling as he caught his breath. “Was that necessary?” He asked with his hands on his knees.

“Absolutely. How else will you learn?”

Y/N waited a beat before she threw an overhand cut that Sokka blocked, reflexively. He swept at her in a long arc that she knocked away easily. They danced in a few lazy circles, blocking and striking before Sokka got bored. He moved to disarm Y/N, twisting the flat of his blade under her wrist. And lucky for him, she didn’t expect it and the pressure caused her to drop it. He let the point of his sword fall just beneath her chin.

Sokka’s eyes widened. “I won!”

Y/N pressed the flat of his blade between her two palms, moving it away from her face and kicking him in the wrist. The sword dropped from his hand as he sucked in a sharp breath. She swung the blade up and caught it by the hilt. She dragged her leg behind his and shoved him to the ground. He fell hard on his back and she pressed a knee to his chest.

“What did I say about being cocky?”

“It gets you killed,” Sokka grumbled.

“It looks like you lost!” Bato shouted from where he and Hakoda watched from across the deck. Hakoda laughed loudly and then said something unintelligible that sent them both into fits of laughter.

She moved off of Sokka’s chest and helped pull him to his feet. She held the hilt of his sword out to him and retrieved her own from the deck. “Again?”

“Will you please let me win one so my dad and Bato will stop making fun of me?”

Y/N looked over at the two men, who were just getting over their fit of giggles. Momo was perched on the chief’s shoulder and Hakoda reached up to pet his head.

She smiled at Sokka softly, he grinned back.

“No.”

Sokka’s face fell. “Oh come on!”

---

Y/N leaned her back up against the railing of the ship as she watched Sokka put his Fire Nation armor back on. She bit back a laugh as he slid his helmet on over a fresh bruise on his forehead. He caught her anyways.

“Yeah, thanks for that!” He kicked the bottom of her boot.

“Sokka, I told you I was sorry! If you’re in a high bind like we were you need to expect that the other person is going to hit you with the hilt to knock you down.”

“It hurt.”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, I know it does. And I’ve had much bigger people do it to me so you should be happy.”

Sokka sat next to her and tapped her foot with his. “Thanks for teaching me.” He said that a lot. Y/N was pretty sure there wasn’t a day that went by when he didn’t say it.

His face was covered by the helmet. It made it easier to talk to him when he looked like a nameless, faceless Fire Nation soldier. “Oh you know. The price for my life,” she sighed.

“You know that’s not how it is anymore, right?”

Y/N blinked up at the sky and fiddled with the clasp to her Fire Nation cape around her neck. It was dark and the air was humid. “It’s going to rain.”

After a minute, Sokka looked away from her and looked up too.

Just then, there was a crash on the deck. Sokka and Y/N both jumped to their feet and went running towards the sound.

“Twinkle-Toes, that’s got to be you!” Toph exclaimed. They all created a semi-circle around the airbender, who stood hunched over with Momo on his back. The lemur was furiously licking the side of his face. Y/N was surprised to see the Avatar's head covered in dark brown hair.

“Aang, you’re awake!” Katara moved to embrace him in a hug.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I feel like I’m dreaming.”

“You’re not dreaming! You’re finally awake.” She promised.

Sokka brushed past Y/N to hug him as well. “Aang, good to see you back with the living buddy.”

“Sokka?” Aang muttered. And then he fainted.

---

After making sure Aang woke up okay on the deck, Sokka nudged Y/N and walked her back to her room for the night.

“So, he’s awake.” Sokka said. Y/N didn’t meet his eyes; just looked back down the hallway to the staircase that would take you above deck. “I’m sure Katara will tell him everything. Nothing to worry about.” Then he did something unexpected. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t worry about it,” He repeated.

Y/N shook her head, at a loss for words. Sokka had never initiated contact with her when they weren’t sparring. In fact, he actively avoided it.

“Training tomorrow, before breakfast?” he asked.

“Yeah.” And then he was gone. Back down the hallway to his room.

Y/N closed her door and leaned up against it. She was worried. And somehow Sokka had figured out exactly what she was anxious over. Being on the ship with Aang unconscious was one thing. They had nothing better to do other than stay and let him heal there. But now that he was awake, he, Toph, Katara and Sokka were going to complete their mission to save the world and there was no place for Y/N in that story. Her point of leaving was never to join the Avatar’s mission, that just happened to be a side to the same story.

And she was sure the others didn’t want her to join either. It didn’t matter how nice they were to her, or how friendly her and Sokka had gotten over the last few weeks; she was still Fire Nation. And she wasn’t one of them.

A knock at the door startled Y/N. “Come in.”

---

A/N: I think this might just be my first official cliffhanger!! We got some fightin’, some Sokka, we even got our Boy Aang back!! The next part will be a little short, but very important for Sokka and Y/N’s development.

Taglist: @myexgirlfriendisthemoon @reclusive-chicken-nugget@astroninaaa @aangsupremacy @beifongsss @crownofcryptids @welovediaaxx @littlefluu @lozzybowe @thebluelcdy @ohjustlookalive @sugarmoongey @fanficdepot @teenbiology @13-09-01 @riespage @davnwillcome @naanlianid @creation-magician @lunariasilver @vintagerose1014516 @bcifcng @rockinearthbending-marauders @francesciak @thia-aep @aphrcditeee @milk-n-cheese

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ill-go-with-that-then · 4 years

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Some Like It Hot

a quick erasermic fic - rated G

The crime rate goes up during heat waves. Shouta doesn’t have a source for that, it’s just one of those things you always hear, but he thinks it’s true. The unpleasant weather puts everyone a little closer to the edge, even the cheerful older lady who sells him his morning newspaper had sighed when he opened the shop door, bringing a burst of humid air in with him. Petty criminals who’d usually go in without a struggle have been more likely to take a swing, lately. Even the plants along the edge of the street are drooping and wilted. The whole world seems more miserable than usual.

With one exception.

“Shouta!!” Hizashi beams at him from the other side his apartment door. Shouta has to squint against his brightness, even through the peephole. “Let me in!”

“Why.” It’s not really a question, Shouta is already working on the locks, but Hizashi has an answer ready, apparently.

“Because I’m your best friend and best friends don’t leave each other on the doorstep!” Hizashi’s smile widens as the door swings open. “And besides, we patrol together today!”

Shouta scowls. He hadn’t forgotten, they’ve done their first patrol of the month together since they graduated. But it’s so damn hot, he’d intended to skip work for once, in favor of slowly melting to death in front of his cheap fan. He’d just expected Hizashi, who is generally devoted to his comforts and also the owner of an actual air conditioner, to be the one to call it off. But now Hizashi is here, in head to toe leather, and still smiling. Not for the first time, Shouta wonders if his friend doesn’t have some kind of secondary quirk that keeps him from feeling the same fatigue as a normal person. “Let me get my scarf,” he mutters, grabbing his equipment from its messy pile by the door.

“You seem grumpy,” Hizashi says, like he has no idea why Shouta could possibly be unhappy to be walking around in all black on a day like today. Still, Shouta appreciates that he didn’t say “grumpier than usual” like most people - all right, every other person Shouta knows - would have.

“It’s too hot,” is all Shouta is prepared to say on the matter. Whining about it isn’t going to help. Still, he’d feel a little better if Hizashi didn’t look so... put together. His uniform is even thicker than Shouta’s, but he doesn’t seem at all uncomfortable.

“Ah, it’s not so bad!” Hizashi knocks his shoulder against Shouta’s as they leave the building. It’s even warmer outside, with the bright rays of the sun baking down onto the pavement. For a moment, Shouta envies Hizashi’s tinted glasses. “C’mon, I’ll buy you an iced coffee!”

Shouta’s not going to say no to that, so the cafe on the corner is their first stop. It’s crowded; they’re apparently not the only ones to have this idea, and the air in the shop is thick and tense.

“Do you have to stand so close!” A guy a few places up in line spins around to scold the woman behind him.

“There’s a ton of room in front of you, move up!” The woman steps forward, even further into his space, and Shouta puts a hand on his capture weapon, ready to break up a fight before the first swing lands-

But Hizashi is faster. “Hey now!” he says appeasingly, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “No need to argue! There’s enough coffee to go around, and-” he whips out his wallet with a flourish. “It’s on me, yeah? Coffee for everybody!”

The mood immediately relaxes, and everyone waiting in line brightens at Hizashi’s generous offer. Even Shouta is impressed. Not at the cost - coffee is hardly expensive, and Hizashi can afford it easily - but at how efficiently Hizashi had diffused the situation. The rest of the customers leave smiling, a very different outcome than if Shouta had been by himself.

They finally escape with their drinks, a little later than expected, but Shouta’s not going to complain. The slow walk up and down the streets seems like it takes even longer than usual, and Shouta can feel his hair stuck down with sweat to the back of his neck. It’s awful.

“Let’s cut through the park,” he suggests as they pass it, desperate to get out of the sun, at least for a little while.

“Sure!” Hizashi chirps, sipping at his drink. Shouta eyes it jealously, he’d finished his own long ago. And apparently he’s not as subtle about it as he thinks, because Hizashi notices his expression and laughs. “Here,” he shoves the cup towards Shouta, who takes it reflexively.

Shouta brings it to his lips - it’s still cold - and tries not to listen to the little voice in his head laughing at their “indirect kiss.” It sounds like Kayama. “Thanks,” he says around the straw.

“You looked like you needed it,” Hizashi smiles. Then he starts whistling a cheerful tune as they walk along the shaded path through the park. It’s not a long walk - in just a few minutes they’re out from under the trees and at the park’s open center, next to the fountain. Usually it’s crowded with families and couples, but today it’s almost deserted, with most people sticking to the cooler areas in the shade.

“Looks like the clouds are rolling in,” Aizawa notices, peering up at the suddenly overcast sky and trying hard not to get his hopes up. “Do you think it might-“

A loud clap of thunder interrupts before he can finish the thought, but renders the question moot, anyway. Before he can say anything else, the sky opens, rain pouring down like a bucket’s been overturned in the heavens.

Shouta is soaked instantly, the cool water a blessed relief on his overwarm skin. “Looks like the heat broke,” he says, voice raised over the patter of the raindrops.

“Thank god,” Hizashi says, tipping his face up towards the sky. His hair is ruined, stuck to his face in lank strings, and his glasses are so splattered with water Shouta can barely see the outline of his closed eyes. “That was so fucking miserable, wasn’t it?”

Shouta can’t help the laugh that bursts out of him, he has to brace himself against his knees to keep from tumbling straight to the ground. “Shouta?” Hizashi asks, the pitch of his voice concerned, but also a little amused, like he knows exactly what Shouta found funny. “You okay?”

“Perfect,” Shouta says as he catches his breath, still chuckling a little as he straightens back up. Quick as a blink, he leans forward into Hizashi’s space and kisses him, a hand cradling each side of Hizashi’s familiar, perfect face.

“I’m definitely not complaining,” Hizashi says when he pulls away, the corners of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting hard not to grin. “But what was that for?”

Shouta shrugs, tempted to lean in and do it again, hesitating only because Hizashi really deserves some explanation. “You were just as unhappy as me, this whole time. But still trying to cheer me up. It - I appreciate you. That you do stuff like that.”

“And that’s how you show your appreciation?” Hizashi smirks, leaning his forehead to Shouta’s temple. It almost derails his train of thought, but Shouta soldiers on.

“Not usually,” he says, turning his head at the last moment, so his lips meet Hizashi’s for a quick kiss. “But it did make me wonder what else you’ve been hiding.”

Hizashi seems to have given up fighting his grin, smiling wide enough now that Shouta can’t really kiss him anymore, but that’s all right. There will be time for that later, lots of time. “Guess my secret’s out, huh?”

Shouta reaches forward, wiping the hair out of Hizashi’s eyes and off his face. “Let’s call it a day. No villain’s going to try anything in this weather, and I have a fan at home we can sit in front of.”

“Well I have towels, and an air conditioner that’s been running nonstop for a week.” Hizashi peers over the edge of his glasses at Shouta, eyes warm and bright and just a little wicked, and Shouta is pretty sure he’d agree to anything to keep Hizashi looking at him like that. Even if Hizashi’s offer weren’t clearly superior already.

For the first time all day, Shouta smiles. “Lead the way.”

#erasermic #maizawa #my writing

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alolowrites · 4 years

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Sleepless Nights

Summary: Bakugou can’t sleep ever since the brutal breakup and decides to do something about it.

Author’s Note: Here is the second story for @bnhabookclub’s Hero Camp Bingo event. The prompt I used was Betrayal. It’s been a while since I wrote a Bakugou story, so of course he became my latest victim for an angst story (lmao). Don’t worry, it does end on a good note!

As always, please enjoy!

Word Count: 2.1K+

Bakugou is restless.

Crimson eyes glare at the dark ceiling and his left arm unconsciously reaches over to hold you closer to him—splat.

A cold bedside greets his rough hand, the silky sheets bunching up in his deadly grasp. Luckily the linens are not alive, or else they would be begging for mercy. Nitroglycerin secretes on his palms without fail, seeping through the thin fabric; it will turn into an unrecognizable, ashy pile if he ignites the sweat beads. Bakugou hesitates because these sheets are your favorite.

He jostles the gray covers off his body with a vicious growl. Bakugou forgot you aren’t sleeping with him anymore after what happened three weeks ago. Grudgingly sitting up, he slams his back against the headboard. Bakugou shoves his face into his rough hands and grits his teeth as he remembers that unfortunate night—damn his stupid mouth.

Bakugou breathes through his nose and reaches to turn on his lamp. The dim yellow light partially illuminates his face, but fails to brighten the darkness swirling inside his heart. He’s broken and wallowing in his despair. Both fists curl until his nails dangerously dig into his skin, a small trickle of blood oozing out that makes him curse, “Fucking hell.”

His bed groans as Bakugou gets off and trudges out the bedroom to find the first-aid kit. He annoyingly rummages through the bathroom’s cabinets, your face mask packets spilling out on the floor. The woman’s perky fake smile irritates him to no end, his right eye twitching nonstop. Bakugou aggressively shoves them back inside as he yells, “What are you so damn happy about, idiot?!”

The cabinet door cracks after he slams it with brute force; a staggered breath escapes his mouth as he grips the sink’s edge, ignoring the sting from the fresh wounds. Bakugou lifts his head until he stares at his heated reflection. Bloodshot irises glare back at him, his ashy blonde hair even more disheveled than usual. A blue kit sticks out like a sore thumb, and Bakugou snatches it; he freezes when he reads the words “Blasty’s First Aid Kit” affectionately written across the cover.

A gut-wrenching punch attacks him without warning. Growling, he shuts the light off and storms to the living room. Bakugou tosses the kit on the coffee table, plopping down on the couch to get this shit over with. He carelessly rips the alcoholic wipe’s package, tasting the bitter flavor now burning his tongue and hissing when he rubs the napkin on his bloody scratch.

Unraveling the gauze, Bakugou realizes something is off. He hears no laughter or snarky comment coming at him. Ironically, the living room feels dead; it’s as if someone came in with a vacuum and sucked out any hint of warmth in this place. The blonde man glances at his palm with a frown. Usually, you’re the one tending to his wounds while scolding at him for his reckless behavior. He pretends to hate it, but deep down, he appreciates how much you love him.

Bakugou wishes he’d done the same for you that night.

“Babe, I’m home!” You kick off your shoes near the front door. A hand massages your neck as you crave for a nice, hot bath to soothe your sore muscles; work has been a pain in the butt lately. Once the keys fall in the bowl, you realize how everything is eerily quiet. There’s no ruckus coming from the kitchen or a delicious smell greeting you by the entrance.

You raise a curious eyebrow and walk down the hallway. Each step grows more burdensome, the floor creaking under your tense weight. Turning the corner, you see your boyfriend sitting on the couch. He’s hunched over as his fingers anxiously twiddle above his knees. Despite looking down, you notice the permanent scowl on his face and become worried, “Katsuki?”

“You’re an hour late,” he grumbles, still not looking up.

“I got held up at the office,” you cautiously approach to the brutish man with a slight frown. The black bag settles on the coffee table, “There was so much paperwork to get done before the deadline. I also needed to help out Shimizu—”

“Can’t that dumbass ask someone else?!” Bakugou barks like a mad dog, his heated eyes glaring straight at you. They catch you off guard, “Aren’t there other extras at your damn agency who can help? Or do you love spending time with him, huh?”

You seethe, “What the hell is your problem, Katsuki? He’s the new sidekick, and my boss assigned me to show him the ropes. Nothing is happening between us, so calm the fuck down!”

“Like I fucking believe that!” Bakugou shoots up from his spot, the ground shaking from his harsh stomps, “Why does he keep calling you after work-hours? Why is he always so close to you while you two are out on patrol?”

“Oh my gosh, this again?!” You exasperatedly throw your hands over your head. “Are we really gonna argue about this shit? Katsuki,” you march closer to him, pinching your nose for a quick second, “For the millionth time: Nothing. Is. Happening. Between. Us! Why don’t you believe me?!”

Bakugou scoffs, and a flash of irritation crosses your face, “What do you want me to do, huh, Katsuki? Do you want me to quit my job—”

“Fuck yeah I do!” He interrupts, making your mouth fall in astonishment. Did your ears hear those words correctly? His mouth starts running on its own, “At least it will give me some peace of mind knowing you’re not screwing around with him behind my back—”

Bakugou freezes when a harsh slap strikes his cheek.

Tears well up in your mortified eyes. It’s unclear whether they are like this because of his offensive words or the fact you laid a hand on him. Either way, you back away from the stunned pro hero. The hand that delivered the blow continues to shake uncontrollably; you bring it closer to your chest. Bakugou finally comes to his senses and blinks his pale eyes at you.

After the shock subsides, you furiously jab a finger at him, screeching, “How dare you accuse me of doing something like that! How dare you accuse me of cheating on you when all I ever did was love you!”

“Wait!” Bakugou stumbles over his feet, and you stagger backward, “Shit, no. I-I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t!” The razor-sharp tone cuts through with as much strength as Kirishima’s hardening quirk. Bakugou stops in his tracks. Your body quivers with tears raining down to your chin, “Don’t apologize…don’t come after me…we’re through.”

The last thing Bakugou hears is the front door loudly slam behind you; he’s sure everyone in Japan heard it. And the first thing he feels after you’re gone is his broken heart wallowing in pure agony.

Bakugou punches the cushion, muffling down a cry trying to escape his lips. He’s living in a nightmare that never ends. The bitter breakup constantly replays in his mind, haunting his thoughts. It reminds him of how pathetic his life is right now. Every morning he notices the tear stains getting larger on his pillowcase, and every night, before going to bed, he feels the emptiness expanding on his right side.

His bed is now just cold, unwelcoming, and unnecessarily giant—he hates it.

Bakugou rushes back to his room, randomly picking a pair of gray sweatpants and putting them on. The lamp’s light barely helps him as he searches for his black sweater; it lounges on his chair, and the hero hurriedly pulls the hoodie over his head. The last thing he grabs is his keys and phone before exiting his apartment. After suffering in this hell hole for three weeks, he’s desperate for an escape.

Fortunately, the weather is tolerable for his late-night journey. However, he would trudge through anything—heavy rain, typhoon-like winds, massive snowbanks—to get to you. In his mind and heart, Bakugou knows he needs to make things right with you. Sure, you two fight and argue, but it never goes too far except for that regrettable night; he crossed a line. You are the best thing in his life, and he foolishly let your relationship slip through his fingers like sand. Bakugou needs you, and for once, he’ll push his bloated pride aside to beg for your forgiveness.

But first, he has the find you. It won’t be an easy feat considering you could be anywhere; he figures you’re staying at a friend’s apartment, and Bakugou accepts the fact it will be a long night. Pulling the dark hood over his head, he shoves his hands inside the pockets and treks down the bare streets to begin his journey.

The first two stops are a complete miss. One friend answers the door with droopy eyes and a roaring yawn—she has no idea where you are. The second friend scratches his wild bed hair; he’s so tired that he accidentally calls Bakugou “Shadow Dude” and shakes his head when asked if you’re staying in his apartment. Bakugou wonders if both your friends lied to him, but he gives them the benefit of the doubt and picks up the pace.

He arrives at the next apartment, praying that you’re here. Third time’s the charm, right?

Climbing the never-ending stairs, he finally reaches the fourth floor. Bakugou’s eyes bounce until they land on the correct apartment number. With a deep sigh, he knocks on the door a couple of times, hoping it’s loud enough to wake up your friend; the hero stops after no one answers him. His forehead softly hits on the door, a muffled thud echoing around him. Just as Bakugou turns around, the door creaks, and a faint voice stops him in his tracks, “K-Katsuki?”

