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beewolfwrites · 4 years

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And When I am Formulated, Sprawling on a Pin - Chapter Three: A New Alliance

Both Chishiya x OC or a Chishiya x Reader depending on how you wish to read it.

You can find this - along with the first and second chapters - on AO3 here. The formatting is a little better on AO3, but it’s here if you prefer Tumblr :)

Thanks for reading!

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According to the phone I had picked up in the Jack in the Box game, I had an eight-day visa. That could only mean that the card number of each game was equivalent to the number of days you were awarded on your visa. And the suits? Well, I still hadn’t figured that out just yet.

It was eight days of calm… eight days of sleeping away the burnt singe that came with every breath, and the taste of smoke that lingered on my tongue. But it was eight days that I couldn’t have let go to waste. The day after my win, I visited a deserted bookstore and swiped several Japanese language textbooks off the shelves. I hated the idea of stealing them as they were luxuries, but it wasn’t as if I could pay for them either. Money had no value in this strange, gruesome world.

I picked out the textbooks that I hadn’t been able to afford in my previous life and spent eight days cramming my head with as much Japanese as I could. If I was going to survive, I couldn’t keep going into games with a scrambled-up knowledge of the rules.

But naturally, eight days isn’t enough to learn a language, and far too quickly, my visa was due to expire.

This time, when I left the apartment, I walked further from the city centre to see if the games were spread out right across Tokyo or confined to a limited space. Then I stopped in the middle of the street, the cool night air whipping around me.

A light glared bright on the horizon.

Here we go again.

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The apartment complex was around seven storeys in height, each floor glaring under blue strip lights. Following the signs once more, I walked up a set of stairs and through the entrance to find ten other figures stood around waiting. A few of them looked at me curiously, probably trying to suss out whether I was new to this or not. Ignoring them, I took a phone from the table in the centre of the room.

‘FACE REGISTRATION IN PROCESS.

PLEASE WAIT FOR THE GAME TO COMMENCE’

Like always, I snuck my way into a corner and let my eyes drift over the players around me. If our lives were on the line, who could I team up with? Who couldn’t I trust?

Trust nobody.

It was a motley crew. There was girl with bobbed hair doing stretches on the floor, a middle-aged woman still clutching her handbag, two hardened men who looked ready for anything, a peculiar man with a hat, two young women who were clearly best friends, a guy dressed in blue who kept asking what was going on, and –

White Hoodie.

He was staring at me from beneath his hood, with that same arrogant smirk decorating his features.

‘I look forward to seeing you again in another game.’

It was almost as if he had planned this.

His staring stirred something uncomfortable within me, as if I were a creature only just noticing too late the eyes of a predator lurking in the foliage. I nodded at him, hoping he would lose interest. And sure enough, it worked, as his features relaxed and his eyes lowered back to the ground.

I let out a shaky breath. Avoid him. Definitely avoid him.

There were footsteps as two tall young men waltzed through the entrance. They looked a little dishevelled and they glanced around anxiously. But from the way they immediately went to the phones, this wasn’t their first game. The strange man in the hat started talking to them, but I tuned out their voices. I needed to focus on the situation at hand.

‘REGISTRATION CLOSED. THE GAME WILL NOW COMMENCE.’

The talking hushed as everyone listened closely and peered at their phones.

‘GAME – TAG

DIFFICULTY – FIVE OF SPADES

TIME LIMIT – 20 MINUTES.’

‘RULES –

RUN AWAY FROM THE TAGGER.

FIND THE SAFEZONE IN ONE OF THE ROOMS WITHIN THE TIME LIMIT.

AFTER THIS, THE TIME BOMB HIDDEN IN THE BUILDING WILL EXPLODE.

THE GAME WILL BEGIN IN TWO MINUTES.’

I was almost proud of myself. I had been able to understand more of the grammar this time rather than relying on the select words I could pick up.

The players around me had started moving toward the stairs. And if the game officially began in two minutes, that meant we were able to choose our starting location.

White Hoodie instantly moved towards the elevator, but he was the only one, and I didn’t want to be stuck in there with him.

Instead, I waited a moment, before hopping into the elevator with the two hardened men. Pressing the button for floor seven, I waited for them to choose their floor, but instead they just glanced down at me silently. When the elevator doors opened, I scanned the area for the best place to observe as the two men stepped out in front of me.

A corner would be bes—you’re kidding me.

White Hoodie was in the very corner that I had set my sights on. He was waving, possibly at the two men, possibly at me.

Nope, I thought. I’m not doing this.

I stepped back into the elevator and jabbed the button for floor six. Irritation. That was all I could feel as I made my way to the same corner, one floor down. He’d only gone and taken the safest seat in the house, leaving me no choice but to opt for second-best instead. It’s true, I could’ve taken the seventh-floor corner on the other side of the block, but I’m not sure the two hardened men would’ve wanted a tag along. Perhaps it was stupid or stubborn of me to do this, but I didn’t have the patience to deal with White Hoodie’s psychotic calmness. He would make a smart ally, that’s for sure, but someone like him wouldn’t hesitate to throw someone like me under the bus.

I propped my elbows up on the edge of the walkway, observing the other players as they scattered throughout the building like chess pieces. Some were using the extra time to test the locked doors while they could.

‘Everyone looks like they’re about to die, as usual.’

I groaned and looked up at the ceiling above me. How can I still hear his snarky commentary from all the way down here?

If it weren’t a life-or-death situation, I’d have gone down yet another floor just so I wouldn’t have to listen in. But there was no time for that.

‘GAME START – THE TAGGER IS NOW ON THE MOVE.’

Everyone was silent. I could see them all poised, terrified, waiting, as trumpets filled the air, echoing through the long walkways and staircases. A racing fanfare? I held my breath, waiting for something to happen. For the tagger to make themselves known.

And then, a chime.

The elevator doors opened up. They opened up on floor six – my floor.

My heart jumped at the sight. He was tall, clearly well-built despite being shrouded in a coat. But what was most striking was his head, or should I say, his mask. He was wearing a large mask stylized as a horse head. The racing fanfare suddenly clicked into place… as did something else.

He was holding a submachine gun.

And he was looking right at me.

‘Shit!’

Fueled by adrenaline, I ran to the far edge of the walkway, hoisting myself up onto the balcony as the tagger calmly made his way closer, getting ready to aim. Clasping onto the drainage pipe, which trembled under my weight, I prayed that it wouldn’t collapse to the ground. The metal groaned as I pulled myself up with strength I didn’t know I had.

I heard the bullets before I felt them, a small, sharp whoosh of air that burst across my skin.

I’m almost there! Almost there. Just a little more.

The tagger was leaning out now, growing closer and closer while firing away and missing me only by a hair’s breadth. Soon he’d be close enough to aim properly. Channeling all my energy, I pushed my feet against the pipe joins, trying to pull my body up just a little further.

A hand reached out.

Clinging to the pipe with one arm, I grasped the hand and felt myself being pulled up against the balcony and onto the seventh floor where I rolled to the ground.

The gunshots stopped.

I couldn’t move from where I lay, staring at the roof as I tried to catch my breath. My muscles quivered, shivering with fight or flight.

‘危なかった,’ a familiar voice said. That was dangerous.

My eyes slid over to my rescuer. White Hoodie was leaning against the balcony.

‘でも,’ he continued. ‘感心した.’

I frowned, confused, trying to think back to the textbook I had poured over. The eight days of studying had almost gone to waste.

‘Sorry,’ I said, still a little breathless. ‘I don’t know what that word means.’

He laughed, a short puff of air. ‘It means you’re an idiot,’ he said. ‘You should’ve stayed up here rather than being stubborn.’

I pushed myself up and sat against the wall, as I wasn’t confident I had it in me to stand just yet.

Then, he added, ‘you’re also completely unprepared for a Spades game.’

Oh? So the suit does have something to do with the nature of the games…

I gave him a questioning look, hoping he’d elaborate, but he simply turned around to observe the game going on around us. I didn’t take his dismissal personally. It was hardly the time or place.

It must’ve been a few minutes I spent sitting there before I eventually decided to stand. Now that the adrenaline had passed, my muscles were beginning to ache. But I couldn’t let that keep me from the game; I needed to be able to run if the tagger came up here. I stood next to White Hoodie, observing the players around us.

From the third floor, gunshots and wet gurgled shrieks resounded. Left, right and centre, players flopped, limp as dolls as floor sprayed across the walls. We watched on as the two young women were slaughtered one by one, the second one wasting a perfect opportunity to escape by instead throwing her shoe at the tagger.

‘He was reloading his gun,’ I said, incredulous. ‘She could’ve gotten away so easily.’

Beside me, he made a noise of agreement, then we fell into silence. Even though we only had 20 minutes in total, it seemed to last a lifetime. Things got interesting very quickly when the two disheveled men started running across their floor, one of them shouting that everyone should call out the tagger’s location and help each other.

‘It’s not a bad idea,’ White Hoodie said, ‘but nobody will respond.’

‘You don’t know that,’ I replied. ‘Somebody might.’

At that moment, the girl with the bobbed haircut yelled out, ‘the tagger’s moving! He’s on the fourth level of the central area! Anyone who’s nearby, run!’

At first, I felt a sense of satisfaction that he had been proven wrong. But then the same girl tried to save the middle-aged woman, before leaping off the side of the balcony and climbing a drainpipe with the agility and grace of an expert. I tried not to feel jealous. I tried.

She makes it look so easy. And she did it while dodging all those bullets too.

‘A climber? How interesting…’ White Hoodie mused. Leaning toward me, he added, ‘you see, that’s how you’re supposed to climb things.’

‘Shut up,’ I snapped. ‘I never asked for your opinion.’

He gave me that same condescending look that he had back in the entrance, and I squirmed inside. After that, we returned to silence. I checked the time on my phone. We only had 12 minutes left. It wasn’t long before we needed to head to the safezone, wherever that may be. Eying the guy next to me, I wondered whether he knew exactly where it was but was waiting until the last minute.

Gunshots sounded once again. However, this time they were coming from a floor just below us. The tagger was firing his gun at a door across the walkway on a floor below. In between gunfire, the scared newbie from the beginning peeked his head over the edge of the balcony, before ducking down again in fright.

Something wasn’t right. It was quite a considerable distance for the tagger to shoot, and so far, he had just been shooting anyone he came across at random rather than targeting those on different floors.

Unless… that door behind him.

‘That’s it, isn’t it?’ I said.

White Hoodie nodded and glanced at his phone. He then pulled off his signature hood, revealing his pale hair once more.

‘Should we begin?’

I didn’t like the idea of tagging along behind him, but he seemed to know what he was doing. I clearly couldn’t trust him, but at the same time, he’d helped me up the balcony. He didn’t have to do it, but he had. But then what if it was so he could later use me as a human shield? There were too many what-ifs, and it was impossible to tell whether to consider him an ally.

Up ahead, he stopped. He turned around to where I was still standing, lost in thoughts.

‘Aren’t you coming?’

I won’t trust you, but I’ll stand by you.

‘What’s your name?’ I asked.

He smirked. ‘Chishiya.’

Somehow, it suited him. And it felt more like an alliance now that I knew his name.

I gave a firm nod. ‘I’m coming, Chishiya.’

Jogging to catch up, I followed behind him as we made our way downstairs. The tagger seemed to be on one of the lower floors, but this didn’t make me any less apprehensive as I stayed a few paces behind Chishiya, unable to stop myself from staring at the white tendrils of his hair that blew back in the breeze.

As we approached the door, another familiar face appeared. It was the disheveled one who’d suggested we all work together. Looking at him up-close, he had a friendly, attractive face, but his hair looked like it’d seen better days.

‘I see you noticed it too,’ Chishiya said.

The man nodded, although he looked unsure. His hand rested on the doorknob, but he didn’t seem willing to go any further.

Chishiya raised a brow. ‘Aren’t you going to open it?’

The man glanced between the two of us, then said slowly, ‘if I was the tagger, I’d have just stayed here. There’s something missing in this game, something we haven’t thought about.’

He had a point. There was likely more to this ‘safezone’ than the rules had specified, just like how one of the codes in the Jack in the Box game had been a lie. There was probably a trap hidden somewhere behind the apartment door.

‘That’s probably true,’ Chishiya agreed, then pulling out his phone, added, ‘but there’s no time.’

He also had a point. There was only three minutes of the game left before the bomb detonated and it was game over for everyone.

The man nodded, and slowly opened the door.

I hid behind Chishiya as the three of us quietly entered. The place was just an empty room, with nothing particularly safeabout it. But at the far end, there was another door. That was probably the real safezone. The three of us made to inspect it –

Click.

Chishiya was pushed aside, his body thrown onto mine as we fell to the ground. Deafening gunshots rained everywhere, marring the walls and ceiling.

A second tagger!

I felt Chishiya’s weight suddenly leave me as he crawled to his knees. Scrambling out of the way, I saw Chishiya hastily pulled a battered Walkman out of his pocket. To my surprise, he pushed it against the second tagger, and electricity juddered from one end, sparks flying.

No, not a Walkman… a taser!

The moment it touched his skin, the tagger spasmed and jerked before dropping to the ground. Beside me, Chishiya climbed to his feet and offered a hand to pull me up. Together, the three of us stared in amazement between the converted taser and the still body on the floor.

Chishiya inspected his weapon. ‘It’s good to come prepared—’

Bullets burst through the air, the room glowing orange. I barely noticed the hand clamped like a vice around my wrist as my body was dragged outside, the door slamming shut behind us. The metal of the door protruded grotesque as fresh bullets hit, and I glared at Chishiya in disbelief.

‘He’s still in there! We can’t just leave him!’

For the first time, he seemed to be out of breath. ‘Do you want to die?’ he asked dryly.

Then his eyes, suddenly hard and serious, began to drift down further, coming to a stop on my upper arm. I followed his gaze to discover that a large red stain was oozing from my upper arm. Even by the second, the blood was rapidly soaking the fabric of my clothes. Perhaps I should have been panicking. Perhaps the sight should have made me more worried, but it didn’t. If the bomb detonated, we’d be dead, and a gunshot wound wouldn’t matter.

‘I can’t feel it,’ I told Chishiya. It was the truth.

He pursed his lips, staring darkly at the messy red wound. ‘You will soon.’

I sighed. We probably only had about two minutes, if that, to clear the game.

‘Let’s go back inside,’ I suggested. ‘I’ll go in first if you want.’

The scorn on his expression was quite something. Now standing, we both inched the door open, to find the room empty. Or at least, the main room was empty. The door at the back had been forced open, and a series of struggled groans could be heard.

Chishiya went first, creeping towards the doorframe and peering his head around. He whipped back as another wave of bullets scattered across the wall opposite.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked, scanning him over.

‘Of course I am,’ he said. ‘There’s two buttons in there. Two people need to press them to clear the game.’

Should’ve seen this coming. It wouldn’t be so easy.

By now, although I hated to admit it, Chishiya had been right; my arm was just starting to throb. In another few minutes, it would likely become too painful to move freely.

Suddenly there was a crash, and a familiar female voice could be heard inside the room. From what I could remember of her, it was the climber girl. Leaning into the doorway once more, Chishiya hesitated, holding the makeshift taser in his hand.

‘TEN SECONDS REMAINING.’

There’s no time for this!

Snatching the taser from his fingers, I ignored the pulse of pain from my arm and sprinted into the room. Then, ducking low, I shoved the taser into the tagger, feeling the electricity shudder violently through the Walkman and around my fingers.

‘FIVE… FOUR… THREE…’

The tagger slumped against the wall.

‘TWO…’

The man and the climber girl launched themselves across the room.

‘ONE.’

Their palms hit the buttons.

‘GAME CLEAR – CONGRATULATIONS!’

#alice in borderland #chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x oc #chishiya x reader #chishiya alice in borderland #kuina #arisu #usagi

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ofallthingsnasty · 3 years

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This was actually so fun to think about!

If we’re talking about survival and chemistry I would choose yan Erasermic or Toshinori! I know I’m sorta cheating, but I really can’t decide :,)

But mmm your take on Fatgum makes me think he’s another one that has potential. Basically I have a lot of Amajiki traits. But I can also be really cold, and will explode/get defensive if I’m pushed pass my limits. And one other person who I’d probably stupidly fall for is Kirishima? Like that boy has himbo puppy energy and his smile? My heart wouldn’t be able to take it. But, I think for survival he would be too much for me as a yandere). Sooo- I honestly relate to you! Like I would need someone to be really gentle and patient with me. I have major daddy issues, anxiety, depression and I’m also pretty awkward. I can be really quiet and it takes someone special for me to really open up and trust. Words of encouragement would go such a long way for me. I know I would have a major praise kink 😭. —As another anon mentioned, Erasermic has so many different dynamic potentials! Aizawa and Hizashi could be really nice to be stuck with haha. Aizawa is quiet, level-headed, patient, takes no bs. I think I would find him comforting to be around.. eventually. I would find Mic annoying because of how talkative and loud he can at times but if we’re thinking soft yandere Mic, I genuinely think he would win my heart over super fast. Him being extroverted would be a really nice balance. I would melt at the sweet things he would say to me wkqiebjejsbsbs. He would make me laugh by saying and doing dumb shit. And making me laugh is one way to win me over quick. And both of them combined??? I wouldn’t stand a chance. Like my touch-starved ass would be drooling and so happy to be sandwiched between those two after the first couple rough months. They’re such a golden duo, they would take such good care of me, I know it. —As for Toshi, I can’t help but gush over how adorable he could be with his darling. He would probably be one of the safest yanderes to be with? His heart wouldn’t be able to handle anything too rough for punishments. Like idk I might be wrong, I just think he would be so gentle and wouldn’t take advantage of me and my ass would love that. Like yes, just spoil the hell out of me. I think our energies would get along really well because he’s so sweet. He just wants his darling to be safe and tucked away from the world. He would be obsessive about them but he would be so patient! Maybee guilty seeing them so frightened for what he’s done, but he knows it’s the only way he can keep them safe. At the end of the day, I just want a sweet soft yandere to be stuck with (who would take good care of me). I’d be so flustered and a MESS if they are gentle laksjakaj. This got so long oops. I’m glad Monday went so well for you!! (Tumblr wouldn’t let me space correctly so I put little dashes 😔)

You & me anon, you & me... anxious daddy issues gang aha Big agree with Erasermic! If I remove myself from my own filth for like three seconds, I actually think they'd be very caring and gentle. Mic imo still has a little mean streak, but that'd take a lot of taunting or disobedience to really show. Depends on who YOU are and how you'd cope with the situation. He can be nice and understanding and patient if you're shy but good and he could turn mean if you aren't. You wrote this out with so much love!! I can tell you absolutely adore these two and that makes my heart melt. As for Kiri - I think he's terribly obsessive which could turn south reaaaaally quick. Kind off impulsive as well (methinks, but I don't really write for 1-a/b bc my brain just goes .... when I think about them) Toshi... When I thought about this question like a week ago he was the first one I thought of. And hell yes, he'd be one of the sweetest - if not THE sweetest, because he has so much to give (and to receive). BUT. He's insecure, has ego problems and holds a grudge/is kinda bitter? What I'm saying is that you'd have to comfort him just as much as he does. Which could be hard in that power imbalance that is the yandere trope. It could also make you two connect faster because you see him in another light when he opens up (which would happen p quickly, I think)- I think it'd be pretty easy to woobify him and his actions if you're empathetic and soft. So yeah, could go either way - it really does depend on you. I wish I could write more, but my brain is super fried from today and I actually should be in bed already... 😭 I'll just drink a double-esp tomorrow morning - thank you for this lovely and heartfelt response and feel free to come back to my inbox any time haha 😘

tell me which yan character is realistically your best match (in terms of survival and chemistry)

#ask #ask game #anon #tw. long post

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

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First Blood

MASTERLIST

Characters: Henry Cavill x Reader (Oneshot)

Summary: Playing games with Henry can be crucial especially when all your teammates were boys because decisions from a gamer girl has always been disregarded resulting in you getting first blood because Henry’s new mouse also wanted to annoy the heck out of you in rank game.

