#but also imply that whats beyond it is something you have to step to. that you have to choose to go to for better or worse. be it something

[wall-e-gorl]

something something the dichotomy of light and dark something something atelut stepping out into the sun in full confidence to lie at the end of arc 11 something something 11.5 ending with atelut stepping into a bedroom at night with rian something something truth of self, reversal of light good dark bad imagery, being who you are in the safety of the dark and putting on a mask when you are in the spotlight, something- something like that

[seventeenpins]

a slight miscalculation - pt. i

pairing: Joel x F!Reader

word count: 8.3k

summary: Sarah is off to college, and Joel is about to be living in an empty nest. They road trip out together, and as she spends her first night in her new apartment, he's staying in a nearby hotel. Letting go of his inhibitions for the first time in a long time, he tumbles into a one night stand that becomes very complicated, very quickly.

content/warnings: smut, age gap, mycologist!reader, dick sucking, implied pussy eating, fingering, no outbreak au, reader likes to hike, reader also infodumps, joel miller has a big cock, he also has anxiety, reader has anxiety too, and a cat, reader is in early 20s--exact age not established, one (1) use of daddy, alcohol and weed consumption, joel is a diligent condom wearer, set in present day, discussion of girl scout cookies, joel is sweet and soft and hasn't been eviscerated by the death of his daughter

a/n: I'm intending this to be about five parts. This may change, but right now it's looking like five. I've been struggling to write for a while, unable to focus, but I think I'm back at it? as always, your feedback is hugely appreciated, and i'm kissing all likers and commenters and rebloggers deeply and with tongue 🩷

check out pt. ii

For the first time in nineteen years, Joel is completely adrift. Sarah's starting college in just two months.

It's the kind of realization that hits him like a bucket of ice water, a sudden shock and then an unpleasant trickling of anxiety wrapping about him in nasty tendrils. And then he feels guilty, because he's so, so happy for Sarah because he knows that she's thrilled, but fuck she's gonna be two time zones away and now what's Joel meant to do on Thursday movie nights when he's here without her?

It's terrifying, and it's new. And it's not that he's new to anxiety. He's usually anxious, and he has the Sertraline on his bedside stand to prove it. But if his general anxiety baseline usually hovered around a 6.4, where he was at now far surpassed a 10. It felt exponential, and totally exhausting.

When he voices his fears to Tommy, to Joel's horror, Tommy just doubles over in laughter.

"Jesus, Joel," he wheezes, wiping fake tears from his eyes in exaggerated movements, "You looked so serious I thought you were gonna say you'd killed someone."

Joel scowls. "The fuck you laughing for?"

"She's going to college, it's not like she's dying!"

"How'm I gonna be there for her? What if she needs me? What if-"

"Joel-," Tommy pats him gently on the shoulder, "She can always call you, and you can always call her. And we both know she's got a good head on 'er shoulders."

Joel snorts in concession. "Yeah, yeah. Better than yours and mine put together, and then some."

"Exactly." Tommy agrees, "And if there's ever anything that really goes wrong, you got me. We can drive out together and make sure she's okay."

Joel nods and feels the tiniest bit of tension leave him. One step at a time.

Just over nineteen years ago he found out he was about to be a dad. Suddenly, he had a purpose. Having a kid at twenty-two wasn't something he'd ever intended, but somehow he knew he loved his baby girl from the moment he knew she was a possibility. He spent a solid seven months running around, hustling, doing everything he could to get the very best for his kid. He'd take on doubles, working himself to the bone to make sure they had the best crib, and the best stroller, too. He was thrilled and terrified and so, so green.

Now, his heart feels so big he doesn't know how to handle it. His baby girl is an honest-to-god adult, moving out and going to college, and he has no idea what he's gonna do with his time now.

He has work, of course. But beyond that? He's really gotta to widen his circle, he realises, because who's he gonna hang out with? His brother?

He'd only just turned forty-one and had absolutely not come to terms with an empty nest--the few friends from high school he'd kept in touch with were so much further behind than him. The ones that had kids had them later in their twenties and thirties, and now they're raising middle schoolers while Joel's kid is a real fucking person, leaving home and everything. All the scrapping and saving he'd been doing since before Sarah was born–for his little girl to be able to follow any dream she chose–it was finally paying off. The precocious young woman she is, she graduated early and spent nearly a year working retail to save up some cash. She'd applied to colleges all across the country, and a few international ones, too. Joel had been crossing his fingers for months, hoping she'd choose something near Austin, but cheered with her all the same when she got her acceptance letter from Oregon State University. The previous summer, just before she'd started her applications, she and Joel and Tommy spent a miserable, wonderful week hiking round the Pacific Northwest. She fell in love with it, and the university offered a few of the majors she wanted to consider.

Joel didn't know what he'd do with his baby girl so far away, his life, his reason, but he sure as hell wasn't gonna tell her that. He will not clip her wings. His baby's gonna change the world and he's not gonna hold her back. He is, though, gonna require regular phone calls and check-ins and god they grow up so fast.

"Y'all should road trip out there," Tommy suggests one night over the dinner table.

Joel knew the conversation of how Sarah would get to the West Coast would come up, and it oughta be sooner rather than later. He was half afraid that she wanted to head out on her own, that she didn't need her dad anymore. Worried she would say she wanted to get a plane ticket, or take the Amtrak all the way to Corvallis. But he knows he needs to loosen his grip a little, so he braces himself when he turns to her.

"What'dya think, Sarah? You wanna be stuck in a car with your old man for a cross-country trip?"

Sarah rolls her eyes, but her face breaks into a grin. "Can we, Dad?"

This was too good to be true, he knew, but he wasn't gonna give up one last opportunity to spend some time with his girl till winter break.

"Course, baby," he tells her, and that flicker of anxiety quells just the tiniest bit.

The next few weeks fly by, and the knot of anxiety in Joel's chest feels like it's consuming him from the inside out. He's taken some time off, more than Sarah or Tommy can remember, but he's constantly trying to suggest ideas for activities to Sarah. For the most part, she's a good sport, understanding how much it means to her dad. She took pity on him, and let him drag her to places that ideally she would've gone to when she was little, but she humored him and he appreciated her dedication. He did his best to step back when she was heading out to spend time with friends--her time here was limited, after all, and she was always a social butterfly.

There are five weeks till classes start, four weeks, three, two, and in the blink of an eye, they're loading up the truck with all of Sarah's things, and Tommy is hugging Sarah goodbye, teary eyed. He gives Joel a hug, too. Joel would never admit it, but fuck he had really needed that hug.

They would take the scenic route. Make a memorable trip of it. Joel would make sure she settles in safe and sound, and then he'd head home.

6am Sunday.

You wake with a start. It's just over a week before term starts and your entire body aches. Fuck, you think to yourself, definitely overdid it with that last hike.

(The hiking part wasn't itself a problem, but one of the trails had washed out. You thought you'd found your way, but the "easy" three and a half mile hike took about five hours, leaving your calves bruised and your heels blistered.)

You roll over in your hotel room bed and, at the sound of a slight yelp followed by a gentle thud, realise with a sudden start that you just catapulted your cat off the corner.

"Shit, sorry goblin," you tell Spatula, who glares up at you with disdain as he licks at his paw. You reach down and, despite your inadvertent cat launch, he immediately rubs up against your fingertips and lets you scratch behind his ears.

"I'm sorry, baby," you soothe.

He meows, loudly. Howls, really. You take it as an apology accepted.

You sit up properly and look at your phone calendar. Nothing immediate. You don't need to get keys to your new apartment till tomorrow, nor do you meet your roommates till then–they're both moving in today, and moving is already horrible without having to navigate around the belongings of two other people. No, thanks. You can afford one more night at the hotel, and it'll make everything go that little bit more smoothly tomorrow. Besides, you have a bit of reading you'd like to get through, maybe stock up on non-perishables till you have a full-sized fridge, and get to know the city just a little.

You move gingerly, testing the ache in your muscles as you unfold yourself from the position you've been sat in and pull yourself from the bed. It hurts, but not something that won't be fixed with a little movement.

A plan forms. First, a walk, to try and loosen up your tight muscles. Then, errands. You have a whole list, with everything categorised by store, but then you enter IKEA and exit fifteen minutes later, only to find that five and a half hours have passed and it's evening now.

How was it that IKEA harnessed such a malicious power. How could anything harness that?

You need a fucking break. And a goddamn drink.

"Hey Dad," Sarah calls from the adjacent bedroom as Joel sweats, hauling another box towards her. The drive has been good, but it has been long. His legs ache. His back aches. There are parts of him that he didn't know existed that now ache.

"Yeah?" he calls back.

"Are you sure you're okay with me staying here tonight?"

Joel lets out a breath. He wants to be okay with it. And there's no way his nineteen year old would want to hang out with her dad when she could be spending the very first night in her brand new apartment. But he also wishes she wanted to spend one last night, hanging out in a hotel room with her dad. They could watch shitty movies together. Make the most of the final night before this cataclysmic shift.

But no.

That'd just be him being selfish. He can handle a night by himself. He's gotta handle a whole lotta them soon enough.

"O'course baby," he nods, hoping the smile he's plastered on his face looks totally genuine. "But we're still doin' breakfast in the morning, right?"

She nods, vigorous, and then waves her phone around. "I was looking up places! There's a diner called Tommy's," she laughs, "Wanna try that? 9:30?"

"Let's do it," he smiles, and this one is a little less forced.

"How much more do we have?" Sarah asks, nodding towards the box Joel's still holding.

"Last box," he grunts, "What else can I help with?"

He places the box down and lets out a slight, almost silent whimper. Sarah catches it, though.

"Maybe you should take it easy the rest of the day, Dad," she tells him, "We both know you have old man back."

He rolls his eyes but nods. "Guess you're right," he shrugs, "That my cue to take off?"

Sarah blushes but turns to him sheepishly. "Yeah, I-"

"No need to explain," Joel assures, "I know you must wanna get unpacked and settle in, get to know your roommates an' all."

She jumps up and, almost startling him, wraps her arms around him in a bear hug.

"Love you, dad," she grins, and she squeezes just a little tighter than usual.

He squeezes back, and they both pretend there aren't tears in his eyes.

As you step through the doors of the hotel bar, you decide you like it. The lighting is comfortably low. It's not loud, but it's not quiet, either. Colorful bottles line the shelves, the light of the filament bulbs glinting off the glass in rainbow prisms.

You take a seat at the bar and give a nod of thanks as the bartender passes you a small menu. It's unsurprisingly extortionate, hotel bar and all, but it'll do.

"Old fashioned, please," you tell the bartender, who nods in response. A minute later, he hands you a glass, delivered with a twist of orange and a cherry on top.

With your first sip, you feel your shoulders start to relax and some of the tension loosen from your body. The warmth of the burn envelops you and your stress starts to unravel, leaving only the buzz feeling good.

You order a second, and as the glass is handed to you, a voice to your right catches your attention.

"This seat taken?" a man asks.

You shake your head and offer a quick smile, gesturing towards it, "All yours."

"Much obliged," he nods, and slips into the backless stool next to yours.

The bartender comes over and passes him the same menu, but without looking at it he asks, "Could I get an old fashioned?"

You smile and catch his eye, tipping your glass towards him. "An excellent choice," you praise, "Though if you don't have a sweet tooth, I'd recommend asking Jeff there if he can go easy on the simple syrup."

"Oh yeah?" He asks, and then he leans in conspiratorially. "T'tell you the truth, I do have a bit of a sweet tooth."

You raise an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Suddenly, he breaks into a grin and it's dazzling.

"Yeah," he laughs, "I've got cookies stashed in secret locations all through my house."

You raise an eyebrow. "If I keep 'em in my pantry, my brother'll find 'em and eat 'em all," he explains, "But ever since my kid was a girl scout, I always get cravings for girl scout cookies, so I buy an armful o'boxes and try and preserve 'em throughout the year, till I can replenish."

"What's your favorite girl scout cookie?"

"Caramel deLites, hands down."

"Oh yeah?"

"Absolutely," he nods.

The bartender, Jeff, sets the man's drink down with a clink. You catch one another's eye and both erupt into a fit of laughter.

You're not even sure what's funny. Maybe it's just been a long day? Maybe the whiskey was getting to you?

Whatever it is, it feels good.

The man takes a sip of his drink and lets out an aaaahh and it's goofy and charming and then he extends his hand.

"Joel," he tells you, "Joel Miller". You shake his hand, introduce yourself, and then take a sip of your own drink.

"So, tell me about yourself," you smile, "You coming from out of town?"

"Yes ma'am," he nods, "Come up here from Austin."

"Texas?"

Joel nods.

"That's a long trip."

"Yeah," he laughs, "It really is."

"So, you're a nice Southern boy, huh?"

"Well," he swishes his glass and tries to bite back a smile, "I don't know that I'd go quite so far, but my mama did raise me to be a gentleman."

"That so?" you ask and his blush deepens.

"I... have been known to get up to some trouble, but I like to think I've mellowed in my old age." He gestures at the beautiful little smatterings of silver at his temples, and you cackle.

"Okay, that's hot," you tell him and he chokes, but you keep going, "Old age, though? What are you, like, forty?"

He exhales, chagrined. "Forty-one."

You roll your eyes. "That ain't old."

"It feels it sometimes," he smiles, "My kid is grown. My little brother's married with a kid of his own on the way. My back hurts, pretty much all the time."

You snort. You also notice, without trying to look, that he doesn't have a wedding band. Doesn't have a tan line for one, either. Interesting.

"But more than that," he continues, "I guess I feel- I don't know. A little... aimless?"

"Yeah," you nod, and you let the moment sit. "I get that."

He lets out a little breath, and then turns back to you, focused.

"What about you? Where're you from?"

"Oof," you exhale, "All over. Spent a bit of time on the East coast. The Midwest. Lived a few months in the South, even," you tease as you bump your shoulder into his and he laughs. It's a surprisingly familiar gesture, but miraculously comfortable.

"Ever make it to Texas?"

"Naw," you shake your head, "My time in the South was all in Mississippi. After that I moved out to California, and I've been slowly working my way up the West Coast."

"And what have you been enjoying about the West Coast?" Joel asks.

"The mushrooms," you grin, and Joel frowns.

"Like, the kind you get in a little baggy from the dealer down the street, or-?"

"No," you laugh, "Or, well- Okay, sometimes. Gotta say it is great out here for that, too. But I mean fungus as a whole--mushrooms, mold, yeast, lichen. But I'm most interested in mushrooms. They're just really fuckin' cool, and there's so much we don't understand about them. And, they're delicious."

"Huh," Joel ponders, "T'tell you the truth, I've never thought much about mushrooms, besides enjoying 'em as a pizza topping."

"Most people don't," you agree, "But fuck, like-- Okay, so we know there are over five million types of fungi on Earth, but we've identified less than two percent of them. Some fungus aids decomposition. Some fungus is bioluminescent. Some are known worldwide for their delicious flavours, and others are known by the slow, horrible ways they kill you."

Joel raises his eyebrows, and suddenly you feel a little self conscious.

"Sorry, I do this," you laugh, rubbing at the back of your neck, "I get very excited about fungus and manage to alienate everyone around me."

You half expect him to stand up and walk away.

Instead, though, he leans in closer. "Don't apologise," he tells you, "I'm learning something new. Tell me more?"

"No, I should stop. Otherwise I'll never stop talking," you wince.

"How about just one more fungus fact?"

You sit for a minute, pondering. "This is- well, I guess this is one of the reasons I find fungus so fascinating. So, fungus can't photosynthesise the way that plants do--they can't produce their own food from sunshine, and water, and carbon dioxide. Instead, their mycelium-- they're these thread-like networks--they branch out beneath the earth, seeking out food, growing in the direction where it can find the nutrients it needs and breaking down organic material all around them, sometimes living organisms, as a parasite, and sometimes dead organisms as a decomposer, or both. And it's just- It's this hidden world, that exists right beneath the surface even in some of the extreme places on earth, temperature-wise. And most days, we don't even think about it."

You punctuate your thought with a large swallow of your drink, which is half-watered down now that the ice is melted, and doesn't hit quite as hard as you'd hoped, but then you look up at Joel and he's smiling at you, pensive, and--

"That's- That's actually really interesting."

Before you can respond, though, Joel glances at his watch and balks. It is getting late. "Shit," he shakes his head, "I think I oughta call it a night," he says, pulling back. "Early morning tomorrow, and if I stay at the bar I'll just keep drinkin'."

Fuck. That's a dismissal. Of course you went on too much about mushrooms. You'd fucked this up. You'd thought this was going well, but now it felt like a bucket of cold water was dumped over you. "Oh," you nod, matching his posture, and try to swallow down the sudden wave of disappointment. "Of course. Have a good night, Joel."

Joel stands up and then looks you up and down, considering. It's not brazen, but it isn't shy, either. And then understanding flashes across his face.

"Wait- Sorry, that's not how I meant it." He reaches out towards you and you melt into his touch. "I'm messin' this up." He chuckles, but it sounds pained. "Now look, I don't wanna make any presumptions. And I'm really hopin' I'm not coming off as some--dirty old man. Jesus, I haven't done this in a while. But I'm in room 308."

Your eyebrows shoot up. What you'd taken for disinterest was just--nerves?

"I reckon I'll be awake for a while yet. You're welcome to... drop by."

The disappointment melts, making way for a fluttering in your stomach.

"Twenty minutes," you assure him, "308?"

He nods and he brakes into a sheepish grin, shedding what you now realise had been something of an anxious wince. "308."

You watch him leave. When he's out of sight, you toss back the rest of your watery drink and go to pay your tab, but Jeff tells you it was already settled. You thank him and tuck your shaking hands in your pockets. You feel an electricity running through you as you take the elevator up.

When you get back to your room, you hop into the shower, just to freshen up--you keep your hair dry but scrub your body. Once you're clean, you brush your teeth.

Stepping back out of the en suite, you survey the hotel room. Spatula is lounging on the corner of the bed, entirely uninterested in your movements. You top up his dry food bowl and place a kiss between his ears before slipping out.

When you knock at Joel's door, you hear a slight rustle and clatter and then the door swings open, Joel's staring a little wide-eyed, like he didn't actually expect you to show. He's wearing grey sweats and a Johnny Cash t-shirt that looks like it's been around nearly as long as you have. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, an anxious tell that's desperately endearing.

"C'mon in," he smiles, and you step in, closing the door behind you.

You reach out to cup his face, delighting in the feeling of coarse stubble beneath your fingertips. Your first kiss is chaste. You both lean forward and press your lips to one another gently, exploring.

Then, you let out a little moan and Joel shudders. Heat surges between you, and his hands are cradling your head and brushing your cheek and he's pinning you against the closed door. You're kissing again, nothing chaste remaining, learning the taste of him, his rhythm, the crashing waves of give and take between you.

You wrap one leg around him and smirk when he lets out a throaty groan as you grind against his hard cock. You're pretty sure he's not wearing underwear, the thick bulge seemingly unconstrained in his grey sweats, the whole length pressing against your thigh.

Your head falls back and you let out soft, breathy noises as his lips trace along your collarbone, up your throat, and against that tender little spot behind your ear. When he puts your earlobe between his lips and presses his teeth gently against the skin, your knees go weak and he chuckles, strong arms wrapping around you, holding you up.

"Bed?" he asks, and you breathe yes and then, with a yelp and a throaty chuckle, you're lifted up and spun around and both tumbling into the duvet.

You're grasping at each other, desperate to keep your hands on one another. The only times you part is when you undress, and even then, you're helping each other--pulling the hem of his shirt over his lifted arms, pressing into him as he reaches around and moves to unhook your bra, but then he realises you're not wearing one and lets out a groan, his thumbs brushing alongside the tender skin along your ribs, moving gently as if to cup your breasts, but then he pulls back.

Normally you might wait, do this part slowly, draw out the tease just a little bit longer.

Tonight, though, you're ravenous.

As you fiddle with the buttons of your pants, you tug at the drawstring keeping Joel's sweats on his hips. The bow comes loose in one smooth motion, and he lifts his hips and you pull the sweats down.

Your mouth immediately waters seeing him bare, laid out for you. You watch a bead of precum drip down the head and pool on his belly. The coarse hair of his happy trail glistens with it. He's thick, uncut, and looks painfully hard, his cock head ruddy. "Fuck, you're beautiful," you tell him, and his cheeks redden but he grins. It's boyish, the way he grins, and devastatingly charming.

And, what you're saying is true. His body is gorgeous, something you wish you could sketch. Soft flesh over hard muscle, visible tan lines where his chest and shoulders are noticeably lighter than his arms. The muscles and veins along his throat are driving you absolutely fucking insane as he swallows and looks up at you.

He's got freckles on his shoulders, too, and without thinking, you lower yourself down to kiss at his shoulder. He shakes, just a little, and lets out the most beautiful gasp. It's addictive, pulling these noises from him. You follow the curve of him, giving him a taste of his own medicine--tracing feather-light kisses along his collarbone, up the tendons of his neck, behind his ear. You can feel the blood pulse in his veins as your lips brush along him. Joel goes from panting lightly to full on groaning, rutting his hips up towards you and, frustrated, meeting only air.

"Can I taste you?", you ask, and Joel lets out a half-strangled sound and nods, vigorous.

You scoot back, lower yourself, poke out your tongue and, without any preamble, lick at the slit of his head, tasting the salty, tangy precum.

Joel tips his head back and groans and you decide to be kind. You grasp onto his hips and take him in your mouth, slowly sinking down, inch by inch by inch and now you can feel him at the back of your throat, your saliva dripping down the shaft and collecting in the hair between his thighs.

You bob your head up and down, taking him deeper with each thrust, but your throat is full and there are still inches to go. You relax, doing everything you can to take him deeper, and he starts to thrust up gently.

You let him fuck into your mouth but release one of his hips, allowing him to move as freely as he needs and freeing up your hand, which you shove into your underwear, rubbing furiously at your clit.

It doesn't take much to lose yourself in it, to focus only on the sensation. You're so wet, slick coating your fingers, making the glide that much smoother as you touch yourself. Joel tastes so good, too, the intrusion of his cock the most delicious thing, feeling the way he shudders when you moan, the way he moans when you shudder.

"Fuck-" Joel gasps, and then there's a hand guiding you gently off of him.

You raise an eyebrow. "You okay?"

He swallows, hard, and nods. "More than okay. Felt too fuckin' good."

"Oh yeah?" and you lean down, as if to take him back in your mouth, but he chuckles and pulls you back again.

"It's been... a while. For me. And-" He drags his palm down his face, wearing an almost pained expression. "Christ, you just look too fuckin' good down there, mouth stretched 'round me while you touch yourself. An' it feels too fuckin' good, too. I ain't ready for this to be over yet but if you keep lettin' me fuck your throat like that it's gonna be over real quick. And I wanna feel that pretty pussy myself."

You sit back up and he pulls you towards him so you're straddling him.

"You gonna fuck me, Joel?"

"Yes," he breathes, "Yes, baby, please-"

You do an awkward wobble and then stand up, shedding your pants and letting your panties drop, stepping out of them, one foot and then the other, and the way he's watching you is addictive. He watches you with beautiful eyes, drinking all of you in, and suddenly the moment has changed into one of those quiet, intimate moments where you both exhale a laugh.

You straddle him again, and lean down to kiss him, and the electric current surges up. He grabs you by the jaw, meeting your desperation. His lips on yours are exactly the balm you need and you can taste the whiskey on his breath.

"Feels fucking good," you tell Joel as you slide up and down his length. He's not penetrating you, not yet, but the lips of your pussy are spread and you're gliding along him, feeling his head at your clit and thrusting back till you're nearly seated on his balls.

He watches you, nearly unblinking, drinking it all in. Then, he lets out a groan, and half-sits up, suddenly focused.

"Shit," he closes his eyes in frustration, "I don't have any condoms. Shit shit shit-"

You push him back down and kiss him again. Then, you hop off the bed and sift around in your jean pockets.

"Ah-ha!," you exclaim, once you've found your treasure. Joel raises and eyebrow and you wink. "Saw they were selling them in the lobby. Figured it might be a good idea."

"Shit," Joel laughs, and presses his lips just to the side of your mouth. "Clever girl," he tells you, and a shiver goes up your spine.

