#well YOU don’t understand him as well as I do because YOU didn’t read the story where he’s predated by a textually incestuous brother/sister

[aialsposts]

Absolutely LOVING the use of Mabel’s slang and Ford’s slight hesitation but willingness to adapt because like. Those kids talked like old timers in the show (likely just from being around one for a while)

so you KNOW they came back when in high school with Dipper saying stuff like “I’m about to absolutely crash out on Robbie this time. MABELLL?? WHERE’S YOUR GRAPPLING HOOK-“

And Mabel saying stuff like

“Slay the house down mama!!” And “you better WALK that DUCK” and even Dipper is like,,

“So from what I gather this is… a way of her saying essentially you’re doing really well and your outfit is so good it could…kill her??? I think??”

And it’s also a lot of Ford finally caving and begging for a presentation from Dipper about their generation’s Slang. Mabel has to be Dipper’s project partner; while he initially didn’t want to drag her into this, unfortunately he hit a wall in his research where he fully couldn’t see the connection, and Mabel was completely overexcited to oblige.

First half of the presentation:

Very well put together slides, including graphics here and there introducing a timeline for when said slang started taking off, Dipper’s theories as to *why* certain slang rose more popularly/had longer “staying power”, and even some older slang from Ford’s generation that roughly translates to something modern. “I’m gonna crash out on ___” roughly equals “you’re cruising for a bruising, pal”

While the other half was essentially:

*disorganized bright colors and really hard to read print over graphics that don’t really technically go with what’s being talked about?? From what Ford can gather??*

The first presentation is an absolute disaster, but after finally setting aside their differences to create a better, much more comprehensive presentation, it ends up with Dipper learning a lot more lingo, too (for better or worse, you decide lmao), and having Mabel do more of the sort of explaining to Dipper (he did the graphics and visuals this time, it hurt his SOUL to see his sister’s side of the presentation BDJSVDJ) and Mabel helped Dipper grapple with the connotations of lingo a little more. For some reason the worse it sounds it seems to mean?? Something better?? It confuses him just as much as it does Ford, and Ford really starts to see ‘tism signs in Dipper as he slowly realizes how much Dipper is just like him growing up (like. Dude’s REALLY trying to understand “slay” “yass” “queen” and he gets that down and Mabel’s like “alright, beginner level over, now, what does, “slay the house down boots mama!” Mean?”

Even adding her extravagant gestures to the slang, which, to his credit, surprised Dipper because normally body language helps but like. Mabel body language and “what the culture’s feeling” aren’t exactly the same thing. He couldn’t, for the LIFE of him, figure out whether or not the gestures were actually included— as in, used by anyone other than just Mabel— and he was in fact wrong because it turns out the gestures ARE important, but there’s also varying LEVELS of importance.

Like the more emphasis (more ‘cartoony’/fluid/exaggerated the movement, the more the person REALLY fucking means it, no matter how little or how much emphasis they put into their voice (kinda going against his autism’s way of learning because like. Tones are?? So important I thought??? Why does this not apply here??)

Genuinely once they’ve presented all the information, and Ford gets a better idea of it, they’re all ready to just end this information exchange,,, until Stan walks in and overhears Dipper say to Mabel, “I think we slayed this presentation”

To which the twins simultaneously face palm as they realize they have to do the presentation again,

and Ford gets The BIGGEST grin, because, you see, Ford’s ability to process information is largely dependent on setting, generally, the mystery shack is… not a place he’s overjoyed about being at, but with others around it can sort of quell that sick feeling he gets and such.

So while he *mostly* understood the presentation, he didn’t want to have the twins repeat themselves (especially after learning what “unc status” means) so when his brother, Stanley, has to endure the same chaos but WITHOUT the prior understanding Ford’s now working with, all he can do is pull the twins aside and whisper, “how about we add something to your presentation, I think it might help Stanley understand this one term better-“

After a few slides where Stanley hardly seems to be paying any attention, Mabel clears her throat, Dipper stifling his laughter as Mabel announces loud and clear that a “new term” “just dropped”. She points the clicker super professionally, and as the slides turn, it’s the most abhorrent neon slide to ever disgrace the earth. Glitter. Fairies. Graphics that actually DO work this time though, she made sure to give more accurate visuals.

Introducing: GRUNK STATUS!

“It’s like Unc status but even more archaic!” Mabel enthusiastically declares.

Dipper is giggling so hard he’s having a full out asthma attack on the floor, and Ford finally can’t contain his laughter either. Mabel starts to laugh along and Stanley looks absolutely miserable for a moment.

“Aw, c’mon they’re just kids,” Ford laughs.

“You put them up to this. I don’t know how to prove it but I KNOW you did this. That stupid fucking Pun has YOUR NAME written ALL OVER IT-“

*cough/mumbles something about it being Stanley’s name, legally, last he checked which IMMEDIATELY Started a fight, until Mabel slams her fist down.*

“Ahem. Gentlemen. The presentation isn’t OVER. Sheesh, talk about Crashing out,” Mabel says, SO calmly that both grunkles sink back in their seats a bit like kids in trouble for causing a ruckus at school. (Mabel and Dipper do a lil thumbs up bc hey, that was a great way to give an example of a Term, Mabel! Good job!)

“Ohh… I get it, Crashing Out means you’re cruising for a bruising!” Stanley declares (sort of under his breath). To which Ford replies, voice equally lowered, “wasn’t that a few slides back? They already said that,” as if he hadn’t had the EXACT same epiphany earlier on, and was merely able to contain it before sounding “even more unc” (he tries, but the grammar with the slang is slightly off sometimes).

This essentially causes another argument.

This third run of their presentation took them 2 hours to get through due to Stanley and Stanford’s arguing.

Their first two runs with only Ford took maybe 45 minutes max (not including their needing to fix said presentation).

The twins put up with Stan and Ford’s fighting because they realized it’s probably essentially exactly how they looked when they were bumping into each other the first time they were trying to create this presentation.

Some things never change.

Sibling Rivalry? Absolutely timeless.

I was thinking about how he did not have to include this photo of himself in TBOB and how it really looks like it had to be taken by someone else.

[chxnsgirl]

황현진 & 한지성 ─── pas de trois 3

♡ pairing ៸៸ ballet dancer!hyunjin x ballet dancer!jisung x afab!reader ៸៸ genre ៸៸ love triangle, ballet academy au៸៸ cw ៸៸ none, lmk if anything needs to be a warning !! ♡ synopsis ៸៸ in the world of ballet, every step is choreographed—but love never follows the script. what happens when you get accepted into the ballet academy of your dreams? MAKE SURE YOU READ PARTS ONE AND TWO FIRST (HERE & HERE) a/n ๑ new part hehe. r u guys excited for where the story is going? ♡ masterlist

after class, the tension from earlier still clung to the air like a thick fog. though everyone tried to act normal, there was an undeniable undercurrent of curiosity, especially regarding hyunjin’s sudden departure. you, celeste, yeji, and the rest of your group moved toward the cafeteria together, the low hum of conversation filling the hall.

“i still can’t believe she’s here,” yuqi muttered, stretching her arms above her head. “madeline picard. that’s insane.”

“i know,” lia added, adjusting the strap of her dance bag. “people would kill for the chance to work under her. this could be huge for whoever gets cast.”

your stomach twisted slightly at the thought. as incredible as the opportunity was, it was overshadowed by what happened earlier.

felix sighed. “hyunjin looked like he was ready to break something.”

minho, walking a step ahead, clicked his tongue. “tch. can’t really blame him, though.”

you stayed quiet, your mind still replaying the way hyunjin’s expression had darkened the second he saw her.

as you all passed by one of the smaller practice rooms, a voice caught your attention.

familiar. soft. and painfully sweet.

“…i’m really glad you’re back.”

the group instinctively slowed down, eyes flickering toward the cracked-open door. you exchanged a glance with yeji, who raised a brow.

it was madeline.

no one said anything, but your curiosity got the better of you. you edged slightly closer, just enough to peek through the small opening. inside, hyunjin stood with his arms crossed, his back facing you. madeline was a few feet away from him, her expression open and hopeful.

“i want you in manon,” she continued, taking a small step forward. “you know as well as i do that you’d be perfect for it. i can talk to emile—”

“no.”

hyunjin’s voice was cold, curt.

madeline blinked, clearly taken aback. “what?”

“i said no.” he shifted slightly, his jaw tight. “i don’t care what you want, madeline. i’m not interested.”

a beat of silence passed between them.

“i don’t understand,” she said softly. “this is everything you ever wanted—”

“what i wanted?” hyunjin let out a bitter scoff, finally turning to face her. his eyes were sharp, filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. “that’s funny. because last i checked, what i wanted never mattered to you.”

madeline flinched, hurt flashing across her delicate features. “hyunjin…”

“you don’t get to waltz back in here and act like nothing happened,” he went on, his voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “you left. you made your choice.”

she exhaled, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “i didn’t want to leave you—”

“yeah?” hyunjin tilted his head, a humorless smirk playing on his lips. “well, you did. so congratulations.”

madeline’s lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something—maybe to argue, maybe to apologize—but nothing came out.

another tense silence.

hyunjin shook his head, running a hand along his hair. his shoulders were stiff, his entire body seemingly wound tight with frustration. “just drop it, madeline. i’m not doing your ballet.”

and with that, he turned on his heel, walking toward the door.

your heart nearly stopped.

panic surged through you as you quickly grabbed yeji’s wrist, yanking her forward. “let’s go,” you whispered urgently, making a beeline for the hallway. the rest of the group scrambled after you, pretending as if they hadn’t just been eavesdropping.

just as you rounded the corner, you heard the practice room door swing open behind you.

you didn’t dare look back.

the dining hall was buzzing with conversation as you and your friends made your way to your usual table, trays in hand. despite the lively atmosphere, there was an unspoken weight hanging between you all—everyone was thinking about what they had just overheard.

celeste was the first to break the silence, stabbing her fork into her salad. “well, that was… intense.”

“no kidding,” yeji murmured, picking at her food. “i didn’t expect madeline to waltz in here and act like nothing happened.”

“she has some nerve,” yuqi huffed, leaning back in her chair. “did you hear her? ‘i’m glad you’re back, hyunjin’—as if she didn’t rip his heart out and stomp on it.”

lia glanced at you, sensing the way you were quietly processing everything. “what do you think?”

you hesitated, twirling your fork against your plate. “i don’t know. she sounded… sincere.”

yeji raised a brow. “you believe her?”

“i didn’t say that,” you corrected quickly. “i just mean… what if she really does regret everything? maybe she’s trying to make amends.”

celeste scoffed. “even if she is, that doesn’t mean hyunjin has to forgive her. did you see the way he stormed out? he looked pissed.”

your stomach twisted at the memory of his tense shoulders and clenched jaw as he left the room. you’d never seen him like that before.

minho and the guys walked over then, their trays clattering onto the table as they sat down. “you all look like someone died,” minho remarked, taking a sip of his drink.

felix sighed. “we’re talking about madeline and hyunjin.”

jisung, who had been uncharacteristically quiet since joining, finally spoke up. “i mean, can you really blame him for being mad?” his voice was unusually firm. “she broke his heart, and now she’s back like nothing happened, expecting him to be in her ballet? it’s messed up.”

you blinked, a little surprised at the bitterness in his tone. “you really don’t think people can change?”

jisung’s eyes flickered to yours for a second before he shrugged. “i think some people don’t deserve a second chance.”

the statement lingered between you both, heavier than it should have been. you couldn’t shake the feeling that jisung wasn’t just talking about madeline and hyunjin.

felix exhaled, stretching back in his seat. “either way, this is going to make things messy. if hyunjin refuses to dance in manon, they’re gonna need a replacement.”

minho smirked. “guess that means one of us might have a shot at the lead role.”

your stomach twisted again. another ballet meant another chance for you, but it also meant working under madeline.

and worse—if hyunjin really did refuse, it meant watching someone else stand where he was supposed to be.

would you be okay with that? would he?

as you poked at your food, your thoughts drifted back to hyunjin’s face before he stormed out. the anger, the pain beneath it.

after lunch, while the others lingered in the dining hall, chatting about class and upcoming auditions, you found yourself walking in the opposite direction—toward the quieter, more secluded practice rooms.

you weren’t entirely sure why.

maybe it was the way he had stormed out earlier, anger carved into every sharp movement. maybe it was the way jisung’s words at lunch lingered in your head—some people don’t deserve a second chance.

or maybe it was something simpler.

maybe you just wanted to see him.

the hallway was empty as you approached one of the smaller studios, the faint sound of music playing from inside. the door was slightly ajar, and when you peeked in, you saw him.

hyunjin sat on the floor, his back against the mirror, his long legs stretched out in front of him. his phone lay discarded beside him, and a half-empty water bottle rested near his hand. his expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed downward, lost in thought.

you hesitated before pushing the door open further. “hey.”

his head lifted slightly at your voice. for a moment, he didn’t say anything—just looked at you, as if debating whether he wanted company. but then, with a sigh, he nodded toward the floor beside him. “you can sit, if you want.”

you stepped inside, letting the door close behind you, and sank down beside him. the room smelled faintly of wood polish and sweat, the air thick with lingering tension.

a beat of silence passed. then another.

finally, you spoke. “you left pretty fast.”

hyunjin let out a dry chuckle, tilting his head back against the mirror. “yeah, well. not really in the mood for a reunion.”

you studied him carefully. the hyunjin sitting next to you wasn’t the confident, teasing guy you had come to know. he wasn’t the flirt, the golden boy of the company. he looked… tired. guarded.

“she said she’s glad you’re back,” you murmured.

his jaw clenched. “yeah. funny, isn’t it?”

you hesitated before asking, “do you believe her?”

hyunjin exhaled sharply through his nose, running a along his hair. “i don’t know,” he admitted. “i don’t know what she wants. but i do know that i can’t just pretend nothing happened.”

you nodded slowly, tracing invisible patterns on the floor with your fingers. “and the ballet? manon?”

he scoffed. “i don’t know about that either. she really thinks i’d want to be in her production?”

“she might just want to work with you because you’re talented.”

he turned his head slightly, his gaze locking with yours. “or she just wants control over me again.”

the weight behind his words settled deep in your chest. you didn’t know the full details of their past, but you knew enough to understand why he’d be wary.

“i don’t think she deserves that power,” you said softly.

hyunjin’s lips twitched into a small, humorless smile. “yeah?”

you nodded. “yeah.”

for the first time since you sat down, the tightness in his shoulders seemed to ease. he let out a slow breath, tilting his head back again. “thanks,” he murmured.

the silence that followed wasn’t as heavy as before. it was comfortable.

after a moment, he nudged your knee with his. “you didn’t have to come find me, you know.”

“i know.”

he turned to look at you again, his dark eyes searching yours. “but you did.”

your pulse skipped. there was something about the way he said it—like he was trying to figure you out, like he wanted to understand why you cared.

you held his gaze, the space between you suddenly feeling smaller, the air warmer. but before either of you could say anything else, the door creaked open.

both of you turned as emile poked his head in. “ah, there you are, hyunjin.” his eyes flickered to you briefly, but he didn’t comment on it. “come with me. we need to talk.”

hyunjin’s expression shifted instantly—back to the mask, the composed dancer, the golden boy. he stood up, brushing his hands over his pants before glancing back at you.

“i’ll see you later,” he said, and this time, his voice was a little softer.

you nodded, watching as he followed emile out of the room.

and as you sat there alone, you realized something.

even with all the uncertainty surrounding hyunjin and madeline—about whether or not he would take the role, about what she really wanted—there was one thing you knew for sure.

you weren’t just starstruck by him anymore.

you cared.

maybe more than you should.

hyunjin followed emile down the hall in silence, his jaw tight as he braced himself for whatever was coming. the older man’s office was tucked away in the administrative wing of the building, away from the main practice rooms. when they arrived, emile pushed open the door, motioning for hyunjin to step inside.

the office was neat, as always—stacks of neatly arranged papers on the desk, a single framed photo of a past production hanging on the wall. the windows let in soft afternoon light, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor.

emile shut the door behind them and turned, folding his arms as he studied hyunjin.

“you want to tell me what that was about?” his voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it.

hyunjin exhaled sharply through his nose. “i don’t think it needs explaining.”

emile arched a brow. “walking out on class? storming out like a child? that’s not the hyunjin i know.”

hyunjin’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “i’m not a child. but i also don’t have to sit there and pretend everything is fine.”

“no one’s asking you to pretend,” emile countered. “but you are expected to act like a professional. you think you can just walk out on class because you don’t like the guest director?”

hyunjin let out a dry laugh. “i don’t just not like her, emile.”

“i know.” emile’s voice softened, if only slightly. “i know the history. i understand why you’re upset. but personal grievances or not, madeline picard is directing manon. and you—” he pointed a firm finger at hyunjin “—are going to be the male lead.”

hyunjin’s brows shot up. “excuse me?”

emile walked around his desk, leaning against it. “you heard me.”

“no.” hyunjin scoffed. “no way. you can’t be serious.”

“i’m very serious.”

hyunjin shook his head in disbelief. “you want me to be her lead?” he let out a humorless laugh. “after everything?”

“yes.” emile’s tone left no room for argument. “you are the most talented dancer in this company, hyunjin. the best. no one else comes close.”

hyunjin clenched his jaw. he knew he was good—he had worked himself to the bone to be where he was. but this?

“you expect me to just go along with this like it’s any other role?”

