#yeah its nice to have lost some weight

[baekuras]

nothing like leaving your broken shower curtain to be a problem for later/the next day because after almost flooding your bathroom you didn’t want to deal with that as well only to come back to it halfspread across the room at 3am after having completely forgotten about that disaster

oops?

[jzprncess]

love language by sza

“help me understand how you speak your love language ”

pairing: Max Verstappen x Y/N reader

part 1/2 next part

word count: 2,823

summary: a girlfriend of a successful f1 driver decides to learn Dutch to better understand her boyfriends world—his culture, his emotions, and the language he speaks—hoping to connect more deeply and navigate the complexities of their high-speed, high-pressure relationship.

note: first time writing a fan fiction so be nice please! i don’t know how to work tumblr to the fullest so if you want to requests anything, message it to me! this will be in two parts! please leave comments so i know im doing something right!!

　　　　　　 ❛ ━━･♡❪ ❁ ❫♡･━━ ❜

Out of all the unexpected turns her life had taken, learning another language was never on Y/N's radar. Yet, here she was, grappling with the complexities of Dutch, staring at her laptop screen during a Zoom call with her tutor, Anne. They had been chatting frequently, especially while Max was off competing in a grueling triple-header race weekend.

Before he left, Y/N had noticed the shadow of frustration in Max's eyes, a rare shift from his usually upbeat demeanor. It wasn’t lost on her—or anyone, really. The weight of the season’s challenges had begun to press down on him, making his once confident posture seem a little more hunched, his usual optimism now clouded by self-doubt. Everyone could see it. With the way the season had started, Max had envisioned triumph. But now, in October, his hopes felt distant. He hadn’t clinched a victory since June, and every reminder of that fact only seemed to add to his frustration. Y/N wished she could lift that burden, even if just for a moment.

In an attempt to brighten his spirits, she decided to do something special for him—a gesture that would help him escape the pressure he was under. The very day he departed, Y/N found herself scouring the internet, searching for someone who could teach her some basic Dutch. Max, ever the romantic, had always whispered sweet phrases in his native tongue—whether it was giving her a compliment or simply wishing her a good morning. And though she often required translations, Y/N thought, Why not learn the language myself? It couldn’t be that difficult, right?

And so, here she was, earnestly trying to master the phrase “I love you, handsome” in Dutch, yet somehow fumbling over the words.

“Y/N, your pronunciation is getting better, but you need to keep practicing,” Anne encouraged from the other side of the screen, her fingers dancing over her keyboard. The rhythmic sound of her typing seemed to fill the space between them, as if punctuating her words with gentle encouragement. “Have you taken my advice and started watching shows in Dutch? Immersing yourself in the language will really help you improve, especially with those tricky pronunciations.”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms, and stared at the screen, her lips pressing together as she tried to hold back the exhaustion creeping in. She had been working hard at this—between the classes, the practice, the late nights watching Dutch shows, and the constant racing schedule with Max, it was all starting to feel like a lot. “Yeah, I’ve been talking to the TV like it’s my best friend,” she said with a small, self-deprecating chuckle, her voice sounding a bit weary. “The characters probably think I’m crazy by now. But, you know, I think I’m making progress? Or at least I hope I am.”

Anne’s eyebrows raised in an encouraging way. “Well, that’s the spirit! The more you immerse yourself, the more natural it will feel. Dutch can be tricky, especially with its sounds, but you’re not giving up, and that’s what matters.”

Y/N exhaled slowly, rubbing her temples. It had been one of those days—between working on the language and managing the quiet space Max left behind when he was away, the weight of it all was starting to wear on her. “I don’t know... I keep stumbling over the same words, Anne. Like, I feel like I’m so close to getting it, but then I hear myself speak Dutch, and it just sounds... off. I’m trying, but it’s hard to know if I’m really improving.”

Anne smiled gently from the screen, as though she understood exactly where Y/N was coming from. “That’s completely normal. Language learning isn’t a straight path. There are ups and downs, but the key is to be patient with yourself. Remember, it’s not about perfection—it’s about progress. You’re already doing so much more than most people would.”

“I guess so.” Y/N’s voice softened, her eyes drifting away for a moment, lost in thought. “I just wish I could see it, you know? Max always speaks so fluently, and when he says something sweet in Dutch, it sounds so effortless. I want to understand it all, to be able to speak with him like that without stumbling or needing translations.”

Anne nodded, her face sympathetic. “I get that. You want to connect with him in the language that’s so familiar to him, and that’s a beautiful thing. But don’t forget, language is just one part of communication. Max will appreciate your effort no matter where you are in your learning. It’s about the intention, the heart behind it. And besides, if you’re working hard at it, he’ll see that.”

Y/N let out a small sigh, leaning forward in her chair and running a hand through her hair. “I just want him to know how much I’m trying. I know it’s hard for him when the season gets tough, and I want to be able to understand him better, not just the words, but how he’s feeling... especially when he gets frustrated. I want to be able to share those moments with him in his language.” She looked back up at Anne, a mixture of fatigue and determination in her eyes. "But it's like I'm still learning a whole new world, Anne. It's a lot to take in."

Anne’s expression softened even more. “Learning a language is like learning a new way to see the world. And you’re doing it for the right reasons. Max will notice that. Even if you don’t think you’re where you want to be yet, he’s going to appreciate your effort, your commitment to him and to his language. And you’re already showing him that you care in ways most people wouldn’t.”

Y/N gave a faint smile, feeling the weight of Anne’s words settle into her. She took another deep breath, her gaze flickering back to the screen. “I hope so. I’m doing this for him, and... for me, too. It’s just hard to see the progress sometimes when you’re so deep in it.”

“Well, keep at it, Y/N,” Anne encouraged again, her voice gentle but firm. “The progress is there, even when you can’t see it. And remember, when Max comes back, you’ll have a whole new way of connecting. That’s something special. Now, how about we wrap up for today, and next time, we focus on a few of those tricky sounds you’ve been stumbling over?”

Y/N nodded, the exhaustion beginning to fade as she felt a renewed sense of determination wash over her. "Yeah, let’s do that. Thanks, Anne. Really."

Anne smiled warmly, her tone softening. “Good night, Y/N. You’re doing great. Keep going, and keep believing in yourself.”

With that, the call ended, leaving Y/N in the quiet of her room. As the screen went dark, she sat still for a moment, letting Anne’s words settle into her. She still had a long way to go with Dutch, but now, she felt a little less weighed down by it all. She stood up from the desk, stretched, and with a deep breath, made her way to the kitchen. There was more to learn, yes, but she could do it. For Max. And for herself

This had become her routine for the past few weeks—immersing herself in a new language while navigating the emotional ups and downs of Max's racing career. Each night flowed into the next, filled with lessons and the hope that her efforts would spark joy in him when he returned. In a way, she couldn’t help but feel that this small adventure might not only help her connect with him in a deeper way but also serve as a reminder that even in tough times, he had someone in his corner—someone ready to support him and learn alongside him.

Time passed, and soon enough, the hectic three-race weekend was behind them.

Y/N wasn’t exactly sure when Max would be home. The unpredictable nature of his F1 schedule made it hard to keep track of his exact arrival time. As the hours stretched on, she decided to make the most of the quiet afternoon. She started by tidying up the house, picking up scattered race memorabilia and smoothing out the couch cushions, which always seemed to get tossed around after a long weekend of travel. The kitchen was next—dishes stacked in the sink, a few crumbs left from breakfast, and the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air. She cleaned with a kind of absent-minded rhythm, her thoughts drifting between the tasks at hand and the excitement of his return.

Not wanting to spend the whole day indoors, Y/N grabbed her coat, slipped into her shoes, and decided to run a few errands to break the monotony. She mentally made a list of things she needed—a trip to the grocery store for fresh produce, perhaps a quick stop at the florist to pick up some flowers for the dining table. The gentle hum of the city as she walked outside felt like a welcome distraction. As she moved through the familiar streets, her mind kept drifting to Max—imagining his arrival later that evening and wondering how he would feel after the intense race weekend. With a small smile, she pushed the thought aside. There were errands to run, and time had a way of slipping by faster when you were busy.

After a while, Y/N decided it was time to head back home, the errands and quiet city stroll leaving her feeling a bit more tired than usual. The exhaustion crept up slowly, settling into her bones in the best way—a peaceful kind of tiredness that made the thought of being home all the more appealing. Once she stepped inside, she kicked off her shoes by the door and shrugged off her jacket, instantly feeling the comfort of her own space wrap around her.

She sank onto the couch, letting the weight of the day melt away, but it wasn’t long before she found herself wanting to do something—something simple and familiar to bring a sense of warmth and routine to the day. The kitchen seemed like the perfect place. She stepped into the kitchen, the warmth of the space a comforting contrast to the quiet of the house. Her mind immediately wandered to dessert—something sweet to fill the silence. Pulling out her phone, she swiped through a few recipe sites, curiosity leading her fingers. After a moment, she typed "Dutch desserts" into the search bar. Her eyes quickly landed on appeltaart, the iconic Dutch apple pie. The thought of the rich, spiced apples wrapped in buttery crust made her stomach rumble. It was exactly what the moment called for.

With a smile, she set the phone down and rolled up her sleeves. The comforting hum of her favorite playlist began to fill the room, chasing away the silence and replacing it with familiar tunes. As the music flowed through the speakers, she started pulling ingredients from the pantry—flour, sugar, butter, and cinnamon. She paused for a moment, letting the soft beat of the song take over as she laid everything out on the counter. The scent of cinnamon already began to stir a feeling of warmth and anticipation.

With a deep breath, she moved into the rhythm of the recipe, the steady motion of measuring, mixing, and prepping grounding her. She could already picture the golden crust and warm, sweet filling that would soon fill the kitchen, and her heart swelled with a sense of simple joy.

As she hummed softly to the tune playing in the background, completely engrossed in the rhythm of her mixing and the warmth of the kitchen, she remained oblivious to Max stepping through the front door, his footsteps barely audible on the hardwood floor. Max paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the room before he crept quietly toward the kitchen, careful not to make a sound. He peeked around the corner, his gaze falling on you as you worked your magic, your movements fluid and focused. A smile tugged at his lips as the sweet scent of apple pie hit him, and he inhaled deeply, savoring the warm, comforting aroma that filled the air.

Max moved silently behind her, his steps light as he closed the distance between them. With a smile, he slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her close against him. He rested his chin on her shoulder for a moment, savoring the warmth of her presence, before pressing a tender kiss to her soft skin. As he inhaled the sweet scent of the kitchen, his lips brushed her shoulder, and he murmured in a low, appreciative voice, "Smells amazing."

The unexpected touch causes her to flinch, a small gasp escaping her as she instinctively tenses, but her body quickly relaxes when she turns to find Max standing there. A soft smile tugs at her lips as she meets his gaze. "I didn't hear you come in," she murmurs, her voice gentle and warm as she leans slightly into his embrace, feeling the comforting weight of his presence. She glances toward the counter, her hands still lightly dusted with flour, and then looks back at him, her eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and pride. "I made apple—" Her words falter for a brief moment, and she pauses, taking a breath before finishing with a playful smile, "Ik heb appeltaart gemaakt." (i made apple pie) She lets the Dutch phrase roll off her tongue with a touch of pride, her eyes lighting up as she anticipates his reaction to the homemade treat and at the sudden Dutch.

Max chuckles, the sound warm and teasing. "Oh, dus je spreekt nu Nederlands?" (Oh, so you speak Dutch now?) His eyes narrow playfully as he takes her in, studying her with a hint of disbelief, almost as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd just heard. It takes a moment for her to process his words, the surprise registering on her face before a grin tugs at her lips. She lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head slightly as she meets his gaze. “Leren voor jou,” she responds with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, her voice light and teasing as she repeats the phrase—"Learning for you."

Max hums contentedly into her skin, his voice soft but filled with affection. "What did I ever do to deserve you?" His words are a gentle murmur, as though he's savoring the moment. She chuckles, the sound warm and light, as she wipes her hands on a nearby towel. Without missing a beat, she spins around, her eyes sparkling, and wraps her arms around him in a tight embrace. "I've missed you," she whispers into his chest, her voice filled with sincerity, as if the distance between them had only made her feelings stronger.

He gently pulls away, his hands lingering at her waist as he looks down at her, his eyes soft with affection. There’s a quiet warmth in his gaze, a tenderness that makes his heart swell with emotion. "I've missed you too," he murmurs, his voice low and sincere, the words wrapped in a quiet vulnerability. He smiles, a soft, almost teasing glint in his eyes as he adds, "Mijntje," (my little one), his tone filled with both love and playfulness. With a tender sigh, he leans down, his face drawing closer to hers. As he lowers himself, he brushes his lips gently against hers, the kiss soft and lingering, a promise of everything he feels for her in that quiet, intimate moment. 

She pulls back just enough to look into his eyes, her breath catching in the space between them. Her heart races, each beat carrying the weight of everything she feels for him. Her hands rest gently on his chest as she searches his gaze, finding warmth, safety, and a quiet promise there. With a soft sigh, she leans in just a little closer, her lips barely brushing his as she whispers, her voice trembling with sincerity, "Ik hou van jou."

The words, though soft, are heavy with all the emotions she can't quite put into words—years of trust, laughter, passion, and quiet moments, all wrapped in those simple yet profound syllables. His breath hitches, and a smile plays on his lips as he leans in, closing the small space between them with a kiss that feels like both a promise and a beginning. There’s a warmth radiating between them, an unspoken yearning that lingers in the air, electrifying yet restrained. The kiss deepens, lingering just a moment longer, igniting a flutter of anticipation in her chest—a taste of what could be. As they pull away, their eyes lock, and in that shared gaze lies a world of possibilities, a silent acknowledgment of the passion that awaits them.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

tag list : @heluvsjappie

[cherryredcheol]

pizza night

tldr: why order a pizza when you can craft one? a/n: say hi to chef!boyfriend jun. i love him. also, jun nickname reveal! please act surprised when i upload his nickname fic.

since moving in together, you and jun have divided the chores evenly. he folds the laundry, you put it away. you vacuum, he dusts. some chores are shared, like grocery shopping. but the weekly fridge clean-out was your job. if you didn’t do it, it would never get done. jun brings home all sorts of weird stuff from the restaurant and it accumulates. it’s really not a bad trade-off though. you clean out the leftovers weekly in the fridge, and jun cooks you some of the most delicious food you’ve ever had. some of it was weird, some familiar, all delicious.

“junnie? is this squid ink pasta still good? or should i trash it?” you called out to your boyfriend in the other room. you were almost done, finally on the back of the last shelf. the stack of dirty tupperware in the sink was growing steadily, and you pitied whichever one of you lost rock, paper, scissors later when deciding who had to do the clean-out dishes; you secretly hoped it was jun. 

lost in your thoughts of how to sabotage the game later, you hadn’t noticed jun appearing next to you, holding a hand out to inspect said pasta, “dumpling, pass it to me please.” 

you held it out to him, watching as he brought it to his nose, breathed in, and…

“definitely toss.” after emptying the contents into the trash, the final dish joined its yucky friends in the sink. you let out a deep sigh, happy to be done with this part of your day. 

“i have an idea for dinner.” you knew this would pique his interest. it was his night off from the restaurant and you were hoping this meant he’d be open to something different. something you usually didn’t do. “i want pizza.” 

his eyes lit up, “sure thing! i have that sourdough starter in the fridge still, right? we can make the dough using that. and i think i still have that tomato sauce from the special two nights ago. i brought it home with me just for this!” he craned his neck around you to get a peek in the fridge, babbling on excitedly about his starter and sauce. 

you reached up to his shoulders, the weight of your hands pulling his attention back to you, “yes, dumpling?” 

“can we just order one from that place around the corner?” you pulled out your best puppy eyes, hoping he’d fold. jun loved cooking for you, he says food is his love language. he loved knowing the food you were fuelling your body with was made with love, his love. in his mind his love literally fueled you, so getting him to agree to take-out, let alone greasy pepperoni pizza take-out, was a challenge. 

he cupped your cheeks, eyes softening as they looked at yours, still in full puppy mode. his thumbs rubbed at your skin, “dumpling, let me cook for you. it’ll be so good. better than that pizza place.” 

your hands moved from his shoulders to his wrists, “i have absolutely no doubt in my mind that you would make me the best pizza i’ve ever had. but tonight, i really want to order one in, and eat it sitting on the couch with you while we catch up on our shows.”  you could see him imagining it, a cozy night together;  sharing jokes, pizza, and beer. maybe some kisses if he’s lucky. releasing his wrists you go in for the kill. wrapping your arms around his waist, you prop your chin on his chest and look up at him, “don’t you want a nice night with me, junnie?”

 you can see the moment he folds. “yeah, dumpling, i do.” he leans down and kisses you gently, smiling.

 when you separate, you fish your phone out of your back pocket, “i’ll order right now. what do you want on your half?” 

he laughed, “my half? dumpling, if we’re having a pizza night we’re each getting our own.” 

[peeweekey]

everyone adores you (at least i do)

pairing: sam x reader

wc: 1.1k

tags: CHEEEEESY cheesy cheesy puppy love, mutual pining, sam is PATHETICALLY down bad, pre-relationship, abigail and sebastian mentioned, friends to lovers

synopsis: if it were up to sam, he'd spend every second of everyday at your side.

a/n: in all of my other sam fics, its reader embarrassingly in love with him...he gets a taste of his own medicine here lol!

With vanilla ice cream melting and dripping down your fingertips, coarse sand underneath you and the salty ocean waves lapping at your feet; you are a child again, sitting with your grandpa at the docks, watching as he reeled in a ‘big one’. Filling his bucket with loads and loads of fish.

Those days are far gone now, but the memory remains, as clear as the day you remember it. The feeling is nostalgic, sleepy in the way your senses are dulled by syrupy thick contentment. Beaches at sunset have that effect on you, you suppose. 

“This is fun,” Sam says, tone lacking its boisterous loudness, you almost don’t hear it over the sound of crashing waves. “I had a lot of fun today, farmer.”

Your eyes flicker to him, his green gaze dead-set on the peachy golden sky, the taste of sea salt mingling with sweet ice cream heavy in your tongue. The sea breeze is cold, whipping against your face and running through your hair.

“I did too,” you agree. “Y’know, I don’t get a lot of off time with the farm and stuff. This is a nice change of pace.”

He smiles, that sunshine smile you’ve come to associate with Sam. “I caught you at just the right time then, huh?” 

You shrug, your own smile mirroring his. “Auspicious.” He did.

The sun is setting, the day is coming to a close yet Sam wishes it wouldn’t, silently pleading with any higher being to somehow stretch time. He is barely a religious person, but the weight of his want is enough to transcend his own beliefs. Every second with you barely feels like enough; like sand slipping through his fingers.

One thing’s for certain, Sam isn’t going to just let it end here.

“We should hang out like this again,” Sam says, a little hurriedly, captured all in one breath. Shy and tentative, like a bashful child with a school crush. “Uh, I mean, do you? Wanna? Hang out with me?”

You can barely suppress a delighted chuckle from slipping past your lips, your chest warming with fond affection. “I’d be more than happy to. Yoba knows I need a break or two or I’ll actually explode,” you huff while Sam hums in agreement. “We can even invite Abigail and Sebastian… so can demo that new song for me, I see you all working very hard when I visit sometimes.”

He should be happy to hear that; that you’d be more than happy to spend your precious off time with him out of all people. You and him, him and you, Sam and the farmer. Your name connected to his with ‘and’, it makes him giddy, causes his cheeks pinken and pinken. 

Just the two of you, though. Sure, he loves his friends, Abby and Seb have been with him since day one. But it feels out of place—

(Sam, Sebastian, Abigail and the farmer doesn’t have that ring to it…)

“Yeah, I—I dunno, it’s just…”

The unfiltered truth is stupid, at least to him. Vincent is far too young for some of the things Sam longs to say. There’s a reason Abby and Seb hang out under his nose, he won’t blame them, they have their own secrets he isn’t privy to—too serious, too dull for him.