He leans to help, but you shoo him away and he watches, entranced, as you neatly open the condom wrapper and, with a small amount of difficulty, roll it down his cock.

"Feeling okay?" You ask him, "Shit, I shoulda gotten the Magnums. Is your dick okay? It's not being choked to death by an inappropriately sized rubber, is it?"

Joel snorts. "We'll manage," he says, and then he grips you by the hips, lines himself up. He draws his knuckles along your cunt and groans, "Fuck, so goddamn wet for me-" and, the moment you look at him and nod, he holds the head of his cock against your drooling lips and presses into you.

It's a big stretch as he lowers you down onto him, the intrusion almost painful, but before you can even take a breath, it melts into absolute pleasure. You've fucked people with longer cocks before, and you've fucked people with girthier cocks before, but never have you fucked someone with a cock that's both this long and thick and it feels like you're being split in two and it's perfect and you realise, with a sudden flip of your stomach, he isn't even fully seated inside you yet.

Then, you manage to focus on the words Joel is saying-that had really just been background noise for the past ten seconds or so-and suddenly you're tuning back in for "Tha's it," his voice low and hoarse, surprisingly gentle, "Good girl, takin' this cock so well, look at you."

His brow is furrowed and he's looking at you with such dark eyes, nearly black, the pupils are so blown. "Just a little more, that's it, just one more inch, you can do it, christ, look at you, takin' all of me."

His tone is reverent and it sets a fire through you. You can feel more slickness build and drip out of you, and from the way he moans, you're certain he can feel it too despite the condom.

"So fuckin' wet," he groans, "Soakin' my cock- grippin' me so nice-Fuck--"

He leans towards you and cradles your head in his hand, kissing you hard.

When you both pull back, you know your lips must be kiss swollen and red. His are--they're soft and bright, and you want to eat him whole.

"You're gonna be the death of me, woman."

He's thrusting into you lazily, holding you in place, but you need more, you need all of him.

You push forward and move his hand from your waist to your clit. As you manoeuvre him, his nostrils flare, and you'd wonder if he was angry, if not for the way you felt his cock stiffen even further inside of you. You start to move your hips, to rub up against the thumb on your clit, and to feel every fucking inch of him.

Urged on by the way he groans, you start to ride him, properly. Holding each other close, you fuck down onto him and he leans back, awed.

"Enjoying the show?" you ask.

"Damn- right- I- am-," Joel breathes, every word punctuated with a shuddering breath after you drive back down onto his cock, "Jesus- you- look- so- good- like- that."

You like being watched. Being admired. It sent an extra thrill through you, and your hips stutter, just a little, and now you're following a new, faster rhythm.

"Fuck, that's it, baby-" he praises, "Shit, yes- bounce on it."

You lean forward and kiss his throat, and then he makes this noise, half-strangled and beautiful.

"Shit, honey-- honey, honey, hold on-," he holds you still and you're glad he has, because your brain hadn't quite processed his words.

He's looking at you so earnestly.

"Baby, if you keep ridin' me like this I am gonna blow my load in the next twenty seconds and I don't wanna end this quite so soon."

You hum, a moment of consideration. You stare into his eyes, and part of it is calculated seduction, but another part is getting genuinely lost in the way he looks at you. The crinkles round his eyes. The way he seems able to focus on you, in a way that feels as frightening as it is exhilarating.

"How about this," You smile, "You get yours, and then you can eat me out till I get mine. And if you're ready to go again by the time I've come, we can see where we're at then. Hmm?"

You see a bead of sweat trickle down his temple, and take a moment to appreciate how much he's clearly trying to control himself.

After a moments of avoiding your eye, he looks at you again and he looks utterly wrecked. "You- talkin' like that?" He shakes his head and tries to even his breath. "Fuck, I nearly came right there."

"It's okay," you soothe, and you cup his jaw and resume you movements, riding him like you had before. "You can come if you need to-" your fingertips stroke the stubble of his chin, "You're close, huh? It's okay, daddy, you can let go."

Joel lets out a strangled noise and busts immediately.

You savor the way it feels, the pulse of his cock as he spills into you. No, into the condom, you correct yourself, but you can always pretend-

After his balls relax and you can feel him start to get soft, you hold the condom down as you pull yourself off, and you're nearly unseated when there's a sudden squelch noise that sends you both into tumbles of laughter.

It takes a while to calm down, and you find yourselves heaving, tangled in the sheets, and wrapped up in each other. The condom is hanging limply on Joel's now-soft cock and it's oddly cold and gooey as you accidentally roll against it, and that sends you both off again.

"Fuck," Joel snorts, and tugs at the condom, starting to roll it off his length, "I'd almost forgotten the weird texture of a used condom. Fuckin'... Slug-like."

"That-" you declare, "Is visceral. And I hate it. Thanks."

He snorts, and you suddenly have a question.

"Condoms not making too many appearances in your life?"

"Not many, no."

"What, you usually fuck raw?"

"Just haven't been sleepin' with anyone," he shrugs, nonplussed.

"Well, I gotta say, the good people of Austin have been missing out."

Joel shrugs again, and it comes off as casual, but you notice the way his ears tint pink. "Just- not been something I did. But now, I guess, I can. And with way less guilt."

"Why guilt? Are-" you venture, dread pooling in your stomach, "Are you married?"

His eyes flit up to you sharply, and then soften immediately. He lets out a breath and shakes his head. "No. Nothin' like that. I was married, but I've been divorced nearly twenty years now."

The tightness immediately uncoils and you realise how tense you were only a moment ago. I am not a cog in the machine of a collapsing marriage. Thank fuck.

But now your curiosity is piqued. "So... why the guilt?"

"Sorry, I- I really didn't mean to get into it. I'd rather not get into it. It's- complicated."

"Of course," you shrug, and it isn't a problem because this is just a hot fantasy hookup that you'll remember fondly, and it'll be wonderful masturbation fuel for probably the rest of your life, but you don't wanna make the poor guy go into his life's trauma, especially when he's looking at you so fucking earnestly and you are actually really fucking fascinated but no, you would not let this become a problem.

"Thanks," he says, and then steps out of the room. You hear the clang of the bin as he steps on the pedal, then drops the condom, takes a piss and washes his hands.

"You hungry?" He asks, and you realize very suddenly, you're absolutely famished.

"Yes," you jump up and he laughs when you run, bare-assed and shameless, over to the corner of the room filled with brochures and traveller info and finally, you raise it in triumph when you find it, the list of nearby takeaways.

"Okay," you look at the list, "There's one place at the top of the list here that's apparently highly rated, but I actually have plans there soon and I wanna wait till then to eat there. Hope that's okay."

Joel comes over to you and rests his head on your shoulder. "No problem."

"But... alright," you continue. "There's pizza. Or... more pizza. Or, look--there's a Southern-style place, that'll make you feel right at home!" Joel pokes you in the side and you swat at him as he grunts a laugh.

Suddenly, a warning sound starts playing on loop in your brain. It was dreadfully domestic, wasn't it? This was an absolute stranger you'd just met in a hotel bar? But... it also felt... nice? And it felt nice in ways that you'd never found yourself enjoying before. Even with long-term partners. Maybe because this was so low-stakes, you reasoned, such an inevitably temporary situation, so you weren't putting the same kind of pressure on yourself.

As soon as you think that, the eternal curse of overthinking shows itself and you suddenly feel desperately self conscious. Before you can pull away and make some excuse, though, Joel's arm wraps around you and his thumb starts rubbing little circles into a tender bit of skin between your hip and your tummy. The anxiety spiral you'd been teetering on the edge of suddenly vanishes.

"How about-," he nods at the list, "Pizza?"

After Joel calls in your order, the pizza delivery service tells you to expect your food in about thirty minutes. You remember you have a little box of edibles. You ask Joel if he minds if you take one, and he doesn't. You offer him one, and he automatically declines, but then as he starts to explain, he pauses and pivots, goes "Wait, actually. Yeah. Why not?"

A freckled kid who looks no more than sixteen pulls up with a short stack of pizza boxes and a two liter bottle of root beer. He raps awkwardly on the door after exactly thirty five minutes, and it swings open.

The room looks utterly wrecked, clothing strewn along every surface. Joel answers the door wearing a robe, his entire face smelling of sex, and his moustache still shining with the slick of your release.

"Thanks, kid," Joel nods, and hands him a small wad of cash. The kid eyes him and shrugs. "Keep the change," he tells him, and the door swings back shut.

The edibles have hit beautifully. You're both blissed out, comfortably hazy, lost in the sensation of bare limbs on bedsheets and the flavors of the pizza and it's assorted sauces. You lay together on the bed, paper plates strewn between you. In the background, an X-Files rerun plays.

"Ooh!" You sit up as you catch the premise of the episode, "I love this one! See the goo? There's a giant fungal... entity.. that's working on digesting them, and giving them hallucinations as they die."

"You and mushrooms, huh?" Joel laughs, but then looks back at the episode and contemplates the viscous yellow goo. "Jesus christ," he frowns, and sniffs, now contemplating the mushrooms on his pizza slice.

You spot his glare and snort. "I think you're safe."

He takes another bite and shakes his head as if to clear it.

"I'm getting tired," he admits.

"Me too," you agree.

"No pressure, but in case it wasn't clear, you're welcome to stay the night here."

"That's sweet," you tell him, and think it over. "If I took you up on that, would you be offended if I slip out early?"

Joel raises a brow.

"I have a cat," you explain, "And I'm working on moving into a new place, and meeting a friend for breakfast, and then I need to check out after breakfast because I won't be able to get my keys for the new place until the breakfast but I can't take my cat to a diner-"

You take a breath.

"Basically, I've got a bunch of things I need to do in the morning, but if you don't mind me slipping out around, maybe, 5-ish, then I'd love to stay."

He stares at you.

You regret saying as much as you said. You don't need to over-explain yourself to this actual stranger. He doesn't care. There's no reason for him to care. He's probably in it just for the fuck, and it was fun and if you stay then there's a chance the two of you will wake up at some point in the night, still horny and lustful and you might fuck again and you'd be lying if you said that wasn't part of the draw. You realise, though, you'd also be lying if you said you didn't care what he thought of you. All of a sudden, you are overwhelmed with caring what this man thinks of you.

How fucking inconvenient.

"I wouldn't be offended at all," Joel chews, swallows, wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin and speaks again. "What's your cat's name?"

You don't know what you'd expected he'd say, but it wasn't that. You buffer for a moment. "It's- Spatula."

"Spatula?"

"Yep." You feel foolish.

"Huh. Spatula."

A silent moment between you.

"Got any pictures?"

You weren't expecting that, either. "I... do? Do you want to see them?" He nods. You pull out your phone to scroll through.

Joel, suddenly scrambled around for his phone, too. It was late and he hadn't checked it for hours. Had it been on silent? What if Sarah had called and he'd missed it?

His panic eased when he saw he had only two notifications. Both from Sarah, but neither were bad. He hadn't been neglecting any crises. The first text was a selfie of Sarah and an unfamiliar person, which she'd texted to him with the caption New roomie!! The second contained an address to the place they'd have breakfast tomorrow along with Just wanted you to know I've invited a friend to join us tomorrow morning! Is that okay? Realized I should maybe have checked with you? 😬

There was an ache in his chest. He wanted to keep her to himself, get to spend one last day, just the two of them. It was the start of a whole new chapter, but more than anything, he wished he could hold onto the moment for just a second longer.

But Sarah was stressed, he knew this, so he wasn't gonna make it worse and put this burden on her. He could handle it. He had to handle it. He typed back- No problem, baby. Can't wait to meet your friend.

After a moment, he followed up with another text. Gonna turn in now. Good nite!

The less he texted right now, the better. He did not want Sarah to know anything about the night he was having.

His screen lit up a moment later. Night Dad! He takes a deep breath and wills some of the tension away.

He slips his phone aside and you scoot into bed next to him.

"This," you announce, "Is Spatula."

Joel scrolls thru, his brows raising higher with each image.

With a single nod, he opens his mouth and instead of speaking, he collapses into laughter. It comes out a wheeze- "I-- I know this won't make any sense, but your cat looks just like my goddamn brother."

You're laughing now too, both of you almost hysterical, even though you have no frame of reference. You cherish the absurdity.

Then, Joel pulls up a picture on his phone and shows you, and now you're doubling over again because his brother looks exactly like Spatula.

You don't remember falling asleep. You curse your body's internal clock because you wake up right at 5am, and even though you know you should get up and leave, you wish you could have just a little bit longer.

It's such a comfortable way to wake up. One arm is folded under your pillow, and the other is slung over Joel's hip. He's asleep, snoring softly, and strands of his hair are mussed along his forehead. Your hand is holding his tummy, but you realise there's something pressing against the heel of your hand, and then realise, with a delicious jolt, that he's hard and straining against his boxers.

It's so fucking hard to get out of that bed, but with enough barely-effective reminders--you're gonna fuck up your whole day if you're late, gotta make a good impression, Spatula's gonna be so disappointed if you're late with his breakfast--you manage to bully yourself out of the warm and wonderful bed containing blankets and absolutely fantastic dick, and you tiptoe through the room, dress quickly, and, after making a note and leaving it on his bedside stand, you slip out.

Joel wakes up with a jolt, and then rolls over to see that the alarm clock (which he dared not contemplate the number of times he must have snoozed) was telling him it was 9:13.

He was late. Really fucking late. And then the panic made his brain spin faster and that's when he noticed the note on his bedside table.

I had a really good time If you're in town for a little longer, don't be a stranger?

It's followed with your name and phone number, and a rather detailed mushroom sketch across the page. He wasn't sure what kind of mushroom it was, but it was beautiful, and clearly hand-drawn, and for whatever reason you'd decided to tear it out of, presumably, your sketchbook? And you gave it to him, and he's gonna read that note and replay last night for the rest of his fucking life. It felt incredibly precious. He placed it in a book so it wouldn't get creased or folded. Made sure it was all contained and neat, totally flat in between the pages.

Then, he dragged himself out of bed and into the shower.

After scrubbing the smell of sex off of his entire body, he dresses quickly and checks his watch again. 9:28.

He texts Sarah and lets her know he's a few minutes behind. She responds with an eye roll emoji.

Joel settles in his truck and pulls up directions. It's only a few minutes away. He won't be too late.

When Joel steps into the diner, he's charmed by it. It's old school, with a checkerboard floor and bright red vinyl seats. He scans the room till he spots Sarah in a booth in the corner. She's laughing over a hot chocolate, and her friend must be in the seat opposite her.

He catches Sarah's eye and she grins at him, waving him over.

You've been at the diner about fifteen minutes, and you and Sarah are already getting along beautifully.

You'd met on a university message board and had become fast friends, but meeting someone in person was always a little terrifying. On top of that, you'd already committed to spending at least one (academic) year with this person, so you were damn sure gonna make it work.

Sarah waves over her dad. You can't see him yet, the back of the booth too high.

But then he's standing right there.

You already have a hand outstretched, but when he sees you and you see him, your stomach flips and dread runs through you. All the color drains from his face. He looks like a deer in headlights, and you'd be surprised if you didn't look the same.

Sarah looks between you, not quite concerned, but definitely confused. Sarah smiles and tries to diffuse the situation.

"Hi dad!" She grins, "This is my new roommate! Well, the other new roommate--the one in the picture, their name is Ellie, they weren't able to make it this morning. BUT. Breakfast seemed like a great time to hand off keys!"

Joel is still frozen and white-faced. Your brain whirs, and you know you've just fucking catapulted yourself into a disastrous mess, but you do your very best to save face.

Reaching your hand out further so he can't possibly miss it, he gives into some familiar social instinct, takes it and you shake. You think of his hands, how they dragged along your body last night, touched you, felt you, wrecked you.

You introduce yourself. He nods, avoiding eye contact.

"Joel." He grunts. "Miller."

Sarah frowns at him, but turns back to the menu.

This- was unexpected. Problematic. Arguably, really fucked up. All of those things and more. But it'll be fine.

All throughout breakfast, you repeat that to yourself, letting the words bounce around your head. It will be fine, you repeat your mantra, it will be fine, and you try not to feel too hurt at the way Joel's avoiding eye contact as if simply looking at you will cause him unimaginable disgust.

Everything will be fine.

Note: The fic's premise is loosely based on the book Mistakes Were Made which is a fucking excellent sapphic romance novel that utilises this trope. Would strongly recommend the book if you're into smutty queer stories.

[artbyblastweave]

Still playing Skyrim. And I’m interested to report that the game is actually better than I remember, on balance. But I’m kind of fascinated by what’s going on with Lydia, mechanically and narratively.

Lydia is the first follower who gets shoved in your face just by virtue of following the main quest. There are others you can pick up earlier, but not without finishing errands (for Faendal and Sven), by forking up a pretty big chunk of change for the early game by hiring Janessa, or by going out of your way in some other manner. If you’re completely new to the game and you’re just powering through the main story as it’s presented, she’s the first option for a follower that the game highlights for you in giant blinking neon lights. And as a quest reward, she’s mechanically kind of a godsend at that point in the story; a doubling of carry capacity, an excellent meat shield and distraction, a way to extract utility from weapons and armor you don’t want to use yourself. More subjectively she provides the impression of a stalwart ally or companion in what can be a very lonely worldspace to exist in. There’s very little reason not to take her with you, and once you have her, the majority of companions being equal, there’s very little reason to get rid of her until she stops level scaling.

Despite the mechanical utility Lydia provides at a crucial point, and the resultant likelyhood that you’ll haul her along for the ride, she’s only a couple steps up from the companion cube. She has no specific, non-fungible impact on the narrative beyond demonstrating Jarl Balgruuf’s favor. Her deferral to you is automatic; if someone is actively paying her a salary to help you defile graves, cut deals with every deity on the continent and invade the afterlife, it sure as hell isn’t you. It isn’t clear what her gig under Balgruuf was before she was assigned to you. She has no personal narrative. She has no personal side quest. One of her biggest inklings of personality is when she expresses vague dissatisfaction with being treated as a pack mule, but then she does it anyway.  She’s party to world-shaking events and political upheavals, but she’s present purely in her capacity as your appendix, so reality simply treats her as your plus-one. 

She’ll block doors you’re trying to get through, and she’ll get mad at you if you push her out of the way. She’ll charge into battle or set off traps while you’re trying to sneak. She’ll microaggress you with stock Nord dialogue while pulverizing your enemies, a plurality of whom are also Nords. She’ll distract bosses long enough to buy you breathing room for a healing spell or a potion. You’ll kill her by accident with an ill-timed area-of-effect spell, roll your eyes, and, ultimately, probably reload your save. Because she might only be a couple steps up from a companion cube, but the whole gag with the companion cube is how ridiculously low the threshold is for the audience to get genuinely attached to something in a video game. A thin character invites apophenia. Behaviors that are purely downstream of dev thoughtlessness will still imply character traits if taken at Watsonian Face Value. In this case, inexplicable undying loyalty, reserved comments on impressive landmarks, and comical stoicism in the face of some of the weirdest events it’s conceptually possible to encounter.  So here’s to weird, underbaked companions in Bethesda Games, and everything we can project onto the void they provide. And Here’s to that related genus of character- units in squad-based tactics or management-sim games with permadeath mechanics who last long enough and accumulate enough equipment, skill points, etc. that they become your Special Little Guy despite otherwise lacking any deliberate character traits.

[love-that-we-were-in]

indelible scars, pivotal marks

pairing: luke castellan x implied apollo!reader

summary: you might be the only person who actually knows luke castellan. you don't think anyone else is willing to try.

a/n: what if i told you i got yelled at a lot after writing this. enjoy! oh this is also my first x reader in the 5 years i've been writing who cheered. have fun !

Luke is fourteen the first time he can remember sleeping through the night. He’s barely been at Camp Half-Blood for three hours, skin still splotched purple and blue, Thalia’s yells echoing in his skull. There’s no silence, a steady hum of nature that’s leveled by the voices of people he doesn’t know, and he knows he shouldn’t sleep. They’ve lost Thalia, left her just beyond the borders of an unknown place, and it’s a risk to welcome the flimsy pillow they gave him. He does it anyway, eyes closing to the sound of Annabeth’s soft breaths. 

The respite lasts one night.

By morning, he’s recounted the last five years more than he ever wanted to. Annabeth clings to him then, a known comfort. She knows the broad strokes of the story, could recount them herself, but there’s gaps from before her time, and there’s things Thalia made him swear not to tell. If she notices, she doesn’t comment, just keeps her fingers close to her side. He knows that’s where she keeps her dagger - he wonders if Chiron can tell as well.

Chiron brings them to Thalia, explains what happened and how lucky it is. Luke looks at the tree, the first time Thalia has stood taller than him since they met - something she always swore she would do one day - and leans back against it as Annabeth sobs into his shoulder. 

Mr D sends Annabeth to the Athena cabin before lunch. Luke doesn’t need to be told to make his way to Cabin 11. He knows who his father is. His backpack is left at the base of a bed in the far corner of the room, a group of boys gathered around the area turning to watch him the second he walks in. They move away but they don’t stop their stares.

Sleep doesn’t come as easily to him that night.

*

You meet Luke Castellan when you’re fifteen, standing on the edge of the lake as a golden sun rises in the horizon. It’s your first morning at camp, your first morning admiring the sunrise in months, and you think you could find a home here. Within the hour, you’re sure the calm won’t be the same – too many kids in the same space, swords and satyrs and strawberries guiding the day along – but for now there’s sunlight. 

“Breakfast isn’t for two more hours,” someone says from behind you. It should be scarier than it is, put you on high alert with the way he creeps into the space without a sound. “Just in case someone forgot to mention that.”

He’s pretty. Strong chin, dark eyes. On most people you’ve met, that’s where pretty ends. Not him. There’s this way he stands in your periphery; comfortable in his worn camp t-shirt, like he was made to live in it, to have it define him for an eternity. Very few people are pretty in a way that speaks of forever.

“I like to watch the sunrise.” 

He hums. “I’m Luke.”

He waits, steps away, until you offer him a seat beside you on the grass. It was something you were told once, an eclectic art teacher draped in shawls and chunky jewelry, how the sun is only as beautiful as it is when shared with another. As Luke sits next to you, you enjoy the quiet you’re positive isn’t built to last.

*

Luke becomes a counselor that summer. Everyone saw it coming, the way he’s known to everyone and not just the Hermes kids. Whispers of a legacy, of a potential legend in the making, followed him already, two years at camp creating grand ideas for his future – counselor status just helps to further them. It’s not that big of a deal normally. It’s potentially defining when you’re the best swordsman in almost three hundred years.

You find him on his way back from the Big House that evening, heading in no particular direction but with a clear idea of where he doesn’t want to be. It’s something you’ve learnt to read in the last few weeks, the way Luke fluctuates. How he dips in and out of personas as if it’s possible to switch them out. It comes with renown, you suppose. 

“Counselor Castellan, is it?” 

He smiles something bitter. “So they tell me.”

Without hesitation, you take hold of his hand. It’s warmer than yours and you feel the difference in your bloodstream. Luke doesn’t look at you, doesn’t comment, and you lead him away from the cabins and down to the lake. 

There’s maybe an hour until sunset. You’re almost attuned to it now, mornings spent watching it with rapt attention. Luke normally joins you, sword dropped between you. Some mornings, the thud of metal onto stone is the only reason you know he’s arrived, still so silent in his arrival that you wonder if it’s on purpose. 

“Does it make you anxious?” You ask when the silence stretches on for too long, when Luke stares unblinkingly at the horizon for longer than he should. He blinks, irises shifting from a glassy bronze and back to muted brown as the film clears. “Did they even ask if it was something you wanted?” 

He scoffs and you wonder if this is where everything changes. Luke always has things he wants to say, balancing on the tip of his tongue until he figures out how to swallow them down and burn them. It’s like you can see it play out in real time, his jaw shifting, arm tensing.

“Mr D told me it was a great honor. Chiron told me it was long overdue.” 

“You weren’t given a chance to say no.”

It’s a pattern you’ve noticed, not just within camp but with all the Gods. Clarisse was sent a spear with no note, but everyone knew who had sent it. Annabeth’s hat was exactly the same. Gifts. All gifts. No receipts or return addresses provided. Life at camp was something to be grateful for, always, considering the alternative most of you had already been forced to live. To comment on it would make you an enemy of those too powerful to consider.