“i expect you to see the bigger picture.” emile straightened. “you being the male lead isn’t just about you. this is a workshop. if we have you in manon, every girl here will want to audition. it raises the stakes. it guarantees a better cast. and it keeps this company’s reputation exactly where it needs to be.”

hyunjin’s hands twitched at his sides. “so i don’t have a choice.”

emile sighed, rubbing his temples. “i’m not forcing you, hyunjin. but i am telling you to be smart about this. don’t let your feelings cloud your judgment.”

hyunjin stayed silent, his thoughts racing.

emile watched him carefully before speaking again. “take the night to think about it.” he turned back to his desk, signaling the conversation was over. “but i expect an answer tomorrow.”

hyunjin scoffed under his breath, shaking his head as he turned toward the door. he yanked it open, stepping out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him.

his mind was a whirlwind.

madeline wanted him in her ballet. and emile wanted him to agree—for the sake of the company, for the sake of the production.

but could he really do it?

the cafeteria hummed with life—students talking animatedly, utensils clinking against plates, and the occasional burst of laughter echoing through the space. you sat with celeste, yeji, and jisung, half-listening to their conversation while your mind drifted to the looming auditions.

then, yeji abruptly nudged your arm. “look.”

your head snapped up just in time to see hyunjin weaving through the cafeteria, heading toward a table near the center. sitting there, poised and elegant, was none other than madeline picard.

your stomach twisted.

celeste raised a brow. “didn’t he storm out of class the second he saw her yesterday?”

jisung crossed his arms, watching closely. “yeah. so why is he voluntarily going up to her now?”

the four of you fell into silence, your gazes locked on the interaction unfolding across the room. hyunjin stopped beside madeline’s table, hands in his pockets. she glanced up at him, her lips parting slightly in surprise before she smirked.

hyunjin said something, his expression unreadable. madeline tilted her head, twirling her fork between her fingers as she listened.

your fingers tightened around the edge of your tray.

a few heads in the cafeteria turned, clearly noticing the two as well. it wasn’t every day that two of the most well-known dancers in the academy shared a conversation—especially not with the history they had.

then, to everyone’s surprise, hyunjin pulled out the chair across from her and sat down.

yeji’s eyes widened. “okay, now i really want to know what they’re talking about.”

you did too. and a part of you—the irrational, insecure part—hated that he was sitting with her at all.

as if sensing your gaze, hyunjin briefly glanced in your direction. but before you could decipher the look in his eyes, he returned his focus to madeline, speaking again.

hyunjin leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but firm. “i’ve decided.”

madeline arched a delicate brow. “oh?”

“i’ll do it,” he said. “i’ll be the male lead in manon.”

a pleased smile ghosted across her lips. “i knew you’d come around.”

hyunjin’s expression didn’t change. “i’m not doing this for you.”

madeline chuckled softly, unfazed. “of course not.”

he exhaled through his nose, then leaned back against his chair. “there’s something else.”

she tilted her head. “go on.”

hyunjin didn’t return the sentiment. he was here for business, nothing more. “i want to talk about the female lead.”

madeline arched a delicate brow, folding her arms. “oh?”

hyunjin scooted closer. “i know you probably already have names in mind, but i think you should seriously consider someone.” he held her gaze. “y/n.”

madeline blinked, clearly not expecting that. “y/n?”

“yes.” his voice was firm. “she’s the best fit for the role.”

madeline hummed, mulling over his words. “she’s talented,” she admitted. “but she’s young. inexperienced.”

“so was i, once,” hyunjin countered. “that never stopped you from choosing me.”

she exhaled a soft laugh. “you always were ambitious.”

“she’s good, madeline,” he insisted. “and you want this ballet to be the best it can be, right?” he met her gaze pointedly. “she’s the one you should cast.”

madeline studied him for a long moment, then a knowing smile played on her lips. “you care about her.”

hyunjin’s jaw tightened. “that’s not the point.”

“isn’t it?” she leaned in closer, searching his expression. “you never put in a word for anyone before. not even when we were together.”

his expression remained unreadable. “i’m telling you she’s the right choice.”

madeline watched him carefully before exhaling softly, her arms falling to her sides. “i’ll think about it,” she finally said.

“that’s all i ask.”

hyunjin didn’t wait for anything else. he turned on his heel and strode toward the cafeteria doors.

as he passed your table, madeline called out, her voice soft but certain.

“it’s nice to have you back, hyunjin.”

he paused, but he didn’t respond.

instead, he started walking again, staying on his path to the door.

the atmosphere in the studio hallway was thick with anticipation. dancers huddled in clusters, whispering in nervous excitement as they waited. every few seconds, someone stole a glance toward the door, where miss cassandra was expected to emerge with the casting results.

the wait felt excruciating. you stood with yeji and celeste, your stomach churning with a mixture of hope and dread. jisung was nearby, hands shoved in his pockets, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.

finally, the door creaked open, and miss cassandra stepped out, holding a crisp white sheet of paper. the hallway fell into a hush as she walked toward the bulletin board, each click of her heels echoing off the walls. without a word, she smoothed the paper against the corkboard and pinned it in place.

"congratulations to all," she said, glancing over the anxious crowd. "rehearsals begin tomorrow. make sure you’re prepared."

the moment she stepped away, the crowd surged forward. bodies pressed together as everyone strained to see their fate.

you inhaled sharply, pushing through with yeji and celeste at your side. your fingers trembled as your eyes darted across the list, scanning frantically until they landed on your name.

manon

manon – your name

des grieux – hyunjin hwang

des grieux understudy / supporting role – jisung han

the words blurred for a moment as your breath hitched. your heart pounded against your ribs. you blinked, making sure you weren’t imagining it. your name. next to hyunjin’s.

a soft gasp escaped your lips. yeji, reading over your shoulder, shrieked. "oh my god! you got the lead!"

celeste let out a triumphant laugh. "i knew it! i knew you would!"

your body felt light, almost detached from reality. this was it—this was everything you’d been dreaming of.

yeji quickly found her own name under another ballet. "yes!" she cheered, grabbing minho’s arm. "we got the lead together!"

celeste beamed as she pointed at her own role. "felix, we’re partners."

laughter and celebration erupted around you, but your eyes instinctively searched for jisung. you found him a few steps away, his gaze locked on the list. his expression was unreadable at first, but then his jaw tensed. his shoulders sagged just slightly.

you swallowed hard.

"jisung..." you said softly, stepping toward him.

he turned, schooling his features into something neutral. "hey," he said, forcing a small smile. "congrats."

you hesitated. "i… i thought you would get a lead."

he shrugged, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. "i guess they thought i was better suited for supporting." he let out a small, humorless chuckle. "and an understudy. in case hyunjin suddenly forgets how to dance."

you frowned, guilt gnawing at you. "you deserve more than that."

"it’s fine," he said quickly, waving it off. "i’ll still be in the ballet. it’s not the end of the world." but his voice lacked conviction.

your stomach twisted. you knew how much this meant to him. he was always so confident, so lively—but now, he looked… small.

before you could say anything else, movement in the crowd caught your eye. hyunjin stood off to the side, leaning casually against the wall, watching the reactions unfold. his expression was unreadable, but when his eyes met yours, he gave you a slow, knowing smile.

your breath hitched. this was real. you were going to be partners.

jisung followed your gaze and exhaled through his nose. "looks like you and hyunjin will be spending a lot of time together," he said, his tone light but laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

you turned back to him, unsure of what to say. but before you could respond, emile clapped his hands, calling for attention.

"congratulations to everyone," he announced. "rehearsals start tomorrow. bring your best, because i expect nothing less than perfection."

the hallway buzzed with chatter, but a strange unease settled in your chest.

this was everything you had worked for. so why did it feel like something wasn’t quite right?

the rehearsal studio was alive with movement, dancers stretching, adjusting their shoes, and murmuring about the newly assigned roles. the atmosphere was thick with anticipation, the weight of their new responsibilities settling on their shoulders.

you stood near the center of the room, nervously adjusting the straps of your leotard. this was it—your first rehearsal as the lead in manon. your heart thudded against your ribcage as you stole a glance at hyunjin. he was across the room, tying the ribbons of his pointe shoes, his expression unreadable.

“all right, everyone, places,” madeline’s voice cut through the chatter, and the room quickly fell silent. she stood at the front with a clipboard in hand, her sharp eyes flicking between you and hyunjin. “we’ll begin with the first pas de deux. let’s see what we’re working with.”

you swallowed hard as hyunjin finally met your gaze. he smirked, pushing himself up from his seat before sauntering over to you. he moved with the kind of effortless grace you had always admired—and envied.

“nervous?” he murmured as he came to stand beside you, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

you straightened your posture, refusing to let him get under your skin. “no.”

hyunjin chuckled under his breath. “you’re a bad liar.”

madeline clapped her hands once. “we’ll start with the lift.”

your stomach twisted. the lift.

it was one of the most challenging parts of the duet—hyunjin would have to sweep you off your feet and spin you before carefully lowering you into his arms. you had rehearsed lifts before, but never with him.

he extended a hand toward you, waiting. you hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing your palm in his. his fingers curled around yours, firm but careful.

“just relax,” he murmured as he stepped closer. his free hand slid to your waist, fingers pressing lightly into your side. you shivered under his touch, the warmth of his skin seeping through the thin fabric of your leotard.

you barely had time to process the closeness before he moved.

with practiced ease, hyunjin lifted you into the air, his grip unwavering. for a fleeting moment, you felt weightless, suspended between the ground and his arms. but then—

“too stiff,” madeline’s voice rang out, making you flinch. “loosen up, (y/n). trust him.”

you barely registered the way hyunjin’s lips quirked into a knowing smirk.

“trust me,” he echoed, his voice dripping with amusement.

heat rose to your cheeks, but you nodded. you let yourself relax, allowing your body to mold against his movements. this time, the lift was smoother, more natural. when he lowered you into his arms, his face was just inches from yours, his breath ghosting against your cheek.

for a moment, it felt like the world around you disappeared. his dark eyes locked onto yours, and there was something unreadable in them—something that made your pulse race.

madeline’s voice shattered the moment. “better. again.”

hyunjin let out a low chuckle before pulling away, but not before his fingers lingered on your waist for just a second too long.

you exhaled shakily. this was going to be a long rehearsal.

the studio was nearly empty now. most of the dancers had filed out, murmuring about their aching muscles and plans for the evening. jisung sat on the wooden floor, untying his pointe shoes with more force than necessary.

felix plopped down beside him, stretching his legs out with a sigh. “man, that was brutal.”

jisung let out a dry laugh. “yeah.”

brutal was one word for it. torturous was another.

he had spent the entire rehearsal watching you in his arms. watching the way hyunjin’s hands traced over your waist, the way he lifted you with ease, the way your body followed his lead like you had done this a hundred times before.

and the worst part? the way you looked at hyunjin.

jisung had seen that look before—had seen it in your eyes when you talked about how talented hyunjin was, how much you admired him. but seeing it up close, right in front of him? it stung in a way he hadn’t been prepared for.

felix nudged his knee. “you okay?”

jisung exhaled sharply, dropping his shoes into his bag. “yeah. just—” he stopped, raking a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “it’s just hard to watch, you know?”

felix’s expression softened. “yeah, i know.”

jisung leaned back against the mirror, staring up at the ceiling. “i mean, i get it. hyunjin’s a good dancer, and they need chemistry for the ballet to work, but…” his voice trailed off as he swallowed past the lump in his throat. “it’s not just the dancing. she likes him.”

felix was quiet for a moment before he spoke. “and you like her.”

jisung let out a bitter laugh. “yeah. and it sucks.”

felix studied him, his blue eyes thoughtful. “why don’t you just tell her?”

jisung opened his mouth, then shut it.

tell you? now?

the words sat heavy on his tongue, pressing against the back of his throat. he imagined pulling you aside after rehearsal, imagined the way your eyes would widen as he finally said the words that had been burning inside him for months.

i like you. more than a friend should.

but then he thought about hyunjin. about the way you had smiled at him during practice, about the way your body fit so effortlessly against his.

jisung clenched his jaw.

“it’s not that easy,” he muttered.

felix raised an eyebrow. “why not?”

jisung let out a slow breath, running a hand down his face. “because i don’t want to make things harder for her. she’s already got so much going on. and besides…” his voice dropped slightly. “she’s already looking at someone else.”

felix frowned but didn’t argue.

jisung pushed himself to his feet, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “it’s fine. i just need to get over it.”

felix stood as well, crossing his arms. “yeah? and how’s that going for you?”

jisung laughed, but there was no humor in it. “terribly.”

with one last glance at the empty studio, he turned on his heel and walked out, felix trailing behind him.

and as much as jisung wanted to convince himself that he could move on, that he could just let his feelings fade, he knew the truth.

he was in too deep.

and watching you with hyunjin was going to break him.

the studio was alive with movement, the grand mirrors reflecting every extension, every pirouette, every carefully rehearsed moment of passion. it had been a few weeks since rehearsals for manon began, and by now, you had expected to feel a deeper sense of connection with your partner. but something was off.

hyunjin had changed.

you noticed it in the way he carried himself—his steps were still precise, still beautiful, but there was something missing. the hyunjin you once knew, the one who made every touch, every glance electric, had started to dull. he barely looked at you when you danced together, his hands settling on your waist or wrist only when necessary, never lingering. his presence had once been magnetic, but now, he felt distant, cold.

even now, as you moved through a particularly intimate scene, you could feel it. the moment required a delicate interplay of emotions—love, desperation, longing. but hyunjin’s grip was detached, his gaze unfocused. when his hand brushed against your cheek, the touch was empty, mechanical, nothing like the heat you used to feel from him.

“hyunjin,” you whispered under your breath as you moved through the steps, hoping to catch his attention, to draw him back in.

he didn’t respond.

your stomach twisted as you fought through the rest of the sequence, trying not to let his detachment throw you off.

jisung was watching. you caught the flicker of his eyes from across the studio, his expression unreadable. he was warming up with the other dancers, but his attention kept drifting toward you and hyunjin.

madeline clapped her hands, signaling the end of the run-through. “alright, take a five-minute break before we go again,” she instructed.

hyunjin dropped his hands from you immediately, not even sparing you a glance before turning away. he grabbed his water bottle and moved toward the back of the room, running a hand along his hair in frustration.

you took a deep breath, stepping away as well. that was when jisung approached, his towel slung over his shoulder. “you okay?”

you hesitated before answering. “yeah, i just…” you glanced in hyunjin’s direction, watching as he wiped sweat from his brow, his posture tense, his expression dark. “…i don’t know what’s going on with him.”

jisung’s jaw tensed, and he let out a small scoff, though it wasn’t directed at you. “i could take a wild guess.”

your brows knitted together. “what do you mean?”

jisung sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. he hesitated, as if debating whether to speak his mind. his eyes flickered toward hyunjin, who was leaning against the mirror with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“look, i don’t know exactly what’s going on with him,” jisung admitted, lowering his voice. “but it’s obvious he’s… different.” he glanced at you again, his gaze searching. “and you’ve noticed it too.”

you swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest. of course you had noticed. but hearing it from someone else made it feel more real.

jisung shifted his stance, gripping his towel a little tighter. “maybe he’s just stressed. maybe it’s the pressure of the lead role. or…” he paused, exhaling sharply. “maybe it’s something else.”

“like what?” you pressed, your heartbeat picking up.

he hesitated again, his lips parting like he was about to say something important—but then, at the last second, he clamped his mouth shut. instead, he shook his head, forcing a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“forget it,” he muttered. “it’s not my place.”

the words left a bitter taste in his mouth, but what was he supposed to say? ‘it kills him to watch you care so much about hyunjin when he can’t even see what he has? that he can’t stand watching hyunjin push you away while he’d do anything to be in his place?’

no. he couldn’t say that.

instead, he forced a light chuckle, nudging your arm. “just… don’t let him ruin this for you, okay? you deserve to enjoy this.”

before you could respond, madeline’s voice rang out, calling everyone back. jisung shot you one last look—something lingering in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite place—before stepping away.

you turned back toward hyunjin, but he still wasn’t looking at you.

and for the first time since rehearsals started, you felt a sinking feeling settle in your stomach.

the theater buzzed with quiet anticipation, the dim glow of backstage lights casting long shadows on the walls. you slipped past a few crew members, carefully navigating your way to the side of the stage, where you could catch a glimpse of hyunjin without disrupting the performance.

you had thought about this all day—how you wanted to surprise him, show your support, and remind him that you were here for him. lately, something had been off. you weren’t blind to it. but maybe he just needed reassurance. maybe he just needed to know you still cared.

your heart pounded as your eyes landed on him. there he was, in his element, his body moving with the kind of precision and grace that left audiences breathless. he looked stunning under the stage lights, his expression intense as he danced alongside his partner, completely immersed in the performance.

for a moment, you forgot about everything else. his coldness, the distance he had put between you—it all melted away as you watched him, captivated.

and then, as he turned with a flourish, his gaze flickered toward the wings. toward you.

your breath hitched.

but instead of surprise or warmth flashing across his face, his expression hardened. his movements didn’t falter, but the second he exited the stage for a quick costume change, you saw him make a beeline in your direction.

“hyunjin!” you whispered excitedly, but the look in his eyes stopped you short.

his jaw was tight, and his face was unreadable as he towered over you, his skin glistening with sweat. “why are you here?” his voice was low, clipped.

the coldness in his tone stung. you blinked, taken aback. “i— i wanted to surprise you,” you said softly, forcing a small smile. “i thought you’d be happy.”

his lips pressed into a thin line. “you shouldn’t be backstage,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder. “i’m in the middle of a performance.”

you frowned. “i know, i just—”

“look, i don’t have time for this.” he cut you off, already moving past you. “enjoy the show, alright?”

and just like that, he disappeared back into the flurry of stagehands and dancers, leaving you standing there, stunned.

you swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to brush off the interaction. maybe he was just in performance mode. maybe he was just tired, overwhelmed. that had to be it.

you shook off the uneasy feeling in your gut and made your way to the front of the theater, deciding to wait for him after the show. surely, once it was over, he’d explain. he’d apologize for being short with you, and everything would be fine.

right?

the performance ended, and the applause thundered through the theater. you waited by the stage door, ignoring the nagging feeling in the back of your mind.

and then, after what felt like forever, the door finally swung open.

hyunjin emerged, still in his stage makeup, his hair slightly damp with sweat. but he wasn’t alone.

your stomach dropped.

a girl followed close behind him, giggling at something he said. she was beautiful, elegant, with long, toned legs that told you she was likely another dancer.

you stiffened, gripping the strap of your bag tightly. he didn’t even notice you standing there.

didn’t even look for you.

your breath caught in your throat as you watched him place a hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the exit.

he walked right past you.

your chest tightened, a lump forming in your throat.

you opened your mouth to say something—anything—but no words came out.

and just like that, hyunjin disappeared into the night with her, leaving you standing alone in the cold.

taglist: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek @babigriin @tirena1 @nickgurl4life @geni-627

series taglist: @estella-novella @stayjinnie @wavetohannie @jehhskz @thecutiepieme @rousslut @mariteez @yeetmehome @stay3096 @akindaflora ♡

©chxnsgirl do not repost, translate, or copy my works in any way, shape, or form.