Warnings: FLOOF. Curses. Shy reader who ain’t used to physical intimacy. Also reader having her own issues about it. (Probably trauma but it isn’t said specifically) Making out. Daddy-kink. Reader just doesn’t know how to react with her own kinks. Martin is just a name I’ve come up with as Henry’s friend. The game is in a group of five in this one. A lil’ bit of sexual tension too?

Words: 2.5k

A/N: Y’all don’t know how difficult it is to find a girl who plays MMO games out there. *sits here while I play with my guild full of men where I panic every time I play because I feel judged by them 😭😂 I’M A NOOB, ALRIGHT. 😭😫😂) Also, when I’m left alive they kept telling me what to do and where the heck are the enemies when I don’t see them which doesn’t result to winning for the team HAHAHA 😭😂😂 *tries to control my armpit kink when seeing the GIF LMAO*

Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS ONESHOT! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue! PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK AFTER READING, BB!

Disclaimer: PNG’s and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and this oneshot is definitely from moi.

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

"You were too far from me. I needed back-up. Where were you?"

"I'm sorry---I'm sorry, the new mouse was acting pretty strange for a moment there. Forgive me?"

"Hmmph."

Henry heard an intentional huff from his side, making him glance to see you pulling your own headphones off with a frown. You were clearly upset because it hasn't been two minutes yet and you were dead; not even having a chance to grab onto some weapons before a group of high-ranked team shot you dead as they tried to loot inside the tent where you hid.

They left you alone at the location you've pinned from the map, ignoring your protests of having one team mate with you because Henry accidentally chose the other way because of his mouse problem reasons.

"Nugget, don't be mad at me." your boyfriend lowly and sweetly apologized, his tone slightly begging when he saw you stand up from your game chair, announcing to grab onto some snacks while you be their watcher due to dying early.

You ignored his sweet talk, putting up an act that you were mad.

"---Give me a kiss before you go."

He frowned and silently mumbled in between loudly typing on his keyboard; his pretty blue eyes still focused on his monitor screen. Henry maneuvered his character in the safest position where he couldn't be found before ticking his mic off in the game. He raised a brow, pulling his headset down and around his neck whilst turning his game chair around. You were pulled by your wrist to stop you from leaving and with sassy brows, you answered in a piqued tone that made him look at you with a knowing look from your sudden surly attitude.

"No. I don't want to."

Being the one who wanted to lower his pride, your boyfriend suggestively held a finger up, telling him how many he wanted, wiggling his brows in the process and pursing his mouth. The image of his stache making you stifle a giggle before him as he pursed his lips more, suggesting for a smooch, "Just one kiss,"

"Why are you always touchy?"

"It's how I am, love." Henry was quick to answer, his timbre was soothing and deep. Such pitch that could get your heart humming with profound affection as you felt the heat go to your cheeks, his straightforwardness over asking if he could get a kiss always gets you bashful because you weren't one woman who was used to physical display of affection.

Surprising to say that your boyfriend loved it and would even do everything just to take anything from you. He was an intimate lover and you were most definitely reserved, shy and quiet. Seldom to be the first to reach out for a hug or a kiss.

Henry was being punished for it because he definitely preferred his skin on yours all the time specifically from the moment he knew he was deeply in love with you.

"Would you want me not to be sweet with you then?" the latter frowned, his pretty baby blues glazing with disappointment for a second before it changed into comprehension; grasping about why you were aloof in the world of intimacy and physical display, "---I know you're not used to physical affection at all---but, if you want me to stop because you think I'm being too over the top, needy or clingy then tell me,"

He dropped his hand away from your wrist like you've burnt his skin, realizing what he was asking from you. His fist falling on his clothed knee as he sympathetically stared straight into your eyes. His height and burly body build being much of an advantage over you as he sat eye to eye; standing before him in your full height already.

You've given him a tight smile, hesitantly shaking your head as you stepped a foot closer to Henry, your knee touching his whilst drowning in his oceans and muttering in the softest voice you could muster.

"But, I don't want you to stop at all."

"Then, why are you so timid with me?" Henry's claret colored lips lifted into an adorn beam, his teeth and those adorable fangs sneaking for a peep when he'd felt you grab onto his hand, interlocking and filling the spaces of his fingers with yours, "---I'll help you with that if you want me to," he playfully suggested. Though, you doubt he meant that he'll help you by having sex because he was a gentleman at heart; his eyes hopeful to see the bricks break with your own barricade in that department.

His smile grew wider when you've timidly tuck a strand of hair behind your ears with your free hand, your lover taking it as a sign to lean his face closer, tilting his head and puckering his lips; his focus on your awaiting lips. Henry was practically a strand close to be giving you a sweet peck before he leaned away to examine your blushing face, stopping in the midst of giving you a smooch.

"Is it because of the kingstache? I don't sound too pushy, do I?"

Intently looking into his sea of blues, you've felt you heart racing a marathon as your own boyfriend was unaware of his effect on you; he was always keeping your mind blank with just a simple look from him. Becoming one speechless and disfunctioning lady when he was being too sweet with you.

He was just a sweetheart, always understanding you in terms of the issues you had for yourself.

Taking all the willpower in one go, you've grabbed onto a little bit of your confidence and began to do the first move, leaning over Henry's face before pulling back to see him playfully wiggling his eyebrows in a teasing manner. He nodded enthusiastically, giving approval to do whatever you wanted and it wasn't a second to feel your palms on either side of his face; attacking his lips with a bruising kiss that made him grunt before your chapped lips.

His fingers clasped onto the side of your hip; automatically pushing you closer to him as he'd licked the tip of your vermillion, moisturizing your dry ones. Taking heed that you should probably grab onto some lipbalm when you leave the room. His wet tongue made you gasp; hungry for more as he licked the roof of your mouth.

The game room filling with sounds of passionate kisses, hypnotized by what effects it was giving you; how lightheaded it could make you feel. Henry was still giving your lip a gentle nudge with his, enamored from the sudden assault you've managed to lure him in. Out of the blue, you ceased kissing him. A definite amount of space between you both while deeply staring into his eyes.

"No. I love your kingstache and I likey-like-like this touchy-feely characteristic of yours. It makes me feel loved," with an anxious bite of your lip, you felt his rough, calloused thumb reach out to flick along the bottom of your vermillion; mindlessly telling you to stop with that unhealthy habit of yours whenever you were apprehensive or worried about something.

"---Sorry if I'm complicated to understand, Henry." you quietly murmured to your boyfriend. He was about to open his mouth, catching him off-guard when you've delicately pressed another kiss to his lip. His stache tickling your cupid's bow which made you tenderly giggle against his mouth.

He smiled along your wholesome kiss, puckering back to touch and graze his own with yours in a honeyed buss. The latter had both hands on your hip as he sweetly and deeply spoke.

"I love you, alright? come sit on my lap while I play the game. Then, we'll talk more about this shyness of yours after the round,"

Henry pulled you on his lap; protests slipping past your lips with a loud beating of your heart because it was one of your fantasies to sit on those thick thighs of his, but you never tell nor do you want to treat him as if he was a pleasure toy that you could use. You've respected him just as much as he respected you and your personality.

Your loving boyfriend heard your feigned complaints; never one to know that you were faking it, he'd tutted behind in the midst of turning you to face his monitor. His thick, muscly thighs offering comfort over your restless thoughts and stiff body.

You couldn't help but squint your eyes back at the screen as Henry placed his headset back on his ears, "But, you're already dead?"

Lately realizing he was, Henry made a high-squeak sound of protest that made you laugh out loud.

"For fuck's sake---I am! I am dead!" he ticked the mic on again while holding onto his cursor, his other arm safely surrounding your small body sitting on his lap; his hold tightening when you began wiggling against him, you wanted to chat with his other team mates who they both didn't personally knew at all.

"Hey, mate." his friend lackadaisically spoke on the other line; completely focused on the on-going game. The loud sound of the keyboard being pressed repeatedly in the background of his friend's mic.

You were first-blood because Henry was too far for backup; he'd received a huff and a raise of your brow at that before you decided to leave a while ago which never happened because he decided not to wait until you were cranky enough to ignore him until dinner.

Starting with calling out the other players using Henry's account, you started venting; being stealthy about it as he was busy chatting with a friend of his, also swamped over giving your nape kisses that has got you wiggling more against his hold due to being ticklish over there.

"No backup, brother?"

He suddenly chuckled on mic, watching you lean away from his soft kisses and earning him a quiet mumble of 'stop it' in which his friend heard on the other end of the line.

You continued typing and calling his team mates noobs in capital letters; creating an act as if you were a toxic player without Henry's permission.

Noobmaster69's mic was blinking on the left side of the screen, letting you know he was talking to Henry as you basically continued to smash rude words on the keyboard.

"I've given backup, but I decided to let em' kill you because it seems like you have something to work on your lap,"

His friend snickered behind mic, scoffing after when Henry's gruff voice grumbled, sounding like he was dissappointed by the latter's antics.

"You left me to die. You're a great friend, Martin."

Martin cursed a loud one after shooting one player, earning the kill as the other two players were out in a far distance, minding their own businesses or probably lagging as well as he continued to talk, "Your girlfriend didn't turn off her mic by the way---might want to turn it off after I win this round for everyone because you people are fuckin' around in ranked game," he was loudly tapping the controls on his keyboard as he chattered away; multi-tasking over shooting players and talking to Henry, "---also---Oh, Christ!---try not to moan in the mic while we're in game,"

His friend audibly roared when he'd luckily claimed a headshot, "I don't wanna nut on my keyboard, Hank!"

Henry has cursed him through the mic, chuckling as he watched Martin's gameplay through his monitor. Lately seeing that you had been busy with your hands, ferociously typing at two team mates who were helping through the game.

His baby blues peeked from behind, intently watching your attentive and focused face in amusement. The oceans of his eyes glistening with sheer entertainment to see you grinning on his lap, his peepers casting the monitor screen a look before his smile fell for a hot second to read that you were cursing his team mates out.

"Stop calling them noobs, Nugget." he'd heard one team mate aggressively curse back at him via microphone in a different language---he knew it was a cuss based on how angry his mates were. Henry didn't know if he wanted to laugh over the headset, but he chose to shut his mouth off when Martin died a little later---the two noobs you were calling; became the people who would raise a flag for not having your rank down.

"You're getting me reported. Stop it right now," Henry lowly chuckled, his strong arms tightening around your waist as his stache tickled you on your neck by giving another soft peck.

You giggled and tried wresting out of his hold with thoughts coming from the impulsive part of your brain, shooting him an endearment that got his body going rigid under yours.

"Alright, Daddy."

Your boyfriend blinked repeatedly, his arm loosening once he realized what you've called him; a matter of being clumsy has always made him laugh. However, this accident surely intrigued his curiosity. You never called him that, even wincing and giggling over his video where he was reading thirst tweets from Buzzfeed, hearing you tell him that it was weird for people to call him that when you certainly had your own kinks as well.

Karma shot you on the ass because it eventually became your own kink as well, but he never knew about it.

It was a very good act you've did when you were trying hard to be a shy angel in his eyes, gradually evolving into a small devil when you were around his presence.

"What...did you just say?"

"Henry, I said Henry---I--I called you by your name."

You've felt his hold go limp, taking this as an opportunity to flee and forget your accident when he decided that it was best to keep you within arms reach. So, seeing you stand up and turn around to leave---Henry reached out to grab onto your waist, his thick fingers slipping away to be tugging at the waistband of your shorts, slightly yanking them down to see the smooth cheek of your bum as you wear a black thong.

He successfully pulled your back, earning him a high pitched squeal when you tried wrenching his hold away; never one to show Henry the deepest and secretive part of you which got him more needy over the fact that he was drawing a blank over your body, not knowing what it holds out for him.

Your ass fell flat on his thighs, sitting sideways as Henry used his sinewy arm to guide you from falling, caging you in his juicy arms that you love to caress and ogle at from time to time.

The roughness of Henry's fingers cascaded on your knee, slowly trailing up your thighs as he intently bore his eyes on you, searching for answers as to how such a lewd feeling came with calling him a 'daddy'.

His eyes shifted from staring straight at you to admiring how innocent you try to pretend in his eyes, glancing down your lips as he subtly licked his own.

"That's not what I heard, Love."

General taglist for Henry Cavill: @agniavateira, @iloveyouyen, @rahdaleigh, @silverkitten547, @henrythickcavill, @kaatelyyynn

#Henry Cavill #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x reader #henrycavill #henry cavill x female reader #Henry cavill x small!fem!reader #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fic #henry cavill fanfiction #muse: henry cavill #hc #cavillry #henry cavill masterlist #seb-owns-these-tatas

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furvillaconfessions · 4 years

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Here is my hot take on kids venting online that no one asked for

While I understand that it's important to vent -as someone who's had training in addressing issues instead of bottling them up- it is NOT safe or okay for kids to vent about very personal matters in an online PUBLIC space

I see genjiswife in the notes defending these kids and their right to vent on Furvilla just in case they can't do so elsewhere in case of snooping and/or abusive parents, and while I understand the sentiment, this does NOT mean they HAVE to post their vents PUBLICLY, nor does it guarantee that the parents won't see it since they could easily go on the kid's account and go through the kid's forum post history if they really want to

Venting means getting something out of your system, this can be done verbally or by writing it down, it does NOT mean they HAVE to tell someone or publish it somewhere if they're only looking to vent and not looking for replies to their vent, they can write it down in Word, or Notepad, or even in the Furvilla post reply box and then delete it, they do NOT have to save their vents, that way it is our of their system AND they don't expose strangers to personal matters

Posting very personal vents publicly can not only trigger strangers by accident who may have gone through something similar (inb4 "Just scroll past it! Don't read it!", assuming it's not put in spoilers, the brain will automatically read and register words if you look at a text even if you're not actively trying to read it, hence why it can accidentally trigger someone), posting very personal vents publicly is DANGEROUS because there is NO WAY to control who gets to see it, and there is no way to tell what the intentions of these strangers are who get their hands on this information, and while the chance of it happening on Furvilla is slim, these personal vents can be weaponized against these vulnerable kids by someone who has less than ideal intentions in mind

This however does not mean venting publicly should be banned completely, nor should people refrain completely from posting about their personal wellbeing, they just need to consider what is acceptable and not TOO personal to post depending on WHERE they want to post

Example of an okay public vent: "I failed my math test and my teacher said I have to study harder uuuuuggghhh I hate school so much!" or "I'm so fucking mad at myself I dropped my ice cream RIGHT after I bought it and I didn't even get to taste it!"

Why this public vent is okay: It's something a lot of people can relate to, it's a near universal experience that is not too personal, it doesn't reveal any info on the person's current personal situation nor does it reveal any personal information on the people in the person's life

Example of an okay public vent regarding the person's wellbeing: "I fell and broke my leg and also bruised my elbow super badly which hurts even more than the broken leg! The doctor said I can't do anything for at least 6 weeks :(" or "My chronic joint pains make it so much harder for me to draw, I got a new treatment but it doesn't help much"

Why this public vent on the person's wellbeing is okay: It's personal but it doesn't leave the person vulnerable, it can't be weaponized against them by strangers who find the vent, it's something that people may be able to relate to and doesn't have the probability of triggering someone

Example of a not okay public vent regarding the person's wellbeing: "I'm depressed as hell and my parents [REDACTED] me and it makes me want to [REDACTED] I hate living here" or "My friend just told me they [REDACTED] and I'm panicking I don't know what to do or how to help them!" (Putting [REDACTED] to avoid potentially triggering some people here as Tumblr doesn't have the option to spoiler text)

Why this public vent on the person's wellbeing is not okay: Reveals too much personal information on their life or the life of the people around them who did not consent to having that information revealed to the public, leaves them vulnerable and open to manipulation from strangers who come across the vent, has a big probability of triggering someone

Healthy alternatives to venting about very personal matters that isn't public: Talk about it to a willing friend you trust verbally in real life in a place where no one else can hear it, if it's online delete the messages afterwards if the parents are snoopy, write it down in a document or reply box somewhere and delete it (no saving the text, just straight up backspacing everything or just closing out of the document or tab), or write it on a paper and tear the paper apart afterwards if there's a fear of parents finding out, go to an anonymous vent site if possible so no one can tell who you are

And if a situation is REALLY serious for the love of god please contact professional help or authorities

TL;DR: Venting about very personal matters publicly online can not only trigger other people who did not consent to being exposed to such personal matters, but is also dangerous and leaves the person vulnerable and open to manipulation from strangers who want to take advantage of the situation, venting doesn't mean the vent always needs to be saved and/or published somewhere, there are alternatives to venting about very personal matters that isn't posting publicly to a forum that isn't suited for such vents

Kids should be allowed to vent, yes, but there are better ways and places to do that than doing it on a public forum that also 100% guarantees the parents won't find it, the Furvilla forums are most definitely not the best nor safest place for such vents

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theladykit · 4 years

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I received an excellent ask from @the-gay-lady-of-ravenclaw-tower and I was happy to answer it, but because I am a Tumblr old I accidentally replied to the first part of the ask instead of the second, and now it’s gone. So I’m going to reproduce it and include my answer below. I hope this can help others, too! Fair warning that I am long-winded and the post is very long as well. If anyone has suggestions about how to make it more readable (I have ADHD and long blocks of text are not my friend, so I get it), send me a message and let me know!