(And now with you, he thinks you might just be the one he can share his own secrets with. Because even he has his own serious, dull thoughts. Thoughts that he doesn’t want brushed away with a snarky remark or a sarcastic laugh.)

“I kinda like that it’s just the two of us?” 

His voice sounds unsteady, squeaky. Trailing off at the end, lost in the sound of water crashing at your feet. Phrasing his statement into a question that you could deny, that you could easily brush off—because if you did, he would too. 

(It would be a bummer if you did though, but Sam is cool with that, chill with any decision you make. Really, he totally is.)

You grin, bumping your shoulder against his, your ice cream is dripping down, down, down your knuckles. Once your skin meets his, you don’t pull away, you press closer and closer to his side. Leaning your head against his sunburnt shoulder—but he barely registers the sting—and your arm against his own. It’s a pleasant weight, having you against him—grounding and tethering him to you.

“I do too. Like it, I mean. I think I get to see so many other sides to you, Sam. Without the others and all that.”

Sam feels his breath hitch, his cheeks flush even pinker even with the sunburns. “Woah, phew, I mean—awesome… When, when do you think we can meet next?”

You tilt your head, running calculations through your mind. You’re very busy on that farm, he knows; but Sam can’t help but keep his hopes up, you’re fun company. Maybe the best he’s had yet.

“I know I won’t have enough time until my melons are ready for harvesting—and don’t you dare try making a joke about that,” you smile, wide and cheeky. Right as Sam readies an innuendo at the tip of his tongue; it makes his blood pump faster and his breathing stutters at the thought of you knowing him so well. 

“So how about this?” you propose slowly. “We spend one day every month doing all the stuff we wanna do, together. just you and me—fun right? I’ll even sleep a little earlier the night before.”

Sam bites into his ice cream—chocolate and your treat, at your insistence—though he isn’t quite sure if the immediate smile on his lips is due to its sweetness, or yours.

He leans closer into you, resting his head on top of yours, strands of your hair tickling his lips. Lowering his voice into a whisper so only you can hear.

(The secret is that you make Sam want. Want, want, want like he’ll never get sick of it. He hoards these stolen moments with you so greedily yet wants more.)

“…two days, two days each month.”

He feels your body shake with the strength of your laughter, warmth swirls all throughout his body, tingling wherever your body brushes against his own. Sam finds that he likes the feeling, the buzz of it—it’s addicting.

“Yeah, alright then,” you reply, mirth dripping from each and every word. “two days. We have a deal. Better?”

“Yeah,” he turns back to face the water, the ocean spray misting his face. “Yeah, a lot better. That does sound fun.”

Anything sounds fun when it involves you.

[roosterforme]

Always Ever Only You Part 3 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley just wants to make you as happy as you make him, and he hates it when you won't even let him try. But when your frustration boils over, you snap at the person you believe deserves it the most.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, angst, swearing

Length: 4200 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

You had been foolishly holding out hope. Until your period actually began, you'd been telling yourself that maybe there was still a chance. Maybe you had just taken the pregnancy test too early. Maybe you got a false negative.

So when you woke up for work on Monday and needed a tampon, you scolded yourself for your optimism. There was no point in it, because it only made you feel worse in the long-run. 

Bradley rubbed your shoulders and kissed your neck as you put your contacts in at the bathroom vanity. You looked gross. You were bloated, and your face was broken out. You vowed to stick to a better diet until you lost some weight. 

"Morning, Baby Girl," he murmured against your ear. It wasn't even fair. You wanted him all the time. He was perfect all the time. His voice gave you chills. 

"Morning," you whispered. "My period started." Your voice shook pathetically. 

"It's okay," he promised. "It's going to be okay." 

But you really felt like it wasn't. And work was pissing you off. When you got to your lab, you remembered that you and Cat were going to be spending the day working on proposals together. Great. 

"Did you have fun at the Hard Deck?" you asked her, practically throwing your computer onto the counter next to hers. 

She looked up at you, and you could tell she wanted to roll her eyes. "It was fun," she replied. "Not really my scene, but I can see where it would be yours."

You wanted to ask her what that was supposed to mean, but you bit your tongue. You wouldn't give her the satisfaction of thinking you cared about her opinion of you. And you were definitely going to have to tell Jake to get a crush on a hot looking woman who was actually nice, because you'd had just about enough of this. He had bugged you all night at the bar to introduce him to Cat again. He asked you about her all the time, but there was nothing to tell.

You took a seat and pounded away at your keyboard, working all morning while trying to ignore your cramps and your irritation with the woman next to you. Neither of you spoke a word about anything personal. It was all professional. When you noticed that it was noon, you said, "Let's take a break," in as bright a voice as you could.

Jake was waiting in the doorway for you. Or maybe he was just trying to catch a glimpse of Cat. But regardless, when you approached him, he smiled and handed you a container of soup from the cafeteria. "Angel. Let's eat in your office," he drawled. And when Cat breezed past him, he murmured, "Hi, Lieutenant Coleman."

She smirked in response, and Jake turned to watch her walk the entire way down the hall. "You're such a dog," you told him, inspecting the soup and finding it was chicken noodle. "You just need to get laid. Go to the bar tonight. There'll be a line of girls waiting for you."

He met your eyes and shook his head. "I'm not really doing that anymore."

You snorted as he followed you to your office. "Could you imagine if I agreed to go out with you? Bradley and I would have never happened after that."

Jake kicked his booted foot along your office floor before he plopped down into your extra chair. "Yeah, well... he'd have likely killed me if we went out. But, hey, you're not listening to me, Angel. Tell me more about Cat Coleman."

You sighed and ate some soup. "She's mean to me, okay? She doesn't like me."

"I don't believe you."

"It's true. She's so bitchy to me but nice to everyone else. She makes fun of the way I work. She won't eat lunch with me. She avoids me all the time. She hates me."

You swallowed another spoonful of soup, and tears immediately sprung to your eyes. You looked up at Jake, and you knew he could tell something was wrong immediately. When he jumped to his feet, you tried to wave him off, but he was kneeling next to your chair and rubbing your hand before you knew it. 

"What happened?" he asked softly. When you didn't respond, he gave you a few seconds before asking, "Do you want me to go get Rooster?"

"No," you croaked, your throat burning with the effort to talk. "I'm fine."

"You do not sound fine. You can talk to me about anything, right?"

"Right."

"Well, I'm all ears."

And he just knelt there next to you while you told him how much you hated going to your lab now. And you told him that you had your period. And then you said, "Bradley and I are trying to start a family, but it's just not happening."

"Hey," he said, letting you cry it out. "You and Bradley are already a family. Plus, you've got Tramp. And Nat and I are like siblings you guys never even wanted."

You kind of shrugged at him. "It's not the same thing."

"I know that, but sometimes it takes time," he told you.

"It's been four months," you whispered. 

Jake stood up and pulled you to your feet, and then he wrapped you in a hug so tight, his name tag was digging into your collarbone. "Just give it some time. You want me to talk to Rooster?"

"No. Let's just finish eating lunch."

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

Bradley had been trying all week. Kissing along your neck and rubbing your hips through your khakis while you made dinner. But you finally snapped at him on Wednesday night when you were trying to cut up some sun dried tomatoes for the Marry Me Rooster he had requested. 

"I'm trying to cook dinner, Bradley. Yes, I realize you're trying to get me in the mood. Yes, I can feel your erection. No, I don't want to have sex. I look gross, and I feel gross." You set down your knife and turned to face him. He had taken one huge step away from you, and now he was looking at you with the saddest brown eyes. 

"I'm sorry," he muttered, running his fingers through his hair as he walked down the hallway toward your bedroom. 

"Shit," you whispered as you rushed after him. "I'm sorry."

He was standing next to the bed unbuttoning his uniform shirt when you walked in and headed right for him. But he didn't say anything, just yanked his shirt off and tossed it onto the bed. The sight of him in his khaki pants and black undershirt had you sucking in a deep breath. It wasn't that you didn't want him. You just didn't even want yourself right now.

"Bradley," you whispered. 

"Nah. I'm going to go workout in the garage," he told you, stripping out of his pants and digging in a drawer for some gym shorts. "I'll eat later. Don't wait for me."

You watched him walk back out of the room. Then he called for Tramp, and you heard the sliding glass door open and then close. You went back to the kitchen and finished making dinner. You had to fight the urge to go out to the garage and get Bradley, because somehow you knew you'd just end up making things worse. You made him a beautiful plate of dinner and left it on the island. And then you got yourself ready for bed. You were no longer hungry. 

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

Bradley was stressing out. He could feel his composure crumbling as every maneuver he performed in the air was wrong. Everything felt wrong. It was like he and his Super Hornet were out of sync. Like he couldn't trust himself. 

"What are you doing, Rooster?" Phoenix asked him through the comms. But Bradley didn't even know how to respond, because he hadn't been paying attention. He was distracted. He was never like this in the air. 

And then he heard Maverick call his team back to the ground, and he knew it was his fault. He wished he could take all of the pushups for Phoenix and Bob as well, but it was a team effort after all. So Bradley had to try to keep calm while he could feel them glaring at him through all two hundred pushups.

He had been like this all week. Nothing made as much sense to him as flying did. Well, other than you. But things had been a little rough and unpredictable at home. He wasn't really trying to do it, but he had begun to memorize when you were ovulating and when your period was due. Fucking you was no chore, but he was absolutely ready for you to miss a period. He was obsessed with the idea of you showing him a positive pregnancy test. But it just... wasn't happening yet.

And now he was putting pressure on himself. Because he knew he was a ticking time bomb. He felt it in his bones. Any day now, he would be getting deployment papers. And then you would be alone for who knows how long. Weeks or months. Bradley would be on an aircraft carrier in the Pacific Ocean, and you would be at home, worrying about him. And the mission to make a baby would be put on hold, replaced by a different kind of mission.

The thing was, all of this was bothering him a hell of a lot more now, because it was bothering you so much. 

Bradley slammed his locker closed only to find Jake standing there. "You better pull it together, Bradshaw," he said so calmly that it pissed Bradley off even more. "Or you're going to get grounded."

"Do you think I don't know that?" Bradley asked, getting in his face. "Do you think I don't know I'm flying like shit right now?"

But Jake didn't move an inch, and his expression didn't change. "I think whatever is bothering you... well, you should take it home to your wife. Angel will help you feel better."

Bradley took a deep breath and let it out slowly, leaning against his locker with his fist clenched. "She's part of the fucking problem," Bradley growled, and he watched Jake's eyes grow wide. 

Jake gaped at him before he said, "I can't think of a single time you've ever said something like that about her." His feelings seemed to be hurt on your behalf, but Bradley didn't know how to explain how he felt. 

"When she puts pressure on herself, all I want is to relieve it for her," he told Jake softly, trying to unclench his fist. "But I can't. She won't let me."

Jake sighed. "I think I know what it's about. She's been pretty upset. Tried to tell her it's not her fault, but I can tell she's blaming herself."

Bradley could feel his cheeks flushing. You and Jake were close. The other man probably did know some details about your intimate moments with Bradley which was kind of mortifying. However, Bradley would never want you to feel like you couldn't confide in someone you trusted. It was just hard to gasp that Jake was oftentimes that person for you. 

"We just want to have a baby," Bradley growled. 

"It's only been a few months," Jake reminded him. "Deep down, Angel knows it takes time."

Bradley looked up at the flickering fluorescent bulb. "Sometimes I feel like I'm never doing enough for her," he whispered, grabbing his bag and brushing past Jake. 

But he almost ran into Payback on his way out. "What are you still doing here, man?" he asked with a grin. "If I had a girl as hot as your wife, I'd be home by now, pumping her full of babies."

The urge to punch his friend directly in the face was so strong, Bradley had to bite his lip and keep moving. He needed to get home to you but not take this out on you. That would be unacceptable. Because while you were adding to his stress, he would never tell you that. 

You were already home when he walked inside, and Bradley had to try to fight for composure. "Hi," he managed to say. Of course you looked impossibly cute, laying with Tramp on the couch in Bradley's oversized UVA tee and a pair of his boxer briefs. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to keep his hands off you right now, but you'd been distant with him for more than a week. 

"How was your day?" you asked him softly.

Somehow your sweet voice just made him angry. Your voice and your gorgeous face and the way he could see your nipples through the shirt. And Bradley couldn't help himself. His voice was rough to his own ears, and he sounded mad. "My day fucking sucked. It was terrible," he growled. "I flew like an asshole. I got everyone assigned to pushups. I was so distracted from work, thinking about you."

Your eyes were wide as you sat up. "Thinking about me?" Tramp jumped to the floor and ran over to sniff at Bradley's boots as he untied them. 

"Yeah," he grunted, wrestling out of his flight suit and tossing it to a heap on the floor. His skin felt too hot. He needed to go for a run or lift weights. "I told you I think about you all the damn time. And today, trust me, I wish I hadn't been."

"What does that mean?" you asked him, standing up between the couch and the coffee table, your lips forming a little pout. 

Bradley yanked his undershirt off as well, standing just inside the front door in only his compression shorts and his socks. "It means I'm mad because you won't let me try to make you feel better! You don't even want to talk to me, but you'll talk to Jake! I'm fucking pissed that you're skipping meals and ditching me for lunch every day!"

Bradley took off toward the bedroom, leaving you behind. He was afraid of what else he was going to say if he didn't get some space to himself right now. And the last thing he wanted to do was make you cry. But when he got into the bedroom to get some workout clothes, you followed him. 

"I'm sorry," you whispered, biting your lip and looking at him with wide eyes.

"What are you sorry for?" he asked loudly, slamming his drawer shut instead of actually pulling anything out of it. "Tell me."

"I'm sorry I've been shutting you out, Roo." You took a deep breath and said, "I'm sorry I haven't been eating lunch with you. I know we can keep trying, but when I get my period now, I panic."

"You panic and talk to Jake," Bradley growled. When you simply nodded, his blood boiled. He knew he was red in the face as he closed the distance to you. The words were there before he could take them back. "If you want to talk to Jake all the time, maybe you should have married him."

Your lips parted soundlessly, and then you moaned. A needy sound, from the back of your throat. One that had Bradley's cock stirring immediately. 

"I don't want him. I've never wanted him. I just want you."

"Do you want me right now, Baby Girl? Because I wanna fuck you right here," he said as calmly as he could, but his voice was still gruff and unsteady. "You're going to have to tell me to go out back to the garage if you want me to keep my hands to myself. Okay? Because I want my wife. But I will settle for my hand and then the bench press if you don't want me back."

You whimpered, reaching for the hem of the tee shirt and guiding it up over your hips. "I am so turned on," you whispered. "Please."

"Please what?" Bradley demanded, running his hand along his cock through his shorts. 

"Daddy," you gasped in shock. Like you couldn't even believe you said it to him. Like you needed him as badly as he needed you. "Fuck me."

"Baby Girl," he whispered harshly as he pressed himself against you.

You yanked the shirt over your head and pulled his boxer briefs down over your delicious hips as you moaned, "I want my husband."

His cock was fully at attention now as he stroked your dainty Rooster tattoo with his fingertips. "I'm right here," he growled, watching you step out of his underwear and kick them aside. Your eyes were wide and fixed on his as you stood naked before him. "You gonna let me take care of you?"

"Yes," you gasped when he moved his hand to your pussy. "Are you still angry, Daddy? From your bad day?"

Bradley raised one eyebrow. He knew how he sounded. He knew he was breathing heavily. He also felt how fucking wet you were as he slid his middle finger along your slit. 

"Do you want me to be?" he asked before placing a rough kiss to your lips. 

"Yes," you moaned, and in one swift movement, Bradley had the front of your body pressed up against the wall next to the bedroom door. You squealed and braced yourself with both hands as he gently kicked your legs a little further apart. 

"You like making me this way?" he growled next to your ear before sucking hard on your neck. "I think you do."

Bradley reached his hands up to squeeze your tits as you whined his name. He stroked your nipples softly with his thumbs while he sucked on your neck some more. 

Then he took his cock in his right hand and guided himself to your opening. He filled you in one swift motion, and started fucking you so hard, your face almost hit the wall. He caught you with his hand on your jaw as you whimpered for him. 

"You think it's fun to get me all pissed off at work?" he asked, low and soft. "You love having so much control over me, don't you?"

"I do," you whispered as he turned your face so you were looking at him over your shoulder. 

"You love knowing I think about your voice during lectures. Think about your body when I'm flying. I can't stop thinking about how much I love fucking you," he said, his voice getting louder as he pressed his forehead against your perfect cheek and brushed his fingers over your tattoo before stroking your clit.

You cried out for him. "I do, Daddy! I love it!"

Bradley was determined to get you off. He wouldn't have a repeat of the dining room floor. Not today. He went a little harder, a little deeper. He listened to the incoherent words tumbling out of your mouth. And then he said, "Try and find someone better than me. Someone else who can fuck you this good. You can't."

"No!" you grunted, your fingers bending, nails digging into the wall. You were struggling to look at him as your eyes fluttered closed. 

He kissed along your jaw before ending at your ear and whispering, "I love you." And then he felt it. That beautiful clench of your pussy as you came for him. He knew the feel of you so well. He wanted to take care of everything for you. He needed to give you everything you wanted. Be everything you needed. 

He came for you too, hands drifting to your hips as his movements slowed. You were unsteady on your feet as you turned to face him. Bradley's cum was dripping down your legs and onto the floor as you reached for him. Then you were in his arms, kissing him just right with your fingers in his hair. And he couldn't remember why he'd been upset in the first place. 

"I love you," you whispered against his lips. Bradley stumbled back onto the bed with you wrapped up with him. When he fell back with you on top of him, you laughed. 

"Come here," he coaxed, and you straddled his waist and kissed him until your lips were puffy. When he tried to move, you held him down and kissed him some more. He felt himself relax completely with every little sound you made and every swipe of your tongue against his. 

"Roo," you crooned, your lips moving to his neck and kissing him softly there.

He groaned and started to sit up. "What's it called when the foreplay comes after sex?"

You giggled. "Post play?"

"Shit, Sweetheart," he said, letting you keep going with your lips. "You want more?"

"Mmhmm," you hummed against his skin, setting his nerve endings ablaze. 

"Give me a minute, and I'll take care of you again."

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

You were sore on Monday morning. In the best kind of way. You and Bradley had spent the weekend talking and having sex. And then having more sex. Only taking a break to go grocery shopping and swing by the Hard Deck. Jake knew right away that you were both feeling much better. He was always so patient with you that you found it hard not to smile when he bought you and Bradley beers. 

You needed to be more open with Bradley. And you would be. And starting today, you'd meet him and Nat in the cafeteria unless you really were honestly working through lunch instead of hiding in your office. You just needed to get through your morning with Cat. Which was easier said than done.

She gave you short answers to every question. When you asked her to type up some of the notes you wrote, she looked at you with a raised eyebrow. "Shouldn't you have typed this up yourself?"

You sighed. "I worked it up over the weekend. In my free time. I read it to my husband as I wrote it, and it seemed to flow easier when I wrote it."

She scrutinized your notebook. "Well I can barely read it. I'll work in the code while you type it up. I'm better at the code anyway."

Was she implying she was better at coding than typing? Or that she was better at coding than you were? She made you so mad. The next time Jake mentioned how beautiful her eyes were, you were going to pummel him. 

Everyone else had already deserted the lab when you realized what time it was. "Should we take a lunch break?" you asked, scrambling to lock up your computer. Bradley and the others were probably waiting for you already. You did not want to disappoint him today. Not after such a perfect weekend. 

"Fine," Cat agreed. Her tone was short, like you were throwing off her entire day by deciding to take lunch at lunchtime. 

You squared your shoulders and turned to face her as she stood up. Then you blurted out, "I don't understand what I did to make you dislike me."

Cat froze in place, her eyes appraising your face. You felt the prickle of embarrassment along your skin, and you were afraid she was going to laugh in your face. But she just shook her head slowly. "I don't dislike you."

"Yes, you do," you scoffed, your embarrassment swiftly replaced with annoyance. 