[bejeweledinterludes]

— ⌈ dean x reader headcanons that are way too specific and very important TO ME! ⌋

『 part 2 of @bejeweledinterludes’ headcanon series. 』

read my headcanons part 1 here!

↳ . . . YOOOOO HEYYYY here’s a part 2 since everyone seemed to like the first one! thinking about doing a solely nsfw headcanon post OR some chubby!reader headcanons for deano 😋 bc i’m in the trenches of ovulation week rn and my stupid thoughts have to go somewhere. also, if anyone had requests, i’d definitely be open to that as well! anyhoo enjoy my pookies <3

𖤐 ────────────────────────

> being a decent hunter, the winchester brothers had heard of you before, and you them— you’d heard stories, of course, but you never officially crossed paths until you were at bobby’s house at the same time they were. you’d known bobby— because everybody knew bobby—since you started hunting.

your greeting to them came almost as quickly as your goodbye, nodding at them with a “hey” while clambering down bobby’s front porch to your car, your usual bag full of weapons and books in hand— but not before you notice the jet-black ‘67 impala next to your own.

and you know your way around a car, having your own ‘baby-esque’ vehicle that you love more than life itself (can be vintage or newer model, doesn’t matter, because it’s yours). dean had noticed your car in bobby’s driveway immediately, too— who wouldn’t? the man had eyes.

anyways, you walk past baby in all her glory while nodding appreciatively— turning just a little to dean and tossing a free thumb towards her with a grin before saying a quick: “dude. bitchin’ car.”

and after initially being thrown off by the way you carried yourself, a mixture of confidence, respect, and almost familiarity— dean shoots back with a “could say the same about yours.”

at that remark, you freaking smiled. and dean almost fainted right then and there at the sight. you got in your car, and that was it, due to your visit to bobby’s house really being just a pit stop/supply run before you headed right back on the road again, a new hunt already waiting for you in montana.

> because despite sam and dean being the most good-looking hunters you ever laid eyes on, you weren't one to dilly dally over just a pretty face (when lives were on the line, of course). but somehow, you knew that you’d see them again. hunting wasn’t exactly a booming career field, after all.

> that being said, it took dean a while to get comfortable around you whenever you did end up working together— like a while. you’d only crossed wires with the brothers a few times, helping them out when you could on hunts over the next few years. sam and you made easy friends almost immediately, but dean took longer to warm up to you. but you didn’t mind, or take it personally. you never pushed dean to be your friend even with how much you wanted to be.

> when you guys do work together, though, you and dean understand every single pop culture reference you guys throw at each other. he was shocked when he referenced a classic 80s movie (it was weird science) while working one of your first cases together.

and not only did you understand it and laugh— you made your own joke about it. now you two can’t shut your traps once you get going (for the love of god, do not ask about die hard around them).

> dean and you have also almost blown your cover and gotten caught on hunts because you guys laugh/giggle too loud at what the other says (especially in serious situations).

your favorite running joke is finding old portraits of ugly dead guys, pointing a finger at them and saying to dean “huh, i didn’t know you were alive in *checks plaque under painting* 1837” (and don’t worry, he does the same exact thing to you.)

> dean once fell asleep on your shoulder during a stakeout/recon/watching a potential victim’s house and you didn’t move an inch the entire time. when you finally tried to gently wake him up, he had the audacity to sleepily mumble “jus’ five more minutes” into your shirt and cling to you like a koala in the car. you, being the saint and not wanting to argue, let him sleep for another 2 hours couple minutes.

> and soon enough, dean eventually came around. you knew he cared about you way before he did, but you never forced anything. he appreciated that more than you knew.

and it wasn’t just one single moment of realization like in the movies when dean knew he cared about you. it was quiet, simmering, and when he looked, it was already just… there. but the feelings he hadn’t noticed he’d been pushing down for so long came to a head on a hunt when you almost died— the way they always did when someone he cared about was hurt.

after that, something shifted. you could feel and see it, even if dean didn’t say anything outright to you. for one, he called more often when you were away— he’d need help with something you knew that he already knew damn well how to do, or with something you knew he had much better contacts for.

i mean, come on. he knows freaking rowena, and he’s calling you for assistance on a spell? and sometimes, he’d call for no reason at all, making up some excuse just to hear your voice. you never mentioned it, out of fear he’d stop calling entirely.

> because you always loved when dean called.

───────────────────────── 𖤐

you have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

i genuinely believe that i tweak out over this man at least 4 times a day stg. and the gif i picked lives in my mind rent-free. he looks so ethereal sigh i wish he was real 💔

ANYWAYS here’s my taglist (so far): @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @figthoughts + if i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please let me know! <3

[estrellami-1]

March Mating Madness

Day 1: Courting Rituals

I’ll Do (Anything for You)

Ao3 Link

This is a part of the Tell Me ‘verse! This fic takes place during Tell Me (Just Enough), but can be read as a standalone fic.

“So,” Eddie starts. They’re sitting on his couch, and he’s holding Steve’s hands. This feels strangely like an intervention, and Steve’s getting nervous.

“Um,” he says. He thinks his hands are getting sweaty. He knows he’s probably scenting something awful. “Yeah?”

“Nothing bad,” Eddie promises. “Just. You know you didn’t get to be courted the way you deserve.”

Steve softens. “Eddie, I don’t care about any of that. I have your vest, I have your bite-”

“No, I- I know, sweetheart. I know you got used to getting less than you deserve and I know this is normal to you now, but I will never stop trying to make you understand that just because that’s how it was doesn’t meant it’s how it should be. Because how it should be is you should have a whole lot more gifts than you do. I gave you the vest because you ripped up your shirt to make bandages, darling, not because I like the way you look in it. Though,” he grins, “I do like the way you look in it.”

Steve sighs. “So that’s it? You’re going to court me? And I get no say in the matter?”

“Um.” Eddie squints. “Do you… not want to be courted?”

“Well,” Steve draws out, which means he does and is being a little shit about it. Eddie grins. “If you’ve already decided, then there’s no reason for me to care either way, is there?”

Eddie chuckles. “Just you wait, baby, I’m’a blow your socks off.”

Steve chuckles back. “I can’t wait.”

“First things first,” Eddie says, and takes off a ring, “Steven Elias Harrington, I’ve come to state my intent to formally court you. By accepting this ring, you will be accepting my courtship. I will swear, as your Alpha, to always keep you safe, healthy, and happy, to the best of my abilities. I will swear, as your Alpha, to provide for your every need and want. I will swear, as your Alpha, a safe place to lay your head at night, and a safe place to rear any and all pups you may want. If this pleases you, then please, accept my first token, so I may begin courting you.”

“Why the fuck am I crying,” Steve wonders, laughing at himself even as he takes the ring. “Of course I’ll accept your courtship, Eddie.”

Eddie, kneeling on the ground in front of the couch, does a goofy little fist pump and reaches for a tissue for Steve. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m sorry.”

Steve shakes his head. “Good tears. Come cuddle me?”

“Always,” Eddie agrees immediately, clambering onto the couch behind Steve.

Steve relaxes back onto him, letting out a sigh and going boneless. “Y’know something?” He murmurs.

“What’s that?”

“You feel just right. The couch hurts my back a little, no matter what pillows I add or take away. But you fit every bump of my spine perfectly. ‘S like I was made for you.”

“I’m choosing to believe you were,” Eddie murmurs. “There’s gotta be some reason we’re scent-compatible.”

Steve snickers. “I guess so.” He snuggles into Eddie. “Tell me?” He asks quietly.

“I love you,” Eddie tells him immediately, whispering it into the nape of his neck.

“Baby,” Eddie calls, skipping into the Harrington house one day. “I’ve got something for you!”

“Oh,” Steve says, “Hi, Eddie.”

Eddie frowns. “You don’t sound too good, baby, are you feeling okay?”

Steve sniffles, shakes his head. Grabs a tissue and blows his nose. “‘S just a cold. I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t doubt it, sweetheart, but why don’t we get you in bed? I’ll make you Wayne’s trailer park-famous chicken noodle soup.”

“Don’t wanna be in bed,” he says. “‘S boring.”

“Then how about we camp out on the couch? Make a quick little nest here, I can grab some things from upstairs for you, and you can convalesce on the couch where you can watch movies. Does that work?”

Steve considers it, then nods. “You said you have something for me?”

“Ah,” Eddie says, “yes, right, here-” he holds up a bag. “I, uh, know they’re not super high quality, but… well, I know you get migraines a lot, and sunglasses are supposed to help. Is what I was told.”

Steve sniffles. His eyes look more watery than before. “Eddie,” he says, then doesn’t say anything, just stares at Eddie with big teary eyes. Eddie starts to panic.

“Do you hate them? I can return them! I can- I didn’t spend that much, honest, and maybe it’s a shit courting gift but-”

Steve shakes his head, pulls Eddie into a hug. Scent-marks him. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Eddie relaxes, supports him in the hug best he can. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs. “Now go sit down, baby, I’ll make you some food, okay?”

“M’kay.” Steve sniffles. “Is food gonna be part of courting?”

Eddie chuckles. “I guess it usually is, isn’t it? Do you want it to be part of courting? I had a plan for that, but if you’d rather skim through, we can do that too.”

Steve shakes his head. “I want whatever you’ve got planned.”

Eddie smiles, presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead. “Then maybe this’ll halfway count,” he tells Steve. “Maybe when you’re feeling better I’ll stay the night. Maybe I’ll wake up before you, sneak downstairs, and make a full spread. What do you want? Pancakes? Waffles? French toast? Fuckin’… the little French pancakes?”

Steve giggles. “They’re called crepes.”

“Crepes, then.”

Steve giggles again. “Pancakes maybe?”

“Pancakes I can do.”

“Maybe… maybe we could have blueberry and chocolate chip?”

“Sorry,” Eddie says, “I’ll give you anything in the entire world you could ask for, but blueberry and chocolate chip?” He shakes his head. “Now you’ve gone too far, baby, it’s turning into anarchy, seriously, blueberry and chocolate chip? Alert the media. Call CNN.”

Steve giggles into Eddie’s neck. “So… just blueberry?”

“Baby, I’d invent flavors for you if you said you wanted dragonberry. You want blueberry and chocolate chip? I’ll put both in the same damn cake if you want ‘em.”

Steve giggles again. “No, just separate.”

“I can do separate,” Eddie promises him. “Any other requests?”

Steve peeks out from Eddie’s neck to peer up at him. “Hashbrowns?”

“Oh, baby, now you’re speakin’ my language! Hell yeah we can do hashbrowns!” He grins at Steve’s giggle, then presses another kiss to Steve’s forehead, then one to each of his cheeks for good measure. “Now go sit down,” he tells the omega. “I’ll go grab nest things from upstairs. Anything in particular you want?”

“Robin’s flannel,” he says immediately. “And…” he bites his lip, worries it, shakes his head. “That’s it, I think.”

“Baby,” Eddie murmurs. “Remember how I’d invent flavors for you?”

A giggle. “Yeah?”

“Tell me what you want. Whatever it is, I can get it for you.”

“There’s a black blanket? It’s really soft but it’s kinda near the bottom.”

“I know the one,” Eddie promises. “You want a pillow too?”

Steve shakes his head. “Not while I’ve got you to be my pillow.”

“Always,” Eddie promises, pushing him toward the couch and moving past it up the stairs.

He grabs the things Steve requested, then pauses, pulls his t-shirt off, pulls his undershirt off—a beat-up old faded black tank top— and puts the t-shirt onto a pillow.

He rummages through Steve’s pajama drawer, grabs a t-shirt that boasts something about the whitest beaches, and slips it on.

He makes his ways back downstairs with his bounty, handing over first the blanket, then Robin’s flannel. At Steve’s questioning look, he hands over the last two items. “My t-shirt on a pillow, for while I’m cooking, and my undershirt. It should have more scent on it, even if your nose is too stuffed up to really smell, this one should scent some.”

Steve’s eyes go big and watery again. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Eddie smiles, cups his cheek, presses a long kiss to his forehead. “I think,” he murmurs, “there’s very little I wouldn’t give you already. And I think I’m only a little bit in love with you, compared to how I could be. How I will be.”

Steve nuzzles into Eddie’s hand in response, then leans back and gazes at Eddie with such unabashed love in his eyes that Eddie has to look away, has to head to the kitchen and start cooking, so he can blame the flush in his cheeks on the heat from the stove.

“Baby,” Eddie murmurs in sing-song, peeking into his room. Steve’s awake, if just barely, light dappling over his back, eyes blinking in long, slow sweeps as he fights the siren’s call. He rouses himself a little, sleep-clumsily turns onto his side, humming at Eddie, who walks in with a little coo and kneels at the side of the bed. “Did I wake you?”

Steve hums again, extends a hand to grab at Eddie’s shirt; not to pull, just to hold, to anchor. “Eddie,” he murmurs, which both is and isn’t an answer. “Y’here.”

“I am here,” Eddie agrees, brows furrowing a little. “Have a bad dream, sweetness?”

Steve hums, fists Eddie’s shirt again, tighter. “Not… bad. Jus’… not good.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Eddie murmurs, petting over Steve’s fist. “How can I fix it?”

“Y’are,” Steve tells him, tiredly earnest. “Y’here.”

Eddie’s heart explodes into a million pieces. “I am,” he whispers. “I’ll always be here, if you need me.”

Steve hums, squints at Eddie’s neck, but doesn’t want to let go of Eddie’s shirt.

Eddie does it for him, dragging his hand up first to kiss, then to slide over his scent gland.

“Y’scent different,” Steve mumbles. “More… flowery.”

Eddie chuckles. “I don’t think that’s me, baby.” He holds up a bouquet. “I think it’s your next courting gift.”

Steve smiles blearily at them. “Never gotten flowers before.” He kicks his way out of his blankets, gets tangled for a second and releases a truly, unfairly cute whine before extricating himself, sitting up and balancing on Eddie while his tired brain lags. “You got me flowers,” he whispers, reverent hand coming up to pet along a petal.

“I did,” Eddie agrees giddily.

Steve nudges the flowers aside, falls into Eddie’s chest, nuzzles into his neck. “Thank you.”

Eddie presses a kiss to the crown of Steve’s head, drags a hand over his hair and down his back. “You’re very welcome, baby. How about I put these in water and make you those pancakes? Blueberry and chocolate chip, right?”

Steve nods into his neck. “Wanna go with you.”

“Absolutely you can come with me,” Eddie agrees. “Are you gonna walk or am I gonna carry you?”

Steve’s hands come up to circle his neck even as he says, “I can walk.”

“I know you can,” Eddie murmurs, sliding his hands around Steve’s waist. “But what if I wanna carry you?”

“M’kay,” Steve agrees, pressing a kiss into Eddie’s neck. “You can. If you want to.”

“So generous,” Eddie snickers, and does, carries him down to the kitchen and puts him on the counter, pulls away with a long, sweet kiss to grab the pancake mix.

They’re back in the trailer. Steve’s got the day off and is tackling their room. Eddie’s clothes are still strewn about the place after that harried call to Wayne had him dumping the boxes and bringing them to Loch Nora. Steve’s things are nearly all put away now, but Eddie’s are still all over the place, so that’s what Steve’s working on.

Eddie’s at work, a half day at the shop, so he’ll be home just after lunch.

Steve loses track of time in their room, meaning he’s neck-deep in the closet and still hasn’t had lunch by the time Eddie walks in. “Baby,” he calls, and Steve narrowly misses hitting his head on the door as he sits back.

“Room!” He calls, even though the trailer walls are thin and he can hear Eddie heading that direction already.

Eddie’s smiling as he walks in. “Hey, baby, what’re you doing in here?” He crouches down for a quick kiss and scent mark, accepting the same back.

Steve sighs. “Just trying to organize a little. Get our room back in order.”

“Baby, this is my shit, I’ll do it. C’mon, have you eaten?”

“Getting you to organize is like pulling your toenails out, Eds, I actually like it. I’ll do it. No, I lost track of time, but I can make something real quick if you’re hungry?”

Eddie grins, shakes his head. “Nah, Flo brought something in for the guys, and I snacked between cars. C’mon, baby, lemme take care of you, what do you want to eat?”

Steve hums. “Mac and cheese? Or… do we have any hamburger helper?”

“We should,” Eddie nods. “If not, we definitely have Spam, I can add some of that to some mac?”

Steve nods. “That sounds great. Thanks, Alpha.”

Eddie nuzzles him. “Any time, omega.” He presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead and heads out to the kitchen, and Steve continues cleaning with the background noises of Eddie making him lunch.

Soon enough the noises slow, and not long after Eddie brings him a bowl.

Steve eats while Eddie putters around, putting away a few things, before stilling at the dresser. “Baby?”

“Hm?”

Eddie turns around, joins him on the bed. “So, obviously for courting gifts, the last one, the biggest one, is usually a piece of clothing.”

“Right.”

“And I’ve already given you my vest.” His lips quirk up. “I’d argue I’ve given you my whole closet,” he says, nodding down at Steve’s outfit, which consists entirely of Eddie’s clothes. Steve shrugs, because he knows Eddie loves it. “So I have something else for you, instead. If you want it.”

“Okay.”