Hi, Ryn! Sorry if this ask is intrusive, feel free to ignore. You're the first non-binary person I've seen on here who's really fully an adult (to me grown up = older than 30-35) and I was wondering if you had any advice you'd like to share with younger queer/non-binary kids. In particular I was wondering how you navigate using gender-neutral pronouns in the workplace and how you build a community/found family with other queer adults. (1/2)

I'm 18, and it's easy to see other queer kids around me in college, but it feels like a bubble. I worry about the world outside of this microcosm and how to navigate queerness in the future. Seeing queer adults like you who have successfully made it through their 20s and survived in the "real world" while building a community is really hopeful for me, especially considering the world was much more hostile in your formative years than mine. Thanks :) (2/2)

Let me first apologize for taking so long on this ask, I wanted to give a considered answer.

I’m honored that you would ask in the first place. I take advice-giving pretty seriously, especially when someone is reaching out to me because they’re hoping to take advantage of any experience I might have from being on the planet longer. I want to introduce a couple of caveats, though, so you can take my advice in the context it deserves.

As you mentioned, I did grow up in a world that was quite a bit more hostile to queerness. On top of that, I’m sure you know we just didn’t have easy access to queer information, and it was a lot more visible when someone was seeking it. Because of this, I didn’t actually figure out my queerness (though I suspected for decades) until a few years ago. However, I’ve tried to throw myself into the queer community as hard as I’m able, and I was always a queer ally. So I’ve been on the fringes for a really long time, even though it’s only now that I’ve been able to experience it from a place of openness. On the other hand, I do think there’s value in that situation, as well, so, take all of this for what you will.

The other caveat is that I left the traditional workplace prior to my accepting my queerness. I have never had to deal with pronoun issues, and I also come from a place of having the luxury of a decent relationship with my original pronouns. I am non-binary, but I’m ok (for the most part) with people using she/her for me. That said, my background is in accounting, and the firms I worked for, on the whole, probably would not have been thrilled about neutral pronouns, much less neopronouns, especially with anything client-facing. Some of the feelings about this are changing, and some are not. It’s very industry-specific and employer specific, so I feel like the best advice I can give in this situation is to be safe, in whatever way that works for someone.

I would love to just say have the conversation with your employer in terms of pronouns and presentation and that if they’re not willing to accept even the idea of it, you know that they weren’t probably going to treat you with dignity and respect about being outside of the binary, but because society hasn’t caught up in their understanding and acceptance of anything but cisgender and heteronormative ideals, it is still a privilege too many are excluded from. Why human dignity and respect are treated as privileges, I shall never know, but that’s how it is for so many at this moment in time. So all I can say is try your best to assert yourself in whatever way is safest for you, and to know that there are lots of adults rooting for you and willing to help when and where they can, even if we can’t change everything immediately. It still sucks that we have to couch it this way, but I do think it’s important to remember that at least in some places we can have the conversation. It’s not enough, and it will never be enough until we don’t have to think about it anymore, but change is always going to be too slow for marginalized communities.

The found family is where I feel most comfortable answering. My peer group, the oldest Millennials, was really the first youth group to benefit from the presence of ubiquitous, reliable internet as a way to find new relationships, whether platonic, romantic, whatever. And I have to say, we found it in the same ways then as a lot of young adults do now: fandom spaces, very primitive means of social media (ah, the heady days of the message board), various websites and communities that we, along with a lot of other age groups, built. I personally met most of my found family through a fandom space, and while none of us really retain ties to that fandom anymore, our love for each other has only grown. The rest of my sort of extended found family, if you will, I met through in-person spaces, like the classes I took in college, things like that. I think one of the most important pieces of that puzzle is not being afraid to reach out through your interests. I also think that’s not so different from when I was around your age. The spaces themselves are a lot different to navigate, and I do not envy you with the sort of omni-present fight against purity culture, which we did not really have to address, but building a community is pretty much the same no matter if it’s online, in-person, formalized like a city, or anything else. It takes work and commitment and a willingness to see it succeed, and it will change and evolve a lot as you go on. Not all found family is permanent, and there’s nothing wrong with that, either. There are people who have passed out of my life, and rightly so, that I was certain at the time would be with me forever. But it’s ok. I grew as a person, and I grew in a different direction than worked for our relationship. I grew in a direction that brought me toward my found family.

I should also probably point out that my found family is, on the whole, not queer. A few of us are, or have ties to queerness, but there’s a variety of sexualities, genders, etc. I think you’re right to say that queerness can be kind of a bubble, but there are lots of people who want to embrace what may have started out as queer ideals because they recognize it’s how they want to live, even if they themselves are not queer. I think especially people my age and younger are realizing that they want families that are supportive and nurturing, and I am sorry to say it but that’s rooted in queerness in a way that most normative family dynamics are not. We’ve had no choice, we either had each other or no one else. Queerness, on some level, means found family—or at least queerness that doesn’t rely on trying to emulate the cisgender heteropatriarchy for acceptance. So the two ideas are really intertwined and it’s completely understandable why so many queer people gravitate toward families they built themselves. How to do that is as varied as any queer experience, but comfortingly, it’s still the same as any other kind of relationship at its core. Give it time, which is no one’s favorite advice, but that is the best I’ve got. Make sure you’re getting what you need in addition to helping others with what they need. Be kind and loving and supportive, and above all, bring compassion to the table every moment that you can. Empathy is good, too, but compassion and kindness will steer you better, I think, more often than empathy will.

I know this is an incredibly long answer, and this is as concise as I could make it. These are big questions, and I am not a concise person by nature. :) Good luck, and I’m here to talk if you need, and that extends to any queer young adults that want advice. We have to band together, we all have so many wonderful things to contribute, and I for one am looking forward to seeing what you and your peers add to the discussion over the years.

#queer life #found family #queer found family #advice

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garetthawke · 4 years

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okay so. just to let tumblr know what is going on with twitter wrt the she-ra ending and what's blowing up on lesbian twitter, someone made a post celebrating canon sapphic couples, with she-ra, korra, adventure time, and steven universe.

then this fucking asshole made this comment on it:

...which was followed up by this comment of the asshole below him.

[a twitter retweet with the comment "girl on girl is the safest and laziest LGBT representation" by twitter user TroyVaderInk, with a comment below from twitter user UnHolySpork that says "its almost like they are completely fetishizing lesbian relationships and also completely ignoring that lesbian relationships are most often extremely abusive. EXTREMELY."]

and the overt lesbophobia is enough to be mad about, obviously. but this is getting under my skin for more than that, too.

so, contextually, the discussion these people thought they were having was pointing out how seriously hard it is to get m/m couples on a show like this. however, the conversation had instead was this extremely offensive mess.

the original comment does a few things here, 1 being the complete erasure and dismissal of the struggle LGBT people have had actually getting these f/f couples on screen.

2, acting like these four children's cartoons are somehow elevating wlw representation to straight representation by pitting mlm rep against them vs against het couples, rather than acknowledging both facts: that four shows of minor, one-to-none kiss rep is pathetically low, AND that mlm rep is pretty much nonexistent in media like this.

and 3, he used the phrase "girl on girl" like a goddamned porn category, implying his opinion on the apparent "easiness" and "laziness" of sapphic couples is in fact informed by and probably counting fetishistic lesbian porn made for straight men.

(this man also spent a good deal of time on twitter antagonizing lesbians who called him out, many of them teenagers, some by saying some sexist shit and defending it with utterly stereotypical sexist responses, and he had added to his callout, a post of him referring to a sapphic character with the d slur, so feel free to go report him.)

the second comment here chimes in with an almost hilariously hypocritical assertation that a) these sweet, canon wlw couples on CHILDREN'S shows are (somehow) fetishistic (for existing at all i guess??) and that b) most lesbian relationships are (somehow) abusive; which is besides the point of this post, but still one of the most hurtful and damaging things said in this thread. there is an additional comment of hers (not shown) below this one that clarifies that is what she meant.

in any case, this drove me up a fucking WALL.

because while the initial point here - that media creators are still too scared to show boys as much as even holding hands in shows like this - has a lot of validity to it, it was posed at the utter expense of lesbians, and requires of heavy dose of hypocrisy to follow through in that way.

because while media is still scarce on similar mlm rep, fandom is literally DOMINATED by it. to the point that many lesbians, including myself, have said we can't find a safe space within it ANYWHERE. I've had to drop out of active participation in SO MANY fandoms i previously loved, because the entire fandom was reduced down to thirsting after and fetishizing men in the fandom, particularly in m/m format.

there is overt hostility towards lesbians in fandom spaces when we express our discomfort over this, and to boot f/f often gets ignored or mistreated by the same people, so it only adds to our discomfort and alienation.

these 4 shows have hardly put a dent in that. they are very meagre representation at best, save maybe steven universe on a technicality, because the rest are all end-of-show or even post-show confirmations, and all of these shows have about 1-2 kisses each, if even that. pathetic stats when compared to m/f couples. it has not made fandom that much of an easier place to be as a lesbian, but i am nontheless INCREDIBLY thankful they exist nonetheless.

the hypocrisy is hard, because as a lesbian the most we are often offered is blatant fetishization, so wlw media that literally DOESN'T do that, coming from lgbt people, is incredibly important. anything that is normalizing is desperately needed.

and yet this person calls what little bit of non fetishistic media we have fetishistic, underneath a fetishizing comment about them, decrying it existing because of claimed fetishization - all in the name of speaking up about mlm rep, which is, within fandom, actually JUST as fetishized, if not more.

and it breaks my fucking heart as much as it enrages me, because this COULD have been a valuable discussion. we could have talked about the fact that mlm have yet to get similar representation to this, likely mostly due to toxic masculinity. but instead these posts used that as merely an excuse, the afterthought to tearing down lesbians and this wlw rep.

and all this to say: it literally doesn't matter how valid your original point is; if you build it on a foundation of hatred and bigotry, it loses all credibility, and destroys the desire for anyone to put in discussion about it. talking about mlm rep under a heavy blanket of lesbophobia will get you nowhere except on a lot of shit lists, unless you WANT to align with general homophobes; but i promise you they will care even less about the plight of mlm rep, save for, oh how ironic, cases of fetishization.

if you look at four, yes the whole FOUR shows sapphics got of representation like this, and your follow through logic is that sapphic rep is thus "easy" and "lazy," you are clearly lesbophobic already and have no ground to start with.

the clashing, hypocritical combination of ideas here that bizarrely imply that both a) fetishized lesbians count as rep, and b) that lesbian rep shouldn't be there because it's fetishized, do not create a cohesive starting point for a discussion of lack of mlm rep, and conveniently ignores the endless bounds of fetishization that is involved with m/m couples in fandom; which means none of it is actually about fetishization at all. it's about these couples being sapphic.

the fact that these two people are bi, people from within our own community, makes this hurt all the worse. lesbophobia is so goddamned pervasive among us that even when we should be fucking celebrating this factually rare achievement of rep, instead people are tearing down lesbians, both characters and real people.

it's disgusting, disheartening, and it's something we need to pay attention to so we can call it out and make it abundantly clear that it will not be tolerated or normalized.

the height of offensive irony is calling us "safe" when this is what we get just over an episode of a cartoon showing two girls kiss.

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 4 years

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Ok hi it's me! I have an unreasonable amount so please please please do not answer all of them if you don't want to!!! 6, 7, 17, 19, 34, 41, 42, 44, 45 for you my love! Again, please do not answer them all if you don't want to ❤❤❤ love you!! (I'm not afraid to be a simp for Ciara come at me haters)

GRETCHEN!!!!!! you wonderful darling💖🥺you have my heart.

Also of course I answered all of them because if there's one thing to know about human nature it's that given a safe space everyone loves to talk about themselves. And conversations with Gretch? Safest place ever😇

6. What is a fandom you will never write for? : Anything with minor (like underage not like small roles) characters. And I know technically the PJO characters are minors but they were minors when I was a minor and they've grown much since then. When I say minors I mean like actively. For example Julie and the Phantoms? Won't write for that Fandom. I just feel very uncomfortable and I'd want to age them up and that's not okay or safe especially as it's an active Fandom. The PJO Fandom has been around long enough (and gone through a variety of waves) that aging them up doesn't feel like I'm being gross? You know what I mean? Also I won't write for a fandom until I'm comfortable in it. But other than that I don't have a specific "I'll never write for these fandoms" gripe.

7. What is a ship you will never write for?: Again, minors. And ships with abusive/"evil" characters, not morally grey ones. Genuinely evil ones.

17. Do you use/follow advice from writing blogs/posts?: To a certain extent yes. I mean I read a lot of advice posts but I don't actively think about any of them when I'm writing. I would hope that any knowledge I retain from reading and understanding them would translate into my writing. In saying that there are some things I will find advice for in the middle of writing. For example when I was describing Zoe's hair in EotH I read different advice posts about it and once I had written a description of it asked a black friend of mine if it was okay and sent her some references pictures so she knew what I was talking about.

19. Dead or overused tropes?: M I S C O M M U N I C A T I O N! We as a society have progressed past the need for this dumbass plot device. Especially in drama. It's only of good use in comedy and shouldn't be used anywhere else. Y'all know how I feel about this. It makes me bloodred with anger.

34. How did you find the magical world of fanfics?.....................................wattpad. I am a wattpad veteran through and through. After that it was Tumblr!

41. What is something you don’t like about your writing?: My inability to incorporate many elements of something at once, especially in a single scene. Also that I can't write for characters unless I can feel their essence.

42. Rudest review?: I have never gotten a particularly rude review (I really am lucky when it comes to comments which makes me eternally grateful). I guess the funniest one (and probably the most ludicrous) was a review in the tags of my "When Percy Jackson Loves" post that said "I like all of them except the fourth one" and I don't know if it was a race thing or a homophobic thing or just an I don't like this thing but that made me laugh as it was probably the most negative comment I've ever gotten. Which is pretty mild and means I'm absolutely spoilt with love! So thank you❤️

44. Does fanart of your fanfic exist?: As far as I know it doesn't (besides my own little sketches).

45. Do fanfics of your fanfic exist?: As far as I know these don't exist either

But can you imagine?? I'd probably go into cardiac arrest. Like I can't even fathom that because I start freaking out when I get a comment I'd never survive if someone made fanfic or fanarts of my fanfictions.

#Gretchen is just my favourite and I love her so much and she makes me so happy #This blog (and all my other ones) is a Gretchen stan blog first and whatever else it's supposed to be second #PJSSG asks #Ciara's Convos #She speaks #Gretchen asks #Hopefully I answered all the right questions👀👀because I can't read #I'm Jared 19 most days #I love ask games

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pernatius · 4 years

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Lost in Space Part 7: Ch 5

Summary: After finding Syco, the duo finds an unsettling, new reality.

Lost in Space on Tumblr

Lost in Space on ao3

Just like the others, their outfit is the same, but the mask is no longer whole, pure. Gold drips down from its crack and between the two halves are too many gray, lifeless eyes staring directly at us from such a tiny opening.

Syco flat out ignored the fear the rest of us were shaking out as the Watcher’s fists began to glow, “It’s strength also proved to be its weakness. Just because this place offers the most seclusion in your city doesn’t mean it’s the safest.”

“You’re scolding me for something you believed as well,” the man with minutes left to live retorted.

“No, I was just pointing out another mistake I have to make right.”

“Again, I must point out that you have something that belongs to me. Hand it now before I do something I will be punished for later, Syco,” the Watcher ordered with glowing gold eyes and fists surrounded by another alien language.

The leader of this now faltered mission starts again, “When I was young, I was blindly obedient to my predecessor because he was just another manufactured loyalist like you. Both, while I didn’t understand at the time, I feared because I was brainwashed to believe in your corrupted righteousness.”

“And I suppose that’s your way of telling me no.”

“Quick to the point, but I suppose that’s because of all the different souls that make you.”

If what Syco said is true that would explain what happened to The Speaker’s people, him mentioning: “Free the blood”, the unknown whereabouts of Saamuki’s late sister, and why Syco was on her homeworld. Although, this raises more questions than it does answers.

Saamuki and I are the closest to the Watcher, but the distance between us is great. This observation doesn’t stop our hands from shaking. Her flickering flames matched my heartbeat and my now preoccupied hands, which are wrapped around my staff, are quickly being coaxed in sweat. This makes it even harder to keep my weapon still. It nearly slips out of my grip when the Watcher starts speaking again.

I can feel the trio’s eyes on me and see the Watcher’s eyes follow my frantic movements in stopping staff from making an embarrassing loud clang as it says, “The Lords of the Universe are onto you, but I guess you’re going to have to see them a lot sooner than they initially planned.”

Its movements are swift, noiseless, as it jumps from statue to statue. My mind goes blank. Before it could punch my throat someone tugged me away and dragged me out of the cathedral. Turning to the culprit, I see Syco pulling both me and Saamuki out of there. He jumps and lands onto the square, cracking and displacing its cobble. We get a few questioning looks, but they get their answers soon enough when the Watcher steps out and ominously stands in the middle of the cathedral’s doorway. The two women from before giggle as they come out of one of the alleyways with new dresses, but once they take note of the Watcher they don’t hesitate to turn back around. Whereas the old man from earlier throws his broom to the side and slams the door to his store shut. The other man motions he doesn’t want anything to do with this and turns to the alleyway to his left. Everyone else, as the square became bustling in the short time we were inside, screamed and shouted.

Someone who I would’ve never thought I’d label as my savior pushes through a couple’s proposal. He ignores their cusses and a few other sailor mouths once we get to an overcrowded road. Saamuki covers her eyes and Shiitakee grips Syco’s back roughly as he runs through more of the crowd and jumps over a carriage he nearly tipped over. Because of this rush, some kid cries as their balloon flies away, a domino effect happens with the older crowd as one after the other falls, and the guard that got his belt back finds interest in us. He orders for us to stop, but of course, Syco doesn’t comply. In reaction, the guard shoots. Syco dodges with a surprising amount of ease as he’s having to carry three people that would probably match his weight. More screams come with each of the guard's unsuccessful shots. I see one of them ricochet from one of Syco’s horns to a nearby potted plant, which I find myself to mutter, “Of course,” before I turn around.

He jumps over the bridge we strolled through not too long ago. The gondolier from before was flirting with the woman leaning against the bridge’s rail closest to him, but with the guard somehow managing to keep pace with Syco to continue his ongoing, failing pursuit she jumped and thankfully landed into his arms. At least we didn’t ruin another pair of lovers today.