"No, Lieutenant Commander. I do not," she said, firmly closing her computer. Then she went off, and you didn't stop her. "But your life is so perfect, it's honestly hard for me to relate to you. Even at work. Your husband dotes on you. He's always in the lab, bringing you snacks and asking you about your day. You've got Seresin in here all the time, too. And you're the golden child. Bickel sings your praises at the meetings every week."

Your eyes were bugging out. "But, that's not-"

She cut you off and kept going. "You and I both have the same master's degree, but I'm a year older than you, and you outrank me." Her voice sounded bitter as she said, "I'm a single mom. My life is a mess. I'm broke. We live with my uncle. I feel like a joke all the time. But your life is perfect. And trust me, I wish more than anyone else that I wasn't jealous of you." 

You stood completely still and watched her walk out of the lab and disappear down the hallway. Your life was not perfect. The fact that it maybe looked that way to someone else shocked you. Cat thought she was a mess. Well, you were a mess, too. But she was a mom. 

A moment later, you followed her down the hallway toward the cafeteria where Bradley was waiting for you with a smile on his face and a bottle of your favorite hot sauce on his tray.

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

Oh. Cat's a little jelly of BG. Well, Cat... BG just might be a little jelly of you. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 4

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

@chassy21

@yaboid19

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@throwinsauce

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@whosyourgnomie4

@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@wishfulwithwine

@backinwonderl4nd

@tetragonia

@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@chaoticassidy

@missmirandafe

@changlingkhat

@sugarcoated-lame

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@starlightstories

@teddyluvs2sing

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@hecate-steps-on-me

@xoxabs88xox

[dira333]

dearest dira !! im here for your plot bunny game <3 could i request bokuto ?? :>

You might not have fallen in love with your husband if you'd met him out in the open, as loud and (affectionately) obnoxious as he is.

So you'll be forever thankful that you met him the way you did.

"Excuse me?" You kneel down to squint under the table. The space is barely big enough to hide a child and you don't think a man in a fancy dress suit could even get his leg in there.

"I'm not here," a voice whispers, high and a little whiny.

"Okay," you nod, "I was just wondering if you're comfortable. Are you hungry?"

"Maybe?"

You look over the table, take stock of the room. Loads of equally fancy-dressed people. The food isn't that far away.

"Okay, stay where you are, I'm going to get you something. Any preferences."

"I like meat."

.

"Okay, I'm back, are you there? I've got a few sticks with grilled chicken, some Onigiri even though they only had Tuna, and those Mini Steaks that are absolutely delicious. Everyone was looking at me like I was crazy but I don't know how hungry you a-" The Plates are all but ripped from your hands. You stare at the now-empty space but don't dare to lift the tablecloth in fear of what's truly hiding underneath.

For a while, you can only hear the quiet noise of someone chewing. You think about leaving, but it doesn't feel right. What if they're thirsty too?

But before you can ask them, the table starts shaking softly. For all the quiet swiftness he had entering this little safe space, the guy does not care for quiet nor swiftness as he creeps out, almost tipping the table over.

"Hey," he smiles up at you with wide, curious eyes, greyish hair slightly drooping, "You're still here."

"Uh, yeah, I was... uhm, are you thirsty? They have a Soda Fountain."

He's tall, huge even, with beefy arms and equally large thighs. How on earth did he fit- No, you don't wanna think about that. "Yeah!" He smiles, "That would be nice. What's your name? Mine's Bokuto. I'm not really sure why I'm here though, do you know-"

"OH! You're Bokuto Kotarou!" You smile, beaming with pride. "You're famous for your crossshot!"

Are you imagining things or did his hair just straighten like it has a mind of its own.

"You've seen me play?"

"Obviously! I'm probably your biggest fan!"

"Really?! Tell me more!"

-x-

"He's like his Dad," you sigh, peering into the small space between the TV and the Wall. "Always creeping into the tiniest places."

"Is he okay?" Kotarou's hanging off your shoulder, all weight and despair.

"I think so. Do we have some food to lure him out?"

"He ate all his snacks this morning."

"All his- Kou, you know you're not supposed to give him all his snacks at the same time!"

"But he looked so cute!"

You sigh again. "Stay here, okay? He likes you, he might come out when you ignore him. I'll get something he likes."

"But how do I ignore him?" Your husband asks, clearly unable to imagine such a scenario.

"If you turn your head to the left you can see the artwork Keiji bought us for our wedding. You always get lost in your head looking at it."

"Oh, right."

You're only a little surprised to still find him staring at the artwork when you turn back. But that's not the important part.

Important is the little puppy gnawing on Kotarou's hand, so obviously unhappy about the fact that no one's paying him any attention.

Like you said: Like father, like son.

[sohnric]

sweet like candy – e. sohn

pairing: eric sohn x fem! reader

genre: summer au, strangers to something more ?? fluff, suggestive. very much stargazing by the neighbourgood and fantasize by the boyz capsuled into a fic. eric is a simp and a hopeless romantic because i said so. a girl romanticizes sharing a lollipop (its me im girl)

warnings: alcohol, maybe some minimal swearing, a heated make out session that hints onto a hookup (no smut mentioned!). the use of a cheesy nickname babydoll (dont @ me or i will deactivate), reader has hair long enough for a claw clip

word count: 6.9k

a/n: almost cried while trying to name this fic somebody send help. Also this doesn't feel like my best work its kinda rushed imo but 🤠 yolo

part of the @deoboyznet summer on you event! cant believe i made it on time

a summer tradition of renting out a cabin every year invented by a couple of friends takes a turn for eric when a new addition to the circle brings him to his knees - in other words, he never knew tequila could taste so sweet.

If anyone ever asked Eric Sohn if he believed in love at first sight, he would, without a doubt, say yes. 

What was the proof he had? Well, absolutely nothing. All he ever knew about love at first sight was from romance movies he watched during lonely nights with his roommate Juyeon, never having the experience of the whole world stopping and zooming in on one particular person, taking his breath away– but to put it simply, Eric Sohn is a true romantic. Call him cheesy if you want– he wouldn’t like it, but he also wouldn’t disagree. 

On one summer afternoon, though, his world tilts in its axis– the moment comes, and he is finally able to test out his theory.

You walk out of the passenger’s side of a red 2008 Toyota Auris, hair put up into a claw clip, jean shorts showing off your long legs and a pearl white button-up opened and lazily thrown over your outfit, and suddenly, Eric Sohn finds his knees buckling and his palms sweating with affection. He was aware that Juyeon’s girlfriend was bringing her best friend to tag along to their little summer retreat (more like a trip to a cabin in the middle of the woods), but he sure as hell didn’t expect the stranger to make him feel this type of way. 

Sure, it might just be him being incredibly attracted to you. But with how fast his heart was beating when you smiled at everyone after introducing yourself to the group, he was sure he was slowly, but surely falling for you. And he was falling hard.

He feels like the world is moving in slow motion as he watches the group go and unload the car– you and your best friend Yeri were the last ones to arrive– and what wakes him up from the haze is when he watches you struggle to carry a cooler out of the trunk into the cabin, his legs dragging him closer to the vehicle and near to your body.

Now is his time to shine. “Let me help!” he hurries out, sneakers crunching on the gravel. His hands firmly grab onto the handle of the blue cooler, muscles flexing under the weight (making him wonder why you would willingly want to carry the thing and not ask him or any of the guys for help in the first place), and when your eyes look up at come in contact with his, he presses a smile to his lips. “I’m Eric, by the way.”

“Ah,” you gasp, a grateful expression breezing over your features, “thanks. I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Eric hums, watching your every move. Your figure walks over to the front of the car, your head popping in close to the window to look inside, and when a satisfied look overtakes your features, Eric finds himself asking. “Is that everything?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “we can head inside, I think.”

The boy tries hard to keep his cool, he really does. But with how he’s trailing behind you like a lost puppy, attempting to find a topic that would engage him in a conversation with you, he feels like a boy that is just experiencing a crush for the first time in his life. Everything about you is enchanting– and sure, you could say he was just painfully attracted to you and this had nothing to do with love– but he was also convinced that if you asked him to jump off the Empire State Building, he would do it without giving it a second thought (which is kind of worrying, but again– it says a lot). 

You open the door to the cabin for him, and he finds himself speechless at the action. Once your eyes meet again and you offer him another subtle smile, he finds himself gasping at the sentence that comes out of your mouth.

“Hey! We’re matching, kinda,” you note, pointing towards his outfit.

And you’re right– Eric didn’t even notice at first, too enchanted with your sheer existence– but you two were indeed wearing the same thing. Jean shorts, and a white button-up– in your case, thrown over a white tank top, in Eric’s, closed (although he did leave it a bit open at the top, revealing his tanned skin). Suddenly, the boy is glad he’s wearing a red cap to cover up his hair, since he foolishly thinks the hat provides him enough shade in the face to not reveal his burning cheeks as he utters out a weak response.

“It looks so much better on you, though.”

With that, he walks into the cabin– escaping the situation, not really paying a single thought to chivalry and letting you go through the door first– and as he reaches the crowd of people in the kitchen, he prays for all high sources to find him, get to him and wipe his brain clean of all thoughts, because

even though you are basically matching (and he does think you look so much better in the outfit than he does), all he can think about is just how much more he’d like your outfit if the white button-up enveloping your body was the one he’s wearing right now instead.

The next time Eric finds courage to talk to you is when it seems like you’re not finding it to talk to anyone else yourself– the big group is currently sitting around a fire, marshmallows and sausages slowly burning in the blazing flames– and while everyone around was either talking to each other or singing along to the songs Jacob was playing on the guitar, you were sitting alone in the middle of two commotions: Chanhee and Changmin arguing about something seemingly important, and Yeri and Juyeon making out right in front of everyone’s eyes. 

And Eric was supposed to listen to Sunwoo talk about his latest heartbreak– how the man still gets no girls despite having such an objectively handsome face, Eric truly doesn’t know– but the topic of the conversation was too boring for him to engage with it. That, and he was also painfully aware of your every move– you didn’t even move much– and word– you weren’t talking to anybody– and that was slowly driving him insane.

You looked a little out of place. Eric supposes it was because you didn’t really know anyone here– except from your best friend and her awfully sappy boyfriend– but even though it was logical and a little expected for you to be a bit excluded in such a foreign circle, the man took it as his mission to make you feel as welcome and as included as he physically could.

Completely ignoring Sunwoo’s blabbering (like he was doing for the last few minutes anyway), Eric confidently (and a bit shakily– hands sweating and breath hitching in his throat) walks to the other side of the bonfire, from where he’s been watching your stone expression through the flames, and sits down in the small place between you and Changmin. Changmin wasn’t even facing you, too engrossed in the debate he was having with Chanhee, and so it was Eric’s job to wobble his bottom into the place, efficiently making the older boy move away with a light elbow jab sent into his lower back.

“Hi,” he clears his throat, “are you having fun?” he asks, but mentally curses at himself right as the question escapes his mouth– does she look like she's having fun? Of course she doesn't, you stupid idiot.

You smile at the question, though, nodding. “Yeah,” you hum, “having lots of fun listening to your friends argue and my friends making out next to my ear.”

“You seemed like it too, y’know,” Eric laughs, “they’re always like this, by the way. They’ll forget about the fight in the morning.”

“Oh, that could never be me,” you sigh, shaking your head at the sentiment.

“No?”

“No,” you shrug, “I get too petty. If we have a fight, I’m not speaking to you for at least two weeks.”

Eric finds himself laughing at your comment. “I’ll remember that for future reference.”

Straightening your back and looking at your companion– as if you were going to call him out on his subtle hint of there being any future meeting between the two of you– you suddenly gasp and swiftly turn towards the bonfire, an honest mourn escaping your lips.

“Oh fuck!” you curse under your breath as your hand reaches towards a stick that’s had its end in the flame, the device efficiently resting against a rock in a position where you didn’t have to pay any attention to the snack you were cooking– more like burning– for yourself. With a quick move for the stick, you pull the tip of it out of the scorching red of the bonfire and look at it in an examining way, as if the result would be different and the marshmallow would unburn itself if you stared at it long enough. “I completely forgot about this!”

Eric takes a glance at the burnt piece of fluff, letting out a laugh at the black marshmallow in front of your face. “That’s not how you make a good s’more,” he notes, poking fun at your annoyed face.

“Oh, no shit, Sherlock…” you mutter under your breath, but your face looks a bit sad to see the piece go to waste. “I don’t know why I even tried, I’m bad at this stuff.”

There comes his moment, Eric thinks. “Well, you’re lucky, ‘cause you just met an expert at making s’mores.”

“Does a thing like that even exist?” you chuckle, rolling your eyes at the male in disbelief. 

“Of course it does! You’re looking at one now,” he grins, leaning over you to take a brand new marshmallow out of the bag to your right– sandwiched between your thigh and the couple in love– before he reaches over to your hand and takes the roasting stick out of your hand, slides the white fluffy cloud through the sharp tip and hovers it above the flame.

“The key is to hold it above the flame, and not in the flame,” Eric chuckles as he looks at you from the corner of his eye, watching your expression change.

“Oh, but I thought the key is to burn the thing,” you ironically gasp, shaking your head at his teasing. “Where did you even learn all of this?”

“I grew up in the States,” Eric hums, “they would deport me if I didn’t know how to make s’mores.”

The comment gets a giggle out of you– a sound Eric almost folds at and falls into the open fire (thankfully, he held his composure– he doesn’t think 3rd degree burns would suit his look) – and it takes everything in him to not scream like a teenage girl at the thought of making you laugh. Yes, that’s how down bad you managed to get the male.

“Do you have a special recipe?”

“Just the basic one,” he shrugs, turning the skewer in his hand to make the marshmallow equally glazed on each side, “I will make it extra good for you, though.”

“I thought a master always does their best?” you tease, watching as the boy crumbles under your gaze.

“Not always. I don’t like to put effort into things that aren’t worth it,” Eric hums as he takes the marshmallow out of the burning fire, examining it, and after deeming it worthy, taking the skewer and holding it up in between his knees. The male takes a graham cracker and tears it in half, before adding chocolate to one of the sides. After he’s done, he carefully places the golden fluff ball onto the cracker and closes it, offering the sweet sandwich to you with a subtle smile.

“For you,” he winks as he turns back towards the fire, putting another marshmallow onto the stick to make himself a s’more as well (and also mentally kicking himself at the sudden burst of courage). He hears you take a bite out of the snack, his knee bouncing up and down nervously as he awaits the verdict.

“Man,” you hum, “this is so good.”

“Told you,” he says, “if there’s something I’m confident in, it’s making s’mores.”

“That’s a very unuseful skill to have,” you note, but continue to eat. The comment has him chuckle and shrug.

“Well, I used it now, so I’d argue it’s actually very useful.”

A hum cuts out of your throat at this, finishing the s’more he made for you with a satisfied sigh. “Is this how you got girls back in the States?” you ask, making the male choke on his spit.

Eric was too young to get girls when he learned how to make the greatest s’mores. He went camping with his dad and his older sister and he burned a couple before he got it right. He was in middle school and before what the kids call a glow-up these days (back in the days, you just called it overcoming puberty), but still– he decides to test the waters with another lazy, half-assed flirty comment. “Only the pretty ones.”

He hears a chuckle out of you– a reaction he decides to not pay much attention to or overthink, for he doesn’t really remember what a good reaction to flirting is anymore– but then, you sigh and nod. “Well, I give your s’more a 5 star review, so I’d find that believable.”

The comment has Eric press his tongue into the inside of his cheek, battling a victorious smile that wants to oh so desperately appear on his lips. Turning his attention fully to you, he looks at you with confidence coating his insides– it only grows when he notices you staring at the side of his face, the flame of the fire twinkling in your eye and making your features sharper and twice as attractive to the poor boy. 

His eyes scan you over for a few seconds before he notices a glimmer of something on the side of your lip– a chocolate stain that has him cautiously lean in and swipe a thumb over the sweetness, not even thinking twice before smoothing his finger over your skin. 

“You had a little… something there,” he hums as he licks the chocolate off his thumb. Your eyes still trained on him force him to avert his gaze back to the fire– for it was unbearable, as if sparks were flying and burning his skin, everything about the interaction making goosebumps appear over his body; even though he felt hot in his cheeks and not at all cold– when the sight of his marshmallow in flames suddenly comes to him, startling him awake.

Hurriedly dragging out the burnt snack out of the fire, he hears you chuckle at him from the side– so much for not ruining the moment. (It’s okay, though. As long as you’re entertained.)

“I thought you were a master at s’mores,” you poke fun at him, “got distracted?”

Meeting eyes with you, Eric shrugs, a lazy grin settling to his lips. “I guess you could say that.”

The night progresses quickly– with Sunwoo getting so drunk he borrows Jacob’s guitar and clumsily strums the strings, freestyle rapping about the most random topics with flushed cheeks and eyes dramatically glued to the fire; Hyunjae wanting to have a competition of who can jump over the flames and Sangyeon having to stop his drunk friend with the force of his own body– and Eric finds his eyes lacking the candy he’s been occupying himself with the whole evening. You disappeared somewhere into the house a few minutes ago, and although he didn’t want to be clingy, he walked up to the cabin with a nervous pep in his step– that’s it, he just wanted to make sure you were okay.

Eric walks through the doorway, having his body immediately be met with the joined common room slash kitchen area. The cabin is kind of small (too small for the amount of people currently occupying it) and kind of old, but it’s a tradition to rent it every year during the summer, so no one ever questioned the decision or made the move to rent out a bigger one, no matter the growing friend group.

Your figure finally appears in the dimly lit kitchen area, your back turned to the doorway. Standing at the kitchen sink, it seems like you were doing the dishes– tons of plates used to carry grilled meat and sausages dumped carelessly into the sink, forgotten in a minute and leaving the last remains of food dry up on them and get hard to scrape off, a couple of glasses and mugs with their ears broken off from their age waiting with coffee stains at the bottom– and Eric immediately feels his heart fall down to his stomach, because why would one do the dishes in the middle of the night? Those usually get left there until the morning, when the least hungover person will take mercy on the rest and take care of them. Were you feeling excluded from the conversation? Did you feel bored? 

“What are you doing here so alone?” he asks, making you turn your head over your shoulder and smile at him– a stone falling off his heart at the action– before you shrug at him.

“Washing the dishes,” you say, as if it wasn’t clear already.

“I see that,” Eric chuckles, “what I meant to say was, why are you washing the dishes in the first place?”

“Well, somebody’s gotta do it.” 

Eric huffs– and he doesn’t even know why he’s so defensive about it. “That someone didn’t have to be you, y’know.”

He’s standing next to you now– your eyes meeting as you stare at the boy for a heartbeat– a smile spreading on your face at his furrowed brows. The action has him visibly relax, watching as you shrug and get back to the dish washing. “I just wanted some alone time for a bit,” you muse, “outside was getting too loud for a second, I’m not used to crowds.”

“Ah… once Sunwoo drinks, he can’t shut up, so I kinda get that it was starting to feel insufferable,” Eric notes, nodding at you in acknowledgement before the realization hits him. “Wait– you said you wanted to be alone, so I should probably-”

You halt him with a soft laugh– the one Eric finds his heart liking a little too much, with how it jumps up and down and makes all of him feel warm inside– a soapy hand reaching out in his direction. “It’s okay, you can stay,” you muse, “I enjoy your company.”

“O-okay,” Eric stutters– so much for the smooth lines he had prepared in his head before coming in here, all of them flying out of his head straight out of the window– and to not seem so silly, he gets his hands occupied and reaches for the clean dishes you started stacking on the counter next to the sink, deciding to dry them and put them away. The kitchen falls into a comfortable silence that only gets broken by an occasional scream landing through the walls from outside, and Eric can’t help but indulge himself in the domesticity of the act.

He can almost imagine you two washing the dishes like this in your shared apartment after you two cook dinner together and eat it in your cozy living room. That scenario sounds almost too good for the boy, having warmth slowly ooze into his cheeks, and that, he finds to be the hint that he should probably stop thinking about you in that way now or else he’ll get too distracted and break the glasses he is currently putting away. (God forbid– there were not enough of them for the entire friend group in the first place.)