Eddie reaches up, unclasps his necklace, and offers it to Steve. “The pick was my mom’s,” he whispers. “The first one I ever used to learn guitar. After she passed, Wayne kept teaching me. For the longest time, I thought of it as a good luck charm. Like if I wore it, the band would have a good show.”

“Then you should keep it.”

Eddie smiles, shakes his head. “The band’s done. We weren’t going anywhere anyways, and especially after the accusations…” he shrugs. “Besides, I have you now. And you’re better than any good luck charm.”

“Flirt,” Steve mutters, but his cheeks are pink as he touches the necklace. “You’re sure?”

“I wouldn’t offer it if I wasn’t, baby.”

Steve smiles, ducks his head. “Okay.” He brings his hand up to touch the pick as Eddie secures the necklace. When Eddie sits back, Steve pulls him in again for a kiss.

“Just for the record,” he murmurs when they pull back, “if we weren’t mated, I would’ve accepted all of your gifts.”

At that, Eddie grins and pulls him into another kiss.

They can always finish cleaning tomorrow.

[theliliesofthevalleies]

The skeletons wordlessly point around the room as if the reasoning should be obvious. Obviously he had been put in the summoning circle.

Danny puts a hand over his mouth and closes his eyes in contemplation for a moment. He takes in a long deep breath and looks at the skeletons. “And.. no one thought to.. I don’t know.. alert me to the fact that there is a whole living person in the offerings room..?”

All the skeleton’s just shrug and go back to pampering the now stunned and speechless Robin who is staring up at Danny from where he’s seated on the floor. “You’re a lot younger than I thought you’d be. Honestly that’s a relief. I was worried I was being offered as a bride to the ghost king that was going to be like.. old and gross..”

“You were offered as what?! You’re fourteen?!” Danny stares at the teenager no older than himself and crouches down. “What do you mean as a bride for me? Why would they even assume I wanted a child bride…?”

Robin, now removing his mask because, fuck it why not if he’s stuck there might as well, shrugs as he looks back up at Danny now showing him that he is in fact Tim Drake. “Don’t know.. don’t really care. I would however like to get home. My.. adopted father and his other adopted adult child are probably looking for me and considering that the last time a Robin went missing he was murdered.. they are probably losing their minds..”

“Right right.. uh.. well.. I have to ask Clockwork about how to send you back.. because the Infinite Realms sort of identifies you as.. my property now.. and the fact that you are technically dead..” Danny looks like he’s ready to hurl from the thought but he straightens up.

Tim looks up at him with wide eyes and blinks a few times. “I’m dead..?” He pat his own chest and looked at himself all over.

“Only technically.. you were given as an offering.. the only way to send a living being to the Infinite Realms is to kill them.. or half kill them.” Danny thinks for a moment. “Honestly when we get you back. You may only have a half life.. you may be a Halfa now..” He shrugs and starts leaving the room. “Come on. I’m not going to force you to stay locked in here. Though.. m aybe put your mask back on. Some of the residents of the Infinite Realms still like to keep your identities a secret for themselves..”

Tim stands and places his mask back on his face trying ti ignore the reeling in his head from finding out he had apparently died. “So. You already knew who I was..?”

Danny with a dejected look and tears welling up in his eyes. “No.. I was one of the residents that enjoyed keeping your identity a secret. But it’s okay.. you just proved my theory so…”

Tim nods. “Right.. sorry about that..”

They make their way to Clockwork and find out it will take a while to send Tim back home. In the meantime Danny and Tim spend a lot of time together getting to know each other. Danny brings Tim a change of clothes when he comes back from school one day.

By the time they manage to navigate the stupid rules of the Infinite Realms two months later Tim is on the verge of his fifteenth birthday and has realized feelings are starting to bloom in his chest when he sees Danny. They agree to stay in contact and when Tim is dropped off on the day of his fifteenth birthday he leans over and kisses Danny’s cheek before running off to find Bruce and Dick who, as he predicted had in fact lost their minds.

It takes a lot of explaining to get them to calm down and understand that he A.) didn’t run away and get murdered. B.) didn’t die at all. Which Tim knows is a lie but he doesn’t want Bruce and Dick to freak out about him dying. And C.) is very much alive despite the blood loss of cult members trying to sacrifice him to what is essentially a god.

(Idk if op wanted this to turn into ship but I’ve been reading a lot of DannyxTim fics lately and that’s where my brain went. Lol.)

Bonus. When Jason comes back as Red Hood Tim can tell because Jason has a similar aura to Danny. Danny comes to visit and when he sees Jason he tells Tim that Jason has corrupted ectoplasm and he’s not sure how but his core is shattered. Danny and Tim set out to help Jason and they manage to clean his ectoplasm before Jason can bring his who reveal and revenge plan to fruition.

Once his ectoplasm is clean and Danny got his core into mostly one piece Jason all but loses interest in his big dramatic revenge plot so Tim brings him to the manor one day and Bruce freaks out.

Danny and Tim explain to Bruce what was up and that now that his ectoplasm is clean and his core is mostly whole now would be the best time to talk to Jason about all the things Jason is angry about.

(Side note I really like the idea that Danny helps Jason right after the first time he meets him and it freaks Jason out because, why the hell is the replacement and his boyfriend randomly finding him and why is the replacement’s boyfriend shoving his hands in his chest. It sort of freaks him out. But it helps the Pit rage so he honestly lets it happen.)

DPxDC Prompt #17

There is a room Danny's Keep he set up shortly after defeating Pariah Dark. It became necessary when the broader magical community realized Pariah had be defeated and therefore a new King took his throne. Danny found himself briefly bombarded with waves of attempted summonings.

Which, the summonings themselves, wouldn't have been so bad. Turns out people can't just drag the King of Ghosts to themselves on a whim. Danny has to actively accept a summoning to get pulled to it. And if he just decides "No," the pull and whispers go away. No problem there.

No, the problem is the offerings. And sacrifices. The things that people put in the circle as payment for even attempting to summon him. Like having to put a quarter in the payphone just to listen to it ring and ring and ring as the person on the other end of the call doesn't pick up. Since the summoning magic regarded these things as belonging to Danny even if he rejected the summons, they usually ended up just materializing in front of him if he didn't go to them.

Which, okay. It was funny that time he got to end a fight with Vlad very fast when a whole gold bar materialized and dropped on his head. And the food was nice sometimes when it was late and everywhere was closed and his parents had left samples in the fridge to contaminate everything into animation again. But the goat head dropping from the ceiling onto his desk during on of Lancer's English tests was not appreciated. Even if it did get the test rescheduled and the whole school shut down for a few days to investigate the "potentially satanic activity."

So, yeah, it was a bit of a problem. Fortunately, it was a problem with a relatively simple solution. Danny set up an inbox. With a bit of help from Tucker and Pandora, and a couple tips from Clockwork; all summoning offerings and sacrifices would now go straight to the dedicated room in the Keep.

And! As a special touch, the summoners would also get a chipper, automated voice saying, "The Ghost King you are trying to summon has more important things to do than answer you right now. Please leave a message in the circle with your name, date, location, contact information, and reason for summoning. The Ghost King will get back to you at his earliest convenience." Sam's stupid fancy girl gala voice had been perfect for that little message.

It was the perfect solution. Danny no longer had to deal with randomly materializing offerings putting his secret identity at risk. Pariah's skeletons, who had been antsy for something to do now that they were no longer bent under the thumb of a cruel tyrant, were instructed to take care of all the offerings; making sure everything was always cleaned up and put away. And all Danny had to do was stop by periodically to check in and "Officially respond" -ie, write a fuck off note- to the summoning messages (Clockwork's insistence).

A perfect solution. Up until Danny checked in one day to find the skellies pampering a whole ass boy. No. Not just any boy. Danny recognizes that costume.

"Why is Robin here?"

[lulublack90]

Prompt 28 - Ardent

@wolfstarmicrofic February 28, word count 672

“What do you mean Remus is on a date?!” Sirius said, mouth hanging open in shock. 

“I mean, he and Marlene are currently out by the Black Lake having a date,” James explained calmly. Sirius couldn’t understand how they could all be so calm. REMUS WAS ON A DATE!!!

“I think it’s sweet, Marlene’s had a crush on Remus for forever,” Mary told the group gathered together in the common room. “She was so excited when he asked her. We spent hours getting her ready,” Lily nodded. 

“I’ve never seen her look so happy. She was blushing when they left,” Sirius grimaced at the dreamy looks on the girl's faces. He just couldn’t see Remus and Marlene together. They didn’t fit. Remus belonged with… He cut himself off there, unwilling to think any further about who he thought Remus should be with. 

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Peter asked as he set up the cards for a game of exploding snap. Yes, Peter, Sirius thought. That was a good question. As far as he was aware, Remus and Marlene had very little in common. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Lily’s voice had taken on an airy air. “He’s probably telling her how ardent his feelings are for her, and she’s blushing in the sunset,” Sirius was horrified. Mary snorted. 

“You been reading Austen again Lils?” 

“Shut up, it’s romantic!” Lily huffed, her own cheeks turning pink. 

“He’s probably tripping over his words and Marlene’s probably tripping over her feet. Give it an hour, and they’ll both be back up having had a perfectly pleasant time and Marls will be soaked through because she tried to stroke the giant squid again,” James told them as he slammed down a card on top of Peter’s. “Snap!” He shouted loudly. An hour. Sirius could wait an hour. 

That hour was the longest of Sirius’s life. Every time someone came through the portrait hole, he sat up straighter. He lost abysmally at exploding snap, though Peter was the one who got a face full of smoke. Finally, Remus and Marlene returned and Sirius felt a rush of relief as Remus immediately walked over to him, leaving a dripping Marlene by the entrance. 

“Giant squid?” James asked. Marlene nodded, and a few Galleons got passed to James. 

“How’d it go?” Sirius asked Remus quietly. Remus leant over and whispered in Sirius’s ear. 

“It was nice,” The little hairs on the back of Sirius’s neck stood up, and he felt a ripple of something shoot down his spine as Remus’s breath tickled his ear. 

“Come on, let's go get you cleaned up,” Mary told Marlene, leading her up to the girl's dormitories. 

“I’m gonna go change as well; the squid squirted me a bit as well when I dragged Marlene out of the water,” Remus told them, heading up the boy’s staircase. 

“You should just tell him how you feel,” Lily said to him quietly, so no one else heard. 

“I have no idea what you’re on about,” Sirius said, confused. They were best friends, always had been. But then the images from the dreams he sometimes had floated into his mind, and the world stopped. His eyes darted up to meet Lily’s all-knowing ones, and he blinked dumbly at her as he figured out what she’d clearly known for a while. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “Does everybody know?” He asked her, his eyes darting around the room. 

“Mary might, but everyone else, including Remus, is totally oblivious. Your secret’s safe,” she winked. 

“What do I do, Lils?” His heart was thumping so loudly he wondered that she couldn’t hear it. 

“You tell him, and then it’s his to decide what to do. Though you didn’t hear it from me, as I’ll deny it until I die, but Remus has been in love with you since the day you met,” Sirius’s heart stopped. He looked towards the spiral staircase and, without a moments thought, he was racing across the common room and up to Remus. 

[damthosefandoms]

been thinking a lot about cherrycola who were friends in early elementary school because they didn’t know about the “great tulsa divide” yet and soda was just a silly chatterbox who couldn’t read or write very good and cherry was a real bright little girl who didn’t like getting in trouble but loved helping her classmates—her friends—and they used to end up always sitting next to each other in their classes every year and it was great for a while, until they grew up. and anyway here’s a little wip from something I’m writing about that:

———

“You write pretty good for a soc,” Soda comments later that day, as they work on their short stories. The assignment was to write five chapters, each at least two paragraphs long, about an animal of their choice. His is about a horse that runs a little slower than all of its friends, but makes up for it by being such a great friend. Cherry’s story is about a cat who wants to be friends with a dog. They have to read each other’s stories today, then edit and revise them with a partner.

(Well, now there’s one group of three, since Dally hasn’t returned from the office yet, but that isn’t Soda’s problem.)

Soda and Cherry work together as usual, being desk-partners and all, and he’s about a paragraph into her story when he decides to bring it up. He can see all the red pen she’s covered his own notebook in, and he wants to get ahead of it, change the focus to her before she can point out his mistakes. It’s only because it’s been on his mind all day it kind of just slips out.

“You write pretty good, for a soc.”

“For a what?”

Cherry’s green eyes blink at him and he wonders why it has to be green that people associate with the word go. Like, sometimes it feels as if he can just say anything to Cherry Valance, like he can just get away with it. He can’t. He should know better.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, I heard what you said. Sodapop, come on. That whole thing is so silly. I thought you knew that.”

He opens his mouth to respond, to say it’s not, that he’s seen firsthand as they’ve gotten older how different their lives really are. How she couldn’t laugh at Dally causing serious trouble. How he can’t laugh when he hears kids who he knows Cherry hangs out with telling Two-Bit to go back where he came from, as if he wasn’t born on the same cursed East Tulsa soil as Sodapop and his brothers were.

She’d never say anything like that; but then again, what does Soda know? He only sees her at school. Outside of that, they don’t exactly hang around the same playgrounds. He bets the swingsets in her neighborhood aren’t broken or have the chains wrapped around the top bar.

So he just shrugs. He glances at the chalkboard, where their teacher’s cursive twists and turns in front of his eyes, the same way the butterflies in his stomach are doing gymnastics right now. He tries to remember how they were supposed to phrase their peer-review comments and questions.

“I guess so. Sorry. Uh, I was curious about the part in your story where—”

“My story’s fine,” Cherry snaps, and she pulls it away from him. “You wouldn’t get it anyway.”

She’s blushing like she’s embarrassed, and Soda doesn’t understand why. He hasn’t even finished reading yet. He thought it was so interesting, how the other cats wanted the main character to stick with her own friends, but she wanted more. She wants to be friends with everyone, dogs, cats, rabbits, whatever. Soda might not be the best reader but he thinks Ponyboy would’ve loved it.

Heck, he loves it so far. It just doesn’t seem realistic, but that’s why they’re writing fiction stories, isn’t it?

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

*image of Jensen Ackles is used with permission of the photographer Mandi Lea Photography.

Summary for this chapter: Brandy has a spa day with her sister, then spends a weekend at BJs, beginning on the coldest night of the year.

Characters in this chapter: Brandy Miller x Soldier Boy, Amber Miller (Brandy’s sister)

Warnings/tags in this chapter: 18+ ONLY, explicit sexual content, Red Shoe Diaries grade fuckery (trench coat, stilettos, lingerie, and thigh highs lol), oral sex (male receiving),  nipple orgasm, throat orgasm

Words in this chapter: 3,200

Author’s notes: this fills #Coldest Day Of The Year square for @jacklesversebingo 

Thank you @talltalesandbedtimestories @deanwinchesterswitch and @bigmouthlass for the read throughs and green lights.

Spotify Playlist - key songs this chapter: "Need You Tonight" by INXS, "Kiss" by Prince, and "Pepper" by Butthole Surfers

CHAPTER ONE: Inconsiderate Neighbor

CHAPTER TWO: Someone Loses A Bet

CHAPTER THREE

“OK, we’re caffeinated, swaddled in spa robes, and sipping,” Amber examines her glass, “cucumber water. What are we talking about today?”

I’m blessed to have friends like Kimiko and Maggie, but sometimes, you need your sister.

I try not to sigh too heavily, but Amber notices and makes a yikes face. “Uh-oh. What?”

“My neighbor.” I shake my head in consternation.

“Who, the merc?” 

“Yeah.” I shift in my seat.

She turns into me with a concerned brow. “Is he harassing you?”

I shake my head. “I wish that was it.”

“Then what is it?” She reaches for my hand.

“I don’t know what to call it, but we’ve... kind of...” I shrug and pick at my cuticles.

Amber’s eyebrows pop. “Reeeally?” She sits back in her seat, appraising me with interest.

I nod and blush.

“Well, what’s the angst? I know you didn’t like him at first and thought he was a creep, but maybe he was just into you from the jump. Guys like that are pretty aggressive.”

“Like a schoolyard bully? We aren’t 12, Amber.”

“But he’s not harassing you. Or... pushing you? What aren’t you saying?”

“It’s- I feel- ugh.”

“Babe.” She leans forward again, concern returning.

“He’s so not my kinda guy, ya know?” I feel like we’re kids again, confiding about our crushes. I always feel that way with Amber. It’s pure and real, and I don’t have to worry that she’ll think less of me or judge me. “But I can’t stop thinking about him. And when we’re together, I’m just- I feel wild.”

Amber nods, listening intently.

“When have I ever been into the Bad Boy?!” I whine. “Never.”

She nods. “That’s my jam.”

“He’s all scars and tattoos, and swagger and chauvinism. He’s probably a Republican.”

Amber rolls her eyes.

“No offense.”

Amber and I are cut from the same cloth but dyed with very different pigments. She and I have never agreed on one single political or social issue; in fact, we didn’t speak to each other for a month after a drunken night arguing about gay marriage. Her ex-husband and father of her children was the Captain of the football team, who peaked in high school and turned out to be a deadbeat. Guys like him made my skin crawl, and still do. 

I always look for the clean-cut guy who does his own laundry and doesn’t attempt to speak on women’s reproductive rights unless he’s trying to agree with me. Amber zeroes in on the alpha-est male in the room; the bolder, the better.

“So, you’re having an existential crisis because you’re attracted to, and, I assume, banging your hot, probably Republican neighbor.”

“Yes,” I admit.

She nods, trying not to smirk. “Well,” she prods, “is it good?” She sips her water.

“Stupid good,” I sigh. “And I want so much to be mad about it.”

Amber doesn’t hold back a cackle. “Thoroughly fucking the memory of that pansy Eric from your memory, is he?”

My amusement stutters. “Kinda, yeah, but,” I look down at my cup of water. “I don’t think about a relationship outside the bedroom. I don’t wanna know what he believes in. I don’t wanna talk.”

Amber’s grin softens with understanding. We’re different women with different desires and needs, but she’s my sister; she doesn’t want me to be unhappy. 