It was the last distance between us and somewhat freedom. We still needed to get to the ship before the Watcher got to us because both of Syco’s hands are too preoccupied to alert them of our situation. Another at least is I think the guard ran out of breath, so that’s one less trouble out of the way. Although, it was very minor trouble. I wish I could say the same about the white-cloaked figure who suddenly reappeared before us, before the gate. The reactions of the poor alert the guards surrounding the wall of the trouble that’s about to ensure. Upon noticing the Watcher each takes a few, hesitant steps back. Even the ones on the other side of the giant fly zapper feared for their lives. One of them shakes, which is joined by a handful from above. I hear one pray.

“Move, Watcher,” Syco ordered what he once feared.

It laughs. I count how many voices it’s using to do so. Five. No, ten. Twenty. Twenty souls have encased in that thing!

“You’re not like your predecessor,” the Watcher complimented as it moved away from the forefield.

Placing one of his still glowing hands in front of us. The guard chasing us appears between us. Although, there’s something amiss about him. Not only is he shivering and weeping, which are understandable reactions, but he’s translucent. My heart drops when I figure out what I’m actually seeing.

“His soul will make up for the trouble that happened today.” As quickly as the poor guard appeared, he screamed as he disappeared with the flick of the Watcher’s wrist.

“Just a moment ago you sought out retribution.”

Its hands no longer glowed. It placed them behind its back, tilted its head, and smiled through its numerous eyes. “That I did, but your reaction…You’re of interest now, Syco. You’re different,” turning its attention towards the guards behind it, “What are you peasants waiting for? Remove that barrier at once.”

A few stumbling later and the dirt road and the two guards standing between it no longer tinted green. Before Syco dares to step forward, the Watcher bows and then fades away. A heartbeat later and he doesn’t waste any more time. He zooms out of there without another thought, but I do. With more answers I’m given the more questions I find myself making, but I fear for the day they’re all answered.

After questions over Syco’s sweaty predicament, him brushing off that repairs are completed, and praise over how successful the war is becoming, he looks at me and sees my weariness. He orders everyone, but his second-in-command to leave us. They do.

Syco turns to him and orders for him to get a vial. He salutes and then runs towards wherever and whatever he’s talking about as we get out of his grip and as he gently sets Shiitakee down, but as careful as Syco is, Shiitakee grunts in pain and spits his cigarette at Syco’s face. Syco lets it hit.

Clutching his side, he barks, “You idiot. Couldn’t let me die in the one place I wanted to?”

“I’ll take that as thanks.” The second-in-command comes back with what Syco asked for. From where I stood, it looked like an empty medicine bottle. He’s dismissed soon after and Syco turns back to Shiitakee as soon as he leaves.

“What the hell is that?”

Ignoring his question, he clicks open the vial underneath Shiitakee’s nose, just below his nostrils. What comes next is a horrible cough and another cuss from the mushroom-like alien species, but his hand lets go of his side soon after. His eyes pop open and he immediately sits upright and lifts his shirt. Between his protruding ribs and pelvis is a bruise healing before our eyes, causing him to look back at the man that now saved him for the second time within the past thirty minutes.

Through his shock, he mentions what we just witnessed, “It’s healed.”

The Tauvox before us repeats what he’s told me many days ago to Shiitakee, “Isn’t it amazing what technology can do?”

There I was staring up at the ceiling in one of the hundreds of bedrooms that was previously used by some Tauvox with Saamuki’s back facing me. It didn’t take her long to fall asleep. When her head hit our shared bed, she knocked out. We just lived through one hell of a day, so I don’t blame her. Knowing what I had to do to finally get some sleep, I got up. The bed creaked because of it. With Saamuki mumbling under her breath, my heart dropped, thinking I woke her up. Instead—thank God—she’s merely talking in her sleep. Most of it is incoherent. I let out a quiet sigh of relief, but she mentions Mikrovos. She then proceeds to tear up and clutch the bed, so I softly brush the back of my hand across her cheek, wiping away some of her tears. Eventually, she calms down. With that out of the way, I’m able to head towards the door, tiptoeing past the dinner that’s gone cold as I’ve yet to take a bite.

The hallway is empty. Of course, it’s empty. There are only about thirty people on this ship, but I’m filled with so much relief because of it. I could only handle being around so many Tauvoxes at once. I turned a few corners and headed down a few more hallways. Sometime later and I’m in front of that infamous room, where I thought I understood who Syco was. It’s the place, which I, of course, didn’t know at the time, first came into contact with nanites.

The light from my crown and the purple glow on the other side of him isn’t enough light for this dark room, but it’s a more preferred atmosphere than the one the Watcher created back at the cathedral. His hands and back faced me in this dark room, which should’ve caused my fight or flight to kick in, but it didn’t. I took one step towards him and he said, “Ah, I was wondering when you’d show.”

There were so many questions I wanted to ask like about the nanites and if they had side effects. Could they make you do things you usually wouldn’t do like imagining the shadowy figure fading in and out right next to you? A good question would be about Watchers. I don’t ask any of these because the source of that purple glow has me to wonder, “Why is that compass so important?”

Syco turns to me, the crystal within the compass glows onto him, and rather than getting straight to the point he answers, “No mortal knows where the Lords reside. Theories and rumors spread that they reside inside a wormhole. Others said they live on a planet far away from all the known quadrants. One wrote a book on the possibility they resided in a parallel universe, but as much science has advanced since its publishing it's yet to remain anything other than true insanity.”

“I’m not a child, Syco. I don’t have all the time in the universe for your constant need for monologuing.”

He motions for me to be patient. Surprisingly I oblige. “Why would God separate themselves from their followers? What is so fearsome that even God fears? I know the Lords aren’t God, an abstract concept, but you get the initial metaphor?”

I nod, but because of his silence, I realize he’s waiting to hear my input to his first two questions. “I don’t know.”

“God—the Lords—fear their own followers because those two concepts were merely created out of desires. Desires aren’t like wild animals. They can be tamed and destroyed,” he steps towards me, but I don’t flinch.

I look into his now purple eyes as I ask, “Why are you telling me this?”

“I’m telling you this because you still fear. Desires can be dangerous, but they can also be beneficial. We both desire the same thing, freedom. Focus on that, the future we desire, and your fears will belong in the past. This,” his eyes are glued to the compass, “will lead us to where the Lords reside. Truly amazing, isn’t it? It’s only a matter of time before I dethrone them. For you to witness such a legendary, pivotal moment in history you cannot be weak. While you have proven to be strong on both the outside and inside, you still foolishly decide to continue the war within yourself. I can help you before it’s too late, but you have to make that call.”

Again, I look into his eyes. I then focus on my breathing. It’s not pounding. That’s why I tell him, “Okay.”

#213 #lost in space #my writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr

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theladylovingcrow · 5 years

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Black Panties and An Angel's Face Pt 1 (Sanny Christmas Fic)

** A Continuation of Silk and Satin, Leather and Lace, but there's no actual sex in this part (sorry horny friends, sorry) **

Author (As known on Various sites): Lady Lover- Rockfic, Luluthechoosingcrow - AO3, theladylovingcrow - Deviantart and Wattpad, @sammy_bluebells - Instagram, @imacrowcawcaw - main Tumblr, @theladylovingcrow - writing/art Tumblr, @insannywestan Sanny shipping Tumblr

Fandom: Greta Van Fleet

Pairing: Sam Kiszka/Danny

Length: about 3k

Warnings/tags: lingerie, cross dressing, no smut yet, established relationship, gift giving, Christmas

Summary: Sam had said that he would wear whatever Danny bought him.... would he, really? Fuck, if not them this was about to he a sucky Christmas for the both of them.

Author's notes: I've been busting my ass all morning and last night trying it finish this, because honestly a Christmas fic after Christmas is just kinda... meh. But, alas, I only got the first half, the sort of build up, done. Well, something is better than nothing, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

From @therealswanqueen 's request for me (:

"Oh if you're going to write a continuation of the lingerie fic it would be nice if Danny buys it for Sam ♡♡♡ like if he's out shopping and sees something pretty and thinks 'Sammy would look gorgeous in this' ♡"

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

Danny mentally went over the list in his head, arms too full of stuff to actually pull it out of his pocket at the moment. He had gotten the regular shopping out of the way, and was now working his way though the upper level of the mall, searching for Christmas gifts the one day he could get away from those sneaky brothers.

He had already gotten a variety of gag gifts and weird oddities the twins were sure to enjoy at Spencer's, and a new Christmas sweater for Sam; after some deliberation, a matching one for himself, as well. Their mothers were sure to enjoy it.

It was hard to know what exactly to give when they already had most things they could want, but Danny still tried to be thoughtful and give nice things to the people that meant the most to him.

New boots, a watch, and an engraved harmonica for Jake? Check.

A vintage fur coat for Josh? Yep, and surprisingly cheap.

Books for all three Kiszka's? Yes, as well as some parchment, ink, and quills for Joshie - it was one of those random finds that hadn't been on his radar of gift ideas, but as soon as he saw them he knew Josh would love them.

All that was left was Sammy. His best friend (now lover, too) always seemed to be both the easiest and worst to shop for. He was picky, so picky that, even after all these years, Danny could rarely be 100% sure that he'd like his gift.

He went in and out of every store, desperately searching for *something* that Sam didn't already have, and that he would appreciate receiving.

Nothing.

Not a single item that would be a good fit to give his new-ish boyfriend, not even a cool pair of sunglasses to just fill put some space in his gift bag.

Danny sighed, deciding to fuck the mall and go Amazon it in the comfort of their bed. But, just as he was heading towards the exit, something caught his eye.

A blue something - pale, like a robin's egg, but speckled with small, shimmering beads instead of brown splattered spots. It was a lacy bra, hanging several racks in inside of a Victoria's Secret.

Danny stopped and stared at it, considering. Sam had said.... Sam had said that he would wear whatever Danny bought him. It had been nearly two months, and, while they had definitely had sex many, many times since then, none of the lingerie items had made another appearance. Sam hadn't even mentioned it again after that day, instead only shooting Danny the occasional meaningful look that he interpreted as "Well? I'm waiting, it's on you to continue this."

He took two steps forward, but stopped just before entering onto the lighter tiles of the store's entrance. Would Sam actually like this as his Christmas present, instead of other stuff - namely, things he could actually tell their family he got?

Danny turned and was about to walk away, but then spun around for just one last look at the bra. It was so, so pretty, and would look so, so good against Sam's tanned skin; he could envision his lover perfectly in that little blue piece, coyly teasing Danny as he ran his hands over his lacy chest.

He took in a sharp breath and marched into the store, bags of presents banging against his thighs as he rushed over to the rack to closer inspect the bra. Danny set his purchases down on the ground so he could touch it, tentatively reaching out a finger to run over the scalloped trim along one of the cups.

Danny realized that the one he was looking at would never fit Sam, but, luckily, there was a whole row of blue items in different sizes behind it. He flicked through the hangers, eyebrows knitting together at all of the different numbers, letters, prices, and, he realized, slightly different styles and designs.

Which one should he choose - what would look best on Sam, and what would fit him? Danny was at a loss. The first bra he had seen and fallen in love with appeared to be the only one of its kind, which was highly disappointing but he knew that often happened when shopping - if you fall in love with something, chances are it's not going to work out. Such was life.

The other bras, though: all were the same pale blue, but some had no beading, some possessed a ridiculous amount of straps, and one was also covered in purple, trailing vines embroidered over the lace, curling over the soft fabric.

"Sir, do you need any help?"

Danny startled, looking over his shoulder at a friendly, understanding looking employee. He nodded sheepishly, nudging aside some of his bags with his foot so he wasn't barricaded in a circle of paper bags.

"Yeah, I'm... I don't know what size to get- yeah," he cut himself off, nearly saying "to get my boyfriend" but realizing that maybe he shouldn't.

It wasn't like Danny was ashamed of being bisexual, but he figured that revealing he was dating a guy and buying him lingerie was not a good idea - not only because she could react weird, but because who knew who could recognize him. He decided it was safest to just pretend to be buying a present for his girlfriend, it was close enough and completely plausible, if only requiring more thought before he spoke.

"Of course! Do you know what size she is?"

He shook his head, looking back at all of the tags. Like every guy, he knew, roughly, that A was small and D was big - stereotypically perfect, though Danny disagreed - but there were also double letters and numbers that were confusing him. He had no frame of reference to know what size the numbers indicated, nor the scope of the sizes. 28 was the smallest he saw, but it still seemed like an awfully big number for Sam's tiny ribcage, and many of the other girls he'd met, too.

"That's all right, this is probably a surprise, huh?" The employee, he saw her name was Stephi, gave him a knowing look and a grin, and Danny nodded again, smiling back.

"Yeah, she... she's been kind of hinting, but this is totally going to be a surprise and I didn't really think to check sizes before I came. She's really small though, very skinny and uh, an A cup, I think. What are the numbers?"

"Oh, the numbers are for band size, it's like the circumference of the of the ribcage. She'd probably be a 28A, that's the smallest we have," Stephi said, sorting through the rack methodically and picking out several of the blue bras as well as a few others from a lower rung. "Do these look like they would fit?"

Danny squinted at them, trying to imagine if they would hang slack on Sam's body or sit snug like they were supposed to.

"I guess, yeah, those look like they'd fit. Though, I've never really seen her wear the shaped ones, she likes softer things. They're called, uh, it has 'bra' in it..."

Really, Danny didn't want to get the shaped ones because he thought they would pop off of Sam's body weird with nothing to fill them, and that looked both unsexy and uncomfortable. He'd heard one of his past girlfriends talk about some bra thing before; it had sounded like a lighter fabric or something, but he just couldn't remember what it was called.

"A brallette? Yes, we have those, here's a few."

She took the shaped bras and set them aside, holding out a few that looked like lacy, cut off tank tops or teddys, soft and thin fabric that would most likely lay flat if nothing was underneath.

Ah, a brallette! Danny swore he was going to pay more attention to what his partner was talking about when it came to stuff like this, be it Sam or another girlfriend - though, he hoped it would only ever be Sam from now on.

Danny looked at the bras she was holding, trying to decide. There was the soft blue one with purple vines crawling up from the band at the bottom, little flowers budding up high over the mesh and lace top and then continuing over the straps. He really liked that one, so he gently took it from her and kind of tucked it under his arm, then continued surveying.

Another was completely pale pink lace, "Millenial Pink" he was pretty sure. His eyes passed over it, going instead for one of similar design but of a rich, deep green color. He grabbed that one too, and decided not to get any of the others Stephi was holding.

He thanked her for her help, figuring he had a good grasp of what bras to get, now.

"No problem! I'm sure she'll love these, let me know if you need anything else, I'll be at the counter."

Stephi turned and started walking away, then came back to him. "Hey, you have a lot of bags, do you want to put them next to the counter while you shop, if you think it'll be awhile? It might make it easier."

Danny grinned at her. "Oh, yes, please, and thank you."

He appreciated how nice she was being to him, even though that was technically her job and she'd probably seen many hapless boyfriends in the store before. Still, it was the busy week before Christmas, and she had taken the time to patiently help him while people were rushing and yelling and making a mess of things all around them. Danny carried his bags over to where she directed and took the metal basket she gave him, turning back to survey the store for anything else that caught his eye.

Over in the left corner, he spotted a table full of colorful pieces of cloth - panties, he realized, looking at the mannequins modeling a few pairs. Danny wandered over to them, stopping briefly to run his hands over another bra but moving on when he realized it wasn't something Sam was likely to wear.

There were so many options! Danny knew that there were many, many styles of women's underwear; he was proud to say that he had seen quite a few of them first hand. Still, the colorful piles were almost making his head hurt, though his heart was beating faster with something that felt like excitement.

He picked up pair after pair, settling on the 10 for $100 deal he saw advertised. It seemed ridiculously expensive for tiny, flimsy pieces of fabric, but it would be so, so worth it when he got to see Sam's sinful hips in these cheeky little triangles.

Danny grabbed one more pair of panties and another bra - a matching, strappy set - and brought everything over to the front of the store, waiting in line with all the other ladies and boyfriends to purchase his secret gifts. He grinned at Stephi as she rung him up, thanking her profusely for the help and adding the pink striped bag to his cache of others.

He made his way past the giggling groups of teenage girls out of the store, pausing to give a few of them a smile when they blushed and pointed at him. He would stop and take pictures if they asked, but otherwise, he was a man on a mission.

Danny couldn't get the image of Sam all dressed up for him those two months ago out of his head; his stockings and garter, the corset, his sweet smile. He wasn't likely to find a corset like that at a commercial mall, but the other stuff - he wanted, he needed, to get the complete outfit.

His next stop, after dropping all the other gifts at the car like he had originally intended, was a high-end 'bohemian' boutique right next to Macy's. Danny pushed open the door, quirking his lips at some indie cover of Jingle Bells playing over the store's speaker.

Danny smiled widely, looking over the store. Florals, paisley, glitter, lace and satin and taffeta, all hung like shimmering, rainbow banners on the walls. He knew what Sam's style was, the only thing he had to do was build the bridge between the lingerie he had gotten and what Sam would wear, normally, and it was - hopefully - going to be an unforgettable gift. He decided to start at the hair clips and work his way around to the mini skirts on the other side.

~~~~

Two hours and nearly two thousand dollars later, he had three full-to-bursting bags of clothing and accessories for Sam. Danny knew he had gone over board, and over budget, but every time he thought he had found the last item he turned around and another was screaming at him, sometimes from an entirely different store, how good it would look on Sam's lithe body. This new idea had shone a new light on the mall where he had previously found nothing of interest to get his lover; now, it was like he couldn't stop the floor of gifts.

He sighed, hands straining to grasp all of the bag handles as he made his way to the parking lot, trying not to knock anyone over with his haul. Now all that was left was wrapping everything up and placing it under the tree, where Sam could receive it in a few days time.

Danny worried his lip in between his teeth as he loaded up the trunk of the car. He was happy with his purchases, but that didn't mean Sammy would like them. He tried to quell any doubt in his head, though; Sam had asked for Danny to buy him more stuff, so he had. Simple.

The only thing he had to worry about was the wrong person opening the presents - which, shit, maybe they shouldn't go under the tree.

~~~~

Jake was smirking, looking back and forth between Danny's red face and his little brother's more self satisfied, but also blushing one.

"So, Sammy, what did you get? Let us see."