Looking at the tense set of Luke’s shoulders, you kind of want to say it anyway.

“I’m about to have all the glory Camp Half-Blood could offer me,” Luke says and the sun begins to dip below the surface of the lake. His palm is warm in yours again. “Why would I complain?”

*

There’s a flurry of new arrivals no one anticipated the next summer They come in pairs, mostly, with the odd trio. Always one unclaimed within the group. Always one who gets marched to Cabin 11 in the middle of the night, sometimes after hours of questioning.

You know the nights that it’s happened, taking in the way Luke’s movements are less sharp, the way he breathes more shallowly. A conservation of energy. It doesn’t affect you much until it does, the sharp sting of Luke’s sword on your arm as he loses his footing, turns too suddenly at the sound of your footsteps. 

“This is insane,” you say as you press your shirt into the cut. It’s not bad, something that will heal quickly and fade into nothingness, but Luke locks his gaze on the red dotting your skin as if he doesn’t understand how it got there. “They can’t keep waking you up in the middle of the night for this.”

“The only other place they can go is the med bay and none of them have been beaten up badly enough to be worth waking an Apollo kid.”

“I’ve seen some of the kids when they’ve gotten here, Luke,” you mutter, shirt hem dropping as the wound stops bleeding. You glance up at him. “They could do with being patched up.” 

He sinks down to the floor. You stay on your feet. “This is what I signed up for when I took the position.”

There’s this way Luke’s voice gets sometimes, sharp and low and just a little spiteful. A build-up of years with little mercy granted. That’s how it is now, speaking through clenched teeth, completely biting back the vitriol and pretending there’s no heat to his words. 

He’s always been pretty in the sunrise, from the day you met, but you think he might be prettiest right now – lying to himself more than he can lie to you in the moments before there’s any sunlight at all. When you would let darkness spill into itself, Luke forces light to filter in. If you caught him at the darkest hour, you wonder if that would remain.

Taking in the way he digs his nail into the fabric of his pants, you doubt even he would know how to stop himself then. 

*

You aren’t chosen for Luke’s quest. He finds you after the ceremony, face pulled taut and bag thrown over his shoulder already. There’s no regret in his eyes, no determination either. You stand straighter when you hear him approach, grateful that he cared enough not to take you by surprise for once. 

“Don’t be mad at me.” 

“Why would I be mad?” You say. It’s disingenuous to your own ears, the way it pitches, so you fold your arms across your chest. “Chris and Ethan will be great questmates. A band of brothers.”

Luke swallows. “Is that really what you think this is? That I wanted to make my quest a guys trip?”

“I don’t think anything of it, Luke.” 

In the middle of the day, you can see him clearest. See the golden boy of Camp Half-Blood the way everyone else does. In broad daylight, there’s few things more noticeable on Luke Castellan. The slope of his nose, the straightness of his back, the comfortable weight of his sword on his hip – almost a tether to who he proclaims himself to be. It’s your least favorite version of him.

“I would’ve chosen you. In a heartbeat, I would’ve chosen you,” he says, brown eyes shifting from dim to desperate in moments. A plea to be heard. You know you’re the only one to ever truly listen when he speaks.

“Doesn’t really seem that way.”

“I just needed a reason to come back when it’s over.”

It stills the air around you. The words tangle themselves together in your brain, drown out the archers in the distance, the birds overhead. They echo and twist and they maintain their tone, the low pitch Luke uses when he’s decided to say something he doesn’t want to be heard. They bury themselves in the corner with the other times he’s used it, forever ingrained, and you don’t know what to make of them. How to define them at all.

He waits, gaze firm, until you nod slightly. You keep your chin low, determined to give little satisfaction to the situation. To Hermes giving Luke a reused quest, to the possibility of losing him because you aren’t there. It curdles deep in your gut, refusing to remain unknown.

There’s a moment where Luke hesitates, his hand twitching slightly, arm moving minutely higher from where it hangs down by his waist. Instead, his fist clenches and he exhales long and low. 

“Promise to be here when I get back?” 

“I’ll be really annoyed if you’re not the one knocking on my cabin door.”

He turns back to face you after he joins Chris and Ethan at the border. They’re all capable, with a history of working together. They’ll succeed, return to praise and glory and everything they deserve to have. The sun beats down on Luke as he nods goodbye and you wonder if it shines on anyone else at all.

*

The scar becomes a part of him. 

It fades into his skin with time, going from raised and rotten to a streak of pale across his cheek. You overhear some of the Ares kids praising it as symbolic of his win, a prize of sorts, and some of the Aphrodite kids saying it makes him more appealing, makes him look stronger. You’re not sure what you think of it, tracing it with gentle fingers as it heals. 

It becomes a habit, running a knuckle down Luke’s cheek each morning. Feeling where the skin tied itself back together. He never comments. You want to ask if he minds, that you’ll stop if it’s too much. The first few times you did it, in the days right after his return, he had flinched, features pinching together. Your hand had dropped, all too aware of the matted skin, how it probably still ached but Luke had taken your hand and placed it back where it had been. 

His scar becomes a statement, a badge of skill that everyone at camp can recognise. There had been little debate on the truth of his swordsmanship before but now it hardly existed, undeniable proof the first thing people noticed when introduced to him. 

Most people don’t bother to ask Luke about it. Percy Jackson isn’t most people.

“You got attacked by a dragon?” 

It’s the first time in years that anyone has joined you and Luke at the lake this early. Annabeth used to, on the rare occasions the worst of her nightmares returned. It’s different with Percy, like being close to the water rewires him completely. It makes sense days later when you watch him push open the door to the empty Cabin 3.

“Last year,” Luke hums, one hand resting softly in yours and the other keeping a loose grip on the sword handle in his lap. Percy had wanted to see him in action after hearing the stories, so you’d both obliged. “I made a wrong call and I paid for it.”

“At least it looks pretty cool.” 

The way Percy says it is different to everyone else. It’s not ingrained with this odd lust, whether for adventure or the story or Luke himself. It’s more muted, a fact of life. He’s not saying it to make anyone feel better – he’s saying it to disregard. A scar is just a scar to Percy Jackson, as if he’s known too many to care.

“I guess it kind of is,” Luke says and the three of you listen to the morning begin.

[min-gis]

A LESSER MAN. — choi san.

pairing. fighter!san x fembodied!reader

synopsis. there's only so many ways of calming san down, especially when it involves him losing a fight.

genre/warnings. angst, san is pissed and gets borderline violent with woo, injuries, swearing, implied mxm towards the end, smut ! mdni .

word count. 4.3k

HE LOST.

It’s always a bittersweet feeling, to receive the text from Wooyoung. It doesn’t happen often, but on the rare occasion that it does happen— oh, is it bittersweet.

The makeshift bed in the back of the van is far from comfortable, you think. It’s not comfortable at all, you realize with a sigh escaping from your lips. Nothing about the current situation is comfortable, really. 

It’s about to get a whole lot more uncomfortable, though, you bitterly realize.

Because yes, the makeshift bed and the humid air is uncomfortable — it’s horrible, even — it’s still about to get worse. 

Something Wooyoung confirms when his thumb comes down to press send before shoving his cracked phone down the front pocket of his pants. Something Wooyoung confirms when the text comes through on your phone, when Wooyoung confirms what you fear every time San steps foot into the ring.

He lost.

It’s not necessarily the losing. It’s not the fact that he lost that’s the problem, nor is it the loss of money. You don’t care, and while Wooyoung might make it seem like it’s the only thing he’s in for — the money that San brings in every time he wins yet another fight — you know he doesn’t care either.

San, however, does.

Something he makes very clear every time he does, in fact, lose.

Today isn’t going to be any different, you suppose.

‘’You’ll win tomorrow,’’ The back door leading into the building slams open, followed by Wooyoung’s muffled voice. He’s annoyed, you realize. Not that you expected any less.

‘’Fuck off,’’ The voice that follows causes you to squeeze your eyes shut. If Wooyoung is annoyed — you’re not sure just what San is.

Judging by the way he raises his voice and the sound of what you can only make out as a fist colliding with the side of the van, you figure he’s beyond annoyed. He’s enraged, perhaps infuriated, even.

But just like you excepted for Wooyoung to be annoyed — you already knew that this was coming.

Fury. Rage, even.

You don’t have to look at the two men to know just how the current situation is playing out. You already know Wooyoung is running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to calm himself down, in order to calm the other male down. 

It never works, you know that. Wooyoung, too, knows that.

‘’Don’t fucking touch the van,’’ Wooyoung’s voice comes out muffled thanks to the walls of the van shielding you, but the annoyance lingering behind his words doesn’t go unnoticed. ‘’Not the fucking van, take your anger out however you please but not the van, you hear me?’’’

It’s the silence that follows that causes you to reach for the door handle. The cold night air happily greets you as the door slides open, and while you’d like to embrace it for just a while longer — the mixture of anxiety and worry that runs through your body prevents you from doing so.

It’s not until your feet hit the concrete ground and you take a step forward to look around the corner of the van that you realize just how bad it is.

And how bad it’s about to get, too.

You can’t see his face from where you’re standing, not that you need to. His disheveled black hair and ultimately ruined white tank top tells you enough. The dried blood that’s forced its way into the once white fabric, though, tell you that it’s worse than you thought.

And if it wasn’t because of the dried blood, it’s the way his fist grab onto the shorter males shirt that tells you just how bad it actually is.

‘’Who paid for that fucking van, huh?’’ San spits as he presses his forehead against his friends. Wooyoung doesn’t respond, instead, he just stares at the man standing a mere inch away from him.

He’s used to it, you think. While it’s horrible, it’s also good, you realize. It’s good that he doesn’t respond, because neither of you knows just what might happen if he would’ve. None of you wish to find out, either. ‘’That’s right,’’ San hisses at the lack of response, ‘’Fucking I did. My fucking blood and sweat paid for that van, so don’t think you have any right to tell me what the fuck to do.’’

Only then do you realize just how bad it truly is.

‘’San.’’

You’re not sure if you managed to conceal the shakiness lingering behind your voice, you hope you did. You truly hope you did. Wooyoung’s eyes flicker over to you, and even though not a single word leaves his lips — you know what he’s trying to convey.

Thank you, and get him off of me before I make it worse.

The silence that follows is almost deafening. You just watch as your boyfriend's back heave up and down, a result of the fight that had just taken place and the adrenaline still running through his body. You’re about to part your lips and call out to him again, until his previously clenched fist relaxes.

You watch as Wooyoung stumbles backward, a result of San using his palm to push him away. A low wince leaves his lips as his back collides with the building, and for a split moment you wonder if you should check up on him.

You don’t. You want to, but the way he looks over at you through hooded eyes tells you not to. It’ll make things worse.

Standing up straight, Wooyoung runs his fingers through his hair before a low hiss leaves his lips. ‘’Get your shit together,’’ He hisses as his eyes land on the man standing in front of him. ‘’Do whatever the fuck you have to do, just get your fucking shit together and then we’ll talk.’’

The air feels heavy as he slips back into the building, sending one last stare your way before slamming the door shut behind him. 

Please sort this out.

Suffocating, almost. It feels suffocating, standing in the quietness of the night. Not a single noise besides the sound of people yelling further down the street and San’s heavy breathing, and it feels suffocating. 

Fuck.

While you already knew what was coming the second the ping of your phone informed you that he had lost, there is only so much you can do. There’s only so many ways of preparing yourself, because frankly, you have no idea how it’ll play out.

It’s different every time, how it plays out. It’s always the same — the anger, the raised voices — it’s always the same. But beyond that, you have no idea just how it’ll play out.

And while violence isn’t uncommon, it always takes you by surprise. And the lingering fear never changes, either. Not that you expected it to. Nor do San, you think. He knows, and he hates it just as much as you do.

Perhaps even more.

You watch as his gaze meets the ground, and you don’t need to see him to know that he has his eyes closed. The way he clenches his fists tells you that he’s trying to calm himself down. You know it’s not going to work. So does San.

‘’San,’’ 

It’s not as stern as your first attempt. It’s softer, still stern, but far from angry. You want him to look at you, to let you see him. He doesn’t allow you to.

His gaze remains on the ground underneath him as a small sigh leaves your lips. His gaze remains on the ground even when he hears you walking towards him — even when he feels your hand graze his back — he refuses to turn around to look at you.

Your fingers trail over the spots of dried blood, taking in the small cuts left on his exposed shoulders. You go to touch them, only to earn a low whine from the male and his body jerking in response.

It’s not until your hands gently grab onto his shoulders and slowly turn him around that he allows you to look at him.

And as soon as your eyes land on his face, you understand his anger. And as the realization of what had actually gone down slowly begins to settle in, you realize just why he refuses to look at you.

Dried blood decorates the corner of his lips, accompanied by a fresh cut to his cheekbone. He looks horrible, you realize. 

It’s more than just losing a fight to him, it’s about his dignity, as well. His feeling of feeling worthy. Of feeling needed, of feeling wanted. Something winning gives to him. Something losing rips away from him.

‘’Oh, San,’’ You breathe as your hand comes up to cup his jaw, tilting his head to the side to get a proper look at his face. His gaze remains on the ground, refusing to meet your own. ‘’What did they do to you?’’

Your thumb comes up to gently graze his cheekbone, feeling him clench his jaw under your touch. ‘’It’s nothing,’’ He mumbles, so low that you almost don’t hear him. ‘’I’ll win tomorrow.’’

His words cause an ache to spread across your chest. You don’t care if he wins. You couldn’t care less whether or not he walks out of that building with thousands and yet another victory, you care about him.

And this — his eyes low and his voice hoarse — causes your heart to break.

Your thumb runs down the side of his face before pressing it against his chin. ‘’Look at me.’’ You command, tilting his face upwards. You just stare at him as you wait for his eyes to meet yours, and when they eventually do, you feel your heart crumble even further.

Sad, sorry eyes meet your own and you think you might start crying right there and then.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for not winning, I’m sorry for lashing out.

You don’t care. You don’t care about any of it.

‘’Come here.’’ 

It’s all you have to say. It’s all you have to say for his arms to come up and wrap themselves around your figure, pulling you closer to him. You let your arms fall down onto his shoulders, your fingers quick to slip into his hair. 

He dives into the crook of your neck, his nose brushing against your skin as he does. You can feel his heavy breath fanning across your skin as you gently massage his scalp, his chest expanding into your own with every shaky breath.

There’s nothing you could ever do to stop your boyfriend from fighting. He treasures it, he loves it — he thrives off of it. There’s nothing you could possibly do or say that would ever stop him from doing what he loves, it comes in a package, he once claimed. Him and fighting, you sign up for both when you get him.

You don’t want to, either. You don’t wish for him to stop. Despite how scary and messy it gets, you don’t wish to stop him.

So when it does get messy, the least you can do is comfort him. Make it less scary, even if it’s just for a moment.

‘’It’s okay,’’ Your words come out mumbled, but comforting, nonetheless. ‘’You’re okay.’’

San just breathes against your skin in response. You’re not saying it for him to respond. You’re saying it to comfort him. To soothe the anger still lingering.

‘’I was so close,’’ You barely hear the words as they slip past his lips. They’re mumbled, and you’re not sure if he’s saying it for you to hear or if he’s saying it for himself to hear. To make a point. A statement even. ‘’I was so, so close.’’

You just hum in response. You’re not sure if he wishes for you to respond, yet you do. You hum as your fingers gently thread through his hair, pressing a chaste kiss onto the side of his face. Chaste, but comforting. ‘’I know you were.’’ 

You don’t know. You don’t know just how close he was to actually winning, but you tell him you do. That you do know. Because despite not being there to witness it, you still know. His anger proves to you just how close he actually was.

And how much he despises himself for not winning.

The feeling of his lips leaving a wet kiss onto your skin takes you by surprise. Your fingers massaging his scalp come to an abrupt stop as he does, his warm lips pressing against your cold skin sending shivers down your spine. 

‘’I’m sorry,’’ He mumbles as he presses another kiss onto your skin. ‘’I’m sorry for scaring you,’’ Another one, ‘’I’m sorry for not winning,’’ Another one, this time his hands placed on the small of your back pushing you firm against his body, ‘’I’m sorry for being such an ass,’’

The feeling of his teeth slightly sinking into your skin causes a gasp to leave your lips. Your hands slip out of his hair, your fingers grabbing onto his shoulders in an attempt to stabilize yourself. It doesn’t work, at least not when you feel his tongue running over the spot where he had just sunk his teeth into.

You already know where this is heading.

‘’San,’’ You breathe. His name trailing off your lips causes him to look up at you — only after leaving one last kiss on the skin of your neck — allowing your gaze to meet his.

One of his hands comes up your side, gently squeezing it before grabbing onto the side of your neck. He tilts his head, eyes low as he looks down at you. ‘’Let me show you how sorry I am?’’

You’ll always be there to comfort him. Each and every time, you’ll be there — waiting to console him.

So you nod. And as soon as you do, his lips crash against your own — hungrily, urgently, even. Like he might crumble if he doesn’t get to kiss you right now, right here. You feel the same way as his hand comes up from its previous position at the side of your neck, cupping your jaw as his rough fingers slip into your hair in an attempt to pull you even closer to him.

It’s rough, the way his tongue slips into your mouth and muffles the moan that almost leaves the back of your throat. The taste of the dried blood in the corner of his lips coats your tongue, a taste so disgusting yet so pleasing.

It’s not about how sorry he is. You know it isn’t. The urgency behind his movements and the slight metallic taste lingering on his tongue tells that it’s not about how sorry he is, not at all, really.

It’s about him, him and his disappointment in himself. It’s about him needing a distraction. Solace, even. Something that’ll allow him to escape the burning in his chest — and you — you might be the best distraction of them all.

You’ll always be there to comfort him. And with one of his hands running down your back, nails digging through the fabric of your shirt — you realize that this time is no different.

Rough hands grab onto your waist as they force you back down, and you realize the makeshift bed is just as uncomfortable as it always is.

The flooring is rough on your knees, despite the blanket you had previously laid out to prevent it from being too rough. The thin fabric doesn’t do much, though. You didn’t expect it to, either.

And while the flooring might be bruising your knees with every bounce, it’s far from being as rough as he is, you think.

‘’San,’’ His name barely slips past your lips, your voice giving out halfway through as he snaps his hips forward. His hands force you back down onto his length, meeting his thrust halfway. The harsh snap of his hips makes it hard to speak — and you think he might want it that way.

The leather of his pants sticks to the back of your thighs with every bounce, leaving such a foul and filthy sound to echo through the closed space. The sound of leather sticking to sweaty skin, leather pants pulled down his thighs just enough to allow his member to spring free.

Rough, raw and filthy.

One of his hands comes up to grab the back of your neck, fingernails threatening to dig into the skin of your neck. A grunt rumbles through his chest, a guttural one — an angry one — laced with undeniable lust. ‘’Look at me.’’

It’s a command. A command he follows up by allowing his nails to sink into the skin of your neck, forcing your head back. A command you follow, your half-lidded eyes meeting his own. His clenched jaw and droopy eyes are enough to pull a whine out of you, a whine he then forcefully pulls out of you as he slams your lower body back down.

His grip tightens as the whine trails off your lips, ‘’Such a good girl, just for me, right?’’ His voice is still laced with both anger and lust as he asks, only this time you hear the slight fear lingering in his words, too.

‘’Fuck,’’ He doesn’t give you a chance to respond as he continues slamming his hips into you from underneath, ‘’Don’t even fucking deserve you, do I?’’

Fear that he’s not good enough for you.

Fear that you’re just as disappointed in him as he is in himself.

His fingers slip into your hair, allowing his fingers to intertwine themselves into the strands before forcefully tugging your head backward. The action pulls yet another whine out of you, a painful one. A pain he soothes by diving forward and running his tongue across your now exposed throat, his dry lips leaving a wet kiss behind. 

You wish to tell him that you’re not disappointed in him. That the anger he feels deep within isn’t something you reciprocate, that his actions and his losses don’t define who he is.

He doesn’t wish to hear it, though. So you don’t. You don’t lean forward and embrace him, you don’t whisper in his ear about how you love him and how he can’t allow times like this to consume him.

Instead, you force yourself down his length for the nth time — pulling yet another grunt out of him.

He wants you to console him, so you do. You console him in the only way he’ll allow you to.

‘’I hope every single person in that building can hear you,’’ He grunts against your skin, teeth nibbling on your skin, ‘’Let them hear how good I’m fucking you, show them just how fucking good I am,’’

They know, you think. They already know, and if it wasn’t because of the way he had fingered you against the cold metal of the van a few moments prior — the way your movements now slightly rocked the van most definitely told them.

‘’Tell them, baby, show them.’’

The hand that had just been grabbing onto your hip quickly shifts position, sneaking down to place three fingers against your clit. The action causes you to jolt against him, his fingers pushing firmly against you as you do. ‘’Fuck,’’ You whine, desperately rocking your hips against his fingers — something that causes a hum in approval to leave his chest.

He needs more than that, though, you realize. He wants more than that.

Something he tells you by tugging even harder at your hair, forcing your head back even further as his fingers begin to rub quick, harsh circles over your clit. ‘’I said fucking tell them,’’ He hisses against your skin.

‘’San,’’ You whimper, far from what he wants, yet it seems to somewhat satisfy him as he grunts against your skin. It’s all you have left to offer him, your voice hoarse and throat slightly aching from the current position. ‘’Want you to come,’’ He hisses against your throat, almost commanding you, in a way.

A command you desperately nod at in response. A command you’re more than happy to follow.

‘’Want to hear you, too,’’ He continues, his fingers never stopping and neither does the thrusts, ‘’Want everyone to hear as you make a mess all over my cock,’’

You don’t need to be told twice. A broken moan spills past your lips as you sink your fingers into his shoulders, your hips stilling as your orgasm washes over you. While your movements stilled, his doesn’t — his fingers still desperately rubbing circles over your clit and his cock buried deep within you.

‘’Good girl,’’ He praises, ‘’Fuck, don’t deserve to feel you like this,’’

You’re too far gone to even hear his mindless rambling, too busy coming down from your orgasm to even focus on what he’s saying. You know it doesn’t matter, it’s just mindless rambling, after all.

Things he doesn’t mean.

His hand slips out of your hair, pulling you firmly against his chest as he allows you to rest your forehead against his shoulder. Broken moans and whines spill past your lips as he chases his own orgasm, riding out your orgasm at the same time. 

You know by the desperate grunts leaving his lips and the sloppy thrusts that he’s close, so you bring your hands up to gently cup his face.

‘’Fill me up,’’ You breathe into his ear, ‘’You deserve it.’’

Three words. Three words is all it takes for a groan to rip through his chest and for his hips to snap forward one last time, cock buried deep within you — so deep that it slightly hurts — before he spills into you.

A pleased hum leaves your lips as he slightly trembles in your touch, his cock twitching as white ropes of cum paint your walls. Your thumb comes down to gently stroke his cheek, the skin sticky from the sweat and the humid air — lips pressing a soft kiss onto the same sticky skin.

One last breathy groan leaves his lips before he relaxes underneath you, hands that had just been gripping onto your hips falling down his side. 

You stay like that for a while. Chests pressed against one another, your thumb gently stroking his cheek as your face remains buried in the crook of his neck. He doesn’t pull out — you don’t want him to — and neither does he.

He wishes to stay buried within you forever. Until he psychically can’t anymore.

‘’I’m sorry.’’

He’s the first one to speak up. His voice is hoarse as the words slip past his lips, hands coming up to wrap around your waist. It’s loose, the way he holds you — but still comforting, nonetheless. 

You just shake your head in response.

He has nothing to be sorry about, you think. ‘’Don’t.’’ You seal your words with a soft kiss on his throat, a kiss that tells him to stop.

‘’I’ll win tomorrow, I promise.’’

His words cause you to pull away, your hands still placed on either side of his face. The look you’re met with as your eyes land on his face slightly tugs on your heartstrings, his eyes low and a cheap smile plastered on his lips.

Like he’s trying to convince you. That’ll he win tomorrow, that he won’t disappoint you again.