“Maybe you just need whatever it is right now.”

I nod as I meet her eyes. “And... I’m afraid of how much more it might become.”

“Don’t let it. Turn your brain off for once,” she says, like I can just do that.

“I don’t have a brain switch, Ber. I have regrets, and remorse, and shame.”

Amber’s eyes fill with the ache we both know so well — cut from the same cloth of a sexually repressed mother and emotionally unavailable father.

“You’re also the most disciplined person I know. Your willpower constantly amazes me. Maybe this is your chance to figure out a new way to use that power.”

She has always fallen in love so easily, takes the ride, and lets her heart break just the same. I guard my heart, make safe choices, and am terrified of letting go.

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

The spa attendant brings us a small tray of cheese and fruit and two glasses of sparkling wine. She refills our water cups and then leaves us be.

“Do you have any pictures of him?” Amber asks, popping a chunk of white cheddar into her mouth before taking a sip of her wine.

I chew my bottom lip and pull out my phone to find the most recent picture saved to my camera roll. I snapped him sleeping on his side in my bed. He’s shirtless, top leg twisted and tucked in the blanket and bottom leg hanging out over the edge of the mattress. He looks posed in the dim light, his broad shoulders and chest on display, soft hair rumpled, forehead creased, and lips plumped and prominently framed by his neat, full beard.

“Hoo,” Amber exhales, wide-eyed, reaching for my phone. “That’s a man.”

I sigh as she swipes to enlarge and inspect the image. “The manliest. Problem is, men, generally speaking, are trash.”

“Brandy,” Amber groans, handing my phone back to me.

I huff a contrite laugh. “Sorry, my misandry is showing.”

“Yes.”

“Matches his misogyny.” I slip my phone into the pocket of my robe. “We’re a nice pair.”

“See?” she laughs. “En garde!”

Our spa day includes massages, facials, blowouts, and mani/pedis. Amber talks me into a Brazilian wax because “if he’s anything like you say he is, he’ll do things to you that’d make baby boy Eric run crying to his mama.”

At the end of our day, as we part ways to our respective cars, she tells me she’s sending me a link to her favorite “sexy blog.”

“This chick has the best ideas. I never would’ve thought about putting almond oil on my pussy, but, man, does it make them go crazy. And the shea butter on the nipples-” 

“He cannot keep his fingers and mouth off my nipples.”

“Well, you’ve got great tits. It runs in the family,” she mutters, tapping her phone screen, and my phone buzzes in my pocket. “Just wait at least 24 hours for that Brazilian to settle before letting him loose.”

And letting him loose is exactly what I plan to do.

I arrive home two hours later. BJ’s garage door is closed, so I don’t know if he’s even around. The last time we hooked up, he commandeered my phone while I was answering a text from Kimiko, unbuttoned my shirt, and snapped a pic of my bare breasts before texting it to his phone. So, now I have his number.

The next afternoon, almost 24 hours to the minute, I text him.

Me: hey

It takes him less than two minutes to reply.

Him: hey, Applejack. What’s up?

I send him the best of the 15 pics I took of my freshly waxed undercarriage.

Him: baby that is a thing of beauty

My belly flips because I can hear that reply in his voice. His full, rich, fuck-me-into-the-floor voice.

Me: your place or mine?

Him: give me an hour then get your hot little ass over here

His specific mention of my ass makes my belly flip three more times. 

Amber was right. Eric was vanilla as vanilla gets. We had an OK sex life in that I had orgasms, but he didn’t want to try new things. He was put off by things I suggested, things I had always been interested in doing or trying. I decided that it wasn’t worth pushing the issue, and I settled.

Before Eric, I’d joyfully, albeit briefly, experimented. I like impact, bondage, and being manhandled. I also like being in control from time to time, it’s relative. I once had a boyfriend who worked me up with ass play for a week before finally fucking me, and I’ve never forgotten the way that orgasm felt. He left for the Peace Corps soon after, and I never saw him again.

I take the time allotted by BJ to shower, exfoliate, and moisturize with oils and lotion. I pay special attention to my hands, feet, and lips, per the blog Amber sent me.

I’ve learned that BJ is scent-driven, so I mix a jar of vanilla, sandalwood, and cinnamon essential oils with coconut oil and add it to my bag of other tricks. This process has wound me up, turned me on, and I’m more ready for him than ever. My skin is silky smooth, and I smell like dessert.

Last week, I ordered several pieces of lingerie from various recommended sites. My favorite, and the one I pick to wear over there, is a sheer black set of a bra, panties, garters, and thigh highs from Bluebella. I drop a red silk knicker set from Lunya and a white Fleur du Mal teddy into the bag for good measure.

He’s going to love it.

With a fresh blowout artfully pinned up on my head, I slide my feet into my black patent leather stilettos and wrap myself in my creamy winter-white trench coat, tying a tight but easily unfastened bow at the waist before slamming a shot of Jameson, shouldering my bag, and walking out my door.

It’s freezing outside. Luckily, we haven’t had a lot of precipitation because I would definitely eat it in these shoes. I don't have far to go to reach his stairwell, though, so I’m there in no time and begin to climb.

At the top of the stairs, I take a deep breath and knock.

He opens the door, and my jaw drops. 

His hair is its usual soft, fuckable fluff. He’s wearing black and white camo pants and a black T-shirt; no surprise there. But...

“You shaved.”

He smirks, and my pussy clenches from the imminent possiblity of riding that freshly shaven face and those plump lips. 

“Gotta keep up with you, don’t I?”

He takes a few steps back to let me inside, and I follow his cue.

I didn’t think it was possible for him to be hotter. I hadn’t thought about how sharp his jaw would be under that beard, how much more prominent his lips would be. I am so dumb.

“Make yourself comfortable.”

His place is surprisingly tidy. The decor is simple and masculine. There are no family pictures on the mantle of his fireplace, no plants, no vases, no candles. His walls are adorned with framed professional photographs of outdoor scenes, one of a motorcycle, and one of an anonymous woman’s nude silhouette.

I walk to his dining area and set my bag on the table.

“What’s in the rucksack, Applejack?” 

I roll my eyes at his rhyme before turning to face him. “You’ll find out.”

His gaze drags down my frame to my stilettos before slowly traveling back up to meet my eyes. “What’s under the coat?”

He slides his hands in his pockets and stares.

I hold his gaze as I untie the bow holding my trench coat around me before letting it slide to the floor and pool at my feet.

He licks his bottom lip in between his teeth and saunters toward me. “You know how cold it’s gonna be tonight?”

I nod. “Coldest night of the year, they say.”

He mirrors my nod and purses his lips. “That little ensemble’s not gonna do much to keep you warm.”

I tilt my head. “Isn’t that your job?”

He smirks, stopping short of pushing me against the table. “Honey, I’m gonna make you so hot you’re gonna call the weatherman a liar.”

“What’re you waiting for?” I think I’m challenging him, but he probably expects that response.

He pulls me close, and my heels loudly shuffle across his polished wood floors. His hands roam my body, fingering lace and gripping flesh. 

“I’ll take my time, and yours.” He dips in to press a kiss to my neck and another to my collarbone. “Fuck, you smell good.”

“So do you,” I breathe into his ear, nuzzling his smooth jaw. “God, you make me so wet.”

He tilts back to look at me, drinking in everything from the perfectly placed pins in my hair to my immaculately applied makeup.

“This hairdo’s a little too perfect. Might have to do something about that. Right before I wreck this silky smooth pussy.” One hand travels down to tuck between my thighs, and his fingers tease the sheer fabric of my crotch. “Over and over. But first, I wanna see what I’m really working with here.”

He hooks his fingers inside the leg of my panties, slips them up the back, and groans. “Now I know you aren’t leaving this place until I’ve had every inch of you.”

I spent so much time wondering why I couldn’t stop thinking about him, even berating myself for being attracted to him and all he has to offer. But Benjamin James Davis III is filled and fueled by the most exquisite corruption, and now all I want to know is how and when.

His temple nudges my jaw as he mouths the thin skin of my neck, kissing, licking, and lightly scraping his straight, white teeth over my pounding pulse. With his hands at the small of my back, fingers pressed hot into my bare skin, and his hips flush against my body, I’m confident enough to relax my weight all the way back.

He effortlessly supports me as his mouth travels lower to take his time, just like he promised, tonguing the length of my collarbone. He shifts his weight to keep me steady as he reaches up to circle one of my nipples with the pad of his middle finger over the soft, sheer lace of the balconette cup. When his hot, wet lips close over my other nipple, I moan and grip his shoulder.

His tongue swirls, and his fingers rub and pinch. He reaches over to pull the fabric out of the way and blows a cool stream of air across my dampened skin, making my nipples pucker.

“So pretty,” he mutters, laving and flicking my bare nipple as he squeezes my other breast in his large, warm hand.

He works his way up to firmer pulls and sucks, alternating, pulling the lace down to expose my othe nipple. He uses his teeth and fingernails intermittently. My chest and neck heat and tingle, and my cunt throbs and weeps.

“You’re gonna make me come,” I whisper, clutching his T-shirt in my fist. “Don’t stop.”

“Not gonna.” He sucks hard then soft, flicking and pulling, inhaling and exhaling. “Come, baby,” he breathes.

I gasp and shake in his arms, coming silently, violently with his mouth closed around my nipple.

He gathers me into a full embrace, and I rest my head on his shoulder to catch my breath as he sways from side to side. 

“You were so quiet,” he says, pulling back to look down at me, not questioning, just stating the fact. He’s unsurprised — not smug, but rightfully pleased.

It’s funny because I’m never quiet when I come unless I try. That was something else. I can’t explain it, but I feel amazingly calm and focused.

He caresses my cheek with his knuckles and smiles. “Come sit.”

He leads me to the couch by the hand, cupping his visibly hard cock over his camo pants. He motions for me to sit on the edge of his sofa, and I do so, like I’m floating on a cloud. 

“Now,” he says, unfastening his pants. “Open your mouth, Brandy.”

I tilt my chin up to make sure I don’t miss a second of the look in his eyes and roll out my tongue like a red carpet.

He isn’t wearing underwear. His cock is red and straining hard. He cups the back of my head and guides his tip to rest on my tongue as he brushes my hair from my eyes.

“Stay still and do exactly as I tell you.” His smirk deepens, wicked and dark. “You’re gonna hate how much you love this.”

I nod, my emotions suddenly swirling, causing me to struggle with maintaining the eye contact I need and he clearly demands. I blink and breathe through my open mouth, trying to recenter myself. 

“Breathe through your nose and relax.”

I nod again, and he pushes his heavy, ridged cock along the length of my tongue. He slides forward and back, humming and massaging the back of my head. I keep breathing through my nose and holding his gaze, but my mouth begins to fall closed of its own volition.

He sharply taps my cheek. “Ah-ah. Exactly what I tell you and nothing else.”

His eyes are burning hot, and I blink in acquiescence, drawing a deeper inhale through my nose. 

He nods as he resumes gliding in and out, forging a path into the wet muscle inside my mouth. My jaw trembles, and I whimper. He delivers an unconvincing sound of sympathy before gripping my jaw, clutching the hinge with his fingers and thumb. 

“Better?” he murmurs.

All I can do is grunt and blink. 

He keeps my jaw painfully open as he swells against my tongue and works his way closer to my throat. The third brush of his tip to my uvula activates my gag reflex, and he stills, squeezing my jaw tighter.

“Relax.”

I blink slowly but maintain eye contact and do as I’m told.

When he starts to nudge down my throat, a quaking sensation begins in my gut, and my whole body heats up. My throat opens, and I beg him with my eyes to go deeper. 

My hands fly to his thighs, wanting more, but he swats them away without missing a push to fill me thoroughly. His grip loosens from my jaw, and he easily holds the back of my head with both hands, settling in, holding me still, and smothly fucking down my larynx, solid and deep.

He whispers, “Good girl,” and caresses my cheeks with his thumbs, looking down at me, adoring and commanding. The slide of his cock against my tongue and in my throat and the bump of his pelvis against my chin provokes thoughts unbidden of him fucking my pussy just as smooth and deep.

I want to grab onto him, to pull him further inside. My skin burns with heat, and I’m drooling and whining. Then, suddenly, I’m coming again, powerfully, convulsing with tears leaking from my eyes.

He takes a step back, pulling out, cradling the back of my head, and squeezes the base of his cock. “Baby, breathe. Fuck, I need to come,” he mutters.

I’m gasping as he yanks my head back and spurts hot and wet across my neck and chest.

“Fuck,” I breathe, reaching for him.

He’s chuckling and breathless as he settles down on his coffee table facing me, then pulls me in for a long kiss. It’s intense and warm, and I feel like climbing inside him and never leaving.

“That was so fucking hot,” he whispers, pressing our foreheads together. 

We breathe in each other’s air for a few moments before he pulls away. “You hungry?”

And then he’s up and headed to the kitchen, leaving me blissed out and buzzing in his living room.

Chapter Four coming soon...

Series Master List | Other Soldier Boy Fic

What did you think?

[waynes-multiverse]

Already so in love with the start of this chapter! A girl who can eat is a girl after my heart 🫶 (and apparently Russell's lol)

“Good god. You have never been more attractive to me, which is saying something.” You slurped again, Russell letting his curiosity in your eating habits fade away in favor of the elephant in the room.

Girl, you and I have the same headcanon about this! He needs someone with super weird food habits 😂🫶

And I loved her then suddenly trying to get rid of him and coming up with the lamest excuse in the book before threathening him lol. Glad he saw right through that! And this made me melt 🫠:

“Forget I said anything.” You stood up, Russell matching the movement and catching your bicep before you could take a step. Yes, he was injured but even one armed, he had enough raw strength in him to keep you from leaving. “Tell me or I dig on my own and make things a lot riskier for both of us.” He dropped his hand, nodding to the seat. Russell sighed. “I trusted you. You can do the same.”

Oh, and it is a mafia thing! 👀 Phew, that's a tough job for Russell (not that I doubt his abilities, but she is right – he's only one man. You're not planning on breaking my heart, are you? 😅)

“Like my home?” He stared blankly, eyes drifting down to your chest. “The flirting was cute. Eye-fucking me in my kitchen, not so much.” “You have sauce all over your shirt.”

Oh, he got real lucky there, didn't he? He must've loved this 😂😂

“Because knowing how to get stains out of all types of fabrics is kind of necessary in my line of work,” he said, opening a few cabinets before finding the one with the plates. “Now. Can you put the knife you thought you grabbed without me seeing back and we have a civilized conversation over pizza?”

I'm so in love with this characterization of him here! Behind all the goofiness and bad flirting still hides that smart killing machine, and you portray that so well throughout their entire conversation 🖤

“The paranoia got to dad. He would take me on these weekend hunting trips all the time and teach me survival skills and medical stuff and I was a fucking kid, Russell. I didn’t want to do that shit but dad was…twitchy.

I love reading more of her backstory, and obviously Russell can relate since he grew up similarily. I see some romance brewing and bonding happening here 😍

You’re going to park in the visitors lot and go to the airstream in lot 4. It’ll be isolated. You knock on the door and there’ll be a guy inside. Colter. You stay with him, go wherever he goes and do whatever he tells you to without question. You don’t leave his side until I come and get you, understand?”

Knowing her, I don't see this working out well for Colter. Poor guy will have his hands full with her 😂

You woke up around six thirty, jolting up in your bed to find a very wet and nearly naked Colter trying to pick up a mug he’d dropped.  “Well good morning,” you said, his hand in a death grip on the towel just barely concealing him away.

I don't mind this at all 😏

The commitment to him being shirtless on this show is for real, tho 🫠 (And PS: I saw you wrote for Colter too! I totally have to check that out! Justin Hartley had me in a chokehold since This Is Us. He rows right into the "lovable and stupidly hot idiot" category that I've fallen victim to lol.)

And not only did she bond with Russell in this part but also with Colter. Seriously loved every minute of their conversation! And considering Russell sent her to his brother, who he hasn't spoken to in so long, speaks volumes how much he trusts Colter. Colter seeing that too was such a precious moment 😭🫶

Sure, Colter was hot but Russell…well the image of that man in nothing but a towel as water dripped down his body…

Agree! The ruggedness and roughness (the beard) certainly adds a few plus points 🔥😏

“And? What am I saying?” you asked, staring him down.

I was gonna say, she should be careful with that challenge, and his answer did not disappoint! It was gold 🤣🤣🤣

And I totally didn't expect her to stay with Colter for days, drive across the country, and join him on a case! This is such a cool twists and I'm loving their hangout dynamic 😁 I do have an inkling Russell will be jealous of their bonding and probably scold Colter for taking her on a case lmao

“He knows what he’s doing. A job like this, he’s got to do a lot of prep work and he’s got to put a crew together. Trusted friends. Try not to worry.”

Ooooh I know you read the books and this reminded me so much of the crew book!Russell worked with!!! 👏

I was so relieved when he came back in one piece! And that little present for her was so sweet and thoughtful 🥹 The note, on the other hand, was hilarious 😂

But why the angst at the end there? No they were supposed to be happy! Sunset, rainbows, unicorns, glitter!!! I will suffer in the next part, won't I? 😅

This was such an amazing chapter from start to finish! I thoroughly enjoyed all their conversations, their dynamics, the humor mixed with seriousness and feelings. Loved every second of this! 🩵

He's My Man (Part 2)

Summary: The reader isn't quite so sure if she can trust Russell with her secrets but he's decided she's going to get his help, whether she wants it or not. Reluctantly she accepts but in the process realizes she might actually be starting to care about him...

Masterlist

Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader

Word Count: 4,500ish

Warnings: language, gun shot injury mention, mentions of death, angst, fluff

A/N: Ooooh things are heating up! Please enjoy!

__________

Russell stared at you with what one could only describe as a look of wonder. You didn’t exactly blame him. Eating four large cheese danishes and chugging back a week’s worth of coffee in the span of fifteen minutes was enough to make anyone’s eyes widen.