Sam shook his head at first, looking like he was being asked to feed his arm to a lion, but then slowly raised his gift out of the mess of tissue paper. It was a top, silver and covered in shimmering fringe all the way down its torso and in lines along the sleeves. Some of the things Danny had gifted Sam toed the line - lacy shirts, crop tops, one skirt, booty shorts (though he already wore those) with the hope that Sam would actually like them, as in making them a part if his every day wardrobe. Dressing up for sex was fun, but Sam's androgyny, even when not sexual, was still incredibly attractive and Danny wanted to encourage it.

Jake whistled. "Dang, Sammy, I might have to "borrow" that from you. But that's not what made you blush, now let us see it. "

"Nuh-uh, no can do Jack-o. Do I demand to see everything your girlfriend gives you?"

"Ooh, so it's that kind of gift!" Josh laughed. He was sitting on the floor, surrounded by shining bits of metallic paper and rainbow wrapping, swaddled in a plush red robe and grinning like the little Christmas elf he was; he had demanded they each open one gift before they did Christmas with the entire Kiszka-Wagner clan like usual.

Danny squirmed in his seat, his face getting even darker. He had gotten Sam some regular things so as not to arouse suspicion, and then saved most of the special items for later that night, privately hoping Sam would try them on and give him a little show. But, he had slipped in one pair of frilly white and black panties to let Sam know what was to come.

Sam adamantly refused to show his brothers anything else in the bag, setting it aside behind his chair and shooting Danny a look that could only be described as sultry. Danny swallowed, dry, and opened his own gift from Sam.

It was a gorgeous silk robe, starting at a light lavender and melting into a deep, inky black at the bottom. There was embroidery along the edges, little flowers and curls trimming the sweeping bell sleeves. Black lace formed a belt along the gathered waist, little silver buttons shining against the darkness.

Danny gasped, softly running his fingers over the fabric, feeling the cool softness and already imagining it against his skin.

Sam leaned over and whispered in his ear, one hand curled around Danny's bicep. "I'll wear anything you get me, but I want you to do the same, at least try it. What do you think?"

Danny turned to Sam, almost at a loss for words. "It's... it's beautiful, Sammy, of course I'll wear it. We'll be matching."

It was incredible how fast Sam was able to take the reins of a situation and flip it - here, Danny had thought that he was indulging his lover's interest, but, apparently, Sam had realized that Danny was just as into it and brought the control back to himself. Danny was putty in his hands, buying what he wanted and following every order, and he always would be, with joy.

"Woah, that's cool. But why'd you get Danny a lacy robe?"

Danny looked up, startled, to see both of the twins leaning over and staring into the box on his lap. He quickly put the top back on and shrugged, not sure how he had forgotten they were there. It was the excitement, he supposed, and the sentimentality of the gift, too, that had distracted him.

Jake shook his head, mumbling "Weirdos," under his breath and going to start gathering up the wrapping paper strewn all over the floor. There was a weird air in the room, one Danny couldn't quite shake. Sam was still sitting way too close to him and giving him looks, not at all helping him get his head back on straight.

"So, anyways, did I mention that I got us matching sweaters? Mom will love them!"

~~~~

To Be Continued

~~~~

@satans-helper

@okietrish

@lazingonsunday

@bigthighsandstupidguys

@karrotkate

@oblvions

@lantern-inthenight

@mountainofthesunn

@ryetheruler

#sammy kiszka #sanny #greta van fleet #sam kiszka #danny wagner #sam gvf #danny gvf #sam x danny #in sanny we stan #gvf #gvf fic #greta van fic #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #lulucrowproductions #lingerie

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1000roughdrafts · 5 years

Text

Reverse Supernatural Part I

A/N: written for @pitterpatter-letsgitatter for the request: “Hi!! I have been tossing an idea around for a bit... What if... Now hear me out... What if the Reader was the experienced hunter and she/he has to save Dean and/or Sam who have never known the supernatural existed...?” again, sorry it took so long, tumblr ate the first one :/

Characters: Y/N Y/L/N, Dean, Sam, Mary and John Winchester, Jess, Jo Harvelle, Ellen(mentioned) [[ I also want you guys to remember that if the Winchester boys didn’t get dragged into hunting, a lot of things have changed that are pertinent to this fiction; their mother never dies, so John never needed to destroy his sanity in search for her killer, which mean’s Ellen’s husband is still alive. With the boys never taking the lead into hunting, Azazel never needed to destroy the Roadhouse, they never met Charlie or Lisa, they never met Castiel, and Ellen and Jo are still alive and they’re still hunters. ]]

Warnings: spn style monster violence, maybe OOC Dean/Sam, language, description of a bloody monster

Word Count: 5000 (sorry, it was just flowing) & this is unbeta’d so all mistakes are my own (hope their aren’t any)

Your mother only had two rules: never fall in love and don’t follow your father’s footsteps into hunting. You suppose she was coming from a place of wisdom, maybe even heartbreak, when giving these to you. Though, you had failed to grasp the concept and never honored the latter.

After your mother’s passing, you felt a calling, a summons if you will, towards the mysterious, and dangerous world of hunting. Despite the job taking the life of your father, you couldn’t help but to search for answers, to continue what he started and save as many people as you could... or die trying.

Your faithful mission takes you to a bar in a quaint town in Kansas, where you believe vampires lurk in the outskirts. You despise the repulsive creatures, and long to dispose of every last one.

There’s a part of you, a part that you detest, that has an incandescent passion for this life, bordering on a lust for blood. The electricity that rattles your body after gutting whatever monster it is that week is like standing on top of the tallest building in the world, arms stretched out with the wind beating against against your chest. The guilt that follows that feeling, though, pushes you off of the ledge for a nose dive straight to the ground.

Sitting in a booth, one hand wrapped around your glass and a pen in the other, you tap the pages of your notebook as you review your plan for the week. Today was the morgue, and tomorrow will start your search for the blood sucking bastards.

Bringing your drink to your lips, you close your eyes as the beer cools your throat. When you bring it back down, your eyes open on a hand that rests on the edge of the table. Your eyes follow it up a flannel clothed arm and drop onto the simper, yet strikingly attractive face of a man.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he says with a smile. “You new to town?”

“Just visiting,” you say, folding your notebook shut and slipping the pen through the rings. Scooting over to step out of the booth, you hold it close to your chest and smile up at him before standing, “excuse,” you say, intending to leave.

When you get to your feet, he holds his hands up, palms facing you, “woah, hey, wait a minute,” he chuckles, “sorry, I’m Dean,” he says, hand stretched out between you, a smile still stuck on his face.

“Y/N,” you offer, eyeing him curiously as you shake his hand.

“Can I, uh, buy you a drink?” he asks, gesturing over to the bar.

“I’m sure your intention are,” you tilt your head with a smug smile, “affable, however, I should probably be leaving.”

“All right,” he shrugs. “Your loss,” he quips with a wink.

With your back turned to him now, you stop walking. A strange feeling rustles inside of you at his words, and your head tilts just barely at the thought of it. There’s something about his arrogant manner that brings out your combative side, a competitive urge for social dominance.

Flipping around, you squint your eyes in a smile, “know what? Sure, one drink won’t kill me,” you say.

His eyes light up in a smile, “really?” he says, and you nod before following him over to the bar.

He leans slightly to speak to the bartender, “I’ll take another beer, please,” he says, throwing a hand onto your back, “and whatever this little lady would like,” he smiles.

Shimmying yourself from under his hand your eyes meet with the woman behind the bar as you lean in, “whiskey please, on the rocks,” you smile and hear Dean scoff in a chuckle.

His eyes are wide and frisky when you look over at him. He holds up two fingers, keeping his eyes on you but speaking to the bartender, “actually, make that two,” he says, lips touching before he looks back over to the woman, “two whiskeys, please.”

When his eyes meet back with yours, despite your urge to look away, you don’t. A smile creeps on his face and you only look away when the drinks are slid in front of you. He rests his elbows against the bar, using it to hold up his weight.

“Didn’t take you for a whiskey kind of girl,” he says softly.

“Why’s that?” you lightly scorn.

His lips turn down as he gives his head a single shake, “just didn’t.” Scooting the bar stool back, he pats on the pad of it for you to sit, and then plops onto the next one over. “So, where ya from?” he says.

You scan your mind for an answer. The way you live your life, always on the road, leaves you pondering if you really are from anywhere at all. It’s a dreaded question that you have yet to answer, even for yourself. Lying, you decide to say, “California,” and bring the drink to your lips to hide your tells.

“California, huh?” he says, shifting his weight in the seat. “So tell me, Y/N. What’s a Cali girl doing in little old Lawrence, Kansas?” he laughs.

“I’m here for work,” you say flatly.

“Oh, what do you do?”

Naturally, you can’t tell him why you’re really here, because ‘tracking vampires so I can kill them before they kill anyone else and then skip town’ doesn’t exactly have a people friendly ring to it. You ponder which profession to impersonate tonight, and settle on the safest option, “I work for the FBI, here on a case.”

“No shit,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Awesome,” he says. “So, uh, you must be here about the Blood Sucker, then, huh?”

Upon hearing the words, you accidentally inhale your drink. Setting the cup down amidst a coughing fit, you look over at him through squinted eyes, “what?” you say, words coming out hot. You feel like you’re breathing fire.

“Yeah,” he says with a single syllable chuckle, “it is pretty silly, isn’t it?” he says, taking a sip of his drink.

You clear your throat, taking another gulp of the whiskey in hopes to clear your airway, “what is?” you ask, voice thick.

“The name they came up with,” he says. When he sees your furrowed brows and tilted head, he adds, “the serial killer. It’s all over the news, posters all over the town, everyone’s freakin’ out,” he chuckles, “but me?” he shakes his head, “eh, I’m not too worried about it,” he says bringing the cup to his lips.

“Why’s that?” you ask.

“My family,” he starts, shifting his body to face you. Holding out his hand, he says, “okay, this is probably gonna sound real weird to a city girl,” he jests, nudging you, “but my family, we have this nice, big plot of land, miles out of town,” he says, hands gesticulating as he speaks. “My mom and dad, they got a little cabin at the front of the property. My brother and his wife, Jess, got their own space and I got mine,” he says, smiling at you before gripping onto his glass, “I come from a long line of hunters,” he says, pausing to take a drink. Your heart thumps in your chest at the word ‘hunter’, of fear or excitement you can’t quite tell, but you hold your breath in anticipation.

“Deer, rabbits, beer, hell, even a couple mountain lions, whatever comes our way, we got it. So we got loads of rifles, ammunition, you name it,” clearing his throat, his lips form a straight line, and in an earnest tone, he says, “and we, uh, we protect each other, you know?” he says, nodding his head.

Your smile transforms into an unidentifiable frown for a short moment before you move your eyes to your drink. Swirling it around, you can’t help but to think how unprepared they really are for what’s actually lurking in the dark. It reminds you of how fragile non-hunters are.

Pushing down the knot in your throat, you look up at him and force a smile, “that’s very sweet, Dean,” you nod. Scooting your empty cup towards the other side of the bar, you rotate to face him, clutching your notebook in your hand, “thank you for the drink, and the talk, but I should really get going now,” you say, “early morning, long day, and all that,” you say with a grin.

His eyes vacillate between yours, the smile lingering briefly before eyes eyebrows pushed together, and he purses his lips. Glancing down into his drink and then back up at you, he waves his hand before dropping it onto his knee, “yeah, no, of course,” he smiles, “it was really nice talking to you, too, Y/N.”

Standing up, you place your hand on his forearm, “have a good night, Dean,” you say before taking a few steps away.

“Wait,” he says. You breathe out a sigh and turn to face him. Smoothing out his shirt, he drops a few bills on the counter and stands, taking his time to walk the short distance over to you. “Any chance I could get your number?”

“Dean, I-” you begin to decline, searching for a reason to tell him no, but he interrupts, hands held up at you.

“I’m not looking for a long term thing,” he waves a hand, “believe me, had my fair share of those, it’s not for me,” he chuckles before dropping his arms and letting out a thick sigh through his nose, “I just figure, while you’re in town, if you want to let off some steam...” he clips the sentence short and trails off.

“I’m flattered, really,” you confess, “but I-”

“Tell you what,” he says, cutting you off again. He pulls your pen from the notebook’s rings and reaches onto the bar for a napkin. “I’ll just give you mine,” he says leisurely, focused on writing the numbers down onto the napkin, “and you can just call me when you make up your mind,” he grins, clicking the pen closed and putting it back between the rings. Holding the napkin out to you, his eyebrows waggle, urging you to take it.

You sigh, “okay,” you say, before smiling and turning away to leave.

****

Groaning loudly at the sound of your alarm, you throw the blankets off of your body and spring forward. Bringing a hand to your forehead, you wait until your head isn’t spinning before getting out of the bed.

While a pot of coffee brews, you dress yourself, pulling on the pants you had the night before. Reaching into the pockets, you pull out your car keys and a napkin. Inspecting the napkin, you see Dean’s number scribbled neatly in the corner and with a sigh, you decide to place it in your notebook.

Coffee in hand, you rush out of the door, heading for the trunk of your car to prepare for the day. You’re not sure how many of these damn creatures you’re going to walk in on, so you want to be prepared.

As you dig through your arsenal of a trunk, Dean’s words fall into your thoughts: You must be here about the Blood Sucker then, huh?

How eerily accurate humans can be without even realizing the actual meaning of their words prompts you to feel a bit worried for the ones who don’t know about the creatures that stalk this god-forsaken planet.

You shake away the distracting thoughts by slamming your trunk shut, moving your keys in your hand as you walk to the driver’s seat. Your phone pings with a notification from your best friend, Jo, who you met while visiting the Roadhouse.

The two of you bonded when discussing the abhorrent rules your mother had given you. She’d said that her mother had a similar jurisdiction, and the rest was history. After warming up to you, Ellen is more forgiving these days, but still only really allowing Jo to go out when she’s with you.

With fingers too cold to tap on the screen of your phone in response, you call her. It rings a few times before she picks up.

“Y/N!” she squeals. “Did you get my text?”

Smiling, you say, “yes, that’s why I’m calling you,” you chuckle.

“Where are you?”

You look out your window at the sign of the motel you’d been staying at, “Red Rock Motel,” focusing back on the steering wheel, you bring the phone to your other ear, “but I’m leaving right now. Meet me at that diner on the corner of tenth and main, yeah?”

***

Pulling into the parking lot of the diner, you see Jo leaning up against the hood of her car. She smiles brightly, waving at you, and skipping over to your car. When you step out, you pull her into a tight hug. It’d been a few months since you’d last seen her, and can’t hide your enthusiasm for seeing her now.

“I missed you,” she says in a pout, yanking you in for another hug.

“I missed you, too,” you say, chuckling a bit before you pull away and reach into your car for your notebook.

Heading inside, your taken to a booth, where you order food and plan the day out with Jo.

“I’m happy that you’re doing this with me, Jo,” you confess. “I’m kind of going into this one blind, so it’s nice to have backup.”

“Absolutely,” she says, crunching down on a piece of bacon and reaching across the table for your notebook. She opens the book and flips to where you have the date highlighted at top of the page, the napkin falling out. Her eyebrows raise when she sees it, holding it between her fingers and looking up at you with a shit eating grin. Tilting her head, she asks, “who’s Dean, Y/N?”

Heat filling your cheeks, your eyebrows furrow and you take a monstrous bite of your breakfast sandwich as an excuse to stay silent. When she asks again, you swallow the bite, letting saliva fill your mouth before swallowing again. “Met him at the bar last night.”

“Yeah?” she giggles.

“No, come on, it wasn’t like that,” you laugh, playfully tapping her arm. “He just gave it to me after talking for a bit,” you shrug. Your eyes widen as you smile with the thought, “you take it.”

“What? No,” she says, squinting her eyes at you. “He gave it to you, not me.” After a pause, she takes a sip of her water, “are you gonna call him?”

You scoff, “hell no.” She raises her eyebrows, looking down at you, “Jo, no. Depending on how this goes, I’m leaving town today. There’s no point.”

“Whatever,” she says, slipping it into her pocket with a wink.

***

Jo packs up her weapons and drops them into your trunk. Skipping over to the passenger side of the car, she slips into the seat, offering you a smile. You nod as you peel out of the parking lot and drive down the highway.

“At the bar last night-”

“Where you met Dean,” Jo interrupts, giving you a sly smile.

You glare over at her, “yes, but before I met him, though, I overheard some locals talking about a camping trip they went on. Well, tried to go on, they said there was this cabin out there that gave them creepy vibes. I thought that that’s probably the best place to start, and if they aren’t out there, then we’ll have to track them down from there.”

She nods, giving you a thumbs up and continuing to scroll through her phone.

****

At the campsite, you stand at your trunk and slide your machete onto your shoulder. Collecting a few more weapons while Jo does the same, you look at each other. “Ready?” you smile.

“Ready.”

Hiking up the hill, much to your dismay, the leaves crunch under your feet. The air is cold and visibly leaves your mouth as you breathe, but you push on until you see the cabin. The roof appears to be caving in, with a tarp draped over one side of it. The windows look to be single paneled and broken in different spots. Motioning to Jo that you’re walking around to the back, she nods and skips up to the front of the cabin.

She creeps along the side, waiting for your signal. Hearing your caw, the both of you burst open the door, guns drawn but pointing them at each other.

After sweeping the small building, you meet up in the middle. You let out an exasperated sigh, looking around you at the scattered newspapers made into bedding, and the putrid smell of death.

“Well, they were here at one point,” you say, kicking a few of the newspapers, “can tell by the stench. God, do they stink,” you say, crinkling your nose.

“It’s only eleven in the morning,” she spits out, “they should be here, sleeping, right now,” she whispers, as if not to wake them.

“Guess times are changing,” you shrug. “Come on, let’s go look around the woods.”

Following your lead, she places the gun in her waistband and creeps out of the door behind you.

After walking around the forest for a few hours, you are frustrated, hungry and extremely dehydrated. Deciding on taking a food break, you head back to your car.

“Why do you think they weren’t at the nest?” she asks.

“I don’t know, but it looks like there’s only a couple of them, judging by the layout. Maybe they’ve adapted to hunting in the day, sleeping at night.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, though,” Jo says, “why would they just randomly change patterns like that.”

You shrug, “maybe they just abandoned that nest.”

“Yeah,” she says, “it is pretty close to the campground. There’s silence for a moment before she lets out a long breath, walking around to the front of the car and reaching for her phone. She taps the screen a few times before you hear static.

“You have a police scanner on your phone?” you ask, eyes wide.

“Yeah,” she smiles. “Pretty cool, isn’t it?” You nod, staying silent to listen in.

Through the static, you hear a female voice dripping with fear, “code eight, code eight, anyone copy?”