“Are you having a good time, though?” Eric finds himself asking through his weird delirium.

You smile– oh god you smile, you should stop doing that if you want him to survive the night– and nod at the boy, calmness overtaking your aura and slipping into his cracks as well. “I am. It’s nice meeting new people and everyone’s very nice,” you say.

“That’s good to hear. How long have you and Yeri been friends?”

“A couple of years,” you note, “we met during high school. We always dreamt of moving away to college and living together at dorms or something, so it’s… it’s nice that it worked out for us,” you say, having Eric nod at your words with a sweet smile.

“That’s great to hear,” he muses, “I met Juyeon and Sunwoo in my freshman year of college, and the rest just… came along after a while.”

“Your friend group is pretty big,” you point out, having the boy shrug.

“I guess so,” Eric mumbles, never really thinking of it this way– in his eyes, this was normal. This was how he operated, how he lived. A lot of people around him, always close– one would think such a large friend group wouldn’t be as close with each other, but it’s quite the opposite in his case, he thinks. Maybe he was just blessed.

“How do you do that?” you sigh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I dunno,” he snickers, “guess you could say I’m quite the social butterfly.”

“I can see that,” you laugh. Eric watches you, his hands now empty of any dish– he’s been drying them quicker than you manage to clean (and rightfully so, the food is stuck on there) – he starts noticing the details of your sheer presence. How you have a slight smile playing with your lips even when your eyes are glued to the sink, how your hair slightly slips out of the claw clip and frames your face, how close you’re standing– his eyes slip towards your hands, noticing the water running down your forearms and dangerously close to the sleeves of your shirt.

Acting on reflex, mostly, the boy reaches towards your sleeves and gently tugs them up, the contact of your skin that he initiates and should realistically be prepared for making the tips of his fingers tingle, the action having you stop in your movements and glance up at him through your eyelashes– a sight he wishes he could engrave into the back of his eyelids so he could stare at it forever and always.

“Thank you,” you hum, voice barely louder than a whisper when he retracts away from you, taking his previous stance against the kitchen counter.

Eric hangs his head low for a second, clearing his throat to ease his own tension. Now is your turn to start up the conversation, a casual question falling off your lips as you get back to washing the last remains of dishes. “Yeri said you come here often?” 

The boy nods enthusiastically to your sentence. “We do. We started in freshman year, because Juyeon was going to this exchange program to Paris for a couple of months, so we threw him a goodbye party. Then he came back, so we threw a welcome back party here. And then we celebrated Younghoon hyung’s birthday here, and it kind of stuck, I guess? We go here at least once a year during summer.”

“That’s a nice tradition to have,” you sigh, turning the faucet off as you finish rinsing off the last dish– a big bowl that Sangyeon used to marinate the meat a few hours ago.

“It is,” Eric nods, smiling fondly at the sentiment. He reaches for the bowl and dries it with the now damp rag (there were a lot of dishes to dry, after all), and moves to put it back to its place under the sink. With your figure still in its previous spot, the boy puts away the towel onto the kitchen counter and gently grabs your waist with his free hand, moving you away a few inches to the left. He crouches and opens the cabinet under the sink and puts the bowl into the pyramid of other ones, straightening his back when he goes back into a standing position, catching you staring at him from above, watching his every move. Your body is leaning against the counter, having Eric mirror your stance only a few inches away from you before speaking up again. 

“You’re welcome to join us when we come back next time.”

The time reads 3AM– or at least that’s what his circadian rhythm tells him, because he doesn't bother to check as he twists and turns in the bed, too hot and too alert to fall asleep– when Eric decides to walk down the steep stairs and try to get some fresh air. The cabin is hot inside, but he still takes his lost button-up that he had thrown over one of the kitchen chairs and puts it on before he makes his way outside, knowing that the forest will make his bones get cold with the crisp breeze. 

He opens the door and moves to sit on the little patio– the silence of outside is overwhelming even after the cabin has quieted down and everyone has gone to sleep (each one on a different level of tipsy ranging from completely chill Sangyeon to doesn’t know where he is Sunwoo– with Eric somewhere in the middle of the spectrum). His legs drag a little tiredly as he scans his surroundings– god forbid there’s a bear out waiting for him– when the sight of a figure sitting on the floor takes him by surprise, their head already turned to him after hearing the sound of the door opening. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks as he walks over to you, noticing your frame dressed in a tank top and sweatpants, hinting that you at least tried to get some sleep before coming out here, just like he has.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you shrug, confirming his suspicions.

“Same here,” the man sighs, “mind if I sit with you?”

“You’re welcome to join me,” you smile at him, patting the floor next to you and watching as Eric crouches down before taking a seat on the wood, ignoring the sunbeds and old rattan chairs situated all over the patio. (If you’re on the floor, he’s on the floor– it’s as simple as that.)

You’re holding a lollipop in between your fingers, your other hand occupied with a half-empty bottle of tequila that was previously passed around the circle at the bonfire. Eric raises his brows at the sight, having you shamefully avert your gaze from him.

“I thought it would be a waste to not finish this,” you say, snickering, “and I also… kind of hoped that it would put me to sleep…”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures?” 

“I guess you could say that,” you laugh. Taking a sip from the bottle, you gulp the alcohol down before putting the lollipop inside of your mouth, sucking on it and licking your lips after. This is not the way you’re supposed to drink tequila, but Eric figures that gathering salt and a lime would be too much work anyways.

“Are you really using that lollipop as a chaser?” he giggles, making you hum.

“Yeah,” you stare at him, a grin overtaking your features, “this girl taught me to do that at a party last year. It’s not as good as literally anything else, but it gets the job done. Wanna try?” you ask, offering him the sweetness on the stick and the bottle.

The truth is, you were only a bit tipsy when the group slowly started to scatter into their beds. Eric didn’t drink as much either– only enough to make him laugh at everything that was said and make his staring at you twice as obvious as it was before– so he thinks he can take some more. As you said, it would be a shame if the bottle went to waste– and also, something about the idea of drinking with you alone on the patio was making his hopeless heart hammer against his chest in dangerous measures.

“Sure,” he agrees, taking the bottle first. The boy takes a sip, feeling the alcohol burn down his throat, and when he moves the dark brown glass away from his lips, he is met with the image of you leaning closer to him, offering him the lollipop. His hand instinctively grabs the plastic stick, thinking you’re letting go of it, when he’s met with the feeling of your flesh under his fingertips. You put the lollipop against his lips, making him open up on instinct and suck on the strawberry flavored candy, a million different sensations (all unrelated to the alcohol) swimming through his brain– you’re so close, you smell so good, he’s holding your hand, he’s sucking on the lollipop you previously had in between your lips and it’s driving him crazy– before you take the candy out from between his lips and put it back into your mouth, tongue swirling around the sweet ball. 

The lollipop had an aftertaste of tequila on it, but it was enough to chase down the faint bitterness– Eric finds himself wanting to taste more of the sweet strawberry, but foolishly desiring to get the sensation off your lips instead. His eyes stay locked with yours throughout the whole exchange, sparks flying in between the two of you even though the bonfire has long gone out, his fingers lazily dropping from the candy.

“How was it?” you ask, voice barely louder than a whisper– goosebumps appearing all over Eric’s skin when he swears your eyes flicker to his lips for a split second. 

“Good,” he admits. It’s silly how he feels so breathless at the action.

The sound of the wind playing with the leaves of the forest is the only thing accompanying you two. It’s as if you two were thinking of the same thing when you pull out the lollipop out of your mouth and offer it back to Eric, watching with utmost interest as the boy leans closer to capture it in between his lips, never breaking eye contact. The action feels a little too electrifying to him, a little too intimate, but he can't stop– can't even imagine wanting to.

Taking a sip of the tequila, but not chasing it down with the candy, you speak up again, lazy eyes practically glued to him. “This would be a perfect moment for a kiss…” you mumble, licking your bottom lip for a split second before biting down on it.

“Are you flirting with me?” Eric foolishly asks, tone of voice a bit weak, a little unsure, the candy still in his mouth, making his words come out a little jambled.

“Mhm,” you nod, grinning to yourself– Eric wonders how much of your behavior and how much of his raging heartbeat is due to the effect of alcohol in both of your veins.

His fingers pull at yours as he takes the candy out of his mouth, voice dropping as he answers you. “Then we probably shouldn’t waste the moment.”

Even though the intentions are clear, the boy can’t bring himself to make the first move– he’s completely enchanted with your presence, staring at you with tension in his shoulders and eyes trained onto your face, watching and examining it for any shift or change. Focused on the way you move, he thinks you must have realized you were going to have to be the one to take the first step– your lazily smile before you lean closer, impossibly close– making Eric’s eyes flutter shut with anticipation, your breath fanning his face making goosebumps appear all over his body.

When your lips finally touch his, he feels like he’s being kissed for the first time again, with the amount of fuzziness in his stomach and buzzing in his ears. He regains his composure quite quickly, though, as he positions his head in a way that makes you two even closer to each other, lips pressing firmer against yours now. His hand instinctively reaches out to hold your jaw, fingertips glazing the soft skin under them, your lips retracting only to go in for more. 

Blindly placing the bottle onto the floor next to your bodies, you peck his lips and sigh into the kiss. “Damn, you’re good at this…”

“We’re only getting started,” he muses, making you chuckle. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm,” he nods, watching as you once again lean in and suck on his upper lip, making his eyes flutter close again. A weight appears over him as you shift in your place and move to straddle his lap, your hand moving to cup his cheek and tilt him upwards, everything about the kisses getting more hurried– less gentle, less hesitant– when you tug on his bottom lip with your teeth and grant your tongue entry into his mouth.

Sweetness mixes in between you, your hands moving around his neck, heavy breaths shared across the patio. Eric feels like he’s levitating, his body having an out of body experience, yet being awfully present– every little shift pushing him to overdrive, the slightest touch making his skin burn and heart drum against his ribcage.

You shift in his lap, making him huff under the pressure, his lips trailing wet kisses down the side of your neck. Teeth glazing the jointure of your shoulder, kitten licking the place and sucking in a bruise that will eventually be visible to everyone when you two wake up in the morning, Eric feels your hands tugging down the sleeves of his shirt, fingers feeling up his biceps. The action makes him chuckle into your neck, but the smile fades quickly as he feels your nails scratching gently at his flaming skin.

“Take this off,” you mutter, and Eric finds it endearing– helping you take him out of the button-up, sitting under you in just a white tank top and black basketball shorts. 

“Why?” 

“Your arms looked good in this,” you hiss before you hide your face into his neck, leaning down to give him your fair share of kisses and love bites, having the male teasingly joke as his hands run up under your tank top, painfully aware of the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra anymore.

He moves his head to the side to give you more access before speaking out, tone of voice husky and coated in lust. “What if I get cold now?” 

“Then I’m more than happy to move this to your room,” you purr into his ear.

Eric sighs, fingers playing with the hem of your top before he lets his palms drift towards your exposed stomach, roaming across naked skin. Goosebumps appear all over your body at the action, making the boy victoriously grin. “It looks like you’re the one that's cold, though, babydoll.”

Rolling your eyes at the male, you shut him up by latching yourself onto his lips before you speak against his mouth. “I’ll take that as an invitation, then?”

“Wake up Eric! The girls are leaving, you should at least go say goodbye!” Sangyeon roars into the boy's room, making the male turn over in the bed and huff out in frustration. He drags his arm up to shield his eyes from the sunlight hitting his face, the intention of just rolling over and sleeping more written very clearly in his face.

“Come on man, we’re leaving in an hour too, so you should go send them off and then pack your shit so we can load the cars,” Sangyeon says when he gets no reaction from the youngest. It’s to no use, apparently, and so as the oldest and most observant out of the group, Sangyeon decides to use physical force– he knows Eric would hate to have you go without saying goodbye. He’s not stupid. Or blind. 

A strong hold on his calves drags Eric out of the bed and makes his half-naked body fall to the floor, a yelp coming out of his throat finally making Eric’s body fully alert and awake. 

“Yo! What the fuck–”

“Put a shirt on and go say goodbye to Y/N before she goes, would you, sleeping beauty?” Sangyeon huffs before rolling his eyes at his younger friend, escaping the room and shutting the door close after himself with a loud thud (to add more effect to the scolding, Eric thinks).

The mention of your name has Eric quickly scrambling out of the bed. His heart hammers at the adrenaline rush, pulling a clean shirt out of his bag and dragging it over his head, the basketball shorts from yesterday’s night found on the floor being pulled over his lower frame in approximately 0.5 seconds. Eric takes the stairs 3 at a time– with how steep they are, he questions how exactly does he not trip and break his spine on his way down– and puts on a pair of slippers he finds at the door (that are not his, or his size, for the matter, making his heels comically stick out from the back). 

Without checking his appearance in the mirror anywhere, he swings the door open and walks out of the cabin, watching as the group settles in a half-circle around your car, Yeri loading the trunk with her duffle bag before she closes it shut and smiles at her boyfriend Juyeon on the side. Eric joins the crowd, clearing his throat when his eyes fall onto your figure, the sight in front of him freezing him in his spot.

You’re standing there, in your jean shorts from the day before, an oversized white button-up enveloping your frame. A clueless stranger might not tell the difference, but he does– you put the shirt onto your bare skin and buttoned it just enough to reveal a bit of your cleavage– and it’s so similar to the outfit you had on yesterday, just with one difference. 

You’re wearing Eric’s shirt. You’re wearing his shirt and your neck is scattered with red and purple-ish bruises, and no, Eric wasn’t that drunk and he remembers everything, but the events of last night suddenly play out right in front of his eyes like a movie, still nailing him to his spot and wiping out all of his vocabulary.

The boy feels hot in his cheeks as he watches you and your best friend pay your goodbyes to the rest of the boys, the men pulling you into side-hugs and fist bumps, shared ‘It was nice meeting you’s and ‘You should come by next time too’s resonating through the place. Soon enough, you reach the end of the make-shift half circle and lock your eyes with Eric, a playful smile softly appearing on your face.

“It was nice meeting you, Eric,” you hum, “I had fun,” you note, shooting him a knowing look.

“Me too,” he nods, nervously chewing on his bottom lip. He doesn’t know where the confidence of last night went, but he suddenly feels unarmed and lost. What does one do now?

The sight of you in his shirt makes him feel like his biggest (wet) dream has come true– call him cheesy, but it also wakes up a sense of déja vu in him from the day before– you with sunlight in your eyes, hair messed up in a claw clip. He feels like he just fell in love at first sight again. Is that even possible?

It’s good you have a sense in you that makes you take the initiative and be in charge when you see him faltering. A giggle cuts out of your throat as you lean in and hug the boy around his neck, your lips dangerously close to his ear as you speak in a hushed whisper, not wanting to be heard by the men around you.

“I stole your shirt from you, by the way. You should text me if you want it back, so we can meet up, or something,” you mouth, lips gently glazing the sensitive skin of Eric’s ear, and god does he feel like he's going to suffocate from the lack of oxygen this causes in his lungs.

“You look amazing in my clothes, so I won’t ask for it back,” Eric hums, “but I’ll text you just in case you ever wanna bless my eyes with the sight again.”

“Deal. I’ll make Juyeon text me your number,” you say before you pull away from him, shooting him a wink that almost has his knees buckling like a school boy in love for the first time.

You walk backwards and wave at the group, sending Eric one last look before you join the passenger’s side and close the car door behind you, the sound of Yeri starting the engine resonating through the quiet forest. The men wave at you until the Toyota disappears out of sight, only scattering inside when it does to gather their things and load up their cars as well.

Eric is woken up from his trance by a teasing whistle coming out of Sunwoo’s mouth and a father-like slap to his back from Sangyeon.

He wonders if he’s truly being so obvious. (He's unaware of the fact that you two had very visible matching love bites on your necks. It doesn’t take much effort to put two and two together– don't tell him that, though.)

Still, Eric shrugs and goes inside with a different kind of pep to his step. 

When he licks his lips, he swears he can still taste the strawberries.

[bump1nthen1ght]

A Very Monstrous Kinktober (2024) Day 25 - Shower Sex

Kink: Shower Sex

Pairing: M!Reader x M!Shadow Demon

Other Kinks: Soft Sex, Fluffy Smut

Word Count: 1284 words

Kinktober Masterlist

After a long week at work, stressed out under the fluorescents, there’s something soothing about darkness.

The lack of light feels weirdly warm, sucks you in like a hug, wraps itself around you. It blots out all the worrisome things, like the unfolded pile of laundry on your desk chair, or the dishes still sitting in the sink. In the dark your worries seem to flit away, forgotten and consumed whole.

Shucking off your sweaty work uniform, you don’t bother flicking on the bathroom lamp. No, you just light some candles and enjoy the browns and purples of the night and the fire, watching the hot water fog up the mirror. You could get lost in here; You, the water, and the dark.

The shower spray is heavenly on your sore body, pressure beating out the strain on your neck and shoulders. Stress melts down your spine, settles and spins before being sucked down the drain. A palm caresses your lower back, another sliding up to your stomach.

“Hello, dear.” Val whispers from above your head. His large, looming figure fills the shower behind you, horns brushing against the ceiling as he blends in with the shadows. Another reason to love the darkness.

“Hey Val.” You sigh, falling into his grip. Water streams down between you both, makes his inky black skin shine. 

“Long day?” The hand on your lower back pushes in with its knuckles, finding quickly the knot that's been bothering you since this morning. You arch your spine, nodding your head with a sigh.

“Yeah.” You don’t elaborate, too exhausted to even recount every annoyance in your mind.

Val hums, just lets you sit in the warmth of the water and his body. Spindly fingers draw up and down your navel, making art with the water droplets. A warm, thick tongue laps at your neck, like a cat trying to comfort its frightened kitten.

“That feels nice.” You let your head fall to the side, feel the muscle lather up and down. It moves like a python, relaxing with its languid stretches down your neck.

Val hums again, moving his spindly hand downward from your belly button. It hovers over your cock, still gentle. It's you who makes the first move, who lets Val know you’re down for some physical comfort with a quick jut of your hips

Shadowy tendrils crawl up your legs as Val cups your sack. Your inhale sharply, mouth drooping open as he moves up your shaft to brush his thumb against your head, making your cock twitch. You were already half-hard when he pressed against you, your cock now fully erect in his hands. The tendrils around your thigh become slick with water, sopping wet and dripping onto the tiled floor of the shower. 

It takes all you have to not fall over when Val jerks you off, slow and relaxed. Instead you just rest your weight into his grip, let his semi-amorphous shape wrap around you for support. You let out a breathy gasp when tendrils sneak between your ass cheeks and begin circling your hole, prodding at the ring of muscle.

“Fuck.” You mutter under your breath. The flicker of a tongue presses against your lips, polite in asking for access to your sweet mouth. You comply, meeting Val tongue first in your makeout. He kisses you the same way he jerks you off, at his own sensual pace.

Your hand slams against the glass shower window when the first tendril pushes inside you, leaving a dramatic handprint as you moan into Val’s mouth. The hand on your cock speeds up, thwapping against your thighs and spraying water droplets everywhere.

“Feeling good?”

You nod, gasping in between kisses. The water still beats down, blurring your vision. It’s always difficult to fully see Val in the dark, but under the showerhead he seems more all encompassing, like he spreads to every corner of the room.

Tendrils nudge and twist around each other inside you, pressing against your insides and feeling around your prostate. Lightning sparks across your back when they do, your body unconsciously writhing in Val’s grip.

“I want you.” You beg, eyes going cross. “I need you.”

Vall chuckles, his clawed finger tracing the underside of your jaw.

“Of course, dear. Whatever you need.”

Val is gentle when he bends you over, hands wrapping around your wrists to set you against the shower wall, lets you splay your palms out for support before he unwraps from around your upper half. You whine when his hand moves off your cock and his tendrils pull out, but the oozing tip of his cock quickly shuts up any complaint. His hands find their place on your hips instead, his mouth laying kisses on your spine. 