You tossed your trash in his motel waste bin when you finished and returned to your seat at the tiny corner table. With an obnoxiously loud slurp of even more coffee, Russell titled his head, shaking it slightly.

“Good god. You have never been more attractive to me, which is saying something.” You slurped again, Russell letting his curiosity in your eating habits fade away in favor of the elephant in the room. He straightened in his seat, pausing a beat. “So. What’s this long story?”

Your fingertips rattled against the side of the large styrofoam cup, a small amount of heat radiating through. Now that you’d had some time to think, or rather stress eat, you knew this was a mistake. A big one. You needed to kick Russell out of your life and the sooner the better.

“I think you have the wrong idea about what’s going on and I thought it better we talk in private,” you said. Russell wore a weary expression, his eyes dissecting your every micro-movement. “I’m not interested in a relationship or a date or conversation. I don’t do that considering my line of work and I imagine you keep things casual with yours. So you take your money and consider this a warning. Contact me again and I will have you dealt with, understand?”

Russell leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a clenched jaw. You narrowed your eyes in response, Russell picking at his bandage without realizing. 

“Stop that,” you mumbled when he kept doing it, his lip twitching up in a not so friendly way.

“You threaten me and in the next breath are worried about my damn stitches? I don’t think you realize just how good I am at my job,” he said, placing both hands on the table, folding them together. You swallowed, Russell staring so intently you had to glance away. “Alright. Back at the coffee shop, that was a moment of bravery and now it’s passed? Tough shit. We’re in the weeds now and we ain’t leaving until I know you do your job of your own free will. Understand?”

“Forget I said anything.” You stood up, Russell matching the movement and catching your bicep before you could take a step. Yes, he was injured but even one armed, he had enough raw strength in him to keep you from leaving.

“Tell me or I dig on my own and make things a lot riskier for both of us.” He dropped his hand, nodding to the seat. Russell sighed. “I trusted you. You can do the same.”

“You’re one guy.” You shook your head. “Drop this or you’ll wind up dead or worse.”

“I made my living doing jobs where if I fucked up I’d wish I were dead over the alternative. I know how to keep a secret. Maybe I can help, maybe I can’t. But you opened the box. You can’t just close it again.”

“Yes, I can. Goodbye, Russell.” You grabbed your coffee and headed for the door, pausing when you had a hand on the handle.

But what if he could help…he was ex-special ops…

Russell’s hand slid over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. You frowned, a reassuring smile greeting you.

“Do you like your job?” he asked. 

“S’complicated,” you whispered.

“How complicated?”

“Jobs like yours…that’s up to me to do that stuff but I…I work for someone else.” You found Russell’s unreadable green eyes and sighed. “I’m a fixer for the local mafia. It’s not a job you get to quit and stay alive very long.”

Russell contemplated your words, lips forming a thin line before he nodded. “I can take care of that assuming your story checks out.”

“My story?” you asked, Russell humming. “Why would I lie-”

“You could be playing me for any number of reasons. Like I said, I’m going to check your story out and if it’s all kosher, we’ll figure out where to go from there. Capiche?”

“Fine,” you grit out, shaking his hand away. “But do it quietly. You got three days.”

Late Evening

Your eye actually twitched when you answered your front door that night to find not your pizza delivery man before you but Russell fucking Shaw. He wore a deep navy utility jacket that hung loosely around his trim waist and a pair of black jeans. You weren’t sure why but his shift from lighter colored clothing this morning to this dark, edgy look made him look as dangerous as you expected he was.

“Russell,” you said. He didn’t bother hiding his smirk, eyes roaming over your body. You glanced down at your soft pale yellow pajama shirt and matching shorts set, huffing when he slipped past you inside.

“You totally are the kind of woman to having matching jammies,” he chuckled. You gripped the door tight, ready to kick him out just as your delivery driver pulled up.

“Just…take off your boots.” Two minutes later you had your pizza and garlic knots on your kitchen counter while Russell leaned back against it, his jacket since removed and tossed on the back of your couch. He wore a black zip up that was undone over a black t-shirt, Russell shifting at your growing unease.

“Listen,” he said, holding up his hands. “You got questions but first off, I’m not here to hurt you. This is just what I wear when I need to go…looking around places I ain’t exactly invited into.”

“Like my home?” He stared blankly, eyes drifting down to your chest. “The flirting was cute. Eye-fucking me in my kitchen, not so much.”

“You have sauce all over your shirt.” You glanced down, spotting marinara drops all over your short sleeve button up top from where you’d had the edge of the pizza box pressed against your torso as you’d carried it in. “Thanks for thinking so highly of me, though. Makes a guy feel special.”

“I’m on edge, alright?” you snapped, grabbing a towel and trying to get most of the sauce out. “Plus I just ruined a two hundred dollar shirt.”

“Figured you for a oversized men’s t-shirts kind of gal but little sets from french boutiques suites you.” You froze, Russell dropping his hands. “I know all about your shopping habits. You have high quality taste, much richer than the average suburbanite.”

“And?” you said, tossing the towel down, hands going to your hips. “Are you about to kidnap me and turn me over to the mafia or what?”

Russell approached you slowly, gently picking up the towel from the floor and dabbing it with some dish soap. 

“If I had wanted to hurt you or take you or whatever else is going through your head, you wouldn’t have seen me coming.” He rubbed the towel against the damp spot on your shirt, letting the fabric get soapy. “Let that soak for a few minutes and then after you have some dinner, toss it in the wash. It’ll come out good as new.”

“How do you know that?” you asked, Russell hanging your towel on the oven handle. 

“Because knowing how to get stains out of all types of fabrics is kind of necessary in my line of work,” he said, opening a few cabinets before finding the one with the plates. “Now. Can you put the knife you thought you grabbed without me seeing back and we have a civilized conversation over pizza?”

You weren’t sure how he’d seen you swipe the knife from the butchers block but figured he had a point. If he’d wanted to screw you over, he would have done it already. After excusing yourself, you returned in a pair of skinny black joggers and a slightly cropped gray AC/DC shirt to find Russell had already plated two sizeable portions for yourselves. 

“See? Now that’s a look more fitting for the princess of darkness,” he chuckled.

“That’s queen of darkness to you,” you said, taking a seat at the island in front of one of the plates. “Do me a favor, lover boy. Grab me a guinness from the fridge.”

“Dark stout. Always a good choice.” He got out two, removing the cap for you before retreating to the other side of the island.

“As much as I love uninvited house guests who welcome themselves to my food and beer, why are you here, Russell?” You took a large bite of pizza, Russell long necking his beer for a moment. 

“Yet I don’t see you kicking me out. It’s okay to admit you’ve fallen for me, Y/N,” he teased. You growled, Russell’s eyebrows raising in amusement. “Hot damn, woman. I love when you get all grr. Tells me you are a force to be reckoned with.”

You rolled your eyes, Russell taking an extra large bite. “Stop flirting and talk.”

“Why can’t I do both?” he asked, not waiting for an answer. “But to answer your original question, I’m here because your story checked out and that’s kind of a problem.”

“Excuse me? Why is that an issue?”

He set his plate down and gripped the island, leaning over it slightly. “Y/N. I can call up a few friends and wipe out a local mafia family no problem.”

“Awesome. Then what’s the fucking problem?” Russell tilted his head, like you’d just walked into some kind of trap he’d set.

“Y/N. Despite all the obvious sexual tension brewing between us, you failed to mention that you have a boyfriend. You know, the head of this fucking mafia family. The boyfriend that buys you those fancy french pajama sets? The one that bought that espresso machine over there? Girl, you better explain yourself because I am not a hired gun.”

You chewed quietly for a few moments under the heated scrutiny of Russell’s gaze before you pushed the plate away.

“My dad was an accomplished doctor. He was very well respected. I grew up very comfortably until I was about eight.” Russell loosened his stance and began to eat while you decided what he needed to absolutely know. “My dad unknowingly saved a mobster’s life one night in the ER. Mr. Lauter.”

“The former head of the mafia and this guy, Owen, your supposed boyfriend’s dad?” You nodded before taking a big swig from your bottle.

“Well, that pissed off Mr. Elpine who had almost had a successful hit on Mr. Lauter. Elpine tried to get my dad to kill Lauter. Dad refused and the next morning on the way to school, the brake lines in our car didn’t work. Dad and I walked away. Mom and my brother didn’t. Dad was scared Elpine would come after me again.”

“Your father went to Lauter for protection,” said Russell. You picked up your pizza as he put together the rest of the pieces. “Lauter offers him protection for saving his life but something happens and your dad ends up working for Lauter as his fixer.”

“The paranoia got to dad. He would take me on these weekend hunting trips all the time and teach me survival skills and medical stuff and I was a fucking kid, Russell. I didn’t want to do that shit but dad was…twitchy. PTSD for sure, a mental break too. I always guessed there was some brain trauma after the accident that never healed. He got real bad when I went to college. Bad enough that Lauter stepped in when my dad attacked me when I came home for the holidays. Lauter killed him and the fucked up part was I wasn’t even upset. My real dad had died when I was a kid. But…when a mob boss kills for you whether you wanted them to or not-”

“They think they own you for life.” You nodded. “So you became the fixer.”

“They let me finish college under the condition I come back and work for the family. They leave me be except for when I need to patch someone in the crew up. It’s honestly not that bad. They gave me a lot of money over the years. I hate to say this but Mr. Lauter was pretty good to me.”

Russell cleared his throat. “You do know how fucked up what he did to you is, right?”

“Of course I do,” you said, closing your eyes. “But compared to my dad and Owen, he was the lesser evil.”

“I came across the fact Mr. Lauter died about three weeks ago from heart disease.” You hummed. “Tell me about this fuckface, Owen.”

“Dude has had a crush on me since he was fucking twelve. He has it in his head that the family owns me, literally. Lauter always reined him in but since he’s been gone, Owen’s been…pushy. Telling the crew I’m his girlfriend, asking them to follow me. Thankfully, and this is why this is so weird, I grew up around a lot of the guys. Making me work and fix people, fine. But some kind of forced romance? They aren’t cool with it, at least they’re kind of ignoring Owen. I’ve kept Owen off my back because he’s grieving and busy trying to take over but he’s going to back on my ass soon. This time, those guys will have to listen to their new boss.”

“So…I take out Owen and you think you’re in the clear. You could have just said that.” He finished off his beer and washed his hands at the sink. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going grab essentials, and I mean essentials, while I pack up your dinner in what I expect is some color coordinated tupperware. Then you’re going to take my car and drive to Elmhurst Camping Grounds. It’s about four hours north of here and no, you will stop for anything so use the bathroom before you go and I’ll pack you a snack. You’re going to park in the visitors lot and go to the airstream in lot 4. It’ll be isolated. You knock on the door and there’ll be a guy inside. Colter. You stay with him, go wherever he goes and do whatever he tells you to without question. You don’t leave his side until I come and get you, understand?”

“I feel like if I ask questions you’ll just tell me I don’t want to know.” Russell smirked.

“I love that big brain of yours.” You rolled your eyes but felt a tiny smile on your face. “Warming up to me are we?”

“Fuck no. But uh, who the hell are you sending me to?”

“My baby brother. Don’t worry. His ugly mug will keep you safe.”

Four Hours Later

“Uh, hi,” you said, practically bouncing up and down at midnight in front of a strange tall man at a very nice airstream RV. 

“Y/N,” he said as you forced a smile. “Bathroom is right there-”

You darted past him and into the small cubby bathroom, grateful after the long drive. The man was waiting leaned against a small counter space when you exited, a temporary bed made up behind him in what looked like a breakfast nook.

“Sorry to barge in. Russell said not to stop for anything.�� 

“S’alright,” he said. “Bed’s made up if you want to crash. I’m going to stay up a bit longer by the fire. You’re welcome to join if you like.”

“Thanks, uh…” you said, a very brief smile on his face as you tried to remember what Russell had called him.

“Colter. It’s not a problem.” He skirted by you and outside, taking a seat in a foldable camping chair. You had questions but for the moment, all you wanted was to get some rest. 

You woke up around six thirty, jolting up in your bed to find a very wet and nearly naked Colter trying to pick up a mug he’d dropped. 

“Well good morning,” you said, his hand in a death grip on the towel just barely concealing him away.

“Morning,” he said, slowly backing up to the bedroom. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Not a problem,” you said, catching a whiff of coffee. 

“Mug are in the first cabinet if you want a cup. I’ll be out in a minute,” he said. He excused himself to his room and slid the divider shut, leaving you to the rest of the airstreamer. 

A moment later you were outside in front of a small fire, sitting in a chair with warm coffee in your hands. It was cool and you wished you’d thought to pack a jacket in your haste last night.

You were rubbing your arms when something was draped over your shoulders, a thick heavy hoodie. 

“Russell got you out of there pretty quick, huh?” asked Colter, taking the mug while you shrugged into the warm fleece.

“Yeah. All I grabbed was my wallet, some cash and my computer. He told me I could buy clothes here,” you said. Colter handed you back the mug and took a seat beside you.

“I checked his car. He had a duffel full of his clothes in there I brought inside. You can use his stuff, or mine, until we can hit a store.”

“Thanks,” you said, smelling Russell’s deodorant on the fabric. Colter saw you tug the hood up, a question on the tip of his tongue but he decided against it. The air was still and quiet apart from the crackle of fire and morning birds. 

“So,” said Colter, not looking at you as he drank. “You and Russell…you like, his girlfriend-”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I just met the guy yesterday. All I did was patch him up.”

“Right.” You sunk lower in your chair, slurping loudly.

“Were you special ops like him?” you asked. Colter shook his head.

“Civilian. Never had any formal training, just what we grew up with.” Well, that was an interesting statement. What the hell did it mean though? “Our father was a survivalist, taught us things.”

“Oh. My dad was a little out there too.” Was that why Russell was so adamant about helping you out of your situation? No. Maybe it played a part, but no. He’d wanted to help before you told him that. “Does Russell do this sort of thing often?”

“No clue. First time I talked to him in years was two days ago. I helped him find a friend of his. I was there when he got that bullet hole in him you fixed.”

Alrighty then. Russell was becoming more and more intriguing by the second. 

“So you don’t know a lot about him then,” you said. Colter shrugged.

“I guess I’m figuring him out too but he’s a good guy. He’s somebody you want as a friend.” You hummed, finishing your coffee off. Colter excused himself to get you more and returned with a fresh cup, steam billowing from within. 

“You trail run?” you asked, Colter’s eyes showing a flash of surprise. “Muddy sneakers by the door. I did cross country in school.”

“I try to get out most mornings. The hot water should be good to go in about five minutes if you want a shower.” 

“Thanks.” You licked your lips as you remembered the sight of him exiting the bathroom not long ago. Sure, Colter was hot but Russell…well the image of that man in nothing but a towel as water dripped down his body…You shifted in your seat, squeezing your legs together to try and get a hold of yourself. Colter smirked slightly in his seat. “What?”

“I’m good at reading people is all.”

“And? What am I saying?” you asked, staring him down. Colter only smiled as he looked away to the fire.

“You’re wondering if Russell works out and picturing him naked.” You glared at him but it did nothing to hide the heat radiating off your cheeks. “Hey, you’re a grown woman. You can do as you please.”

“I think I will take that shower now.” You stood and set the mug down on the ground, shooting Colter one last look. There’d been no malice or teasing in his voice. He was simply being straight with you. “Listen. I just…I haven’t exactly been around good guys much, or ever. I’m not saying there’s anything there beyond physical attraction, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, looking at you like you were the worst liar in the world. “Whatever you say.”

You grumbled and went inside to take a very cold shower.

Three Days Later - Spokane, Washington

“Hey, Colt,” you said, pushing up the long sleeves of Russell’s gray henley you wore. Colter hummed around the piece of grilled chicken in his mouth as you spun your laptop around from the other side of the airstream’s dining table. “Could she have gone here? Looks like a decommissioned game trail.”

“Yeah, yeah that fits,” he said with his mouth full, chewing and swallowing quickly so he could take a closer look. You returned to your own dinner, Colter mentioning he was going to take a look after dark. 

Things had fallen into an easy pattern with the two of you. Colter was very different than his brother but it wasn’t a bad thing. He didn’t talk much and worked as a rewardist. He’d planned on sticking around the east coast for when Russell met up with you again but an urgent case in Washington popped up. You’d spent most of the past three days driving cross-country behind Colter’s truck and the airstreamer, learning what the hell a rewardist was.

Colter had told you about the case at first to keep your mind off of Russell but you’d reluctantly taken an interest and now were deep in the weeds of helping him locate a missing young woman.

“You want to come look with me?” asked Colter, breaking you out of your train of thought. You blinked, a small smile on his face. “Come on. It’ll get you some experience with rewardest work and stop you from doom scrolling.”

“Alright,” you sighed. While you appreciated Colter’s attempts to make you feel better, you were starting to get very concerned. You hadn’t heard from Russell since you left your house a few days ago and there was nothing in the news about the local mafia members being killed. Or him.

Colter rubbed your back when you helped him unhook it from the airstream. He tended to do that when you started to get stressed out. He hadn’t been lying before. He really was good at reading people. 

“Colter,” you said in the dark truck, the hum of the vehicle quiet in the cab as he drove. “What if something happened to him and he needs our help?”

“He knows what he’s doing. A job like this, he’s got to do a lot of prep work and he’s got to put a crew together. Trusted friends. Try not to worry.” You bit your bottom lip as you stared out the window, trees passing by. 

If only it were that simple.

It was two in the morning by the time you and Colter made it back to the camping grounds. You’d found Martha in not too great of shape but she was alive and the doctors said she’d make a full recovery with time. Colter has tried to give you some of the reward money for helping but you hadn’t done all that much in your opinion. 

“Stay here,” he said when he turned the truck into your lot and you spotted a dark figure sitting by the fire. He took his gun from the back of jeans and got out, pausing halfway out the door. He smiled over at you and you caught the dark figure give an awkward little wave. “Should I tell him how much you’ve been worried?”