Like he disappointed you in the first place.

‘’You know I don’t care.’’

He hums in response, ‘’I know,’’ He almost whispers.

‘’But I do.’’

You know he does. You know he cares, you know it matters to him. Whether or not he wins, it’s not important to you — he is.

He’s important to you.

You, too, hum in response as your thumb comes up to soothe the red, irritated skin by his eyebrow. ‘’I know you do,’’ You mumble, carefully running your thumb through his eyebrow. ‘’And I also know you’ll win tomorrow.’’

Your words tugs the corners of his lips into a smile. A genuine one, nothing like the cheap one that had just decorated his bruised lips. 

You don’t know. You don’t know if he’ll win tomorrow, you never know, really. You never know how it’ll end, and you guess that’s the charm of it all. 

Whether or not he’ll fuck you in the back of the van and allow you to praise him for winning yet another fight, or if he’ll walk out of the building with the same anger he had worn today lingering behind his features — it’s all a part of the job, you suppose.

Of never knowing just how it might end.

‘’You think Woo is still mad?’’

The sudden question causes a chuckle to leave the back of your throat. You tilt your head before pressing a small, chaste kiss onto the corner of his lips. ‘’Yeah,’’ You smile as you pull away, a smile he mirrors, ‘’He most definitely is.’’

A sigh leaves his lips, but the playful smile remains. ‘’You think he’ll forgive me if I let him ride me?’’ His words draw yet another chuckle out of you, one he muffles by pulling you back onto his chest.

‘’I doubt it.’’

With a hum leaving his throat, he leaves it at that.

Wooyoung will have to wait, you realize as one of his hands comes up to gently stroke your hair. It’s sticky and sweaty against his chest. You don’t care. Your knees still hurt from rubbing against the hard flooring for a little too long and he’s still buried deep within you, yet you still don’t care.

You stay like that. Silent, his once rough — now turned soft that the anger has slowly faded away —hand stroking your hair. It’s peaceful, you think. You know San feels the same way.

Just like he knows that whether or not he wins the next fight, you’ll be there to either celebrate or comfort him — you always are, and you always will be.

[tsukimefuku]

unwell ❖ nanami kento

summary: you had a terrible day, but at least, you’ve got a helping hand.

cw: soft nanami x reader, implied past higuruma x reader, reader is having a mental breakdown but in a kind of funny way, hurt and comfort, a lot of fluff, i want this man to pat my hair dry as i have a meltdown and drink wine straight from a bottle.

wc: 1.1k

notes etc.: the inspo song is in the title, unwell (matchbox twenty). i will reuse this scene in another fic with another turn of events.

❖ collection of stories: "jujutsu partners au" → masterlist

❖ hold me in your clarity ❖

As Nanami closed the door while entering your apartment holding groceries, he heard the water in the bathroom being turned on. Figuring you must be taking a shower, he calmly went in the to leave the bags over the counter and began to make his way into the bedroom to see if you had left plates or anything of the sort. However, upon walking by the bathroom, Nanami realized the door was open, stepping back immediately.

You didn't fail to notice that out of your peripheral vision.

"It's okay, I'm fully clothed," you yelled through the thundering water, while you held your second bottle of wine of the night a little outside from the water's range.

"... What?"

You sighed.

"You can come in, Kento."

He stepped inside the bathroom to witness a rather… unexpected scene. You still had the usual clothes you wore for missions on, and was barefoot inside the shower, while holding a bottle of wine. 

"Did you know the first time I encountered Hiromi, he was fully clothed inside a bathtub?" you asked Nanami, while still looking straight ahead to the wall in front of you.

He seemed slightly worried under his collected expression.

"I didn't."

"Yeah…" you ensued, taking a gulp of wine, "he had a suit on. I mean, it seemed fun, but maybe it just looked that way because he was in a bathtub. Taking a shower with your clothes on is just… sad."

He knew you enough to realize something must've happened for you to be in that state, but wondered if this would be the best moment to probe at it. 

You gave him no options, though.

"Three people died on my mission today. And another yesterday. I… I just need one win, you know? To have at least one single thing in my life that isn’t buried in deep shit."

You were clearly in the middle of an astrological hell, getting thrown around like a penny inside a washing machine. Every little damn thing in your life was going wrong ever since Higuruma left Tokyo, and you were doing your best to keep your sanity as intact as it could be.

Even if it meant trying weird shit like this.

"I see," Nanami replied, not having much to say beyond that. He knew the hardships that came with this life, and thought that maybe having a little mental breakdown taking a shower fully clothed was one of the most harmless things you could do right now.

However, it was also cold, and you would for a fact catch a cold if you kept going.

He walked towards the shower, and you wondered what exactly he was about to do. Opening it, he turned off the water, while pulling the towel from its support.

"Hey!" you protested.

"Come, you need to dry yourself," he noted, offering a hand to help you out.

With a pout, you walked outside and sat on the sink, still mindlessly holding onto your bottle.

He enveloped you in the towel he had pulled, and grabbed another nearby to pat your hair as dry as possible.

"You should avoid leaving the bathroom right now, you're drenched," he said, no chide intended.

You scoffed.

"Yeah, perhaps."

"I can get some clothes for you to change, if you'd like."

Reluctantly, you nodded.

"Later."

He acquiesced, and kept patting your hair dry.

"Nanami, how do you not go crazy with this fucking job? How are you so stable?" you inquired, taking another gulp of wine and looking at him, "I need some encouragement words."

He pondered for a moment before sighing.

"I don't have any. It's a hard and most times unrewarding work that needs to be done."

You grunted.

"Guess you're right. We just hold the string of sanity for dear life and hope it doesn't snap, right?"

He nodded softly.

"You could say that."

"What a nightmare," you replied, taking another sip, "I want to talk about something else, this is depressing me even further, let's chat."

Nanami sighed, yet again, now chiding, "you should get dry, eat something and rest."

"Oh, we can talk about anything, come on!" you encouraged, half in jest, "I'm a bottle and a half in, won't remember a thing tomorrow."

"That's even more of a reason for you to sleep. I'll leave some food for you in your fridge."

You were both silent for a little while until you began speaking again.

"Do you know what this is remembering me of? You patting my head down with a towel? That night."

"What night?" he asked.

"Our night, Kento. The one you so tenderly referred to as 'the events of' on the note you left me before leaving the next morning for a mission." 

You said tenderly in the mockiest voice he'd ever heard.

"... Oh."

Nanami's body had noticeably stiffened up, and you could swear he was slightly blushing.

"Yeah, not one of your greatest moments. I mean, the note. Not the night. The night was great. Amazing, really."

Nanami cleared his throat, feeling deeply embarrassed, to say the least.

"I apologize."

"No worries, I forgave you, remember?" you replied, chuckling softly. 'The events of last night', Jesus… "So… You already told me why you pushed me away, but did we have a shot at it?"

And he had told you how he was frightened of the losses the both of you could endure if you had in fact entered a relationship, how it reminded him of his past losses, past failures and the whole story.

But you never got to discuss the what if.

Nanami had a bated breath faltering as he opened his mouth to speak, and seemed to actually think out his answer carefully, before finally speaking up again.

"I believe so."

A deep sigh got pulled from your lungs as you put your wine bottle away.

"Yeah… me too. I loved you," you mumbled, defeated. The next part came inaudibly, and you weren't sure if you were actually saying it or thinking it.

Still do.

His hands seemed to stop patting you dry for the briefest moment before he continued to do so, completely silent. You were unsure if this had been your imagination, and if he had heard that or not.

A few moments later, he put the small towel on the sink by your side and stepped behind.

"I'll get you some clean clothes for you to change into."

"Okay," you mumbled.

As he was about to step out of the bathroom, you called out, "hey, Kento…"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

He smiled and bowed his head towards you, saying, "you're welcome," finally walking out of the bathroom.

Did I say it out loud? 

[ataraxiaspainting]

Yan Phantom Troupe + Hisoka + Illumi / Darling Asking “What Am I To You?”.

Warnings: Yandere themes, stalking, kidnapping, implied violence, not SFW implications for Hisoka because he’s a creep (and a mention of M*lluki in Illumi’s section I’m sorry for your loss) and also for Nobunaga because he’s bleh, Nobunaga threatens to take out your teeth for biting him it's up to you whether or not to believe him, and manipulation.

Word Count: 4.5k. (literally how lmao)

*~*~*~*

Chrollo

“Hm…” The sound goes on for much longer than what you would have liked or at the very most could handle without sneering, the crescendo in his voice rising and rising like tulips sprouting from soil. “Hm…”

His tone was barely a whisper at first, but it soon evolved like some hideous, god-forsaken species outcasted to a deserted island or planet. If you did not have your forks and knives taken away for trying to pick and cut off the cuff and chain attached to your ankle, a consequence from last week’s horribly executed escape attempt, you would threaten to stab your eardrums if he didn’t actually answer your question. But part of you thinks that he would only find it funny, and simply hum for twice as long as he has already planned to. Or would he be petty about it, and a second cuff and chain will appear on your ankle along with having your only friend, a silver spoon, taken away? With Chrollo, you do not think you will ever be able to fully tell.

“Please answer me,” You decide on responding with a musical note of your own, a drone. It seems to be the safest option, all things considered. You stare at the soup in front of you instead of at him, playing with the idea of counting the precisely cut vegetables and small rings of pasta. You would have entertained the thought of throwing the boiling bowl at him, but you now know that his speed is beyond what you could ever hope to achieve. 

You would never get that far, would you?

You would have to wait until he is gone for the time being to even be able to step on the welcome rug by the door. You managed to convince him to finally buy you hairpins yesterday, and they are safely tucked away in the corner of the table next to your side of the bed, hidden underneath a pile of neatly folded silk pajamas until further notice. 

“Well, what do you think you are to me?” He asks, brushing his foot against yours underneath the dining table. It takes everything in you not to move your chair away. That would only make things worse, wouldn’t it? Or would this just further make him see you as an adorable little thing because he knows you would not get that far, not with the cuff and chain on your ankle and the several locks on the door and him here right in front of you? 

Again, you cannot tell. When can you ever? Could anyone ever read him, you wonder?

His porcelain dish is already empty, with but a few drops of red broth and a few herbs swirling about. He moves his chair forward and gently grabs your hand, his thumb massaging circles into your palm. You don’t know whether or not to answer his question.

This life is like a torturous game of chess, and you aren’t a player at all. It is up to Chrollo to decide whether or not you are worthy of being a pawn or queen or king, and where you go.

Is this all you will ever be?

His fingers rise to your cheek as he stands up, the touch so light it is hard to decipher the intentions of it. Comfort? Ownership? A statement?

Without thinking, you shut your eyes and lean into it. You coo. You coo like a dove, a baby bird, something so small and fragile in the face of a predator that wants nothing more than to take off its wings so it can never fly away. Perhaps the predator in question is the parent of the chick, never wanting it to leave the nest and explore the big, scary world.

Is this all you ever will be? A helpless, silly little thing stuck way up high with no way down, something cute and small that needs to be protected and cared for because they cannot take care of themselves? 

You finally look up at him and he leans in then. He coos back at you, and you want to go back to closing your eyes and trying to stop hearing whatever he will say as a response to your refusal to answer. But you can’t.

So, you think of an answer, something that would make him happy but also not have you speak too long because you don’t want to speak at all. You just want this to be over with, you just want Chrollo to for once respond to your question instead of rebutting with one of his own.

You don’t have a choice, as always.

“Something to possess,” Your voice is soft and hoarse because you never use it aside from when you cry. “Something… someone to keep for your pleasure and your pleasure alone.” He coos again. It is sweet and sticky and latching onto you like thick honey or candy. 

“You’re halfway there.” There is an unspoken praise in the air, one so nectarous it’s suffocating and you almost can't breathe. It is like Chrollo’s hands are on your throat, squeezing and squeezing until you pop like a balloon. There is no escape.

He turns and gets his fingers off your face, but the feeling of freedom is quickly taken away by the sound of Chrollo’s footsteps approaching you. 

“I suppose I see you as both above and below me at the same time.” He says. You want to run but he’ll catch you in no time before you could even execute the idea.

He is behind you now, grabbing your arms and tugging as your chair squeals and squeaks like a lamb cornered by one who will soon sell its tender meat. You want to scream like one because you too are cornered by someone who will never let you out of here alive.

One of his hands smoothly moves up like you are a violin, lightly pinching your chin and forcing you to look up at him. You just hope there is no encore after this. You hope that in the future there are no such things and that he will just answer your questions and be done with it, but that is so foolish of you, isn’t it?

“You are human and have humanity,” He murmurs, his eyes wider and more intense than you ever had seen them before. “And I would love nothing more than to steal that away.”

Nobunaga

“You’re so silly, you know that?” You recognize the rhetorical nature of the question and choose not to answer. This causes Nobunaga to toy with the thigh-high socks he insisted you wear after returning from another day of thievery.

Every time you tried to express yourself verbally, you were met with a laugh, a gentle touch, an embrace, a peck, or... something far more dreadful than any of those gestures. You preferred to steer clear of that type of affectionate act for as long as you could, even if it meant just a few days. It would be a noteworthy achievement. Of course, Nobunaga's libido would never wane, as he shows no mercy unintentionally to you and intentionally to anyone else in his life.

The way your food is placed on pink plastic plates with little sections of where to put vegetables and where to put a small dessert for a job well done of eating all the food, which is always raw or burnt to a crisp. The pastel frilly clothes you’re forced to wear always show too much skin. The threat to remove most of your teeth if you bite him again. The way he keeps touching your thighs, pinching and groaning and-

Nobunaga never answers your question, resuming to hand-feed you some severely undercooked cookies he baked himself. Well, you scooped the dough at least, and that’s the most you’ll ever do in the kitchen while you are held captive.

Still, raw cookie dough is better than burnt in your opinion.

Just like delusional Nobunaga is much, much better than angry, heartbroken Nobunaga.

Your broken pointer and middle fingers are proof of that.

Feitan

“...”

He blinks; once, twice, thrice… and then you stop counting. It’s pointless anyhow, he is most likely not going to answer your question yet again.

As anticipated, Feitan walks away wordlessly, descending to his basement without a single step on the stairs being audible.

Just as you believe he has vanished, he creeps up from behind, clutching an object in his palms, causing you to nearly shriek. He would find amusement in that if you did. Whenever you engage in any action he deems foolish, he chuckles. It is the closest semblance of happiness you have witnessed from him, his snickering. 

“...Here.”

With trembling hands, you accept the concealed object from his grasp.

“...Well?” Feitan asks, raising his eyebrow, his coat hiding what is most likely a smirk of some kind. “Like it?”

Huh? It's... a ring, from a fancy jewelry shop that you had been setting aside money for. This shop happened to be the priciest in the city you grew up in, with all of its items being highly sought after.

“I do.”

Happiness is like the rarest star in the universe to you now, and you will never let it go, now that you have it once again.

“...Glad.”

After a few moments of silence, Feitan is the one who speaks again as you stare at the jewel’s beauty.

“Do you want the finger that came with it?”

(machi, hisoka, phinks, shalnark, franklin, shizuku, pakunoda, bonolenov, uvogin, kortopi, and illumi under cut!)

Machi

Somehow, Machi’s posture becomes even more tense. But it does not stop her from still pouring the pot of instant ramen into your plate, though hers remains empty.

In silence, she puts some edamame, still cold from the fridge, on top, along with some spinach and carrots.

With her bare hand, she pulls out one of the soft-boiled eggs from the bowl of ice water, rolling it on the table until its shell cracks and she takes it off. She then, along with the egg and vegetables, puts some seaweed on top.

When you lean in closer to the utensil drawer, Machi opens it before you can.

She doesn’t ask you which chopsticks you want. She already knows your favorite one by now. The wooden ones with purple handles with white rabbits on them. Hers are plain.

She puts yours in one hand and your food in the other, walking to the kitchen table and putting both down. It’s winter now, and so she makes you drink tea nonstop and thus has a cup of it in front of your chair too.

“…Do you think I hate you?” Her voice, while still cold, has an emotion in it this time; worry. “I don’t, I really don’t. I promise you.” With that, she cracks the other boiled egg and puts it into her empty bowl. “I promise.”

You feel horrible for asking. You just wanted to know. You never know what she is thinking, that is why. But you feel horrible. Now she does too. Both of you, here, in silence, pondering whether or not the other despises you.

“I know, I just… wanted to make sure.” You don’t know if you are lying, and neither does she.

She takes good care of you. But she also ties you up when she has to leave, and one time she had to take out the syringes when you got too aggressive.

So what exactly are you to her?

Hisoka

Hisoka, still standing over your sitting form, puts his right hand on you, squeezing it just barely enough for it to sting.

“Aw, come on [First], lighten up.” If it were possible, with his words Hisoka grows twice as large as he was before he said anything. “I still have lots to teach you.” He chuckles as his long nails, sharp enough to be daggers or a ferocious beast’s teeth you think, dig further into your shoulder. The message is clear. You’ll never be rid of him, as much as you try to.

Even now, when you move to a secluded village on the other side of the country, for just the slightest chance he would leave you alone.

Your basket of berries and herbs is still next to you, a reward for all the foraging you did just before Hisoka showed up again.

“I did your leaf-in-water test already for you.” Just before you ran for the hills, you finally gave into Hisoka essentially begging you to test what kind of Nen user you are, claiming that you were now his pupil. “The water tasted sweet. I’m a Transmuter. That’s what you wanted to know. There is nothing else you can do for me, you know I am no fighter.”

Hisoka nods, and you think that this is it. Maybe he will finally leave you alone and you can go about your life without knowing anything else about Nen. But instead, Hisoka sits next to you on the grass.

He takes a berry from your basket and squeezes it between his fingers before it turns into a sticky mush.

It’s red.

“I know, but there are other things I can indeed teach you, can’t I?”

You don’t want to know what he means, you don’t want to know what he wants to do to you, but before you can stop him he is already on top of you, pushing you behind the bush you were picking rose petals from. You kick and scream at him to let go and cry, but he, as always, is so much stronger than you’ll ever be. 

“This will hurt for a bit, but I promise you’ll feel very good, and you’ll want more.”

Phinks

Phinks stops pressing the buttons on the remote and stops reading the little synopsis on each of the shows he was thinking about watching with you, or each of the movies. You were not paying attention, instead looking at your fingers and playing with the dry skin by each nail.

He sets it aside, placing a hand on the back of his head and gently scratching. His gaze falls to the floor, and you follow suit.

He exudes nervousness. This comes as no surprise, as Phinks has always been one to shy away from openly displaying his romantic desires, as odd as it were to you when you were first brought here.

“Uh. Why do you ask? Isn’t… it kinda obvious? Um… you know I’m not exactly cut out for all this sappy bullshit… I… I… Um. Just… just forget it, okay? Just know that I see you as my partner… Wait, oh God, that sounds so bad…”

He keeps stuttering as he tries to explain everything. But, as funny as it would have been if you had known him outside of being your stalker and now current captor, his words only make you feel more hopeless.

Shalnark

He puts down his phone and stands up from his armchair. You’re in your pajamas, the fluffy pastel pink ones, standing in the doorway to Shalnark’s office area, where there are many computers and such on the walls and his large desk.

“Aw!” He murmurs, then gently pinches your cheeks upon approaching. He playfully rubs his nose against yours. Trying to distance yourself, instantly regretting seeking an answer of any sort from him, yet as always, his overpowering strength prevents any escape.

“C-Come on, Shal…” The nickname sometimes works when you ask for some dessert or a game of some kind, so maybe it will work in a situation like this too. “I wanna go to bed.” You nearly whine as he stretches your cheeks out further. 

“But I still haven’t answered your question, sweetie!” He exclaims.

“F-Forget it.” You mutter, looking to the side. “It’s fine. Really. Get back to work.”

But he does not let go.

“Let me answer! Hmm… you’re so cute, like a kitten. You sure snuggle against me in bed like one!” Shalnark chuckles, and you can smell a mix of coffee and oranges in his breath. “So maybe… that’s the best analogy for it?” Some mint too. “Something to cuddle with? Something to keep safe.” He boops your nose. “Something too silly and adorable and airheaded to live on their own.”

You’re not sure if his words are supposed to hurt you or cheer you up.

“Yeah, I think something like that works!” After what seems like an endless amount of time, Shalnark releases his grasp on your face. “Just look at you.”

“O-Okay.” You murmur, turning away and attempting to make a beeline for the bedroom, regretting ever opening your mouth. “Sorry for asking. Good night-” Shalnark grabs your arm, making you stop moving before you even start. 

“Come on, cutie! Spend some time with me. We can even play Wild World together again!”

He points to your 3DS, a rose gold color, and then to his, which is dark violet and covered in stickers referencing popular memes he saw on the internet. At least he has never made you see some particularly gruesome scene in the horror games he plays late at night out of impulse.

Franklin

As your words hang in the air, a silence so profound that you begin to question if he even registered your message, you find yourself fixating on your unfinished meal. Contemplating the merits and drawbacks of broaching the topic once more versus letting it go, you suddenly hear him put his cup of coffee down with a clatter as he almost slams it by accident.

“Where did this come from?” He asks. His tone almost seems concerned, you think, concerned for how you think of him when he is always so quiet or concerned for how you think he thinks of you, that one day he will simply not come back and find someone else more willing.

Franklin does not seem angry, not that he ever was. He is trying to appear neutral, to not scare you, like you were some sort of stray cat who he has yet to earn the trust of.

Though you don’t bite or scratch, you do hide from him.

“I… just want to know why you did all… this.”

Your eyes go everywhere, from the pots of plants he brought you recently by the barred windows to the blinking light above the stairs he promised to fix soon to Frank Herbert’s Dune laid across the couch next to your blanket. 

“Franklin, since you claim to care about me… why can’t I go outside and be free?”

After a few more moments of silence, you look up at Franklin. He looks remorseful almost, from his visible frown to his eyes almost being closed to the way he does not look at you. Something akin to pity blooms in your chest.

“...Because unfortunately for both of us, I am… selfish, and you are too much for me to lose.”

Just like that, the pity dies similarly to the vase of flowers in the middle of the table.

Shizuku

You don’t know whether or not she will respond while knowing what you are and what she is. A captive. A captor. But you doubt it because every time she comes back she thinks you are here of your own volition and that you love her just as much as you know her.

Sometimes, you wish that you did, because whenever she sees you she looks at you like you were a gift that she had wanted for years.

Sometimes you wish that you did because that would make things oh so much easier for you. She sometimes forgets you are here, sometimes still goes to your actual home, and panics when she sees you are not there.

Shizuku merely chuckles, hugging you tighter. Perhaps she even forgot the slap she inflicted upon you earlier today for daring to say that you hate her, making you fly across the room.

“My love of course, silly!” Sometimes you hope that one day you will forget everything too because you envy Shizuku for never being cautious.

Pakunoda

“[First]...” Pakunoda’s eyes meet your own, one of her hands holding onto a chocolate-covered strawberry from the box she just got. Her other has a presence above one of your own, a presence so light you hardly recognize it is there.

She looks regretful and concerned.

The look fills you with so much guilt you immediately apologize and put the back of your head on her lap once again. It always works.

“You do know I care about you deeply, right, beloved?” Her long nails glide over your hair, making you close your eyes to calm yourself. You hope that look is gone because you aren’t sure how much longer you can take it before you break under its pressure fully. “I really do.”

You know she does, but it does not make the first days of your capture, which feels like an eternity ago, feel any less real, as much as Pakunoda denies the more horrifying parts of it all.

“I know, Paku.”

She smiles at the nickname.

The strawberry approaches your mouth, and you bite into it. Dark chocolate, you think this one is. Pakunoda loves her strawberries, but she loves parfaits just a little bit more. Maybe, to get her to forget your question, you can ask her to get some and feed them to her. 

Soon, you fall asleep. Pakunoda opens her book back up after closing the box of sweets. 

With one hand she caresses your hair, and in the other, she turns the pages of her novel. She loves evenings like this.

“I love you…” She murmurs, brushing some of your hair out of your face. “One day… you’ll love me too, fully, right?”

Half asleep, you agree without thinking. Once again, she smiles.