Wobbling by the door with confused eyes is you; Bakugou’s breath hitches as his stance falters. He wonders if you’re just a figment of his imagination that will disappear in a blink of an eye. When you don’t, he slowly steps forward as if he’s walking on thin ice, putting the hood down. Your vision finally adjusts to the dim light shining in the hallway, and Bakugou whispers, “Hey…”

“What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t sleep…”

“That makes two of us,” you mumble and lean against the doorframe. Despite this, your cold glare forces the hero to stay in place, “I’m still upset with you.”

“I know,” Bakugou lowers his head in shame. You glance at his bandaged hands, and your scowl softens at his lousy attempt to fix the wounds. Did he injure himself again? Bakugou rakes one hand through his messy hair, “What I said to you wasn’t right; I know you would never betray my trust, but I let my stupid jealousy cloud my damn thoughts. I’m a fucking idiot with a big ass mouth.”

You swallow a small gulp, “Yeah, you are.”

Bakugou tests the water by taking another step. This time you don’t say anything to stop him, and he takes it as a sign to get closer. Unconsciously, you cross your arms over your chest and gaze at your purple slippers shuffling on the cold tile floor. Your heart pounds like a jackhammer as the electricity buzzes impatiently in the thick air.

A dark shadow looms over your personal space. You hesitate to raise your head, but Bakugou’s warmth radiating off his body convinces you otherwise; he leaves only a slight gap between you two. Now that Bakugou is close, you notice the deep anguish whirling through his eyes; it’s like staring at your own reflection—a shudder runs down your spine.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, shutting his eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry for hurting you so much with my ignorant ass. You mean so much to me that I can’t take another second sleeping in that bed alone. I fucking miss you…”

Bakugou’s hands slide up your jittery arms, reawakening the spark that almost died inside you. He pleads like a desperate man, “Please give me a second chance…I love you too much to have you out of my life.”

Two arms instantly circle his neck, clinging onto him like no tomorrow. Your quiet sniffles reach his right ear, and Bakugou hugs you tighter in his warm embrace. Ghostly kisses pepper down your face until he captures your lips and pours his entire heart and soul into you. Delicate fingers run through his ashy hair and give it a soft tug as you smile against his lips, “I hate how much I love you, Blasty.”

A chuckle rumbles through his chest.

“Now c’mon,” you pull him inside the apartment, guiding the hero to your room, “We both need to catch up on our beauty sleep.”

Bakugou agrees with a soft grunt.

Climbing into bed together, you two finally fall soundly asleep in each other’s arms for the first time since the breakup.

And that’s the second prompt crossed off from this bingo card! Which once will be next? Stay tune!

Previous Prompt: Adopt a Pet

Thanks for reading!!

Hero Camp Bingo Masterlist

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou imagines #bnha imagines #bnhabookclub #bnha x reader #hero camp bingo #betrayal #angst

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ask-the-riders · 4 years

Text

Not Unlovable

In this, you get to see a bit of Famine's past - part of his childhood, then part of his adulthood before he died and became a rider. Unfortunately, the boy's haunted by ghosts of his past mistakes, however, and it's up to Retribution to provide him the comfort he needs

Because of the contents of this, I'm gonna offer a bit of a trigger warning for implied character death, as well as the actual depiction of character death. It's not super gory or anything, but hey, better safe than sorry, am I right?

"Sans... Take your brothers and go home. I'll meet you there shortly and we can make dinner together, alright?"

The skeleton child stared up at the human woman with wide sockets, another skeleton child standing beside him and holding onto his coat while a babybones was in his arms, smooshed against his chest. He glanced around, noting the look on the adult monsters' faces; Their eyes were sunken, they were thin from starvation, and among the group, the ones with fur looked as though they'd somehow contracted mange. Sans met his step mother's gaze again and frowned, not wanting to leave her side, "Mom, I can't. I don't wanna leave without you." The woman sighed, lowering herself to her knees in the snow and reaching out to gently cup the child's face, offering him a small smile, "Sans, please. This won't take long, I promise. Just be a good boy and take your brothers home. I'll be back in time for supper, I promise." Sans' frown deepened and he leaned into her touch almost desperately, his voice a fearful whine as another adult monster stepped closer to her, a sound similar to a growl escaping its maw.

Lila gently stroked the skeleton child's cheek with her thumb in an effort to soothe him, a pleading look in her eyes as she murmured, "Sans... please. Just... please just do this for me. Can you get your brothers home?" The fear the bubbled in his stomach became too much, causing a blue tinted tear to run down his face as he nodded and sniffled. Lila's expression softened as she wiped away the tear, sighing as she pulled him into a hug, careful not to crush the toddler in Sans' arms. Holding him close, she pressed a soft kiss to his forehead and murmured against his bone, "I love you, Sans... Look after your brothers for me, ok?"

Sans nodded again, trying to bury his face in the crook of her neck and muttering, his voice shaking now, "I love you too, Mom." Gently tugging a tiny Papyrus closer, Lila pulled him into a hug, also kissing his forehead as well before mumbling, "And Papy... You're such a brave boy. Do you think you can help Sans look after Toby for me while I'm away?" Papyrus eagerly nodded his head, "OF COURSE, MAMA. WHEN WILL YOU BE COMING HOME?" Her smile became one of sadness as she hummed, "I'm not sure yet, but hopefully soon... I love you, ok? Don't forget that." The skeleton child beamed at her, his grin wide, "I LOVE YOU TOO, MAMA!" Lila released him, her attention settling on the youngest of the children.

As the toddler peered up at her with wide sockets and innocent confusion, she fought to choke back a sob, kissing his head and whispering, "My baby... Stay safe, Tobias...ok? I love you so much." The toddler reached out to grip the sleeve of her coat, his voice soft, "Love you, Mama." As the small circle of monsters began to close in on the tiny family, Lila slowly rose to her feet, gently nudging Sans and trying to usher him away. As Papyrus latched onto his elder brother's coat again, Sans held his step mother's gaze, a mutual understanding passing between them. As a realization clicked into place, his eyes widened further in horror, and more tears pricked at his sockets. He took a few steps back away from the human, then turned, using a shortcut to whisk himself and his two younger brothers away. Lila's chest began to heave as she turned to face the small gathering of monsters around her.

Offering them a saddened smile as a tear finally ran down her face, she sniffled, "I... I know you're starving. I know you're doing this because you're hungry. So please... if you really plan to eat me, promise me that my kids will be safe, and that they'll be cared for. Promise me you won't leave them to die." Her bottom lip quivered, and she cried out as she felt someone's teeth sink into her shoulder. She let out a much louder sob; her final thoughts circling in her mind, "I'm sorry, boys... I won't be home in time for supper..."

Tilting his head and grinning widely, Sans curled his fingers into his empty socket, watching as Toby weakly attempted to crawl through the snow, dragging himself away from his eldest brother with wide, fearful eyes. Sans chuckled softly, his pace casual as he stalked toward the child, his voice now a baritone growl, "Sorry, little bro... I wish it didn't have ta be this way. Really. I love you, and I did my best ta keep ya safe like Mom wanted, but y'know... we're all starvin'. There's no food and rations are startin' ta run out. There's barely enough food for Paps and I, let alone you too. We tried ta make it work, we really did." He paused, roughly stomping on one of Toby's legs and appearing unphased as the child screamed in pain. As he began to sob and plead with his eldest brother to stop, his small body began to tremble, and Sans sighed, continuing, "But it didn't go the way we wanted. We can barely feed two mouths, and with you here... it's makin' gettin' enough food even harder. 'Sides, you're sick and weak anyway. By gettin' rid a' ya, I'm actually helpin' you. Puttin' ya out of your misery, y'know?"

Tobias whimpered, "S-Sans, brother, please! Please don't do this!" Sans hummed, leaning over his kid brother to reach around him, his stained fingers tracing along his jaw. As his grip suddenly tightened, his smile faded, now a frustrated frown, "Toby, I been thinkin' about this whole thing nonstop for a while now. I've exhausted myself from it, and we've already run out of other options. This is the only thing left that we can do." The child sobbed, attempting to turn his head and look up at Sans over his shoulder, "Sans, come on... I love you, brother! You're really smart, there has to be another way! Maybe something you haven't thought of yet!" The eldest of the two growled softly in irritation, shaking his head, "I'm sorry, but there's not. If it makes this any easier on ya, I love ya too, and I so wish I didn't have ta do this." Processing Sans' words, Tobias began to thrash in the snow, screaming and calling out for their other brother to come help him. Sans grunted, roughly jerking his little brother's head to the side. There was a loud crack, and just like that... silence.

Sans let out a deep sigh, releasing Toby's head and stepping away from the body, hanging his head in shame as he began to tug at the edge of his head injury, mumbling to himself, "I tried ta protect him and Paps, Ma. I really did. I couldn't do it though, and I... I let you down, didn't I? I'm a disappointment, a failure, a disgrace. Ya shouldn't have gone and left us alone like ya did. If you were still here right now, we wouldn't be-" "SANS? BROTHER, WHERE HAVE YOU GONE OFF TO NOW?"

Upon being interrupted by Papyrus, Sans blinked, taking notice of something wet on his face. He gently touched the wetness then pulled his hand back, noticing the blue tinted tears on his fingertips; Huh. So he'd been crying, it seemed. Papyrus appeared at the end of the path and called out to Sans again, snapping his older brother out of his hazy train of thought. When the two finally left, an apparition appeared, standing beside Toby's body. It became the shape of a human woman, frowning as she looked down at the child who laid in the snow. As a single tear ran down her face, she knelt, reaching out to gently run a hand over his skull. One of his eye lights reappeared, now resembling a snowflake as it flickered in his socket. He lifted his gaze, his tears now crimson as he whimpered brokenly, his voice barely audible, "M-Mom?..."

Thunder clapped loudly, causing the walls of the house to shake. Famine could hear War nearly shrieking through their thin, shared wall, and he sighed, slowly sitting up in bed. Moving over to his window, he pushed the curtains aside, peering outside and watching the sky as he listened to the sound of the pouring rain. He hated and loved thunderstorms at the same time; It was always cool to watch the lightning that came with it, but the noise from the thunder and the way the rain made everything wet? He could live without those. Along the edge of the nearby forest, he could've sworn he'd seen a figure moving. Squinting his sockets as he tried to get a better look, lightning flickered across the sky, illuminating the figure again.

It was a woman.

That hair, those clothes, the way she held herself... It was familiar, somehow. Through his fractured mind, he attempted to put the pieces together and make sense of it, his memories not quite aligning with one another. Lightning flickered again, and a second figure appeared, smaller than the first. The way they stood together made it appear as though they were holding hands. Just as Famine thought he'd figured out why the first figure seemed familiar, both of them vanished. A moment passed before he spotted the next flash of lightning, and the childlike apparition that now stood much closer to his window. Tilting its head up to lock gazes with him, the apparition stared, crimson tears running down his face. Famine also stared in a mix of confusion and shock, his sockets widening. There... There was no way. That wouldn't make sense. There was no way in hell that could be Toby... right?

The temperature of his room dropped by a noticeable degree and the rider let out a shaky breath. As he began to hear a woman crying, he slowly turned around, his soul pounding in his rib cage. A ghostly figure now stood in the room with him, tears running down her face as she watched him. Drawing in a sharp, trembling breath of her own, she sobbed, as if completely heartbroken, "Sans... Why did you do it? Sans, why?..." Famine began to tremble, frozen in place as he stared at her. She reached out to him, her touch chilling him to his very core as she continued sobbing, "Please tell me why, Sans... Why did you do it?..." Blue tinted tears began to drip down his face and he shook his head, his rough voice cracking, "...I... I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so... so sorry." Chest heaving, he used a shortcut, vanishing from the room.

Reappearing in his partner's room, he practically dove into bed with him, shoving the curtains that surrounded the bed out of the way. Visibly startled, Retribution stared up at him, his brow bones becoming knit in confusion, "Famine? What are you-" He yelped as Famine lunged forward, wrapping his arms around him and hugging him tightly. As he pressed his face into his boyfriends chest, attempting to hide in the fabric of his pajama shirt, his body shook and he began to cry. Feeling sadness, fear, and guilt practically rolling off of him in waves, Retribution frowned, gently wrapping his arms around Famine and holding him close, gently petting his head. Clinging to him, Famine sniffled, his voice soft, "Ret, 'm sorry... I didn't mean ta just... appear like this. I needed ta get away from her though. I can't face her, not after what I did." The former prince sighed softly, his normally sharp tone now soothing, "Hush, hush... It's alright, Famine. It's alright, I don't mind you coming here... Who did you need to get away from, though? What happened?"

Famine reluctantly pulled back just enough to meet Ret's concerned gaze, pointing in the direction of his room with a shaky hand, "M-My mom... and Toby. They're supposed to be dead, but they came back. Mom was... she was cryin' and she kept askin' me why I did it. She was askin' me why I killed my brother, why I killed Toby. I couldn't... I couldn't deal with that, and I had ta get away from 'er." Sensing nothing but truth coming from his partner, Retribution hummed, continuing to delicately run a hand over Famine's head, being mindful of his head injury. Without a second thought, he asked, "Would you like to stay here tonight? I'll be up for a while yet, so I can keep an eye on you, if that'd make you feel any better."

Famine seemed to immediately perk up, his single eye light growing brighter as he stared at his partner hopefully, another tear dripping down his face as he nodded, "Y-Yeah, I'd like that... Are ya really ok with that though?... I could ruin your bedding with my claws and spikes. Then you'd also be close ta somebody that used to eat people, somebody who kills kids, somebody who murdered his own baby bro, somebody who-" Retribution sighed deeply, narrowing his sockets as he cut off Famine, "Famine, do us both a favor and shut it. I know what I'm getting into, ok?" The taller rider trailed off into silence and as his eye light dimmed the slightest bit, the former prince's expression softened. Gently wiping away the stray tear, he continued, his voice softer than before, "I know what I'm getting into... I've known since I started feeling things for you. Hell, I've known since I became your friend. I know what you've done. While those things can't be undone, you've learned from them. You have no desire to repeat those mistakes, so you're a different guy now. I never thought I could've learned to love someone who could so readily kill their own family... their own marrow and magical essence. But..."

The smaller of the two paused again, hesitating a moment before he delicately traced his thumb over Famine's teeth, his own cheekbones flushing cyan. Sheepishly meeting the taller's gaze and holding it, he offered him a small, yet genuine smile and murmured, "But I did. I learned to love you, regardless of the things you've done, and I don't intend to let anything change that, either. Also, Famine, I couldn't care less if your claws and spikes ruined my bedding. I have money. If we need to buy more, then we will. It's not a problem to me. If you'd feel better here with me, then I'd be happy to have you." Famine continued staring at Retribution, a blue blush slowly spreading across his face as he processed everything the other had just said to him. When he spoke, his voice was no more than a low mumble, "You... Ya really mean all that, Ret?... Ya really... love me?" Sensing the embarrassment and confusion coming from his partner, Retribution smiled softly, his blush visibly darkening, "I apologize if the words are too strong or sudden, but yes. I really do love you, Famine."

The taller rider was silent, his eye light becoming brighter again. More tears pricked at his sockets and he whispered, "Why though?... Look at me, Firefly. 'M a child killer, a former human eater, I scare everyone who looks at me, and I'm hideous. I got so much baggage, and I'm... I'm unlovable. Why would ya love someone like me?..." Retribution sighed softly again, gently cupping the other's face with both hands, "I love you because I can see all the guilt and pain you carry, and how despite that, you press on. You keep going, and I think that's admirable, and so, so strong. You don't let your past define you anymore, and that's beautiful. Also," he paused, his tone growing stern, "Don't ever call yourself hideous or unlovable again, understand? I don't want you saying such things about yourself. Not when you're so full of love to give, and so very handsome."

Famine's blush darkened several shades and he nodded, still clinging to his smaller partner. At his silence, one of Ret's ghostly tendrils appeared, hooking itself around the covers beside Retribution and pulling them down. Pointing to the open space with his tentacle, the former prince murmured, "There you go, you big oaf. I hope the bed is comfortable enough, and that you're able to sleep well tonight." Famine smiled sheepishly, and as he began to loosen his grip on Ret and move away from him, the same tendril from before stopped him, gently wrapping around his arm. He glanced at it curiously, then shifted his attention to Ret, who merely lifted a hand to lightly tap on his teeth, playfully arching a brow bone at him, "What, no kiss goodnight?" Famine felt more heat rush to his face and let out a deep breath, smiling slightly, "Damn, I shoulda figured ya might want that."

Retribution chuckled softly in amusement, the sound dying down as his partner kissed him. The kiss, though soft, lingered a moment, and as the two began to part from it, Famine breathed out, "I love you too, Ret. Ya dunno what you mean ta me..." Ret's cheekbones became dusted cyan again and he smiled softly, watching as Famine laid down beside him, curling into a ball on his side and trying to muffle a soft yawn. It didn't take long for Famine to doze off, still curled into a ball as he snored softly. Retribution's gaze was full of affection as he kept watch over his sleeping form, occasionally caressing the top of his skull or touching his face. As he decided to finally call it a night, he made himself comfortable beside Famine, feeling vaguely embarrassed as he cuddled closer to his partner.

He'd felt himself beginning to doze off as well, but then he snapped to full awareness again as he began to sense the emotions of someone who'd just appeared in the room with them. As the first of two figures began to make their way around the bed, Ret's cyan eye lights locked onto them, watching closely as they drew nearer and nearer to Famine. The ghostly apparition of a human woman passed partially through the curtains that hung down around Ret's bed, her cheeks stained by tears as she looked down at Famine. As one of her hands reached out to gently touch his face, he shivered, but otherwise remained asleep. Tapping into the woman's emotions, Retribution felt her sadness and a sense of betrayal, he felt her disappointment and anger, but above all else, he felt her immense love for Famine. Turning her head, the woman met the former prince's gaze, offering him a small smile. Although it was very faint, she murmured, "My son... You love my son... Thank you..."

Retribution blinked in surprise, while the spirit shifted her attention, watching as a smaller figure moved around to Famine's side of the bed to stand with her. The former prince stared as a child pushed aside the curtains, appearing much more solid than who he'd assumed was his mother. With his good arm, the child reached out to delicately pat his elder brother's arm through the blankets, radiating not a single ounce of hesitation or fear. The child wrapped his arm around his brother in a half hug, momentarily lying his head on his back despite his spiked spine. Famine grumbled something under his breath, but showed no signs of waking up.

Then almost as soon as they'd appeared, the two figures were gone again. Though they were strange and slightly spooky, Retribution squeezed his eyes shut, deciding to brush them off. Cuddling close to Famine again, he felt heat rush to his face as Famine shifted, wrapping an arm loosely around him. This was precisely what Retribution had meant when he'd said his partner had a lot of love to give, and he wished Famine knew what he was doing right now so he could make his point. When the next morning arrived, the taller rider stirred first, groaning faintly as he opened his sockets and yawned. He absentmindedly stretched his arms and legs, but then he paused, feeling someone clinging to him. He blinked; Oh yeah... this wasn't his room, was it?

Looking down at his shorter partner, he sighed, smiling softly. The former prince was still asleep, cuddled as close to him as possible and tightly clutching his shirt. He gently placed a hand on Ret's face, and despite his aching back, he leaned down a bit, pressing a soft kiss to his head and murmuring lowly, "Good mornin', Beautiful..." Retribution yawned, releasing Famine's shirt to rub his sockets. As he began to wake up and register the other's presence, he hummed, his otherwise sleep-laced tone holding a hint of playfulness, "Good morning, Handsome." Famine snorted softly in amusement, arching a brow bone, "I dunno if 'handsome' is the word for it, but yeah, I guess maybe I have a certain charm, huh?" Retribution hummed again, his tendrils suddenly emerging and capturing his partner. While Ret scooted back away from him, two tentacles gripped his arms and pulled him up into a sitting position, while the other two wriggled behind him. The first two pushed him back down onto his back, his spiked spine cushioned between the second pair of tendrils.

As they widened and grew in size, the first pair released Famine's arms in favor of joining then, adding to the cushioning beneath him. Famine's sockets widened in surprise as Retribution climbed on top of him, straddling his hips and trying to look stern as he crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring the cyan heat that rushed to his cheekbones. Famine's hands instinctively moved to hold the other's hips, his entire face immediately flushing a deep shade of his signature faded denim blue as he stared up at Ret. In turn, the former prince huffed, his eyes narrowed in false irritation, "Famine, don't try to say otherwise. I'm attracted to you, and I think you're handsome... Very handsome. Do you really wish to contradict me?"