A male voice hits the wave, “Officer Barry here, what’s your twenty?” When he hears nothing, he speaks again, “go ahead,” he offers, but is only met with silence, “officer?” he shouts, alarmed at her silence. “Dispatch, I’m gonna need a twenty on Officer Lynn with backup,” he pauses, “requesting for code three.”

“Copy that,” another voice speaks through, “last location on Lynn is the Manor, sending an officer your way.”

Jo shuts off the radio as you slam the trunk shut and in sync you sprint to the front of the car, jumping in and peeling out of the parking lot.

When you arrive at the manor, bright red and blue lights fill your eyes. Three police vehicles sit lined up on the side of the street, and behind them is an ambulance.

Reaching into your glove box, you pull out your badge, turning to Jo, “you got yours, yes?”

She nods, pulling it out of her pocket to flash it at you.

Stepping out of your vehicle, you run towards the paramedic and a few police officers. “Hi,” you say when the three look your way, “I’m Agent Adams, and this is my partner,” you say, gesturing to Jo.

“Agent O’Malley,” she grins. “Can you bring us up to speed?”

The officer with his eyes wide stutters out the words, “we got an officer down, that’s what’s going on,” he says. Another officer places a hand on his shoulder, presumably trying to calm him. He shouts, “the fucking Blood Sucker got her.”

You and Jo share a wide eyed glance, “do you mind if we take a look around?” you say in unison.

The officers shake their heads, gesturing to the house, “have at it, but we’re getting the fuck out of here.”

Following Jo up the steps, you bend to walk underneath the caution tape and head inside. Officer Lynn, you assume, lays sprawled out on the floor. Bowing down next to her, you flick her hair to the side and see two puncture wounds on her neck. Jo leans down, resting her arms on her knees.

Looking up at her, you tilt your head and narrow your eyes, “I don’t know where this is coming from, but I have a sneaking suspicion that this is a reborn,” you say in a low whisper. “The abandoned nest, all the killings in one spot,” you say, eyes working their way around the room as you speak, “it’s almost like that case we had in Newport, where... where that freshly turned vamp just went on a massive killing spree. The nest turned him and let him loose,” your eyes widen at the thought of it, “maybe it’s the same nest, moving from town to town, turning people and letting them wreak havoc.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” she shrugs. “Where do we go from here?”

As if it were an answer to your question, you hear a jarring, but muffled scream in the background. Running out of the back door, you see a long trail leading up to a lot of three or four little cabins. You can see the silhouette of a woman standing by the fence, and next to her is a dark shadow.

You rush back to your car and high tail it for the top of the driveway. The woman lays on the ground, and when the dark shadow sees your headlights, it whips around. Seeing the fangs emerge from the shadow, and the woman out of the way, you mutter, “hang on,” to Jo and slam against your pedal to hit the vampire with your car.

It screams out as it flies onto the ground. With it immobilized for a short period, you turn to Jo, “get the jar and syringe,” you impatiently spit out. When she nods, you run to the trunk and pull out your machete.

The vampire growls at it brings itself to its feet, head dipped down, and eyes narrowed at you.

“Come at me, you son of a bitch,” you scream, and as it runs over to you, you switch the machete to your other hand and wind it up to slice through the vampires neck.

Jo at your side, you drop to your knees, “is she bitten?”

“Yes,” she says handing you the syringe.

You insert the needle into the bit of neck that’s left of the creature, and draw enough blood to fill it. When you pull the needle from its neck, you toss your machete at Jo, who catches it with ease.

“Go look around, make sure he was alone,” you shout, breathing heavily as you bring yourself to your feet.

Running over to the woman, you pull her up by her shoulders so that she’s sitting. Her eyes are droopy and weak, but narrow at you. Her instincts tell her to swat at you, but she feels too drowsy.

“Here,” you say, putting the blood into the jar. “Drink this,” you hiss, handing her the jar. Her eyes clenched shut in disgust as she shakes her head. “Come on,” you say impatiently, “your life literally depends on this,” you say, and with that, her eyes widen.

With a shaky hand, she takes the jar, looking up at you before bringing it to her lips. After a small sip of the blood, she gags, trying to hand it back to you.

You shove her hand back to her, “no, all of it, please.”

In the near distance, you hear the bustling of feet as they run towards you. As you urge the woman to drink the liquid, you turn your head in the direction of the sound. Three tall men and a petite, blond woman, sprint at you, and you can almost recognize one of them.

You bring your attention back to the woman, watching her struggle to get the liquid down. “Good,” you breathe in relief, “good job,” you say, letting out another breath and leaning back slightly.

“What the fuck are you doing to my wife?” an older man shouts as he approaches you, shoving you back onto the ground.

At this point, Jo has returned, and grabs the man by the arm before he can land his punch, “wait!” she screams, holding up her hands defensively as he squares his shoulders to her. “We can explain!” she squeals.

Getting back to your feet, you meet eyes with none other than the man you met at the bar last night.

“Y/N?” he says, in utter disbelief, his eyebrows pushed down into his eyes as he drops the gun to his side. “Sam, hold your fire,” he says slowly and quietly.

“Dean,” you exhale, almost relieved to see a familiar face, “please, get this woman inside, put her in bed and make sure she’s comfortable and I promise I’ll explain everything.”

Something about the crazed look in your eye tells him to believe you. He nods, to you and then to the other men. The man that had attacked you lifts the small woman in his arms, and she whines with the movements. He lovingly shushes her as he carries her up the rest of the driveway and into the cabin, the younger woman at his side. You, Jo, and the men following closely behind him.

When inside, the man gently settles her onto the couch, pulling a crocheted blanket on top of her. He kisses her cheeks before turning to face you, a scowl on his face.

“What did you do to her?” he accuses.

“Okay, look,” you say, taking your time to examine each other their hurt and confused faces. “That was,” you pause, glancing up at Dean, whose face is softer than the rest, “that was a vampire,” you say, looking down at your boots before continuing.

“Vampire,” the three men dubiously say in unison. The young woman crosses her arms with a scoff.

Jo, almost as if she’s offended, points a finger at them, “she’s telling the truth, and if it weren’t for her, your woman would be one right now, too!”

Placing a hand on Jo’s arm, you speak softly, “it’s okay, Jo.” Turning back to the men, you say, “it’s true, though. Vampires, werewolves, ghosts, shit, even demons are real,” you say somberly. If it were up to you, they wouldn’t exist, and every time you have this conversation with someone, your heart breaks a little more.

“Seriously?” Dean asks, taking a careful step towards you. “You’re... serious?” He says, hands padding the air.

“Dead serious,” you say, eyebrows raised. “Shit, I’ll show you the fangs on that thing if you don’t believe me.”

Saying nothing, the two younger men stepped towards the door, looking back at you to indicate you should follow them.

“Stay here with them,” you whisper to Jo, “make sure that cure takes?”

She nods, and you lead the men down the hill and back to where your car sits. You whip out your phone for a flashlight, shining it on the face of the vampire. The two twist their face in disgust as blood drips from the severed head. Dropping to your knees, you lift the top lip up just enough to expose two fangs.

Looking back up at the men, they lean down to your side, “holy shit,” they say.

“Yeah, it’s no joke out there,” you say quietly.

The three of you bring yourselves to your feet, and the two men stare at you in shock.

Dean clears his throat, rubbing his thighs anxiously before speaking, “so you, uh, you,” he says, wagging a finger between you and the dead vampire.

“I hunt them, yes,” you nod. “I hunt vampires, werewolves, whatever needs to be killed, I kill it,” you say.

***

Back at the cabin, you sit at a table, drink in hand.Jo stands with who you learned to be Jess and John, as they nurture Mary. After a lengthy conversation between the two of them, Sam and Dean storm inside and plop down at the table across from you, their own drinks in tow. Sam sits silent, staring at his hand as he twists his wedding ring around his finger. Dean keeps his eyes on you.

“So, everything you told me last night,” Dean says, “was all just lies?”

“I’m sorry,” you say earnestly, “I couldn’t just up and tell you this then.” His lips fold down as he shrugs, and you take that as an acknowledgment. You lean forward against the table, “but you have to understand that I have to lie, I can’t just go around telling people that monsters exist, do you know what that would cause? Half of ‘em wouldn’t believe me and the other half would probably panic.” You pause, letting your voice drop in volume, “so those of us who do know fight it together,” your eyes flash up at Jo.

“How many of you are there?” Sam asks, finally looking up to meet your eyes.

You shrug, “hundreds, probably thousands,” you say, watching their eyes go wide. “In comparison to what’s out there, it’s not enough,” you say, shaking your head.

Sam and Dean look up at you, eyes wide, “where do we sign up?” Dean asks, his voice deep and thick.

You shake your head, a finger held up at him, “no. Dean, no, seriously, I can’t drag you into this.”

He leans back a bit, “you’re not dragging me into anything,” he shrugs. “If there are monsters out there killing people, I want in,” he says sternly.

After a small moment of thought, Sam drops his hand against the table, “yeah, me too,” he says, looking over at his brother. “I want to help, too.. Would you, uh,” he says, focusing on you, “would you show us the ropes, maybe?” he asks, and eye squinting.

“I guess so,” you say apprehensively, “but I think you should think on it for a while.”

Dean shakes his head, “no. We’re doing this,” he says. “Right, Sam?”

��Right,” he agrees, eyes still on you.

Dean shoves his chair back and stands.. After taking a few steps he turns to face you, “so you gonna help me get rid of that body, or what?”

You smile, using the table to push yourself to your feet, “got a shovel?” you ask.

“Of course I do,” he says. You follow him into a shed for two shovels, wasting no time to dig a big enough grave to drop the body into. He’s a hard worker, you’ll give him that, but hunting? You’re not quite sure it’s for them.

He glances over the hole at you, wiping the sweat from his brow with a smile. Smiling back at him, you can’t help but to think about your mother’s rules. You’d followed the first one, and never found yourself falling in love, but now, with his eagerness to help you, you predict you’ll be breaking both very soon.

“Sorry mama,” you whisper under your breath.

“Huh?” Dean throatily says, and you smile at him.

“Nothing. Keep digging,” you instruct..

****

PermaTags<3: @waywardblueshun @81mysteriouslyme @drakelover78 @soab1967

A/N2: I’m kindddd of thinking about making this a series, let me know if you’d be interested in something like that :)

#reverse supernatural #supernatural au #supernatural au fic #supernatural x you #supernatural #supernatural x y/n #supernatural x reader #dean and sam x reader #request #dean winchester #sam winchester #mary winchester #john winchester #jo harvelle #dean x female reader #female reader x supernatural

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lestered · 5 years

Text

lost in your paradise

m, 9.3k

It’s been six years of surreal friendship, and an even surrealer crush. Six years of traveling all around the world, and wanting to kiss him in every place.

Six years of chickening out every time.

Dan has no reason to believe that Japan will be any different, but anything can happen when you get lost under the Tokyo lights.

read on ao3 or under the cut

written for @starboydjh for @phanfictionevents spring fic exchange! thank you Hadley for giving me such an amazing prompt to work with!

many thanks as well to my beta, irl bff @b-j-e who definitely isn’t reading this because he hasn’t used his tumblr in five years and has probably had enough of this fic by now, but still deserves an mvp award.

He wants to kiss him in Manchester.

60 meters up in the sky, gazing out over Phil’s favorite city in the world. The one he’d insisted that Dan come to visit so that he could really meet his new best friend.

Well... he'd phrased it that way at least, but Dan could’ve sworn that the words ‘best friend’ were laced with something else. Something in Phil’s eyes, in his tone of voice, in the way Dan could see his eyes moving over the screen, flickering from his lips to his bare chest and back into his eyes - that said they were best friends, no doubt, but maybe they could be more. That maybe Phil wants more. Wants what Dan had suspected himself of wanting since before they’d even spoken, and what had been confirmed on that train platform when he’d finally locked onto that ocean-blue gaze in person and been tugged so easily into a warm, tight embrace that had left him flushed and happy and still, hours later, charged with an overwhelming urge to pull Phil in close again, to put his hands on him and kiss that adorable, lopsided smile off his lips. To put it all on the line even though it’s a bit terrifying.

Not even a bit terrifying, actually. Just… regular terrifying. So he sits close and lets their thighs press together and their hands and elbows brush and meets each of Phil’s curious, unreadable glances with something just as unreadable, just hoping Phil picks up on his wanting and leans in and does what he doesn’t have the courage to do himself. But whether Phil’s just as nervous and unsure as Dan, or because he genuinely doesn’t want to, his wish goes unfulfilled.

He doesn’t kiss him on the Manchester eye. He also doesn’t kiss him that night in his bed, or all the other times in Rawtenstall, or in Phil’s crappy first apartment or the first that they share. He doesn’t kiss him all the times they find themselves leaning in too close, holding each other’s gaze for too long, letting little offhand but suggestive comments drift out and float almost antagonizingly in the space between them.

He wanted to kiss him in Manchester.

But he didn’t.

***

Their hotel room in Japan is unreal. From the plush beds to the high-tech toilet to the mirror-TV, it’s by far the nicest room they’ve ever stayed in. It’s cool - too cool for them, frankly, but no one really needs to know that. Dan’s definitely not one to complain.

Personally, he’s a particularly big fan of their jacuzzi tub. It’s big enough to fit his giant noodle body, for one - a luxury that most tubs don’t afford him. And for another thing, he’s found that there’s nothing quite like a nice hot soak after a full day of walking around, exploring, because they can’t miss a thing, because Tokyo’s been their dream destination for years and who knows if they’ll ever get to come back.

It’s a lot of activity.

And it’s definitely worth it; it’s just also a bit strenuous for someone who spends most of his time slumped in front of a computer screen. Some warm bubbles go a long way when it’s time to unwind from it.

He may have stayed in a bit too long tonight, judging by the pruny state of his fingers and toes, but he can’t bring himself to care as he dries off, taking some extra time to towel the wetness out of his hair. The sooner it dries, the sooner he can straighten it.

A puff of steam follows him when he steps out into the bedroom a moment later in just his t-shirt and boxers, causing an unintentionally dramatic scene.

He half-expects Phil to notice and tease him for it. However, Phil’s laid out on his bed, still in the exact position he’d fallen into upon arriving back to their room - flat on his back, fully starfished save for the phone that he’s now holding to his ear.

“No, come on, don’t apologize. Tell him we hope he feels better soon, yeah?”

Dan gives him a curious glance as he flops forward onto his own bed, stretching out on his stomach and sliding his arms around to hug the pillow that he’s smushed into his cheek.

“Right, good luck. And seriously, thanks for everything you guys’ve done for us here, alright? Yeah… talk to you later.”

Phil blows out a breath, sets his phone down and rolls over to face Dan in a position that mimics his own.

“That was Mimei.” He tells him, though Dan figured as much. “They can’t come out tonight, apparently Duncan’s a bit under the weather and she’d feel bad leaving him alone. I guess he doesn't handle being poorly too well.”

Dan feels the corners of his mouth turn down in a small, disappointed frown. “Oh." He shifts to adjust the positioning of the pillow under his head. "That sucks, I wanted to go out one more time. I guess we could get room service, though, and now I won’t have to straighten my hair…”

“What are talking about?” Phil interrupts him before he can finish his thought. “We can still go out.”

Oh, god. Six years later, his heart is still full to bursting with love for his best friend, but he can’t deny that Phil has a tendency to lack crucial self awareness in situations like these. Phil must sense the apprehension on his part, because he quickly follows it up:

"It's our last night, we can't not go out!"

“Phil.” He rolls his eyes. “We can’t go out alone at night. We don't know where we're going, we can’t read the signs... we can’t use data here, so Maps is out of the question if we get lost which, since you have the navigational proficiency of a blind goose with vertigo…”

Phil’s spare pillow lands against his face with a soft thud before Dan can finish whatever hyperbolic insult he was ready to make up on the fly.

He knows what comes next: the pillow falls away and he’s met with big, blue puppy dog eyes and a pout. Phil doesn’t even need to say anything, and he knows it. Pure evil, he is.

(Not really. Pure evil would be if he knew what those eyes really do to Dan, if he knew how desperately Dan wants to make them light up and kiss the pout off his lips. But he doesn’t know. As it stands, Phil just believes himself to be an exceptionally talented beggar.)

“Fuck off.” He groans, and turns his face fully into the pillow before he gets too caught up. “Fine, we’ll go out if you'll stop being an insufferable spoon.”

The giggle he gets in return lets Dan know that Phil’s very pleased with himself, but he doesn’t need to look up to see his smile. He’s got it memorized already.

***

He wants to kiss him in Wokingham.

It’s not the right time, though.

Wokingham isn’t what he wants or who he wants to be; It's everything he wants to leave behind. It's loneliness and confusion and self-doubt - really, it's everything that Phil’s not.

Phil is warmth and support and a genuine hope that maybe he won’t have to define himself by the first eighteen mediocre years of his life. Phil is someone who actually believes in him in a way that he hasn’t believed in himself for years.

Phil’s the future he wants. Their first kiss ought to be in some place that represents his hope for that future, not the place he’s so eager to ditch.

Right.

That’s what he tells himself. Really, it's a convoluted excuse to cover the fact that he’s just scared shitless. Again.

Having Phil with him in Wokingham is strange. He’s been happy letting these two parts of his life exist completely separate from each other so far. Of course, Phil makes him feel safe, but he’d be lying if he said that having him in his hometown doesn’t make him feel… exposed. Vulnerable. As if Phil would arrive here and immediately sniff out all of Dan’s yet-unspoken baggage - that uneasy balance between stupid teen angst and real, confusing, lonely, amorphous sadness that hangs so heavy in the air of his teenage bedroom that it’s almost tangible to him.

He thinks, at first, that Phil's not picked up on it. Phil’s just happy to see him, always so happy to see him. Inexplicably so, in Dan’s opinion, no matter how many times Phil tries to tell him otherwise.

He doesn’t realize until late that night, in bed, that Phil’s more perceptive than he’d given him credit for.

“Thanks for letting me come here, Dan.” His voice is laced with understanding when he whispers into the dark, tugging him into his chest and sending Dan's heart into overdrive. It’d be so easy to do it now, to tilt his head up, to lean in just a bit, to brush his lips against Phil’s.

But he's frozen in place because a kiss could lose him this embrace if Phil doesn’t kiss him back. And he realizes he’s not ready to take that risk.

Will he ever be?

“You’re welcome.” He whispers instead, letting his eyes fall shut and releasing the breath he’d been holding. “I’m glad you’re here, Phil.”

He wanted to kiss him in Wokingham.

But he didn’t.