Bonolenov

With a sigh, he turns his head, momentarily interrupting your question. However, he quickly resumes dancing before you, delighting in your observation of his favorite pastime. Although you are unsure of the specific style of dance he is performing, you are confident that Bonolenov will soon enlighten you, taking the opportunity to boast about his expertise in this particular art form.

Listening to his animated explanations is always entertaining. His frequent rants make you feel as though he is a close friend rather than your captor if only that were true. Despite the circumstances, he treats you with kindness and respect. He believes that housing you in his home is an honor and privilege, a sentiment for which you hold some gratitude.

“A lover, because I do love you. You are simply wonderful to be around, after all.” In an alternate existence, were he not involved in criminal activities such as theft, kidnapping, stalking, and multiple murders, you might have developed an affection for him. This is due to your awareness of his deep affection for you and the kindness he exhibits towards you.

So you say such.

Bonolenov stays silent for a little while after that, along with the dancing that he often enjoys doing. Instead, he gazes through the windows, adorned with steel bars, and tenderly places small tokens that he knows bring you joy upon the table in the kitchen.

Uvogin

“Huh?”

Uvogin stops punching the claw machine, turning to you. It’s a mess, all because you said you wanted a corgi plush from it. But is it your fault, when you wanted to win it fair and square?

Maybe it’s not. Maybe it is. You know Uvogin is never one to have coins in his pockets. But, then again, he always seemed to have money when he was placing bets with Troupe members, especially with that Nobunaga person.

He seems confused, albeit he is hiding it behind a smirk. In one of his hands, covered in little shards of glass, is the stuffed animal you wanted.

“Come on, [First]!” He laughs, delusionally proud of himself. “I’m your boyfriend!” He wasn’t, but you would never voice that.

“...I-I know. But still… Do you like me?” You make an effort to convey your thoughts in the most diplomatic manner possible, being cautious not to provoke Uvogin's anger. Despite never having witnessed Uvogin's wrath, you remain steadfast in your desire to avoid it at all costs.

His smile widens.

“Of course I do!”

He presents you with the cuddly toy, having meticulously removed all the splinters of glass embedded within it.

“Do you really?” You ask, thinking of the time he threatened to break your legs if you ever attempted to run away from him again. He wasn’t even angry as he said the threat. 

At another one of your questions, Uvogin says yes. But does he really? Or are you just something to hoard?

Do you really want to find out, you wonder? 

Your heart tells you you don’t.

Kortopi

He turns his head, confused. It is one of the few expressions you can decipher from Kortopi because of the many strands of hair covering him. At the sight, you bow your head down.

He steps forward, and you step back.

He stops moving. So do you.

He retreats. You don’t speak for the rest of the day. You were used to it though. Kortopi hardly ever talks to you, but you don’t think he means it to be rude.

“Everything.” He mutters, standing above your bed. You sleep so peacefully, something you never were when you were awake. “You are everything.”

Illumi

Gently, he puts his teacup down with a little clatter of the saucer as he does so.

“Do you think I see you in a bad light, [First]?”

You simply look down at your teacup, smelling the lavender and chamomile to try to calm down a bit before answering Illumi.

The query has plagued your mind for an extended period. The exact duration remains elusive, as the days have merged into an indistinguishable blur. No matter your actions, pain will be inflicted upon you by someone, regardless of your conduct. Perhaps it will be Illumi's mother, administering a slightly sublethal, tasteless toxin with a syringe. Or it could be Illumi himself, subjecting you to days of confinement in a food and water-deprived closet. Regardless of your behavior, the inevitability of suffering looms. 

With the intent of prolonging your exposure to the morning birdsong and granting yourself additional time in the garden, you opt to respond.

“N-No.” You lie. “You… keep me around to be molded into your perfect spouse, I know that, it is just… just…”

His smile sends chills down your spine, surpassing even the terror of Illumi's younger brother once launching into a lewd tirade about you in your presence.

“That is all there is to it; nothing more, nothing less.”

You sip the tea finally, and the burning sensation in your throat does not bother you anymore.

[skk-fan-page]

I promise I took my meds, hear me out: this

Can give us insight into this

So: before we get into what it means, I'm going to tell you why these things are related. 15 is probably the best text we have when it comes to dissecting their relationship, and in 15, dazai says 2 things that relate to both raging romantic tension and also dogs.

This, as well as an arguably more loaded section:

This. Now bear with me, I really did take my meds, this second excerpt is almost a one to one copy of the dog treats panel. For those of you who have read 15, you'll know that this scene is the set up for chuuya being forced into the mafia. They duel, the "treats" (the sheep) appear, and then they disappear, and only when dazai walks away do both the dog and chuuya realize theyve been ensnared in a weirdly elaborate trap for someone who's supposed to not want anything to do with them.

Not only that, but it establishes that not only does he call chuuya his dog, but "his dog" is part of his future plans, and part of the reason he even has future plans.

Part of the reason that dazai wants to live at that point is to spend time with chuuya.

Now: with that we get back into the dog treat "duel".

First, I'll let you read it and draw your own links, as long as you promise to leave them in the notes

As a bsd reader, you'll probably know that dazai's plans often revolve around knowing what the other party will do. This is easily reflected in the dog encounter, because dogs don't know anything, and thus their behavior cannot be influenced to an unpredictable point. If you offer a dog a treat, you can count on that dog eating the treat. The problem is that dazai can't connect that motive to the dog's actions, because he specializes in dealings with egotistical people who rank highly in organizations who have massive flaws they overlook. Take him outside of his comfort zone, and he struggles to tilt things in his favor.

This analysis overlooks one teensy massive character trait that shapes the character: Dazai is the type to step on a rake, hit himself in the balls, and stick the landing so well that everyone thinks it was on purpose.

You can only tell what's "the plan" versus what is just improv by how hard he tries to sell that he's in control.

With this new lens, seeing how hard dazai tries to assert "the difference in [his status]" with the dog almost entirely colors the interaction as some sopping wet loser loses at his own game that he started against a small animal.

And now: how does this effect the skk reunion and how does it reflect on their previous relationship?

Well, I'm going to pull out some "oh holy shit... I mean, I meant to do that!" Moments

This man is going back and forth like it's his job. He doesn't know what to expect because chuuya is far beyond his comfort zone. Hes everything that should make him predictable, and yet he never is. Every time he's taken aback by his target not reacting the way he "should" he pulls another trick out from his sleeve. Even literally, in the lock picking case. Whenever he needs to try to assert that he totally planned this, he goes for another trick.

As with the dog, when dazai walks away, the only thing chuuya was left with was a distinct sense of "this guy needs friends." They're both low stakes interactions that are born from dazai not expecting something and not knowing how to regain control of the situation.

This implies that dazai just doesn't know how to deal with a straightforward person and thus can never predict what chuuya will do, because he runs on an unswayable internal logic that makes him as difficult to manipulate as a human can possibly be.

As a partnership, they're constantly confusing the fuck out of each other, because dazai is weird and eats dog treats, and because chuuya cannot be understood with the logic dazai excels in.

They know each other but they can never hope to understand each other.

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 1)

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

​GIF: Originally posted by @tavners

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Home invasion. Voyeurism. Implied masturbation. Dream manipulation.

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Wow, this took way longer to finish than I had originally planned. My head's been all over the place with trying (and thus far failing) to find a new job. The themes are very different to what I've written before; I hope it reads okay. Please let me know what you think. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

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

Fate.

A phenomenon that governed every particle of matter within the known universe and even those beyond.

Some considered it a comforting concept that excused them from the burden of decision making, citing: "I'll leave it up to fate." For others the phrase was a cursory, throw-away comment or a romantic line they heard in the lyrics of a song.

The real truth of the matter was that Fate was a trio of immortal beings, goddesses, with sight so potent that they knew the past, present and future of every individual to have lived. The mythology of the Greeks, Romans and Norse hadn't been too far off with their stories of the Moirai, Parcae and Norns but of course, no humans really believed there to be any realism in myths. They were just stories. It didn't matter either way; they existed and had influence regardless of what the majority believed.

For beings such as The Endless siblings, the presence of Fate in the cosmos was not only real, but also something that affected even themselves.

For the King of Dreams, an eventuality had been prophesised long ago by The Kindly Ones that spoke of a bond that was to be forged between himself and a mortal.

Lord Morpheus, in his pride, had tried to be above such a foretelling, even questioning its validity because the notion of a mortal accepting his version of the universe seemed wholly implausible.

But he could not truly stop himself from wondering about you, reaching out to see if he could feel your presence in the minds of the dreamers he hosted.

It wasn't something he indulged in with frequency. More of a once-in a-decade interval. Enough to appease his curiosity.

Of course, this was put on hold during his imprisonment at Fawney Rig.

Morpheus had had much to contemplate during this period. The damage his absence caused to the collective subconscious, the decay of his realm, the loss of freedom and dignity. There was also a chance that you had been born and died in the 106 years he spent in captivity.

What if he was too late and had lost the chance of discovering who you were?

It was a nauseating prospect that scraped and scratched a space deep within his being; bleeding him of his remaining stores of hope that were so significantly depleted after the death of beloved Jessamy.

Despite the nasty emotional wound, finding you was a charge that he assigned at the end of his priorities after his escape.

Recovering his scattered tools, restoring the Dreaming, locating his absent creations, unravelling the mystery of Rose Walker and confronting Desire all had needed to come first.

The latter interaction had left Morpheus with a seething rage that was currently propelling him down the boards of the dock that sit above the Ocean of Dreams.

The dense mist in the air is buffeted by his movements and the only sounds are the tread of boots, the creak of wooden slats and the lap of water.

With each step, the liquid becomes choppier as it reacts to its master's mood and by the time he has reached the end of the dock, the surface of the water roils fervorously, completely in line with Morpheus' dangerous temperament.

The words of Desire's final silken-toned taunt echo in his mind with grating persistence.

"Oh, poor Dream. I really got under your skin this time, didn't I?"

He is loathe to admit there is truth in the question.

There are moments where Morpheus ponders the turn that the relationship between them has taken. How Desire went from being his favourite sibling to someone one shade shy of an adversary. Their faultless adeptness at provoking his temper and manipulating the events that encircle him would be impressive if not for the danger posed to humanity.

The agitated water eventually draws focus to how out of control he and his emotions have become. Morpheus knows he must get them in check, and quickly, for he knows the consequences all too well should he ignore it.

He clenches his fist and swallows it all down, pushing it deep inside his belly until the crackling entropy of the anger is fully dispelled.

Morpheus then sweeps his coat out behind him as he sinks lithely into a crouch. Trepidation nips at his heart and tugs his attention to a sobering thought.

This foray into the water may be fruitless.

You may be long gone and there would be no way of ever knowing you.

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath; he has run out of excuses to not look, even if he is afraid of the outcome.

Long, delicate fingers dapple the surface of the inky ocean. The waves still at the touch, obedient to him with instancy.

He repositions to full height and reaches into his coat to find the pouch of sand stashed in the pocket. A handful of twinkling grains slip off his palm into the ocean, lighting the water it touches to a luminous green.

"Find my soulmate," Morpheus commands silently.

The intention is set. He steps off the dock into the water.

At first, like every other prior attempt, there is no sign of you. Morpheus floats submerged in the tepid liquid, filtering through the hubbub of countless other dreams and nightmares.

Then there is a pull.

It is faint yet indisputable. Warmth explodes in his chest and he groans inwardly from the delicious sensation of relief.

You are alive, and you are dreaming.

A path of radiance appears in the water, a line that shows your connection, and provides a location for him to hone in on.

Morpheus dives deeper without hesitation.

As he reaches the edge of your subconscious, he rejoices that he got a handle on his emotions. He wouldn't want your first perception of him to be one tinged with rage, however unaware you were of him, with your soulmate being the source.

He hesitates for a moment before entering the dream you are in and is somewhat taken aback by what he finds.

A room comprising of four blank walls, a floor, a ceiling and a door. There is but one other feature; a window, and its view is as non-descript and inoffensive as the internal space.

You stand by said window, head turned from him.

Despite being unable to see your face, he sees your anxiety with immediacy. It is an aura hovering about your body, being sucked into your lungs with every fast-paced breath.

You begin to throw glances towards the door. Morpheus filters through the layers of the dream. No one is scheduled to come across the threshold.

The more he observes, the more questions arise in Morpheus' mind.

What was making you so affected? What were you expecting to happen?

There's nothing in the scene that is intended to be unpleasant yet you are reacting in a way that most observers would characterise as unsettled.

Morpheus, despite not yet knowing you, doesn't like to see you this way. His dominant instinct is to end the dream but he quashes the desire to review the bigger picture.

The empty room dream was symbolic of a beginning.

It clicks into place.

What you were feeling, even if on a purely instinctual level, was the anticipation of meeting your soulmate and starting your new life.

Morpheus steps into the frame, just a couple of paces behind you.

You feel his presence instantly, eyes full to the brim with tears as you whirl around with a soft gasp.

You see him.

The tears spill and patter onto the white floor.

Morpheus reaches out, overcome by his need to provide comfort.

You disappear.

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

Morpheus is sat on his throne. He pores over the book he had located in the Dreaming's library a little over a week ago that contains the details of your life. It is something he has taken to doing when the impatience of waiting for you to fall asleep becomes too keen.

Your subconscious has him enraptured, watching it every night as if it is a stage show. Each dream he delves into is like the tug of fingers on a loose thread, your psyche has begun to unravel before him.

Everything from whims to cravings, hopes to fears. Your temperament, the things that delight and irk you. What drives you and demotivates you. He consumes it all with an insatiable hunger.

Based on the projection of yourself that he sees, there is no doubt that he is attracted to you.

All that prior haughty disregard for the Fates' prophecy has been cast aside like a negative thought in a meditation session. Morpheus is a romantic. A believer. He is ashamed to have even doubted your coming.

He wonders if it would vex Desire to learn of him finding his soulmate and by extension, the prospect of companionship, perhaps even physical intimacy or love.

It is all too easy to imagine the sickly sweet grin they would smile at him, shown to be fake by the almost imperceptible contempt glinting in their golden eyes.

Would his triumph drive them to distraction?

It is this smug sentiment that spurs his next decision. He wants more. The next logical step is to find you in the waking world.

He rises from his throne, a sure hand ready to bring forth his pouch of sand when he falters.

Tears pool in his eyes.

His mind is suddenly marred with the memories of what happened in 1916. The agony, mortification and rage that followed. He couldn't go through that kind of treatment ever again and the waking world expanded the risk of it transpiring.

"No," he says resolutely. His sadness turns to resolve, the hard line of his grimace matching those set in his brows.

He will not let the actions of a group of mortals dissuade him from going to you. And besides, he has researched everything he can about you from within the safety of the Dreaming.

He takes a measure of sand and uses it to materialise within your bedroom.

It is obvious from a quick scan of it that deliberate attempts have been made to ensure the space is cosy and calming.

Two marshmallowy pillows support your head. The cotton sheets have been meticulously tucked to avoid drafts. A lavender reed diffuser fragrances the air with a subtle scent. There are no devices or screens visible.

Everything has its place. A coaster supported glass of water within reaching distance. Touch activated lamp in case of emergency. The diary lined up with the back left corner of the bedside table, pen placed parallel in the spine dent. All clothes are in the wardrobe or stashed in the laundry basket.

Morpheus moves to the curtain-shrouded window and delicately moves the dark, heavy fabric to catch a glimpse of the outside world.

The scene is sepia stained from an old streetlight positioned right outside your home. It explained the choice of curtains.

You stir slightly from the change in environment and Morpheus allows the curtain to fall back in place. He remains stationary until your breathing returns to its previous pace. It is imperative that his presence remains undisclosed. He knows that mortals do not take well to home invasion.

Then, your right hand slips out from the duvet cocoon revealing a cushion cut ruby ring on your middle finger.

He smiles exultantly. The similarity between the jewel and his own now-destroyed dreamstone was undeniable.

The Fates were making it transparent.

You were the one.

Morpheus approaches the side of your bed now. In your momentary discomfort, you had moved your head, making your whole face visible to your uninvited guest.

He bends gracefully so his face is closer to yours and observes you with an intent fascination.

Even in the gloom, Morpheus asserts that your features are even more captivating now that he is able to look upon them in person and is certain that if he could guarantee an absence of fear then he would fall to knees and worship you right there.

Fingers stroke a lock of hair splayed across the pillow and his thoughts turn darker still, imagining what he would do with you if he could get you alone in the Dreaming. How he would seduce you with words, and then pleasure your body with his own until you were senseless.

Getting you there would be so easy, all he needed to do was move his hand up and touch your skin and -

Morpheus stops himself, deciding that now is not the time for an introduction. He will wait until tomorrow. You need to rest. It will be quite the revelation for your sweet mortal heart.

Morpheus whispers a promise, "We will be together soon, my precious soulmate."

He leaves after taking one last look at your peaceful form.

When he returns to the Dreaming, Morpheus discovers that the visit has riled him way beyond what he thought possible.

It was supposed to sate his curiosity and answer some questions.

It has done the opposite.

His craving for you is sublimely intense, opiate-like in its ensnarement.

He needs to possess you. To have you all to himself. Everything would fall into place. Loneliness, disillusionment, jealousy; they would never darken his outlook again. You would heal him, he is certain of it.

He paces restlessly in the low light of his private chambers as heat ripples beneath the surface of his being, charging him with pure sexual lust.

He hungers for the moment when you feel the same about him.

For now, all he can do is stand and touch himself while thinking of your face, an act that has been carried out repeatedly in the days since he found you in the Ocean of Dreams.

An erotic idea enters his mind.

Your subconscious is still in the Dreaming; he knows the feeling of it intimately.

Perhaps he could bring you a dream mirroring his own current fantasy.

To give you a taste of what was to come.

A gift that only he could bestow.

The mere thought of it turns him on even more. His back arches and his eyes roll back as he choses the words through which he would deliver the offering.

"Dream of me," Morpheus murmurs breathlessly. "Dream of me."

He repeats the phrase until he is unable to continue, moans taking over the darkened space around him.

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

It is dusk the next day when Morpheus returns to the waking world.

The instant he touches down on the Earth's surface, he knows exactly where to go. The metaphysical connection between you is as strong as the energy pulsing through a ley line.

The city he is directed to is thrumming with life but the side street he stands in has been spared from the furore.

It is fortuitous that he is permitted to be unobserved for Morpheus is struggling now with the urge to get closer.

Providence is pulling him in and also locking him out.

He walks up to the door and then an invisible force makes him back away.

He doesn't even try to fight it.

The Fates hold all the cards. Morpheus is beholden to their each and every whim.

It is surprisingly liberating.

He is dancing in the cross hairs. Blinkered by the tie the universe has fashioned for you.

All he has to do is wait.

The door to the building is pushed open.

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

Taglist: @herfantasyworldd

"Fate. Up against your will. Through the thick and thin. He will wait until you give yourself to him."

[mycadences]

Elain: I am not a child to be fought over. (Chapter 21 of ACOSF, Azriel was present when she said that and HE HEARD IT)

Azriel: (In an arrogant tone) I'll defeat him [Lucien] with little effort. (Azriel's ACOSF bonus chapter, after Elain said what she said, and referring to the Blood Duel)

(Here Elriels might bring up "but Lucien asked if Elain was worth fighting for!" but the difference is 1. Lucien had only met Elain once at that time (it was during ACOWAR) 2. he didn't know anything about her 3. she hadn't said the line I'm referring to 4. he didn't overhear the line I'm referring to 5. "fighting for" has a slightly different connotation from "fighting over".)

So it IS canon that Elain would hate the Blood Duel and would have a problem with Azriel killing Lucien... while Azriel doesn't. In ACOWAR, Nesta and Feyre were worried about Lucien going off to find Vassa in case harm befell him.

This was what Feyre thought: Even Nesta seemed relatively concerned. Not for him, no doubt, but the fact that if he were hurt, or killed … What would it do to Elain? The severing of the mating bond … I shut out the thought of what it’d do to me.

But Azriel didn't think of how devastating it would be for Elain if her mate were to die. No, in fact, he didn't think much of her "beyond the fantasies he pleasured himself to".

Wow. How romantic. If this is the "canon" that Elriels are so proud of, then I'm honestly glad that it wasn't written about my ship.

Also look at this scene:

Elain: You do not decide what I can and cannot do, Nesta. // Then I will find it [the Dread Trove]. // You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater. (This is also from Chapter 21 of ACOSF, and yes Azriel was present to hear it. Notice how the wording focused on Elain's agency, on her choice, on people making decisions for her.)

Azriel: (In response to Amren's suggestion that they let Elain track the Trove) There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that Elain should not be exposed to. (Chapter 29 of ACOSF)

Once again, he was doing something that Elain had explicitly mentioned she disliked, something that he KNEW because he HEARD IT. Despite hearing that Elain didn't like Nesta making the choice for her (not to scry for the Trove), Azriel STILL chose to throw in his unsolicited two cents and was essentially robbing her of her free will.

Compare this to when Gwyn got taken to the Blood Rite along with Emerie and Nesta.

Cassian: If I interfere, we’re both dead. And even if I did, Nesta would kill me if I jumped in to save her. She’d never forgive me for it. \\ And even if the laws had allowed it, he would never take that away from her: the chance to save herself.

Azriel: You—we—trained them well, Cassian. Trust in that. It’s all we can do.

Both Cassian and Azriel recognized the skills and abilities of the Valkyries. They trusted them to survive. And Cassian himself said that he wouldn't step in, NOT because he didn't care about Nesta, but he knew she would hate it (that he made the call for her) and that he was confident in her strength to overcome the Blood Rite. And they're mates.

(^ Those who say "Azriel and Gwyn cannot be mates because he didn't save her from the Blood Rite" must not have read SF at all lol. But anyway I digress.)

Azriel's line of thinking was similar to Cassian in that he believed in the Valkyries, and that's more than I can ever say about his faith in Elain. Or lack thereof.

Speaking of faith in Elain, you know who has it, though?

Lucien.

(I swear he's the solution to every Elain puzzle. He's linked to Papa Archeron whose death Elain was implied to feel guilty about, he's linked to the Courts that Elain would thrive in (Spring and Day) and he's linked to the central conflict in Elain's personal arc (their mating bond).)

He literally went to the Mortal Lands to find Vassa because Elain had a vision about it. THAT, is an example of trust. The only other person to argue for Elain's visions was Mor, and Cassian was busy rebuffing her while Azriel "looked inclined to agree [with Cassian, not Elain]". Lucien went on a possibly dangerous wild goose chase all because of his trust in Elain's visions -- in his mate's visions.

Finally, this is not a hate post against Azriel (in case it reads like one). I love him, but somehow when he's around Elain they give me Tamlin/Feyre vibes, which is why I believe SJM is actually intentionally dropping hints that their relationship won't work out. Already we see how toxic it is. I adore his interactions with Nesta, Feyre and of course our lovely Valkyrie-priestess, Gwyn ;)

[pinkthrone445]

-Distant wedding bells- Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing: Gary x Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

Gender:love, hurt, hurt

Warnings:Mention of cheating , insults

Summary:I don't wanna spoil it because I think it's good the surprise reading this fic like this.

-"Whether we like it or not, I'm still married to him" - she whispered, teary-eyed inches from your lips

-"I know, I can't fucking forget that" - You whispered and tried to kiss her again but she wouldn't let you, putting her fingertips on your lips to stop you

-"And I'm not a cheater..."-she whispered, and you sighed walking a few steps back, even if your soul ached for having to part from her after wanting to kiss her for so long. You knew why she said it, whether Gary was a bad men or not, he didn't deserve to be cheated on like her ex-husband did to her in her old marriage

-"I'll talk to Gary and then we will see where this could go... Would you be willing to wait for me?" - Melissa asked looking into your eyes and you barely smiled -"Always..."-You answered and arranged a strand of hair that had ruffled out of her perfect hair -"I'll see you tomorrow at school then... Please don't stay here, go back home and eat something and try to get some rest... And if Ava gets your transfer, don't accept it... Wait for me please or I'll go after you"- Melissa whispered and kissed your cheek, very close to your lips before leaving to talk to him.