Famine nervously swallowed, shaking his head, "Nah... 'm not tryna contradict ya, firefly. S'just that I don't see what you do, I guess." Retribution let out a deep breath, rolling his eye lights. A brief moment passed before his expression softened and he tilted his head, looking down at the taller of the two and murmuring, "Firstly... you should see yourself when you're in the kitchen. When you're in your element and cooking for everyone, your movement becomes graceful and knowing. Everything is done with purpose, and is deliberate. Secondly, although your sense of humor is questionable at times, it's unique and it's part of what makes you... You. And then next up, there's your eye..."

He paused, slowly leaning down over his partner and gently cupping his face with both hands, lowering his voice further, "You might've lost one of your eyes a while ago due to a series of rather unfortunate events, but the one you still have is utterly captivating. When our gazes become locked, it's like I'm mesmerized. I can't bring myself to look away. That eye of yours ignites this flame in my soul, and I can't describe the way it feels." Famine felt as though he couldn't breathe, still staring up at his partner with widened sockets, flushed blue all the way down to his shoulders. Noticing the rush of surprise, embarrassment, disbelief, and elation that the other was feeling, Retribution smiled to himself; He wasn't lying when he'd told Famine that he found him handsome, but at this particular moment, there was nothing cuter than that look he was wearing. So surprised, so flustered... Ret loved it.

#writing #four horsemen of the apocalypse #riders of the apocalypse #undertale #undertale au #retribution.exe #famine.exe #lila.exe #toby.exe

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asimawv · 4 years

Text

I write and conceptualize story to music, so I’ve compiled a playlist of 30 Darkest Dungeon-specific songs that I listen to when writing (and subsequently re-writing) in no particular order, which I hope will help you set the vibe too. :+)

Names in bold are links for easy listening - tons of Hozier and Of Monsters and Men up ahead, five minute warning.

1. ‘Fire and the Flood’ - Vance Joy

If you listen to nothing else on this list, listen to this one - it’s the kind of song that’s made for movies about yearning. Folk influences, choruses of trumpets and vocal harmony, and instruments that are layered for a rich, resonant sound. This is the song I imagine Dismas and Reynauld horse-racing through a crowded outdoors market in the hamlet to, and the song I listened to nonstop freshman year when I first started writing The Myth of Sisyphus.

You're the fire and the flood And I'll always feel you in my blood Everything is fine When your hand is resting next to mine Next to mine You're the fire and the flood

The chorus is built around biblical allusions to the fire (the burning bush signifying first contact) and the flood (destruction of the first world), the beginning and end. Every line is similarly evocative of Darkest Dungeon in their simplicity (“I’ve been getting used to waking up with you,” etc.)

2. ‘Soldier, Poet, King’ - The Oh Hellos

By the title alone you can guess who this is for. Even the Guild quote for the Leper approaches these three things as the defining parts of his character (specifically it’s “a ruined man, a warrior, and a poet.”) This song coincidentally has an old world influence to it, with a Medieval Renaissance style from a guitar playing a lute-adjacent melody.

There will come a ruler Whose brow is laid in thorn Smeared with oil like David's boy, oh lei oh lai oh Lord Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh Lord Smeared with oil like David's boy, oh lei oh lai oh Lord

To be smeared with oil is to be anointed by a prophet and thus chosen by god himself to be king, just as David was and his boy after him (presumably Solomon). There’s something strangely wistful about the imagery, which is just how I like my songs about bygone kings.

3. ‘Exit Hymn’ - Bear Attack!

This song is about the end of the world in a version where everyone simply stands together in silence watching, rather than having the masses swarming in panic.

Lovely shapes to the world descending, Brothers and sisters. Lovely shapes to the world descending, Brothers and sisters Mute.

It defies Lovecraftian horror, which is based on the premise that “common human laws and interests and emotions have no validity or significance in the vast cosmos-at-large” - it flies in the face of existential nihilism and the despair that it should bring us. That’s why I like this song for deaths in the end-boss fight; it also has a special place for other death-related ideas, like full-party wipes - entire teams of people vanishing into the dungeons, gone insane, holding hands while the darkness surrounds them.

It’s a bare song which has a sanctity to it, mostly just piano and rain and human voices. Just what you would hear at the end of the world.

More under the cut:

4. ‘Pursuit of Glory’ - Jhameel

This song is laid-back. It doesn’t have the Homeric intensity that some of the other songs here do - it’s a guy with a guitar and vocal harmony. By god is it a great piece of writing though (all of Jhameel’s older songs have that quality to them), and all of it is evocative of Darkest Dungeon.

So many eyes set on the path to glory Too many ties, friendship is for the lonely Can't still my heart, my tongue has tasted folly Thirsty for art, hungry for power and money

This is a song for everyone in the barracks, especially the ‘laundry list’ of people and their approaches to the pursuit of glory.

5. ‘Good Old Days’ - Macklemore (feat. Kesha)

This fucker put a Macklemore song in here. I did, yeah. It’s not even the only song with Kesha in it here (I’m sorry.)

It’s a sentimental pop song, and I am sentimental to a fault. This is Darkest Dungeon AMV material, and I always mishear one of the lines as “we were underground, loaded mercs in that 12-passenger van” so it’s here.

We've come so far, I guess I'm proud And I ain't worried about the wrinkles around my smile I've got some scars, I've been around I've felt some pain, I've seen some things, but I'm here now Those good old days

6. ‘Past Lives‘ - Kesha

Here it is, the other Kesha song - this was introduced to me by a good friend, also in a Darkest Dungeon context. There’s just something about the lovers spanning time trope and finding each other in one life to the next that is irresistible (for the obvious reason in the context of Darkest Dungeon.) It’s a soft song, totally out of place in Kesha’s typical discography, and has a line about losing someone to the crusades, so... you know.

There's just somethin' about you I know Started centuries ago though You see your kiss is like a lost ghost Only I would know But I, I keep on falling for you Time after time Time after time

7. ‘Viva la Vida’ - Coldplay

You cannot fight this. You know that this is the song for King Baldwin IV of Jerusalem, you know it is. Did you know the official name of this genre of music is “Baroque pop”? Yes, that means more songs like this exist. You will live with this information now.

Don’t fight it. Just let it wash over you.

I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing Roman Cavalry choirs are singing Be my mirror, my sword and shield My missionaries in a foreign field For some reason I can't explain Once you go there was never, never an honest word And that was when I ruled the world

Mirror, sword, and shield, the three other members of his party, his missionaries in a foreign field. Thinking emoji. I typed that out so I wouldn’t have a repeat of the crab emoji incident.

8. ‘The Boxer’ - Jerry Douglas (feat. Mumford & Sons, Paul Simon)

Partly inspired by the Bible, Simon & Garfunkle’s ‘The Boxer’ is a folk rock song about poverty, loneliness, and homesickness. It’s written and sung in a style that’s strongly reminiscent of older times, and the final verse about its eponymous boxer is particularly powerful:

In the clearing stands a boxer And a fighter by his trade And he carries the reminders Of ev'ry glove that laid him down Or cut him till he cried out In his anger and his shame "I am leaving, I am leaving" But the fighter still remains

This is what I use for Dismas’ life leading into organized crime and his foolish abandonment of stable job prospects in a half-baked bid for fame, as well as being punched down over and over again but with nowhere else to go. That last part is widely applicable across the cast.

9. ‘I Will Wait’ - Mumford & Sons

I am but a simple man. I see 'folk rock' and add it to my Darkest Dungeon playlist. This song I use for Reynauld - it has that sort of “salt of the earth,” somewhat biblical humility in its choice of words and style.

Raise my hands Paint my spirit gold And bow my head Keep my heart slow

10. ‘Little Lion Man’ - Mumford & Sons

Have we not beaten this song to death yet? Can you blame us? This is the people’s song. We reserve it for all of our favorite fuck-up characters, as primal as Saturn devouring his son. We love this song. Jesus.

Tremble for yourself, my man, You know that you have seen this all before Tremble little lion man, You'll never settle any of your scores Your grace is wasted in your face, Your boldness stands alone among the wreck Now learn from your mother or else spend your days biting your own neck

The line about learning from your mother in particular is why I think of this song for Dismas’ introspection, but I also associate it with the Hellion.

11. ’From Eden’ - Hozier

There’s too much Hozier in my playlists. There is so much of it, and it’s all important to me, says the hoarder. There’s something about profoundly intimate folk music that I love, and god put folk, R&B, blues, and alt rock into a Vitamix for 45 seconds to make Hozier.

Honey you're familiar like my mirror years ago Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword Innocence died screaming, honey ask me I should know I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

‘From Eden’ is, according to Hozier, about idolizing someone from a distance, written from the perspective of the devil “looking longingly at something he desires - for everything that he does not have.” I associate this song with the Grave Robber for its playfully nihilistic tone - Audrey does say something to the effect of being left for dead by high society and the affectionate bordering condescending address is on-brand.

12. ‘Cherry Wine’ - Hozier

‘Cherry Wine’ is unabashedly about domestic violence, and its sincerity is heartbreaking, the sanctification of the blood spilled in the name of keeping her.

The way she tells me I'm hers and she is mine Open hand or closed fist would be fine The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.

This song is strongly tied to the Vestal for me.

13. ‘Work Song’ - Hozier

A song about unconditional love - heaven and hell were just words, indeed.

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

I think of this song for both Dismas and the Abomination - it’s a song about love transcending spiritual and even physical need, complete devotion, but something about it is also not quite right. It’s morbid and excessive, self-pitying, and almost ugly in its sincerity.

14. ‘Sunlight’ - Hozier

The strong gospel influence with the choruses, church organ, religious fervor - I think it makes a great song for traveling scenes and church/altar scenes.

I had been lost to you, sunlight Flew like a moth to you, sunlight oh sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight (sunlight, sunlight) But it is sunlight

15. ‘Arsonist’s Lullabye’ - Hozier

The gospel this time is paired with electric rock instrumentation. Something about the lamentation is unapologetic and matter-of-fact in its disturbing inclinations - this is Paracelsus’ song. Arguably representative of Bounty Hunter and Flagellant as well.

Now that I think about it, it’s great for Abomination as well. Damn.

All you have is your fire And the place you need to reach Don't you ever tame your demons But always keep 'em on a leash

16. ‘We Sink’ - Of Monsters and Men

Of Monsters and Men are closer to the indie rock/pop spectrum with influences of folk, with much less biblical influence and more folklore-inspired lyrics. They make for great trailer and action songs.

We are the sleepers, we bite our tongues We set the fire and we let it burn Through the dreamers, we hear the hum They say come on, come on, let's go So come on, come on, let's go

In Lovecraft’s Cthulu mythos, dreams are how the Old Ones commune with humans on the earth’s surface while they slumber in the ocean depths (Cthulhu fhtagn meaning “Cthulhu is dreaming”); I like to think of the ‘sleepers’ as the heroes being tasked to “set the fire” and the ‘dreamers’ being the Heir and Ancestor driven by some unseen force to unearth the antediluvian underground.

17. ‘I Of The Storm’ - Of Monsters and Men

Very somber song, overwhelmingly piano and snare drum and vocals. Also a great death scene song, or for introspection around the campfire, or played to reveal a major event.

If I could face them If I could make amends With all my shadows I'd bow my head And welcome them

18. ‘King and Lionheart’ - Of Monsters and Men

My favorite OMAM song - it’s clearly written about two children, kind of reminiscent of ‘Where the Wild Things Are’ in its fantastical nature, and very upbeat about the end of the world.

His crown lit up the way as we moved slowly Pass the wondering eyes of the ones that were left behind Though far away, though far away, though far away We're still the same, we're still the same, we're still the same

This part is reminiscent of the Leper’s journey, but the mentions of taking over a town, howling ghosts, the end of the world, a black sea and creatures lurking below, etc. are all evocative of Darkest Dungeon.

19. ‘Little Talks’ - Of Monsters and Men

Also very upbeat for its subject matter - according to OMAM, it’s a narrative of a woman speaking with the ghost of her dead husband, or going insane and believing that she’s speaking with her dead husband.

Some days I don't know if I am wrong or right Your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear 'Cause though the truth may vary This ship will carry our bodies safe to shore

The call-and-respond style of the song is haunting. I like this song for expeditions and afflicted heroes.

20. ‘Wolves Without Teeth’ - Of Monsters and Men

Suitable for both Occultist and Abomination, being consumed by an unseen and otherworldly force that inhabits them - well, maybe just rarely seen, in the Abomination’s case. Special mention to OMAM’s ‘Human,’ same conceptual backing but more raw.

You hover like a hummingbird Haunt me in my sleep You're sailing from another world Sinking in my sea, oh You're feeding on my energy I'm letting go of it He wants it

21. ‘Desierto’ (Original Motion Picture Score) - Woodkid

This is a full album, because all of it is dark orchestral cinema music described as ‘unsettling,’ with the sole exception of ‘Land of All,’ which has vocals to it. I reserve this album for writing fight scenes and for particularly unsettling events because it’s tense and wordless. I read Junji Ito to this soundtrack too, it’s insanely high-strung and discordant.

22. ‘Iron’ - Woodkid

‘Iron’ qualifies as Baroque pop - you might recognize this as the Assassin’s Creed: Revelations song. The large-scale, cinematic style of it and thematic lyrics make it great for writing about dramatic encounters or brigands.

This deadly burst of snow is burning my hands I'm frozen to the bones, I am A million miles from home, I'm walking away I can't recall your eyes, your face

23. ‘Never Let You Down’ - Woodkid (feat. LYKKE LI)

Another somber song, orchestral with some industrial noise in the mix - another great introspection song, or one for a scene with some hard decisions to be made.

Will you come along cause I'm about to leave this town In my eyes, a waterfall, all I can hear, a siren call Could you be waiting by the shore, oh I could drown without you Will you be holding out the line when I fall?

24. ‘Run Boy Run’ - Woodkid

Church bells, fast percussion, strong orchestral presence. For chase scenes, obviously, but great for fast-paced sneaking scenes as well. Also has a strong quasi-Medieval fantasy setting style to it.

Tomorrow is another day And you won't have to hide away You'll be a man, boy! But for now it's time to run, it's time to run!

25. ‘I Love You’ - Woodkid

Don’t let the scream effects and aggressive percussion at the beginning deter you (it kind of took me by surprise the first few times too) - it soon fades into more of the church bells and melodic string accompaniment.

Oh yeah, unrequited love song? It’s free (mental) real estate, baby.

Is there anything I could do Just to get some attention from you? In the waves, I've lost every trace of you Where are you?

26. ‘Vagabonds’ - Grizfolk

A rare departure from folk! Grizfolk is alt rock/indie pop. Stylistically it doesn’t match the feeling of Darkest Dungeon, but lyrically it’s almost 1:1 to arrival in the hamlet and the subsequent expeditions. Good song for writing about recruits bonding.

Oh this careless ground, guessing this is home now Oh in no man's land, at least we're still standing And we're all just fighting, some of us will not return And there's no redemption in trying to find your way out

27. ‘Everybody Wants To Rule The World’ - Lorde

Great trailer fuel, if you’ve seen the AC: Unity E3 trailer with this song - I listen to an extended version when writing fights in the Guild, especially one where two heroes are beefing. It’s got a primal kind of thing going on. I also associate this song with the Arbalest - lyrically, it fits her backstory like a glove.

Welcome to your life There's no turning back Even while we sleep We will find you

Acting on your best behavior Turn your back on mother nature

28. ‘Torches’ - X Ambassadors

More alt rock/indie pop - kind of a rallying song for dark expeditions, hopeful but still somber in nature - some gospel elements. X Ambassadors’ more popular ‘Renegades’ is also a fun tavern song.

Come on, carry your flame Carry it higher Leave it in the darkness Carry your torches

29. ‘Passing Afternoon’ - Iron & Wine

This is a song I use for reconciliation or domestic scenes - Dismas with Junia in the garden, for example. It’s soft and kind of meandering, and features vintage piano - you know, the piano you heard in the basement of your church turned community center as a child.

There are times that walk from you like some passing afternoon Summer warmed the open window of her honeymoon And she chose a yard to burn but the ground remembers her Wooden spoons, her children stir her Bougainvillea blooms

30. ‘Some Nights’ - Fun.

You know this song, your mom knows this song, everyone knows this song from like, middle school. Thought it’d be fun to end this list on an uplifting and very popular song. This is the song that a Disney adaptation of Darkest Dungeon would use in the Training Montage™ - from the point of view of Reynauld. It hits all of the points - being their commander rather than their equal, his stern and antisocial zealotry with no true ideology behind it, the ghost of his wife.

Verse 2, starting with “Well, that is it, guys, that is all / Five minutes in and I'm bored again” is where I see it transitioning to Dismas.

Well, some nights, I wish that this all would end 'Cause I could use some friends for a change And some nights, I'm scared you'll forget me again Some nights, I always win (I always win) But I still wake up, I still see your ghost Oh Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for, oh What do I stand for? What do I stand for? Most nights, I don't know

_____

Well that’s all from me! Feel free to leave your own recommendations in the replies, and I’d love to know what you think about my personal picks. :+)

#darkest dungeon #playlist #song reccomendations #fic: the myth of sisyphus #give me that hozier baby

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ephemeral-writings · 4 years

Text

Everything I Need // 05

oh sehun x reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 4.4k

Everything I Need // oh sehun teaches you a thing or two about life. but falling for the boy who lived across from you was not what you had anticipated.

A/N– Hope you guys are doing well, staying safe and healthy. Please feel free to talk to me if you need a place to displace any anxiety you might have. Also, thank you to anyone that’s still reading this otl i’m sorry for the turtle--snail pace updates, but truly, thank you if you’re still showing interest in this story💓 Please leave me your thoughts!!! Enjoy reading!!

Also, happy birthday to the love of my life, oh sehun; you’ve been my muse since day one and you’ll be my muse until the end.

Part 01 / Part 02 / Part 03 / Part 04 / Part 05

//////

Somehow the dinners with Sehun became a common part of your routine. You would come home from your shift some nights, and Sehun, as if he had memorized your schedule, would knock on your door just minutes after you had returned, asking you if you had eaten yet. Before you knew it, a month had flown by, and then another half.

A friendship, dare you say, was beginning to bloom between you and Sehun; however, whatever feelings you had reserved for the man was left unexplored.

Sehun proved to be a man full of surprises, a new layer of his personality unveiling itself with every time you met up. One minute he’d be a gentleman, grilling meats and plating them on your plate before his own, or swapping dishes with you if you expressed even a mild dislike to the food you decidedly ordered. But next, he’d be teasing you nonstop about your small quirks like your tendency to neatly clean up after a meal-- you called it server tendency-- or how you might have a more serious case of RBF than he does. That argument was still up for debate.

Sehun, from the moments you’re allowed to ponder the man, was nothing you’d expected. His quiet nature that you once thought was from a place of cockiness and judgment turned out to be him being quite the shy and soft-spoken man. His actions, however, were what struck you the most surprised. Like when he’d randomly press his palm to your lower back whenever he ushers you back into your apartment at the end of the night, as if his body had naturally adapted to being close to you; or when he’d stare so intently into your eyes while you’re talking, towering over you easily with his stature, that you feel like he’s looking right into the depths of your soul-- the theatrics of it all was disconcerting. For the most part, despite all the chords he struck somewhat unconsciously, you were set in favor of his presence.

The end of November was creeping in, and so was the cold weather. You realized that once you began layering a long-sleeve underneath your work shirt, and Chanyeol’s music was becoming a new definition of cozy.

“So,” Chanyeol started. “My friend hooked me up with a gig this weekend. I’m thinking about inviting my partner. Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions?” He listed off as you’re both closing for the night. You’re closing out the register while Chanyeol stacked the chairs and swept the floor.

“Give me a sec. You know better than to talk to me while I’m counting, Yeol,” you grumbled, finishing off your till five minutes later. “Okay, what’s up?”

“I’m looking at this opportunity to show off my music a little, ya know? Plus, she’s also been more responsive, less edgy. Do you think she’ll agree to go?”

“It doesn’t hurt to ask.” You offered. “Where’s this again?”

“A pretty popular club among the kids at uni actually, called Love Shot,” he said. “You heard of it?”

You racked through your head at the familiar name, and you finally realize that it was the club that Sehun worked at.

“Yeah,” you said, nonchalantly before adding, “Went there for a party once.”

Chanyeol stopped sweeping all together and looked at you as if you had five heads growing out of your neck. “Wait, you went to a party? At a club?” He half asked, half accused, and you almost got offended by his tone of voice, when he added, “And I wasn’t invited?”