“I’m going to put it in now.”

“Please.”

Val chuckles again, presses his lips to your skin and doesn’t pull away as he sheaths himself inside you. His cock pulses across every inch, smooth shadowy ooze spurting out from between your hole and his shaft.

 A brief shock travels up your spine once he’s fully seated, nudging against your most sensitive area. Some tendrils fondle your ass cheeks while others wrap around your thighs, nudging you to hold them open. The spindly fingertips press into your pelvis, a long, shuddering breath ghosting down from behind your shoulder.

“Feels so good.” Val whispers against your shoulder, dancing his lips up across the blade and to the back of your neck. “You always feel so good.”

Val jerks his hips, a micro of a movement that makes you yelp.

Your desperate whines, bubbling and simmering at the back of your throat, are enough to urge Val on. He starts off slow, lets you adjust to his size, just feeling you squeeze, until he finally lets go.

“A-ah~” You whisper, quiet under the noise of Val’s hips against your ass cheeks as he thrusts up and into you. Water drips down your hair, down your nose and across your jaw. You have to spit it out every couple of seconds, lips caught open in your moans and collecting water like a sink. 

Your skin sticks together, the inky darkness of Val’s form coming undone as he loses himself inside you. The hand moves back around your cock but it's far less coordinated, sloppy and slick as it runs up your shaft. It finds its place on your head, keeping it in a squelching grip and watching the water run through the digits.

“Kiss me.” You pant, arching your neck, tongue stuck out in desperation. With Val’s long tongue it’s not hard for you to meet in the middle, his torso growing and expanding so his lips can lock with yours. Saliva mixes with shower water as it dribbles down your chin, the kiss sloppy like it's your very first one.

Your toes begin to curl, your cock twitching as your orgasm steadily climbs up. All that stress at the base of your spine has begun to unfurl, the memories of your long day fading away. You gasp into Val’s mouth.

“I-m gonna-”

“Me too.” Val whispers, stealing your breath in another kiss, forcing his cock to the deepest part of you. It’s all the push you need, hips jumping forward as your cock bursts into its orgasm. The trembling feeling is only exasperated by Val himself, his cock notched against your prostate and pumping you full.

Fluids mix and drip down between your two bodies, melting into the water and smoothly down the drainThey go alongside the worries of the day, the stink of anxiety and nerves. All that’s left is the darkness. The warm, comforting darkness.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[silentsamlikesham]

Happy Birthday Zoro!!

I was meant to write several short fics today and instead I accidentally wrote this...enjoy!!

N.B: In Japan a birthday is generally spent with a significant other and you meet your friends/family on a day close to it (according to the Internet, I'm not Japanese). I used that idea in this fic for some miss communication! So yeah keep that idea in mind!

.........

A seagull flies tiredly towards the sight of land. It had taken weeks to fly this far into the Grand Line, its important letter pressed safely to it’s chest. It’d been paid handsomely for the journey. The two buffoon humans had given it very clear instructions to deliver the letter on this date exactly.

The bird’s sharp eyes scan the docks as the bird approaches closer to a large portside town. It spots the Jolly Rodger it’s been looking for and swoops to the deck, delighted to have a moment to rest its wings.

The deck is empty, much to the bird’s annoyance. It spots an open barrel of clear water though, and flaps over to it, drinking hungrily from it.

“Oi, bird.” Its eyes flick to a blonde-haired human stalking towards it. It pulls its beak from the barrel, happily sighing after hours of seeing only the seawater beneath it. “That’s for us, is it?”

It presses its chest forward, letting the human unclasp the string on the pouch and pull out the letter tucked inside.

“Eh? This isn’t the paper.” The curly eyebrows on the human’s face furrow as he inspects the envelope. 

Sanji does his best to read the smudged name on the front, but the characters have bled together too much to discern it.

“This definitely for us?” The bird stares at him before pointing its beak at the Jolly Rodger above them. Before Sanji could ask how much they owe the bird, it takes off, clearly satisfied with its job.

“Weird.” The cook mutters to himself as he returns to the galley. He’d been enjoying the peace of organising the pantry after they’d restocked it yesterday. Everyone was off the ship except for Franky who was up in the crow’s nest on watch. He must be tinkering with something though, seeing as he didn’t notice the messenger bird himself.

The rest of the crew had disembarked to explore the island. Last Sanji had seen them most of the crew had been heading to the centre of the town to explore. Except for the mosshead that Sanji had watched head the opposite direction, inevitably in the middle of getting lost.

Sanji grabs a small knife from one of galley’s drawers and neatly cuts the top of the envelope open. A small piece of paper rests inside along with some berri. Sanji lets the money tumble onto the counter, now even more confused. 

The slip of parchment is in much better shape than the envelope, but the handwriting is almost just as bad. The writer clearly didn’t have much experience in writing, but Sanji manages to read through it. His eyebrows raise as he takes in the words, slowly realising it’s meant for a certain green-headed idiot. It’s signed off by the two bounty hunters Sanji had met at Arlong Park, old friends of the Marimo. 

They’re wishing him a happy birthday, the date on the letter matching perfectly with the day itself. They must have sent it some time in advance for a seagull to get all the way here to them. 

It was the idiots birthday? He hadn’t said a damn word about it to them. He knew Sanji always cooked the crewmate’s favourite dish and dessert for the day. Nami probably would have given him extra money for a nice drink too, knowing how kind and wonderful the woman is. 

Sanji lights the cigarette hanging from his lips. Unless the moron didn’t want them to know. It’d be just like him to see something like a birthday as unimportant or being embarrassed by the attention. He shifts his weight from foot to foot as he takes a few drags, reading the warm message sent by the bounty hunters, telling him to buy a drink on them with the berri enclosed. Clearly, he had told them about the day, had celebrated it at least once before with them.

Sanji slams his fist angrily on the counter, not quite sure where the emotion comes from, but screw the Marimo. He isn’t getting out of celebrating his birthday just because he thinks it’s above him. He’s sorely mistaken if he thinks he’ll avoid Sanji’s wrath when it comes to making a birthday dinner. 

With his resolve solidified, Sanji begins piecing the ingredients together. He doesn’t realise it until he’s an hour into crafting the food, but he’s only making enough for two people. Well, he must go find the idiot. There’s no way Sanji will get the crew altogether at this point, and Zoro doesn’t have a chance of being back before midnight if he’s gone off on his own. As it stands, Sanji will be lucky to find him before nightfall. 

He packs the meal into a basket when it’s ready, carefully packing it so nothing will be smushed or ruined. He briefly thinks of bringing two glasses with him but decides to just pack a bottle of sake and wine, the oaf will happily swig from the bottles anyways.

He calls up to Franky when he finally disembarks, the sky is coloured pink behind the crow’s nest, and Sanji feels a tension inside him to hurry up. The engineer hollers a goodbye as he leaves, making his way down the same route the swordsman had gone hours before. There’s deep sand on most of the route, and Sanji can make out the fake indent of the only pair of footsteps that have taken the path today.

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

He finds the swordsman just as it’s getting dark enough that Sanji’s cigarette is becoming a guide of sorts, helping him from tripping over rocks and roots. The Marimo is swinging his swords around, cutting lightly into the bark of trees as his body twists and his legs seem to float beneath him.

For everything that Sanji hates about the other, he’s a beautiful fighter. There’s a grace to his power, a purpose to his strength and an elegance to his footwork. Sanji watches him for a moment, almost forgetting about his reason for showing up. 

He’s soon brought back to the moment as Zoro catches sight of him in the corner of his vision. Of course, the idiot turns in his surprise and lunges forward, expecting the worst. Sanji easily kicks him out of his course to skewer the blonde. The mosshead isn’t expecting the kick and the darkness briefly confuses him as he stops his motion against a tree, coughing as the impact of the kick rattles his ribcage.

“Oi, what the fuck dart-brows?” He’s glaring at Sanji now, his pupils holding a glint from the flame of the cigarette. “Only way to land a hit is to sneak up on me?”

Sanji bites clean through his filter, letting his cigarette fall to the ground. 

“Maybe if your reactions weren’t as slow as a door, then you could have blocked it.”

“Eh? You want to say that to me again?” Zoro’s voice is dangerous as he marches forwards. 

He’s been training for hours, trying to work on quicker footwork rather than brute force. He’s tired, but also itching for a proper fight. He lunges at the cook, only being stopped as the blunt side of his katanas are blocked by a leg catching them in an X. 

Sanji barely moves an itch at the impact, one of his hands in his pocket, his body somehow almost perfectly upright despite the angle of the kick. Zoro will never understand how a man can be so flexible. 

“Watch it, idiot. If any of this goes to waste, I’ll kill you.” Zoro’s eye flick down to where Sanji briefly looks, only now noticing the basket handle he’s clutching. 

“What is it?” Zoro leans back, his swords falling by his side as he studies the woven basket. It’s one the cook usually brings onto an island for lunch when they eat out on the sand. Maybe he’s doing the rounds on the crew.

“Food, so put your swords away and wash your hands over there.” Sanji motions to a nearby stream, his nose wrinkling at the sight of how sweat covered Zoro is. The swordsman listens for once, rolling his eyes as he heads over to it. He’d argue more but suddenly his rumbling stomach is reminding him that he hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast. He can always beat the cook’s face into the ground afterwards.

He uses the jumper he’d thrown off earlier to dry his face and hands after washing in the stream, and by the time he returns he’s met with quite the surprise. Sanji has sat himself down on a picnic blanket, he’s fussing over the layout of some rice balls on a plate. Rice balls, Zoro’s favourite thing to eat. Beside them is several plates of Zoro’s favourites food, most of them dishes he’d grown up eating. A nice bottle of Sake rests beside the empty side of the blanket, Sanji having a bottle of wine resting against his hip. Zoro feels like he’s accidentally walked into an alternative universe, maybe the forest is haunted, or this is some devil users influence.

“What the fuck, cook?” He stands over Sanji, his arms crossed as he deliberates unsheathing a sword or not. 

“What?” Sanji growls, staring up at him with his one uncovered eye. “You got a problem, Mosshead?”

Zoro squats down, getting close to Sanji’s face, studying the familiar bump of his nose, the curve of his brows, the sweep of his hair. Sanji freezes, finally looking as confused as Zoro. 

“You look like, Curley. Did you bang your head or something?” Zoro leans back on his heels.

Sanji is reeling, his lips still tingling from the tickle of breath that had ghosted over them when Zoro had spoken so close to him. He’s used to feeling breathless when they get that close, used to feeling a flush on his neck and a tightening in his gut, but usually it’s because he’s pissed off and about to unleash his best attacks. This isn’t that.

“Wha-What are you talking about?” Sanji shakes his head, trying to clear it.

“This.” Zoro waves at the blanket. “Why the fuck did you make all this? This is- well this is all stuff I like. You make this for the whole crew?”

Sanji breathes out a sigh of relief. Of course, the idiot is confused.

“I do this for everyone’s birthday, moron. Even yours.” He lights himself another cigarette, so he doesn’t have to look at Zoro’s reaction. 

Zoro stares at Sanji for a long uncomfortable silence. The cook made all this for him? He came out here with it prepared for just the two of them to enjoy together? Not the whole crew, not like usual, not really. This is different. He’s treating Zoro differently. He’s planned this for just the two of them…on Zoro’s birthday…

Zoro sits the other side of the plates, grabbing a rice ball and taking a bite out of it. As always, it tastes annoyingly good. Every flavour and texture exactly how Zoro likes it, the weirdo having studied him for the months they’ve been travelling together. Hold on-

“How did you know it was my birthday?” 

Sanji can feel the tick of annoyance on the back of his head. Of course, instead of giving any sign of enjoying the food or a compliment, the brute has to be suspicious. Instead of replying, Sanji grabs the slip of paper out of the inner pocket of his blazer and passes it over to Zoro, grabbing a rice ball for himself as his hand passes back over the picnic. He’s hungry too.

Zoro reads it while loudly chewing on another mouthful of food. Sanji tries to ignore how disgusting it is by studying the expression on Zoro’s face. The mosshead must feel him watching because he keeps his expression schooled, although his lips still perk up in the corners. He laughs a bit as he tucks it into his pocket. 

Zoro doesn’t say anything more about it. The two eat in silence for a while, Zoro making his way through the sake at a scary pace, before pawing at Sanji for some of his wine too. The cook allows him, for once, given it is his birthday. But when the sound of eating starts to die down, he can’t help but ask the question that’s been eating at him ever since he opened the letter.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone it’s your birthday?” 

Zoro wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping away the dribble of red wine from his lips. He’s messy about it though and his bottom lip still glistens a bit, the shine only lit by the moonlight that was breaking through the trees above them, and the one candle Sanji had lit so they could see what they were grabbing.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal.” Zoro shrugs, eating the last of the fish to clean the final dish. “Plus, I didn’t want one of your shitty cakes.”

“Excuse me?” Sanji is genuinely floored by the comment. How dare the green haired idiot-

“They’re too sweet.” Zoro complains, playing with the hilt of his sword instead of saying it to Sanji’s face.

“No, you just hate sweet things.” Sanji huffs, putting some plates away in case he needs to lunge at the green-haired idiot to strangle him.

“And I wouldn’t make one for your birthday anyways, Marimo. I wouldn’t be the future pirate king’s cook if I was that bad at reading my crewmates tastes.”

Sanji feels his cheeks heat up as Zoro turns to him with a studying look, suddenly intrigued, or maybe impressed. 

“Although now I don’t think you deserve the dessert I did make.” Sanji folds his arms, not quite over the earlier insult. 

Zoro ignores the pout and reaches into the basket instead, Sanji watches him out of the corner of his eye. He can’t explain to himself why he’s suddenly so nervous about what Zoro will think of his choice of Birthday dessert. 

The swordsman pulls out a small tub of one of the few desserts he genuinely enjoys, one that he remembers eating every summer at the dojo, passing them out between his classmates. He picks up one of the warabi mochi like it’s delicate, like he might crush it before it makes it to his mouth. Sanji had only made the dessert once, and Zoro had complained about some aspects of it. He thought the cook would never bother to try it again.

This time, it’s perfect. An honest moan leaves Zoro’s mouth as he swallows, his tongue licking at some of the filling that was left on his lips. Sanji feels his whole face flush red at the sight. His heart is drumming in his chest now, his eyes flicking between Zoro’s eyes and his lips. He watches his Adam’s apple as he swallows the first piece. 

Sanji’s mouth dries up, his palms suddenly clammy. Zoro has never reacted so openly to anything Sanji has made for him. It unsettles him, it leaves him feeling warm and clumsy. He throws the bud of his smoked cigarette away and finds his fingers are shaking. 

“You made this today, just for my birthday?” Zoro’s voice is soft, a foreign tone to Sanji’s ears.

“Obviously, idiot.” Sanji looks away then, he can’t look weak. He can’t let the mosshead realise how sick he suddenly feels. He wants to run away, to forget that Zoro can be soft, that the two of them can sit like this.

He hears Zoro moving, can feel him getting closer on the blanket. But he doesn’t say a word. When Sanji turns his head to see what the fuck is going on, he feels Zoro’s hand as it grasps the back of his head. He stares at Zoro’s closed eyes as their lips meet. 

Sanji is pretty sure his heart stops. He feels winded as rough lips kiss him softly, as Zoro’s grip on the back of his neck is light, nothing like the way they usually grab one another. His lips taste like the syrup drizzled on the mochi and Sanji’s chef brain registers how it interacts with the dessert wine he’d brought with him, unintentionally matching the two so they form the perfect taste between their lips.

Sanji is breathless, his stomach now feeling like its own oven as a fire ignites. He can feel blood rushing south, his body reacting in a split second to something he hasn’t had since he left the Baratie, something he hasn’t had time to have. 

He’s enjoying it, getting lost in the other body that draws itself closer to him. It’s only when Sanji’s eyes flutter closed, when his lips match the rhythm of the ones against them, that his brain catches up to body.

This is Roronoa Zoro he’s kissing.

Sanji pushes against the Marimo’s chest, Zoro falling back on his hands as he stares confused at the reaction. As though Sanji is the crazy one. Sanji places two fingers to his lips, his expression horrified.

“What the fuck was that?” He screams, waving his hands around, not sure if he should be kicking the oaf or running as quick as he can back to the ship.

“What?” Zoro huffs, not moving away from the blonde but glaring down at the sand in front of them. He looks confused too, like he wasn’t expecting Sanji to question him.

“What? What? You just kissed me, Mosshead. What the fuck is that about?” Sanji realises he’s panting between his words. He’s pretty sure he’s going into shock from how quick his blood pressure has risen.

Zoro’s gaze whips to the blonde, feeling hurt that Sanji is making a big deal about this, as though the cook didn’t start it.

“People kiss on dates!” He throws back, defensive as he realises, he’s just been rejected.

Sanji can’t even process the words Zoro has just spoken.

“What are you talking about?”

“Never mind.” Zoro goes to get up then, beyond embarrassed as he realises he’s spent the last half an hour misreading the situation entirely. Might as well make the rest of this as painless as possible to hopefully save face. 

“Wait, you stupid fucking moss for brains.” Sanji grapples at Zoro’s wrist, pulling him back onto the blanket before he can straighten up. The cook is panicking now, thinking back to everything he’d said since arriving, unsure where Zoro’s logic had jumped to thinking it was a date.

I mean, the situation was very date like, Sanji muses. But it’s Zoro and Sanji, having a picnic beneath the moon and stars isn’t a date, it’s a truce. 

Zoro looks furious now, his whole body is tense like a spring coiled to bounce. Sanji is starting to piece together the blush on the other’s face is genuine. Zoro thought it was a date. He kissed Sanji because he wanted to. He likes him.

The earth tilts beneath Sanji as he realises he’s not instantly disgusted. He stares at his own hand, anchoring Zoro in place. He clearly doesn’t want the swordsman to leave. Sanji doesn’t want this to be over. 

“Why did you think it’s a date?” He almost whispers the words, afraid he’s hallucinating. That Zoro is going to turn and ask him what the fuck he’s on about. 

“You- You made me a picnic for just the two of us…on my birthday.”

The sentence still doesn’t make the most sense to Sanji. He supposes, if he’d done it for a woman, maybe Sanji would see it as a possible first date. But the term first date and Zoro has no connection in his brain. It feels impossible that the two could be linked.

“I- I get that, baka. But- Well I- that doesn’t automatically mean it’s a date.” Sanji protests, letting Zoro slip his wrist away when he realises he’s not going to bolt. 

“Well, that’s what people do on their birthday.” Zoro grumbles, looking anywhere but at Sanji. “They spend it with someone they like.” 

He says the last word with a heavy emphasis so that it can’t be misunderstood. 

Sanji is at a loss. He’s never heard of such a thing.

“Marimo, I have no idea what you mean. Most people spend it with family and friends.”

Zoro looks at him then, with genuine surprise.

“Not where I come from.” He splutters, showing his embarrassment now as his face flushes bright red, even worse than before. “Couples spend it together, and then- then you spend it with friends on a different day.”

Zoro wants the ground to swallow him up. He can handle rejection, he can handle being wrong, but he hates that he didn’t realise what he was doing. He though Sanji had been the one to be vulnerable, to offer up a date the way he did. He’d been surprised by the blonde’s bravery about it, had accepted the silent confession and responded to it as confidently as he could muster.

He’s an idiot.

Sanji takes in the unfamiliar expression of regret on the other man’s face, and feels his chest tighten. He doesn’t want Zoro to regret this. Sanji doesn’t regret it. As the confusion lifts, Sanji properly accepts his own reaction. It’s…unexpected…but then again, everything is on the Grand Line. 

“Look Cook, just forget-”

It’s Zoro’s turn to be surprised by a hand grabbing his chin, by lips pressing onto his own and by the blonde that leans forward so close, Zoro could swear he was sitting on the swordsman’s lap.

“I was surprised, idiot. I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” 

Zoro stares into Sanji’s eyes, their foreheads resting against one another as Sanji separates from the kiss long enough to speak.