The next morning, you walked into the teacher's room and made yourself a latte, it was the first morning in weeks when you didn't feel like garbage, the first morning you didn't need a strong coffee to wake you up, the first morning you felt relaxed and happy, the first morning you'd have breakfast again with the other teachers in the break room. The kiss you had given to the redhead kept playing like a scratched record in your head, making the smile you had on your face grow more and more.

For a few seconds the break room was quiet, until suddenly Abbott's entire team arrived for breakfast, including the redhead who drove you so crazy.

Your eyes immediately connected with the hypnotizing green orbs of the eldest, without being able to help it, you smiled at her and seeing how she completely swept over you with her gaze, you blushed slightly

-"Someone's happy this morning... It's good to see you with us again, I missed you" - Barbara commented, sitting in her usual place, at the same table you were sitting at, leaving a space between you and her for Mel, just like you usually sat when the 3 of you were together. It felt good that something felt like the old days before Mel got married.

Mel sat down next to you with a smile and brushed your hand on purpose, giving you a sneaky caress, implying that she also remembered what had happened the night before. No words beyond a 'hello' were shared between you and Mel, but Barbara had already noticed that there was something weird and different between you.

When you finished breakfast, Barbara walked down the hall with you, ready to get a little information out of you

-"Are you going to tell me what has made you change your mood so quickly? Yesterday you were in a very big emotional low and now you're almost jumping and singing through the halls"-Barbara asked and you smiled at her, unable to contain your excitement

-"Last night Mel and I kissed, not only did I kiss her, but she reciprocated everything"-You commented in a whisper with a smile from ear to ear. The eldest looked at you shaking her head with a hunch that this wouldn't end well

-"Be careful (Y/N)..."-It was all he said and you nodded

-"I know, I know... Mel will talk to her husband about divorce and then we'll be together. We'll do things right..."-You answered, and Barbara just nodded before entering her classroom.

Barbara later that day also spoke to Melissa, telling her to be careful with you and not hurt you because you were blindly in love with her and that could go wrong.

The week went by quickly, you wanted to ask Mel if she had spoken to him but you didn't know if it was too soon, so you decided to find out subtly

-"Hey Mel! Do you want to go out for a drink with me tonight?" - You asked her and felt the red-haired woman's hand brush yours as you walked together

-"I can't, Gary will be home and I have to make him something to eat..."-Melissa replied and you sighed, that meant she hadn't talked to him yet.

-"Okay, then I'll see you tomorrow"- You greeted her by kissing her cheek and went home a little disappointed. After you made yourself something to eat, your cell phone rang with a message from the redhead

-🍒Lisa🍒:"I'm so sorry I can't be with you tonight... I'll go take a bath now, I'll try not to think about how much I'd like you to be here helping me wash my back, I miss you" - Her message lit up your face and made you laugh like a teenager

-You:"I'll go to bed now, I'll try not to think too much about how delicious your lips feel on mine and how much I miss having you close. Good night Lisa"-You replied smiling and she was slow to respond back

-🍒Lisa🍒:"I'm sorry for not responding quickly, he's near me all the time. Good night sweetheart , have nice dreams"-The redhead answered and you left your cell phone on the nightstand to start eating.

The next few weeks continued like that, you asked her out but she told you that she couldn't because she had plans with him, which made you understand that they hadn't talked yet, and you would get all sad. Then you'd come home and get a message from her that gave you the slightest glimmer of hope and you'd blindly hold on to that and put aside the fact that she hadn't been honest with him yet. Days and days trying to make plans without any result...

-"Do you want to go dancing with me? Just dancing, I promise, I won't try anything else."-You consulted with the redhead but she denied it with some excuse, she always had excuses.

-"Want to go for a coffee? I miss spending time together"-You asked another day and she turned it down again. Then, when you home, she would send you another message that would revive your hopes.

Between those comings and goings, two months passed where the desire to be with her was almost consuming you, the sadness was coming back and you didn't like that .

How you wanted her to finally talk to him, so that you could at least kiss her again. But every day the possibility of her talking to him felt more distant.

In a particularly stressful week, you began to feel the need to be with her and hug her even more eagerly than before. Mel hadn't had the best day and neither had you, so you thought maybe it would be a good idea to go out together to distract yourself. When you saw her walking out of the school through the front doors into the parking lot, you hurried your pace to get to her side

-"Hi..."-You smiled looking at her and she greeted simply with a smile too-"Do you want to go home to see a movie or something?...I know it's been a tough week for everyone and I thought maybe we could be together, grab a bite to eat, snuggle up a bit... -You smiled excitedly and she shook her head looking at her phone

-"I can't, I have a date with Gary, He invited me to a fancy restaurant "-she whispered and smiled barely visible

-"Right... Have you had a chance to talk to him?"-You asked looking at her and she rolled her eyes

-"Not yet"- Her answer was short and dry

-"Do you plan to do it soon? I really want to go out with you, to be able to be together in peace, to hug you or kiss you..."-You answered truthfully and the redhead stopped in front of you squeezing her cell phone a little bit annoyed with your insistence

-"I don't know! Okay? I don't know when I'll talk to him yet, the time hasn't been right. How insistent you are with that! I'll do it, it's not an easy thing to say, I need time!" - The redhead hadn't had a good day and she had no patience left, causing her to treat you badly and scream even though she didn't want to

-"More time? I don't think there's the right time to say something like that... You have to do it and that's it, without hesitating so much or looking for the right moment when it will never come... I know you need time to do it, but it's been more than two months since you told me you'd talk..."-You spoke sadly and sighed

-"It's not crazy what I'm asking, I'll talk to him, just wait a little longer"- replied the redhead looking at you with a frown

-"Do you know how much longer you need me to wait? Because I've already waited two months for you and it's difficult, especially when you don't help... It's been two long months where you tempt me and when I want to be with you or kiss you stop me saying you're not a cheater or something like that. Two months in which you call me in the middle of the night to tell me how miserable your life is with him, that you need me by your side, that you want to feel my arms hugging you as you sleep and the next day at the entrance to work I see you laugh and kiss him like you love him with all your being..."-You sighed biting the inside of your cheek trying to control your emotions-" I'll give you more time, don't worry... You'll have all the time that you need, I won't bother you with this again"-You whispered and kept walking to your car leaving her alone there.

That night, Mel called you but you didn't answer her, she also sent several messages

-🍒Lisa🍒:"Hey hon, I'm so sorry how I treated you earlier, I was tired and with almost 0 patience, can we talk? Please"-Mel sent the first message with no response

-🍒Lisa🍒:"Please, I promise to talk to him soon..."- Message delivered, read and unanswered, the redhead sighed and tried again

-🍒Lisa🍒:"Did you go out drinking? Do you want me to pick you up and so we can talk quietly? Maybe we can go grab a bite to eat if you want, just you and me, what do you say? I miss you" - Delivered, Read, No Response Again

-🍒Lisa🍒:"I'm really sorry, please answer me..."-Message sent, undelivered, and unread. You had turned off your cell phone. Melissa ran her hands over her face in frustration.

The next morning at school, you ignored her all day, even though you were in the teacher's room together or even if she talked directly to you, you just ignored her.

At the end of the day when you were about to go home, she stopped you to talk

-"Are you going to ignore me all day?"-Melissa sounded annoyed but you just looked at her seriously, without any other emotion

-"I'm giving you space, it was what you wanted, I don't want to overwhelm you with my insistence" - You responded and tried to keep walking but she hadn't let go of your arm, you sighed and turned to look at her

-"Please... Don't act like that, it hurts me when you walk away from me and ignore me"-Melissa replied, moving closer to you

-"So you can ignore me, handle me as you please and stay away from me all you want, but I can't do it because I hurt you?" - You asked and laughed at the irony of the situation

-"Have a good day Melissa"-You answered and left.

-"I don't ignore you, it's just hard to respond when he's right there next to me, and it's hard to make up lies so he doesn't suspect anything so can be with you... I'm really really sorry"-The redhead replied by making wet puppy dog eyes, she knew you had a soft spot for that, but you just sighed without looking her in the eye

-"I don't believe you and I don't xare anymore"-You replied without much desire to argue with her, you just wanted to go home to be alone

-"I mean it, do you want me to show you how much I miss you and how sorry I am?" - Mel responded with pleading in her voice and tried to kiss you but you turned your face making her kiss your cheek and took her hand making her let go of you

The week went on like this, you ignoring her and her insisting, but nothing changed your mood.

A particular day, Mel came into your classroom attracted by all the children smiling, singing, dancing and giving you drawings they had made. It wasn't your birthday, but the scene was very cute to watch. Her initial smile turned to confusion when she saw a cake on your desk that said 'we'll miss you Miss (Y/N), come back soon'

-"Hey... What is this?" - The redhead looked at you in confusion as you said goodbye to the last kids

-"I'm leaving and the kids wanted to say goodbye, I'm going to change schools, I'm going to work somewhere else, I finally accepted my transfer, after having postponed it for more than a month..." - You whispered making a pile of all the drawings and gifts

-"What? Was that what everyone was muttering in the teacher's room? Why does everyone know you're leaving but me? Why didn't you tell me anything? You promised you'd wait for me..." - Melissa was confused and hurt, how could you make that decision without telling her, why did she have to be the last to know?

Melissa stood there watching you go, with deep pain in her body and feeling her heart go after you, the same thing that had happened to you months ago when you saw her marry someone else.

-"And you promised you'd talk to him and it's been almost three months... I promised I'd wait for you, and I did, I've had my transfer ready for a while and I didn't leave for you, but I will not wait forever... You already hurt me once without knowing it, but now you know what you're doing, you're hurting me and you know it and yet you keep going. And yes, I'm stupid, but not enough to let you hurt me anymore... You want to have me and at the same time you don't want to face Gary, but you can't have everything, not everything is going to be the way you want it to be. You have to make up your mind and act, or life will decide for you... But don't worry, I won't pressure you into talking to him anymore, you don't need to do it for me, because I don't want to be with you or see you anymore... I'll leave so you can get on with your stupid marriage without having to worry about me or the pressure I make you feel with my messages or questions. I hope you are very happy with your dear husband and please don't ever call me again-You angrily took your purse and walked past her without looking at her, carrying in your hands the parting gifts that the children had given you. You didn't want this, you didn't want to start from scratch again, you didn't want to get away from her either, but you couldn't keep hurting yourself waiting for love from someone who wasn't going to give it to you.

[qierxing]

Oh, Woe is Me...

A/N: Once again splitting up the story bc of how things go...It is certainly Going Down. I swear I don't have a bias for Pomefiore, I just had to fit so much significant plot points in here

Yan! Twst Isekai AU CW/TW: Spoilers for Chapter 5, suicidal thoughts and ideation + attempt, poisoning, reader is Not Having a Good Time

Pt.1 Peservere, My Player! | Pt.2 Be Still, My Heart! | Pt.3 | Pt. 4 Farewell to Thee?

—

When you finally are somewhat well enough to return to classes, there’s a shift in the air. You don’t even need to hear the murmurs to know that the cultural fair has started, and subsequently, the VDC auditions. 

Ace and Grim are already raring to go, but you and Deuce hang back, hesitant, but for different reasons. It was probably because of what happened over winter break, but you’re now reconsidering whether you should continue following the story. But if you don’t, will the game have a bad ending? 

Will you not be able to return home?

Epel. Pretty and soft-spoken Epel. You can only extend your pity in silence as the Heartslabyul duo introduce him to you. There’s something off though, because you swear this is your first meeting with the mysterious first year, but he gazes at you as if he’s known you for years.

It’s a great contrast with Vil, whose careless survey turns sharp once they land on you. You can only step back as Grim, Ace and Deuce start the fight you know they will lose. He scoffs and leaves his scathing words for the rest of you, but what you’re not prepared for is the very last venomous stab he has for you.

“To even be hanging out with such a dirty, magicless nobody…Epel, you should know better.”

The insult burns into your skin and it takes everything within you to not tear up. Although you came from another world, no one really said anything bad about you for being magicless—after all, there were plenty of people in Twisted Wonderland who also were just like you. But to be singled out and judged for just that…it stings, especially coming from someone like Vil. For once you feel very self conscious about your existence within Twisted Wonderland.

Ace and Deuce are enraged to the max; both at Vil’s words toward them, but most of all, how dare he speak to you like that? A stare burns into the back of your head(right, in this scene you were not alone). Your pained grimace only spurs them on to practice more rigorously for the contest. 

You expected the prickle of unease when Rook makes his appearance behind Leona. Afterall in the game, it’s implied that his senses were beyond a normal human's. What you don't expect is that his eyes are trained on you, and you alone, throughout his whole exchange with the others. No amount of hiding behind Leona stops his piercing gaze. If anything, you would even say his face turned more amused.

Soon enough, the audition day arrives and you only can trail in reluctantly after the excited trio in front of you. Did you really need to be present? Grim was the one doing all the dancing and you don't think you could stomach meeting Vil's judgmental gaze picking you apart again. But it's too late to ditch once the ballroom doors slam open, and the Pomefiore trio struts in with all their sparkling glory.

The audition goes as expected. They dance, Vil sends them out. You don’t even blink when the arrow that carries the acceptance message barely misses the tip of your nose. And then, of course, the pivotal scene of Crowley asking you to give up Ramshackle to be the training grounds for VDC.

The player had no options. In the grand machination of things, Yuu's choices had no sway in the plot, just as how the developers wanted it. You’ve thought about keeping your head down. Don’t deviate, just let the story roll past you. 

But you can change that.

No more. For once, you’re going to make a choice for yourself in this godforsaken game. So when you state with a hard grimace that you did not want them at your dorm, there’s only a round of surprised looks and exclamations. Grim side eyes you silently in concern. Vil only raises a skeptical eyebrow. You stand firm. Even if Crowley was offering to improve the Ramshackle dorm, you know what awaits if you agree.

You pray to the Seven that’s the end of it. Then your phone rings and when you pick up, you get a near heart attack when it’s Neige on the other line, asking if he could come over for a visit. By the time you stutter something out, it’s too late, as the bright prince chirps out a ‘thanks! see you soon!’ followed by the beep of the tone. 

You can only let out a sigh as you stare at your blank phone screen. Thank goodness the training camp wasn’t at Ramshackle. You can only imagine what Vil’s face would look like if he saw his rival on campus. All this over Neige Leblanche. 

But it’s not really him, you think, as you scroll aimlessly through Magicam. It’s about what he threatens for Vil. Is he coming over because you made a choice that changed the course of the story?

Grim scolds you for being so nice for no reason when you end up plodding to let in Neige. He only beams at you cheerily, presses a soft kiss to your knuckles, and floats past your speechless form. You follow after in a daze, going through the motions as you offer him tea and whatever measly snacks you can graze up from your dusty pantry.

It’s embarrassing to sit at your coffee table that still wobbles with its broken leg with someone who is practically the next hot celebrity to Vil. Neige doesn’t seem to mind, only happily asking how you’re doing and what you’ve been up to as he nibbles on half stale crackers and cookies. 

“Neige, aren’t you busy? I heard that you’re going to be participating in VDC…” His eyes twinkle at your cautious question you put forward. 

“Mmm, yes, but I wanted to see you before I really get busy rehearsing!” His smile is genuine and makes your heart flutter.

The knock on your door turns both of your heads and when you excuse yourself to get it, a foreboding feeling washes over you as you reach for the doorknob.

“Ah, good, you’re here.”

Cold sweat runs down your back and neck as you’re face to face with Vil’s indifferent face. The absolute worst timing ever. As you try to stealthily close the door behind you, he starts to lean in with furrowed eyebrows.

“Why do you look nervous, spudling?” 

You’re so terrified that you’re utterly mute and trembling. You’ve remembered when Vil gets angry in the game. You do not want to be the target of his poisonous wrath.

“[First], what’s the matter?” Vil’s eyes immediately narrow at the light voice behind you.

Neige peers over your shoulder curiously, and you think of how this game must loath you at this moment. 

"Oh! Vi!" Neige's eyes brighten at seeing his former classmate. On the other hand, a shadow falls over Vil's face.

“So, this is why you refused to have Ramshackle be the training camp so adamantly.” Vil’s frosty voice sends even more tremors down your spine. Before you can open your mouth to retort, he grabs your wrist harshly, tugging you along with no mercy, disregarding Neige's calls to you both.

“Clearly, if you have time to fraternize with the enemy,” Vil’s nose scrunches in distaste as he drags your uncooperative body with your crying protests, “you can scrounge up some time to help us out.”

This must be what they call hell. In the end, it didn’t even matter that you refused to be involved in the VDC preparations. The others are surprised as Vil drags you crying into Pomefiore's ballroom, throwing you onto the floor, before ordering you to 'stop that humiliating display and start the music'. And yet, despite the fact you're clearly here against your will, the rest of them don't do anything, content and even more motivated that you're there to watch them.

Vil's target that originally was on Epel swivels onto you. Your phone confiscated, you and Grim are forced to stay at Pomefiore's dorms with the others, under Vil's (and Rook's, albeit he was more discreet about it) sharp eyes. Even though you're not even a performer, he nitpicks your outfit, your posture, your diet, all with a condescending look upon his face that leaves you feeling like dirt at the end of the day. And Epel, sweet and nice Epel, the one you hoped would use his fiery determination to help you out of the situation…doesn't. You thought that Epel would surely share some sympathy, or Ace and Deuce, maybe even Kalim…but no, they merely chide you for causing trouble and saying that they need you, their manager, to help cheer them on. Weren't they your friends?

Is the game forcing you back on its original path? When you and Grim try to escape the dorms, Rook just somehow manages to catch you both and drag you back to a displeased Vil, who then makes you sleep paralyzed next to him while forcing Grim out to sleep on the cold floor. You're not even free during the day, as you're forcefully escorted straight to Vil by Rook, who somehow manages to appear at the end of your classes. 

It’s finally one painful night left alone with Grim in a guest room that a thought creeps into your mind.

Escape doesn't have to be achieved fulfilling a game's story. Doesn't a game also end when the player loses?

It's a terrible thought, you know. Even you are terrified of it. You've already experienced what it's like to be on the brink of death. Smashed by thorns. Crumbled into sand. Drowned under the sea. Choked out of air. What you're planning honestly might be the most merciful way to go.

You're just…so tired. This world that started out fun and exciting has slowly descended to madness. With each chapter, each overblot, you can feel your tether home disintegrating, bit by bit. Memories of home dissipating like ink in water, gone even as you try so hard to catch the trails they leave. And now, more than ever, you're fearful of the time when you will forget why you were fighting so hard to leave Twisted Wonderland. Of who you are.

It's been so long that you felt the night breeze. It's only a matter of time, though, before Rook catches you and places you back within Vil's gilded cage.

"You're inviting me?" You nod as Hornton thoughtfully reads the embossed VDC ticket. He smiles at you, and guilt runs through you, as you know you're using him as a means to end.

Please be there to help them. You pray as he leaves with a spontaneous burst of emerald lights and smoke. Although Vil was your torturer, even you have qualms about leaving him to die in his overblot.

The day of the VDC has you sick and exhausted with no sleep. Thankfully the others don't notice, except for a certain hunter, who only coos at you quietly and slips you a coffee and a pat on the head. But that all changes as Neige makes his appearance with other RSA students and leaps towards you with shining eyes, bypassing Vil completely and hugging you. The warmth in his hug is genuine, but so is the darkness that falls over Vil's eyes on the two of you. Vil's lips curl even more into a distasteful scowl when Neige gives you a parting peck on the cheek. Your coffee slips out of your hands and splashes all over your shoes, but that doesn't matter because Neige Leblanche kissed you, oh my Seven–

"Look at you, you filthy spudling. What are you just standing there gawking for? Close your mouth, you look unsightly." The bitter scolding snaps you back to the present as you register Vil moving you forcefully backstage. Although you're sure he was just trying to save his own reputation and get you out of the way, he doesn't leave. In fact, he takes your shoes and orders Epel to get some new ones. This time, Epel has no problem obeying his housewarden. 

The two of them strangely fret over you, before Vil orders you to stay backstage to not embarrass yourself further, as he put it. Suits you just fine. You know exactly what happens next.

It doesn't make it any less horrific to think about as you watch Vil smirk down at Neige.

Just as Vil tempts the idol with the apple juice, you usurp Rook's role of the interloper.

"Vil, you're needed backstage." His face flickers ever so slightly but your face doesn't change. The drink is already in Neige's hands. You wait as he clicks his tongue and leaves to assure his reputation. 

It doesn't take much to get the drink into your hands. Neige is too kind. He hands over the drink as soon as you mention you're a little thirsty yourself. The juice inside looks normal, but you know full well what Vil's capability is. You look up into Neige's eyes and sigh.

"Thank you." Pathetic last words. Maybe you should've said something else. But it doesn't matter anymore. Nothing does, really.

That's not true. There's Grim, who's been by your side through thick and thin. And Hornton, your strange friend–what would he say when he saw your collapsed body?

You throw your head back and chug.

It hurts. Seven above, it hurts so much! Your guts feel like it's melting and freezing all at once. The blood in your veins slows to lead and your heart is stabbed with multiple painful needle pinpricks. Your throat swells, and blood dribbles slowly out of your lips. The bottle slips out of your hands and shatters glass fragments everywhere. Neige's panicked and frantic scream echoes and you swear the ground underneath you rumbles. 

How lovely, you think, as you stare into Neige's tearful eyes, that such a poison exists…

You close your eyes to Twisted Wonderland to what you hoped to be the last time.

[Game Over]

◇ Continue?

◇ Exit

[nativehueofresolution]

so with the recent discourse, i was thinking about how, as he's presented in tvc, armand's biggest flaws as a narrator are that he tends to tell massive lies of omission or rewrite people's atttitudes/motivations (including his own) to suit his own purposes.

discussions of csa under the cut

(the only time i can recall someone being accused of inventing an event altogether is lestat claiming louis fabricated their meeting at the end of iwtv, but i digress.)

one of the biggest examples of this is how armand presents his turning in tva. as armand tells it in tva, marius was against turning him all along and he only relented when armand was at death's door. however in iwtv and tvl, louis and lestat respectively show armand telling them that marius turning armand was a pre-meditated decision.

marius in b&g takes it one step further, portraying himself as always having intended to turn armand from the time they met and having only delayed as long as he did so as to have more time to groom armand into being his vampiric 'companion'. (also noteworthy he generally portrays armand as being pretty miserable a lot of the time in venice and terribly missing his family, which is not something armand dwells on in any account.) marius does also depict armand as being seriously wounded and having to turn him right away because of this, but, as marius tells it, he and armand had literally had a conversation the night before armand was attacked where marius confirmed his intent to turn armand.

so armand's tva version where marius's hand was 'forced' is not something he arrives at by inventing events out of thin air; rather, he ignores things like a conversation the day before explicitly contradicting this narrative and ascribes to marius different motives so that it would better fit his 'vampirism is bad and only foolish humans ask for it and ignore the vampires telling them it's a bad idea' moral for sybelle and benji - which is the whole reason he's dictating tva. it seems to me that's the biggest reason his account in tva differs from what he told louis and lestat - he has an explicit moral to the story he's pushing this time. (perhaps he's also trying to present himself as having more agency than he did; he persistently asked for vampirism so marius gave in, when in fact that was marius's plan all along.)

to further emphasize his point, he explicitly compares marius turning him to his turning of daniel, and says he only gave daniel the dark gift because he had no choice and he knew all along it would spoil their love and look he was right, why won't humans ever listen 😞 (there's also an element of armand being bitter about his failed relationship and trying to act like it was always doomed from the start, instead of something that fell apart due their failure to make it work. he also talks about louis as being 'easy to abandon', despite having stayed with him for a hundred years trying to revive their marriage.)

and the kicker is that in the end, after he does all that, marius straightforwardly decides to turn benji and sybelle with no handwringing or justifications beyond possibly thinking it would be a gift to armand. armand went out of his way to rewrite marius into someone trying to save armand from himself by denying his vampirism, but that doesn't change who marius actually is. he wrote this story to try and warn people he loved not to ask for it, but the truth is it didn't matter if they wanted it or if armand wanted it, because that was never the reason for what happened. what happened was that marius decided what he wanted to happen and imposed his will onto others.

i don't think you can separate armand's backstory, or any of anne rice's work, from her pedophilia/slavery/rape apologia. the series is never going to truly acknowledge the horror of what it's depicting because anne rice didn't think it was wrong. but i do think it's interesting that within the series, it is implied that armand is intentionally rewriting his time with marius in a way that is ignoring the reality of what the situation was and downplays his pain. it is absolutely not a substitution for the text understanding and acknowledging the evils it is depicting, but it does provide some insight into armand as a narrator.