You reddened at the realization at how pathetic you must look to other people when you’ve quite successfully hermit yourself from social events, to the point that even Chanyeol finds it unbelievable. “Whatever, Yeol, that isn’t important right now. We’re talking about you.”

“Nu-uh, this changes things. I wasn’t gonna pressure you to come because I know how you are,” you frown deeply at that, to which Chanyeol only points a knowing brow at you. “But, now you have to come, Y/N. You could wing-man me!” He exclaimed as if it was the most ingenious idea he had ever manifested.

“First of all, I don’t know the first thing about wingmanning, you don’t want me to wingman-- or is it wingwoman? you, dude.” You quickly objected to the idea flat out. You could just see it now, you trying to hype Chanyeol and inadvertently making him look stupid instead(not that he doesn’t play part in that himself alone), and by the end of it, you’ll probably make a fool of yourself by trying to rectify what was never there to begin with.

“Please, Y/N,” he begged. “I want you there when I perform some of my new stuff.”

Chanyeol tried persuading you to go watch him perform at Love Shot for the remainder of the night until you finally relented. You don’t really even know why you’re so hesitant on going, but thinking about the night of Jongdae’s birthday makes your stomach churn anxiously.

“Shit, it’s raining,” Chanyeol said when you’ve both clocked out. He nudged you with an elbow, saying, “Let’s go, I’ll drive you home.”

Chanyeol drove a Jeep, one that you find very difficult to get in and out of, but you suppose a free ride home was better than getting caught in the rain.

“You wanna come up? I could make something for us to eat?” You offered when nearing your apartment.

“Sure,” Chanyeol shrugged, claiming anything was better than cereal for dinner. He parked his Jeep in the allotted spot for your unit and cut the engine while you’re pulling your hood over your head for the oncoming rain. “Wanna race?”

“You could run, but you’ll slip and end up hurting yourself.” You chortled, imagining his lumber worth of limbs flailing in the air. Chanyeol ends up half walking, half jogging, heeding your warning as an afterthought than anything else.

While you’re searching for your keys in your purse, footsteps coming up the stairs and voices belonging to young men echoes through the hall. It was Sehun, and he had friends with him--one of which you’ve met before in passing when he had dropped by Sehun’s place while you were also over(for only 5 minutes as you had to use his printer because yours had jammed).

“Oh, it’s you again,” the guy aforementioned spoke, greeting you brightly afterwards. You returned the greeting, ever as awkward, shooting a less stiff one to Sehun as well while he returned a thoughtful look that had your cheeks warming.

“Hi, I’m Baekhyun,” he said, thrusting a hand forward for Chanyeol to take.

“Park Chanyeol,” he replied, voice booming loudly, though not unkindly.

The other man seemed familiar, and you realized after a closer look, it was the other bartender you saw the night of Jongdae’s birthday; he introduces himself as Kim Jongin.

“Did you just get off?” It was Sehun who asked the question that was directed towards you. You nodded, characteristically shy from the attention of both Sehun and his friends.

Something suddenly clicked in Chanyeol’s head then-- you distinctly recognize the spark that flashes across his pupils-- and you think absolutely nothing good could come from whatever he has working in his head.

“We just got off; we work together. And you are?” Chanyeol questioned, tone nosy and maybe a tad bit menacing, but maybe it was because you knew him better. Sehun, having gone quieter than usual, simply tells him his name with no further insertion that would’ve qualmed Chanyeol’s brewing curiosity.

“What a coincidence, these two work together, too,” Baekhyun said, gesturing towards Sehun and Jongin, and because Chanyeol felt like conjuring his inner Holmes, he inquired the said place in which the two--

“Awe fuck,” you thought, brain finally catching up with Chanyeol’s, and with the help of Baekhyun, Chanyeol’s formless scheme began taking shape.

“No shit,” Chanyeol said, stretching out the first word as he turns to you with a sadistic almost-grin. You glared at him, attempting not to wear the anxiety on your face that could possibly, wordlessly confirm his suspicions that might or might not have already gone too far into his head. Chanyeol doesn’t mind your silent pleas to shut up.

As the silent(and painful, for you) interaction between you and Chanyeol transpired, the three male stared, perplexed by the whole ordeal; one man in particular being more bothered by it than the rest.

Sehun hadn’t expected you to talk about him to your friends or anything(even though he does to his’), but he’d be lying if the revelation didn’t strike him as surprising, or made him a tad bit upset.

“Is something wrong?” Baekhyun eventually asked with a wry smile, breaking the tension between you and Chanyeol .

Chanyeol promptly turned to them, slapping on his wide and creepy smile as he explained, “Y/N gets moody when she’s hungry, and she’s supposed to be making us food right about now.” They laughed hesitantly, not quite sure what to make of Chanyeol’s statement, until Sehun spoke up.

“Don’t let us keep you, then.” Sehun nodded curtly, and without further ado, marched into his apartment with Baekhyun and Jongin following. Once they were out of sight, Chanyeol steered you into your own unit, muttering, “Guess I’m staying a little later than planned.”

The week goes by bizarrely quick, what with Chanyeol’s constant tormenting through work and text. After that night, according to him, Sehun was your secret boyfriend whom you’ve been hiding, which was absolutely ridiculous, and you never failed to reject the notion every single time it was brought up.

Thu 15:21 delivered

‘Stop. Tagging. Me. In’

15:22 delivered

‘Relationship memes.’

Yeol Thu 15:24 received

‘im being supportive’

‘its ur first relationship after all’

Chanyeol sent with the stupid face emoji blowing in a tissue attached to his message.

Thu 15:25 delivered

‘im blocking u’

In a blink of an eye, the weekend was at your doorstep. You spent over half an hour agonizing over what to wear, fumbled with your scant collection of makeup only to end up with a few strokes here and there to brighten your dull complexion and to open up your eyes from the evident lack of sleep, and in the end, you looked...decent.

Suddenly, your phone dinged from across the room where it was charging. Chanyeol was reminding you that he was going on at 9pm, and also telling you how nervous he was because he just saw Eun walk in.

20:24 delivered

‘go say hi to her!!’

Yeol 20:25 received

‘GOING’

‘pray i don’t choke’

You grinned, sending him all the luck in the universe so that he doesn’t make a fool of himself. He’s worried about nothing, you thought, for Chanyeol was a kind, thoughtful, and humble guy, not that you’d ever tell him that yourself. Likewise, you’d like to think that he saw the good in you, despite it being so difficult for those qualities to reflect in your eyes, and it was why your friendship was so easy.

As you’re walking out, your phone dinged again. It wasn’t from Chanyeol, but Sehun instead.

Sehun 20:34 received

‘Hey, did I just see your friend at loveshot?’

‘Chanyeol? I think’

20:34 delivered

‘yeah, he said he’s performing there tonight’

You debated adding the fact that you were heading there right then, when suddenly, you contemplated your state of emotions, whether you were excited or anxious to see Sehun again, at Loveshot no less. It was certainly out of your comfort zone, hence the anxiety that bubbled away in your stomach, but Sehun was familiar now and Chanyeol’s a close friend, so it shouldn’t be that terrible. Right?

Sehun didn’t reply immediately, to which you assumed was due to the fact that he was presently on duty. You arrived shortly after, seeing a decent sized queue outside of the club. You were about to shoot a text to Chanyeol to let him know you’d arrived when two messages came in at the same time.

Yeol 20:52 received

‘U here yet?’

Sehun 20:52 received

‘does that mean i’ll see you tonight?’

Ignoring the latter message that short circuited your mind for a second, you responded to Chanyeol’s, and not two minutes later, he emerged from the club’s entrance, peeking around the crowd for your small stature.

“Y/N!” He beckoned you over, whispered something to the bouncer’s ear, and you’re both walking back into the lively albeit dim space before you knew it. Chanyeol’s looking the best you had ever seen him; dressed to the nines in his dark denim over white graphic hoodie, paired with ripped, black jeans and chains draped along his right thigh, you think that this Eun girl would be a fool if she couldn’t see his efforts to impress her when Chanyeol lives in essentially five different hoodies.

“I’m actually shocked that you made it, was sort of expecting you to flake last minute,” Chanyeol said, giving your outfit a subtle once-over and grinning when you rolled your eyes at him. You’re wearing a tight-fitting tank top, one that has lace edging the bust and cropped to your midriff, and to cover up from the cold, you wore a cropped black puffer jacket. Your bottom’s a pair of black high waisted jeans, the slightly flared at the ankles making you look longer than you really are especially with your ankle boots.

“But then again, your secret boyfriend is working tonight, so maybe you’re really here for him, who knows,” he smirked with mirth swimming in his eyes. At that, you remembered Sehun’s message, its implications bringing warmth to your cheeks.

You shoved the tall idiot with an elbow, though it does little to affect him. He’s cackling to himself stupidly all the way until you both reach the bar, a destination you hadn’t noticed you were even heading towards, not with how Chanyeol’s dumb teasing had distracted you, making your cheeks flushed and heart race for nothing. Subtly, you scanned the vicinity for Sehun but spotted him nowhere in sight.

It was Jongin instead that took notice of you first. “Hey, it’s you again,” he said, voice throaty and silvery at the same time. The tone could easily be menacing had it not been for the kindness floating in his orbs or the disarming half-smile he gives you, as if he knew something that you didn’t.

You managed a polite smile in response before Chanyeol abruptly pushed on your shoulders, forcefully planting you on one of the chairs, directly in front of the bar.

“I’m gonna head up now,” he tells you. “Get yourself comfortable before I introduce you to Eun later, cool?”

Letting go of your petty bickering for a moment, you gave his forearms a placatory squeeze while wishing him good luck and off he went.

“Can I grab you something to drink?” Jongin asked when Chanyeol was out of sight. You told him the same thing you told Sehun last time, giving him the freedom to choose for you.

“Sehun’s slacking off somewhere,” Jongin said suddenly, distracting you from watching Chanyeol as he introduced himself. You clapped along with the crowd, though your brain had separated itself and you could only respond to Jongin with a questioning look. What made him think you were looking for Sehun?

“Oh,” he exclaimed, staring over your right shoulder. “Speaking of the devil.”

Sehun ignored the other boy all together, only looking at you as he spoke. “Hey, you never answered my text.” You turned to face him, his expression at first hard then gradually dissolving into something softer the longer he stared at you; he was in his uniform again, minus the velvet bow tie and plaid vest that you assume was specially worn for Jongdae’s birthday event. Even with just the striped button down, a few buttons undone from the top, he managed to garner more looks than you could’ve imagine. His arm goes to prop himself on the countertop as he leaned closer to you since his height was towering over you and glaringly so. You caught a whiff of his scent as you breathed in, attempting to calm your nerves, but laced with the familiar seaside breeze came the all too familiar acrid smell of cigarettes. It was nowhere near the stench that clung to your father’s breath, clothes, and skin, but the effect was there nonetheless.

“Y/N?” Sehun had repeated your name twice before you realized where you were, who he was, and how far you were from the past. His hand had barely grazed your arm when you snapped out of it, unknowingly with a recoil under his touch, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by both Sehun and Jongin. The former leaned in even closer, and asked in a hushed tone, “You okay?”

Not trusting your voice, you only nodded while giving him a weak smile. “I - need to use the restroom, excuse me.” You tried to ignore Sehun’s imploring gaze on you as you got up and walked towards the direction of where the restrooms were.

“Get it together, Y/N,” you muttered under your breath as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. You willed your mind to focus on something-- anything-- that was presently in front of you, needed to get a grip on reality. It felt like your brain was being dissected, that your eyes were so distanced and while out of one window you saw your reflection, pale and panic stricken, you also saw your childhood home. You saw your father sitting in his chair with a lit cigarette between his fingers, and his face looking so far gone that he doesn’t even notice you standing right in front of him.

“Well, well,” a voice started, echoing so suddenly on the tiles of the restroom that the image of your father dissipates all together at once. “It looks like my night just got a whole lot more interesting.”

You turned your head, finally grasping onto something real, however unfortunate it was to be no one other than Liah. You groaned internally, from the dull pain in your head or from the prospect of the upcoming headache that the girl will cause? Take a wild guess.

“Wow, didn’t know my existence had such an influence on you. I’m flattered,” you said, face blank as ever.

Liah clucked her tongue, looking annoyed which was no surprise to you. “Don’t be a smartass, Y/N, no one likes a smart,” she drawled. This time you outwardly rolled your eyes, turning to the mirror again as you prepare to tie up your hair. It was getting uncomfortable with how heated your skin got after your little episode.

“But I suppose it’s an upgrade from being a coward, hmm?” She mocked sympathy as if you keeping quiet to her belittling all those years ago wasn’t a result of how miserable she made your life.

You’re trying hard not to lose your cool because the last thing you wanted was to stir something up that frankly shouldn’t be touched. But the word coward pulsates in your ears, clinging adamantly to your memory as it digs and digs for all the names your father has called you, worser than coward. Liah doesn’t mean shit to you, not anymore, you told yourself.

You’ve washed your hand after successfully tying up your hair; it’s messy and unruly but you tell yourself it’s a damn look, especially as you turned, once again, to stare at Liah directly in the eye, and said, “Smartass or coward, I’d rather be those than someone who feeds off of other’s weaknesses.”

If you’d bothered to stay and watch Liah’s reaction, you would’ve seen the utter hatred within her eyes as she tried to stare you into the submission she once did.

You headed back to the bar, thankfully unscathed, but the unwelcome trip down memory lane mired your thoughts as you tried to recomposed yourself.

Jongin was the one who caught your approaching figure first. He nudged Sehun who was polishing a glass by his side before taking a few steps away to tend to some patrons, leaving you and Sehun alone. Well, alone as alone could be when you’re standing in the middle of a packed club.

You plopped back on the same chair from earlier, making as little eye contact as possible with the man.

“You’re flushed,” Sehun bluntly noted. He stopped what he was doing to really look at you. With your hair up, there’s no hiding the rosy hue painting your cheeks and ears. You’d feel too hot with it down, so you bear Sehun’s scrutiny for the moment.

“Because it’s getting hot in here,” you said in a ‘duh’ tone. “Are you making my drink again?”

Sehun squinted at you before deciding to drop questioning your suspicious behavior. “Do you want sex-”

“You don’t have to say the name, y’know,” you tell him quickly, a little panicked and fully blushing. Sehun outrightly smirked and somewhere between the music playing, you imagined Jongin’s laughter.

“Your friend’s growing a fanclub up there,” he said, starting on the drink.

You spun in your seat to see that Chanyeol indeed has some girls fawning over him. A few more tenacious ones slid, not-so-discreetly, crumpled up napkins with what you assume to have scribbled phone numbers on them. You gave credit that Chanyeol politely declined all advances on the spot; with a boyish grin and shake of his head, no one could get mad at that. It made him appear professional, but you also didn’t miss the way he would glance at a certain someone every time it happened.

You snort while muttering, “Way to be subtle.”

“What was that?” Sehun voiced.

Turning your body back around to face him again, you said, “Nothing. Just that there’s gonna be some hearts broken, is all.”

You don’t notice the way Sehun’s grip on the tumbler becomes tighter from your words.

Sehun, for the most part, kept you company for the night. Jongin jumped in every once in a while, and you found him to be quite the clumsy yet the most suavest guy you’d ever met. He reminded you of another tall ogre and that in itself was something that allowed you to release your inhibitions for the night.

“Alright, alright,” you slurred, “What do you call a bear with no teeth?”

Jongin squinted at you, seemingly deep in thought, and opened his mouth to answer but someone else had beaten him to it.

“A gummy bear! Why’re you going around telling my jokes?” Chanyeol blurted. He took advantage of the slouched over position you were in to give you a noogie.

“Ugh, get your crummy hands off of me,” you groaned in protest, not bothering to lift your head to glare at the man. Instead your eyes settled the girl standing next to Chanyeol. “Oh? You must be Eun.”

“And you must be Y/N,” the girl smiled, and you could’ve sworn you heard Chanyeol’s heart beat right out of his chest. She offered you her hand, and before grabbing it, you suppressed the tickle in your bloodstream. You looked more sober in that split second than you probably felt.

“Jeez, how much did she have to drink?” Yeol asked the two tenders.

“Not too much,” Jongin supplied. “We cut her off after she started reciting psych theories to us,” he continued, to which you sing-songed replied with, “The more you know.”

It made Eun giggle so that’s all that mattered. She easily slid into the seat next to you, and left Chanyeol towering over behind you two. Seeing as you were getting acquainted, he excused himself to go talk “business” with the owner.

“Don’t go trying to make yourself sound cooler than you really are, Yeol,” you reprimanded, earning a half-smirk-half-shy-grin from Eun. Jongin offered to show Chanyeol the way to the owner’s office, leaving Sehun to tend once more. You whined for another cocktail, but the man remained steady in his stance to cut you off for the night. Eun doesn’t drink, so he offers her, and yourself, some club soda instead.

Eun was surprisingly easy to talk to; her voice seemed to lull you in like a siren and you think-- it’s no wonder Chanyeol was so taken by her. You have half a mind to straightforwardly tell her, “you know-- Chanyeol’s like-- ready to bust the fattest uwu for you, right?” but then that didn’t seem quite the way to go. You snort like an idiot, stopping Eun mid-sentence. Sehun and Eun exchanged looks.

“You okay there, darling?” It was Eun who asked you while Sehun simultaneously mumbled, “Maybe we should’ve stopped at the first drink.”

You repeatedly tell them “no, no no it’s not that,” but “I was just thinking about how good you and Chanyeol would be - together.”

There was a pregnant silence after that, and you realized that wow, that was a big Not-a-Good-Wingwoman thing to say. Eun looked thoroughly blindsided, and if you could see clearly enough, you would’ve seen the quirk in her lips by your honest words. You let out an indignant sound from your throat, ready to apologize for your stupidity, when Eun suddenly let out an awkward but hearty laughter. Sehun had appeared amused whereas you looked like a fish out of its bowl.

“Thank you, for saying that,” she smiled, making you beam in relief. You knew then that there was more to Eun than you realized. Her eyes glimmered with hope, or maybe it was apprehension, at the prospect of Chanyeol’s affection.

Right then, Chanyeol’s voice boomed, “Alright, ladies,” startling both you and Eun. “Deal’s been sealed. You’re looking at a regular DJ of Loveshot,” he boasted, and as if you had planned it, you both rolled your eyes followed by the mandatory kudos, even by Sehun himself.

“You girls ready to go?” Chanyeol asked.

At the same time that Eun replied yes, you chimed, “I’m gonna stick around for a bit.” Chanyeol sent you a doubtful look, to which you fail-winked back at him while Eun wasn’t looking; he smiled, grateful at first, but then it morphed into something mischievous when he detected the man behind the bar watchful gaze on you.

“Right then,” he echoed, then stared at Sehun when he asked, “Do you mind taking her home?”

Sehun, who had really only glanced at Chanyeol when he spoke to him, returned his eyes on you, and asked, “Do you mind waiting a bit?”

How he manages to sound so soft and gentle yet all the same impassive in his speech unnerved you. You found yourself shaking your head, agreeing with him and whatever was to come.

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thatprincessgirl · 3 years

Photo

I hardly recognize myself these days. Maybe I’ll be back to that #egirl status someday, but as long as my body keeps doing WHATEVER IT FEELS LIKE, I’ll be over here in my weird #obiwankenobi t-shirt. I don’t know when I’ll be ready to return to conventions. Right now, my #inflammation is inconsistent. It runs me down and makes it hard for me to move. It’s a lot. I never made a profile post about how sick I’ve been for the past 8 months. I don’t like to talk about physical health stuff often because I don’t want the focus of my life to be illness. Without a diagnosis, it’s also hard to explain without extensive details, but so many of you have reached out to ask how I’m doing, so here’s an update. I’ve had some of these symptoms my entire life, sometimes in waves that lasted a few weeks-months and went away, but never like this. Things were bumpy in October, but in December, my body basically gave up on even trying. #Bloating, nausea, dizziness, #headaches, headaches that felt like your head was a balloon being inflated, #swollenglands, rashes, swollen tongue, ringing ears, achey joints, locking jaw and neck, mood swings, brain fog, ringing ears, #insomnia, itching, severe weight gain, uncharacteristic temperature sensitivity, panic attacks, sluggishness, and depression, and all of it made worse every time it rained. (Apparently I had brain inflammation for months!) I saw my allergist, who dismissed it as “not food allergies.” I visited numerous doctors, and finally saw a rheumatologist who tested me for a number of autoimmune diseases from celiacs to hypothyroidism. She asked me, “do you want to see a DIFFERENT allergist?” and today my appointment finally came. We’re now exploring options like mold and yeast allergies and immune deficiency, as well as other environmental and food triggers. If this reads like a personal biography, you are NOT alone. I’ve been getting nonstop messages on Facebook and Insta since I initially posted about my symptoms. It sucks, but talking about it and sharing has helped me tremendously with my research, so if you’re dealing with similar, don’t be afraid to share. It might lead to answers and better #health! — view on Instagram https://ift.tt/3yhoUj3

#Instagram #IFTTT

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celticmess · 4 years

Note

oh also, TIE MATT TO A CHAIR. TIE MATT TO A CHAIR. I DON'T CARE WHICH VERSION BUT TIE HIM TO A CHAIR.