“Well, you seemed fucking pissed off.” Zoro defends, muttering the words almost against Sanji’s lips.

Sanji sighs, Zoro scrunching up his nose at the sensation across his skin.

“That’s…fair.” Sanji feels Zoro’s arm wrap around his waist, he relaxes against the other man’s chest, a hand reaching up to caresses the side of Zoro’s face and run itself through his hair. 

Sanji lets out a chuckle.

“This feels like a dream.” He admits, suddenly wondering how much wine he drank. Maybe, this is a dream.

“I know.” Zoro agrees, his arm tightening it’s hold on Sanji. His other arm wraps under Sanji’s ass and tugs him up onto Zoro’s thighs. The position a lot more comfortable than sitting side by side.

Sanji laughs as he’s manhandled, not used to someone as strong as Zoro holding him in his arms. Strangely, it’s the least intimidated Sanji has ever felt in the presence of the other man.

“I don’t want to wake up.” Sanji confesses, his heart fluttering as he comes to terms with what’s happening. The brute can love, the brute can be soft and gentle and hold Sanji like he’s both diamond and glass. 

“You’re such a fucking sap.” Zoro groans, his cheeks pink from the words. “Just don’t say another fucking thing and kiss me already.”

Sanji laughs as he tightens his grip on Zoro’s head, pulling at the tufts of hair hard enough that Zoro lets out a hiss of pain. That the moss-head looks at him with the same eyes he uses before they fight. The electricity is there, static between them, as fiery as ever.

“Anything for the birthday boy.”

Sanji is right about his earlier prediction. Zoro doesn’t make it back to the ship before midnight. Although, it’s not for a reason he could ever have predicted. 

Instead, when midnight rolls around the pair of them lie on the picnic blanket, everything else packed away. They stare at the stars as they lie side by side, Sanji’s head resting on Zoro’s arm as they hold each other. 

Zoro stares at the blonde as Sanji points out constellations and tries to explain to Zoro how he can use them to not get so lost all the time. But the swordsman is not paying attention. Only one thought remains in his head now.

He has one hell of a thank you letter to write to his bounty hunter friends. 

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Ok I’m here 😂 congrats babes!!!

For the jukebox Roulette…it was hard to pick a song but I’m gonna say My Girl by the Temptations with Fives?

Can’t wait to see what you come up with!! 🩵

Hello love @coffeeandbatboys!

THANK YOU so much for submitting a request, and for My Girl, no less. One of my favourite songs!

I hope I did this song justice and I hope I did Fives justice too.

Love oo!

My Girl

Warnings: Not really any, except for feelings, maybe. I'm not sure. Anyway, if I do miss anything, please let me know.

Main Master List   | Star Wars Jukebox Roulette |   AO3 Link

Fives didn’t understand it the first time it happened. He’d just joined the 501st, he stood in the hangar after receiving the medal ceremony, when the whole world went quiet and all he could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat. 

Boom-boom-boom

Boom-boom-boom

Boom-boom-boom

It had a rhythm of its own, a song that called out to him in the quiet. He closed his eyes and shook his head and just like that, the world came to the fore again. He’d been concerned he had picked something up on the Rishi outpost, when he went to Kix for a physical everything came back clean.

The second time it happened, was when he entered the mess hall, his breathing caught in his throat, and his eyes focused on you as you laughed at another trooper’s jokes. 

Boom-boom-boom

Boom-boom-boom

Boom-boom-boom

He shook his head again, and the world came back. Echo tapped his shoulder, making sure he was alright, Fives didn’t know how to respond. Of course, he was alright. At least he hoped he was.

The third time it happened was when you actually directed your smile towards him. The whole world shut out except for that familiar rhythm and your voice. It was a voice that made his whole world brighter, it pushed away his grief, his worries. It was a voice that filled his whole world with sweetness, as long as he heard your voice everything else was fine. 

“Fives!” You called to me, as he just stared at you, you waved your hand in front of his face. “Hey! You okay?”

Fives shook himself out of his thoughts, “Yeah, yeah” he closed his eyes and shook his head, “Sorry, I think I got too used to being on the Rishi moon. It’s taking me some time to get acclimatized to the ship’s gravity.”

You nodded, “I understand, I had a hard time at first when I had to be on a ship full time. Anyway, you came to ask me about making some adjustments to your blaster?”

“Yeah. I was wondering if we could make the grip thinner by a few micrometers.”

“Hmmm, let me see.” You took his blaster, humming as you worked.

Fives became lost in your humming, it was soothing, and full of sweetness. How was that possible? How could it be that just your smile, your voice, even your humming made his world seem perfect?

“What are you humming?”

“Hmmm?” You glanced up to him as you were making notes on your datapad.

“What’re you humming?”

“Oh, it’s a song my dad used to sing all the time. I don’t why but lately I can’t get the song out of my head.”

“Sounds like a nice song.”

“It is. It’s about a guy who has this girl, that makes everything better. Even if it’s cloudy, there’s sun, because she’s there. When it’s cold, he doesn’t feel it because he has her.” You smirked at how ridiculous the lyrics really were, “He goes on to compare how bees are jealous of him because he has so much honey, or how the birds’ song is nothing compared to the song he sings. It’s all because of his girl. It’s sweet, but a little ridiculous.”

You answered your eyes focused on the blaster, as you kept making notes, “Well, from what I can see, I think it’s doable to slim down the grip, but the weight will be off, because it’ll be top heavy, so I’ll have to trim down the barrel as well, to balance out the weight.”

“Why is it ridiculous?” 

“Huh?” You looked back into those warm brown eyes that every clone trooper seemed to have, but his were different. His eyes held a sense of responsibility, a sense of mischievous, but very kind eyes. 

“Why is it ridiculous? I mean isn’t it possible that someone’s world gets turned on its head because of someone else?”

You don’t know why but you felt your heart flutter at his statement, “You saying you’ve had your world turn on its head because of someone?”

“What if it did?”

“Then you’re very lucky, not everyone can experience that.”

He moved closer leaning against the work bench as he kept his eyes on you, “Maybe you just need to listen to your own heartbeat.”

In that moment, the world went quiet for the both of you, all that could be heard were your two hearts beating as one. 

Boom-boom-boom

Boom-boom-boom

Boom-boom-boom

Suddenly your world seemed brighter with him there.

Main Master List   | Star Wars Jukebox Roulette |   AO3 Link

Tag list:

@liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24@spicymcnuggies@lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @sprout-fics @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @ulchabhangorm @littlemisspascal @tortor-mcgee @vodika-vibes @clonethirstingisreal @crosshair-is-the-superior-clone @totallyunidentified @griffedeloup @leotatombs @leotawrites

[aleenuhs]

Can you make a drabble where the reader asks Arthur for advice? The reader went through a difficult time and she would like to ask Arthur for help. You can do it platonically or romantically, I'd just like a little fluff with angst.

⋆Confide in Me

thank u anon. i am so sorry that i got back this really late, its been a whirlwind of things.

warnings: nun much just fluff and smidge of angst.

Lately you’d been down. Moping around camp and hardly carrying your own weight, so you were having a hard time needless to say.

Barley finishing your chores, your mind was filled with the negativity energy that clouded your judgement. Finding no time to be alone or without your thoughts for even a moment.

Nobody had noticed you and how you carried yourself for the last few days, well, most people in the gang had been out and about the land, hunting — robbing, stealing. Whatever they did outside of camp.

It felt so lonely but crowded at the same time, like you were a ghost in a room full of people.

Your life had been characterized by an overwhelming desire to escape, but a lack of direction harbored you. From your childhood till now, you wanted to leave, find a home. And even around these people who treated you so well, you felt lost. Arthur had tried talking to you, but you quickly ended it, shutting down any opportunity for him to ask if you were okay.

Arthur, had just came back from a hunting trip with the Charles, bringing back 2 deer carcasses.

You were sitting on a flipped over crate, which created something like a seat, which wasn’t to your comfort but you didn’t want to sit on the ground. You needed some kind of break, maybe even someone to confide in.

Arthur was at his tent, moving some stuff around, you looked at him, quickly looking away when his gaze turned back to you. A moment passed by and he kneeled next to you.

“Hey love,” he said, lowering his head to look at you, your gaze was locked to the floor and the blades of grass surrounding. Though it was hot out, the breeze felt nice.

You chose your words, and replied back. “Hi,” you said, barely audible, he had to strain to hear you.

“You doin’ alright there?” He said, still kneeling next you. You looked at him, you nodded, then took it back, shaking your head, tears threatening your eyes. His face contorted into a more worried expression, his hand went to your thigh. “Hey — what’s wrong?” He’d sensed something was up, the way you were hardly talking for the past few days, just finishing up chores. Which you didn’t like to do, but it was your distraction.

“I’ve…” You started, then retired as you could hardly find the words to express what you had been feeling for the longest. You and Arthur were no strangers, you knew him well and he knew you very well, and how he loves you is for eternity. But you could be closed off at times.

“I don’t know Arthur.” You spoke and his eyes looked sad as he looked at you. “I feel so alone, here.”

He brings you closer, taking you into his arms, now sitting on the ground with you in his arms, he slowly brushed your hair away from your face. “Whys that? Is someone making you feel that way?”

You immediately rejected that idea, as it was not true. “No, it’s not that Arthur. I don’t know how to explain it, I feel like I’m just free floating and nobody sees me here, I feel down. And it’s all coming back to me.” You shed a few tears, but you weren’t full fledged sobbing.

He nods, “Understood. Y’know, I see you. Always.” He said calmly, it comforted you like hell. “I’m here for you, come to me.”

“I know, but you’ve been gone for the time being. And I missed you so much.” You admitted.

“I can’t skip my chores or duties here, but if it’s somethin’ like this, I’ll try and stay here for you. You mean s’much to me, if I lost you I’d go mad.” He said stroking your hair. And at once, your problems weren’t gone, but you knew you had a solid rock to lean on. And it was Arthur.

“Yeah. Thank you, Arthur.” You looked up at him, he thumb reaches up to swipe a tear from your cheek, kissing your forehead.

a/n if u liked this pls req more, they’ll be open for a bit (check guidelines and info to see who and what I write for!)

[hatsunemitskislobotomy]

“ 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨,

𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘨𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘥 ”

┊❛ 𝙞’𝙡𝙡 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙪𝙥 𝙤𝙛

𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙 ❜┊

“ 𝘪’𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘦𝘥 ”

❀° ┄───╮

its my little meow meow’s birthday 🥹

no hate but like lowkey if gege put me jjk kenny would’ve had to box it out with me before getting his grimy brain fluids on my pookie bear

matter of fact throw gege in the ring too— he still hasn’t payed for his crimes either

╰───┄ °❀

he felt filthy.

the taste wouldn’t leave, no matter how hard he tried.

“curses taste like a rag that was used to clean up shit and vomit.”

mission after mission.

day after day.

was this really how he was supposed to go on? being a sorcerer was a thankless occupation that was at the cost of his sanity.

his morals could only do so much to keep him from coming undone, a fraying thread— slowly unraveling to reveal something sinister.

and the taste— god he couldn’t get rid of the taste even if he wanted to.

satoru had asked him if he lost weight not too long ago, to no one’s surprise— swallowing curses does ruin one’s appetite.

sometimes he felt like he’d skip meals after a mission for weeks at a time, his companion practically begging him to eat.

he couldn’t say that this week would be any different. he just wanted to be home and away from it all, in the arms of his beloved no doubt.

————————————

with a click of the lock, he pushed open the door, dragging his feet.

immediately he was hit with everything and nothing. his senses went blank save for his hearing and sight, he was taken aback and then he remembered.

“hey sugu…” a pretty little head peeked around the corner

“is this your doing…?”

she smiled sheepishly before fully emerging from behind the corner, a steaming mug in hand.

“i’ve been working on it.”

her cursed technique, she was always humble about it. it wasn’t as flashy as his own or satoru’s, she’d argue that it wasn’t nearly as useful like shoko’s.

but at this moment, he couldn’t disagree more.

“i’m going to bring back your smell, yeah?” she murmured softly, passing the mug to him

and slowly his smell did come back, revealing the steaming mug to be the dark roast coffee— perhaps the one satoru brought back for him on a mission abroad a few months back.

the smell was overwhelming considering it was the only thing his brain could process, but not in a bad way. almost as if it was ridding him of the foulness that plagued him a mere few minutes before.

“y/n i—“

“you must be exhausted.” she cut him off with an apologetic smile

“i uh.. started a bath for you, some bath salts are in there to help— should be enough time for you to relax and then i’ll bring your taste back so you can drink your coffee.” she fidgeted, a habit she’d do when she rambled

his tired eyes couldn’t help but soften.

“you didn’t have to.”

“i see how missions take a toll on you suguru…”

“it’s my duty—“

“but at what cost?”

his eyes snapped down to hers. all this time he thought his inner turmoil, his resentment and bitterness that was festering— he thought he kept it well away behind his morality and sense of duty… and she just saw through it so casually.

she could see him.

his throat went dry as he tried to speak, she just offered him a smile.

“it’s the least i can do— now stop second guessing whether you deserve it, the water’s gonna get cold.” she mused before taking the mug back and disappearing further into the small apartment

and as much as he’d like to stand there and process, that bath sounded really nice.

————————————

he stayed in that bath until the water became lukewarm, she really had a knack for aromatherapy. the bath salts left a eucalyptus scent wafting through the bathroom as the water relaxed his aching muscles and the unrest in his mind.

he had dressed into something comfortable before emerging from the bathroom, pajama pants and a plain long sleeve, his hair out of its neat bun instead the raven tresses still dripping a little bit of water down his back from his lazy towel drying.

the rest of the apartment smelled warm and cozy, it usually smelled like this anyways but with his sense of smell heightened he could appreciate it more.

he made his way to the living room where she sat couch, waiting for him with another steaming mug of coffee.

“come, sit down here.” she tapped the spot with her foot

he took the invitation in stride, nestling on the floor with his back against the couch as he sat in between her legs.

she handed him the cup of coffee before trailing her fingers through his hair, gently working out the knots. he took a sip of the coffee, his senses finally allowing him to taste the bitterness of the drink.

he could stay like this forever.

“do you want to talk about your day?” she hummed

“there’s nothing significant about today, just another mission.” he murmured against the rim of the cup, staring into his drink that reflected his eyes

“you can’t say nothing significant happened today!”

he tilted his head up only to be met with a frown.

“what do you mean…? it was just another mission day…”

“can’t believe gojo was right about this.” her frowned deepened

“am i missing something…?”

“your birthday silly!”

he blinked a few times.

his birthday?

he checked the date on his phone, his lips forming a little ‘o’ at the calendar staring back at him.

so it was that time of year again?

“gojo said that you have the tendency to forget but i didn’t think he was serious.” she pouted

“now why are you upset?” he reached up from his position, resting a hand on her cheek

“because it’s your birthday— stupid higher ups made you go on a mission on your birthday!”

well when it was put like that…

“gojo and shoko wanted to throw you a surprise party after your mission but i remembered how overwhelmed you get sometimes especially after dealing with curses… figured a party was the last thing you wanted to come home to.” he couldn’t help but smile at the little detail she picked up

“they still plan to come by later with takeout and cake… but i suggested that you had some time to decompress and recuperate first and they were on board.”

“i don’t deserve you.” he blurted out

“well that’s too bad, i think i’m quite comfortable where i’m at.” she chuckled lightly, tapping the side of his face affectionately

“you’re always taking care of people, who’s gonna take care of you?” she let out a sigh, her gaze shifting downward in a pensive state

“y/n..”

“let me do this for you okay? then you can push me away and be your broody self—”

she felt the words die in her throat as she felt his grip on her arm.

“can i be greedy for a moment?”

“it’s not greedy if it’s for your sake.” she frowned a bit

he took that as a sign when he got up, with his knees to the ground he still managed to hover over her sitting figure on the couch. his rough hands cradling her face like precious treasure.

despite her eyes widening in surprise, there was no hint that she wanted him to back off.

“can i be greedy?” he repeated hoarsely, his breathing stilled after realizing their proximity

“with me, you can be as greedy as you want.” she whispered

and he was more than happy to oblige, feeling and tasting her warmth as he pulled her in, capturing her lips with his in a slow, sweet kiss.

all he could taste was her sweetness that complimented the coffee taste that still lingered on his own lips. a comforting contrast to the nauseating and despicable taste of his reality, a piece of his own little heaven, his sanctuary.

and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“happy birthday suguru.”

[gojocp]

"now playing:.."

cw: fluff, angst(??) in itadori's part featuring: gojo satoru, geto suguru, megumi fushiguro, nanami kento, yuuji itadori

a/n: the way i literally deleted all of the fic and had to redo it. also has anyone read the webtoon 'weak hero' cuz im re-reading it and there are literally ZERO fics abt it. also pls lmk if u find any apocalypse-type jjk or aot fics. lmk how this is!! (i think i turned geto in another version of gojo, i literally cannot write for anyone but him its so sad. also i feel like megumi's made no sense LMAO)

GOJO SATORU: 'always forever' by cults. "you and me.. always, forever!! we could stay.. alone, together!!" ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"hey, stop! get away suguru!" utahime shouts, running away from the 16 year old. "nope, sorry utahime! no tag-backs!!" he responds, slapping her back and running away.

"fine! screw you!" she shouts, running to haibara and tagging him quickly.

"haibara! get me!" yells suguru, waving his arms. "okay! if you say so!" haibara responds, doing as the upperclassmen says.

"thanks!" he smiles, making a bee-line towards utahime. "stop it! (y/n) help me, please! why aren't you two playing?" she yells.

"we're tired man.." satoru says, resting his head on yours as you lean against his shoulder, eating a popsicle.

"you were sitting there the whole time!" shoko exclaims. "you didn't even do anything." nanami agrees, having yet to be caught.

"if you need some shade you're free to join us." you say. "no thanks, we're actually getting excercise, unlike you guys. so lazy.." suguru responds.

"hey! stop ganging up on us! we'll sit if we want to! get lost!!" satoru shouts.

.・。.・゜✭・.

after 10 minutes of running around some more, the others decide to call it a day and take a seat in the shade of a seperate tree, not wanting to disturb the two of you. and not wanting to deal with satoru complaining.

"hey, this is nice y'know.." satoru starts, "just being alone together, while the others do their own thing. we should do this more often, just the two of us." he continues. "yeah, it's nice." you agree, looking up and placing a kiss on his jaw.

"hey! look at the sunset!" utahime exclaims, directing your attention away from your boyfriend for a moment. "oo, it's so pretty!" you gush.

"yeah," satoru agrees, looking at you. "it is pretty."

0:40 ——|———————— -3:20

GETO SUGURU: 'lovers rock' by tv girl. "and if you're too drunk to drive, and the music is right. she might let you stay, but just for the night" ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

just like any teenager, suguru believes he can hold alcohol pretty well. he can't.

when shoko sneaks alcohol into the dorms, she convinces the 4 of you to try some. of course, satoru boasts about how well he can tolerate alcohol and challenges suguru to a 'drink off', as he says. after taking a few drinks from his glass, satoru is out cold. shoko decides to put the bottle away and take satoru to his room, leaving you with your drunk boyfriend to take care of.

"please get up, sugu. let me take you back to your room." you say, trying to convince him to get off your lap. "nahh, i'm good." he responds, slurring his words.

"okay fine, stay there then." you say, standing up and leaving him to lay on the floor. "wait-! where are you going? don't leave!" he exclaims, standing up too quickly. you move to catch him, swinging one of his arms over your shoulder to support his weight.

"back to your room, suguru," you respond, "that's where we're going."

"no! i don't wanna." he says stubbornly, wrapping his other arm around you. "wait- stop! we're gonna fall!" you shout. "then we can fall..!" he giggles.

"oh my god, you're so stubborn. i'm taking you to my room." you say, slightly agitated. "ooo, didn't know you were like that." he says, wriggling his eyebrows. 'kill me now.' you think, realizing your mistake, knowing he won't leave you alone about it.

"let's hurry to your room then." he says, leaving a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

you drag him to your room and drop him on the bed and head to the bathroom to do your skincare. when you come back, you find him staring at you, love prominent in his eyes.