[theaudacitytowrite]

Stay Awake! - Part 1

Materlist

Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

A/N: An attempt at a spooky fic:) This is based on a creepy story my siblings used to tell me when we were little and back then it scared the shit out of me. Whether it really is scary is debatable^^

Time wise it starts a day before Halloween.

Also, since I only started watching SPN (on S4 currently) I'm quite sure this might be a bit off timeline wise. For example I needed an animal for the story but I have no idea when/how long Mircale is around in the series.

warnings: dolls, cursing, implied smut, bad horror (Season 1-esque storyline), Canon? What's that?

Golden divider = new day

black dividers = new setting/some time has passed

word count: 5.891

Dean’s feet lazily dragged over the ground. He groaned and huffed, sometimes a yawn would leave his throat.

„Come on, big boy. Let’s try it here.” you dragged him behind you while holding his hand so he would actually follow you.

You stepped up to the bed and breakfast, a rustic little single-family house. Dean and you were in desperate need of a place to stay the night. You had just finished a gruelling hunt and were beyond exhausted. But so far you hadn’t had any luck. All the motels in the area were booked.

“We can just sleep in Baby,” Dean muttered groggily.

“So you can whine about your sore back for the next couple of days?” you looked over your shoulder to look at him with a raised brow, “No thanks.”

"I wanna go home! My feet hurt, my back aches already and I'm tired! We've been on our feet the past 3 days!" he whined, pouting like a little overtired child.

“I know, my feet hurt just as bad and I’ve been awake just as long as you, you little baby.” you teased, “And I want to go home, too, but I don’t think it would be a good idea to drive another 5 hours to get home, while you nor I can keep our eyes open.” Dean grumbled but seemed to follow you more willingly now as he heard your reasoning.

When you entered the B&B a foul smell made its way to your nose immediately. It was sweet yet sour at the same time. You were surrounded by weird-looking paintings, figurines, and a collection of creepy dolls. It was quite dusty and weirdly gloomy in the house, and something just didn't feel right.

"Since when are bed and breakfasts worse than motels?" Dean muttered into your ear as he tried to not touch anything while walking through the small, crammed foyer to head to the unoccupied front desk.

"I don't know. We rarely visit bed and breakfasts." you shrugged as you let your gaze wander through the odd room. Dean scrunched his nose and almost pressed himself against you as he followed you like a shadow.

"Something wrong?" you glanced at him with an amused look.

"Nah." he shook his head and took a step back, "Just hurry up and ring the bell, so we can leave again."

“Leave again? You don’t think they have any vacant rooms?” you chuckled, “You’re so pessimistic.”

“I hope they have no free rooms.” Dean huffed.

"We have to tell Sam about this cosy little B&B. He'll love it here!" you snickered as your eyes roamed over the décor.

"He sure would…" Dean pressed his lips together, trying to breathe as little as possible. He bumped into you when you suddenly halted your steps, your gaze fixed on the fireplace in the next room.

"Do you see that doll?" you pointed in the direction of the fireplace. On top of it sat a little wooden doll with a rancid-looking dress. What caught your attention was, besides her size of an actual baby, her fluent movements. The doll seemed to wave in your direction, a wide grin plastered on her face.

"You mean that spawn of hell that creepily waves at us?" Dean dryly asked.

“Mhm… unnerving.” you hummed, completely focused on the doll.

„Good evening!“ the warm voice of an elderly woman suddenly chimed up, making you and Dean jump. “Oh dear, I didn’t mean to scare the two of you.”

“All good.” you chuckled, clutching your heart.

“How can I help the two of you?” the woman smiled endearingly.

“We were wondering if you still have a room available for one night. We tried every motel and hotel, but they’re all booked.”

“Yes, my dear. We still have enough rooms.” the woman quickly looked through her little notebook, “We got two with single beds and another free one with a double.”

“I wonder why…” Dean muttered next to you, earning a swift nudge from your elbow into his ribs.

“We would love to take the one with the double bed.” you smiled sweetly at the woman.

After checking in the old woman led you to your room. To your relief, the room itself was much brighter and less smelly than the foyer. And even the number of dolls was drastically lower and the décor was much more modern.

“Heh… weird.” Dean chuckled as he looked through the room.

“What?” you hummed as you rummaged through your bag.

“Isn’t that the doll that sat on the fireplace downstairs?” Dean inclined his head as he approached the doll that sat on an old commode.

“Maybe she got two?” you shrugged, heading into the bathroom to take a shower.

"Mhm." was Dean's only response as he inspected the doll. It seemed like there were no mechanics at all. Still, her motions were so fluent and lively. Dean carefully picked her up to not break her. He pulled away the crunchy feeling fabric as he searched for the battery pocket but couldn't find one, no matter where he looked.

"Must be some kind of solar thing," he murmured to himself and shrugged. He plucked down the little dress the doll was wearing when an idea popped into his mind, a mischievous grin spreading on his lips.

As you returned from the shower half an hour later and opened the door without suspecting anything bad, you jumped immediately.

“For fucks sake, Dean!” you growled as the doll sat in front of the bathroom door, smiling sympathetically at you as she waved. Dean meanwhile was giggling while lying on the bed, elated that he had scared you successfully.

“Got you!” he cackled triumphantly, making you roll your eyes at him.

“You're lucky I love you.” you grumbled.

“I know.” he smiled sweetly, before heading for a shower himself, pecking your cheek swiftly as he passed you. "Shouldn't have let your guard down..."

The two of you soon settled down in bed, overripe for a good night’s sleep. Dean was out almost immediately as his head hit the pillow. You on the other hand seemed not so lucky.

You lay wide awake in the bed, not knowing why. All you wanted to do was sleep. Maybe it was the unfamiliar surroundings, maybe it was the rest of the adrenaline from the hunt that still ran through your veins. And it didn’t help that Dean was felling trees right next to you. One day you’d smother him if he wouldn’t get that snore checked out.

You jumped slightly when there was a soft thud echoing through the room. You glanced at the clock that stood on the bedside table. A few minutes past 3a.m. You glanced at Dean who was still fast asleep, completely unbothered by the sound. He really was exhausted.

You sat up in the bed and scanned the room. You chuckled when you realised that your duffle bag had fallen from a chair onto the ground. You lay back down and sigh, trying to give sleep another try. You nuzzled against Dean who quickly encased you in a hug, pulling you against his chest. You hummed contently and finally managed to drift off to sleep.

The next morning you and Dean woke up early, quickly throwing everything into your bags before you zipped them up and quickly checked out.

The old woman wasn’t too thrilled that you declined her breakfast buffet which consisted of off-colour sausages and weirdly looking eggs. She was appeased when Dean and you at least took a bread roll each before saying your goodbyes and hurrying out of the smelly B&B.

As soon as Baby rounded the corner, you threw out the stale bread rolls in favour of stopping at a drive-in to get a quick breakfast that wouldn’t get stuck in your throat and take you out.

It was around noon when Dean and you finally arrived back at the bunker, and you quickly started to get your bags out of the car and restock the ammunition and the rest of your weapon arsenal. You'd had a lot to get done, unpacking your dirty clothes to get them washed and repacking the bags for the next hunt as soon as possible. This had been all you've been doing lately, hurrying from one case to another without getting a real break.

When you wandered into the bedroom and opened your duffle bag you almost fainted.

“DEAN! What the fuck!?” you screamed enraged.

“What?” Dean looked at you innocently as he entered your shared room.

“Don’t look at me all innocent!” you scolded him, “You know exactly what you did!”

“As much as I want to take the praise for it, …I don’t.” Dean dryly replied, smiling at you tight-lipped.

“Then please enlighten me how else this freakish thing appeared in my bag!” you pointed into your bag in which the doll from the B&B laid neatly on top of your belongings.

“Dunno.” Dean shrugged, “I swear, Y/N. I didn’t put it in there. It must’ve fallen over when we packed. I mean, I didn’t even touch your bag until you gave it to me to put it in the trunk.”

“Sure.” you glare at him, not believing a single word.

“I swear.” he chuckles, trying to get your good grace back by hugging you tightly from behind, peppering your cheeks with kisses.

“Don’t suck up now.” you giggle.

“But I gotta cheer you up.” he murmured.

“Then be a dear and throw it out. I’m not gonna touch that thing.” you muttered, looking at the doll in disdain.

“Sure thing, my love.” he gave you another peck on your cheek before unravelling his arms from your waist. He picked up the doll, holding it in front of his face. “Bye-bye, Y/N.” he tried to mimic a creepy voice as he walked backwards out of the room.

“You’re such a dork.” you chuckled, shaking your head and continuing to unpack.

It didn’t take long when you heard another shriek resound through the bunker. You quickly hurried to the source of the turmoil, coming to a halt in front of Sam’s room. You were met by Dean who was toppled over in laughter while Sam was sitting on the floor, chest heaving while the doll was sitting on his bed, smiling endearingly as she never ceased to wave.

“Dean, you’re an idiot.” you can’t help but giggle a little.

“I had to, darling.” Dean wipes away a tear he had shed from laughing so hard.

“Did you?!” Sam snarled, scrambling to get back to his feet.

“Oh come on, Sammy. T’was just a joke.” Dean grins triumphantly, shrugging innocently before patting his brother's back teasingly.

“You good, Sam?” you tried so hard to bite back a grin yourself. Sam cleared his throat and nodded.

“Now that I got the two of you here, we could talk about the agenda of the coming days.” Sam changed the topic, earning a groan from Dean.

“How about you let us come back and settle in first.” Dean huffed annoyed.

“Bobby called me repeatedly already. He needs us down at his house. He got a pressing case for us and told me to come down as soon as you two came back.”

“Can we at least have one more day?” Dean bargained, letting his head fall back, “I still need to wash my clothes, else I’ll have to wear my boxers inside out.”

“Gross.” you grimaced.

“If you wanna take the blame for the delay.” Sam hummed, raising his arms in surrender.

“I’ll handle that.” Dean scrunched his nose, “Then it’s settled, we’re going for drinks tonight.” Dean proclaimed with a cheeky grin.

“What? What about your laundry?” Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean.

“What ‘what?’?! Can’t do much while it's in the washer, now can I? Might as well grab a drink then.” Dean smirked smugly. “And I know exactly where we’ll go!” Dean waved a piece of paper around. You swiftly grabbed it from his hand. Sam peeked over your shoulder to get a glance as you read over the flyer.

“ ’Come dressed up - get a free shot’ …?” Sam read out, raising his brow sceptically “Really, Dean?”

“Admit it, you just want to dress up.” you hummed as your eyes drifted from the flyer to Dean. You almost snorted when you saw his eyes sparkle gleefully. He definitely already knew what he’d wear.

“Nonsense.” he protested nonetheless, “I just think a free shot would be neat.”

“Sure, Dean…” Sam shot him an incredulous glance and shook his head.

As you and Dean walked back to your room you could tell that he wanted you to guess what he'd wear. He stared at you expectantly, not watching where he was going.

“Let me guess…” you hummed amused, trying to hold back a laugh. “Cowboy?”

“Cowboy.” he grins giddily, nodding enthusiastically. “What’s your pick?”

“I dunno… I’m not that big on costumes.” you shrugged.

“You can’t tell me you don’t have any costumes.” Dean gasped almost offended, closing the bedroom door behind him.

“Welp… I don’t.” you shrugged, "Unless you count our disguises as a costume."

“And you’re supposed to be my girlfriend…” he tsked and shook his head in feigned disappointment. Suddenly a mischievous grin tugged on the corners of his lips. “I got an idea for the perfect costume though… and we could probably modify some of your clothes for it…”

„If you say sexy nurse, I’ll hit you,” you warn him, shooting him an unamused glare.

“Ok, no sexy nurse then…” he raises his palms in defeat, “But… I’m sure it would suit you perfectly.”

"Of course, you’d think that…“ you shake your head, rolling your eyes at him.

"I‘m being truthful.” he grins, pulling you closer by your waist. “You‘d look irresistible… but then again you look irresistible in everything." Dean purred into your ear.

"Nice try Romeo.“ you push him away gently but firmly, “I will wear something a little less cliché.”

"Was worth the try…" he shrugged, pecking your lips before letting you go to get ready.

The night at the bar was just what you needed. Dean, Sam and you drank together, bellowing to the music in the bar and indulging in old memories.

Around 3 am Dean and you came back completely hammered. Sam had opted to go home with a girl in a devil costume.

As Dean and you barged into the bunker, you were leaning on each other heavily as you giggled together. You barely made it to your bed when you fell onto the mattress. Dean immediately hugged you close to him, nuzzling into your neck as he took a deep breath. He lazily pressed a few kisses along your neck, making you squirm against him, but his lips stopped just as quickly as they had started. Soft snores resounded from him, his warm breath hitting your skin. But you couldn’t bother, you were already drifting off as well when Miracle suddenly started to growl lowly.

“Mira’ shut up.” you slurred annoyed, but Miracle wouldn’t stop. “Miracle!” you groaned, searching for a pillow around you and throwing it into the darkness.

You heard a dull sound and Miracle fell silent. You could hear him sniff around but soon darkness encased you fully as your drunken mind fell asleep.

"Y/N?" Dean called through the bunker hoarsely when he had finally fallen out of bed.

"I'm in the library," you replied, cradling your pounding head between your hands as you sat at the table. Even the smell of your coffee in front of you made you slightly nauseous. You regretted the last three shots from last night.

There was a moment of silence in which you could hear him waddle towards the library.

"Did you put that creepy doll in the kitchen?! You scared the shit out of me!" Dean’s face was still pale as he entered the library in his bathrobe. You weren’t sure if it was from the hangover or the shock. “Was that your revenge for yesterday? I swear I didn’t put it in your bag!

"I didn't.“ you mumbled slurred, not even bothering to look at Dean as your eyes were closed, „I wouldn’t have touched that thing for a lame revenge like that. Probably was Sam.” you shrugged, “He came back like an hour ago… probably wanted to pay you back.”

"Sammy!" Dean bellowed, already taking off to Sam’s room. You winced at his loud voice and groaned when you heard the brothers start to bicker.

After an agonizing hangover that lasted till late in the evening, you finally felt good enough to help Dean pack for the next morning when he'd leave with Sam. You felt extra clingy tonight even though you knew that they would probably be back in two or three days.

But as the tradition dictated, Dean and you cuddled in bed together before going to sleep.

"When do you have to leave again tomorrow?" you murmured against Dean’s skin as you lay on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"We gonna leave at… like 7.30-ish?" Dean hummed, his hand lazily running up and down your spine.

“That early?” you whined to which Dean chuckled. He softly kissed your forehead, wrapping his arms tighter around you and holding you close.

“The earlier we leave, the earlier we get back,” he mumbled against your neck.

“And how long will you be gone?” you huffed against him.

“A day, maybe two?” Dean hummed, “So you only have a single night without your handsome and wonderful man.” he grinned against your skin, making you chuckle.

“Now that I’m thinking about it, I can probably survive a night without you.” you retorted in feigned annoyance.

“Oh really?” he smirked, starting to tickle your sides.

“Hey! No! Stop!” you started to squirm against him, trying to wriggle away from his attack. Dean grinned triumphantly as he continued to tickle you for a moment before stopping.

“Still think you gonna be fine without me?” he looked at you challengingly.

“More than ever.” you grinned cheekily, biting your lip.

“Don’t be mean now…” Dean murmured, leaning down to capture your lips in a tender kiss.

“Mhm… ok… maybe that’s something I’m gonna miss…” you smiled against his lips.

“Is that so?” Dean smirked smugly, giving you a passionate kiss, “I can remind you of a few more things you gonna miss.” he grinned, swiftly flipping you to lay on the mattress. You yelped in surprise as he towered over you, trailing hungry kisses down your skin, making you gasp in delight.

You groaned softly when you woke up in the middle of the night without seemingly any reason. At first, you thought it was thanks to Dean’s snoring. As you glanced at your alarm clock it was shortly after 3am… again.

It seemed to become a daily occurrence for you to wake up around that time, you just couldn’t understand why. Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard a soft shuffling around your bed. You tensed for a moment, glancing around the room. Your eyes landed on the slightly ajar door that you were sure had been closed when Dean and you went to bed.

You rolled your eyes amused at yourself for being scared for a moment when Miracle had probably just pushed open the door to get to his sleeping spot at the foot of your bed.

You nuzzled back into your pillow, closing your eyes to go back to sleep when there suddenly resounded what could only be described as a giggle. Your eyes widened immediately, and your hands tightened on your blanket.

You swallowed hard as you listened into the darkness.

"Dean!" you whispered. No response. You began to shake him slightly, "Dean, wake up!" you whisper-yelled panicked.

"Hmm… what's wrong." Dean groaned sleepily as he began to stir awake.

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That giggle!" the fear in your voice was apparent.

"Giggle? Go back to sleep Y/N, your imagination is playing tricks on you."

The floorboards softly creaked making you jump.

"Did you hear that!" you almost shouted.

"Yes, I did. It's just the wood settling, telling you to get some sleep. Nothing more." Dean mumbled, pulling you closer to him before he fell right back to sleep. You rolled your eyes at him.

"Thanks, douchebag…" you muttered, pulling your covers up to your nose and staying alert.

Every creak and crack made you scoot even closer to Dean until you were pressed against him completely. You battled with falling asleep as exhaustion seeped into your bones but once the clock struck 6am the bunker fell silent apart from Dean’s snores. Your eyelids became just too heavy to keep open and soon you were fast asleep.

"Outch!" you cried out, clutching your hip. You were still half asleep when you pottered around in the kitchen. When you had turned around your hip crashed into the open standing cutlery drawer, "For god’s sake Dean! How often do I have to tell you to close these damn drawers!" you hissed in pain at Dean who sat on the table, nursing his coffee. He looked up, startled for a moment.

"I wasn't even near that drawer," he replied groggily, his hand rubbing over his cheek.

"Sure." you grumbled, “That seems to be your standard excuse.”

"No, for real! I only got my coffee. Don’t need cutlery for that." he defended himself and held up his cup. You narrowed your eyes at him.

"Don't give me that look Y/N!" Dean warned you jokingly, "I swear, I'm telling the truth. Maybe you opened it in your delirium and forgot about it."

"Maybe." you grumbled as you took a spoon out of the drawer and closed it, "But you can't blame me. I slept awful."

"Why? Didn’t I tire you out enough?” Dean smirked into his mug, “You seemed really exhausted when we fell asleep…”

“Sometimes I wanna smack your pretty face…” you sighed, shooting Dean an unamused glare, "I woke up in the middle of the night because I thought that I had heard somebody or something shuffling through the house. There was creaking and giggling the whole night."

"Giggling?" Dean drawled amused, raising a brow at you.

" I know it sounds weird but I know what I’ve heard.”

“Maybe it was just the whistling of the wind or something like that." Dean shrugged dismissively, “Maybe Miracle whined in his sleep."

"Cause I can’t tell the difference between a dog whine and a giggling sound?" you scoffed, “Miracle wasn’t even in our room last night cause of certain activities…”

“Maybe you were making up things in your post-blissful haze.” Dean grinned cheekily, immediately receiving a hit against his shoulder, “Ow!” he chuckled, “Why are you being so mean to me lately?”

“I’m not mean! You’re just a dick at the moment.”

“Am not!” Dean protested amused, rubbing his arm, “You’ve been on my case ever since we returned from our hunt.”

“Because you started the war with the doll!”

“I didn’t do that!” Dean laughed, “But maybe that’s why you’re so jumpy. Your subconsciousness still tries to get over that little scare.”

"I’m a hunter, Dean. Spooky shit is my daily bread, so I doubt that a little doll could scare me into hallucinating sounds at night.” you scoffed, “And it's not like I was dreaming. I was wide awake!"

"So, you wanna tell me some creature scampered through the bunker last night?” Dean looked at you sceptically, “I would’ve heard it as well. I mean, I was right next to you… Wait a minute… is that why you tried to wake me up last night? It feels like we talked about this already."

"Yeah… and you jackass fell right back asleep.” you huffed, “You wouldn’t have heard a fire alarm over your snoring!”

“I don’t snore!” Dean scoffed offended.

“Oh trust me, you do.” you huffed dramatically, “And yes, I know, there wasn't anybody scampering around… I just. I don't know, ok? Something just felt… off."

"It was probably the wood settling over the night. The nights are getting colder now, the wood draws together.” Dean reasoned, gently rubbing your arm up and down in a soothing motion.

"Presumably…" you mumbled unconvinced.

"And the most plausible," Dean added with a shit-eating grin.

"Bite me!" you quipped, glaring at him as you shrugged off his hand.

"You know, only in our bedroom!" he called after you with a cheeky grin as you walked out of the kitchen, flipping him off.

When the boys left the bunker to drive down to Bobby, you left with them through the garage, saying your goodbye to them before heading in the other direction towards the town to get some groceries so you wouldn’t have to get takeout yet again. Sam, Dean, and you had been almost exclusively on the road for the last couple of months, so the pantry looked quite meagre while other chores had piled up around the bunker. You would have to get to them as soon as you came back from grocery shopping and running a few errands as well.

Around noon you finally found yourself back at the bunker, the trunk of your car filled with multiple bags and the dry cleaning you had picked up on your way. Dean and Sam had the bad habit of wearing their suits until they started to reek and would bring almost every suit they owned to the dry cleaning at once. Usually, you refused to bring or pick up the clothes since it was hard to carry the 10+ suits back and forth but you actually had to pick up a coat of your own, so you tried to be a doting girlfriend and friend for once and picked all of the clothes up.

Just as you killed the engine and tried to figure out how you could carry everything inside without having to take too many trips, your phone began to ring.

"Perfect timing, Mister Winchester." you chuckled as you accepted the call.

"Just came home?" his raspy voice resounded from the speakers. He sounded tired.

"Yup, had a busy day already. How’s the trip going? Taking a break?”

"Sammy had to stretch out his freakishly long legs.” Dean hummed and you could hear a muffled ‘Hey!’ in the background.

“But traffic’s ok?”

“So far, it’s been a breeze. We almost passed the halfway mark, we should get to Bobby around 6pm if we’re lucky.” Dean hummed.

“Where are you right now?” you asked curiously, getting out of the car to walk around to the back.

“Somewhere in the middle of Missouri… I think.”

“How’s it there? Any better than in Kansas?” you tried to keep Dean talking, already missing his voice. You pinned your phone between your ear and your shoulder as you opened the trunk and got the first few bags out of it, walking towards the bunker's main entrance.

“Slightly better weather-wise but I'd much rather be with you right now," Dean murmured into your ear.

"Aw, you're sweet. I'd love that too… then I wouldn't have to carry in all these suits that I picked up at the dry-cleaner's and all these groceries on my own." Dean only snickered on the other end of the line, “We really have to get them cleaned in more reasonable batches instead of every single suit you guys have been wearing till they smell.”

"So, what do you have planned for tonight?" Dean tried to change the subject.

"Not much," you said while fishing for your keys in your coat pocket while balancing the grocery bags on your leg, "Maybe do some of my laundry.”

Dean could hear you unlock the front door and suddenly you screamed and there was a thud.

"Y/N?" Dean asked concerned, his brows furrowing as he listened attentively for any sounds.

"Dean what the heck! Was that necessary?" you panted into the speaker as you picked up your phone from the ground.

"Was what necessary?" he asked confused.

"Don't act so innocent. You have to stop with those pranks!" you laughed, your heart still racing, "You scared the shit out of me. Again. Congratulations!"

"…and with what exactly?" Dean chuckled bemused.

"The doll you sat directly behind the door?"

"Ahh… erm… yeah. Got you!" he forced a laugh. Hadn’t he thrown that weird thing out before they went to the bar 2 days ago? Maybe Miracle had found it in the trash outside and dragged it back inside.

"Ok?" you raised an eyebrow and kicked the doll out of your way, "Moving on. Please remember to tell Cas that he has to come by the next couple of days for the translation of the Enochian we found." you carried the bags towards the kitchen.