***

“Remember you want the tuna roll to end up in your mouth, and not on the back of some poor unsuspecting lady’s neck across the room.”

Phil kicks his shin under the table, but his blush and bitten-back smile betray any malice he might’ve been attempting.

“I hate you.” He mumbles. “You can't just let me live that down?”

“Do you even know me?” Dan crumples his straw wrapper into a tiny ball and flicks it across the table. It lands in Phil's lap and his mind may or may not be playing tricks on him when he thinks he sees a hint of fondness in the eyeroll that follows. “Of course not.”

They’re sat at the sushi restaurant from a few nights ago. It was their safest bet - the majority of the waitstaff speak at least some English and they know enough rudimentary Japanese food-words to pick things off menu. The overlap is enough for them to order their rolls and an extra side of spicy mayo, which suits them just fine.

Last time they sat at the bar, this time they're tucked into a table-for-two in the back corner. It's clearly not meant for two men as tall as them. They keep accidentally stepping on each other's toes.

(Maybe not always accidentally on Dan's part. Lamely, he knows that it's probably the closest he'll ever get to a game of footsie.)

“Do I get to tell the internet about how you cried at the Ghibli museum, then?” Phil asks, and this time there's definitely a fond glimmer behind his teasing expression.

That earns Phil his own kick to the shin. “Go ahead. They won’t judge me for it, they’ll judge you for being the soulless robot who didn’t cry.”

The look of shocked indignation on Phil's face before he schools his features into a cooler, more neutral expression is incredibly precious.

“Whatever." He retorts. "I was emotional too, I just held it together so I could be there to support you.”

The joking lilt of Phil’s voice unfortunately doesn't tame the swooping sensation he feels by default in the pit of his stomach every time Phil says something that makes him wonder if there's any truth, any genuine feeling behind the bants.

He decides that he's feeling a little too sober for this.

***

He wants to kiss him in Blackpool.

It's a getaway, not quite the way they’d planned it, but it can still be… romantic. Maybe. If he manages to actually do something right.

It’s just the two of them and that’s gotta to mean something. Do strictly platonic friends go on holiday for no other reason than wanting to enjoy each other’s company in a more private setting?

Maybe, but do they? Dan can't shake off the feeling that this trip means something more. He’s sure he senses it in the way Phil’s fingers still for a moment on the trackpad on his laptop, the cursor on the screen hovering between the one- or two-bed options on the hotel website.

The brief silence is excruciating, but no more so than the mouse click when Phil ends up selecting the room with two beds.

He supposes that doesn't necessarily mean anything. It's just that neither of them spoke up.

Blackpool turns out to be a shithole, though, so is it the right place?

Probably not, but… it'd be far less shitty if Dan could muster up the courage one goddamn night to crawl into Phil’s bed with him, instead of his own.

He actually almost does, stumbling into their room giddy and wine-drunk after a too-expensive dinner on the last night, trusting Phil to support about half his weight with the arm slung around his waist, and his arm around Phil’s shoulders.

“Fucking hell, finally.” He doesn't bother untangling them before falling backwards onto the bed, landing Phil on top of him with a surprised 'oof.'

“Shit, sorry mate.” He manages with an indelicate snort as Phil lifts himself onto his forearms. Then suddenly, Dan isn’t sorry at all - not with Phil on top of him, face flushed from the alcohol, eyes half-lidded and searching.

He really, really isn’t sorry.

“S’ok.” Phil mumbles in reply. He stays hovering over him, unmoving, his voice barely above a whisper and Dan swears he sees those pretty eyes flicker down to his lips.

If there’s ever been a go-ahead to kiss him, kiss him right fucking now, this would have to be it.

He just needs to collect himself first. Just a few deep breaths.

Inhale, exhale.

Inhale— oh.

Oh no.

“Uh, Phil. I need you to get off me now.”

All he registers is a glimpse of the confusion in Phil’s expression when he rolls off of him, only for Dan to bolt straight to the bathroom. He makes it to the toilet just in time to collapse onto his knees and empty the entire contents of his stomach.

Perhaps he’d overdone it on the liquid courage.

“...Dan?” He hears Phil’s voice drifting in from the bedroom. “You alright? Can I get you anything?”

He sounds concerned, and understandably not the least bit turned on. Nice.

“Totally fine.” He rasps in reply, and groans internally over how his voice echoes pathetically out of the toilet bowl while he rests his forehead on the cool porcelain rim.

They go to sleep in separate beds that night.

He wanted to kiss him in Blackpool.

But he didn’t.

***

Phil, in an unprecedented display of chopstick dexterity, manages to actually finish his sushi without accidentally assaulting anyone. Dan is secretly a little bit disappointed. Dumbass moments like those become fond memories and inside jokes and another reinforcement to a bond so unique that nobody ever could manage to steal it away from him.

He'll make a memory anyway, a mental snapshot. Phil looks handsome and the lights are low and the music is soft and the food is good.

Oh, and the scorpion bowl in the middle of their table is very strong, and should definitely be shared by more than two people. But they're not letting that stop them.

In fact, Dan's been sipping a steady stream out of his straw for god knows how long.

“Christ, Dan, you're not eighteen anymore.” Phil nudges Dan’s foot with his own under the table. "Slow down if you don't wanna be hungover on the plane tomorrow. Plus you keep slurping."

“I’ll slurp your mum.” He replies without thinking, still holding the straw in between his teeth. He registers what he's actually said a second too late, just a moment after Phil looks at him with a horrified expression and he sputters before dropping his head down into his hands.

“No, no. I take it back. I didn’t say that, I did not say that.” He tries to insist, but he’s wheezing and his shoulders are shaking with laughter and he can’t take it back. Phil's joined in on the laughter and he's definitely not gonna let him take it back. “Fuck.” He sighs out when he catches his breath. “Don’t tell Kath.”

Phil’s cheeks are flushed a dark, rosy pink by the time he regains his composure and takes a long sip out of their shared drink again.

“As if I’d ever repeat one of your terrible jokes to her. She’d be scarred for life.”

Dan almost points out that Phil’s mum watches their videos, and he’s said worse on camera, but he stops himself.

Because one day of vlogging aside, this vacation has been a welcome escape, a break from the constant thought loop of youtube, youtube, fans, fans, radio, radio, youtube youtube youtube that refuses to leave them alone back in England.

His life could be a lot worse. But that doesn't change the fact that they're here right now in a whole new world where they've not been recognized, not even once, and he's breathing so easy, like a gigantic weight he hadn't even registered before has been lifted off his chest.

It’s amazing. He looks across the table at Phil. He can do that here, where they won't run into anyone, where it's unlikely that anyone's secretly watching - look at Phil for as long as he wants, not bothering to worry about schooling his features into something that definitively does not resemble heart-eyes. Phil catches his eye and stares back at him with an intent, albeit slightly unfocused gaze. He's not used to Phil looking at him this way, but his fuzzy brain can't bring itself to decipher what might be going on in Phil's head.

Whatever it might is, his best-friend-intuition tells him he likes it.

“Hey, Phil.” He says after a final decisive drink, still focused on those sparkling eyes. “Let’s go exploring.”

***

He wants to kiss him in Portugal.

It's what Blackpool was supposed to be after all, vacation-wise.

It can be what Blackpool was supposed to be kiss-wise, too, if he doesn’t majorly fuck up this time.

It’s much prettier here than Blackpool. Much prettier than anywhere they’ve been, really.

Phil especially looks pretty here, even with his pale skin slathered in SPF-one million. He’s pretty at the Zoomarine, where his eyes gleam with excitement and he makes friends with a large turtle. He’s pretty with his face flushed and his smile wide and uninhibited after a bit of sangria, when he tells him his skin looks nice under the blue sun.

He’s so very pretty on the coastline, with his sunglasses a bit crooked and his face turned up towards the sun and his hair tousled from the salty wind, sitting right next to him on the warm rocky ground.

His chest hurts when he looks at Phil like this. He’s scared sometimes of how badly he wants him.

Phil shifts closer to him, and their hands, outstretched behind them, overlap.

...Interesting. Is that more or less scary? He feels hot all of a sudden and he suspects it's from more than just the sun.

But they stay like that, and his heart races, and he has no idea what to do because Phil’s acting like they’re doing nothing unusual even though it’s been a while since they’ve touched like this.

His stupid inner romantic has never fully ruled out the possibility that maybe Phil wants him too.

So is this a move? Is he going to make another? If he does then that’s a lot of pressure off of Dan, for sure.

He waits.

He waits for a long time.

And he probably doesn’t have a right to feel disappointed when nothing happens, but he does anyway.

He wanted to kiss him in Portugal.

But he didn’t.

***

Stepping out into the fresh air sobers him up a little bit. Not a lot, but enough that he and Phil don’t need to lean on each other when they walk. That’s good, he doesn’t feel like looking sloppy even though Phil’s seen him at his sloppiest. And wherever they’re about to go, he wants to remember it.

They don’t talk about where they’re going, but head off at the exact same time in the exact same random direction. They walk in silence for a bit and Dan doesn’t mind. Silence is quite alright, especially if he’s sharing it with Phil. His mind is foggy and the Tokyo streets are loud enough and Phil’s right there, next to him like always. That’s enough for him.

He’s actually startled when Phil finally speaks up. “I kind of can’t believe we did this.”

Dan looks over at him and Phil’s gaze is a little distant, his voice a little dreamy, and his lips quirked into a bit of a smile. Dan’s heart swells.

“Came here, you mean?” His voice is barely above a soft murmur, but he knows Phil can hear him anyway. They find a break in traffic and cross the road towards some building he doesn’t recognize with some neon pink sign in the front that he can’t read. “I know. Kinda doesn’t feel real.”

He thinks back over six years, how many times they talked about Japan. Too many to count, and never in concrete terms, always some vague, faraway goal.

He thinks of the times they’d sit a little too close on the couch and watch anime over breakfast, all the skype calls in the very beginning when they’d spend ages rambling to each other about Pokemon and My Neighbor Totoro. He thinks of standing at their breakfast bar in Manchester and mixing up Popin Cookin sweets, of losing their shit over Bishi Bashi special.

When he glances over to his side, he sees Phil looking right back at him. Dan can’t quite decipher his expression again, and he’s not sure it’s from the alcohol this time. The look on Phil's face quite resembles the one he'd had after spontaneously booking their tickets and following the initial excitement, something softer, but contemplative too. He likes that look. He likes having it aimed at him. He’s pretty sure his buzz intensifies for a second.

“It’s real.” Phil breathes, locking eyes with him and then looking away a little sooner than Dan wants him to. “Definitely real.”

***

He wants to kiss him in Jamaica.

He thought Portugal was pretty, but Jamaica is on a whole new level. And, as with anything else amazing that’s happened to him as of late, Phil is right there with him.

It feels kind of like a dream, if he’s being honest - that anyone would consider him important or influential enough to be on this trip.

The only reason he knows for sure that it’s not a dream is his hobbit hair. In a dream, he’d have it perfectly straightened and under control. But with the water activities and humidity here, any effort he puts in to taming his curls is entirely in vain.

Phil ruffles his hair and tells him his curls are cute. He cares a lot less after that.

What he does care about is filming and jumping off cliffs and tubing and sunset swims where Phil photographs him without his knowledge.

“What?” Phil comments when Dan whines to him about it. “It’s a cool photo. It’s artsy. You look nice.”

He scoffs at that. “It’s just my silhouette.”

“Well, it’s a good one.”

Everything around them is shades of pink and orange and gold. Warm and beautiful. Especially the golden light, bringing out the specks of yellow in Phil’s kaleidoscope eyes. Looking into them, he feels a distinct tugging somewhere in the pit of his stomach, and drifts over to Phil almost mindlessly. Phil smiles when he’s close enough.

“You have so many new freckles.” He murmurs, and taps him lightly on the tip of his nose.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. They make me look like a fucking eight-year-old.”

It’s the least sexy reply he could’ve given and he mentally scolds himself for it, but Phil doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“Shut up, they suit you.” Is all he says in reply and Dan’s lucky that there’s not enough light for Phil to see the blush spreading across his cheeks.

He doesn’t even need to make an effort to get any closer to Phil; the current does all the work for them until their knees touch.

He’s close to leaning in. More than anything, he wants to close the fucking gap.

Just his luck, though, Phil glances up just then and sighs. “Crap, it’s getting dark. We should go back, don’t wanna be late for dinner.”

He can’t find it in himself to muster enough courage after that.

He wanted to kiss him in Jamaica.

But he didn’t.

***

The place with the neon pink sign that they can’t read is some kind of karaoke bar, they realize once they’ve crossed the street and lean up against the wall for a breather and immediately hear the distinct beginning of Get Low by Lil John and two, mildy-drunk sounding voices belting along into microphones.

“Oh my God.” Phil’s eyes are wide. “Do you think they know what this song means? Like, what they’re actually saying?”

Dan holds up a finger and they go quiet.

To the windowwwwww (to the windowwwww)

To the wall (to the wall)

Til the sweat drop down my balls

Til all these bitches crawl

“Definitely not.” Dan snorts, and Phil rests his head back against the wall to breathe out a disbelieving laugh as well.

“I mean… I guess it’s not hurting anyone.” Phil shrugs. “We sing anime theme songs all the time and we have no clue what they mean. For all we know they could be incredibly profane.”

“Yes, Phil. I’m sure the Attack on Titan theme tune is incredibly profane. Come on, you spork.” He pushes off the wall and walks off a few feet down the sidewalk, only to realize that Phil’s not following him.

“Uh, Phil?” He turns around, eyebrow raised when he sees Phil still standing against the wall. “Don’t you wanna go find something to do?”

Phil hesitates, seeming to ponder something for a moment before breaking out into a smile. He pushes off the wall and takes a few steps backwards towards the door to the bar, his eyes just the slightest bit challenging.

“I think we just did.”

***

He wants to kiss him in Italy.

Chris and PJ aren’t stupid. They nudge him, shoot him looks, strategically leave him and Phil alone multiple times a day with fully conspicuous parting winks.

And he won't do it. If he’s going to kiss Phil (which, admittedly, is feeling like more and more of a lost cause), it’s going to be on his terms. It’s going to be when he feels it’s right, not when their well-meaning but idiotic friends decide.

It actually does feel right at one point, when Phil’s chasing him in a tipsy, spontaneous game of tag while they’re alone. Phil catches him and he wants to spin around right then, crash their mouths together, let Phil know that he’s got him in more ways than one. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or adrenaline, or maybe he’s just damn fed up with not having Phil’s lips on his.

Probably a combination, to be honest. But mostly that last thing.

He spins and just like that, PJ and Chris come right up behind them.

Some God that he doesn’t believe in really wanted to fuck with him tonight.

They seem to realize that they’ve come upon something they shouldn’t have, but Phil catches sight of them too, and then the moment’s gone.

He wanted to kiss him in Italy.

But he didn’t.

***

Phil must be drunker than Dan previously thought, because the Phil Lester that he prides himself on knowing extremely well does not just get the spontaneous urge to saunter into a karaoke bar. Yet that’s exactly what he does, and Dan kind of has no choice except to follow him.

The air inside is thick and hot and noisy, with a couple fans whirring on either side of the bar and a floor setup of basic tables and chairs, some mismatched overstuffed armchairs against the far wall, and most importantly a small stage (more like a platform, really) all the way up at the front, complete with a karaoke setup of two mics and a screen that flashes song lyrics in bright, loud colors. Phil leads them to the only empty armchair at the edge of the room, conveniently wide enough for the two of them to squeeze into.

And Dan has to admit it’s pretty cool. The bar may be hot and crowded and loud but it’s entertaining. They hear some regular, innocent songs. They’re quite nice. But they also hear uncensored renditions of Pony by Ginuwine, The Real Slim Shady by Eminem, and a personal favorite of theirs, My Neck, My Back. They contain their laughter for the most part, meaning a lot of the time they’re red faced and shaking. The laughter gets harder to contain when they’re sent a free drink each from a couple older ladies at the bar.

They don’t really need to loosen up more than they already are, but they drink them anyway.

Of course, the best part of the whole thing is being pressed up so close to Phil. He’s warm and smells nice and Dan would very much like to kiss his rosy cheek, but he’s not quite uninhibited enough for that.

“Right, my ass is falling asleep, we can probably get walking around again.” Phil says when he stands up a while later with a stretch and a yawn. Dan follows, and just then the current song ends and the next karaoke slot opens up.

A seed of an idea plants itself in Dan’s mind, and he flashes Phil the same challenging look that Phil had aimed at him earlier. “Or, maybe not just yet.” He grins and pulls a shocked, protesting Phil up on stage. He’d be painfully too awkward to do this sober, but his head is swimming a bit, so he’s alright.

Phil is still looking incredibly alarmed as Dan sorts through the song selection, and it doesn’t take long for him to find the perfect one. He hits play and Phil pales when it starts up. Dan merely gives him a cheeky smirk and picks up his mic.

mmBaby can’t you see, I’m calling

A guy like you should wear a warning

It’s dangerous

I’m falling…

Your turn, he mouths to a Phil who now looks less terrified, more intrigued, and in a sudden show of bravery, grabs his own mic.

There’s no escape

I can’t wait

I need a hit

Baby, give me it

A loud cheer coming from somewhere around the bar puts what Dan could almost describe as a sultry smirk on Phil’s lips. Surely that’s not on purpose.

You’re dangerous

I’m loving it

It sends a rush of blood down in between his legs anyway. He breathes in deep, locks eyes with Phil and joins back in.

Too high, can’t come down

Losing my head, spinning round and round

...

...Do you feel me now?

***

He wants to kiss him in Orlando, Vegas, and LA.

He doesn’t even need an excuse as to why he won’t. More and more, they’ve been keeping some distance from each other. There’s pressure mounting. A rapidly growing fanbase, thousands and thousands of prying eyes.

Thousands and thousands of hopefuls wanting the things Phil said in that damn video to be true just as much as Dan does.

And just as much as he has to act like he doesn’t. The situation may not be that out of control, but he’s living in his own personal spiral of misery. Phil moves further and further out of his reach and it’s not supposed to bother him - hell, it’s partially his own fault.

He doesn’t know if it bothers Phil or not. They don’t talk about it. They still talk, all the time, about everything else. Just… not that. Never that.

He doesn’t hope at this point. Not the way he used to. He still wants, he still wants so bad that it hurts. All he can bring himself to hope for is that their on-camera life doesn’t bleed into their off-camera life more than it already has. He couldn’t handle it.

He wanted to kiss him in Orlando, Vegas and LA.

But he didn’t.