“Not. A. Word. Colter,” you said before hopping out and happily rushing over to where Russell rose to his feet. You didn’t realize you were giving him a hug until he was laughing, returning it and lifting you off the ground. 

“I missed my queen of darkness too,” he chuckled, setting you down with a smirk. You scoffed, Russell’s eyebrows raising at your attire. “Is that my jacket? And shirt?”

“Why waste the money on new stuff,” you shrugged, Russell grinning like an idiot. “Stop that.”

“I’m sure that was the reason.” Colter came over, the boys sharing a nod. “You keep my little delinquent out of trouble?”

“She’s a breeze,” said Colter, taking a seat. “Even helped with my latest case. She should try the rewardist thing. She’s good at it.”

“Maybe. All I want to know is am I good?” you asked. Russell took your hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. He nodded, the tension running of out your body. “Thank you, Russell. Thank your friends too. I’ll pay you guys-”

“No payment. This was because you’re my friend, plain and simple. Just knowing you’re safe is more than enough.” You smiled, letting yourself rest your head against his shoulder. “You should rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“How-”

“In the morning. I need to catch up with my little brother.” You nodded, enjoying the feel of his heavy hand as it ran over your head. “Go sleep, Y/N. You’re exhausted.”

You reluctantly peeled yourself away and went inside to find your makeshift bed had been done up for you already. You didn’t even try to fight the flutters in your stomach when you spotted a yellow pajama shirt and shorts set neatly folded on top. There was a note beside it, a stupid ass smile finding it’s way onto your face.

Brand new. Imported from France. Don’t get used to fancy ass presents like these. I ain’t made of money. Even if these are soft as fuck and I totally wish they made these for men. I still think you’d look better wearing a band tee to bed.

Russ

P.S. They had a sale so I got you something else too. Check your backpack.

You shook your head and grabbed your bag from the floor, taking out a very elegant black bag. You undid the tissue paper and went wide eyed. 

Inside was a very, very, fancy black lace bra and multiple pairs of gorgeous bikini style undies in soft muted colors. There was another note waiting for you inside, your heart stilling.

No strings attached. Hopefully these will cover you for a little while until you can get settled again.

“Oh, Russell,” you said quietly, thumbing over the bag, smiling to yourself as your insides did very happy backflips.

He wasn’t just a pretty and protective face. He was thoughtful too.

And you were starting to fall for a guy that’d most likely be gone by this time tomorrow.

Fuck.

__________

A/N: Read Part 3 here!

[comradekarin]

now that I have time to process csm 192-194…. I don’t get the outrage with fujimoto for including the denji-yoru scene. I mean, this entire story is about coercion, grooming, sexual assault and indoctrination (and you can even look at it through a capitalism critical lens as well). being forced to see the assault is where the line gets drawn and not makima grooming denji? what reze did to denji (putting her arc aside for a second)? what the yazuka did to denji? denji’s organs being taken and sold on the black market? denji’s entire conception of sex, intimacy and satisfaction is directly warped due to not just his upbringing but the exploitive situation he’s in currently. even denji’s distrust of men (but his trust in women who take advantage of him more than the men do) is directly rooted in his childhood.

and this scene isn’t just about the violation of denji’s autonomy, but also asa’s. yoru has never really fully valued asa’s autonomy and wellbeing. yoru is prone to immature, childish bursts, willing to doom the people around her—even asa—for the sake of pettiness. so not only has denji been violated, but asa’s consent has not been granted for yoru to commit these acts. it feels as if yoru just weaponized whatever asa feels for denji and is just pushing buttons to see what works. denji didn’t even known it was yoru and not asa during those safe moments he felt he had until recently. you read yoru’s assault and it’s clear this is not a good moment. it’s uncomfortable and almost painful to watch. this thing that he’s been waiting on for a while, and it’s not at all what he expected. you watch denji go through this dissociative state, he’s confused, he’s lost and disappointed. what denji wants is intimacy and basic human decency, he wants to be treated like he actually matters, and the only reason he seems to be “wanted” is either because he’s chainsaw man or through sexual manipulation from women.

I can understand being uncomfortable with a scene like this—that’s the entire point, I won’t take that away from anyone—but I want to pose a question: what made denji’s traumatic experiences with assault more palatable prior to this scene? does it feel unnecessary because you’re finally forced to “see it”? denji HAS made progress and developed from part one (i.e his dynamic with nayuta, who despite embodying the same toxic, manipulative traits as makima, he’s able to love her unconditionally and recognize her childhood innocence, the same naivety makima exploited with him… his refusal to immediately succumb to the whims of the women around him, him wanting to help innocent lives around him, him admitting he wants sex and steak instead of just being content with scraps, etc). and he’s doing it all by himself. he doesn’t have a support system. he’s learning all on his own. I also want to point out that aside from pochita, absolutely no one in denji’s life cared about denji for denji. I love power and aki, but even their beginning relationships with denji rooted in what he could do for them (though, this obviously does evolve into something more genuine and warm). denji has little framework to go with and even less support to combat his experiences.

I also don’t think it’s fair to say “I thought we were over this since makima died”- no, we are not over this. this is not something you just “get over”. denji’s worldview is not going to be suddenly changed because makima died (he sees her in literally everything he does in part two. he can’t let her go… he loves her despite the hell she put him and his loved ones through). progress is slow, it’s not linear at all and often time disappointing when we see regression. I’d even argue that this scene doesn’t immediately ruin asaden, but that’s another convo for a different day.

I feel like people want denji to be this “perfect victim” and that’s just not what’s going on here. I don’t think fujimoto has a “grooming” fetish or whatever people are calling it. I genuinely want denji to recover from his assault, to discover a healthy mindset about sex and intimacy, to find someone who understands the extent of his loneliness (I believe that person can be asa, who shares that similar sentiment). I’ll re-evaluate this post as the narrative continues to unfold, of course, I am also very open to seeing what others think on this. my stance isn’t definitive.

[jomiddlemarch]

And whilst our souls negotiate there  

Chapter 2

He’d never have recognized her and Draco had seen her face in his dreams nearly every night since his aunt nearly tortured her to death in their ballroom.

It wasn’t the Glamour, they’d removed that straightaway, which was a pity, because he would have liked to examine the magic more carefully. One of his smallest, mildest, most wholesome regrets was that he’d never had a chance to study at Beauxbatons when he was young enough for their approach to have influenced his own casting; it was not so much a certain panache associated with the way they flicked their wands as a fundamental assumption that magic required beauty and well-done magic was undergirded with a deep and sustaining connection to the world’s terrible loveliness.

Hogwarts offered nothing like that and the pudding was typically uninspiring.

(Yes, Draco had always liked a good lemon soufflé and île flottante.)

Hermione Granger lay motionless in a bed, pale, the wild curls he remembered tied back away from her face. He’d thought for a moment that someone, maybe Donna Numina Gaetana in Padua, had cut them all off, the way he’d read Muggles had used to do for those suffering with fevers before they’d discovered germ theory, though the Healer would have used the hair in any numbers of potions and charms to try and restore Hermione to her senses. Her hands, which he recalled gesturing, holding a wand, reaching out across the parquet floor of the ballroom, lay palm down on either side of her, in a position no healthy sleeping witch would ever take. Her eyes were closed. If he raised her lids to examine her, he knew there would be nothing in her gaze that reflected her animated self, nor her quiescent, banked power.

Her eyes were hazel. He knew that, though he might pretend he didn’t. He’d known it since they’d turned fourteen, before the Yule Ball, before the Snatchers brought her to his house, before she’d glanced at him across the Great Hall of Hogwarts, the battle over, his mother trembling beside him.

If Neville hadn’t told him, he would have taken her falsified chart as truth. He would have shaken his head a little in the general frustration at the loss of an ordinary witch, one he’d assumed a member of Hufflepuff, as he’d noticed nothing about her that was memorable. It would never have occurred to him to question the notation Incurable, Level 3, confirmata per leporem. Muggles called it a vegetative state, which was perhaps partly why Neville, a gifted Herbologist, was so closely involved.

It was also because he’d been in love with Hermione since The Battle of Hogwarts, a patient, unrequited love that he didn’t wear on his sleeve as much as carry as a talisman. His was a love which did not seek possession, most unfamiliar to Draco, as neither the Black nor Malfoy line was known for such unworldliness. He hadn’t spoken of Hermione often, but what little he had said and the way he’d said it had made Draco aware of his affection, if not its depth and breadth.

That he’d learned when Neville brought him to Hermione’s bedside. When he’d picked up one of her hands in his, very gently, and had murmured a spell under his breath, a very old blessing of the North Draco had never heard uttered aloud before. 

“You’ll help her,” Neville said. 

If Draco had said it, about someone he cared about as much as Neville cared about Hermione, it would have been a threat, a binding. Neville was making a promise, to himself and to Hermione, and only offered Draco an encouragement, his faith compleat. 

“I’ll try, Neville,” Draco said. “I can’t promise anything—”

“You needn’t. You don’t like to fail. You won’t start now,” Neville replied.

“She’s been seen by the finest specialists in the world. My superiors. You—and Potter too—you have to understand how little I have to offer her,” Draco said.

Neville smiled.

“Humility at this late stage, will wonders never cease!”

“Neville, I’m serious,” Draco said.

“So am I. You’ve got something those specialists haven’t got, something I think is critical to curing Hermione,” Neville said.

“Salazar help me if this has something to do with the bloody Sorting Hat and some overwrought, badly scanned verse,” Draco muttered.

“Not directly,” Neville said. “Hermione also hates the Sorting Hat. That’s part of it—the history you share, the fact that you were educated by the same witches and wizards, used the same library—you’ll be better able than those specialists to understand what she did and how, how it might have gone wrong. And Harry and I believe what happened to her during the war is intrinsic to the injury—”

“What happened to her?” 

“Bellatrix torturing her. You were there. We think that’s playing a role in her current state,” Neville said.

“It’s my fault, somehow?” Draco asked.

“No, not at all. We think there’s latent Dark magic involved, Black family magic you can access as a close family member. Hermione collapsed shortly after she finished her last attempt at reversing the memory charms on her parents. They survived, but they still don’t really know her. She hasn’t woken since. The specialists believe, most of them, that she irreversibly depleted her magical core. Harry thinks she’s fallen into an enchanted sleep,” Neville explained.

“What do you think?”

“I think she’s trapped. Locked in. And I think you’ll be able to figure out how to set her free,” Neville said.

“And how will I do that?” Draco asked, any snideness in the inquiry overwhelmed by bafflement.

“Ah, mate, if I knew, I wouldn’t have come to you, yeah? I’d have taken care of Hermione myself,” Neville said. “But there is one thing that might help.”

“What’s that?”

“She kept a journal,” Neville said.

“Of course she did,” Draco said. “Hand it over and I’ll start reading—”

“I haven’t got it,” Neville said. There was a long pause, for the realization and the grudging acceptance.

“Potter’s got it. I’ve got to talk to the bloody Boy Who Lived and abase myself, even though you’re asking for my assistance. I’m the one doing the favor—”

“It’s not a favor. He’s calling in his life-debt,” Neville said, his expression darkening. “He shouldn’t have to though. You ought to be glad to be asked. Because it’s Hermione.”

“Fine. Tell Potter I’ll meet him. Wherever he wants. Whenever he wants. He’ll like that, won’t he?” Draco said.

“It’ll make things easier. This wasn’t his idea,” Neville said. It was note-worthy that Neville didn’t try to defend Potter. And that Neville wasn’t in possession of Hermione’s journal. Journals, if Draco were to make an educated guess, keeping in mind the voluminous essays she used to turn in to Potions and Arithmancy.

“Well, we have that in common,” Draco answered.

[guubiiz]

heartslabyul would be named my favorite dorm if i didn’t despise riddle.

[goldenboywrites]

The last home Quin had felt he had was before his parents had died when it was his mom, dad, Max, and him in this house. He had good memories of this place, but it hadn’t felt like home in years. Not when his uncle moved in and made it his mission to torment Quin in the only place he had ever felt security and comfort. It was something Cesare would never understand. Something he couldn’t understand. He thought Quin didn’t want to move back in because he was being stubborn or difficult. That was Cesare’s problem. He never read between the lines. 

“I don’t drink,” He said, gaze shifting to the sweating bottle beside him. Drugs and alcohol had never been a temptation for Quintus. He hated not being in control of his body and mind. It was too risky for him ever to find himself in that state. There had been one night where he was, and well, look where it had gotten him. He didn’t make a move to take the beer Cesare had brought for him. Honestly, Quin needed a moment to distract Cesare and get him to turn away from Quin so he could compose himself. And well, maybe he got a kick out of making Cesare do things for him, but that was nobody’s business but his own. 

Cesare’s question had Quin’s head snapping towards him. He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he studied the man before him, forcing himself to keep an expression that gave nothing away. The truth was, and Quin suspected Cesare already knew the answer, was that he wouldn’t have goodbye. Not then and not now. Quin wasn’t in the habit of doing the hard or the emotional thing. For him, it was easier to walk away and leave things unsaid. That was Maximus’ thing. He wasn’t afraid of any emotion. He always did the right thing. He was loyal and honorable. Quin pursed his lips. Max was everything he wasn’t. Hence, he and Cesare were best friends, probably closer to brothers than Quin and Max could be. He was their polar opposite. 

“Probably not,” He answered softly, a defeated shrug of his shoulders. To distract himself, Quin grabbed the neck of the bottle, the condensation coating his fingers. His fingertips traced the running drops, catching them and stopping them. “Not for the reason I’m sure you think,” Quin said, avoiding Cesare’s gaze. “You think I wouldn’t say goodbye because I don’t care enough to do it because, in the end, nothing really matters that much to me.” That was the version of himself he gave others so he couldn’t blame him for that. “I wouldn’t say goodbye to you because I don’t think I could."

A soft pop sounded from his lips when Quintus started to speak to him again. Part of him was relived that his little deviation caused something as impassable as the man in the kitchen with him to budge. Cesare took another deep drink and set his own down on the counter. He thought about being an asshole back, just letting Quintus suffer. And truly, he should have. What happened when he left was neither of their faults and going back and forth over it like they were was absolutely doing nothing for either of them.

"Thanks" He said softly, his hand moving to swipe the rest of the foam from his face. Cesare wiped the reside on his pants as he moved back into the fridge to get Quin a beer too. A few more moments and the top was off, this time without all the excess foam his somehow ended up with. Cesare grabbed another for himself, they were going down nicely and why not. He'd picked up his own half drank and moved to give the fresh beer over. "You're not a guest here, Quin." He told him very plainly. Because he wasn't. If anything that was more true for himself than anything. "It's home if you want it. And a place to crash if you don't. " He wasn't having any of that nonsense. Whether or not he stayed this time, he'd always have a room here if things got too real out there for him. That's what this was for him and Max. It could be that for Quin if he'd let it. But Cesare wasn't going to push, it would merely be facts from here on out. Cut and dry. Liar.

Cesare polished off that one and went in for the other he'd left on the counter with Quin's. Max didn't say a word about the state he had to be in by the time he got home and he very seriously doubted that Quin was going to be the one to be shit faced. Hell, Cesare wasn't even sure he'd really seen him party at all. A little frustration bloomed in his mind when he started to think about all the other things that Quintus didn't do either. He gave a little shake of his head and leaned back against the island, his weight feeling nice against something solid. "I didn't peg you for a beer drinker though." He said casually, glancing towards the oven as to make sure they didn't also burn their dinner. By the time he got through the second beer those pizzas would be ready to be eaten and he'd be very ready to eat. He hoped the same was true for Quin.

"Would you have told me good-bye?" The question was hanging between them and Cesare wasn't sure if he truly meant it to come out but ... He swallowed hard, finding himself looking directly into Quin's eyes just then. Cesare's tongue poked out and wet his lips briefly as he gauged just how much he was going to get away with right then. "I mean" He started, sighing with frustration just as quick. "When you do, will you?"

[tr0physlaught3r]

Dads that take your education very. very. seriously.

It’s not that others weren’t as smart as your father, it was that no one else could possibly understand his little girls mind the way he does.

Not to mention the prospect of other boys and girls distracting you from your studies, naturally you were pulled out of school only private tutors and his stringently designed curriculum for his little girl.

Dad that hand pick your homeschool uniform, ya know to establish routine and all , nevermind how short, tight, or sheer certain prices may be, or how long it takes him to dress you in the morning

Dad who uses his new uniform as an excuse to keep his hands on you, adjusting your buttons, toying with the skirt, tugging your sweater.

Reading in dads lap while he makes slow circles between your legs and up your thighs, remaining indifferent to your increasingly flustered body twitching against his crotch.

Getting kisses and caresses for doing well in your studies “all this and brains too? I really just have the perfect daughter don’t I?”

Getting swats and slaps for low scores and lazy habits because “how dare you take a good education for granted you brat”

You take it all no matter what because

“I wouldn’t put you through this if I didn’t love you”

Dad who hires his brother for your extra curricular activities, how else should he trust?

Getting to lounge and smoke in his study, that counts as study hall right?

Sitting behind you at the piano, “fixing your posture” during violin, being handsy must run in the family I guess

Private tennis with private warmups, hearing your uncle coo and mock you as he stretches you too far , trapping you under his body in a position that makes you squeak

“Aww poor baby, that just means your hips are too tight~

Field trips to the museum with uncle plugged up w no panties as you take notes, feeling his hand on your hip as he gently pushes you along “move along honey wouldn’t wanna make a scene would we?”

taking you to the library just to drag you to the back and suck you through your panties against the bookcases in the back “just keep a lookout sweetness, can’t help myself at the moment.”