“Why me?” Dean grumbled.

“Cause Cas only answers your calls…” you hummed amused. Dean sighed exasperated.

"Yes, sweetheart, I will." he groaned.

The rest of the day you busied yourself with the chores. You started a load of your and Dean’s sheets while tidying your shared room, vacuuming, and dusting off every surface. Afterwards, you busied yourself with restocking the pantry and cleaning out the fridge from unidentifiable containers of what arguably had been food at some point in time.

After cooking yourself a late dinner you let yourself fall into a recliner in the Dean cave. Miracle joined you, getting a few bites of your pasta dish as the two of you watched a movie. In the middle of the movie, your phone vibrated, notifying you of a goodnight text from Dean and the info that he and Sam were on their way back to the bunker and should be back around noon. You quickly send back your reply before stashing the phone into the side of the recliner and turning your attention back to the movie.

You didn’t even realise how tired you were until you woke up in the middle of the night to a completely dark room. The TV must’ve shut off a while ago and Miracle was nowhere to be seen.

You sighed as you tried to wake up enough to get up and wander back to your room. That’s when you realised that you had forgotten to put the sheets back onto the bed after you had washed them and put them into the dryer. You groaned and shuffled in the opposite direction to the laundry room. You didn’t bother turning on the lights, hoping you would be able to fall asleep quicker if you didn’t get blinded by the harsh lights of the bunker.

As you gathered all the sheets out of the dryer you hummed in delight as the scent of freshly washed laundry filled your nose. You couldn’t wait to fall asleep while being encased in this heavenly smell. Your thoughts were rudely interrupted when Mircale suddenly started to bark out of nowhere.

“What is it, Miracle?” you called out annoyed. Maybe he was scolding you for not being in your room when he wanted to sleep, “I’ll be there in a sec…”

You were a little confused when his barking turned into growls and snarls.

“Miracle, what’s your deal?” you groaned.

Your heart stopped beating for a moment, your eyes widening as you froze in the doorway. You swallowed hard and tried to pull yourself together. This probably was just a nightmare. Or as Dean would tell you right now, just the wood settling. Very amused Wood being in a giggly mood…

You felt a chill run down your spine when you heard it again.

The giggling.

“H-hello?” you asked into the darkness, thinking that maybe Dean had already talked to Cas who had come by.

But you never got a response. And usually, Miracle wouldn’t snarl at Cas either, nor would Cas sound like a giggling toddler. So, this was more than odd.

Your stomach felt queasy as you crept up towards your room cautiously. Your heart was dancing tango in your chest. Suddenly you heard pitter-patter grow louder behind you and without another thought you booked it to your room, not even looking back. As soon as you reached your room, Miracle scurried in after you and you slammed the bedroom door close.

You panted as adrenaline shot through and your brain was slowly processing what just had happened. You began chuckling and shook your head amused.

“Miracle, you scared me.” you chuckled slightly relieved and a bit amused that you got scared that easily when a sudden slam against the door made your heart sink again.

You quickly locked the door, backing away immediately and stumbling backwards a few steps until the back of your knees hit the mattress. You threw the washed sheets onto the bed, your eyes never leaving the door as you searched for Dean’s emergency blade under the bed. Once you had the knife secured in your hand you searched for your phone in desperation. It slowly dawned on you that you had forgotten your phone on the recliner, so you had no chance of calling the boys for support. But then again, they probably couldn’t help you in your situation right now anyway since they were still thousands of miles away from the bunker. All you could do was wait it out until they came back and stand on guard.

At some point during the night, you gathered the courage to slide a chair under the handle of the door before you sat down on your bed again. You didn’t hear anything anymore outside of the door, but you didn’t trust the silence one bit. You invited Miracle into the bed for emotional support. Dean would kill you if he found out that you had let the dog sleep in bed with you, but you didn’t really care right now.

Harsh pounding against the door jerked you awake. You had no idea how late it was or when you had fallen asleep. You almost fell to the ground when you scrambled out of bed.

“Darling? Y/N?! Are you in there?” Dean’s worried voice resounded from the other side of the door, the handle turning frantically as he continued to knock against the door.

You quickly scurried to the door and pulled the chair away before you opened the door, trying to act as nonchalant as possible.

“You’re back.” you tried to sound enthusiastic, but the grogginess was quite apparent on your face.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” Dean asked worried, grabbing your shoulders as he inspected you, “What happened? Why did you lock yourself in our room? You look pale.”

“N-nothing.” you stammered sheepishly. You didn’t want to tell Dean what had happened. He probably wouldn’t believe you and tell you that you had probably just imagined it again. Or he’d turn it around and tease you about ‘how much you had missed him’ and that ‘your strong, handsome man was back to protect you from bad dreams again’. And you really didn’t need that right now, especially with the lack of proper sleep.

“Look who we brought,” Sam announced suddenly, making you sigh relieved as the conversation was stirred away from you when Sam stepped aside to reveal Cas tagging along behind him.

“You look awful.” Cas greeted you in his monotone voice.

“Hi, Cas… nice to see you, too.”

Taglist: @hellowgoodbye @fuckyoutommie @loz-3 @whorefordean @kayful00595 @drasticemotions @deans-spinster-witch @tweakingin2 @winharry @jackles010378 @marvelfanfn2187a113

Divider by @talesmaniac89

[sugar-omi]

Hi! Your writing is amazing and makes my day every time I see you post. Could I request Cove while trying for a baby with a female MC? He’s so sweet and emotional I can totally imagine it would be equal parts super fluffy/adorable and spicy/hot Thank you! ✨

omg ty thats so nice of you to say!!! also tysm for this rq, i've been waiting for someone to ask smth like this bc i was worried i was the only one thinkin shit like this!!! also i think this is a bit more horny than fluffy, which is why i tried to make up for it w lots of kisses from cove LOL but ykw.. i feel like a part 2 wouldnt be so bad either 👀

tags : NSFW, ok for fem/nb readers, after step 4/wedding dlc, buff cove lol, breeding kink, creampie, overstimulation, cove w oral fixation(? a bit implied), cunnilingus, cove "uses" a nickname that you can "insert" bc i can but also cant see him using pet names, + he calls u good girl, "multiple choice" dialogue (just read 1 of the colored text "options" than continue w the rest of the fic, theres no links or anything <3)

synopsis : you and cove try for a baby.

cove tries to be calm.

and he is! after a bit of panic of course, caused by his worries but excitement for fatherhood but also you want him to.. to... oh god he's too embarrassed to think about it, from finally deciding to have a baby the only natural next emotion is calm! he is cooler than a cucumber!

but now you're laid out under him, as beautiful as ever, and even after years of being together cove can't get enough of you; especially when you're so sweet to have like this.

"cove.." your gasp drug cove out of his daze.

you reach up and cup his face, cove leaning into your touch. "y/n.." he kisses your wrist.

"what're you thinking about?"

cove flushes. there's no way he could tell you exactly what he was thinking, saying that he found the idea of coming inside was totally different from thinking it and he was not ready to that something clicked in him when you finally talked about being ready for a baby...

"you.. just- just you, and how lucky i am." cove decided to distract you by kissing down your neck, leaving a new mark under your ear. thankfully it worked, although maybe you just gave it up because you already know what's going through his head.

he starts working his way down your body, and you fall back on the pillows and let cove treat himself to your cunt.

cove tossed your panties somewhere beyond the bed, his days of nervously folding your panties over. and he latches onto your thighs, sucking more marks into your skin and his fingers lovingly work your clit.

"cove.. i wan' more..." you tangle your hands in his hair, tugging on the strands. wordlessly he moves on to your twitchy core, his tongue slipping inside and lapping up your slick.

cove's boisterous ministrations has you grinding against his face, gasping as he works your sensitive clit and adds a couple fingers to the mix, speeding up the process so he can be inside you.

cove hopes you don't see him grinding against the mattress.

he sits up, his fingers spreading you open easily. while you're panting dozily, cove's fingers abandons your cunt so he can grab the lube from the bedside.

"habit.." cove laughs it off sheepishly.

he instinctually reaches for a condom, but realizes and a wave of heat rushes over him. you won't be needing those for awhile...

cove meets your hooded gaze, a knowing look in your eyes.

you grin, full of mischief. "guess we're gonna have to break it."

cove growls lowly, slapping a hand over his eyes. it does nothing to hide his blush and he curses himself when his cock twitches against his leg.

deciding to come out of hiding, cove peers at you from over his nose and you feel your own heart pick up sped at the stark look of his eyes. something about cove seems like he could devour you, but when he leans down to kiss you so tenderly you think otherwise.

cove poured the lube over his hand, coating his length and he hisses at the heat between his hand and cock. hazily cove thinks that this is the hardest he's been since he was a clumsy teenager.

cove captures you in another loving kiss, wanting to be close to you as he sinks inside.

this is your first time going without a condom, being connected like this has both of you holding onto each other, your nails scratching down his shoulder at the new but welcomed sensation.

this isn't the first time you and cove have done it unprotected, but it has been awhile so you both can't help but pull the other person closer, needing more.

cove buries his face in your shoulder, shaking from how wet and hot you are inside like this. he can feel the way your gummy walls flex around him and he pulls his hips back- the whine that comes out of your taut throat has cove closing his eyes and taking in your every sound as he moves so slowly, so sensually but so lovingly when he grinds his hips into yours.

finally, he finds the strength to remove himself from your shoulder, needing to see your face in ecstasy.

cove looked down at your own blissed out face, and if he could see his own face he'd notice that his own face his flushed and if it was possible, his pupils would turn into hearts from how lost in pleasure and love for you he's in.

he situates his hands on your hips, the pads of his thumbs rubbing affectionate circles into your skin.

"ah- cove, cove.. please move." you reach for him, intertwining one of his hands with your own.

he gives a kiss to the back of your hand, and when he rears back his hips to start a rough pace, if you could you'd think that the kiss was an apology for the way he's using your cunt.

cove's grip on your hand and hip is solid, it grounds you and the only thing you can think of is how deliciously cove is fucking you, his cock brushing and bumping against the sensitive and deepest parts of your insides.

you whine loudly and can't help but throw your head back because it's like he's going faster and when your eyes return from their trip to the back of your head, you open your eyes to feast on the sight of your husband/boyfriend.

and it's self explanatory why you're more aroused than a just moment ago; cove's hair is mused from all your tugging, and his glasses are long abandoned so that way he can see the way his cock pumps in and out of your cunt and the creamy ring around the base of his dick.

"ah- i love you. y-you're so beautiful..." cove soothes you, kissing your cheek.

"i- oh fuck right there!" your nails run down his chest, cove is going to be a mural of hickeys and scratches. "i love you too, ahh- cove!"

cove lets go of your hand in favor of your clit, already knowing your body well enough to know when you're going to cum.

"fuck... that's it, y/n, cum for me."

"hah, cove! f-finish with me, please. want- want..." you pant, hazy and driven to babbling from the way cove has worked you up all night.

"i know n/n, cum with me. that's it, good girl." cove leans down to kiss you.

tangled in a passionate kiss, your moans blend together as you finish. cove grinds his hips into you, his cock rubbing the deepest part of your insides and painting them white.

he falls into your shoulder, panting and planting a kiss there.

cove gets up, realizing you don't need a wall of muscle crushing you.

"y/n..."

he starts to pull out, and cove has another revelation that he did not think this through...

his cum is leaking from your spent hole, more cum pushing out with every squeeze of your insides, still twitchy from your orgasm.

"yes cove?"

cove swallows, meeting your eyes and he feels embarrassed that you already know what he's going to say. and that you clearly know how much this is turning him on.

"one.. one more round? i'll be more gentle, i just uh.."

you put your ankle on cove's shoulder. "cove, fuck me again."

cove tenses up, this is gonna end up being a long night...

[riding-the-sunset-bird]

This is the one! This is the last of all the Cove posts digging into what you can change either through your own choices or the Cove Creator!

We're talking about what changes Cove's future and how Studious/Sporty he is!

Here's a rough recap of everything from the last two posts:

What Cove favors in terms of academic/indoorsy or athletic/outdoorsy activities is a spectrum where he can be either Studious, Mixed, or Sporty. Step 1 Cove begins as Mixed, not favoring either, then can either lean one way or stay where he is in following steps depending on the player's choices.

A player who encourages Cove to do more athletic things rather than bookish things will lead to their Cove being Sporty, and vice versa with encouraging him to do more bookish things to get a Studious one. A Mixed Cove is more likely to happen if the MC doesn't lean Cove either way (not just balancing but actively not encouraging either types of activities).

Cove may also lean in the opposite direction of the MC if the MC's choices indicate/imply that they are better at something bookish/athletic than Cove. The MC and Cove can both still be studious at the same time or sporty at the same time, but the MC just has to be careful not to exclude Cove from the studious/sporty things they participate in.

How this factors in at the end of a step is a point system, which is also how the warm-moderate-cold spectrum works. Depending on how the MC interacts with Cove when certain options are presented to them, he'll gain either studious points, sporty points, or none at all. Whichever Cove has more points of in at the end will be used to calculate if he's Studious/Sporty or not (if there aren't enough points to make him Studious or Sporty, he'll be Mixed), and the other points are "thrown away."

The way Cove ends up looking is unrelated to whether he's Studious/Mixed/Sporty, except in cases where such choices may overlap, which is exceedingly rare.

Despite the Cove Creator having options between Studious and Mixed as well as Mixed and Sporty, these options do nothing and will simply behave as if you chose a Studious/Sporty or Mixed Cove, depending on the Step you're in.

Following that last bullet point, the Cove Creator continues to work as it does in Step 3: the button for Studious, Mixed, and Sporty work as you'd expect, whereas the button for Studious-Mixed and Mixed-Sporty will lead to a Mixed Cove. There's no need to worry about potentially missing anything though, as there's nothing that would've been exclusive to a hypothetically Studious-Mixed or Mixed-Sporty Cove anyway (which has been the case for the whole game anyway; the game only checks to see if your Cove is Studious, Mixed, or Sporty).

How Cove's future is affected by whether he's Studious/Mixed/Sporty goes like so:

If Cove is Studious, he will go to college to study marine biology. His goal is set on becoming a natural resource technician (or finding environmental consultation jobs on the side if he shares a business with the MC) and he volunteers at ORCA when his workload allows it.

If Cove is Mixed, he will get a two-year degree and begin working full-time at ORCA (or part-time if he shares a business with the MC), helping educate the public on ocean conservation efforts and participating in shore restoration efforts.

If Cove is Sporty, he will decide against pursuing a degree and focus fully on his career. He will get a small business teaching surf lessons (or only do it on the side if he shares a business with the MC) and volunteer at ORCA when his workload allows it.

Though, beyond Cove's actual future, you won't actually get any extra narration/dialog if your Cove is Studious. Mixed and Sporty Cove get a bit, but share the same ones. If you only care about getting the most dialog/narration possible, don't have a Studious Cove.

There is at least one fun difference in how this works compared to the other steps though, which you'll also find all the way at the bottom of this post. In all other steps, whether your Cove was already Studious/Mixed/Sporty had no impact on what he could become next, so a Sporty Cove staying the way he is from one step to another was just as easy as a Studious Cove becoming Sporty.

Here, however, the game will add a single point towards sportiness if your Step 3 Cove is Sporty, and it's the same with a Studious Step 3 Cove towards studiousness.

See for yourself! Here's the final list on Cove's modifiers!

Step 3 Intro

[NONE]

Hang (Cove's Version)

When Cove asks the MC what they'd like to do on the beach:

"The water sounds good." (if the MC is wearing a swimsuit) [sporty +1]

"Taking a stroll would be fun. I don't mind my feet being in the water." [studious +1]

You planned to just get some sun. [studious +1]

"Either way is fine. What would you wanna do?" [sporty +1]

(following above choice) When Cove talks about letting the mermaid dream go:

You burst into laughter. [no change]

"That's hardly proof. It's not like this is the only beach in the world." [studious +1]

You pretended to be shocked and disappointed. [no change]

You shook your head. [no change]

"Wow, good for you with that revelation." [studious +1]

While the MC and the others wait for Cove:

You wrote 'wash me' in the dirt on his car. [sporty +1]

You waited for Cove. [no change]

As Cove talks about how Sunset Bird felt bigger growing up:

"It definitely felt bigger then." [sporty +1]

"It's always seemed like there wasn't much here." [studious +1]

"There are tinier places out there." [sporty +1]

"You guys are lucky to live in decent sized cities." [studious +1]

You quietly nodded along. [no change]

You shrugged. [no change]

When the offer is given to return to the neighborhood or go to the park:

You decided to go back to the neighborhood with Cove. [studious +1]

You wanted to continue the hang out session at the park. [sporty +1]

Errands

If the MC chose to wander the market with Cove and is in a good mood/feeling better during their break (non-Indifferent only):

"Can you give me a piggyback ride?" [sporty +1]

"Could you carry my things?" (if the MC has any bags) [studious +1]

"Want me to carry your bags?" [studious +1]

"Want a piggyback ride?" [sporty +1]

You quietly enjoyed the break from walking. [no change]

(note: I swear I didn't swap any of these, Cove gets a studious point for carrying your things and a sporty point if you offer a piggyback ride; I don't know why)

Talks

[NONE]

Charity

If the MC is an ORCA member:

[studious +1]

After it's time to wrap up at the beach (if the MC is an ORCA member):

You raised your hand for a high-five. [no change]

You nudged your shoulder against Cove's. [no change]

You started pushing Cove on the back to move forward. [studious +1]

You ran off. [sporty +1]

You started to walk. [no change]

If the MC is not an ORCA member:

[sporty +1]

If the MC joins Cove for fireflies and suggests the door, leading Cove to ask if he should follow behind (non-Indifferent only):

"No. Just don't make any noise." [sporty +1]

"Yeah. Follow me." [studious +1]

You outlined the optimal route to keep your path the farthest from your parents' room. [studious +1]

You shrugged. [sporty +1]

If the MC joins Cove for fireflies and suggests the window, leading Cove to ask if they want help (non-Indifferent only):

You nodded yes. [sporty +1]

You shook your head no. [no change]

While the MC is relaxing on poppy hill with Cove:

You continued watching fireflies. {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

You wanted to catch some fireflies. {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

You asked Cove if he wanted to catch fireflies. {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

You challenged him to a rolling race down the hill. {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

↳ "I made it down first." [studious +1]

↳ "You won." [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

↳ "Looks like we tied." [sporty +1]

↳ "Did you see who won? I didn't..." [studious +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

↳ You stayed silent. [no change]

You asked Cove to dance with you. (if non-Indifferent) [no change]

↳ "I'd just like to." (if Soiree didn't happen) [no change]

↳ "I think I want to dance with you again, before it's over." (if the MC danced with Cove in Soiree and had the conversation with him) [no change]

↳ "It makes sense, look at how you're dressed." [no change]

Drive

After Cove and the MC take a break to eat and refuel (if the MC has a driver's license):

You took shifts driving throughout the trip. [no change]

You helped Cove stay alert while he drove. [studious +1]

After Cove talks about he and MC being responsible adults (non-Indifferent only):

"Yes, very responsible." [studious +1]

"No, we're not." [sporty +1]

"Well, I am. Cove, though..." [sporty +1]

"Cove is, though I can't say the same for myself." [studious +1]

You simply smiled at him. [no change]

"Uh, maybe you should sleep in the living room after all." [no change]

Reflection

After Cove admits to wanting to try jet skiing again (Indifferent only):

"That seems like a bad idea." [studious +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

"Good luck." [studious +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

"That sounds fun!" [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

"Can't wait to see your new scar." [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

"Are you sure?" {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

You stayed quiet. {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

When Cove talks about the legal age of jet skiing in California being eighteen (non-Indifferent only):

"Yes!" [sporty +1]

"No!" [studious +1]

"Let's use our adult powers for a jet skiing adventure!" [sporty +1]

"You want to break another bone?" [studious +1]

"There are more exciting things adults can do," you joked. (if Crush/Love and not dating Baxter) [no change]

You were silently shocked. [no change]

When Cove looks nervous from jet skiing (if the MC went with him to talk to Mr. Holden a second time):

"Go Cove! You can do it!" [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

"Come on, are you really gonna chicken out now?" [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

"It'll be alright, Cove. Trust yourself!" [studious +1] {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

You let him have a moment. [studious +1] {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

Late Shift

all studious/sporty points are exclusive to non-Indifferent interests

After Cove wonders what to do since the moms didn't specify what color peppers they wanted the MC to get:

"No, it doesn't matter." [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

"We'll have to get one of every color." [studious +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

"I'll text mom real quick to ask." {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

"She left it out, that means I get to make the call." [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

"I don't know... What do you think?" [studious +1]

When Cove realizes that he needs to get fruit for his breakfast:

"Whatever it is, you better hurry 'cause I'm getting in line." [sporty +1]

"Cove, you had plenty of time for that before we were leaving." [no change]

"I can go back to look with you." [studious +1]

If the MC saves their and Cove's spot at the table in the fast food place, letting him get the food himself:

[sporty +1]

If the MC goes with Cove to get the food trays at the fast food place instead of saving their spot at the table:

[studious +1]

Serendipity

[NONE]

Boating

When Lee wonders who should go first in the party game:

"Me!" [no change]

"How about rock, paper, scissors to decide?" [studious +1]

"We could have an arm-wrestling contest to choose." [sporty +1]

"I don't care." [no change]

You waited for someone to speak. [no change]

If the MC helps Cove during the party game by hinting at french fries or their moms' liking of potatoes:

[studious +1]

If the MC fails to help Cove during the party game:

[sporty +1]

If the MC is seasick/scared and is sent below deck, but refuses when Cove offers to fetch them a drink (non-Indifferent only):

[studious +1]

If the MC is seasick/scared and is sent below deck, then allows it when Cove offers to fetch them a drink (non-Indifferent only):

[sporty +1]

When Cove admits that he's a little slow with things (if Mall happened and if the MC either didn't feel seasick/scared or did and felt better soon after):

"That's an understatement." [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

"You're sharp when you want to be." [studious +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

"It's okay Cove, you're good exactly the way you are." {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

You didn't comment. {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

Happiness

all studious/sporty points require the MC's interest level to not be Indifferent

When Cove asks the MC which of the three "unexpected outings" they'd like best:

Seeing a play. [studious +1]

The aquarium. [no change]

Ice skating. [sporty +1]

if going ice skating

When Cove admits to not having taken a jacket:

You were right there with him. (if the MC chose to dress normally) [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

"Yeah, your parents can't tell you what to do. You're a big boy." [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

You scolded him for not preparing for what you were doing. [studious +1]

"You're probably gonna regret that once we get there." [studious +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

"I like that you don't wear a lot of layers too." (if Crush/Love and not dating Baxter) {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

You simply shook your head. [no change]

if going to the theater

When Cove asks what kind of show the MC wants to see:

"I wanna see the comedy." [sporty +1]

"I wanna see the romance." [studious +1]

"You pick." [no change]

"Let's have chance decide." [no change]

after the second outing with Cove

When the MC debates on surprising Cove back or not:

You were determined to fully appreciate his effort. [sporty +1]

You wanted to prepare a gift to surprise him with, too. [sporty +1]

You resolved enough was enough. You were going to change the plans and make him surprised. [studious +1]

You resolved enough was enough. You were gonna thank him with a gift and surprise him with a change of plans. [studious +1]

if the MC chose to surprise Cove with a trip to a poppy field

When Cove asks what he should do now when he and the MC arrive near the field:

"Cover your eyes. I'll lead you in the right direction." [sporty +1]

"I'm gonna cover your eyes. You need to let me lead the way." [studious +1]

Step 3 Ending

If the MC was upset at the restaurant and left, did not message their family in the car, and approves of Cove's joke about selling pretzels with them (non-Indifferent only):

"What kind of pretzels will we sell?" [no change]

"We will have pretzels for our meals too." [no change]

"We better research the apartment we get well." [studious +1]

"I'd also like to perform on the shopping street." [sporty +1]

the following are rolled when meeting Cove on poppy hill

If Cove was Sporty in Step 3:

[sporty +1]

If Cove was Studious in Step 3:

[studious +1]