I TIED MATT TO A CHAIR (it also gets a bit more gory than angsty but hey ho, aggression and violence is my jam)

edit: forgot to mention that this au has its own blog and series run and written by two amazing writers, Becca and Rev, you can find it at @devil-may-care-series

The basement was dingy, damp and cold. The only light was the lightbulb that was hung from its wire directly above Matt’s head. It didn’t cast off a lot of light, leaving the edges of the room shrouded in darkness. Matt knew exactly what lurked in those shadows though, that wasn’t anything new. A shapeshifter that had gotten cocky and made themself too obvious. It had caught Nate almost three days ago now, and Matt had been searching for his brother nonstop since he had disappeared. Unfortunately, the shapeshifter had found him before he had found the shapeshifter and captured him too. Now, the pair of them were trapped underground with no backup and no escape plan. Nate was on the floor next to Matt, his wrists and ankles bound with rope. He had a nasty welt on one of his temples that had been bleeding for a while now, and Nate was starting to look pale and sickly. They had to get out of here soon, or else they would both die. That was easier said than done as Matt tried desperately to loosen the ropes that tied him to the uncomfortable iron chair. Every struggle made his wrists sting, but he refused to sit still. His little brother was bleeding out not five feet away from him, and he could do nothing but watch.

“Poor Matthew. Annoyed you can’t run away and leave your precious little brother in the dirt again?” a voice drawled from the shadows, and Mat clenched his teeth. He had been tied up for several hours now, and that taunting was getting on his nerves.

“Let me go and I'll show you annoyed.” he snapped, turning his head to see the figure move in the shadows.

“That’s a lot of talk for someone tied to a chair.” the shapeshifter said before letting out a laugh. Matt scowled and fell silent, looking around for anything at all to help him escape, but there was nothing. Just him, this chair, Nate and the shapeshifter. At least he could still talk.

“I’m only tied up because you’re too much of a coward to ever try facing me in an actual fight.” he jabbed, and the shapeshifter hissed, obviously taking offence at Matt’s words.

“Don’t try and goad me, human.” it snarled, and Matt had to bite down a triumphant grin. If the monster had a big enough ego to get their attention in the first place, then of course it would take offence at jabs to its pride.

“Nice excuse, I don’t buy it.” he commented, looking around the room to see where the shapeshifter had slipped to. He never managed to actually spot the shapeshifter, as it lunged out of the shadows at him, planting a kick in his chest and sending the chair flying backwards. As the chair fell, Matt got a look at the angry, twisted expression of the shapeshifter in the form of his brother. To say that the sight of his brother’s face so contorted with rage aimed at him alone was unsettling would be an understatement. Then Matt cracked his head against the floor when the chair fell, and his vision was obscured by stars as his head started aching. Matt let out a pained groan, trying to move but finding his arms and shoulders in more pain than before due to them being tied behind the chair as he was shoved backwards.

“Not so cocky now, are we Matthew?” the shapeshifter sneered. Although it was Nate’s voice and face, something about it was wrong. maybe the way it spoke, or it’s mannerisms. There was just a little hint that this wasn’t actually his brother, and that gave him the strength to ignore the hateful look on the shapeshifter’s face as he pulled Matt’s chair back up.

“You’re still missing the point. Anyone can beat up a guy tied to a chair, you’re not special.” Matt watched as the shapeshifter seemed to think for a second before that angry expression returned.

“It's your funeral.” it hissed, untying Matt’s legs before untying his hands. The second the ropes slackened, Matt dove for Nate and grabbed for the knife he knew his brother would have hidden in his boots. There was a second of fumbling before he grabbed the knife, but it was a second too long as the shapeshifter grabbed him and threw him to the side, shoving him into the wall. The knife was knocked from Matt’s grip and the shapeshifter grinned maliciously before pouncing on Matt, raining blow after blow down on the older brother’s face. After four punches, Matt managed to kick the shapeshifter off him and grabbed the knife again. When dopple-Nate next attacked, he was met with a knife in the throat. Although the shapeshifter has carried himself differently to how the real Nate did, there was still something disturbing about seeing your own brother choking on his own blood, your knife in his neck. Shapeshifter or not, Matt felt revolted either way and pulled the knife out of its neck and scrambled away. He watched it writhe on the floor, gurgling as it struggled to hold onto life before he pulled his eyes away from the sight and moved to the real Nate’s side, leaving the shapeshifter to its ugly demise. He cut Nate’s ropes with the knife before putting it back.

“Come on buddy, let’s get out of here.” he mumbled, pulling Nate’s arm around his shoulder before hauling both himself and Nate to a standing position. He left the room, leaving the image of his brother dying a horrible death behind him as he focused on getting his real brother up to the surface and to some much needed medical attention.

#natewantstobattle #matpat #game theory #DMC!verse #devil may care #supernatural au

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spnsmile · 4 years

Text

Title: Burn out this Love

Summary:

Complete blackout in the Bunker during a stormy night has TFW2.0 setting up candles in the war room except Dean accidentally lights one of the cursed candles that extracted a part of himself that believes he loves Castiel. A shaman comes to help but not really, resulting in the angel’s short temper and taking matters in his own hands to make Dean remember. Dean did not forget his name after.

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 9390

Tags/Warning: non/Con, dubcon, Curses, Fluff, Domestics, Established destiel

Written for @supernaturalpromptchallenge March prompt: Element: fire-candle

It was a precarious move, so Castiel silences everything of the earth’s natural orchestra always playing by his ears. From the nonstop spatter of rain on the muddy ground to the howling wind beating against the fort’s thick walls. The electrical hum silently permeating the stone confines to the droplets of water from the sink.

He narrows down the sound to the light tapping of Sam Winchester’s fingers on the keyboard. Jack’s distinct swallows of anticipation beside him. And Dean humming contentedly across the table, waiting for the next course of action to transpire.

Castiel opens his eyes. He raises his left hand with two delicate fingers like pincers and with precision, jabs it at the wooden block of his choice in the second level of the towering pile of Jenga he, Dean and Jack had been huddled around.

There’s a second of everyone holding their breath. Even Sam’s fingers have stopped typing. Dean’s eyes are so round, breath held, Castiel can almost feel his controlled excitement. But he got this.

He meticulously extracted a brick in one pull without making the almost 24 cm tower tumble. Dean sighs with a small, biting his bottom lip to keep whatever he wants to say while Jack’s mouth drops as Castiel stacks the brick up the tower deftly. He then beams at Dean and Jack when the tower remained steady.

“That wasn’t so hard. This indoor game is actually quite entertaining. Humans really are creative when left in their own devices being stuck inside their homes.”

He clasps both his hands on the table then stares at Dean.

Stuck that afternoon because of rain with no case at hand, they were easily convinced by Jack to play Jenga. At first, Dean didn’t want to participate, but one look from the angel gets him to agree. He vowed to destroy Castiel teasingly before they begin.

Except Cas isn’t prone to losing this one yet.

“Your turn, Dean.” Jack says, “Those blocks on the second and third level looks very shaky.” Dean glares at Cas

“Yeah, because somebody insisted on taking out all the foundation on the get-go. Ten minutes later and welcome to Pisa.”

“Rules of Jenga states that you have to remove a brick from a layer other than the top—”

“Like heck I’ll give you top even in this one, babe.” Dean cuts in slyly.

Castiel’s eyes narrow at his boyfriend who looks really fine with his finger-combed hair straight from the shower. He could tell by the strong smell of the hunter’s shampoo pervading the air. He is wearing his soft green top that always matches his eyes. Castiel prefers those one-color coded than the flannels, though he would never be averse to any clothing as long as it includes Dean.

Dean takes a shot in the middle of the tower, then seconds later extracted another brick.

“I got one for tops in ten seconds. Gonna get your ass next, Cas.”

Castiel only deadpans. Dean is obviously flirting with him now but he doesn’t know what to do except stare. He doesn’t remember when this had become a battle of position but he returns the intent gaze with usual deadpan.

“I was using my non-dominant hand.”

Castiel raises his left with an eyebrow up, smiling. Dean huffs in disbelief and was about to put the brick on the top of the tower when Castiel’s phone suddenly rings.

Dean yelps in surprise and knocks the entire tower, sending bricks on the table and the floor with loud thudding sounds. Castiel catches one brick on the way to the ground, watching everything fall apart. Dean groans and smacks his fist on the table while Jack smiles all cheeks like he’s been waiting for it to happen.

“I’ll help get them.” He says instead.

“Who’s callin?” Dean says grudgingly.

They all look at Castiel who’s fishing inside his coat. He shrugs at the look Dean gives him as he takes his phone out. “Oh, it’s my contact—one of the angels.”

Dean makes a face and grumbles.

“Looks like your top didn’t make it, Dean.” Sam remarks lightly from the end of the table.

“Shut up.” Dean snaps, “I’ll win Cas one of these days.”

“A foreseeable future in an alternate universe.”

“Shut up, you want me, Cas.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow scathingly

“No, but I need you to help pick up the wood, Dean. Yes, hello? Uh… yes, you did call inconveniently, I was in the middle of something—”

“My my, this wood’s hard.” Dean kneels on the floor with the voice loud enough to be heard on the angel’s phone.

“Dean,” Sam says in warning.

Giving Dean an intense look, Castiel nods on his phone then hangs up. He stands up and walks to the hunter, kneels in front of Dean who freezes at the sudden approach till Castiel reaches out and tilts his chin up. Sam looks away pointedly.

“Bad boy, Dean.”

Dean’s whole face flushes as red as a tomato.

“I understand it now.” Comes Jack’s voice, severing the spell the two had fallen under when the Nephilim appears behind the angel.

“What did you understand?” Castiel takes the bricks from the boy, feeling Dean’s eyes hot on his back. Jack nods with eyes round.

“This game is much like when people try to reach the top of heaven, but god punished them by taking out what makes them stronger together one by one. Like in the Tower of Babel.”

Dean resurfaces from the trance, blinking.

“He’s all yours.”

Castiel smiles. “It does appear to be all interrelated when you stop and think about it, though, in reality, the prophet of the lord during that time was a bad drunk who was trying to dispute ownership over a windmill farm from his brother. Eventually ending their relationship. Only because his brother refused to speak with him, thus context. But it’s more of the lesson of the story, Jack, rather than the myth behind it. I need to go.”

Dean’s head snaps up from the table.

“Why? Where are you going?”

“To meet my contact? That’s why he called, you heard him, Dean.”

“I heard him destroy my chances of topping.” Dean frowns. Castiel can see the argument rising from his face so he chooses his words carefully.

“He requires my assistance.”

Dean blinks, “Okay, wait for me I’ll go get my coat—”

“Uh, no, Dean. You can’t accompany me.” Because like most angels, this one is also wary of Dean Winchester. All angels—all Supernatural beings are.

“Stop joking around.”

“I’m not. I think you know when I am.” Castiel says drily.

“What— you serious? But we had an agreement not to go out of the house without—"

“Um… Bunker hall pass?”

Sam snorts while Castiel hesitates when he sees Dean frown deeper.

Hall pass as he understands means something about … Winchesters want to do something private which basically is like the loophole in the whole agreement. It’s that pass where they do stupid stuff or deals or meetings without the others knowing.

They all agreed to never go out of the Bunker without a partner according to Dean. If it’s a hunt, it’s usually Sam and Dean together. But if it’s grocery shopping or Dean needing to have some fresh air it’s always Castiel on tow. Castiel doesn’t necessarily require the same attention, though he treasures Dean’s company to a fault.

He doesn’t understand the confused expression on Dean’s face.

“Cas, unless it’s a date you wanna get laid at, geez, I’m coming with you.”

“You’re not. Listen to me, Dean. You really can’t tag along.”

“But it’s raining.” Dean points. Castiel tilts his head, wordless. Dean stares at him, shifting from one foot to another before his expression closes into a grim.

“Fine. Go then.”

There’s nothing much left for Castiel to do when the man leaves.

Castiel quietly watches him go. No sooner than he left, the angel heard a distinct exploding sound somewhere far and the entire Bunker is enveloped in darkness.

***

Castiel stares blankly at the wall of the kitchen to the dancing shadow of Dean Winchester. He followed Dean ten minutes later and stationed himself by the door watching Dean busy himself by the sink, washing his hands with the flashlight of his cellphone, his sleeves pushed up his elbow and humming Led Zepp Castiel is already quite familiar.

“Dean.”

“What.”

“There’s been a massive blackout,” Castiel informs him.

“Don’t I know it? What are you still doing here? I thought your gonna have a date n stuff?”

“I don’t date.” Castiel rolls his eyes. “At the very least if their name is not Dean Winchester, I do not bother.” He sees the visible tension disappear on the man’s shoulder. It gets him talking more to get on Dean’s good side again. “I’ve decided not to go. It’s raining and I don’t want my boyfriend upset even though it’s ridiculous to be jealous—”

Dean coughs several times and swings to face the angel with the back of his hand on his lips. His ears are pink, Castiel can tell even from the dark.

“B-boyfriend?” he blurts out in shock.

“Unless you prefer that I call our engagement with different terminology. I believe the word ‘boyfriend’ is what this century is calling it nowadays. Or would you prefer to be my ‘beau’?” he narrows his eyes. To be honest he will prefer anything as long as he can tell their relationship is special. But Dean—

“N-no, I like boyfriend.” Dean stammers, turning back the sink and washing the frozen meat from the fridge. Castiel smiles and walks to him. He likes it when Dean gets all flustered because of something he said. Dean’s always been like that from the beginning.

Wrapping his arms around the hunter, Castiel sighs in contentment when he inhales Dean’s scent. Dean tenses in front of him but Castiel kisses the back of his neck, urging him to relax while he presses Dean back on the counter, body solidly against each other.

“Stop getting me a boner, Cas.” Dean chuckles.

Tag: Explicit

“Mmm. Why not?” Cas smiles, brushing his hand on top of the hunter’s fly. He can feel Dean’s body going rigid, his breath hitching. “I thought you said this is what boyfriends do?” He bites Dean’s ear. Too irresistible not to do it.

“Dammit, Cas—"

“I like it when you get angry with me.” Castiel whispers, unzipping Dean’s pants and snaking his deft hand inside his boxers. Dean is hard. The way he can easily turn Dean on is mesmerizing. “Because I know you’re worried. I know you care a lot. I’d prefer it anytime than you uncaring. Love it when you’re jealous.” He nips on the smooth skin, running his tongue back to Dean’s lobes and sucking hard.

“Now you’re tripping me—fuck!”

Dean squirms back against Castiel’s body, his ass pressing hard against the angel’s hips. It’s all sensual to him, all because Dean is a very sensitive man. It’s not physical alone, though that’s what draws Dean to Castiel at the beginning while Castiel is the exact opposite.

He saw Dean’s soul first and fell in love. Gradually, they were able to piece themselves together and now what’s between is both. Castiel understands that now. Dean is turned on sensually, emotionally and it’s mutual between them. It’s everything Castiel loves about Dean. But body contact is not to be undervalued either—Dean strives to be touched, hungry for it always, he spent the rest of his life seeking company on lonely nights. Now he’s with Castiel—responding to every caress because only Castiel knows how.

So, when he strokes Dean, they both know it’s more than just touches. Dean breathes like all the air is leaving his lungs. When Castiel presses his thumb on the delicate slit in the middle of the pulsing cock, they both know the running pleasure is multiplied by the thought of who is doing it. Castiel is. To Dean.

And Cas knows how to serve him. Grabbing Dean’s hair with his free hand, he presses their heads together, his lips on Dean’s ear. “Are you going to come for me, Dean?”

It’s enough to get Dean convulsing on his palm.

“Cas— shit—” Dean's hand grapples the edge of the sink while his other grasped behind him to Castiel’s hips. His knees are wobbling against the angel. “C-Cas I’m almost—”

His voice just breaks in the most arousing way. Castiel turns Dean’s head and kisses him hard, enjoying the heat coming from the hunter’s lips, the way it’s so open in submission as dominates their exchange. He pumps Dean harder in the middle of his release, shooting off the sink’s ceiling and on Castel’s hand.

Dean groans and falls back weakly on the angel but Cas got him. He embraces Dean. Plants soft kisses around Dean’s salty throat, his hand still slowly stroking Dean’s cock till he feels it soften in his palms. Dean is breathing hard and Castiel feels a little proud to the one to do that. Things had been very peaceful around them since they both woke up from the idiot dream after their confession of love. Castiel will never forget it.

“Can I help with anything else?” he asks after thoroughly cleaning Dean with his grace and tucking his cock back in before unzipping his fly.

“You just jerked me in front of my bacon.”

“I cleaned it.”

“You just took advantage of me cause it’s dark here.”

“That is true, but you also did say that’s what humans do in the dark with four walls and blankets. We don’t have blankets—do I need to get one?”

“Unless you want to fuck me on the table?” the way Dean sounds hopeful gives Castiel a headache.

“We’ll have that when we can. For now, if you’re done fixing dinner, I will go call Sam and Jack so we can all be here. I’m sure they found the candles by now.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Candles? What are they—kids? No, use flashlights, the candles are last resorts. I have flashlights in the cabinet. Or make em use their phones.”

“I do not think that’s a good idea considering you might need your phones to communicate outside if the blackout persists.”

“Uh… You’re right.” The hunter smiles smugly all of a sudden, “Then can you be like my lamp now? You know—badass angel glowing light in the middle of the room—

“Umm, if I do that the entire Bunker will be enveloped with pure light and since it’s dark outside, the possibility of getting detected by your world’s ‘space cadets’ as you call them is at risk. So now. I do not believe it’s very smart to use my grace at all, Dean. Let’s reserved that for a real emergency.” Castiel glares.

“Geez, alright.” Dean laughs, wiping his hands with the towel hanging by his left shoulder. “Hang on, I’ll go with you to get the flashlights. Their only under the Ham radios.”

“Okay.”

“Wait— Cas!”

Dean surprises Castiel when he suddenly pulls him back, cups his face and catches his lips into a mouth to a kiss with the hunter leading.

Castiel smiles. He likes it when Dean is spontaneous like that. He lets Dean take him. When they pull away, Dean is looking at him with eyes full of love. Castiel nudges his nose on Dean’s lips and sighs. Together, they walk back to the library, all tensions obviously have been released away.

“But, really, candles?” Dean says in the dark.

Castiel uses the opportunity to pull Dean forward. “So, you can ask them. Let’s go.”

“Don’t make me trip on you—”

“You’re the one who keeps pushing—Dean!”

“Sorry!” Dean laughs, “Was that your ass or what?”

Rolling his eyes, he lets Dean pat his ass again until they reach the corridor. Sam’s laptop screen is on, the only light amidst complete darkness. In front of it, Sam looks up with Jack waiting beside him. “Finally decided to appear now, huh?”

“While you guys are playing another set of ‘Are you afraid of the Dark?’ episode?” Dean is clearly looking at Sam who rubs his forehead and nods at Jack.

“We’re waiting for Cas.” Jack explains brightly, eyes on the. “The candles are still unlit so I was thinking if you can use your grace them get them light up.”

Castiel doesn’t quickly answer but throws a look over Dean instead.

“It’s raining and there are candles. Add a cat and we’ll be calling out Sabrina. I can’t even see the candles!” Blinking hard with brows furrowing, he and Castiel steps to the table, casting looks over the place

“I’m not sure I can light all, Jack.” Castiel says solemnly.

“Sure you can.” Jack encourages.

“Just makes sure you don’t make any light bulbs burst and eyes burn.” Dean chuckles.

Castiel glares at that. He notices Dean emerging from under the table and pulling a box under the table to duck from his glare. Huffing, Castiel snaps his fingers and—

The fire flickers out of thin air from the four candles in the middle, lightening the whole war room with the dancing flames, sending their shadows tall on the walls. Castiel sees Jack beam and it made the effort worth it.

“And this,” comes Dean’s voice. Nobody saw him put another candle on the table. They found him already with a matchstick at hand, scraping the corner and tipping down the thick wax candle with an X-mark—

“Dean—wait—!” Sam begins, but too late— Dean lights the candle. The moment the flame flickers on the candle, Dean’s eyes roll back with white balls showing and he drops on the floor out cold.

“DEAN!”

“It’s a cursed object, obviously. Are you sure you’re with proper hunters? One look of the object and—”

“It’s a long story—there’s no electricity when you need it. I could power it up, but Sam says— anyway, just come here—I don’t care if it’s raining. I want to make sure he’s going to be okay after the candle dies out—” Castiel listens to the shaman’s mundane complaints while the angel stands outside the corridor right outside Dean’s room.

His body is still shaking as he relieves the memory of Dean fainting after lighting the cursed candle. Saw something leave Dean’s body that made him reach for the hunter and clutch him close. Protecting Dean at all costs. In the end, after determining it was a cursed candle from the box that Jack brought in the room unwittingly, Castiel resorted to calling his only resource for magical objects, The Shaman, Sergei.

After sending a photo of the nasty candle he wants to melt, his opinion changed drastically upon learning that Dean’s life force is connected to the candle. Now it became the most important thing for him.

“Be quick, I’m warning you, Sergei.”

Castiel hangs up and sprints back to Dean’s room. He can still feel his heart wild against his chest anxiously. The way it happened— he saw something get sucked away from Dean’s body when he lit the candle. Sergei only confirmed his suspicion which didn’t make him feel any better.

But at least it wasn’t any candle about death….

Sam brought his rechargeable lamp in the room that lit the entire vicinity conveniently. Sam looks up questioningly when Castiel comes in and Cas had no choice but to give him a curt nod.

“Yes, Sergei says it’s a curse.”

Sam’s face turns pale. “And? What kind of curse?”

“I don’t know… Sergei’s not sure but he says it could be of Japanese origin but apart from that we still have to wait for Sergei to confirm. He still wants to come over and see for himself.”

“Okay, that’s a plan.” Sam stands up and palms his face. “But I’m still going to search around lore books about Japanese curses then. I don’t trust Sergei. Do you?”

He frowns up at Sam. “I have every reason to doubt Sergei. He will be under my watch once he’s here. He should not be left with Dean. And even if it is the only threat of the cursed candle, I still would not relax until I see Dean as himself again. I’m afraid so trusting Sergei is the only thing we have for now.”

They all look at Dean fast asleep on his bed with the candlelight burning over the table by his wall.

Everyone knows it is Castiel who will be watching over Dean for the rest of the night. Sam left the room to do research in his room and see what else he can find with an extra flashlight at hand. Jack decides to let Cas and Dean alone and once everything is quiet, Castiel naturally focuses on Dean.

He sits beside the hunter’s bed, eyeing every feature of Dean he’s already memorized by heart. One look and he can tell something is missing, though whether it’s for the best, he is not one to decide. He places two fingers on his friend’s forehead and sighs. He closes his eyes, heartbreaking again when he could not reach onto Dean’s soul.

Castiel stays inside Dean’s room for the better part of the night, watching for any slight changes or disturbance over the hunter’s peaceful slumber. There’s none. In fact, Dean barely stirred on the bed unaware of the raging weather outside. If it was not for his chest moving steadily, Castiel would worry about his life.

He spends an hour like that, just staring at Dean’s face for the rest of the evening, recounting his freckles, noting those that faded and delighting himself in finding new ones.

He touches Dean’s forehead from time to time, let his fingers run down the soft hair. Let’s his warmth fill the empty vessel of his boyfriend. He knows it’s unnecessary, but he could not stop. Won’t. He’d do it even with a hairbreadth of grace left in his body.

He stares at Dean.

Achingly. Longingly. Willing those eyes to open for him again. So, he waits. He always waits for Dean. It only seems proper because it’s Dean who made him realize how waiting can sometimes be unbearable. Time is a concept no angel understood before.

Until Dean.

Nightmares didn’t visit Dean that night. Dean does not have any reason to fear, Castiel is beside him. The true nightmare is waiting for Dean alone in the silence of the night. So, if someone asks Castiel if he has any fear at all, Castiel will think of this moment and tells them he does.

***

The Shaman arrived around half past nine, two hours after Dean’s collapse. By then power was still absent, making it difficult for Sam to use his laptop. The Bunker’s generator hasn’t worked since the last invasion in the fortress.

Descending from the metal stairs with wet shoulders from the rain outside, he cast his eyes at the faces waiting for him by the war table looking like a phantom in black apparel, the lights of candles whipping in his presence.

“Has he woken up?” Sergei asks deadpan.

“Not yet.” Castiel shakes his head, “It’s only been two hours. Are you sure the lasting effect of the candle is only 7 hours?” Sergei looks pass Sam to the entrance of the corridor eagerly. He turns to Castiel again.

“Yes, unless you use the other two candles then the curse will continue.”

Castiel and Sam exchange looks. The Shaman raises an eyebrow.

“There are three candles for the shrine ritual,” he begins slowly, “together the three can have significant influence over the balance of nature. Do you mean to tell me—?”

“I kept the other candles in the box.” Sam presses his lips.

“Very well, please bring them into the room. Castiel? Can you lead the way?”

Castiel did not say anything. The look Sam gives him is meaningful, but since the hour is dire, the two decided to do as the Shaman says. Castiel leads the way to Dean’s room while Jack accompanies Sam to the storage room.

Once they reach the hunter’s room, Castiel quickly checks on Dean. The hunter is still fast asleep with no sign of any disturbance in his absence. Sergei doesn’t wait. He slides past Castiel and takes a look at the hunter from head to toe, then walks to the candle still burning bright by the table.

Castiel watches Sergei’s movement with his brows slowly furrowing.

“Will he be okay?” he stands beside Sergei, expression softening at Dean’s sleeping form.

“I need some time alone with him. The spell for—”

“No.”

He meets Sergei’s eyes but the final word is apparently with the clouding of his face.

“Fix him.” He says sharply, “And don’t do anything suspicious or I’ll smite you.”

Sergei quirks his eyebrows. “Always the Russian method with you.”

Castiel doesn’t like it. Truth be told, he’s wary of repeatedly asking the Shaman for help. He’s been pushing Sergei to the limits, always asking for favors they both know would never be compensated. It’s only a matter of time before the Shaman gets back to him. Sam shouting in the corridor at the top of his lungs seems to be the cue.

“Your other Winchester needs you.” they both look at the door but Castiel did not move from

“What are you not telling me, Sergei?”

“CAS!” Sam appears by the door, breathless. “Cas! Don’t let him near Dean!”

Castiel doesn’t ask why. He grabs Sergei by the collar and lifts him up the air before Sam can even finish. He’s been alert from the beginning— expecting danger lurking around and with an unconscious Dean, he’s not about to put his guard down.

Sergei is clutching his wrist tightly, choking as he writhes against Castiel’s hold. Castiel whose eyes gleam darkly, fixing the Russian with his penetrating stare.

“What…” he says, dangerously calm, “are you not telling me?”

There’s a groan on the bed. Castiel distractedly looks down at Dean stirring. Sergei chuckles and presses something hot on his hands. He feels his whole body becomes rigid—the ability to move gone from whatever the Shaman did.

“No!”

Sam comes forward, lunging at Sergei who was leaning on Dean’s side. He grabs him by the shoulder to take him out but in the middle of the struggle, everyone sees him rise from the bed.

Castiel swallows hard. He feels his grace trying to reach out to him but couldn’t—his grace is locked away. But it’s not this that gets him worried.

It’s Dean. Dean is now fully awake, staring at Sergei with unblinking eyes.

“Shit.” Sam whispers.

That doesn’t bode well for Castiel.

Smite. Absolute smiting.

This is the only thing Castiel can think about when he heard the truth about the curse on Dean and Sergei’s intentions for his friend.

Apparently, the cursed candles are used in Japan’s ancient, most famous and terrible curse-a ritual done mainly by jealous and wronged lovers. The three candles are only part of the instruments— as Sam reads.

“…dressed in white and a trivet worn like a crown with three candles burning in the night, a doll made of bound straw and wooden hammer or long iron spikes… They would have in their possession a part of the victim they want to curse—a hair, skin blood, fingernail, even photographs and perform the ritual by any Shinto shrines and time to the Hour of the Ox, witching hour where yurei and yokai spirits come haunting…”

Castiel is only half listening. No. He is emitting a certain air of danger for the Shaman bound by the chair in the war room. Dean is still in his room with a headache while Jack stands outside his door. Half of Castiel’s mind is with Dean, sensing his every movement but he could not. He knows something is different and it’s that he will extract from Sergei by force.

He points his blade menacingly at the Shaman who pulls away from the pointed blade as far as he could. Castiel doesn’t mean to make contact. He can only see blood.

“That’s not the entire story behind this, is it, Sergei?” Castiel glowers. Sam joins him with arms crossed, glaring at the Russian.

“The candles have been used before and was stashed away with the remnants of the curse left in it. What I don’t understand is why lighting one would be harmful to anyone who uses it.”

“Not harmful, of course not. You do not understand the power of words entangled with pure hatred and love, do you?” Sergei begins hooded eyes on the hunter.

Castiel jabs his knuckle on Sergei’s jaw. It connects—Sam doesn’t even bother stopping the angel whose glinting blue eyes burned on the Shaman.

“Tell us everything before I kill you.”

“Cas…”

Sergei harkens a laugh but obliges. “Dead spirits linger on earth, you know, because of their attachment to the mortal world. And when I say attachment, we speak of their sentiments. Very dangerous even for mortal people to possess. Anger, hatred, injustice… bound to materialize when given too much power over poor souls. Now, Japanese witches, they have different sources of power with their deeper connection to the pagan gods their culture have embraced. More resources, more creativity when it comes to Witchcraft you in the West would never achieve.”

“What about you?” Cas asks.

“I’m Russian. Shaman, Castiel. A chosen profession by necessity. We do not need to keep the Supernatural hidden in the East. We bask in them. The people worship them. Acceptance of the Supernatural passed down from generation until, well. The invasion of West insisting on their god.” He looks pointedly at Castiel who continues to glower in his direction.

“What has this got to do with Dean?”

“The three-candles-curse stand for hatred, jealousy, and intent to harm. If passed on, these emotions are also transferred to the next caster. It doesn’t matter if you light the three, put it on your head like a crown. Once lit, the emotions will flood the caster and urge them to continue the curse till done. Your boyfriend—” he nods at the door, “who only lit one will only be affected by the chosen candle. The question here is which one did he light? The one for hatred? For jealousy? Or the intention to harm? We’re about to find out.”

Castiel hears the quiet footfalls of Dean followed by Jack coming from the corridor. Sergei sees them too, standing at the door with the hunter’s gaze quickly falling on the Shaman. His face is pale, Castiel can see dark lines under his eyes. But above that, he sees Dean’s soul has been clouded. Dimmed. He grits his teeth then pulls Sergei’s collar.

“It doesn’t make sense. If those negative emotions will transfer to him then why—why are you getting involved?”

“Ah, I did not say it will affect him in the same way.” Sergei says with a malicious glint in his eyes, “For if a person does not intend to do harm nor feel any certain hatred over another… if this person only accidentally lights the candles without any then what’s left will be the root of the magic which is—”

“Cas, what are you doing?” Dean growls, frowning. “Get away from him.”

Sam steps forward to meet Dean halfway while Jack follows behind the hunter uncertainly.

“Dean, this guy doesn’t want to help you, okay? He’s here to screw with us!”

Dean frowns. “What are you talking about? He won’t hurt me. Get out of the way, Sammy.” His green eyes swim towards Sergei, the dull eyes slowly gaining fire of determination. Castiel stands his ground as he understood how Dean’s eyes melt softly—and to the angel’s horror—

“I love him.” Dean reasons.

The blade falls on the floor with a solid thud.

Castiel takes a lungful of air, eyes not leaving Dean’s. Beside him, he hears Sergei’s dark voice, “Be careful, angel. The curse is twice bound. You don’t want to burn him, do you?”

What is the root of all curses that spark from emotions…?

Of course.

Love.

Dean is left in his room alone, cuffed and all after punching Sam for getting on his way. He was only stopped when Castiel and Jack take him too and locked him away.

“Don’t kill him yet, Cas,” Sam says before they part. Sergei has just smugly admitted he wanted to get back on Castiel even for just 7 hours by taking Dean’s affection. He knew this was gonna happen and its only Sam who’s stopping him from burying his angel blade on the Shaman. Sam takes care of Sergei, promising to throw him somewhere far where Dean would never reach him. Castiel is left to take care of Dean, so take care of Dean he will.

The lasting effect of the curse is until the candle dies out which Castiel left in Jack’s care. He trusts Jack. The fire wasn’t in any danger of dying its fire soon anyway. His heart breaks at the thought, but he can’t be weak. Dean needs him now. As long as the man doesn’t start proposing to Sergei, that is.

Sam told him to clear off Dean until the next five hours but Castiel made no promises. He knows the curse will be lifted on its own yet, he can’t. It’s Dean and no sooner than Sam left the Bunker around dawn, he finds himself traipsing down the hallway to the end of the corridor

Dejected atmosphere greets Castiel when he opens the door of the room. Dean has fallen silent with his wrists cuffed together on the table. He looks up when Castiel enters, but his green eyes swiftly look behind the angel-like he’s expecting someone there. Disappointment fills his expression and Castiel mirrors him. That is. Until he gets a hold of himself.

Sam said they will be laughing this out after the five-hour mark. That Dean would be so embarrassed to declare his undying love to the Russian Shaman who he will hunt for the rest of his life. Castiel doesn’t find it amusing. He saw Dean back there— he saw how Dean’s innate ability to love was robbed of the man.

If Dean was going to hunt for Sergei in the future, he better does it quickly before Castiel gets there before. He closes the door behind him and locks it.

Dean sits up with wary anticipation on the bed. Castiel eyes him predatorily. He sheds his trench coat first, folding it carefully at the back of Dean’s chair.

Dean in love with someone else? Now that’s laughable.

Dean is his.

Dean belongs to him.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Where is he?”

Castiel’s lips thin. He wants to say the Shaman is dead. Sergei will be once Castiel gets Dean’s heart back. He runs his hand on his tie before carefully pulling it away.

“Sam escorted him out of the Bunker. For your safety.” He says very quietly.

“Gee, thanks. Way to keep me in line, keeping away the only person who can straighten me out.” Dean kicks the side table enough to make Castiel finally look at him.

“Stop it. Destroying things won’t make you get your way. You’re only hurting yourself.”

“You know what the best way for me to actually not hurt myself?” Dean sneers, “Is for you to let me go!”

“I’m afraid I can’t let that happen, Dean. No. You’re only going to follow Sergei.” Castiel’s eyes are cold. “No, you stay here. With me.”

The man huffs angrily like it’s the last thing he wants in the world. If only his Dean can see himself now. Refusing Castiel’s company in the same room they’ve shared many times. What irony… but Castiel’s not about to let that stop him.

There’s a reason why Dean is locked here with him. He begins to unbutton his shirt, eyes gleaming when he sees Dean watch him warily.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Have you really forgotten our little secret, Dean?” Castiel asks, walking to the bed in two steps and stops in front of the man.

Dean looks up defiantly and Castiel finds himself like that. The number of times he and this man had gone against each other from the first time they met, Dean shines brighter like that. But when cornered like this like a prey, Castiel would rather Dean be a fighting soldier than a trapped animal.

The thought of Sergei touching Dean sets stone-cold dominance in his being. A possessive feeling of ownership takes him. Castiel suddenly becomes afraid of where it will take him as he touches the hunter’s chin and lifts it so the can peer him in the eyes, albeit a little dimmed, are still gorgeous green.

“I won’t let anyone, have you. Not by force.” He strokes Dean’s cheeks which turn the deepest shade of red. Dean still responds to him. At least, his body remembers this.

“Yeah, I can see that.” Dean swallows, eyeing Castiel’s open button shirt revealing a mass of strapping muscles like he’s never seen it before. But Castiel sees it. That look Dean reserves for things he wishes to taste but daring not to take—he’s seen that numerous times.

“We’re different. You and I…we’re—”

“Connected?” Dean meets his eyes and strange enough there’s a glint of hunger in those green that Castiel never expected to see—not until the curse is lifted, but it’s there.

“You seem to understand it, Dean. That you are under a curse and whatever you feel for Sergei—”

Dean sighs, his head tilting back. “I don’t feel the same about you.”

Castiel freezes, his heart falling on the floor. He needed to remind himself that this is not Dean talking. That Dean—his Dean— would never say that to him. That once this is over, Dean will apologize and Dean will want him again.

No… this Dean wants him.

He has to believe in that.

Leaning down, he tugs the cuff when he stretches Dean on the bed, pulling on his leg till Dean’s arm stretches above him. The hunter growls at the sudden prone position, but his eyes widen when Castiel unbuckles his own pants and let it slip down the floor. He feels Dean’s eyes follow his hard cock—because Castiel will always be hard for Dean—so when he crawls on top of Dean, he knows he’s got attention.

Dean has told him many times how he is fucking turned on when Castiel is naked waist below while still wearing his white unbuttoned tops. Dean’s fantasies Castiel is always willing to oblige. He casts his eyes down on the hunter when their faces are leveled.

Dean doesn’t move, it’s him breathes that rapidly changes. With eyes bulging, breathe hitching, Castiel feels his heart thumping at what’s about to happen next.

Heart leaping as he recognized Dean’s soul trying to reach to him, he takes hold of Dean’s shoulders and grips him tight. He doesn’t look away and the hunter remains silent.

Slowly, he pushes Dean on the bed, falling with him till Dean is on his back, breathing heavily, the lump on his throat unsteady as it bobbed up and down. Castiel straddles him, melting Dean with the amount of hunger in his eyes.

“You remember this, don’t you?” he whispers, stripping Dean from the lovely green shirt. Castiel tosses it and begins on Dean’s black undershirt when a hand jabs on his chest suddenly. Dean is blinking at him with fear and uncertainty.

“It’s not you I…Sergei—” Dean suddenly struggles to say.

Castiel doesn’t show his dismay. He conceals it. He knows Dean is fighting, knows Dean wants him to help him, to fight with him. So whatever doubt he has about what he needs to do next, he pushes it down. Dean’s clear eyes begin to cloud. It’s the curse.

He’s losing Dean.

Oh, a shaman is really going to die.

Castiel’s eyes bulge as the realization hits him hard.

Whatever Sergei said about wanting Castiel to be jealous—because that’s what he means when he told Castiel ‘Be careful, angel. The curse is twice bound. You don’t want to burn him, do you?”

He figures it out that instant—that Sergei’s intention is not for Dean but for him. Dean will be under this love spell for seven hours, crying for Sergei’s name in his sleep. Something that is truly unforgivable for the angel who then will have to suffer intense jealousy.

This… here right now… is extreme jealousy and hatred within him… the intent to harm all because of love. Castiel’s heart dies inside him. He is an angel, a heavenly being. He is not supposed to be bound by such negative emotion and yet—

He closes his eyes. It was too late to go back now.

Sergei has succeeded in cursing him through Dean.

His fingers curl clutching the hem of Dean’s black shirt. That’s not gonna happen. Dean looking at him like he’s a stranger even when his body is reacting, that’s not what they promised. It was stolen from Dean.

No… Dean was stolen from him.

He knows he can wait it out, knows there’s actually no reason to do this but just the thought of Dean thinking he’s in love with someone else sends fearsome anger rippling all over his body. With a growl, he pushes Dean’s black shirt up roughly, brushing the mound of muscle with the heel of his palm. He begins kissing the hardening bud ever so sensitive under his mouth.

“No…” Dean grunts, hands clutching the angel’s shoulders “Get off— I want Sergei!”

The name awakens something primal inside Castiel. Jealousy or what not— innate possessiveness or what not—this is torture!

“You’re not putting much of a fight.” He sucks Dean’s nipples hard, making Dean squirm but Castiel stays one hand on his other pectoral, rubbing the unattended nipple with his fingers. Dean’s cries are so pleasing and both painful as Castiel faithfully continues his ministration for the next five minutes, rolling and flattening his tongue until the bud is hard. He grazes his teeth on the erect bud making Dean yelp and squirms beneath him. He applies the same suction on the left nipple, feeling the hunter writhe on the bed, trying to free his leg until Castiel grounds their hips together. He presses hard on Dean. The man groans softly.

Castiel frowns and looks down Dean’s pants to find the only possible reason is Dea still wearing his pants. Smiling, he gets up, straddles him and begins working on Dean’s belt.

“Wait—Cas…” his voice whimpers when Castiel pulls his pants and boxers down in one swift movement and throws it on the floor. Dean tries to hide his cock by crossing his legs, but Castiel is taking none of it. Pushing Dean’s legs apart, hands firm on his thighs, he let his palms ground Dean’s legs on the bed. Dean moves his ass, his cock twitching beneath him where he couldn’t see.

Sighing, Castiel slides both palms from the hunter’s knee caps down to the root of his cock. Both hands take it, Castiel’s body follows as he leans in, elbows keeping Dean’s leg open till the tip of his mouth touches the head of Dean’s cock.

There’s a stifled groan from Dean. Castiel closes his eyes. He erases the thought that Dean’s not thinking about him. That Dean is thinking of that dead-shaman walking. He digs his fingers on the man’s smooth thighs, sucks the top of his cock, before burying himself on Dean’s hole. He eats Dean, takes pleasure in the man’s cries until he can feel the live wire ready to explode. He takes Dean’s cock again to his lips, kisses the head gently before stroking him twice, eyeing Dean’s reaction.

“Cas—I’m—oh fuck!”

Castiel pulls away and sternly gazes up the hunter who whimpers and looks down in confusion. Tears slide from the corner of Dean’s eyes.

“Say my name,” Castiel commands.

“What…” Dean blanks out.

“Say my name. Tell me to fuck you, Dean, or I will leave you here for five hours—”

Dean’s eyes widen. He begins to tug on his cuff.

“Don’t—Cas, I—” he breathes out unable to say it. He shakes his head when Castiel begins to rise, “Cas—Cas please—” tears spring up from his eyes, “don’t—Cas, please—”

Castiel sighs. He strokes Dean’s cock, relaxing when Dean responds with trying to fuck in his hand. It’s easy to swallow Dean’s cock this time feeling like they are back to normal. He gets Dean to call his name again and again. He doesn’t need any release or Dean’s hand on his cock. He only needs Dean to say his name, all the while making his silent apologies.

He gets off with swallowing Dean’s cock straight down his throat and sucks, tasting Dean’s salty tang so different from his sweat. Feeling Dean’s familiar cock inside his mouth makes him forget everything. This is just him and Dean showing love and affection. Nothing has changed. He wishes that because now he understands he is taking Dean against his will.

He sucks Dean harder, making him scream and thrust in his mouth. He drags his mouth slowly across the hard length, pulling up only to kiss the reddening head before diving down again. He sucks Dean dry as only he could. Making Dean clutch on the wrinkled blankets with unbidden lust driving him to the edge.

“Cas… that’s enough, I’m—coming…!”

Castiel buries his nose deep the curls of Dean’s cock. He chokes and nearly pulls back but Dean closing his knees at the back of his head urges him to take him again.

Dean’s dirty sound fills the room as well as his cock swelling inside Castiel. He feels the turbulent sensation in Dean’s stomach and pulls up a little as Dean’s come shoot inside his mouth. Dean cries to the last spurt as Castiel sucks him through his orgasm.

He pulls out with smacking sound of his lips, eyes glowing with Dean still writhing under him. He holds the hunter’s softening shaft and stroke him again.

“Unggg…”

“Dean. Say my name.”

“Cas…!” the hunter complies tearfully.

Dean won’t stop calling his name after that. Not when he flips him to his stomach and licks his hole, not even with three fingers inside Dean, he doesn’t. It takes a while before Dean’s pliant body is ready for him. Castiel raises Dean’s hips from the bed and sets a pillow under his torso. Dean breathes heavily on the bed but did not say anything, probably in fear of Castiel leaving him in the middle.

“Don’t worry, Dean…” Castiel says, letting Dean feel the head of his cock, sliding between his cheeks, rightfully filling Dean with lube. “I got you… just… just keep calling my name. Please, Dean.”

He can feel his heart pounding in his chest. Dean makes a small sound but Castiel did not wait. He presses himself inside Dean, watches the muscle around Dean’s hole contract as he slowly slices him in half. The feel of Dean’s tight ring makes Castiel groans until he is sliding deeper and bottoming in.

Fuck.

“Oh, fuck! Cas!” Dean’s breathe catches.

Castiel doesn’t let him think. Closing his eyes, his thrust become wild. Dean cries his name when the jolting of their bodies becomes too intense and Castiel is wrapping his body around Dean’s back, a hand taking hold of Dean’s cock because that’s how the hunter wants it.

He fucks Dean for an hour and more—doesn’t even care if he heard Sam knocking on the door. He covers Dean’s mouth until Sam walks away, most likely getting the point after he hears Dean’s moans when Castiel hits his prostate again and again.

“Good boy.” Castiel whispers, pounding Dean, spooning the hunter with his cock deep in Dean. He drags the fucking to torturous slow, then catches pace again, breaking Dean’s moans and cries of pleasure. And all that while, Dean can only call him.

Castiel did not stop—not until the fifth hour where he has Dean on his lap resting. Keeping Dean so close seems to be the only way to make sure the curse passes without any glitch. That Dean is still with him. Sam did not bother him anymore. Castiel hopes he’s got Jack distracted not from all the noise Dean has made in the last five hours.

The hour strikes.

Dean lifts his chin from Castiel’s shoulder looking worn out and confused. Castiel quickly sits up straight but the hunter did not make any attempt to climb down his lap. He just stares hard at the angel, eyes large and disbelieving.

“Dean—?”

“Cas?” The hunter rubs his eyes. “Hey, babe…”

Castiel’s eyes fill with tears.

“Cas? Cas, what’s wrong?” concern fills Dean’s face. It was over.

The angel shakes his head and wipes his eyes. He’s just glad. “How are you, Dean?”

“You’re asking me that now? Why are you crying?” Dean gets on his elbow and pulls Castiel’s head to his chest, cradling him lovingly. “Cas, babe, talk to me.”

Castiel sniffs. “I… I made a terrible mistake.”

“Huh?”

“I… I fell under a curse. Curse of jealousy, Dean.”

Dean’s face relaxes as he wipes the tears from his angel’s cheeks resting on his naked lap. “Are you kidding? I feel jealous when it comes to you all the time—if you call that curse then lemme tell you again—I’d rather have you, cursed or not!”

Castiel takes a moment to take that in, and then slides his arms on Dean’s waist.

“Me too, Dean… I love you so much…”

“Me too, babe I—no wait— fuck! I just remembered that fucking nightmare!”

“What—” Castiel stares up but Dean just grabs him closer and snuggles on his neck. “I thought I lost you! You weren’t there in that dream!”

“Dean?”

“It was so dark and I couldn’t find you… but I knew you were there, I could hear you calling my name… you made me want to call you…”

“Dean…” Castiel’s eyes water, settling his hand across the hunter’s body, “I’m sorry.” Castiel cries and Dean holds him close. Confused and a little afraid, Dean pulls from him looking scandalized at the tears streaming down the angelic face.

“Cas—d-don’t cry! What happened?”

Castiel controls his emotions and explains about the candle, the curse and the Shaman who is about to die by tomorrow. Dean looks aghast after the story, his hands clutching tight on Castiel’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Dean—" Castiel looks devastated. He keeps pulling Dean closer, keeps putting his head against his boyfriend’s chest afraid of Dean’s answer.

Dean pats his head gently.

“Don’t be an idiot. So, you ravished me. Ain’t that our deal?” Dean tells him. He cups Castiel’s face so they look deep in each other. “Well, fuck. I get fucked by my boyfriend and I loved every second of it.”

“Dean…”

“Cause if not, and this body rots waiting for you? I think I’d really go mad.”

Dean pulls the angel in a hot searing kiss with their tongues meeting. Castiel moans in the kiss and let Dean lead, gently putting arms around him and pulling him down so the hunter is on top of him.

Dean pulls back as he perches on the angel’s chest, his eyes twinkling.

“Can I top?” he asks, tone of excitement unbidden.

Castiel blinks. “But aren’t you tired? We just—”

A finger pressing on his lips stops him from talking. Dean’s face is red and he’s looking around Cas body with hunger.

“Cas, with you babe on the meal, I’d never required sleep ever again.”

***

“I hope you understand your dead the next time I see you.”

Castiel rumbles on the phone that evening. Dean is tucked tightly on his right arm, cuddled beside him so closely while he sleeps peacefully. The only time that day when Castiel can relax with the curse finally lifted. He was staring on Dean’s face quietly, remembering all the expressions when his phone rings and an unregistered number of flashes. The angel knew at once who it was.

“What can I say? It is sweet revenge—”

“You’re dead.”

“Come now, Castiel—”

“I have. Many times, inside Dean.”

There’s silence on the other line.

“I shall try to remember this then, your weakness is quite spot on.”

“If you mean Dean is my weakness, then yes.” Castiel looks away, teeth grinding, “but he’s not weak. Dean is stronger than I will ever be, but if you hurt him again—”

The phone gets snatched from his hand. Castiel turns to see Dean sitting up with a dark look on his face.

“Listen up, asshole. Call Cas again and I’m gonna be after you for the rest of your life. If you’re the maniac intent on death—fuck you—I will get you. And this is not even what you did to me. Show yourself here and I’ll show you the meaning of evil spirit.”

He doesn’t wait for the answer. Dean hangs up and threw the phone away.

“Stop talking to the guy!” Dean scowls downcast at the angel who’s staring at him quietly.

“Are you okay now?”

Dean rolls his eyes. He pulls next to Cas and drops his head on the angel’s shoulder.

“Are you?” he asks, wrapping strong arms around Castiel’s torso and heaving a deep sigh. Castiel copies him and buries his nose on the hunter’s hair feeling mildly content now that Dean is beside him and awake.

“I’m fine now. You’re in love with me again.” He whispers before cuddling Dean with both arms now clawing around him. Dean chuckles, tilting his head up so he and Cas can look at each other.

“Told you the only times I won’t love you is when I’m dead or—”

Castiel embraces Dean closely, their cheeks pressing warmly together.

“It’s okay. I just want you to love me now.”

Dean falls silent for a while before he crawls up on top of Castiel and begins kissing him gently. The angel lets him, a contented sigh slipping from his lips.

“I’m not just in love with you, Cas. I’m also a sucker for you, babe, also very much crushing on you now and horny.” Dean whispers when he gets around Castiel’s ears and begins licking inside. Castiel sighs. “If this aint my kind of love, I don’t know what else to call the urge to tie you up and just make you mine forever. Okay? So, cheer up.”

He pulls back, arms stretching from where he keeps both his hands on Castiel’s nape.

“Stop crying. I don’t want to see you crying just for fucking me. In fact—let’s keep the fuck and forget that asshole. Bleh… just imagining you thought that I—”

“It wasn’t the nicest thought I ever had.”

“Well, he’s not touching this hole any time soon.”

“I’ll soon be out of words to describe how dead he is when I see him.”

Dean finally nods and they cuddle for a few moments. Until Castiel flushes when Dean grinds his ass straight on his soft cock with a sly grin on his face. The man is just so happy to tease him after learning of Castiel’s tendency to get jealous. Dean watches intently, his tongue licking the topside of his lips.

He grinds harder, smirking. “So… did you just let me top?”

“I did but it’s a one time offer.” Castiel smiles holding Dean’s waist.

“Change your mind, I’ll never ask a hall pass ever again.”

“Dean, I am not that possessive.” Castiel narrows his eyes.

Dean smiles at him meaningfully. He smiles back and they snuggle closely again.

Castiel understands that this was not even a condition but an offer. He wonders before why humans are prone to jealousy. He understands now. It roots from loving. This is also where other evil stems from. Where all the curses gather around.

In time. He thinks. He’ll make up for that mistake—of being too human—maybe when he faces his own time but right now, Dean Winchester is here who says he’s still gonna take him, cursed or not.

#supernaturalpromptchallenge #destiel fanfic #element fire #prompts #deancas #ao3

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excuseme-youpretty · 4 years

Photo

Pairing: Kim Namjoon / Reader

Side Pairings: None

Rating: Teen

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 3,748

Warnings: Brief allusions to sex, but nothing too graphic.

Notes: This oneshot was requested by anonymous. They wanted adorable fluffy Namjoon spending a rare day off with his partner. I hope, wherever you are, that you liked it and I’m sorry for the delay ♥ I’ve had a virus that’s been kicking my ass.

Make your own requests: HERE

As you fold your body up on the axis of your hip, rotating in a clean arc to reach across the mattress toward Namjoon's designated patch, you are fully expecting to feel the cool compress of abandonment rippling along your sheets.

It's always the same, the harsh bite of cold satin which has somehow preserved your boyfriend's silhouette and the residual cling of his cologne; leaving you a little disappointed but nevertheless eager to progress your day until his inevitable return.

Only on this morning it is not a reminiscent frost that you feel, but rather an unmistakable warmth and the soft, shallow breaths which can only belong to one man.

Namjoon wakes you organically, with lips of spun sugar and the barely-there pull of his teeth leaving a curl of calligraphy along the underside of your jaw. He tastes of peppermint and sunrise, pulling you from the remnants of your sleep with a soft exhale of your name.

"Good morning, Princess." He sighs, nuzzling a deliberately soft semi-circle just beneath your ear. "Or should I say 'good afternoon'?'"

The hot midsummer sun bleeds through your aerated curtains like tangerine paint dripping from a saturated canvas. You can hear songbirds twittering enthusiastically just outside your window and the elated laughter of children participating in a rowdy all-bets-off game of kickball in the park across the street.

Everything is go go go. Nonstop motion. Somehow, the world ticks on in spite of your unorthodox absence.

The crab-shaped clock on the wall indicates that you have missed breakfast. You are close to missing lunch, too.

And you couldn't be more delighted.

Because with Namjoon, days off are as rare as a rainstorm in the middle of the Sahara; a much-deserved rejuvenation.

"What time is it?" You whisper, your words coming out all slurred and sleep-blanched.

Namjoon presses a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose. "Well, let's see… I accrued three missed calls and four text messages before finally deciding to just turn off my phone."

"Ah, so the children are missing your effervescent presence then?"

"It would appear so. As long as we can get through the day without Yoongi-hyung committing mass Fratricide, I'll consider it a victory."

You can't help but to giggle at the notion as unprompted visuals of an unamused Yoongi wrestling with a quartet of multicolor leashes, each one connected to the torso of a hyperactive dongsaeng, and Seokjin's disapproving pursed lips, overwhelm your senses.

"And in the meantime? You have a whole twenty-four hours before things return to normal. How do you want to spend it?"

Namjoon answers your question with the brush of his lips against your own. He takes his time claiming your mouth, his lips startlingly hot in contrast to his sweet and minty tongue.

Namjoon's fingers weave slanted tendrils down over the bare flesh of your pelvis as soon as you part, summoning a film of goosebumps to the surface of your sun-soaked skin.

You shudder helplessly as you ride out the residual sensation of such an earth-moving kiss.

"Mmm… Well, I hope you're happy, Mister. That kiss just wasted a good five minutes of free time."

Your boyfriend's teeth pull a fluorescent pinstripe across his bottom lip, seemingly lighting his way as he begins his slow descent down your exposed stomach and between your thighs as they give without much instruction.

"If you call kissing you until you're weak a 'waste of time' then you're really gonna hate this next part, Princess."

The tip of his nose skims past your naval, crafting a pathway for himself in the stipple of airbrushed freckles which blossom on your skin. And yet, you are quick to catch the nape of his neck with your fingers, maintaining a barely-there hold of his hair to prevent him from creeping any lower.

"Hold up there, Handsome. How about we nail two birds with one stone? There's a hot, soapy untimed shower with your name on it. And I'd be more than willing to help you scrub any… hard to reach places~"

Namjoon tilts his head back inside your loose grasp, the pads of your fingertips pushing through his silvery-blonde strands to rest almost tauntingly against his scalp. He purses his lips in thought.

"Well, I'd be a fool to refuse such a titillating offer." He presses a large open-mouthed kiss to the underside of your naval. "And I'm no fool."

You are plucked from the barely-there drape of your duvet before you can reasonably react, Namjoon's arms imprisoning your midsection and hefting you skyward before carrying you into the cool porcelain of your bathroom.

The water which had cascaded down from your shower faucet was luxuriously light, a sprinkling of powdered sugar across your sleep-eased muscles. And yet the petting was nothing short of heavy.

Namjoon had taken his time working sweet-smelling suds into your skin until you gleamed with sparkling iridescence; scents of lavender and violet mingling with the sharp musk of your boyfriend's shampoo.

He had kissed you until your lips ached, buttering you up with an overdose of affection even as you stepped out of the shower and into the baked afternoon sunlight.

After a brief rendezvous in your closet, one which had taken longer than necessary to navigate thanks to Namjoon's wandering hands and greedy lips, you both finally settled on outfits which would compliment such a rare day off.

He now sits across from you, grinning from ear to ear as he indulges himself in a

verifiable cloud of scrambled eggs and generously buttered toast; the first home-cooked meal he has had the pleasure of tasting in far too long. Even Seokjin's schedule has become so saturated that he can no longer find the time to finesse his way around their dormitory kitchen.

Who would have thought a group of seven growing boys could survive on a consistent diet of frequented takeaway restaurants and prepackaged vending machine snacks?

He always looks so beautiful like this, dressed in nothing but a pair of faded jeans and a simple t-shirt. His hair, still damp from your shared shower and lacking any product, hangs limply around his handsome face in a fashion not too dissimilar from the signature whistle necklace draped across his chest.

"I swear, babe, this is amazing." Namjoon croons, using a napkin to stipple away the loose crumbs which have gathered in the crevice of his ever-present smile. "What's your secret?"

Pushing your fingertips through the damp sheen of his hair, you take a seat beside him and indulge in a long, contemplative sip of your orange juice.

"A whole lot of love for my boyfriend and an unreasonably long night's sleep."

Namjoon's grin is so vast that his eyes momentarily disappear into little crescents.

"That's fair."

He wraps an arm securely around your shoulders, tucking you into his hip where he feeds you small prisms of toast and watches as the amaranth horizon dances across your cheekbones.

You feel the cold, wet compress of a soft puppy nose brushing against your calf when RapMon darts wildly between your ankles. He yips musically, vibrating with an overdose of unexpected energy as though he himself had also indulged in a deliciously long slumber and was now reaping the rewards of his pent-up energy.

Namjoon can't help but to laugh, the sound reverberating in tandem with the small bell looped onto Moni's technicolored collar.

"I think our Puppy is ready to hit the road. Don't you, Princess?"

"It would certainly appear so."

You watch as Namjoon cross-hatches his thumb across an array of emails on the screen of his business cell phone, organising them into their designated folders, before he opts to switch off the device all together.

Following his lead, you gather up the empty breakfast plates and place them in the sink; deciding rather quickly that all dishwashing tasks are a problem for a future you. You take a bottle of chilled water from the fridge and grab Moni's collapsible bowl as well as his monogrammed leash, clipping it in place upon his collar and earning some gentle puppy-dog kisses in response.

You run your fingers through Moni's soft fur, giving special attention to his pointed ears and muzzle. Placing an affectionate kiss to his snout, you rise to your feet once more and turn towards your boyfriend.

Namjoon rattles his house-keys with a grin.

"Ready to get some sunshine?"

"With you? Always!"

The scarlet-hot skyline reflects prettily upon the shimmering silver swingset where you perch, your toes dangling mere millimetres above the dew-slicked grass. Scents of fresh pine and spring flowers permeate the air, as well as the sugary sweetness of cotton candy being spun into cute little beehives by a nearby vendor.

At the centre of the park, a small group of children are having a competition to see who can blow the largest bubble. Like confetti, the air is full of shiny little bubbles as they rise up to the sky. And darting after them with an open mouth and comically wagging tongue is a soap-spritzed Moni.

The children shriek with laughter, running around in circles with Moni bouncing merrily behind them.

Namjoon's fingertips brush over your shoulders as he pushes you gently on the swing. He traces plump cartoon hearts over the nape of your neck, erecting a small film of goosebumps with every stroke.

"It's such a gorgeous day out." He muses, turning his head to place an unexpected kiss against your forehead.

"Yeah, we really lucked out. Summer sunshine allll day."

"I'd take thunderstorms and heavy rain in a heartbeat as long as I get to spend the day with you, baby."

Ever a poet, Namjoon's words leave your insides tingling akin to sticky sherbet and fizzing pop rocks.

"Dork~" You chastise in a soft voice full of mirth.

You can feel his infatuated grin press into the back of your neck, his fingertips twirling around the stray strands of hair which ribbon over your noon-warmed cheeks.

"Only on my days off."

When Namjoon's digits begin to sway across your collarbones, you concertina them gently between your fingertips. You bring his hand to your lips, kissing across his skin with an audible smack. The pad of his thumb skims over your cheekbone as though he were an artist buffing paint across a canvas.