"hey, cutie." he flirts with a grin on his lips. "shut up and go to bed." you respond.

"ow, so rude." he says, making himself comfortable under the covers.

"i love you.." he says, giving you a wet kiss on the cheek. "i love you too, go to sleep." you say, facing away from him. he wraps an arm around you and pulls you closer, kissing your nape a few times and snuggling into your neck.

"goodnight.." he mumbles, falling asleep soon after. "goodnight, sugu."

1:20 ————|—————— -3:20

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO: 'see you again' by tyler, the creator. "can i get a kiss? and can you make it last forever..." ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

it's not often you and your friends get to hang out, often too busy with school work.

"wooo! i love the beach!" yuuji exclaims, chasing nobara as you all make your way to the sand. upon arriving, itadori quickly takes off his shoes and clothes, leaving him in his swimwear and runs into the water.

"guys!! (y/n)!! nobara!! megumi!! come swim!!" he exclaims, waving his arms. "coming!! wait up!" nobara says, running into the water.

after placing the towels and bags on the sand, you and megumi make your way to the water. "ugh! stop splashing me itadori!" nobara yells, splashing water back at itadori.

stepping into the water, megumi holds his hand out for you. "here." he says, offering you his hand. "thank you." you say, smiling at him. "eww! you guys are gross!" nobara says, splashing you with water as itadori joins in, splashing megumi.

"hey!" megumi scolds, throwing a beachball at itadori. "ow! what the hell?" itadori exclaims, as nobara laughs at him. "don't laugh, nobara!!"

"whatever.." she responds, splashing him again and swimming off. "get back here!" says itadori. "never!!" she retorts, getting splashed seconds later.

.・。.・゜✭・.

"oh god.. i'm so tired.." you say, heading back to the dorms. "i need a massage so bad." you continue. "i could give you one when we're back?" megumi offers, the others not being able to hear over their yells and shouts at each other. "i'd like that, thank you!" you beam, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

after changing your clothes, you lay down and megumi begins massaging the knots out of your back. letting out a sigh of pleasure, you say, "thank you, megumi.." you say, smiling softly. "anytime." he responds fondly.

after a bit of silence, megumi decides to break it. "you know, sometimes i wonder.." if you look both ways when you cross my mind. "yeah?" you urge him to continue. "no, nevermind.." he replies. "you sure?" you ask. "yeah." he says smiling. "okay.." you say, deciding not to push him.

"i'm done.." he says, moving away and tucking you in. "can i get a kiss?" you ask, as he starts to leave. and can you make it last forever? smiling, he walks over and places a soft kiss on your lips. "goodnight.." he says. "goodnight... i love you." you say, smiling up at him. "i love you too." he says, placing another kiss on your cheek and shutting the door behind him.

2:00 ——————|———— -3:20

NANAMI KENTO: 'for the first time' by mac de marco. "it's just like seeing her.. for the first time..again.." ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

two weeks. it had been two weeks since kento had seen you face-to-face. having to go on a mission out of the country, he wasn't very fond of leaving you alone for a long time. and even though you reassured him over and over, saying "oh, i'll be fine!! don't worry," and "it's only two weeks.. you'll be back in no time." he still worried.

and after two dreadful and godawful (according to him) weeks, he was finally back in japan, handing in his report.

"alright, that's everything. you're free to leave." upon hearing those words, he rushed out and quickly headed home.

"kento?" you asked, when you heard the front door open. "i'm home." he said warmly, with a fond smile etched on his face. 'they're so beautiful, just like when we first met.' running up to him, you wrap your arms around his neck and give him a warm hug, asking "how are you?".

"i'm okay, how have you been?" he asks. "ehh, it's been the same." you respond. squeezes his arms around your waist tighter and places soft kisses on your face.

"what's gotten into you, kento?" you question, laughing softly. "i missed you." he states, placing a final kiss on your forehead. "i missed you too, dear. how about you shower and we can eat? i made your favourite." you say, smiling up at him. "okay.. wait for me, my love." he responds, leaving to go shower.

.・。.・゜✭・.

after eating, you both head to bed and lie down. wrapping your arms around kento, you rest your head on his shoulder and look up at him.

"i missed you kento.." you say sleepily. "i missed you too." he responds. "i love you.." you add, letting sleep engulf you. "i love you too." he whispers, while softly sleeping.

'it's just like seeing her for the first time.. again..'

2:40 ————————|—— -3:20

YUJI ITADORI: "i'll never smile again" by tommy dorsey. 'i'll never smile again...untill i smile at you' ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

'how did this happen?' he thinks to himself. 'this was supposed to be a grade one curse, where the hell did the special grade come from?'

you and yuuji were paired up to travel to shibuya to excorsise a grade one curse. easy enough, right? WRONG!! like all missions in shibuya, something had to go wrong, and in this case, a special grade appeared. you both tried your best to excorsise it, but all your efforts were futile as you were knocked out, and the curse remained in the city.

it had been two hours since then, another sorceror was sent to excorsise the curse. but yuji didn't care, his partner was unconsious and greatly injured, for heavens sake! you had been impaled in the arm and legs and cursed buds were planted inside you, growing deeper and deeper the more you used cursed energy.

i mean, it was already bad enough that an s grade curse appeared, but know you can't even use cursed techniques? the 15 year old couldn't recall what he had done to deserve this, but that's because he didn't do anything. the world is just cruel.

he couldn't ever imagine smiling or being truly happy in a world without you. you were the love of his life. you were his everything. he couldn't lose you too.

'i'll never smile again, until i smile at you.' he thinks to himself. 'please.. whatever god is up there, please save my partner.. i'm begging you..'

love really is the most twisted curse of all.

3:20 ——————————| -3:20

[iblameashley]

Regimented Trust

Military | Male | Gay

1,690~ words Content: mostly tame, but please consider the topics to include... trauma, mental health, amputation (leg), solitude, distrust, anxiety, companionship, connections, budding romance.

Captain John Price | Male/GN Reader

!!!SFW!!!

In a support group for military veterans, You and Price navigate the complexities of healing, trust, and camaraderie. As walls slowly crumble and bonds form over the course of many nights and pints, will Price's relentless optimism break through your defences?

You sat there in the dimly lit room of the support group. The building was more depressing than the reality of your life, a thought you had mused every time you came here. The circle of chairs was a little fuller this week, which was always nice to see, but your focus was less on them, and more towards a certain Captain.

John Price sat there across from you, another soldier, but unusual in that he was the first man higher ranking than a Sergeant. His deep brown eyes had a way of boring deep inside you, stirring something you had worked hard to suppress.

Tonight was a rather quiet night, not many people had wanted to speak up. Some nights were like that.

You scratched at the spot on your prosthetic where your leg used to be. Phantom limb, phantom itch. You always felt it around people.

“We're all here for a reason.” Price gruffly mumbled, likely trying to be the leader he naturally was. “War leaves its marks on all of us... and, for a time, I thought all that mattered was patriotism and duty to serve.”

His voice seemed laced with regret and anger.

You felt a twitch in your mouth as you tried to maintain your composure. It was difficult to be here on most days, but the desire you harboured for Price betrayed the promise you had made; never let anyone back in. Don't trust people.

“Trust takes time.” Price continued.

Was he reading your fucking mind? You couldn't help but wonder as he stared at you. You assumed this was meant for you, specifically.

“...that's okay. But we're here to get better, to be better... whatever that may mean, or whatever path that may take us down.” Spoken like a true leader, but you were still unconvinced.

But as ever, Price's motivational speeches had an effect, and some other men in the group began to share things here and there; a nightmare they had. A fallen comrade. Medical discharge from service, and loved ones abandoning them.

That one hit you hard.

That damn itch!

As the group session ended, Price lingered behind as he always did. He checked up on the men who spoke, reassured them as they went on their way, and helped clean up the room.

You had missed the end of the session, being lost in thought. You just sat on the chair, staring into the nothingness as the clean up crew worked around you.

Price had been watching, and gathering the courage, he finally approached.

“Hey.” Price said in his gravelly, commanding voice. “Seems you've been carrying a heavy load as of late. Care to talk about it one on one?” He asked.

Your eyes flickered to Price with a mix of surprise and distrust. Sure you had spoken a few times, participated just enough to not set off any alarms with the other members – or so you thought.

You sat there in silence long enough for Price to deem this important enough for his attention. He swiftly grabbed a chair from the stack. He set it down at an awkward angle from you before plunking himself into it.

He crossed his arms as he leaned back and stared you down.

“I've seen men crumble under some heavy weight.” I said in a factual, flat tone. “If I can help, I want to.”

You sighed and slumped your shoulders, leaning slightly back in your chair.

“Easy for you to say.” You chide. “Always so composed and proper.”

Price gave an amused smile and deep chuckle. “Just a part of my charm, yeah?” He said in a teasing tone. “But I have to be composed and proper, I'm still actively serving, and I do my men no favours by breaking down when they need me the most.” He explains, shifting his tone to something kinder. Honest.

“I've seen too much.” You replied. Why the hell did your leg still itch so fucking much?

You take a deep breath and exhale slowly. “It's difficult to believe there is anything good left. In me or the military.”

Price leaned a forward slightly and nodded. “Well mate, maybe you just need to look in the right places.” He smiled with a glint in his eyes. “How about we talk a bit more at the pub down the road. A drink won't solve your problems, but might help give you the courage to open up a bit, yeah?” He offered, already beginning to stand.

You resisted the smile that was tugging at your face.

You shook your head and sighed again.

“Gonna make that an order, Captain?” The words had seemed more snarky and less flirty in your head. Shit.

“If that's what it takes, I suppose I could.” Price nodded, his face unreadable. “Come on mate, its a pint with a fellow soldier. My treat.”

“Relentless aren't you?” You chuckled, shaking your head.

Fuck it.

You stood up and grabbed your jacket.

“Age before beauty.” You smirked, gesturing for Price to lead.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

One pint at a pub down the street had turned into two and then three. One night had turned into five, and before you knew it, you were spending more time with Price after support meetings.

You had even braved a few pubs with him on days with no meetings.

Price had managed to loosen your lips and pry a little more information from you during these times, but you still kept your walls up; even if they were faltering.

You were currently running your fingers around the base of your pint, watching the bubbles rise as you got lost in thought again.

“You know,” Price began, snapping you out of your trance. “I never saw my mates as just soldiers. They were... they are family. Brothers and comrades I needed to take care of.” He admitted with a sombre tone.

You couldn't help but look at Price curiously. Why was he saying this now? What was with that remorseful tone?

“I see the same in you.” He confessed before taking a long swig of ale. He sighed and shook his head. “No... its not the same. But you're not just some solider from the support group. We all need someone.” Price cleared his throat.

“Even if its just a mate to share a pint with.” He added quickly.

And another section of the wall buckles.

“Need someone like me?” You said, cocking an eyebrow. “Must be desperate.”

Price laughed deeply at your reply, shaking his head.

“Desperate or not, I've seen some pretty fucked up shit. If I can find someone... people, to care about and keep me grounded, its worth pursing.”

You shifted in your seat, tilting your head to the side as you eyed Price over.

“Pursing, eh? You make me sound like a military operation or objective to complete.”

Price smiled, “Operation: One pint at a time.” He joked.

Price took a drink from his glass, wetting his beard with droplets and foam. You hated to admit it – even if it was only to yourself – but it was a rather adorable sight from such a rugged, gruff man.

��Interesting strategy.” You were trying to keep your voice relaxed and composed, not wanting to give away your amusement and piqued interest. “Hope you have reinforcements.”

Price lets out a playful scoff, waving an arm dismissively. “I don't need any damn reinforcements. I'm an expert at covert infiltration's.” He asserts.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The night was chilly, the kind that made your breath into wisps of fog in the night air. It chilled you to the bone as you stood outside sucking on a cigarette. Price had declined a cigarette from you when he realized he had left his cigars at home, but stood with you for company.

Price, ever the tenacious man, decided to push the boundaries a little further this night. He moved in closer to you and draped an arm over your shoulder, a gesture that seemed meant to comfort and protect.

You did nothing; admittedly shocked by the sudden token of kindness. Your muscles twitched and tensed, and you still had the urge to run like a bat out of hell, but there was a part of you that simply enjoyed the feeling of his arm around you. You eventually relaxed.

“You know, leaning on someone doesn't make you weak.” Price remarked.

Ignoring what he was trying to say, you smirked and inhaled more nicotine. “Sounds like an excuse to lean on me.” You shake your head mockingly, exhaling smoke.

Price let out an exaggerated sigh. “I'm just saying it takes strength to let people in. Its not healthy for people to bottle it all up.” he continued, ignoring your commentary.

“Taking a lot of strength to hold you up right now.” You enjoyed this banter more than your face let on. You loved it. You hated it. But most importantly... that damn itch was slowly disappearing.

“I'm not used to leaning on anyone.” You confessed. Your eyes stared straight ahead as you spoke. “I don't lean on people.” You dropped the cigarette butt and stomped it out.

Why were you telling him this?

There was something in Price's eyes; an understanding.

He cleared his throat and leaned in a bit.

“Maybe it's time to let people in. Lean on someone.” Somehow you know those weren't the words Price had wanted to say.

His grip on your shoulder tightened ever so slightly.

Despite your best efforts to stop yourself, you still ended up leaning into him.

“Walk you home.” Price said.

Not a question.

You nodded.

“Just don't expect me to invite you in for a coffee.” You replied with a weak smile.

“Understood.” Price nodded.

Price's arm remained wrapped around you as you took the lead and started towards home.

Your heart raced, and your mind was yelling at you to stop. He would leave too, just like the rest did. You were better on your own. You didn't need anyone.

But you wanted someone.

You wanted Price. You wanted him to be different than the rest.

[scarletqueenx]

chapter seven - dark magic

Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Summary: Dean and you had dated for a few months before his father disappeared and his journey with Sam began. Now, having made a deal to save his brother's life and with only a year to live, Dean considers reconnecting with the only girl he's ever had feelings for. You.

Author’s Note: English is not my first language. This is my first time writing in the readers perspective, as i'm used to write oc´s.

series masterlist

Looking into the book and the knife Maddie had given you was much more difficult with the Winchester brothers constantly at your side. Yes, in some motels you got separate adjoining rooms, which gave you more leeway, but most of the time you were never completely alone.

For the moment, all you had managed to do was confirm that the book was indeed a spell book. All written by a witch named Ophelia, whose name was written on the back cover. But the knife was a complete mystery. None of the symbols written on its blade made any sense to you. Although its balance and weight were perfect for hunting and for fiddling with while doing research.

Talking to Bobby was out of the question. Your father even more so, as you were convinced he was hiding things from you. And Dean and Sam. Well, you had come to the conclusion that they could help you, especially Sam, but after hearing Dean's thoughts about witches while working on your current case, you decided it would be best not to bring it up.

"I hate witches." Dean had said. "They're always spewing their bodily fluids everywhere."

You couldn't help but frown, remembering how you brother had hinted that your mother may have been a witch. And if that was true, either she was a very different one from the ones Dean knew or Dean didn't know what a witch really looked like.

"It's creepy, you know, it's down right unsanitary." He continued.

"Yeah, well someone definitely had it out for Janet Dutton." Sam commented, mentioning the victim, who had died after all her teeth fell out of her mouth due to a hex bag.

"Yeah, someone who snuck into that house and planted the bag. So, what are we thinking, we're uh, looking for some old craggy Blair bitch in the woods?" Dean asked.

"No, it could be anyone. Neighbor, coworker, man, woman—that's the problem, Dean, they're human, they're like everyone else."

"Okay, so how do we find them?"

"This wasn't random; someone in Janet Dutton's life had an ugly axe to grind. We find the motive-"

"We find the murderer." Dean completed his brothers words. Sam nodded.

"Yeah."

Dean nodded slightly, his gaze traveling to you, who had been quiet ever since you'd gone to the victim's house to question the husband. You were sitting on the room's couch, lost in thought as you fiddled with your necklace.

"Are you gonna say something?" He asked. You looked up, watching him in confusion. "Witches."

"Oh. Yeah, right." You nodded nervously. "Uh... I think you guys should handle this case. I'm not feeling very well." You admitted in a lie. This was your perfect opportunity to be alone. "I'll do research if you need me to."

"Are you sure? Do you feel all right?" Sam asked with concern in his voice.

"Oh, yeah, nothing serious." You assured. "You know, menstrual cramps."

"Okay, I didn't need to know that information." Dean complained, looking away.

"It's natural, Dean. No need for that reaction."

"Yeah, no... I know." He replied quickly. "Do... Do you need anything?" He asked hesitantly, to which you couldn't help but smile as Sam let out a small amused chuckle.

"Chocolate would be nice." You admitted. "Thanks, Dean."

"Yeah, whatever." He sighed leaving the motel room.

You and Sam couldn't help but smile and shared an amused look.

"You sure you're okay?" Sam asked as he grabbed his jacket.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You nodded. "Go keep an eye on Janet's husband. If someone wanted to get back at her for something, they might want to hurt him too."

"Yeah, that's possible." He admitted thoughtfully. "Good idea."

"Anytime." You smiled before watching him leave.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

You weren't worried about Sam and Dean, you knew they could deal with it on their own. But you still couldn't help but feel a sense of distress. It had appeared at the very instant you had stepped into that city. As if something was waiting or lurking for you. That provoked an uneasiness in you and it was quite noticeable by how you paced back and forth across the room as you read that spell book in an attempt of finding something that looked familiar to you.

The room was in complete silence, only filled by your footsteps and your breathing. So when your phone rang, you almost jolted. With your heart pounding in your chest, you quickly ran to the bedside table where you had left it and answered it without checking who it was.

"Hello?" You said, clearing you throat at the sound of your tired voice.

"Hey, sweetheart." Your father answered on the other end of the line.

"Dad, what's wrong? Everything okay? Why haven't you gone back home yet?" You asked with concern, since your father had stopped answering your calls and messages for weeks. Even after Christmas.

"I'm going to see Carter."

"What? Why?"

"I can't explain it yet, I'm sorry. I just wanted you to know that I'm okay."

"Great, I'm glad." You replied sarcastically. "I'm fine too, thank you very much for asking. Oh, and the son you left home alone is also perfectly fine. I can see you're really worried about him."

"I..."

"Leave it. I don't want to hear it."

"No, listen... You must be careful..." His voice cut out as the radio on the bedside table suddenly began to play.

"Dad?" Your frowned, looking down at your phone to check if the call was still on. "Dad?"

"Listen..." Henry's voice sounded for a moment before it was cut once again as the song on the radio changed. You quickly recognized it as I Put a Spell on You by Screamin' Jay Hawkins which only made your confusion grow.

What your didn't know was that the same song was also being played on the car radio of Paul Dutton, Janet's husband and the next victim of the witch who had killed her. Fortunately for him Sam and Dean were able to save him as they had been following him.

Alarmed by what had happened and after trying to call your father again, you decided to prepare the room so that nothing supernatural could enter it. Lines of salt, a bottle of holy water in your hand and your gun. You cursed Dean for taking the Colt, although it made sense considering he was in the middle of a hunt.

Just as you finished getting everything ready a message from Dean came through on your phone, asking how you were doing and informing you that he and Sam were on their way to the supposed witch's house. You sighed with relief as you saw his message, a faint smile peeking over your lips at his concern for you. A smile that only grew when Dean added that he had bought the chocolate you had asked for and would bring it to you as soon as they were done.

But again, another noise brought you out of your thoughts and caused your smile to fade. This time it wasn't the radio, which had stopped playing once the song was over. This time it had been two knocks on the motel room door.

"I know you're in there." A woman's voice was heard from the other side of the door. A voice completely unfamiliar to you. "I don't want to do this the hard way, so why don't you come out so we can talk? I promise I come in peace. I just want to chat."

"Who are you?" You asked, pointing your gun at the door.