***

They’re giddy and nearly delirious when they stumble out of the bar later, courtesy of a couple more free drinks and the adrenaline from two encore performances after their smashing performance of Toxic.

“Fucking hell.” Dan laughs when they lean up against the outside wall again, right where they’d been leaning before. “That was…” He shakes his head and laughs again before gulping down as much fresh air as he can. “That was pretty fucking epic.”

“It was.” Phil agrees with the same type of laugh, wiping the sweat off of his brow. “We haven’t done karaoke in way too long.”

“We’ve never done karaoke, you dingus.” Dan snorts and bumps his shoulder weakly into Phil’s. “Rock Band doesn’t count as karaoke.”

Phil bumps his shoulder right back. “It does to me, you... you… rude person.”

Phil really isn’t good with the insults in his regular state. Drunk Phil’s insults, though, are simply laughable. “Ouch, Phil." He feigns hurt. "I might not ever recover from that absolute zinger.”

Without thinking, he grabs the shoulder of Phil’s jacket and starts to tug him along while Phil follows along with a weak retort of “your mum.”

He’s not sure how far they walk, arms and hands brushing and shoulders bumping and cheeks blushing, before they come upon a small, well-lit ice cream shop. Dan hadn’t even thought about ice cream, but now the light inside the shop may as well be a beacon of heaven.

They keep walking once they’ve got their cones, and Dan can’t hold back his satisfied groan when he takes his first lick and it instantly hits the spot. “God, why isn’t ice cream like, the most popular drunk food?” He asks around his next several licks. “It’s filling, it’s cold, it’s refreshing… it's literally perfect. We’ve been so blind.”

“It’s definitely better than those kebabs you used to slam with your uni mates after the club before stumbling back to my apartment.” Phil says with a shrug, occupied with his own cone.

Dan thinks that Phil’s teasing might be laced with a bit of fond nostalgia, but he could just be projecting. He has plenty of fond nostalgia over having an excuse to pass out in Phil’s bed, half on top of him a couple times a week. He also has some… slightly less fun memories of Phil nursing him back to health if he woke up particularly hungover.

“Hey, those were good times.” Dan defends, though he’s not referring to the kebabs or the clubbing or even his old uni mates. They walk further into the night, slurping their respective ice creams, and Dan lets himself wonder if Phil ever looks back on those times in the same way.

***

He wants to kiss him in London.

It’s not the first time they’ve been here. But it’s the most important.

It’s the start of something new. A huge step forward in their life, a big risk that they’re taking together, trusting each other to pull through.

There’s actual career advancement on the line. Actual grown-up shit. Actual jobs at the actual fucking BBC. They wouldn’t be here without each other, and he’s so happy. So grateful.

Now more than ever, he appreciates how much he's managed to change his life for the better since meeting Phil. How Phil's been there through everything, stuck by him at his absolute messiest. How he’s cared. So much. More than Dan’s ever imagined, more than he deserves.

They build a crappy wardrobe, and they're definitely a little too proud of themselves for it.

It’s right after that, lying side by side on the carpet next to the only piece of furniture that they currently own, that Dan feels that pull again. He feels it less these days, or maybe he just refuses to acknowledge it. It's hard for now, but he figures ignoring it will get easier at some point.

He’s just not there yet.

He wanted to kiss him in London.

But he didn’t.

***

“Stars are so pretty.” Phil sighs. “You know some of the stars we’re looking at right now are already dead? How crazy is that? They’re just… shiny little... beacons of death. So cute.”

“Oh my God, what are you even on about?” Dan mumbles as he rolls his head to the side. They’re both laying down on a bed of soft, slightly damp grass after happening on a quaint little park 15 or so minutes away from the ice cream shop. Conveniently so, as they were both just about dead on their feet.

They’ve been mostly silent, not talking, not touching. Dan gazes into the dark sky and listens to Phil’s deep, steady breathing. He feels like he’s floating, light and breezy in some space between his reality and a dream. It’s definitely not a bad way to be winding down. He checks the time on his phone. It’s nearly midnight.

“Hey Dan?” Phil’s voice pulls him back to the present after a pretty long while. “Have you got any idea where we are?”

Dan sighs softly in reply. “No clue,” he murmurs, resting a hand on his stomach and letting his eyes slide shut.

“Oh.”

Dan furrows his eyebrows when he hears a bit of an edge in Phil’s voice. It takes him a minute to catch on, but when he does, sits straight up so fast that his vision goes a little bit spinny.

“Oh.”

***

He wants to kiss him in Edinburgh, and New York too.

For no particular reason, except that he still wants to kiss him every-fucking-where they go. But he has plenty of reasons not to.

Firstly, they’re working. They have a professional relationship now. It doesn’t outweigh their friendship by any means, but it’s there. It’s important. They’re coworkers.

And simply put, you don’t kiss your coworker. Doesn’t matter that you’ve been in love with him for three years.

They make a living off of being friends and nothing more than that. Any failed attempt at love now wouldn’t just put their friendship on the line, but their livelihood too.

Their life is good. He refuses to be the one to fuck it all up.

Secondly, kissing Phil has been off the table for a while, anyway.

Along with self expression, along with anything else that might hint at him being not-straight with a gay-as-hell crush on his best friend.

Not just off the table, even. More like fully out of the question. More like aggressively denied.

Some fans love him for it, lots of them hate him for it. He hates himself for it.

He doesn't really care. He only hopes that Phil doesn’t hate him for it.

He wanted to kiss him in Edinburgh, and New York too.

But he didn’t.

***

Trying to get their bearings and retrace their steps back to wherever the hell they’d come from is by far the least fun part of their night. In fact, it’s not fun at all.

Phil worries his bottom lip between his teeth when they pace across the field in what might or might not be the direction they came from. Dan drags his hands over his sweaty scalp and tugs lightly at his hair that’s almost certainly started to curl around the edges.

“I’m sorry, Dan.” Phil sighs after a while, copying Dan and anxiously fixing his own hair. “I really shouldn’t have made us come out tonight, you were right about getting lost.”

Dan frowns when he notes that Phil seems, well… genuinely upset. This has kind of been the most fun he’s had in… a pretty long time. He doesn’t like the idea of Phil regretting it, much less feeling guilty.

“Hey, I went along with it.” He insists. “It’s my fault too. We just need to… fuck, I don’t know, but this is the direction we came from, right? I’m almost positive.”

Phil stops abruptly. “It’s not.” He says quietly after a moment’s pause. “But… oh my God, look.”

Dan follows his gaze and feels his eyes widen when he sees just what Phil’s looking at.

“Holy shit.” He whispers. “Are we gonna…?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

***

He wants to kiss him in Cyprus.

It’s hard for him not to think about it around Bryony and Wirrow, because with them around it feels like a full-on couples vacation.

Which would be the cringiest middle-class white people thing they’ve probably ever done, if that were actually the case. It’s not, though. It’s not a couples vacation; it’s a couple vacationing with their two lanky, emo, painfully single best mates.

Still, his heart flutters when he watches Phil sip down his colorful, sugary cocktail at dinner, the sunset casting angular shadows over his face. Feels nothing but adoration watching him flail in an unsuccessful attempt to swat away the gigantic, pesky Cypriot bugs.

And to no one’s surprise, especially his own, he does nothing to act on it. Doesn’t even entertain it as a real possibility anymore. It hurts. But it's just a pipe dream now.

He wanted to kiss him in Cyprus.

But he didn’t.

***

Cherry blossoms at night might be the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

Dan fancies himself a bit of a philosopher. Whether or not that notion actually holds any merit is a different story. Still, he’d like to think that all his hours spent facedown in his bed, at his desk, and mostly on the floor haven’t all been for nothing. He’d like to think that he’s formed some sort of coherent opinion on life - why he’s here, what he’s living for, what it all means in the grand scheme of things.

Really, he hasn’t. He waffles too much, he overthinks, and before he knows it he’s back to square one. But he’s learned a couple of things.

First and foremost, that sometimes it’s easier to think in metaphors, as long as they aren’t painfully contrived. Metaphors break things down into simpler terms, put things in perspective.

Cherry blossoms, he read somewhere at some point, are a metaphor. They bloom bright and beautiful when the time is right, and then two weeks later, all too soon, they fall to the ground. Much like existence, they are transient. Fragile. Gone possibly before you can find the time, the perspective, to marvel at them properly. But their fleeting nature doesn’t make them less beautiful when they’re in bloom. Far from it; they’re precious while they last.

Life, from the wholly optimistic perspective he rarely sees, can be the same.

But funnily enough, he’s not actually thinking of that right now.

He’s not actually thinking of much at all.

It’s hard to think, surrounded by so much light.

“I can’t believe we never knew about this.” Phil mumbles from beside him. He’s got his head turned up towards the tree that’s casting its soft pink glow down over and around them. “I totally would’ve forced you to get lost with me sooner.”

He’d almost forgotten not wanting to come out tonight in the first place. I’m glad you forced me out. He wants to say. I’m glad that I’m here with you. But when he turns to his side, Phil’s not standing next to him anymore.

Before he can even panic or call out to him, he spots Phil up ahead just a bit, ambling along among some of the trees that lead down to a nearby river. He’s looking up still, clearly caught up in the ethereal view - seeing the trees lit up, seemingly on their own in the dark, does look kind of like magic. They could be checkpoints in a fantasy rpg, Phil would probably say. Or something of the sort - Dan can always ask him later what’s going on in his mind. Something interesting and strange, he's sure, because Phil’s like that.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and walks up ahead himself, following Phil from a few feet behind. He has a tendency to lose Phil like this - on the street, in parks, in train stations, when he’s zoned out in his own private Phil world. It’s either endearing or incredibly frustrating, depending on the situation. Right now, it’s definitely endearing.

And it's always kind of funny to see how and when Phil comes back to reality, how he fumbles to regain his bearings and is always startled at himself for having spaced out so long.

Well, this time it’s actually not very long. Phil’s only been walking for about a minute before he trips, stumbling forward a few steps, then righting himself and turning his head to the side, confused. Dan knows it’s because Phil was assuming Dan to be next to him this entire time.

“Smooth.” He remarks with a snicker, coming up on Phil’s other side. “That’s what happens when you’re staring at the trees and not watching where you’re going.”

Phil turns with a startled jump before his face falls into a frown. “You were supposed to be next to me!” He complains. “You could’ve warned me I was about to trip on something.”

“You tripped over nothing.” Dan remarks when he looks down at the ground and sees nothing in the immediate vicinity that Phil could’ve tripped on. “Double smooth.”

“I hate you.” Phil grumbles. “And you’ve got petals in your hair.”

Dan’s cheeks heat up against his will when Phil reaches up and plucks them out. They heat up even more when he smooths his hair back into place for him. They’re on fire when Phil’s hand lingers for a second before he drops it back down to his side, resuming his walking with Dan actually next to him this time.

“The trees don’t even look real, right?” Phil asks, glancing up at them again, briefly and with much more caution this time. “I feel like some NPC from a fantasy game should be living inside.”

Dan has to bite back a grin. Okay, an NPC, not a checkpoint, but still. That psychic connection that their audience, friends and family accuse them of having really is uncanny at times.

“I could see that.”

They stop walking when they reach the edge of the river. There’s a bridge about 20 feet away from them that crosses over and leads to more cherry blossom trees on the other side, but they stay put, watching the lanterns that float along in the water.

When he looks at Phil, he sees the river reflected in his eyes and the warm pink light shining behind him and realizes that actually, the cherry blossoms are only the second prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

He feels something click into place.

“Phil.” He sighs.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing now besides chasing whatever feeling, whatever tug, whatever heat, whatever rush of courage he’s got washing over him, cementing his resolve. Whether he likes it or not, he’s not backing out this time.

There’s a storm of emotion looming very close in the distance. It’ll remain unnamed and indiscernible until he reaches his outcome here. Right now it’s only adrenaline, his racing heart and sweaty palms tell him as much.

He swallows down the lump in his throat.

“Phil.” He repeats in a slightly steadier tone of voice. “I need to tell you something, I—”

He turns to Phil and immediately can’t finish his sentence. He’s cut off when Phil’s lips are suddenly pressed against his own.

He freezes, his mouth slack and his arms hanging dumbly at his sides while his brain races to catch up with what the fuck is actually happening. Phil’s kissing him. Phil’s right here, right in front of him, he’s cupping his face and kissing him.

The delayed realization hits him like a freight train. His eyes slip shut and suddenly he’s a live wire, hot and electric from his head down to the tips of his toes and his inner voice screams KISS HIM, KISS HIM, KISS HIM BACK YOU IDIOT.

Phil pulls away before he can and Dan can’t breathe. He can’t even bring himself to open his eyes until a few seconds later. He waits for his vision to refocus and then locks eyes with Phil.

Phil’s taken several steps back from him, eyes wide and his expression utterly terrified, color drained out of his cheeks and both hands clasped tightly over his mouth.

“Oh my god, Dan.” His voice is muffled by his hands but Dan can still hear how shaky it is. “I’m so sorry, I’m— I shouldn’t have— I don’t know what—”

Phil, he realizes, is apologizing. Apologizing for kissing him. He feels his heart plunge all the way down to his feet and back up because Phil’s apologizing for kissing him and that’s fully unacceptable. His body feels like it’s running on autopilot when he surges forward, tugging Phil’s hands away from his mouth and just barely registering the desperation in his eyes before he grabs his face and kisses him again.

He kisses him hard and Phil’s reaction speed is far better than Dan’s because he kisses him back immediately, heated and urgent and impassioned.

They break apart technically sooner than Dan would like, but as far as he’s concerned, they now have more pressing matters to attend to.

“Phil.” He rasps, knowing that his pupils are surely blown as big and dark as Phil’s when he looks into them. “We need to get back to the hotel. Right fucking now.”

In the end, it's a matter of swallowing their pride and stumbling through a half-coherent conversation with a very patient park-goer, who does eventually understand what the hell they're trying to say and points them in the right direction.

Actually getting back to the hotel is a blur.

What's not a blur is the fact that Phil's mouth is on his again before the door's even closed behind him. That’s when everything turns crystal clear. His whole body’s on fire when they fall in a mess of tangled limbs onto the bed, kicking off shoes and wrestling each other out of clothes.

He straddles Phil once they’re both down to just their pants, their bodies pressing tight together when he leans down and slots their mouths together again

It's not quite the tender, romantic confession that Dan had been planning on.

But it turns out that he’s just as fine with words and half-sentences spoken in haste when they’re panting hot and heavy against each other’s mouths.

Phil scratches his nails lightly down Dan’s back and Dan tells him he wants him, wants him so bad. Phil flips them over and presses him into the mattress and latches his mouth onto the warm, sensitive skin of Dan’s neck and murmurs between hot open mouthed kisses all over that he wants him too, so so much, that he’s wanted this forever, since before they even met.

Dan feels like he could cry.

But he settles instead for an obscene moan when Phil kisses him roughly and slots their legs together and grinds his hips down and Dan notices that he’s just as painfully hard as him.

“Phil, please.” He whispers into one more kiss before Phil latches onto his neck again. Phil really doesn’t hold back, nipping and sucking and biting and there’s no way that Dan’s coming out of this without any hickeys but that’s fine. He wants to be marked. He waits for Phil to pull back a bit before reaching down in between them, hastily pushing down both of their waistbands so that Phil’s hard length is rutting against his and his precum smears onto Dan’s belly.

He feels the blood thrumming hot and fast though his veins, up and down his entire body with every hammering heartbeat. All he registers is Phil’s hot breath against his neck and chest and the sound of skin on skin and the white hot sparks of pleasure that start in his groin and travel all the way down to the tips of his fingers and toes.

“I’m… close.” He moans through gritted teeth when he feels his balls drawing up tight, wrapping one leg around Phil’s waist for leverage and meeting each thrust with his own. His squeeze shut and he sees stars and muffles his moan against Phil’s shoulder when he spills hot and fast in between their bodies. Phil’s hips stutter and he follows right after, and Dan kisses him and clings to him while he rides it out and then promptly collapses on top of him.

For a while there are no words. Just slow, deep breaths and tiny kisses pressed into any available bit of salty skin before Phil finally finds the strength to roll off to the side and halfheartedly clean them both up with the corner of the bedsheet.

They lay side by side, flat on their backs, chests flushed and bodies shimmering with a thin gleam of sweat and then at the same time, turn their heads to face each other and burst into disbelieving laughter.

“Oh my God. Jesus fucking Christ.” Dan manages, tucking his body up against Phil’s side and laying his head on his shoulder. “We actually just did that.”

“We did.” Phil sighs, and reaches over to grab Dan’s hand resting on his chest and lace their fingers together. “We should, uh. Probably talk.”

“In a minute.” Dan whispers.

When they do get to talking, the words exchanged are balm to a burn that’s been scarring Dan’s soul for so many years, for far too long. They talk late into the night, confessions and jokes and apologies and every way of saying I love you without actually speaking the three words, until they both can’t keep their eyes open any more.

They fall asleep tangled up in each other. For the first time in six years, Dan finally rests easy.

“Don’t wanna go home.” Dan mumbles, stretched out on his belly with his face mushed into his pillow the next morning. The sun streaming in from between the curtains is an unwelcome presence as far as he’s concerned. Phil runs his fingers lightly up and down Dan’s spine, pauses to rub between his shoulderblades, and taps on his cheek until Dan turns his head and lets himself be kissed.

“I know.” Phil sighs, burrowing closer and nudging his nose against Dan’s. “Me neither.”

It seems unfair, really, that they’re being pushed right back into their everyday grind when they’ve only just made such an amazing, dream-come-true level discovery. They need to go back to England, go back to work. And going back to work means… well, hiding in the closet. The idea of it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

“Nothing has to change.” Phil tells him, as if he’s read Dan’s mind. “I want you back home just as much as I want you here. We’ll…” He sighs, because he surely knows they’re not in for an easy ride. “I don’t know. We’ll figure it out. I’ll do whatever if you will too.”

“I’ll do whatever.” Dan answers without hesitation, melting into the warm kiss that Phil presses against his mouth. “Definitely.”

Hours later, he falls asleep next to Phil on the plane, letting his head rest against his shoulder with a final, half-conscious thought that sends a burst of warmth blooming throughout his chest.

He wanted to kiss him in Japan.

So he did.

this fic was prompted/inspired by lost in japan by shawn mendes.

also if you don't know what nighttime cherry blossom viewing looks like, look here because it's very very pretty and you can imagine how it might inspire one to finally kiss their crush of 6 years (inspo for the trees in this fic drawn mainly from #3 on the list)

thanks for reading!

#phan #phanfiction #phanfic #fics #*#*100

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