"You're so beautiful, Princess." He muses.

His words take on an illustrative quality; as though he were scribbling his infatuation across clean journal pages. And yet, before you can respond, he's dipping down just out of view to clasp a fistful of lawn.

"What're you doing, Joonie?"

"Just wait and see - It's a surprise."

Behind you, you can feel Namjoon's fingers work with fast needle-sharp precision. The rounded edge of his nail pierces through stem after stem as he braids several dainty daisies together into a makeshift crown.

"Now, what is it that every princess needs, baby?"

"Her Prince Charming? Or Prince Destroys-Everything-He-Touches, whatever works."

"This is true." Wiping away the residual pollen on the leg of his pants, Namjoon takes a step closer toward you. He carefully places the crown on top of your head. "But she also needs her very own tiara!"

Grinning maniacally, you bring a hand up toward your head to stroke over the small stack of downy-soft petals which frame your forehead.

"You're so cute, you know that?" You shriek, gasping when Namjoon presses a stream of rapid open-mouthed kisses against your glowing cheek.

"Yeah, it's a special gift of mine. Come here, gorgeous."

With his hand outstretched in front of you, Namjoon holds his phone poised on both of your grinning faces. He snaps picture after picture, selca after selca, honing in on the kaleidoscopic shimmer of your eyes and the iridescent glow of lip balm which has transferred from your lips onto Namjoon's.

You stay like that for what feels like an eternity; dissolving into a world where your boyfriend's palms leave semi-permanent prints upon your hips from how tightly he embraces you and his laughter resonates deep within the crevices of your soul.

Namjoon's cellphone feels positively heavy with the weight of all the memories you have captured together. From the soft and tender lip-locks, to the poorly performed rendition of Magic Shop, to the footage you filmed of a hyperactive Moni playfully chasing a butterfly through a cluster of dandelions.

You have squeezed an entire month's worth of desperately craved affection into a single afternoon.

It is only once the air begins to develop the faintest tickle of frost that you finally decide to depart from the park.

Namjoon's jacket falls around your shoulders like a cloak of denim. His cologne overwhelms your senses, scents of crisp waters and juniper berry, and at your feet walks a very tired but exceptionally happy puppy.

After briefly stopping by your favourite local bookstore to purchase some light reading material, as well as picking up an order of strawberry croissants and freshly brewed coffee from the quaint little patisserie where you and Namjoon had your first date, you finally arrive home.

You unclasp Moni's leash, prompting him to scurry enthusiastically over toward his pet bed for a well-deserved nap, and retreat back to your own bedroom in order to slip out of your dress and into something more comfortable.

Namjoon's old sweatpants drape around your hips like an elasticated hula-hoop, just barely held in place by fraying cord and sheer willpower. The sweater you have liberated from the back of your closet was once a Christmas staple before the gaudy crimson bows fell off, leaving a simple doe in its place. There are pinhole sized holes all over the elbow and sleeve, as well as a fraying hem, and yet you always find your greatest comfort when dressed in those faded and pilling fibres.

Once you have changed into your lounge wear, you return back to your living room to find Namjoon staring purse-lipped at the carpet beneath his toes. He has his business cell phone tucked in against his ear.

"So there's no major emergency then, Guk? Because this is supposed to be my day off."

You can just barely make out the airbrushed whistle of Jeongguk's voice tittering apologetically on the other end of the phone.

"Yes, she's here." Namjoon glances up at you, smiling fondly as you throw yourself down on a nearby couch. "We're about to settle in for the evening actually, so - I… yep, okay. I'll tell her. Mhm. I will. You too, Kookie. Aight, bye."

"That sounded like fun~" You tease, wedging your spine backwards into a mismatched eruption of multicolored pillows. "Are all six members present and accounted for?"

"So far. JK sends his regards."

Rubbing away the small pearls of tension which had accumulated in his temples during the duration of his phone call, Namjoon places his cellphone down on the coffee table. He passes over your coffee order as well as a beautiful ooey-gooey strawberry croissant and folds his large limbs over the criss-cross of your own.

His lips are a scarlet compress of sugar-syrup kisses against your cheek as he presses small puffs of laminated pastry into your open mouth.

"Now, what are we watching, Princess?"

It is surprisingly easy to dissolve into a rarely-negotiated routine with your billion dollar boyfriend.

With old Friends reruns playing quietly in the background, interrupted only by the occasional snore from Moni as he navigates his way through a puppy dreamland, and the balanced warmth of Namjoon's large fingertips weaving aimless patterns across your scalp, your afternoon bleeds well into the evening before Namjoon's ravenous stomach alerts you to the passage of time.

Your fingertips have been fragranced by the scent of persistently thumbed pages, and you have just reached the point in your novel where the fair maiden must choose between the handsome but tender farm-hand or the rugged but passionate business executive.

You spare a glance toward your own leading man. With his deep-set dimples and a smile which could thaw the Arctic, you conclude that you have your own fairytale ending right in front of your very eyes.

"Hey, seeing as I'm in such a good mood, why don't we start on dinner? We can attempt that spaghetti recipe again!"

You can't help but to tut at the notion. "You mean the spaghetti recipe which nearly burned our entire kitchen down?"

"That was an accident. It could've happened to anyone!"

"You tried to cook the pasta without any water, Namjoon-ah."

"In my defence, I followed the instructions carefully. 'Cook the noodles in a pan.' I did that."

"Oh, they were cooked alright."

You giggle in response to Namjoon's petulant pout, smothering the blush of his bottom lip in a brief but affectionate kiss.

"How about instead of turning our kitchen into a living charcoal exhibit we order takeout from that Italian place you love?"

Namjoon's stomach rumbles with ravenous hunger as though in response to your proposal and you can't help but to laugh as you reach for the phone, having already committed your boyfriend's usual order to memory.

It is less than an hour later, once your stomachs have been sufficiently plied by copious quantities of rich, herby sauces and ribbons of silken (and most definitely not cremated) pasta, that Namjoon is curling back into your hip with a well-worn notebook in hand.

You have both settled on a film for the evening, opting to delve headfirst into the technicolor vibrancy of San Fransokyo with Moni settled comfortably upon your lap and the fuzziest blanket imaginable draped around your shoulders.

Namjoon's breath is deliciously warm where it unfurls across your throat, dripping like molten honey into your collarbones and stippling a light film of goosebumps across your skin. You can't help but to shudder as his lips find your temple, your cheek, flowing freely across the ridge of your jawline until he finally settles against the upturned curl of your lips.

"I love you so much, Princess." He sighs, inundated with adoration for his girl.

"Not as much as I love you."

As the movie plays quietly in the background Namjoon's fingertips are ever-moving. The light scrape of his pen nib darting across clean paper provides a percussive soundtrack to Baymax's bumbling antics, the edge of his palm stained by faded charcoal ink from touching the page before his words have sufficiently dried.

Out of the corner of your eye you can just barely make out the curl of Namjoon's haphazardly jotted Hangul, piecing together the sentences he has written in your honor.

'...Your eyes are a sunrise which blanch my skin and leave me burning all night long.'

'... Your smile, sweeter than candy, paints syrup in my veins with every glance.'

'... When you say you love me I can feel it resonate skin-deep, stacking promises like petals in my ribcage.'

Namjoon's lyrics are picturesque and beautiful. Even without the accompaniment of instruments and production you can practically feel a cococonphy of emotional ARMYs singing along passionately to each word; as though wearing your boyfriend's carefully scribed poetry like a badge of honor.

To be the inspiration behind so many awe-inspiring songs, whose lyrics act like a beacon of hope for many individuals scattered throughout the universe, well… it's quite the undertaking.

Fortunately, Namjoon makes it all worth it. He's handsome and expressive and capable of leading an entire ARMY into a head space of pure gold.

And as he pulls your body a fraction closer to his own, the tip of his nose nestling against your pulse point to emboss an asymmetric heart on your honeydew skin, you realise you couldn't possibly love him any more.

As the credits for Big Hero 6 begin to roll across your television screen, stark and loud and full of celebratory fanfare, Namjoon is quick to locate the television remote underneath his saturated notebook pages in order to hit mute.

Beside him your eyelids have fallen to a close, lips parted to release several soft snores which fall in almost perfect tandem with Moni's fitful exhales. Your lashes flutter delicately, poured like strips of raven lace across your cheekbones, and your fingers curl instinctively in your lap as you clutch onto whatever adorable projection your mind has chosen to supply.

Placing his notebook and pen aside, Namjoon is careful to shoo RapMon away from your lap so that he does not disturb you. He half-attempts to fold the blanket which had cocooned your shoulders, opting instead to toss it onto the nearby recliner out of harm's way.

Your body is feather-light when he lifts you into his embrace. He is careful to rest your cheek against his chest, hooking your legs over his forearm to make it easier to transport you to the safe haven of your bed.

After navigating your hallway with a surprising degree of sufficiency, having knocked over little more than a plastic vase containing decorative pebbles and perhaps skewing a photo frame or three, Namjoon carefully places you upon your bed.

Your mattress seems to eagerly welcome the barely-there compress of your body, your satin sheets lapping up against your limbs like terracotta waves frothing upon the shore.

Once he has dimmed the lights, Namjoon places his cellphone down onto his bedside table and connects his charging cable once he is certain that he has reinstated his god-forsaken alarm.

He kicks off his jeans, opting to remain in his t-shirt and boxers for tonight, and carefully removes his whistle necklace so that he can slide comfortably in bed beside you.

Your perfume lingers upon the collar of his shirt, fragrant and floral and enhanced considerably by the catalyst of Seoul's delicious summertime air. And on his lips burns the faintest smother of the strawberry lip balm you so generously applied after your post-dinner teeth cleaning; the very same lip balm that Namjoon had been so eager to kiss off of you.

In your sleep, you turn comfortably onto your side, bowing your spine backwards until you reach the solidity of your boyfriend's elongated torso. Namjoon is quick to bracket his calf around your ankles, pressing a stream of steady kisses down your jugular and over the swell of your clavicle.

"Sweet dreams, my Princess." He sighs softly. Contentedly.

His lashes soon begin to droop as though laden with lead, influenced in no small part by an entire day's worth of carefree relaxation and indulging without consequence.

No meetings.

No leadership.

No band mates.

Just his beautiful dog, his beautiful girlfriend and a beautiful twenty four hours.

#bts #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan boys #bts ff #bts drabble #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #kim namjoon #rap monster #rm #namjoon #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x you #kim namjoon x y/n #bts request #bts imagines #bts drabbles #peanootzramano #bts writer

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stardustpug · 5 years

Text

Title: Learning to Love the Cold Chapter Title: Spirals Fandom: snk/anot Pairing: jeanmarco Summary: “You need to tell him. This isn’t protecting him anymore, or protecting yourself. I need to know that if something happens while you’re with him that he can handle it. That he knows what’s happening and what to do.” AO3 | FF.Net

March slowly comes to a close, with April bringing the typical rain showers and a few blizzards because this is Michigan, so why the hell not? Jean’s birthday comes and goes quickly, since it hits on a Monday. Marco wants to make a big deal out of it, although Jean isn’t so keen on it. He knows eighteen is important for the, you know, normal teenagers since it means becoming an adult or whatever, but this birthday is important to him for entirely not normal teenage reasons. Turning eighteen with his condition means quite a few different things. One, he has lived long past his life expectancy. Two, he could officially be on the lung transplant list. Lung transplants were few and far in between. They were hard to come by, since lungs usually weren’t viable by the time they reached the person in need of the transplant.

It was a breath of relief (ha) to him and his entire family. Still, Marco doesn’t know about anything lung related in Jean’s life, but he doesn’t think today would be a good day to tell him. No day would ever be a good day to tell him. At this point, he’s waited far too long for him to easily be able to slip it into conversation. It would be far too obvious that he had been hiding it this entire time, and while Marco is definitely the sweetest, most understanding person he has ever come across, it felt wrong to tell him after this long.

It also felt wrong to keep it from him.

Regardless, his birthday passed with no issues. Marco treats him to dinner at a cute diner on the outskirts of Trost and buys him a new beanie. Jean’s beanie collection is mostly deep reds, but Marco opts to give him a dark blue one (“It’s kind of like the ice! Also blue looks good on you!”).

That weekend, Trost Figure Skating Club holds a celebration for the Trost Twizzlers, who were returning from worlds with a bronze medal. Jean makes up some silly reason for not attending because he has an appointment to confirm quite a few different things with his doctors. Marco wonders about it, but decides it’s probably nothing to worry about.

“Okay, Jean, try to take a deep breath.”

Jean sits up a little straighter and slowly breathes in as deep as he can. He coughs and sputters a little, but he supposes he did pretty good.

His doctor hums from behind him and he feels the stethoscope fall away from his back. After a moment of listening to the doctor scribble on whatever sheets he was filling out, he speaks. “You seem to be doing pretty good, but not good enough to keep these lungs forever. I can go ahead and have one of the nurses help you finish filling out the paperwork to get you on the transplant list.”

Jean nods and watches the doctor swiftly leave the room. He sighs, his emotions caught somewhere in the middle. The potential of getting new lungs was mind blowing; he never imagined he would live to this point. On the other hand, transplants are quick. When the word comes that lungs are on the way, he knows he’ll be at the hospital within the hour. He knows that Marco will need to know sooner rather than later, or at the very last minute.

He’s pulled away from his thoughts when a nurse comes into the room, handing him the paperwork and telling him where to sign.

New lungs. Someone else would have to die for him to get them, but he tells himself it’s okay because at least he’ll do his best to put them to good use.

Hours turn into days and days turn into weeks. Time moves in a blur as senior year quickly passes Jean by, leaving him breathless (no pun intended) and unprepared for his last month of high school. April brings lots and lots of water in Michigan, between nonstop rain and melting snow. Some mornings are more dangerous than others, with cold temperatures causing everything to freeze again. Jean has to be incredibly careful not to fall on his ass, but at the same time, it seems his friends who have quite literally competed in figure skating at the Olympics are struggling with the uneven ice coating the high school parking lot most mornings.

“Mom, can you please stop fussing over me?” Jean nearly whines, pulling away from his mother’s prying hands yet again.

“This is the last time I am ever sending one of my children to a high school dance. I have every right to fuss,” she replies without missing a beat, placing a hand on Jean’s cheek. “Besides,” she continues, her hands returning to Jean’s tie, “this thing is a mess.”

Jean lets out an over dramatic sigh, followed by a few coughs.

“Do you have your inhaler?” she asks without breaking her focus on the tie.

“Um, yeah. It’s in my pocket,” Jean replies, patting his leg a couple times.

“Good. I know you’ve been to these things before, but they do get stuffy fast. If you need to get out of there--”

“I know, mom.”

She smooths his tie down and takes a step back, giving a nod, satisfied with the changes she’s made to his suit.

“Happy?” Jean asks.

“Yes. But…”

“What?” Jean furrows his brows, looking down at his suit. “I think it looks nice--”

“You haven’t told Marco yet.”

“I haven’t told Marco yet.”

She gives him a disappointed look.

“Mom, please don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” she says, feigning innocence.

“Like I killed your cat!”

She laughs for a moment, but the serious look returns to her face. “You need to tell him. This isn’t protecting him anymore, or protecting yourself. I need to know that if something happens while you’re with him that he can handle it. That he knows what’s happening and what to do.”

“I’m going to tell him tonight. But after we leave the dance. I don’t want it to put a damper on the mood. Don’t worry though, I have my medical necklace on, so if something does happen at the dance, I have that.”

His mom sighs, but nods. “Alright, baby. Stay safe, okay?”

Let it be known that high school dances are not Jean’s thing. At all. It’s always too hot, the guys always take off the entire top half of their suits save for the vest and bow ties (any guys who wear regular ties end up tying them to their heads), everyone is grinding on each other while the teachers turn a blind eye, and Jean doesn’t know how to dance.

Marco, on the other hand, definitely knows how to dance. Whether it’s quick songs or slow songs, Marco is graceful and brilliant, his smile lights up the room, and his laugh nearly makes Jean’s heart stop. Jean could trace entire constellations from the freckles on his face. He has to stop himself from reaching out and poking the freckle that adorns the very tip of his nose several times throughout the night. He also has to stop himself from pulling Marco off the dance floor and sneaking off into a dark, quiet room they’re definitely not allowed to be in to kiss him senseless.

Needless to say, he fails at the latter. They end up in some quiet classroom a few hallways away from the dance, careful to check that no one witnessed them sneaking away from the dance. Lucky for them, the dance isn’t actually at their high school, but instead one of the centers on Trost University’s campus. There aren’t any high school teachers lurking or lingering beyond the actual ballroom and the rest of the staff for the building has long since gone home.

Jean nearly slams Marco into one of the desks, his arms trapping Marco. Marco sits on the desk, pulling Jean in by his suit jacket, their lips crashing together. Jean feels a warmth he’s missed spreading through his entire body; despite the Olympics being long over, Marco’s been so busy with training, they hardly have moments like this. Their lips meet over and over in hurried, sloppy, forceful kisses that leave them both breathless (and Jean holding back a coughing fit), yet craving more.

Marco takes over, standing from the desk and pushing Jean’s back against the nearest wall. Their lips meet once more but Marco is quick to move on, his slightly agape mouth trailing along Jean’s jaw and neck, leaving the boy shuddering every time his hot breath touches his skin. Marco’s hands trail to Jean’s waist, slowly undoing the other boy’s pants while sucking at his neck. He kneels down, slowly slipping Jean’s pants and underwear off. Slowly, ever so slowly, Marco wraps a hand around Jean’s dick. Jean takes in a sharp breath, his hand gripping and pulling at Marco’s hair hard to steady himself.

Marco continues to take his sweet time, his hand slowly working its way up and down, causing Jean to close his eyes and rest his head against the wall. He whines in protest when Marco’s hand retreats, but a loud moan emits from his mouth when Marco’s tongue licks up his shaft and then, again, so damn slowly, takes in as much of Jean’s length as he can.

“Fuck, Marco--” Jean sputters loudly, biting down hard on his lip when Marco shoots him a warning glance. But fuck, there was something about being in Marco’s mouth and having him look up at Jean through those lashes, a loving but dark look deep in his eyes, that makes Jean feel like he could lose it then and there. “Please,” he whispers, his grip on Marco’s hair tightening.

Marco finally builds up speed, no longer taking his time to try and get Jean off. His head bobs quickly and Jean can’t stop moaning, pressing Marco’s face closer and closer so he can feel more. He has to force himself to stay quiet, but somehow getting caught right now, with Marco wrapped around him like this, makes him feel hotter than before.

“Fuck, Marco I--” Jean tries to warn him, but his brain is short circuiting and he’s seeing stars. Marco pulls away from Jean, licking his lips and staring up at the other boy, who is flushed and breathing heavily. Jean pulls his clothes back on as Marco stands.

“Jean?” Marco asks, watching his boyfriend somewhat suspiciously.

“Hm?” he asks, trying to breathe deep through his nose to avoid wheezing.

“Are you okay?” Marco asks, closing the space between them once again, concern coloring his face.

Jean lets out a breath, a few coughs following, but nods. “Yeah, fine. That was amazing, thank yo--” his sentence isn’t finished due to the coughing fit he’s launched into.

Jean flashes Marco a sheepish grin, trying to find a way to stop the intense, worried look that has taken over Marco’s expression. “I’m fine, okay? Totally fine.”

Marco’s eyes trail to the inhaler on the floor before flashing back to Jean’s.

“Oh,” Jean leans down and picks up the inhaler, pocketing it.

Marco tilts his head and Jean has to curse himself for not telling him sooner. “Do you have asthma?”

Oh, right. Normal people associate inhalers with asthma, not a debilitating lung disease.

“Um, yeah, kind of?” Jean replies with a question. How does he tell him? It’s been too long to spit it out, but is there another option?

“You can kind of have asthma?” Marco raises his eyebrows, a hint of amusement sitting behind his eyes.

“Yeah, obviously,” Jean says. Is his vision getting prickly, or is that from trying to see in a dark room for too long? He blinks fast, but his vision continues to blur. “Or, well, um.”

“Jean?” Marco’s voice comes across concerned, but Jean isn’t really paying attention. The world is getting blurry and dark all too fast and he can’t focus enough to force out any kind of reply. He stumbles forward into Marco, coughing hard and gripping onto his boyfriend tightly.

“I have a medical necklace on under my shirt. Have the paramedics check it before they do anything,” Jean gasps out. He would be shocked at the ability to choke out two full sentences, but he doesn’t have time to think about before the world goes black.

#jeanmarco #snk #aot #Jean Kirschtein #marco bodt #My writing

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