The mysterious woman left out a sigh before answering. "My name is written in that book you have hidden under the bed and whose location you lied to your brother about. Poor Carter really tried to look for it in that mental institution. He didn't think you were smart enough to lie to him and take it away. Or so stupid. I still can't make up my mind what you are. Although if you listen to me and leave the room maybe you'll clear up that doubt for me."

You looked down for a second at Dean's bed, right where you had hidden the book.

Hesitantly, you decided to open the door and leave the room. Leaning against the wall, a beautiful woman with brown hair and brown eyes was waiting for you. She was dressed completely in black and her face had a smile on it.

"So smart is it." The woman commented as you appeared before her. "It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Ophelia." She stretched out her hand towards you.

"You are the witch who wrote the book." You assumed, ignoring her hand.

"Was." Ophelia corrected. "There is nothing left of the woman I used to be. Not anymore." She explained, showing her dark black eyes which revealed her as a demon. "Relax, I'm not here to hurt you." Ophelia spoke again as she watched you pull out a small bottle from your jacket pocket. A bottle that contained enough holy water to harm her while you locked and protected yourself back in the room.

"I don't like demons, so you'd better talk fast." You threatened, tightening your grip on the bottle, ready to throw it at her.

"Yeah, I know. I'm aware of what happened." Ophelia admitted. "I'm really sorry. But I'm not like them. I'm not like the rest of the demons."

"Why is that? Because before you went to hell you were a witch?" You raised your eyebrows.

"Yes. And no." She answered. "You see, hon, I knew your ancestor. The reason you're in this world is because of me. I'm the one who gave her a potion so she could get pregnant. I am the reason your family is still in this world. And the reason you and your brothers are special."

"What are you talking about?" You frowned.

"Though of course, it was bound to happen. So maybe you're not that special after all. Another woman could have been the one to ask for my help. But it was your ancestor, so here we are." Ophelia sighed.

"Would you care to explain?"

"I don't have time for this. I just want my book."

"Sure you do. You know where it is. Come on in." You stepped aside, leaving the entrance to the room completely clear for her. Ophelia smiled.

"I know there's a demon trap drawn over there. I'm not going in."

"Then you won't get the book." You shrugged.

"You don't want that book, believe me. It will only lead you to want to awaken your powers and that's a lousy idea. You'll put a target on your head, just like your brother did. And your mother before him."

"So it's true, my mother was a witch?" You asked making her sigh.

"When I made the potion so that Melinda could have kids, I used some special ingredients. And when we were burned for witchcraft, I anchored my power to that book and her daughter Sarah." Ophelia explained. "Magic has run through the veins of your maternal family until the birth of Carter, the first son in generations. A prophet wrote that when two boys and a girl were born to this family, the power would be uncontrollable."

"That's why a demon killed my mother and then wanted to kill Peter?"

"With your mother dead there would be no more sons. And as macabre as it sounds, Peter was just a baby. His death would hurt less."

"Sounds like you decided that." You pointed in confusion.

"If one of the males dies your bond with me will die and the magic will disappear. That's what I and all the demons want." Ophelia declared, crossing her arms.

"And the book?"

"It's dangerous if other witches find it."

"I'll make sure it doesn't happen." You assured, going back into the room, but Ophelia grabbed you arm before you could do so.

"I have come in peace. I wouldn't want to have to take it from you the hard way."

"From what you've explained to me, you've already done that once."

"I didn't kill your mother."

"Maybe not, but it was you who sent the demon, wasn't it? You ordered him to kill her."

"No. He killed her because she broke a deal. I told him to kill Peter to break the bond and bring me the book. He did neither. He's useless."

"You also killed Maddie's mother, didn't you?" You assumed without paying much attention to her words.

"I knew she had the book. But she hid it very well and I still don't know how."

You were about to speak but the sound of the Impala's engine caught both your and Ophelia's attention.

"I'll be back." The woman assured. "And when I do, I'll leave with the book." She then released your arm and disappeared into the darkness of the night before Dean and Sam could get out of the car at a much faster speed than usual.

The eldest of the brothers was the first to reach you, his hands gripping your shoulders and his eyes watching your with concern as he searched for any injuries. "Are you all right? Who was that woman?"

"I... She..."

"She's gone." Sam spoke as he reached them after trying to follow Ophelia. His breathing accelerated due to his running.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

After the three of you walked back into the room, you ran to lock yourself in the bathroom without saying a word. Dean insisted that you tell him what had happened, but it was clear to him that you were too shaken to do so.

Sam watched as his brother paced back and forth nervously, running a hand through his hair as he gave quick glances at the bathroom door.

"Do you think it was a witch?" His question broke the silence.

"No. It was a demon." Dean assured. "She lied to us about Salem. And all this... Her traveling with us, it all started because of the demon that kidnapped her. She's hiding something."

"Hiding what?" Sam frowned.

"I don't know, Sam." Dean answered.

"So what do you think? That girl was the demon that kidnapped her back there in San Francisco?"

"I don't know. It could have possessed someone else. But... There's something else. She said she could have stolen the Colt and the car and taken off. But if it was a random demon, she wouldn't be so eager to kill it, would she?"

"An exorcism would be enough." Sam admitted.

"Yeah, and she certainly knows how to do one. Why would she want the Colt?"

Sam remained silent, not knowing what to say. His head spinning with possible explanations.

You still weren't able to process the things Ophelia had told you. She was one of the reasons for all your suffering. She was the cause of much of the pain your family had been exposed to. And your wanted her dead. But you remembered the fear in your father's voice on the call earlier. He had told you to be careful. You knew Ophelia wanted the book and would do anything to get it back. So now there was just one person in your mind. Peter.

"I'm leaving." You declared as you came out of the bathroom. Your voice caught both Winchester brothers' attention, who still hadn't quite processed you words.

"What? No." Dean answered.

"This was a mistake. I should never have left home with you in the first place. I have to go back home."

"No, what you have to do is tell us what the hell is going on." He corrected as he watched you go through her things. He called your name numerous times, but you continued to ignore him. "Talk to us." Dean walked towards you, holding your arms to force you to look him in the eye. "Talk to me." His voice came out pleading. You could see the desperation reflected in his eyes.

You looked at him with hesitation. If you told them the truth, the whole truth, they might reject you because your mother was a witch. Dean had said it himself, he hated witches. And if there was a chance that you were one too, who knew what they would do. You couldn't do it. You couldn't tell them the truth. Right?

Just then the radio started playing once again, the same song as before. But it couldn't be Ophelia causing it, she couldn't have come back yet. It was clear she had left because she was afraid the Winchesters might use the Colt against her. But then again, had it been you who had caused the radio to turn itself on? Had your magic already awakened and you were unable to control it?

"What the hell?" Dean frowned, looking at the radio.

"Isn't that the song that was playing in Paul's car?" Sam asked in confusion. His question brought you out of your thoughts. Your eyes darting quickly away from Dean to travel to Sam.

"What?" You asks, puzzled.

"The song. It's the one that was playing when Paul was attacked." He explained.

"I thought..."

"What?" Dean turned to you. But then the impala's lights began to flicker, attracting his attention. Quickly, Dean released your arms and opened the room's door, finding a woman standing next to his car.

You and Sam were soon on Dean's side, their eyes also on the woman.

"Ruby." Sam murmured as he recognized her. You frowned in confusion.

"Sam, listen to me, there's no time." Ruby spoke looking only at him.

"For what? What are you talking about?" Sam frowned.

"You have to get out of town."

"So this is Ruby, huh?" Dean asked, pulling out the Colt, raising it and aiming it at her. "Never had the pleasure."

"Dean!" Sam warned him.

"I was hoping you'd show up again." Dean watched the blonde-haired woman, ignoring his brother as you remained completely confused by the situation.

"Point that thing somewhere else." She warned him.

"Hahahaha! Right."

"Sam, please. Go. Get in the car and don't look back." Ruby insisted, looking back at the young Winchester.

"Why? I don't understand."

"Hey, hot stuff, we can take care of a few kitchen witches, thanks." Dean said. You looked up at him with a knot of fear in your chest.

"I'm not talking about witches, you jackass. Witches are whores. I'm talking about who they serve." Ruby answered.

Dean and Sam shared a confused look for a second, but you seemed to understand her words pretty quickly.

"Demons." You whispered, but they were able to hear you, their eyes quickly falling on you. "They get their power from demons." You looked up at Ruby.

"Yeah. And there's one here, now."

"Yeah, no shit." You replied with a scoff. "Oh, what, you mean besides you?"

"Sam, it knows you're in town and it's gonna come after you and its way more than you can handle." Ruby insisted, ignoring your and Dean.

"Oh come on, what is this, huh? Please tell me you're not listening to this crap!" Dean looked back to his brother.

"Put a leash on your brother, Sam, if you wanna keep him."

"Try touching him, see how that goes for you." You quickly warned her, clutching the handle of the knife you kept hidden behind your back, attached to your belt. Dean couldn't help but give you a quick glance, surprised at your protectiveness towards him.

"Guys, look, just chill out." Sam asked them.

"No! No!" Dean exclaimed. "She's messing with your head, God knows why, that's who they are!"

"I'm telling you the truth." Ruby assured.

"And I'm telling you to shut up, bitch."

"I'm sorry, why are you even a part of this conversation?!"

"Oh, I don't know maybe because he's my brother, you black-eyed skank!"

"Oh, right, right. You care about your brother so much. That's why you're checking out in a few months, leaving him all alone?"

"Shut up."

"At least let me try and save him, since you won't be here to do it any more."

"I said shut up!"

Dean moved to fire the Colt at Ruby, but Sam pushed his arm away from her as he fired the gun. You staggered as Dean hit your shoulder as he fought against Sam's hold and when you turned your eyes back to Ruby, she was already gone.

"Two demons in one day. Great. That's a new record for me." You commented as you walked back into the room, going back to gather your things.

Dean sighed, giving his brother a disappointed look before following you.

"You're not leaving." He declared.

"I'm a grown-up, Dean. I can make my own decisions. Thank you for your concern." You answered making him roll his eyes.

"I know you don't want to leave."

"That doesn't matter." You assured, turning back to him. "You heard that demon Ruby, there's another one around and I'm pretty sure she wasn't talking about the one who came to visit me." You declared, reaching down to pull the book out from under the bed. Dean frowned as he didn't recognize the cover of it. Reading wasn't his biggest hobby, but he'd noticed the books you and his brother had brought from your family home, and that wasn't one of them. "I have reason to think Peter may be in danger. He's my little brother, Dean, I know you understand that."

"I do. But we can help you." Dean insisted.

You shook your head. "No, you can't. I have to do this alone. I'm sorry."

"At least tell me what's going on. Who was that woman?"

"A demon."

"Yeah, I've got that much, thank you." He scoffed.

You sighed before answering. "She killed my mother. Well, not her personally, but she's one of the reasons she's dead."

Dean frowned at your explanation before sharing a look with his brother. You looked at them in confusion, your attention turned to Sam when he uttered your name.

"This question might seem strange to you, but... how old were you and Peter when it happened?"

You gave him a puzzled look, not quite sure if he was joking. But his serious look assured you that he was completely serious about the question.

"I was ten years old. Peter was just born. I think he was barely six months old." You answered. "Why?"

"Our mother was also killed by a demon when I was just six months old." Sam explained. "Our father spent his life looking for the demon to kill him. Dean shot him with the Colt less than a year ago."

Your eyes traveled to the eldest.

"That wasn't the same demon that killed my mother." You assured them.

"How do you know?" Dean asked. "Was there a fire in your house that night?"

You shook your head with a humorless smile.

"This demon was the one who kidnapped me back in San Francisco. He's still alive." You answered. "I wish it was the one you killed, Dean, everything would be so much easier."

Dean's green eyes watched you closely, catching the pain reflected in them and the tears you fought to hold back. He recognized your pain, it was the same pain he had felt since his mother's death. A pain that had been with him ever since.

"Listen to me." Dean walked towards you, placing his hands on your shoulders. "We finish this case and go back to your house. I promise."

You wanted to accept his offer, you really did. But something in her knew Peter was not safe, an almost maternal instinct. Besides, if you got away from the Winchester brothers, Ophelia wouldn't hurt them when she came back for the book.

"I'm so sorry, Dean." You said sincerely. "I'm not trying to repay the pain I felt when you left. This isn't about you. I wish I could stay, but it's all too complicated. I really hope I get to see you again before..."

You couldn't finish the sentence. The thought of Dean dying and the possibility of never seeing him again was too painful for you. So you just wrapped him in a hug, laying your head on his shoulder. Dean's arms were quick to return the embrace, his head resting on yours as he closed his eyes. Both of you enjoying the intimacy of the moment between you two. It hurt, it hurt a lot, more that you would had thought.

The hug lasted a few seconds, but it felt quite short to both of you. After you pulled apart, you were barely able to look him in the eyes. So you simply gathered your things and said goodbye to Sam with another quick hug.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

Leaving without explanation was one of the things you hated most. That's why it had hurt you so much when Dean had done it to you, because you didn't understand how someone could do something like that. You never thought you would. Yes, technically you had said goodbye to them, but you hadn't been entirely honest. And a part of you felt that if you never saw them again, you would always regret that.

Now, sitting in that bus station, you tried to forget about both Winchesters as you reached out to your father and little brother.

As you expected, Henry did not answer any of your three calls. And unlike him, Peter did, almost immediately.

Relief washed over you when you heard your little brother's voice on the other end of the line. You could almost see his face. Just by hearing him you knew he had a smile painted on his lips.

"Hi, buddy. You know what? I'm coming home." You announced with a smile. However, Peter's unexpected reaction formed a frown on your face.

"What? Why? That idiot didn't leave you again, did he? I swear to God..."

"Peter." You cut him off. "It's not because of Dean. I miss you and Dad..."

"Dad can go to hell with him." Peter said. "He won't even answer my calls."

"Peter, don't say that..."

"Why?" He interrupted her. "He hasn't come home yet. He didn't even send a gift. He always sends me a present at Christmas. I'm fine with Maddie, you can stay with the Winchesters idiots."

"Maddie should be free to go. I'm your sister, I should be there." You declared, but Peter didn't answered you this time and soon after you heard a strange bang through the call. "Peter?" When no one answered, you began to feel really worried. You breathing hitching and heart racing. "Peter?"

Maddie's voice came through the phone seconds later.

"Maddie? What's going on?" You asked.

"There's someone in the house." That was all the she could say before she dropped the phone and ran away. The call then ended, leaving you completely panicked and powerless.

"Are you gonna give me the book now?" A familiar voice spoke next to you, making you jolt. You quickly grasped the handle of the knife on your belt, ready to attack. "You don't have the Colt, so don't bother. You can't kill me." Ophelia assured, settling onto the bench next to you. 

You turned to her with a serious expression and without any hint of fear in your eyes. Ophelia smiled. "Now, we are gonna go to your house in San Francisco and when we get there, you will hand over the book or Peter dies." The demon declared. "Got it?"

You couldn't help but clench your jaw in frustration. You wanted to kill her right there and then. Even in front of all those people at the bus station, you didn't care about anything at that moment, just your little brother. But you also knew you couldn't do anything to her. Nothing would work on a demon, not permanently, and that would only lead to Peter and Maddie ending up dead.

"Got it." Freya answered then, trying to remain calm.

"Great." She smiled.

Keep Reading: Chapter Eight

Tag List: @deans-spinster-witch @lmhf1 @mochminnie @helo1281917 @barnes70stark

If you'd like to be tagged, drop me a comment

[epicthemusical]

The Sword and Soul

okay another one not EPIC based but decided to share here. again its Odysseus and Diomedes during the Trojan War.

Diomedes slices through enemy after enemy in the chaotic ocean of soldiers fighting. The air is hot and heavy filled with shouting and the clanging sound of metal meeting metal. He wears blood and death like a second skin. Diomedes hates war but at the same time he feels more at home on the battlefield than anywhere else. It's what he was made to do, to fight and kill, it makes him feel alive.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Odysseus just in time to watch an enemy get a lucky slice into the chink in Odysseus armor right at his shoulder. Diomedes is on the move before he can fully process it and effortlessly cuts down anyone standing in the way. He arrives and quickly beheads the enemy Odysseus had been struggling against.

"Diomedes how nice of you to stop by and help."

Diomedes snorts as he clashes with another enemy. Odysseus grimaces as jostles his injured shoulder blocking an attack.

"Well someone has to make sure your dumb ass doesn't die."

Diomedes knocks the enemies sword aside and cuts them down.They start fighting back to back keeping each other safe as they continue their banter.

"I had it handled."

Diomedes blocks a strike heading towards Odysseus.

"Yeah sure and I'm a Trojan prince."

Odysseus tries to smirk but it is tight with pain even as he replies with a sarcastic remark.

"Oh really and why didn't you tell me that my friend?"

Diomedes huffs but doesn't try and respond as they continue to fight but to his concern Odysseus' movements start to get sluggish. By the time the enemy retreats and the battle is won Odysseus is swaying on his feet.

"Come on Odysseus let's get you to the medics."

"I'm sorry Dio..I think I'm about to pass out…"

Once Odysseus slurred words are heard he staggers and then starts to fall. Diomedes lurches to catch him as he curses. Checking the wound reveals just how much blood he has lost and an unfamiliar fear starts to creep into his heart. He picks his limp form up and starts running towards the medic tent.

"Damn it Odysseus you are not allowed to die on me you understand?"

It feels like far too long before he finally reaches the medics. He places Odysseus down on an empty cot and before he even yells for a medic someone runs up and starts looking him over. He watches them start to stop the wound from bleeding before telling him to leave.

"You can go now, you will only be in the way. I will make sure you get news on if he lives or not."

Diomedes nods and exits the tent and heads towards his own. He pushes open the tent flap and walks over to sit down on his cot. He doesn't even bother taking off his armor letting the familiar weight comfort him from his anxiety over Odysseus. He instead starts to clean his sword as his mind starts to wonder.When exactly did he start caring so much for him?

He isn't used to being afraid for others, usually every death on the battlefield is just another body, another casualty of war. He was hardened by the reality of war with nobody to care for him and nobody he cared for. Yet somehow Odysseus seems to have worked his way into his defences and refuses to let go.

Odysseus with his sarcastic remarks and sharp grins. Odysseus with his eyes full of mischief and calculated constantly ready with tricks of every kind. When he can see his bloody reflection in the blade he sheathes it and starts cleaning his spear. The familiar action is calming, helping his anxiety some.

Once he's done he just sits there as the blood dries on his skin and armor but even then he does nothing. He simply sits there waiting for news. Eventually he hears someone enter his tent and he looks to see it was Odysseus with a tired yet amused grin.

"Hey there Diomedes I was told you were worried for me."

Odysseus looks a little paler with his shoulder wrapped neatly with bandages but otherwise seems to be just fine. Diomedes relaxes a bit at the confirmation.

"Well you seem to be just fine if you can come and bother me."

Odysseus glances at his armor still on him with a knowing look that makes Diomedes both happy and anxious. He doesn't like how vulnerable it makes him feel but he also yearns for someone to really see him. Everything is always so complicated when it comes to Odysseus.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

They both work on taking off the armor and scrubbing away the dried blood with a wet cloth. The water in the basin soon turns red as Diomedes turns his attention to cleaning the armor. By the time he finishes and places the armor on its stand Odysseus is waiting for him.

"Do you want me to stay here?"

Diomedes doesn't look at him as he replies

"I don't need you here."

There it is again the look that says he knows.

"I didn't ask if you needed me here I asked if you wanted me here."

Diomedes thinks about it some before looking away. As a warrior he shouldn't need the comfort of company or to be reassured but still he finds he does want it.

"Yes… I want you to stay."

Odysseus has a victorious grin on his face as he takes a drink before tossed a wine skin at him. Diomedes catches it and nods in thanks before taking a sip.

"It's good wine."

Odysseus sits down on the cot next to him.

"Yeah unfortunately the medics would have my head if a drank too much with my injury but I thought someone might as well enjoy it."

Diomedes grimaces at that knowing how scary the medics can be about their patients health. As time goes on Diomedes continues to drink as the both talk about random stuff he finds himself relaxing.

Maybe he can get used to this.