[sharlsworld]

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆ cat and mouse — 𝐋𝐍𝟒 𖤓

( 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗌 𝗑 𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗅𝖾𝗋𝖼 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ）

（ 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒 ）𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇

note ✫ i loveee writing drivers sister x driver 🥹

🝮

yn

liked by pierregasly and 1,164,455 others

yn 🐝🐝🐝🐝

alex_albon I have a feeling you like flowers but idk I’m not too sure

lando oh my goodness who got you all of these beautiful expensive flowers? 😱

⤷ yn one of my brothers friends he’s a real creep

⤷ lando i’ll protect you princess don’t be afraid

⤷ yn my knight in shining armor

oscarpiastri “We’re not dating guys I just buy her flowers whenever I see her which is almost everyday of the year because I follow her around like a lost puppy”

⤷ arthur_leclerc “Yeah he gets me seafood all the time even though he hates it but it’s just because he’s a good friend”

⤷ carlossainz55 “I know we’re not dating and I could see other people but why would I when I have her?”

⤷ georgerussell63 “Seriously guys we’re not dating I just call her baby and other names of endearment on a regular basis because we’re really good friends”

⤷ charles_leclerc “I’m not kidding Charlie we’re not messing around with each other he just takes me out to eat almost every morning, day, and night and sits with me during my nail and hair appointments but that’s what all friends do”

⤷ lorenzotl “Of course we don’t eat out every single day sometimes we cook together but not in a romantic way”

⤷ mclaren “She’s not my girlfriend but can I still get the day off for valentines so I can fill her house up with flowers and take her to dinner on the beach?”

⤷ lando wooowwwww you’re all fake and i’m running away with y/n

⤷ yn lets go to the maldives

⤷ lando wherever you want babylove pack your suitcase i’m booking the tickets rn

⤷ charles_leclerc Wait take me please

⤷ lando um no your confession was almost as bad as mclarens admin

⤷ charles_leclerc pleasuhhh remember when i didn’t drown you when defiled my sweet little baby sister last summer?

⤷ lando you mean when i kissed her on the forehead?

⤷ charles_leclerc whatever i didn’t drown you did i?

⤷ lando no you pushed me off the boat and made me bruise my ribs

⤷ charles_leclerc yeah then y/n pushed me off the boat too and made me bruise my ribs as well so….i’ll be waiting with my bags packed 😊

⤷ lando you’ll be waiting for a while

🝮

yn

liked by gigihadid and 2,371,056 others

yn he wasn’t kidding

charles_leclerc I can’t believe you guys didn’t take me

⤷ yn as if you can’t pay for a trip here yourself

⤷ charles_leclerc Yes but why would I want to do that when I could go for free?

lando only the best for you mon ami 😘

⤷ arthur_leclerc Fuck slow burn, me and my homies hate slow burn 😒

carlossainz55 “I hate seafood and I’ll hate it till the day I die” “I love seafood” “No way me too”

⤷ charles_leclerc I can confirm this is how this conversation went. 100% accuracy

⤷ yn my charlos heart 💔

⤷ charles_leclerc please stop that’s a sensitive topic for us right now

⤷ carlossainz55 You guys don’t understand the pain we’ve been going through

⤷ yn kiss and make up

f1 our favorite “friendship”

⤷ yn what you out here being messy for 🤨🤨

alexandrasaintmleux Ugh a girls trip with cha & jade is needed 😫😫

⤷ yn long overdue i’ll have lando plan something for us 🤗

⤷ georgerussell63 Lando? Plan something good? Really?

⤷ arthur_leclerc He doesn’t mess around when it comes to planning something for her

⤷ charles_leclerc Yeah I watched him plan her birthday he lowkey turned into a nerd

maxverstappen1 I want a boyfriend like lando

⤷ yn you have charles

⤷ maxverstappen1 Stop telling everyone we’re secretly dating I thought you would’ve grown out of that by now

⤷ yn grow out of telling the truth??

alex_albon Dear Lando Norris, I comment this under y/n’s post because I know you read every single comment to see if anyone is being mean to her. I, along with many of the other boyfriends and husbands on the grid kindly request that you stop doing the most for y/n, who you are not dating, because you are making us look very bad.

Love, Alexander Albon

⤷ lando Dear Alexander Albon, I reply to your comment under this post because yes you’re right, I do look at every single comment under her posts. I think you should all stop making excuses for yourselves and get your girlfriends & wives some flowers, you all can afford them. It doesn’t matter if they’re from the side of the road or from the best florist in the country, it’s the thought that counts. Ladies, if he wanted to he would. Xoxo, Lando Norris

⤷ yn clocked it

🝮

landonorris

liked by maxverstappen1 and 729,538 others

lando fun in the sun

charles_leclerc my sister isn’t blonde you slut.

alex_albon oh that’s not…

oscarpiastri Do my eyes deceive me or are you cheating on y/n right now? 🤨🤨

francisca.cgomes i’m bout to tweak in this bitch bruh, i’m bout to tweak in this bitch bruh 😄

danielricciardo Oh!!! That’s….

lilymhe It’s always the ugly ones bruh

arthur_leclerc Fuck Lando Norris, me and my homies hate Lando Norris 😒

charles_leclerc Don’t come to dinner on Friday.

landolovesyn now why would he do this

sharls_lerklerk you really couldn’t just man up and ask her out could you?

georgerussell63 Hey so this is actually insane

landossluttywaist it’s like you want to make enemies with the all the drivers bruh

alexandrasaintmleux Hm

lando NO GUYS IT’S MAXS GIRLFRIEND PLEASE BELIEVE ME I WOULD NEVER BETRAY MY BABY LOVE PLEASE GUYS

⤷ maxfewtrell I can confirm

⤷ lando guys please i know this looks so bad but i swear i was just trying to be aesthetic

⤷ yn i too can confirm i was the one that told him to post that i did not think that through 😭😭

⤷ yn please stop dming lando saying you’re gonna find him and no will ever find his body he’s currently hyperventilating and on the verge of tears

⤷ charles_leclerc Thanks for clearing that up lando it would’ve been nice before I fucking released a bunch of snakes in your apartment

⤷ lando i just posted this 10 minutes ago???

⤷ charles_leclerc Don’t question me

⤷ charles_leclerc maman said come to dinner on friday 🤗

lilymhe I was joking obviously you’re very handsome lando…i guess 😒

maxverstappen1 Whatever you do, don’t eat any of the food in your apartment…

⤷ lando WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY FOOD

⤷ maxverstappen1 You don’t want to know

oscarpiastri I knew my eyes weren’t deceiving me 😎😎

arthur_leclerc Love Lando Norris, me and homies love Lando Norris ❤️

🝮

yn

liked by oliviarodrigo and 1,940,036 others

yn please leave some kind words in the comments for lando he is very distraught that the world thought he would do something like that

georgerussell63 Correction: Lando is very distraught that the world thought we would do something like that to you

charles_leclerc I never doubted Lando for second I knew he would never hurt you

⤷ yn then why did you release snakes in his apartment?? he was literally ready to abandon it

⤷ charles_leclerc I’m gonna be honest rn, I was still mad that he all the dubai chocolate you made

⤷ lando SHE LITERALLY MADE YOU MORE

⤷ charles_leclerc THEN YOU CAME OVER AND ATE ALL OF IT FATASS

⤷ lando UGH YOU DONT DESERVE HER DUBAI CHOCOLATE CUNT

⤷ yn you guys are fatties i literally made more last night and charles came over and stole it

⤷ charles_leclerc Who’s side are you on?

⤷ yn lando’s

⤷ charles_leclerc Wow. My own sister.

carlossainz55 I cannot lie, he can make some yummy pasta once in a blue moon

leclerc_pascale Poor Lando I know he would never do something like that to my baby ❤️

⤷ lando mama leclerc always been a real one 🤞🏽

mclaren Wait a minute, why is he in your bed??

⤷ scuderiaferrari And why is he shirtless??

⤷ yn WHAT YOU OUT HERE BEING MESSY FOR??

francolapinto a tear just ran down my leg

⤷ yn 😰????

⤷ yn hey me too tho

⤷ charles_leclerc Lando Norris you little slut you corrupted my little baby sister

⤷ lando hey bruh she was the one running her foot up and down my leg at dinner

⤷ carlossainz55 WOAH WOAH WOAH WOAH

⤷ oscarpiastri WOAH WOAH WOAH WOAH

⤷ georgerussell63 WOAH WOAH WOAH

⤷ charles_leclerc You pervert how dare you lay your slimy sick hands on my little baby sister

⤷ yn i’m 22 going on 23?

⤷ charles_leclerc Yeah and he’s 25 going on 26 that’s 3 years too old. He was talking when you couldn’t even hold your own head up.

⤷ yn you’re 4 years older than alex?

⤷ charles_leclerc WHOS SIDE ARE YOU ON I’M TRYING TO PROTECT YOU

⤷ yn protect me from lando? i literally hit him with a golf cart in mexico and he apologized to me for ruining my fun

⤷ charles_leclerc Yeah and he did apologize to you when you almost fell off your bike in singapore after he fell of his cause you ran into him

🝮

yn

liked by charles_leclerc and 2,795,443 others

yn 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨

danielricciardo little lando norris grew a pair

oscarpiastri Lando after asking the second biggest question of his life

⤷ alex_albon what the first?

⤷ oscarpiastri “Will you marry me?”

⤷ charles_leclerc Don’t even joke like that.

scuderiaferrari Wait our little baby isn’t so little anymore 🥹

leclerc_pascale My little loves 🥰🥰

lando MINE ALL MINE ALL MINE

lando I’M NEVER LETTING YOU GO

alexandrasaintmleux Soo cute 🥹❤️❤️

♥︎ by author

lilymhe I know them bee’s LOVE your apartment

⤷ yn we’ve created a bond

estiebestie only took a few years

⤷ lando you try getting charles leclercs approval to date his little baby sister then get back to me

mclaren It’s been a long time coming 🧡

francolapinto why can’t we all just kiss?

⤷ yn the closet is made of glass

⤷ francolapinto what are you trying to say??

⤷ yn you’re gay 💅🏽🏳️‍🌈

⤷ lando allyyyy 🏳️‍🌈

pierregasly Use protection kids

⤷ charles_leclerc I will kill you

maxverstappen1 Sometimes I seriously wonder how Lando hasn’t gotten blue balls yet

⤷ lando i be getting lucky with her on holidays

⤷ charles_leclerc OH MY GOSH YOU SICKO I CANT BELIEVE I INVITED YOU TO MEXICO WITH US FOR NEW YEARS

⤷ arthur_leclerc yeah i woke up in the middle of night one day and lowkey traumatized myself

⤷ charles_leclerc WHY WOULDNT YOU TELL ME

⤷ arthur_leclerc i just said i was traumatized charles why would i want to talk about it

⤷ yn chile always soo

🝮

lando

liked by oscarpiastri and 3,301,462 others

lando i’ve peaked

charles_leclerc Bastard

⤷ leclerc_pascale Charles be nice

⤷ charles_leclerc I was joking you’re not a bastard Lando

danielricciardo Crazy son of a bitch did it

oscarpiastri Never thought you’d actually get this far to be totally honest

alex_albon he has finally felt the warm embrace of a woman

♥︎ by author

francolapinto so do we kiss now?? like what happens next?

⤷ yn june is coming up ❤️ you have our support buddy

charles_leclerc I hope you two breakup

⤷ lando you joke but i know you know how well i treat her and i know you’d be sad if we ever did

⤷ charles_leclerc shut up i can’t handle the truth

⤷ francisca.cgomes how can you be so supportive but yet so unsupportive at the same time??

⤷ charles_leclerc It’s a talent 😎

arthur_leclerc Ignoring the fact that you’re basically motorboating my little sister, welcome to family bro 🥹🥹💗💞💖💘💕💓💓

⤷ charles_leclerc don’t welcome him to the family they’re not getting married jeez

⤷ yn you say that like he hasn’t been apart of the family since 2020

⤷ lorenzotl And you honestly think they’re not gonna get married in a few years?

⤷ arthur_leclerc He’s literally been planning this since 2021

⤷ charles_leclerc Ignoring those comments for my mental health

lewishamilton the game of cat and mouse is officially over folks, thanks for joining us on this journey. next up, marriage

⤷ charles_leclerc seriously?

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, yandere, toxic relationship, friends with benefits, guns, threats of harm and death, name-calling

gn reader

When you open your heart to your fuck-friend, he sighs with rust.

You still have his cum inside your hole as he tears you a new one—telling you he doesn’t have the fucking time or the fucking energy to deal with lovey-dovey confessions right now—he has enough bullshit on his goddamn plate already without having to consider you and your fucking feelings as well.

If you’re not going to shut up and fuck him, you might as well shut up and fuck off.

So you do. The latter, that is.

Part of you knew it was going to end up this way. You with your heart broken and him with the blood on his hands. But part of you had hoped as well—hoped he felt the same way—hoped your words would soften his edges and wash away all the muck in his head enough to let you in.

You’d read a little too much into those gentle touches he sometimes bestowed upon you in his weaker moments—that soft way he cried when holding onto you during the night, wordless and clingy and begging you not to go.

But the more you think about it, the less you understand why your heart aches. It doesn’t really make much sense after all…

In truth, he’s an asshole. Always been. And you deserve better.

He’s always so angry. Always on something mudding up his blood. Never with anything nice to say. It doesn’t really matter how you’d held him in his nightmares or patched him up when he’d stumbled through your door drunk and bloody. 

Scarred boys in need of fixing aren’t good for your health—especially when all they have to offer you in return are callous words of rejection.

He’d always been secretive. He wasn’t a very good lover—but you're not entirely sure if he was ever even a good man. The wounds he’d dreg to your apartment in the middle of the night always left blood on your sheets. He never agreed to go to the hospital—always insisted your first-aid kit was enough, even when he'd come to you with bullets you’d have to dig out with a pair of tweezers.

You realize he’d been using you. You were convenient and stopped being convenient the minute you wanted more—and upon the realization, you move on.

And then he comes crawling back…

Shivering in the rain like a beaten street mutt—looking starved and sick like one, too. There’s blood on his shirt and a grim darkness in his eyes. He tells you to let him in, and you only barely have the guts to tell him to go away. 

He has this tortured look on his face—as though something’s your fault, as though you’ve wronged him in some way, as though you’re the reason he’s out in the cold with nowhere to go.

Barging in and slamming the door behind him—he locks it and pockets the key—ignoring your questions as you ask him what the fuck’s gotten into him. He looks deranged—water dripping from his matted bangs, eyes reddened, and cheeks streaked. You only now notice it isn't because of the rain.

“You said you wanted me, didn’t you?” he huffs. “Here I am.”

You’re tense. You hadn’t felt like that with him before, it takes you a minute to realize it’s because you’re scared. After all, you’d wanted him all those other times—rough or otherwise. And now you didn’t want him at all. 

“You should leave. You’ve been drinking.”

“What? You changed your mind already?” he accused, then scoffed with a not-so-unamused laugh. “I’m not surprised. People like you, who like danger and bad men, are always so fickle-hearted.” He approaches you too fast for you to back away, his scarred hands curling into your sweater—split skin from recent beatings bleed onto the fabric. “Flighty little slut, you’ve probably already found the next guy who gives you a rush. Isn’t that right?” He’s seething as he pulls you forward, looking like a hostile hound.

You lay your hands on his chest to keep him at a distance—feeling his entire body shake like static beneath your touch. You wonder if he’s taken drugs tonight, but looking into his eyes, you don’t think so. They aren’t fidgety but deadset. Actually, upon closer look, you don’t even think he’s drunk.

But anyway, it doesn’t really matter. You still don’t want him here. “I’m serious. Get out, or I’m calling the police.”

“Oh? Are we slinging threats now?” he jeers, showing no signs of letting go or leaving—he only pulls you in closer, so close you could kiss. “What? Don’t tell me you’re scared now.” He breathes out another short excuse for a laugh as you veer away, putting his lips to your ear instead. “You should have been from the start—but no—grinding up on me at the club as though you’d die without my attention. Crying pretty tears when you saw me all beaten and bruised—acting as though you want to save me. Tch—”

He throws you down on the carpeted floor. You wince from the impact, and when you look up again, you see he has a gun pointed at you.

You stop breathing. A dark sinkhole in your gut seems to want to swallow you from the inside, and you think you might just want it to if it means escaping the threat before you.

“I shouldn't have come here…” he mutters—finger resting on the trigger all too calmy. “But I just couldn’t get your face out of my head. Looking up at me with those doe-eyes, wearing my shirt even though it’s got blood on it after I fuck you silly, saying such sweet little nothings as if I’d paid you to.”

He sighs—heavily—as though he’s expelling spirits. His hand remains holding the gun poised and pointed straight down at you even as the other drags down his face, pulling his maw before sliding through his wet locks, raking them away from his face.

“I gotta kill you, you know?” he says, shoulders slumping with the statement. He sniffs—it's almost soft enough to be a sniffle. “That’s the only way to solve this. That’s the only way to get you out of my fucking head.”

He cocks the safety with a click that makes your life flash before your eyes. Faces of your family and friends, people you haven't seen in years, childhood pets long dead, a job interview, the holiday you felt true happiness, the night you went out dancing and met him.

The tears stream silently down your face, and you still don’t breathe. Every part of you, every nerve and muscle, has gone completely still. Unmoving, unblinking as you stare up through the barrel of the gun and wait for the bullet to come through.

His finger curls tighter around the trigger, and you close your eyes with a furl between your brows. And then…

Nothing. There’s a large exhale.

“I can’t do it…” 

You open your eyes to see the gun lowered. The sight brings a fresh rush of air back to your lungs, making you all but wheeze as it fills you, breathing in far too much and much too quickly. You regain some semblance worth of motoric, too—able to scramble backward until there’s no more room to be gained, sitting with your back against the wall. Eyes peeled at him where he’s taken to crouch, holding his head with his free hand and the one still with the gun in it.

He fists his hair and tugs on it frustratedly, muttering to himself. “Dozens of lives on my hands, and I can't kill this one single-” he stopped short.

This time, when he looks at you, there’s something else in his eyes. No malice or scorn, but something sad—pity almost.

“Well… seems like you got what you wanted...”

The pity’s for you.

“This is what having my heart feels like.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Dabi ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Toji ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist