#his flares had been getting longer and worse each time but this one is not as bad as the summer so yeah

[papiermachecat]

Thinking about your son- how is he doing?

Oh thank you for thinking of him ❤️…he’s hanging in there. He had an infusion of rituxan in late Oct that apparently might be working, or at least isn’t actively detrimental according to his labs, so we have another infusion of Rituxan scheduled for February (with two more to come every 12 weeks). His symptoms are definitely still present (lots of tics, still some compulsive behaviors but not as all-consuming, fatigue & mood swings, a lot of anxiety) and he still can’t go to school but 🤷🏻‍♀️ we’re just kinda keeping on keeping on at this point. TL,DR: kinda the same but that’s a win for now. Here’s a pic of him before he got sick, just because he’s so cute.

[cece693]

Calm Down Cowboy (Jasper Whitlock x M! Reader)

I never expected much love to come from my first Jasper fanfic, so as thanks, here's another one :)

Summary: You were a social butterfly, however, that doesn't excuse your husband's actions. However, was it really all bad if it led to him being possessive and taking charge.

tags: jealous Jasper, social butterfly male reader, petty cowboy, happy ending, smut, past mention of Tanya/reader

It was almost funny, looking back on it now, but in that moment, you were steaming like a kettle ready to burst. After all these centuries spent by Jasper’s side—dozens of weddings, countless anniversaries, and endless reassurances—how could he still get jealous just from you talking to someone? You were well aware of your own charm; a social butterfly whose charisma, suaveness, and good looks drew people to you like moths to a flame. But Jasper knew this too. He knew you never encouraged those who fawned over you, nor did you let any past lovers hold sway over you anymore.

Yet, Tanya Denali seemed to light a fire under your cowboy like no other. It didn’t matter how many times you’d promise it while fucking him that Tanya was nothing—just a brief fling in your long, immortal life, severed the moment he'd come into it—he still couldn't stand the sight of her.

It started innocently enough. The Denalis were visiting Forks, and you'd found yourself chatting with Tanya. The conversation was light, inconsequential—a quick catch-up on each other's lives. But then Tanya, ever the flirt, edged closer, her hand brushing against your arm, her laugh a little too soft, too familiar.

Jasper, who had been watching from a distance, stiffened immediately. You could feel his emotions boiling over, his usual calm demeanor cracking as Tanya leaned in, her fingers trailing down your sleeve. You glanced over your shoulder, trying to catch his eye and silently communicate that it was nothing, but Jasper was no longer standing in his spot.

Instead, he was striding toward you, his eyes dark and full of a possessiveness that made your stomach twist. "That’s enough." he said sharply, stepping between you and Tanya. His tone was harsher than you’d ever heard from him, a growl that had everyone around you suddenly going silent.

Tanya raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sly smile. “Oh, come on, Jasper. I’m just catching up with an old friend. No harm in that, is there?”

Jasper’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tight. "Funny how you always seem to forget what ‘no harm’ means. You don’t belong here, stirring up old shit.”

You quickly put a hand on his arm, but Tanya wasn’t done. “Oh, Jasper, I had no idea you were so insecure,” she cooed, her eyes flicking to you with a knowing glint. “I thought you’d trust your mate by now, especially after all these years. But I suppose some habits die hard.”

Jasper’s muscles tensed under your grip, his temper flaring hotter than before. “How would you know? You haven’t found your mate yet," he snapped back, his Southern accent thickening with every word. "Why don't you take your desperate ass back to Alaska and leave what's mine alone?"

“Jasper!” you hissed, pulling him back before things could spiral out of control. This was so unlike him—he was usually composed, especially around others. But Tanya had a way of needling under his skin, and she knew exactly how to make it worse. You tugged at his arm, dragging him away from the porch and out of earshot of the others, who had started murmuring in shocked whispers. Emmett’s booming laughter grated on your nerves, adding to the tension.

But Tanya wasn't finished. She threw a final parting shot over her shoulder, her voice laced with venom. “You know, maybe Jasper’s right to be worried. It must be exhausting, trying to keep up with someone like you. All that fire and passion—maybe he’s just not enough for you anymore.”

Jasper jerked against your hold, his eyes flaring with fury, and it took everything you had to keep him from lunging at her. "You listen here, you conniving bitch—" he started, but you cut him off, practically dragging him away from the scene before he could finish his sentence.

“Jasper, stop!” you pleaded, your voice tight as you struggled to keep him from breaking free. His anger was like a living thing, wild and uncontrollable, and you knew that if you didn’t get him away from Tanya, things would get ugly fast. “She’s just trying to rile you up! Don’t give her what she wants!”

He stopped struggling, but his whole body was tense, vibrating with barely suppressed rage. “I’m not letting her get away with that,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “She thinks she can just waltz in here and—”

“And she’s not worth it,” you interrupted, stepping in front of him and forcing him to meet your gaze. “You know she’s just trying to get under your skin. Don’t let her win.”

Jasper’s breath was coming in ragged gasps, his eyes still blazing with anger, but slowly, he began to calm under your steady gaze. “I can’t stand her,” he muttered, his voice still laced with venom. “She thinks she can just say whatever she wants, like she knows us.”

“She doesn’t know anything,” you assured him, your hands sliding up to cup his face, forcing him to focus on you and not the lingering venom in Tanya’s words. “And I don’t care what she says. You’re the only one I want, Jasper.”

For a moment, it seemed like your words would be enough to soothe him. But the tension was still there, simmering beneath the surface. His eyes darkened, his hands gripping your waist possessively. "Show me." he demanded, voice raw, an edge of desperation beneath his anger.

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden shift, but you saw the need in his eyes—the need to prove himself, to reclaim what was his. You nodded, giving him permission to take the lead, knowing this was a big step for both of you. Jasper didn’t waste a second. He backed you up against a nearby tree, his mouth crashing onto yours with an almost feral hunger. His hands roamed over your body, rough and urgent, as if he was staking his claim with every touch.

He was never like this, never so commanding, but you let him take what he needed. His lips moved down your neck, his sharp teeth grazing your skin before a burning fire settled on your collarbone. His venom would create a scar there, a mark that you were his and vice versa. "Mine." .

"Yours." you assured, threading your fingers through his honey-blonde hair. "Only yours."

He didn’t slow down. If anything, your words only spurred him on. The heat between you two built quickly, his need palpable. He pulled away, his eyes locking onto yours, searching, almost as if he was begging for you to understand. "I need to know." he whispered. "Need to feel it."

You nodded, letting out a soft sigh. “Then take it. Take what you need.”

And he did. His movements were intense, almost punishing, as if he was trying to erase any doubt Tanya had planted with each thrust. You met him with equal fervor, matching his intensity, your bodies colliding in a raw, unrestrained dance that left you both breathless. His hands were everywhere, gripping, claiming, reminding you of exactly who you belonged to.

As the tension between you two reached its peak, Jasper buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing the bite. “I love you.” he murmured, his voice shaking with emotion. “Don’t ever doubt that. I’d burn the whole world down before I’d let anyone take you from me.”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, holding him close. “I love you, too, Jasper. And I’m not going anywhere. Not ever.”

For a moment, everything was still. Then, slowly, Jasper's grip on you loosened, his anger ebbing away as he relaxed into your embrace. You both stayed there, holding each other tightly, knowing that nothing could break you guys apart.

[hybbart]

Day 672: After pushing themselves a bit too far, both ranchers get simultaneously hit with a bad day...

Short story below

The ceiling fan spun at a meandering pace above, barely loud enough to hear and barely strong enough for the breeze to reach down. Jimmy watched it dully, the uneven sway of the lamp cord making it hard to focus on the blades’ rhythm. Or maybe it was how deep his breaths had become. He could feel it, how little his gasps pulled in, almost entirely supported by the tube forcefully pumping air through his nose. It felt as though his lungs had forgotten how to breathe despite how hard they tried.

It was a really bad day. They didn’t happen often – Jimmy could hardly remember one that had ever been quite this bad – but they didn’t have to. If he took his tubes out right now he would simply suffocate to death no matter how hard he tried. Part of his mind resigned to it, as if he would wake up every day after this way, completely irreversible. It was more like gas prices, he knew. It would get worse than it had ever been before going back down, but not quite as far down as it was before, just that little bit worse, creeping up like he wouldn’t notice. Not just the struggle to breathe, but the awareness.

Besides him Tango whimpered. For a brief moment instinct chased away his thoughts, replacing them with concern for his rancher who was rolling onto his side to curl up. He grasped at his shoulder in agony, and Jimmy’s heart was overwhelmed with the weight of guilt. It’d been him who had hacked off Tango’s limb with a fire axe, after all. Maybe if he’d held out just a little longer someone with more medical knowledge could have done it far cleaner or saved his arm. As it was now, Tango’s shocked nerves flared at a wound that had long since healed. It always ached, just a little bit. Today it was visibly swollen, and Tango himself agreed to take some of their precious little medication to ease it. A bad day.

His heart constricted painfully.

“Tango?” Jimmy whispered, as if the sound might hurt his companion. Tango struggled to roll over and look at him, eyes distant and teeth gritted. If he weren’t a blazeborn he’d be sweating, Jimmy was sure.

Careful not to disturb the pained limb or pull on his mask, Jimmy scooted closer. Revy whimpered where he lay between their legs, ears pinned. He could smell both their bad days, but there was nothing else that could be done about them. 

Tango strained to put on a smile for Jimmy, but it was more of a grimace. “What’s up, buttercup?” He teased, voice nearly too raspy to understand.

Jimmy stared at him and let his face fall.  “I don’t know.” He admitted. His own breath came in heavy puffs, unable to reconcile his muscles with the air being forced into his lungs. They couldn’t even hold each other for comfort. 

“Pearl’s taking care of the animals and crops.” Assured Tango.

“And when she’s gone?”

“She won’t leave us before we’re back on our feet.”

“But what about next time?” He pressed, feeling his heartbeat pick up.

Tango’s face softened and turned full towards Jimmy despite his pain. “Jim, it’s okay. We just pushed ourselves a little too hard this month and it caught up with us. We’ll be more careful.”

“What’ll we do when just finishing the chores is too much?”

“That’s not something we have to worry about yet.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.” Jimmy warbled, taking in a deeper breath. “It feels like we’re losing.”

“We aren’t losing.” Claws reached out to brush back Jimmy’s bangs which were damped with cold sweat. It continued past his ear, and repeated. Jimmy leaned into Tango’s hand, searching for any comfort he could attain. “We have each other, we’ll take care of each other.”

Jimmy frowned. “Except today.”

Those words finally seemed to give Tango pause. Jimmy took the opportunity to continue. “You’ve thought about it too. I can’t take care of myself if something happens to you. If any of my machines break down or the power goes out, or when it gets worse. I know I stopped breathing last night.” He paused to even his breathing. “And what’ll you do, if you can’t get out of bed and you’re all alone? If the pain gets worse and we’re out of medication?”

“Don’t talk like that.” Tango tried to sound firm, but Jimmy just shook his head.

“We’re out here pretending nothing is wrong, playing ranchers. There’s no ambulance if something happens, and they have as few supplies as the rest of us. We’re always fighting just to keep the power on to keep me alive. What’ll we do if a storm comes in the winter? We’d just waste away in our bed.”

There was a shuffling beside him – when had the world become so blurry? – and an arm wrapped its way across Jimmy’s shoulders. Instinctively his hand went up to cling to it. Tango’s forehead pressed into Jimmy’s shoulder. His breaths came out as shaky as Jimmy’s own, and immediately the avian wanted to apologize. Everything he said they already knew, there was no reason to let it all spill out. What was wrong with him?

But Tango pressed himself as close as he could through his pain. “Let’s think about it when we’re feeling better, okay?”

Jimmy knew what he was doing. They’d done it before. It won’t make a difference this time. His brain assured him. It’s just facts it doesn’t matter what mood we’re in if it’s facts. If we do it’s just because we forgot how bad it was. That’s why he can’t come up with a counter. Even while another part of his mind knew Tango was right. His miserable thoughts were sure they were true.

Silence fell across the room, filled only by the whirring of Jimmy’s machines and the distant clucking of chickens mixed with wild bird song. Light streamed through the windows, accompanied by a soft breeze. It was a shame it was such a nice day.

He could feel Tango relax against him, nudging his whole body just a bit closer until he was half-slumped onto the avian as he let his arm slip down to Jimmy’s ribs into a more comfortable hold. Jimmy let his head fall to the side, resting it atop Tango’s. Uneven heat radiated from the blazeborn still. He kicked himself for putting those thoughts in Tango’s mind too when, for once, it seemed like they hadn’t been.

“I’m sorry.” Whispered the avian. “I’m just scared.”

“I know.” Tango cooed. “I know, So’m I.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” 

But Tango shook his head. “We’ll think about it when we’re feeling better. We’ll talk to the others.” 

“Okay.”

[arctrooper69]

As Iron Sharpens Iron

"As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17

Chapter 17:

Previous // Next

Warnings: Mentions of blood and pain

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“Hun-ter…” The name spoken so weakly over broken voice took you by surprise and it was several seconds before you realized the voice was your own.

“Hey,” the gentle, yet modulated response nearly brought you to tears.

Calloused fingertips swept over your cheeks again and again in thoughtful caress and you found yourself memorizing every crack and tiny scar on his tan skin, fingernails chewed short from a lifetime of weighted leadership.

“Alright, you ready to go home?”

Home.

The weight of that word seemed heavier than all the hurt that weighed your body to the ground.

Where is home?

With all sense of belonging swept so violently away by conflict, nothing made sense anymore. Now the guilt brought on by your own actions made it seem like a self-inflicted wound of loneliness.

Strong hands, gloved once again, secured your gear as well as his own onto his person. He shot a cable high up over the ledge where he’d climbed down to you not even an hour ago.

“Ready to go?”

“Definitely ready to get out of here!” You forced a laugh, hoping desperately to dissolve that gnawing feeling of future uncertainty.

“Yeah, me too. Well get to the top and I’ll signal Tech and the others. Our coms don’t work so we have to do it manually.” He held up a case of flares.

Oh. You’d forgotten how the moon’s electromagnetic frequencies would mess with their coms and other devices. You glanced at Hunter. He stood strong, but you knew him well enough to know that beneath the helmet he was exhausted. The constant barrage on his senses - although drastically dulled by his bucket and kit - would have been taking its toll on him since setting foot on this moon. It made you feel all the more guilty.

“You doing okay?” You asked softly, putting a hand on the helmet where his cheek would be.

“I’m okay.” The automatic response did nothing to ease your mind.

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he grunted, as he adjusted his gear and knelt beside you. He chuckled, sounding as forced as yours had been. “Besides, that’s my line. You’re the one I’m about to lift out of here. Are you doing okay?”

You let his deflection pass over you, doing nothing to assuage the guilt that grew heavier knowing that each moment on this wretched moon most likely worse for him than the last. “As good as I can be.”

“Yeah. I know.” He placed a firm hand on your shoulder, gently sitting you up. His heart cracked again at how the pain drained your complexion, lips clamped tightly over shivering muscle, unable to quiet the whimper of pain that slipped through as every subtle motion brought tremendous agony.

“Sorry…” he breathed.

You shook your head, closing your eyes. “...’s okay”

A sharp stabbing pain wrenched a scream from your lips, eyes flying wide, violent and unbidden as he picked you up in his arms though he was ever so careful.

He flinched, muscles tightening ever so slightly though it was impossible to tell if it was through pity or an overload of an already tried and tested mind.

“I know….” the hurt in his voice was palatable, “I know, I’m sorry.”

Reaching the top, he gently placed you on the ground, squeezing your shoulder with every hiss of pain as abused muscles took time to settle and relax once more.

“Just breathe,” he instructed calmly. “I’ll signal the others and then we just have to wait.”

The sudden exhaustion hit you all at once, as though your body knew that it had finally made it safely through to the other side of the torment. Hunter seemed to notice it too.

“Sleep,” he said gently. “I’ll be here. We shouldn’t have to wait much longer.”

You wanted to protest - that you would stay awake with him to keep his mind off of that horrible sensory assault - but the strong, alluring pull of unconscious rest was much too heavy and there was no strength left to fight it and you let it take you.

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[rotrightthrough]

Together part 1

Emma and her sister Kate had been practically attached at the hip since infancy, inseparable sisters who insisted on doing everything together. And that meant everything. They dated at the same time, graduated at the same time and were even married on the same day, holding a gorgeous joint wedding. It was both of their dreams- well mostly Kate’s but who was Emma to upset her sister?- to complete every big milestone together. Which was probably why Kate was so irate to find her sister had gotten pregnant before her.

“You promised!” She had screeched. “You promised we would get pregnant at the same time.” Kate turned her head around from her sister, cheeks flared. Truth be told the two had started trying at the same time, the only issue was that it was taking a bit longer for Kate and her husband to hit the jackpot. Emma had rubbed her sister’s back and placated her the best she could.

“It’s ok, we’ll experience all the major stuff together.”

Kates face had screwed up in displeasure. “No we won’t, you’ll give birth before me, then your baby and mine won’t share a birthday.”

Emma had mumbled at that, mentally raking over the situation. Kate was right, she would probably give birth before her. But it would probably not take Kate much longer to get pregnant so.. “then I’ll wait. I’ll make sure we give birth together, I’ll make sure that our babies share a birthday.”

Kate had sniffled, eyes batting in the way a child’s might when asking for a toy. “You mean it?”

Emma had only smiled a nodded. “Of course, we’ve done everything together up until now, right?”

“And you’re alright doing my birth plan?”

Emma had no idea what that entailed but seeing as she and her sister were so similar she knew it had to be something relatively mundane. Besides, what was the use in upsetting her sister further?

So Emma had settled on a pleasant smile and nodded. “Of course, whatever you’d like to do.”

Emma mostly forgot about her promise as the months passed, Kate finally managing to conceive a full month later than her. Even so the twins did everything together, as they always had. Baby clothes shopping, ultrasounds, everything. The biggest issue was Kates attitude. She was always a temperamental person but pregnancy made behavior worse tenfold, as she began constantly demanding things from everyone around her, including Emma, despite the fact Emma was farther along than her. Still, Emma attempted to be compassionate as best she could. This was her sister after all.

Emma eventually made it to full term and beyond that, with the belly to prove it. The mass of her stomach sat heavy on her pelvis, drooping lower each day. Every task had become an impossible one, with her walk turning into more of a waddle whenever she seldom attempted the near Herculean task that walking had become.

One sunny day in June Emma began to feel twinges in her lower back, an achy pain radiating across her entire body. It seared through her like the heat of a griddle, a pain so intense she had never felt anything like it before.

“Ooo hoo..” she moaned, arching her back as she began to feel the pain spread to her stomach. Her belly began to tighten and squeeze, like a lemon being juiced. The pain only worsened as time inched forward, coming in fierce waves of pure torment. Through the pain she heard her phone ring. Once, then twice, and then an incessant third time. She managed to waddle over to her phone, hand braced on her lower back. “H-hi.” She managed shakily, rocking her hips in a vain effort to ease the immense pain.

“Em? Is that you? You good?” Kate asked, voice sounding far more flagrant than concerned.

Emma exhaled sharply, rubbing her baby bump with her free hand. The surface was stretched taunt like a drum and hot to the touch. “Um yeah, I think I’m in labor.”

“What?!” Kate screeched, causing Emma to wince away. “You promised we’d give birth together. That our babies would have the same birthday.”

“Yeah but I didn’t think our pregnancies would be a full month apart.” Emma mumbled.

“That doesn’t mean you can go back on your promise. If you have this baby before I have mine I’m never talking to you ever again.” Kate huffed.

Emma felt the blood drain from her face. She couldn’t lose her sister. Not after everything they went through together. “But..”

“My due date is in 2 weeks. You’re already 2 weeks overdue, you can hold it in a little longer.”

“Kate that’s not how it-“

“Don’t be selfish Em.” Kate spit before hanging up.

Emma groaned as she felt yet another contraction grip her, sending another jolt of pain down her spine. “Not now baby. Not for a few more weeks.” With any luck Kate would go into labor early. Yeah. She’d go into labor before her due date and then this could all be over. Emma’s phone rang again and she groaned involuntarily as she picked up the call. “Hello?”

“Hello darling.” The warm voice of her husband Rob cut in. “You doing alright? No pain today right?” Emma grit her teeth, lowering herself onto the bed as gently as she could.

“Just the normal amount, pangs and stuff.” She mumbled, holding back a sigh of relief as the contraction ceased.

“Ok.. listen, my boss wants me to go on this business trip for 2 weeks, I obviously told him no but-“

“No!” Emma exclaimed before giggling nervously. This was her opening, if rob was here he’d see she was in labor and force her to go to the hospital. She couldn’t let that happen. “I mean no, you should go, baby. You’re up for that promotion remember? This could be what gets it for you.”

“I know but you could give birth any day now, it feels wrong to leave you alone.” Rob sighed.

“We’ll call everyday, and I’ll tell you when the baby gets here. This promotion could be life changing for us.” Emma soothed.

“Alright.. if you’re sure. Just make sure to take it easy and call me if anything happens.”

Emma clenched her thighs together as a fresh contraction hit her. “Oh fuck..” she breathed under her breath.

“Em? Honey? Are you ok?” Rob cut in.

“Just gas. Really bad gas.” She said frantically. “Gotta go.”

“Wait Em-“

And with that she hung up.

She gripped her pillow tightly until the contraction released her from its clutches, emerging sweaty and exhausted. She could do this. She heard first births took a long time. What damage could a few more days or weeks do. No not weeks. She couldn’t do weeks. So her brain settled on the soothing option and rubbed the underside of her bulging belly, hoping the calming motion would soothe the restless child within her. She could make it.

[licorice-tea]

Seaside Rendezvous

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x reader

Content: fluff, a little angst, unrequited feelings/ miscommunication, not rlly unrequited

Word Count: 0.6k

A/N: Heyyyyyy….. it’s been a while, huh? life has been busy and difficult and amazing and everything in between, but i just wanted to post something (even if i feel like it’s not my best work😓) i might be more active after like 2 weeks, but it’s also finals season rn :o anyway, miss you guys and miss writing! looking forward to getting back into tumblr, and i hope you enjoy!

It’s a clear and overwhelmingly blue sort of day. You walk along the beach, beneath a cloudless sky, which creates calm waters to push gently foaming waves onto the shoreline. They soak your feet while you amble on, shoes in one hand and a single bag of groceries in the other. And Sanji’s signature blue pinstripe shirt makes him look even more picturesque than usual- a perfect man against a perfect backdrop.

He’s less than an arms distance to your right, with at least 4 bags in each hand, plus a tote under his arm. But you feel there is no point in offering to hold a few, since he had already refused when you initially left the market. That was half an hour ago, and you’ve been merely contemplating your feelings up till now. You’ve always felt something for Sanji, it’s just hard to say what exactly. He flirts so shamelessly and often that understanding your own emotions is nearly impossible. Are they a matter of genuine affection (beyond friendship), or simply flare-ups of lust inspired by how much he seems to want you?

Even if you could know how you truly feel for Sanji, your longtime crew mate and friend, it wouldn’t matter for that very reason. If anything, it might be worse to know how real your affections for him are than it is to continue pushing them to the back of your mind silent, contemplative moments.

But Sanji makes that impossible, too.

“What’s on your mind?”

Your eyes leave the sand to meet his mirth- crinkled eyes. “Nothing, why?”

He manages to shrug beneath the weight of the groceries. “You were being quiet, that’s all.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Don’t be, dearest.”

You avert your eyes before mumbling, “Are you sure you don’t want help with those bags?”

“I don’t need help, but thank you. And,” he smiles a little brighter, “I’d hate to ever burden you, love.”

“Sanji, don’t say things like that.”

“Oh? I thought you enjoyed my terms of endearment for you.”

You shake your head no. “Not if they aren’t serious.”

Sanji’s expression turns from content, to confused, then surprised, while he slowly comes to a stop. Once you’ve notice he’s no longer walking by your side, you turn back in time to see him finally settle on a gleeful smile.

“You’d like it… if you knew I was serious?”

“W-Well… I guess, yeah. Not that I-“

“Because I am serious about you. I always have been, really.”

Now you’re the one who’s confused. “What?”

He rushes to drop the groceries, followed by the tote bag on his shoulder, and approaches you. Sanji guides you to drop your own load, too, before taking your hands in his.

“Would you be mine?”

“Sanji, you’re being ridiculous now…”

“I’m being genuine. Why, you don’t want to?”

“Well I mean, I would if I could, but I can’t. We can’t.” You let go of his hands and pick up your shoes and singular grocery bag, then straighten up and look into his eyes. He smiles sadly, and you just smile back before walking on.

He knows you don’t mean to hurt his feelings, especially since you seem to barely believe that said feelings for you could be real or serious. But it does hurt a little. Sanji sighs as he picks up his bags. He follows you and watches your hair bounce with your steps.

For now, he’d have to be content with letting his imagination run away with thoughts of loving you.

[standfucker]

Reacting to Your SH Scars - Monster Trio, Law, Kid, Killer

CW for SH, obviously. GN reader in all except Sanji’s somewhat implies a fem reader. Reader is short but it only comes up in Zoro's and Kid's sections. No established relationship, but implied feelings between everyone and the reader.

Ao3 link

Luffy

You had to wait forever for the others to finish dressing and leave the shared quarters so you could change as well, not wanting them to see your scars. You always had some excuse as to why you lagged behind, and they didn’t question it.

Your captain was less patient, however.

"Y/n! You done yet? Come on, let's go!" You hear him shout from outside the door.  You’re about to reply when the rubber man bursts into the room without warning.

You’re decent enough, having already donned shorts and a tank top, but you haven’t pulled your long sleeve shirt on yet, your scarred and cut arms plainly visible. You go rigid as his gaze falls to them.

Luffy doesn’t say anything, and you hastily pull on your shirt, but it’s too late.

“Sorry… I’m ready,” you mumble awkwardly.

Luffy still doesn’t speak. You don’t think he realizes what it is, that he doesn’t understand what he saw. That he’s naive.

So it takes you by surprise when he says softly, “Ace used to do that.”

“Ah…” You fidget with your hands, unsure of how to respond.

“But he got better.” Luffy stretches an arm across the room to wrap around your shoulders and pulls you off your feet, making you yelp as he reels you into a side hug. “You will, too. I know it.”

You weren’t going to say anything. You’re generally good at keeping your thoughts to yourself. But he sounds so certain, and you can’t help it, bitter pessimism flaring up like it always does. This time, it slips out. “What makes you so sure?”

Luffy blinks at you, entirely unphased. “I believe in you!” He says, and smiles like the sun, that bright and shining grin he always has that shows his genuine care and delight.

It catches you off guard. So much so that even though it’s been years since you’ve cried, you have to bite your tongue right then to keep yourself from tearing up. You want to believe him so badly.

“I… I see,” you manage to say. “Thanks, Captain.”

Luffy turns to walk out the room, pulling you along by the hand. He pauses before either of you exit, though, turning to face you again.

“Luffy?” You question, but a second later he’s leaped onto you, wrapping his stretched-out body around you multiple times, in a total, enveloping hug that only he can give.

He giggles, and despite everything, despite all the years of suffering and bad thoughts and hurting for no good reason, you find yourself laughing too.

Sticking around is worth it, you think, if you get to be with him and the crew.

Zoro

You and Zoro insult each other. Not in the way that he argues with Sanji–your dynamic is all teasing, neither of you ever serious in your ribbing.

“Keep up, Cyclops,” you taunt after you dispatch an enemy before he does. “I thought you trained with Mihawk?”

“How about you worry less about my speed, and more about what the adults are keeping on top of the fridge, Pipsqueak,” he shoots back with a grin.

And so it goes, until the time you’re hanging out with him on the ship. He’s spilled some of his sake, and the match you used to light your cigarette drops right into it, igniting the small puddle. You pull off your jacket in a panic and quickly smother the fire.

Zoro finally understands why you’ve never taken off your jacket in front of anyone, eyeing the scars and cuts that run up both arms.

He doesn’t comment on it. But from then on, he stops trading friendly insults, no longer responding when you call him stupid names or make fun of him for getting lost.

It messes with you, it makes you feel worse. You want him to treat you like he used to, desperately missing the banter.

You don’t know how to bring it up. You certainly won’t do it when the others are around. But finally you can’t stand it anymore, and you approach him one day when he’s exercising, the two of you alone on the bow of the ship.

“Why?” You ask, and he tilts his head at you in question. “You don’t talk back to me anymore. Ever since you saw me without my jacket. Why, Zoro?”

Zoro doesn’t stop his reps, glancing at you while he curls a massive weight. “Does it matter?”

“Yes!” You pause and lower your voice. “It matters to me. I feel like… I mean…” It’s so hard to be candid in front of him when he’s so stoic. You suck in a nervous breath. “Are we not friends anymore?”

Zoro’s eyes widen. “Of course we are.”

“Then what is it?” You try to keep from sounding as upset as you feel, but maybe you don’t do a very good job, because Zoro stops and sets down the weight to give you his full attention.

He looks at you carefully, as if deciding how to phrase his thoughts. He’s not usually one to think before he speaks, but he does so this time.

“It’s not because I don’t like you,” he starts, scratching the back of his head. “It’s just… I can’t do it. I keep thinking, ‘what if I’m the cause one time?’ What if you do it because of me?”

“Oh,” you say quietly, then speak up, “oh, no. No! Zoro. It could never be you. Never.”

He doesn’t look convinced, so you keep going.

“You could never hurt me like that,” you admit sheepishly. “Not you. I’m only ever happy when we’re hanging out.”

“Not happy enough,” he mutters, his gaze settling onto your arm–first the left, then the right, remembering what he saw.

The words pierce you like one of his swords, and you feel yourself choke on nothing. “No,” you agree. “I guess not.

Zoro picks up a towel to wipe the sweat from his face before he approaches you. “Y/n. Is there anything I can do?”

You gape at him, not expecting the words, and certainly not expecting him to rest a hand on your shoulder.

“Anything at all,” he repeats. “I don’t want you feeling like that.”

You look down. You’ve been ill for so long, you don’t know if you’ll ever stop feeling that way. But… “Treat me like you used to,” you request. “Like I’m not fragile. I need to be treated like a normal person. I need to feel normal.”

Because if someone treated you like you were as sick as you really were, you think you’d throw yourself overboard. You’re not ready to confront that reality. Maybe you never will be. ‘I’m fine’ was your mantra, even when you were not. Especially when you were not.

Zoro nods. “I’ll try,” he says. “But can’t you talk to someone? I mean, no one else knows, right?”

“No one else knows,” you confirm. “And… Well, would you talk to anyone? Have you ever brought up anything that personal to anyone else?”

Zoro opens his mouth to reply, but when he says nothing, you know you got him.

“See?” You press. “It’s not that simple.”

“Tch,” he clicks his tongue, lowering his hand from your shoulder. “Shit. Alright, I get it. Damn it…”

“No need to curse about it. It’s not that big a deal.”

Zoro looks at you so sharply you flinch. “Yes it is? Are you crazy?”

You grimace. “I mean, probably? Given the whole, uh,” you raise your arms, “you know.”

He doesn’t laugh, but you weren’t expecting him to. You weren’t really joking, anyway.

“Sorry,” you say, “I’m sorry. I never meant for you to see it. I don’t want you to worry.”

Zoro looks at you again, and you can’t figure out his expression. “...I’m glad I saw,” he says after a moment.

“Uh,” you reply dumbly, caught off guard, “you are?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t elaborate.

You want to ask why, but you don’t, shifting nervously from foot to foot. Surprisingly, it’s Zoro who breaks the silence first.

“You’re really happy when we hang out?” He asks, face still frustratingly neutral.

“Well, yeah. You’re my favorite,” you say without thinking, then stop and cover your face in embarrassment once your brain catches up. “Fuck.”

Zoro’s eyes widen, and then a smirk stretches across his face. “No need to curse about it.”

Your cheeks get hot, but you’re also flooded with relief, because he’s teasing you again. Maybe everything will be okay after all.

“Shut up,” you grumble. “Forget I said anything.”

Zoro reaches out and ruffles your hair, making you squawk and attempt to smack his arm away. He’s far too strong for you to move him, though.

“I’m going to finish training, and then I’ll come hang with you,” he says. “Though you can wait here if you want.”

You decide to join Zoro, exercising alongside him (with normal sized weights, thank you very much.) He clears his throat once you’ve worked up a sweat.

“You can take off your jacket, you know,” he says. “If you want. I’ve already seen your arms, so…”

You’re not really sure how comfortable you are with that, but it’s hot enough out that you relent, shrugging off your jacket. To his credit, Zoro doesn’t stare.

You thought it would be more awkward, but to your surprise, having your scars exposed without any judgment makes you feel normal. It’s almost euphoric. You smile to yourself, putting a little more effort into your workout.

The two of you drink together afterward, falling back into your routine of affectionate taunting. It’s like nothing has changed, or so you thought.

By the end of the following week, you realize telling Zoro that you felt better with him around might have been a mistake, because he almost never leaves you alone anymore. When the others are around, he doesn’t do anything differently. But he has a sixth sense for when you’re by yourself, appearing by your side right when you seem to need it. He even shows up when you wake up in the middle of the night and go to sit at the bow of the boat. It’s eerie.

You tell him he doesn’t have to do that, and he just shrugs it off. “I like being around you, so it’s fine,” he says casually, like the words don’t spear you through the heart.

The idiot. But you can’t really complain.

Sanji

It took you a while to get used to how touchy Sanji is. Hugs, pats on the shoulder, touches to your arm or side, even holding your hand sometimes–he never holds back.

You’re a bit touch-starved, so you don’t mind. So long as it never becomes inappropriate, you’re alright with it.

Sanji lets you help in the kitchen sometimes. He was reluctant at first, but you told him you needed something to do, needed to keep your hands busy. You didn’t tell him why. But he conceded, giving you simple tasks to complete.

Your sleeve gets dirty while you’re cutting fruit one evening. Sanji glances at it, damp with pineapple juice, and steps over to you, tutting.

“I know you don’t like taking off your jacket, but why don’t you at least roll up your sleeves?” He asks, and before you can respond, he’s reaching for your arm and pulling back the sleeve himself.

The moment he sees the cuts, he yanks his hand away like he’s been burned. Your freeze, throat going dry, unable to do anything but stare at him in shock.

He’s staring back. The two of you just stare at each other for a dumb minute. Fear crawls through your veins and twists up your heart. No one in the crew knew about your issue until then, and you have no idea what he’ll think of you. The anxiety makes you want to vomit. You have to remind yourself to breathe.

“Um,” you say, and it comes out much higher pitched than it’s supposed to.

“Y/n,” Sanji says quietly. “Who did that to you?”

You don’t know why he’s asking, because you think the answer is obvious. Those are clearly not battle scars. You’re pretty sure he knows, too. Maybe it’s just hard for him to believe–you do an excellent job masking, after all. Sharing that kind of thing got you in trouble in the past, so you only ever appear happy in front of other people, laughing and cracking jokes like you’re not crumbling inside. To any outsider, you’d seem like the most easygoing crewmate in the Straw Hats.

You set down the knife. “Uh… I did?”

His expression slowly morphs from shock into sadness, a frown etched into his features.

“Hey, no,” you say quickly, “don’t–don’t look at me like that. It’s okay, really.”

“But–” he starts to say, pausing when he sees the slight tremble in your form. You can’t help it–past experience tells you you’re about to get yelled at.

“I’m okay,” you say, as much to yourself as to him. “Everything is fine. So don’t…”

Sanji looks at you helplessly. “But… Why?”

You’re glad he’s not yelling at you, but somehow, that look is almost worse. You don’t want to be screamed at again, but you also don’t want him to feel bad for you, either. You do enough of that on your own.

“I don’t really have a good answer for that,” you swallow.

“Nothing at all?” He practically whispers.

You get it. Not having an explanation for something so drastic is probably stressful for him. You shrug, turning back to the pineapple you were slicing to finish what you started, unable to both bare your truth and look at him at the same time.

“Sometimes I do it because I need to hurt on the outside as much as I’m hurting on the inside,” you confess. “Sometimes I do it because I’m so numb that I want to feel something. Sometimes I do it because I can’t sleep. And sometimes, I do it just because I deserve it, I guess.”

When he doesn’t respond, you glance at him cautiously, breath catching when you see his somber expression. “Sanji… I told you not to look at me like that–”

Sanji wraps his arms around you in a tight hug. Normally you’d lean into it, but this time, you tense up. “Oi, be careful! I’m holding a sharp knife, here.”

“Y/n,” he says, ignoring your comment. “You don’t deserve it. I don’t know why you think you do, but you absolutely don’t.”

A lifetime of illness isn’t going to change from a single affirmation. You don’t agree with him, but you can appreciate the sentiment. It feels good to hear, at least.

“Thanks,” you sigh, setting down the knife but remaining tense. “I, uh. I’m grateful that you care…”

“It’s not just me,” Sanji says. “Anyone on this crew would say the same thing.”

“I’ve never doubted that,” you say. It’s not enough to stop your unfortunate coping method–you think all the love in the world couldn’t hold you back–but it’s still nice to know. You finally relax into his embrace, and he squeezes a little tighter.

Sanji pulls away a while later, and you’re startled to see him tearing up. “Sanji! Stop, you don’t–it’s fine! Please, stop!”

“I’m sorry, Y/n,” he says, “I had no idea you were hurting. I can’t call myself a man…”

“Shut up! Of course you didn’t know. I put so much energy into hiding it.”

Sanji grabs your arms. “Then don’t. At least, not around me. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

You bite your lip. “But…”

“But what, love?”

“You don’t think I’m weak?” You blurt out before you can help yourself, unintentionally revealing one of your deep-seated fears.

You never thought you’d be admitting any of the stuff you’ve told him in the past minute, but here you are. Something about the cook just draws it out of you.

“Oh, Y/n. Of course not.”

You look at him like you don’t believe him.

“You’re hurting that much, and you’re still with us,” Sanji says softly. “I think that makes you strong, more than anything.”

His look of genuine sincerity makes your lower lip tremble for a moment, but you squash down your feelings before you completely lose control.

“Okay,” you say shakily. “Thank you, Sanji.”

You ask him to keep your issue secret, which he promises on his honor to uphold.

The next time the two of you are alone, he asks you how you’re doing.

“Great,” you chirp automatically, smiling on reflex, before you pause, remembering what he told you that one night. You don’t have to hide it from me. “...Actually, uh… I don’t really feel all that good.”

“You want to talk about it?” Sanji offers.

“Not really.”

“You want a hug?”

“...Yeah.”

Sanji embraces you, tight and warm, and this time, you let yourself cry just a bit.

Law

Law sees them when he’s inspecting an injury you received in the Heart Pirates’ latest scuffle. You’ve managed to avoid it for so long, but eventually you have to take off your shirt in front of him, revealing your shoulder, and what you’ve done to it.

Law looks at you in a way he never has before, in a way that is hard to describe. Like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. His stoic frown seems to deepen.

“It’s fine,” you say. “It’s been years. I don’t do that anymore.”

The frown turns to an expression of incredulousness. “Have you forgotten I’m a doctor?” You wince as he continues, “I know what a recent wound looks like. By the look of it, your newest cut was… twelve days ago.”

You’re shocked that he pinned the exact day. You gape at him for a moment before muttering, “I wouldn't call it a wound.”

You think the comment pisses him off, because he looks more than a little angry with you. “I can’t believe you just lied to my face.”

Oh. That’s what it was. You look away as guilt creeps in, unable to meet his eye. “I’m sorry, Captain. I just didn’t want to concern you with my problems.”

“I…” He pauses. “ I can’t… this was happening underneath my nose...”

You huff at the phrasing, not quite able to laugh at that moment. “No more ‘underneath your nose’ than any of the crew masturbating. It’s a private thing I do to relieve stress.”

“It’s not the same,” Law snaps.

Like you don’t know that. You know. You know it’s wrong. You don’t say anything. Law looks even more upset.

Then, he says, “I can hardly call myself a captain. All these years, and I had no idea you were hurting so much.”

You realize he’s mad at himself. You balk. “I’m… I’m not hurting.”

“Y/n, you cut yourself.”

For some reason, him saying it out loud makes it worse, your stomach churning as your mouth gets dry.

Silence hangs in the air, thick and uncomfortable. Finally, you say softly, “I’m sorry.”

The anger in his face drops for a moment. “Don’t apologize.”

Another awkward silence.

“What now?” You ask, afraid of the answer but unable to tolerate any more quiet.

Law’s expression softens. “From now on, you come talk to me when you’re not feeling well. That’s an order.”

“No. If I did that, I would be bothering you every day,” you argue.

“That’s fine.”

You frown. “But you’re not that type of doctor.”

“I don’t care,” he says. “I will be. For you.”

For you. Your jaw drops slightly in disbelief. You knew he cared, but that… That was more than you felt you deserved.

“I don’t want to worry you,” you say weakly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Please.” Law takes your hand in both of his, looking at you intensely. “Please talk to me. Don’t bottle it up like this.”

You stare at him in disbelief, because you’ve never heard Law beg for anything. It’s all overwhelming–him seeing this awful part of you, him caring so much he says that, the warmth of his hands around yours. “Captain…” You close your eyes for a moment to lessen the stimulation of the surrounding world. “Okay.”

“Promise me.”

You look down at his hands holding yours, then up at him. “I promise. Next time, I’ll talk to you.” Then you look away again, because if you see him looking at you like that any longer, you think you might cry. And it’s been ages since you’ve last cried.

Law squeezes your hand, and the dam almost breaks. But you manage, barely, to stay composed.

You keep your promise, seeking him out as soon as the following day. You warned him it would be frequent, and when you approach him it’s with a feeling of guilt. But he reassures you, and he listens, just like he said he would.

Kid

Kid sees after he gets injured. The cut won’t stop bleeding, so you reluctantly take off one of your arm warmers to use as a tourniquet until you make it back to the ship.

Kid does a double take at your exposed arm. You feel your cheeks get hot, but say nothing while you finish tying the cloth tight.

After you finish, you step back to give him space, but Kid grabs your wrist, extending your arm so he can better look at it.

“Hey!” You protest, trying to pull away, but even in his non-metal hand, his grip is like iron. He doesn’t budge, openly staring at the scars and cuts.

“Kid!” You hiss, and he looks at you sharply for not calling him ‘Captain,’ “let go of me. And stop staring, damn it.”

He lets go. You pull your arm to your chest protectively. The two of you walk in silence, but you notice Kid won’t stop glaring at you.

“You got something to say?” You ask harshly, not meaning to snap but too nervous to speak calmly.

“Yeah, I do,” Kid bites back with equal pissiness. “Never do that shit again on my ship.”

The breath catches in your throat. “I can’t,” you admit before you can stop yourself.

“What was that?” He stops walking, turning to face you.

You stop too, tensing under the intensity of his full scrutiny. “...I can’t stop. I keep trying to quit, but… I have a bad day and I crave it, like a cigarette.”

Kid’s frown shows teeth. You feel yourself wither, but the admission keeps going, tumbling out of your mouth like a boulder rolling down a hill, unstoppable. “I won’t lie to you. It’s probably going to happen again. If that’s unacceptable, then I guess… I guess I have to leave the crew.” That thought hurts more than anything, and you bite your lip.

Kid’s hands ball into fists, his artificial hand screeching slightly with the grind of metal. “No one said you have to leave,” he says. “Nevermind. Just… Just keep trying to quit.”

He starts walking again. You have to trot to keep up, his legs that much longer than yours. Kid’s words repeat in your mind as you follow him, because coming from the prickly captain, it means more than he could possibly know. Keep trying, huh? Maybe… Maybe you will.

Your next concern is what you’ll do when you get back to the ship. Even if you run to where your spare clothes are stored, there’s a very good chance multiple crewmates will see your scars. They’re not exactly hard to spot.

Kid seems to read your mind, because right as you round the corner and the dock comes into view, he takes off his coat and drapes it over your shoulders without saying a word.

Your eyes widen, but he won’t look at you. With the difference in height between you, his coat is dragging on the ground, but he doesn’t seem to care.

Your heart clenches, but you don’t say anything either, knowing he’ll just snap if you point out his kindness. You slip your arms through the sleeves of his coat, your hands barely poking out of the too-long sleeves. The size difference between you makes you look a little ridiculous–you look like a pile of fabric with a head. You lift the bottom of his coat off the ground as you walk. It’s the least you can do.

(And, once you’re sure he’s not looking, you bury your nose into the fur of his coat and inhale deeply, taking comfort in his scent wrapped around you.)

Kid’s demeanor toward you changes after that. He’s far less harsh, he doesn’t raise his voice as often, and when he does, he quickly corrects himself. He’s generally just softer. You even notice that he appears around you more often and eventually realize that he’s checking on you. You never say anything, and you don’t really talk about it. But that’s okay.

His presence is enough.

Killer

Killer sees when he walks in on you in the shower. He leaves quickly with a muttered apology, and you don’t even realize he saw anything, at first. But after you dry off and get dressed, when you open the door, he’s standing there.

You only know he’s looking at you because his mask is tilted down in your direction. His bulk takes up the doorframe, and you wait for him to move. He doesn’t, as still as a gargoyle.

“Um… Killer?” You say. “If you want the shower, you have to move so I can get out…”

Killer reaches out, and at one point, you might have flinched. But you’ve known him so long, and Killer’s always been nice to you, even when you were new to the crew. You don’t feel any fear as one massive hand rests on your upper arm, where your scars are hiding under the sleeve of your shirt.

“What’s… oh, fuck,” you breathe as it dawns on you, “you saw it, didn’t you? Shit. Um. I, uh…”

Naturally, you can’t see his expression, and it’s kind of driving you crazy, because he’s not saying anything to show what he’s thinking, either. His hand around your arm squeezes slightly, and you swallow, not really knowing what that means.

“Killer…” You mumble. “I don’t… Uh… Look, just… You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

Killer pulls you toward him suddenly, as easily as if you weigh nothing, and wraps his massive arms around you, crushing you against him in a hug.

You squeak in surprise and instinctively squirm, but he doesn’t let go, so you give up after a moment, going still.

He’s so warm, and the contact feels so good. Almost too good, because suddenly you think you might cry, and you realize you haven’t actually been hugged in years. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so safe.

“Killer,” you choke out around a lump in your throat. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to cry.”

“That’s okay,” he rumbles above you, deep voice soothing. “You can cry. You probably need it, yeah?”

Damn it, that does you in, your eyes stinging as tears well up. You don’t want to, but his gentle permission is like a catalyst, and you sink into him as the tears start to roll down your cheeks. He can’t see it from how your face is pressed against his chest, but when he hears your first sniffle, his arms tighten around you.

Even while you cry, you try to hold back, to keep from openly sobbing. It’s like Killer can sense that, because his mask presses against the top of your head almost affectionately, and the action just makes you break down further until you finally let go entirely. Your arms, at first hanging limply at your sides, raise so you can hug him back, fingers digging into his shirt.

Killer holds you for as long as you need it. You’re not sure how much time has passed. Eventually your sobs fade and the tears stop, but even then, Killer doesn’t let go until you do first.

“Killer…” You look up at him gratefully, and he wipes away your tears with his hand. “Thank you. You were right. I needed that, more than I’d like to admit. Thank you…”

He nods.

“And, um,” you swallow, “you won’t, uh…”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Killer assures.

“Okay,” you sigh, now more than a little tired after the swell of emotion. “I know you don’t like keeping things from Kid, so… Thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

You’re about to step past him when Killer gently grabs your wrist. “Y/n.”

You turn back to him, your expression asking the question for you.

He bends over, lowering his head until his mask touches your forehead. His free hand takes your other wrist. “People care about you. The crew. Kid. Me. We all care.”

You might have cried again if you hadn’t just let it all out a minute ago, but it doesn’t stop your chest from getting tight. “I know.”

Killer’s thumbs rub circles on your arms for a minute before he lets you go, straightening to his full height.

You assume that would be the last time he holds you. It would have been good enough. Even though you kind of crave the physical attention after that, you’re satisfied with the one time. But Killer seeks you out again later in the week, waiting until the two of you are alone to envelop you in another hug. He does it again days later, and again after that. In fact, you realize that he takes the chance to do so whenever you two are in private. It doesn’t happen too often on the ship.

But when it does, well, how can you be upset?

Thanks so much for reading! I hope it made you feel better, if only a little. (Reblogs are much appreciated!)

[midnightblues444]

Forbidden fruits | part two

Ares!toji x Aphrodite reader

Summary: when both your worlds collide, your faced with one choice

Warnings: smut it's a quickie, cheating reader, shitty marriage, public sex??, inaccuracies to the myth

Part 1 here

Notes: literally thought of this recently so sorry to anyone who was waiting for part 2 but enjoy x

"Nggh~ right there" you moan arching your back further against Tojis broad chest

"Fuckk~ tryna get us caught?" Toji huffs out into the crook of your neck, tightening his grip on your waist with one hand while the other pinches at your clit

Hes right, your husband and the other gods are just a hallway away from the current spot you two were fucking in. Hopfully Zeus's library is big enough to cover the obscene sounds of your skin slapping.

You're in this situation because your husband Hephaestus decided he wanted to accompany you to Zeus's soiree tonight.

You see, you've been glowing lately, even someone as unattentive as your husband could see it . You've been staying out longer, being less clingy, even your husband has been initiating sex, a clear sign that you no longer need him as much as you used to.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder as they say thus your husband was soon racking his brain for what might be going on with you, while not know exactly why you're so distant, he gathers it's a bad sign, and he needs to act quickly before it gets worse.

Getting the bright idea to join you at one of these parties you enjoy so much. Approaching you while you were getting ready at the vanity. You were humming a sweet tune, adorning your neck with pearls, posing and blowing kisses at yourself.

He was adamant about going with you tonight shutting down every attempt you made to make him stay home.

The giddy butterflies in your stomach soon replaced with stomach churning nerves. You felt dizzy by the time you arrived at the banquet hall thinking only about what Toji would do upon seeing your husband with you.

Doing your best to keep the two from interacting. Knowing Toji is unpredictable and bold enough to threaten Hephaestus if he wanted to. Toji however didnt want anything to do with your husband, and only pulled you aside

"you know where to find me", he said with that cocky flare to his voice

Like he knew you couldn't resist

Thus finding yourself here, stuffed full, He fucks you like a deranged man, needy and gorgeous. You've never felt more desired.

He holds your body up your with ease, firm hands planted on your ass. Your desperate and drunk on the feeling of him inside you, wrapping your legs around his waist pulling him impossibly close feeling the knot in you stomach tighten ready to burst.

"Your fucken into this huh?" He groans almost laughing, "so wet cuz yer husband could catch us any moment, mmph~" he teases

You nod hazily, dizzy on him vigorously sliding in and out of you, perfectly hitting your g spot each time, the slight curve of his dick basically molding your insides.

"He couldn't fuck you dumb like this" he grunts, thrusting harder at every syllable

"No- fuck~ he can't" you sigh, using half your mind, "only you can"

Feeling your sweet release wash over you, the sensation leaving you go limp on his chest. As not even a second later Toji finishes, his seed oozing down your thighs.

"And don't forget it" hes breathless, sloppily thrusting the rest of his seed into you,

As you both fix yourselves up, he grabs your panties before you can and shoves them into his pocket. Smirking wickedly, placing a kiss on your cheek before leading out. You wait a second before following suit, trying to smoothen out your dress

Rejoining your husband hastily, painfully aware of the cum running down your legs that belongs to another man.

"Have you always had that necklace?" Hephaestus asks dumbly, of course that's all he noticed, the necklace that he himself bought for you suddenly looked unfamiliar to him. After all that youd done tonight, the only thing your darling husband could notice was the stupid pearls.

You scoff and walk off, ahead of him

The next morning, theres a delivery addressed to you. An intricate gift box, with pink touches and red accents. Now Hepheastus has never been suspicious of you, and believed your marriage was one ridden of secrets and full of openness. He had no skeptical intent upon opening the box for you.

Yet he couldnt help but gasp at the note attached the contents ;

The gift contained only what your husband could assume was your panties, more so, your soiled panties

With the note attached saying;

A little reminder

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Furia

Chapter Twenty Three

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Isaac/Tamara,

Word Count: 1780

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, the thing is they hurt each other a lot, most of the time without meaning to.

A/N: We pick up right where we left off. Trouble tries to get ready to go out on tour, Dean sets off alarms.

Series Masterlist

It wasn’t fair, you were not being fair. But that didn’t change that sick feeling crawling up your throat. Face burning, you looked at Dean who was pointedly not looking at you. You counted the deep breaths he took, his nostrils flared less the longer you sat in suffocating silence.

You should have said something.

You had no idea how to take it back. It wasn’t even what you said, it was how you said it, so derisively.

You wanted to disappear.

The traffic on the freeway only seemed to get worse the longer you sat. It had been a good day, even with Dean’s snippiness over the Rolling Stone article. Why did you have to open your big mouth?!

You bit the inside of your cheek, you were not going to cry. You knew how guys felt about girls crying, it’s a cop out, or a pathetic ‘get out of jail free’ card. Despite knowing girls usually cried out of frustration rather than actual sadness. You didn’t want to come off as pandering or fucking weak.

“Look—- I don’t want to make you do something you’re uncomfortable with. But, we’ve all seen how well the press and the fans have responded to you two. Is this something I need to put the brakes on? Because I need to know before we start touring.”

Dean huffed. “It’s fine—- it’s not about Bela, okay? It was just an honest question.”

You waited because it felt like he had more to say. You owed it to him to let him say his piece.

He let out a self deprecating chuckle. “You really think it’s just because I’m a horndog, I’d want out?”

“Dean— I didn’t mean it like that, I—”

“No, you did. You were very clear. I just gotta know, Y/N, is there no other reason you can think of for me to want out than some easy lay?”

He wasn’t even pretending to keep his eyes on the road anymore. His jaw was tight and his eyes were dark and glossy and every hope you’d ever had fluttered in your stomach.

You were supposed to say something back.

But you had already said too much.

You couldn’t lose him over something as avoidable as a misunderstanding.

“I’m sorry— I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t— nu-uh, that’s not what I asked. I don’t want your apology, here, okay? Just—- tell me there’s something else that could get me out of this without being the bad guy.”

It hurt to look at him. 

But God was it even harder to look away.

“I can talk to Crowley— work out a timeline if you want?”

Dean shook his head, looked to the ceiling of the impala, and exhaled deeply. “No—- we’re good. But if you ever think of an answer. I want to hear you say it.”

You looked down at your lap, your phone case biting into your palm where you squeezed it. 

“I don’t know what you’re fishing for, Dean. I’m sorry. I know you said not to apologize, but I feel like I can’t help but put my foot in my mouth tonight.”

“It’s okay, Trouble. No hard feelings. Promise.”

You looked up to make sure he wasn’t still pissed.

“Seriously?”

Dean’s mouth twitched with a ghost of a smile. “Seriously.”

It wasn’t until you were safe and distracted with drinks and everyone else at Elizabeth’s that you realized Dean had called you by your real name. You couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

No one really talks about the non-glamourous tasks required before going on tour. Especially not the ones that have nothing to do with the music and everything to do with leaving your home for months on end. Your personal to-do list always fell by the wayside when it came to the band, but you were running out of time on it now. In less than 48 hours, the opening act would take the stage. 

And three days after that you would officially be on the road, for nearly six months straight. 

You shoved a quart of half-eaten fried rice into a garbage bag and moved onto the vegetable drawer. Cleaning out the fridge didn’t take very long, but going through your pantry was a nightmare. When did you even buy half of this shit?! The cans would last, but a lot of the boxed stuff was already halfway to expiring so you set them aside to drop off somewhere over the next couple of days. 

Then you wiped everything down.

By the time the kitchen surfaces were done, you were sweaty and gross. But you had too much momentum to stop there. You swept and mopped the floor. You took a breath and pushed on. Later that evening while taking out the trash, your neighbor, Isaac, waved at you over the half-fence.

“Getting ready to get back on the road then?” His accent was pleasant as ever.

You sighed and blew a stray strand of hair out of your eyes. “Getting there. I never understand how much I need to clean with it just being me. But here I am, like usual.”

He poked at some meat on the grill as he made conversation. “Tam said we’re due over tomorrow to go over things before you leave?”

You nodded your head. “Yeah, anytime after you both get home from work is fine, I’ll just be forcing myself to actually pack at that point. I really appreciate you guys looking over the place.”

“It’s nothing really. Plus you more than compensate us for it, love.”

“I know, but still.” You looked down at your dust streaked tshirt and ratty sweats and decided you had been out in the world long enough looking like that. “Alright, I better get back inside. See you tomorrow, Isaac.”

“TTFN!”

You smiled to yourself as you stepped back inside through the side door. You were so lucky to have good neighbors, especially with the way your job worked. Dean had told you all about Tamara and Isaac before you moved in, making sure you knew everything from the seriousness of not asking about kids to the humor of not insulting classic Doctor Who.

When Dean remembered, he’d still meet Isaac at one of the few English style pubs for a football match every now and again.

And they didn’t seem to mind housesitting for you whenever you needed.

The smell of the dry rub from Isaac’s grill haunted you as you went back into your clean, yet emptied out kitchen. It just meant another night of delivery was in your future.

You woke up grumpy from an incessant buzzing coming from your phone. The first notification was from Twitter and you opened it without checking anything else.

Ugh, okay, fine. Dean dropped Bela off late last night. You weren’t too worried about it. So you tried to go back to sleep. But a nagging feeling in the back of your mind kept prodding the possibilities into your thoughts.

Before jumping to any conclusions, you got out of bed and started a pot of coffee.

There had been a lot of little things you had to ignore in the day-to-day of being the band’s publicist, and even more you had to try and bury as their friend. Cas’ penchant for banging journalists was one of the ongoing thorns in your side. And of course all of Lee and Pamela’s on-again-off-again nonsense came up more than was even happening. But Dean knew how to leave a hook up. He also knew when he was being tailed. 

This entire headline smelled fishy.

You bit your lip and opened your contacts. It was still too early for a business call, especially since you knew he was out until after bar close, but you couldn’t wait any longer for answers.

The phone rang in your ear and you silently begged your coffee pot to brew faster. Dean answered just before it would have sent you to his voicemail.

“I’m up— where’s the fire?” Dean mumbled into the microphone.

Without any preamble, you started in on the questions. “Have you seen the latest? People are up in arms over you squealing out of Bela’s driveway this morning. What happened?” 

“Uh, hold on,” Dean must have moved the phone or covered the mouthpiece because you could hear his voice rumbling, but couldn’t make out a single thing he said. Then came a bunch of muted background noises and a door opening and closing. “Okay, wanna run that past me again? Slower and without the accusatory tone— it’s not even fucking nine am, Trouble.”

Your suspicions continued to rise. “Where are you?”

“In a hallway.”

Not ‘the’ hallway, not ‘my’ hallway, an unspecified singular hallway.

“Dean—”

“Look. The paps were fucking vultures last night, I caught one of them trying to lowjack Baby. So, I ditched her, and Sam got her back home safe. I circled back after I knew they’d scattered and I stayed put. There’s nothing to worry about. Just people trying to make me look bad for being too smart for their slimy ways.”

Your brain hissed like a television left between channels, not a signal coming or going in either direction.

“You’re at Bela’s.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yep.”

Your business brain rebooted, slowly.

“Trouble?”

You called him, you should have said something already. “Okay, so, uh, I guess just make sure to leave publicly. Or go out for breakfast or something. Just don’t leave it how they’re spinning it.”

Dean huffed. “Makes sense. Anything else?”

“Tomorrow is the morning show interview, you said you’d pick me up? Is that still gonna happen or should I just get an Uber? I’ll just call an Uber.”

“I mean, yeah, gotta be home to drag Sam with anyway. So you don’t gotta. We’ll be there with bells on right at five.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“I should go—”

“Right, of course. Bye.”

“Talk to you later.”

You hung up and your coffee pot finally whistled, signaling it had completed brewing.

You moved through your morning routine in a fog. Even when Bela posted a gorgeous fruit plate between matching mimosas sometime before noon, you only gave it a heart and moved on to folding your next load of laundry. Once you let yourself look at what was happening, you gave into the anger. You screamed into an old hoodie until you were hoarse.

Dean was actually sleeping with Bela.

Your two best friends were fucking.

The same best friends you had set up to help make your job easier.

What the fuck was your life?

And how the hell were you supposed to pretend any of this was okay?!

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

@brightlilith

@coldhearted93

@djs8891

Chapter 24: Espansivo

[five-rivers]

Buried in the Woods

@snops Hello! I'm your Truce gifter this year! I went after your 1st and 3rd prompts. Cryptid vibes and Corpse AU. Enjoy! >:)

.

They’re waiting for him, this time. 

They don’t, always.  Usually, he’s faster than they are, and sometimes they can’t make it at all.  A few, very harrowing times, he couldn’t make it. 

But here, now, they’re waiting, each one leaning against a tree trunk.  The hillside below then is dotted with charred and broken tree stumps that rise straight from the ground like monuments.  The moon is high, white, and sharp, cut from the sky with a razor.  Everything is cold, still, quiet. 

Sam raises cupped hands to her mouth and blows through them, ignoring the dirt on her fingers and under her nails.  It’s not any worse than digging in her garden.  The shovels are a bit bigger, that’s all. 

Tucker has taken out his PDA again.  He shouldn’t.  Not here.  The screen is bright, and someone might see it.  But he can’t help but check the time, again, squinting through the fog of his breath to see the numbers.  It’s late.  But that’s not going to change in a hurry. 

Almost as one, they look down the hill, their attention drawn taught.  Something is moving down there. 

Surreptitiously, Sam puts a boot on the blade of her shovel, levering it up and into her hand.  Tucker reaches out for his, fingers brushing the smooth wooden handle, not yet pulling it free of the ground. 

They wait, still and cautious.  No matter how many times they do this, they’re never entirely at ease.

Then two spots of green, bright and alien, flare up at them from the dark.  If either of them had been carrying a flashlight, the green could have been mistaken for an animal’s eyeshine. 

They weren’t.  It wasn’t. 

Slowly, the thing in the dark comes up the hill.  It walks slowly, ponderously, its gait uneven.  Every once in a while, that green flashes again. 

The clear cold light of the moon provides a silhouette, eventually.  A black hole in the night.  A human-like figure, a body thrown over one of its shoulders, a shovel propped on the other.  It is stooped, slightly, under the weight, but the way it moves could tell anyone it had done this before.  Its eyes are flat, green coins. 

Sam blinks once, twice, three times.  Tucker just waits, still as stone.  Reality shifts.  No longer is the thing in front of them a shadow cut from nightmare, but their friend, Danny.  Normal, human, puny, blue-eyed Danny, who, for some reason, thinks it’s acceptable to wear a t-shirt in this weather and at this time of night.  He looks exhausted, and perhaps a little embarrassed.  Nothing frightening here.   

Other than the fact he’s carrying his own corpse over his shoulder. 

“You didn’t need to bring your own shovel, man,” says Tucker, compulsively pulling his PDA out again.  “We already got everything dug.”  He sounds worried. 

Danny cringes.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you wait that long.”  He drums his fingers on the shaft of his shovel and adjusts his grip on the body. 

“It’s fine.  Let��s just get under cover.”  Sam turns and walks back, into the less-burned part of the forest.  She can hear Tucker following her.  Danny is, as always, silent. 

“Oof,” says Danny. 

“Huh?  Something wrong?” asks Tucker. 

“Just walked over my own grave, that’s all.”  Danny offers them a smile that could have been made from the same fabric as the moon – although with a far less steady hand. 

The response is a groan, as loud as they dare. 

“We’re going to have to change locations, soon.”

And isn’t that the truth?  Accidentally digging up one grave was one grave too many, and it isn’t as if they could mark them.  What they are doing is illegal, both in the ‘this is literally against state, federal, county, and municipal law’ sense, and the more metaphorical ‘this is an affront to the laws of nature’ sense. 

They reach their handiwork of the night before much longer.  The grave isn’t nice and rectangular, but they gave up on that early on.  It’s deep, and big enough to take what Danny’s been carrying.  That’s enough. 

Danny promptly drops his corpse into the hole.  The sound of a corpse hitting the ground like that—It isn’t exactly indescribable, and it isn’t exactly unique, but…

It sure is a sound. 

They stare at it, for a long moment.  It feels, even after all this time, that they should say something, do something, to commemorate the moment, to lay the body to rest. 

But they don’t.

Danny hefts his shovel and starts the work of pushing the dirt back in.  Shovelful by shovelful, the body is hidden from view.  Covered up.  Tucked in. 

“Well,” says Danny.  “That’s that for tonight.”

 They go back, down through the trees.  Sometimes, when he steps into the shadows of the trees, Danny goes dark again, his eyes green and glowing, but those moments become fewer and further between as they leave the fresh grave behind.  As they leave Danny’s latest death behind.  As Danny becomes more alive.

“Who was it tonight?” asks Tucker.  “Or was it more of a what this time?”

“Ember,” says Danny.

“That was fast, for her.”

“She wasn’t here for a fight, this time.”  Danny shrugs.  “Convinced her to ride my death back across the line pretty easy.  It’s almost as if—”

He stops, tilts his head to one side.  Shadows strobe across him. 

“Danny?” asks Sam. 

“Something’s here,” says Danny, his voice flat and empty, and then he's gone.

If there is one thing that is impossible for Sam and Tucker to get used to, it is the sight of their friend dropping dead. 

Sam hisses through her teeth and crouches down.  “He couldn’t even tell us who it is first?”

“It can’t be anyone too strong,” says Tucker.  “He wouldn’t risk wasting a death.”  He thumbs open the timer on his PDA.  Six minutes.  On average, a human death held a viable door open for six minutes. 

Sam shoots him a skeptical look and he winces.  There is, on occasion, a wildness in Danny's eyes beyond the green. 

But it’s too late to talk about that now.  The moon-cast shadows undulate across the ground, twitching and fluttering like living things.  It's ink and blackness and the trees bending away from the sky to reveal stars that were both too close and too green. 

The dark isn’t the only thing there.  There's something artificial, a presence the forest resists.  An intruder.  An outsider.  A predator, stalking, hunting, not looking for them, but it doesn’t care about collateral damage. 

Sam curses under her breath.  “Skulker.”

The two ghosts clash and writhe, dead, unmade things in a place they should not exist.  They give the body, the corpse, a wide berth, Skulker not willing to get close enough to the body and the door for Danny to push him through, and Danny clearly not wanting Skulker to get too close to Sam and Tucker. 

The problem with Skulker is that he’s always been out for blood.  Danny is his current prey, but that isn’t a good thing to count on. 

“Do you think Vlad let him through again?” whispers Tucker, his words standing stark against the silence. 

It’s probable.  There aren’t enough human deaths in Amity Park to justify how often certain ghosts return.  Any death can make a door, even a plant’s, even an animal’s, but those doors are usually too small and too brief for ghosts like Skulker to get through, if they aren’t called to them specifically.  But someone like Vlad or Danny can die again and again, as many times as needed. 

Tucker sees Danny’s body twitch and he yelps, putting a tree between him and it.  Sam is more proactive.  She brings the flat of her shovel down on its head.  The ghosts that leak out are stripes of neon against dark grass.  The light is swallowed by the empty places between the trees. 

“How much time?” she asks Tucker breathlessly. 

“Three minutes,” he says, holding up his PDA.

“We need to get out of here.”

“What?  But—”

She grabs his wrist and hauls him into the dark.

It isn’t only black in there.  Star-flashes and moonlight twinkle and strobe as they run.  There are eyes, green and uncountable.  There is sound – gunfire swallowed by snow, the twang of bowstrings, the last gasp of prey, devoured.  The trees slide by them, studiously avoiding their path.  Soft mounds of earth flicker with gentle stars, the ground beneath them a mirror of the sky above.  It is like running between two mirrors.

This landscape, Sam realizes, a little late, does not favor Skulker very much at all.  Not here, in Danny’s own personal graveyard.

And the shadows retreat, pulled away like ink being absorbed by a napkin. 

Sam and Tucker look back, over their shoulders.  Two green eyes stare at them from what isn’t, in retrospect, very far away at all.  Danny’s body lies on the ground below, barely visible.  The eyes do not leave them, even as the shadow they are in stoops to pluck the shovel from the limp hand of Danny’s body and start digging. 

The shadows beneath the trees don’t seem very dark anymore.  The moonlight is almost blinding. 

The timer on Tucker’s PDA goes off, loudly.  He hisses at it, annoyed that, somewhere along the way, he’d turned the volume on. 

“Heck,” says Sam. 

“Yeah,” agrees Tucker, vehemently.  “Where’d my shovel go?”

They find it before too long.  There aren’t too many places it could have gone.  They join Danny in digging.  Two graves in one night are really too much, but they’ve done more, and they’ve done worse.  They aren’t like Vlad, can’t just let them build up until it’s efficient to dispose of them, or whatever he does.  Something tells them that whatever is probably worse than they’re imagining. 

Between blinks, Danny is himself again, and the grave is finished before the moon starts to set. 

It is late.  It is early.  It is time to go home. 

The thing about three teenagers with shovels walking the city streets at night is that they’re noticed.  Amity Park isn’t New York, but any city worth its name stirs in its sleep.  Midnight flights to the airport, inadvisably long bachelor parties, late movies, insomnia, homelessness. 

Tucker’s been monitoring the ghost hunting and cryptid forums for a while, and he’s emailed Danny links to each one that mentions him.  Sam has clippings from the paper about calls to animal control about something with green eyes, about something that couldn’t possibly be human.  Then, of course, there are the calls to the police about something dragging or carrying bodies from all sorts of places. 

There had been an investigation at one point.  There had to be.  But nothing had been found.  There hadn’t been anything to find.  No missing bodies, no mysterious disappearances, no deaths.  Just a green-eyed shadow and its mysterious companions. 

Sam knows her parents, at least, think the whole thing is a prank.  Tucker’s think it is people seeing things when there was nothing there, like bigfoot.  The less said about what Danny’s parents think about it, the better. 

Sam’s house is furthest from the center of town, and they drop her off first, the shadows on the trellis giving her a boost when she climbed.  Tucker and Danny then have the typical argument about whether it’s better to bring Tucker or Danny home first.  Danny, Tucker argues, has just fought not one, but two ghosts.  Tucker, Danny argues, cannot come back from the dead.  Danny wins, as usual. 

That leaves Danny, real and not, alive and not, to wander home.  He waves cheerfully at a drunk who watches him pass with wide eyes and turns onto his street.  He breathes in, deeply, tasting the ash that still flavors the air all these months later.  He opens his eyes just in time for the winter sun to beam through the skeleton of one of the buildings that bracket the crater that was once Fentonworks. 

No one lives here anymore. 

No one is waiting for him.

Danny walks down into the darkness and disappears. 

[fanfic-corner]

10–50k Destiel Fics

Hello everyone! Here are some novella length fics for your reading enjoyment :D

In Due Time (Dean Winchester is Saved) by caelum_writes (11k)

A 26-year-old Dean is transported to 2021 and confronted with the unfathomable - a future where he is happy, safe, and loved.

Equinox by luchia (12k)

In which Castiel is the weird time-traveling freak who just might be the love of Dean Winchester's life.

let the waters rise. by outpastthemoat (13k)

When Dean thinks about it later, he could almost swear it had been raining the day Castiel left. But the rain came after. Castiel leaves on a day with no clouds, a day with golden sunlight warming Dean throughout. It happens without warning, like lightning striking out of a clear blue sky.

It’s raining when he throws his bags in the Impala and it’s raining when he turns on the interstate and it’s still raining when he hits the state line so he keeps on going. Dean drives and it rains, so he turns on his windshield wipers and watches raindrops sliding down the windshield and flicking away into the gray air, and he just keeps thinking that this can’t be happening. It just can’t.

25¢ pocket guardian angels by hopelessheathen (13k)

Dean walks into his local bank one day and notices that someone has filled the old gumball machine with these tiny, wiggling, sentient angels in individual plastic packaging. Deeply concerned about their air supply and the fact that they're trapped there in the sun, he starts pumping in quarters to rescue them. This is worse than leaving a dog in an overheating car.

Now he's got forty of the little guys running all over his house, and god knows how many others might be trapped and dying all over the city.

Hands, From Which All Things Are Built by MajorEnglishEsquire (14k)

Castiel travels with the angel tablet and without the Winchesters. One day, Dean gets a text from some anonymous number. (They speak in the language of need.)

for which no words exist by MediaWhore (14k)

"Dear Cas who art in my bathtub, give me the strength to be honest about how I feel. For your sake and for mine. Forgive me all the times I wasn’t in the past, all the words I should have said but didn’t. And please stay. Please stay with me when all is said and done. Amen. "

Dean rescues a newly human Cas from the Empty. That's the easy step.

Falling Home by sunshinewinchesters (15k)

The angels have fallen and all Dean knows is that he needs to find Castiel, blizzard and feelings be damned.

Written On Your Skin by noxsoulmate (16k)

When the handprint Cas left on his shoulder flares back to life, Dean knows something is wrong. Moving Heaven and Hell, he’s able to find his best friend – imprisoned and covered in writing. Every meaningful word ever spoken between them is etched into Cas’ skin, fading slowly, one line at a time. A battle against time begins because once the last line vanishes Castiel’s memories will be gone with it. Not only of Dean, but of everything he has ever learned from him about humanity, love, and free will.

love bade me welcome by mmtion (23k)

Cas gives Dean a wooden carving to celebrate their fifth wedding anniversary. But, despite their friends freaking out about it, it's not like that.

(or; Dean and Cas build a gentle life together, in the wrong order.)

Morning Glory by edgarallanrose (25k)

Dean can no longer hunt, Cas has gone from Warrior of God to beekeeper, and Sam has left home. Taking place two years after the Season 12 finale, Dean and Cas have to learn what it means to be themselves, and who they are meant to be to each other, without the threat of an impending apocalypse hanging over their heads.

Dream House by breathingdestiel (26k)

Castiel Shurley and his best friend Dorothy Baum have decided to move in together. After his aunt assumes they are dating, she offers them money for the house, but only if they apply for a famous reality show ‘Dream House’. Since they could use the money and he doesn’t want to come out to his aunt, Castiel and Dorothy agree to fake date for the show. But things go wrong when Dorothy falls in love with the show’s producer and Castiel starts to develop feelings for one of the hosts.

Dean Winchester is a co-host of ‘Dream House’, along with his brother. Sam, being a realtor, finds a fixer-upper and Dean turns it into a perfect house for their clients. Even though he has what most people only dream about, Dean is incredibly lonely. He had bad experiences with relationships in the past and he doesn’t think he will ever meet anyone who can earn his trust. Until he meets Castiel.

On Drowning by domesticadventures (28k)

The absolute last thing Dean would ever admit, after saving Cas' life, is that it was all thanks to the unhealthy amount of time he spent reading about drowning on Wikipedia.

Not that he's not grateful, but what he really needs is an instruction manual for everything that comes after.

A Hard-Won Peace by patheticfangirl (28k)

“Afterlife” no longer means forgetting what happened during life.

In Heaven, Dean is tormented by peace and freedom until he reunites with an also-struggling Castiel. Together, they work through issues they couldn’t leave behind, hoping to find something resembling happiness.

Three Funerals and a Wedding by Englandwouldfall (29k)

“So, um…basically, it’s this… I need you to marry me. For plot.”

Castiel stares at him.

“What?” Dean asks, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably.

“I cannot believe gay marriage came to Moondoor before a significant part of America.”

break the skin (to break the barriers) by sobsicles (29k)

Dean is silent for a long, tense moment, then he gruffly says, "It's not for banishing the angels. It's to summon them. So, it doesn't—it's not to get rid of 'em, but to draw 'em in." 

Mitzi can't help but glance up at him at that. His voice is so heavy with so much unexplained pain, and she doesn't understand why, or what angels have to do with it. She knows religion can impact people. She's very aware that it can get complicated, and that it can be a huge source of pain for someone, but Dean sounds grievously wronged, somehow, as if it's a truly personal thing. 

She pushes through, focusing back on her job, clearing her throat before murmuring, "Well, I guess we all want angels to visit us sometimes." 

"Just the one," Dean mumbles. 

"Your guardian angel?" Mitzi asks. 

Dean breathes out, "Something like that. As close to one as an angel will ever get." 

Lucky Winner by natmoose (31k)

Dean wins a trip to Paris. In and of itself, that’s an amazing thing, but the problem is: he isn’t in a relationship with Lisa anymore, and the trip requires a romantic partner. The obvious choice is Cas, his roommate and best friend of 3 years, but coming with that are some very very complicated feelings and things Dean absolutely doesn’t want to deal with.

But Dean isn’t selfish and also really wants to give his overworked best friend a well deserved holiday, so the only and best solution is to take Cas to Paris, romantic theme be damned. What Dean doesn’t know is that their whole trip will be documented by a photographer from the company - so to avoid their vacation being cut short, Dean and Cas will have to convincingly play a couple.

First Gentleman Wanted by youaresunlight (31k)

President of the United States Castiel Novak is popular, charismatic, and knee-deep in campaigning for a second term. He’d be the ideal candidate if it weren’t for the fact that he hasn’t dated once while in political office. With his opponent’s relentless PR team calling him incapable of emotional commitment, Castiel’s staff decides to remedy the situation by finding their boss a fake, picture-perfect boyfriend. And when Dean Winchester enters the scene, he and Cas become America’s new favorite couple, except they’ve got a whole lot of history between them and complicated feelings to resolve.

All The Nights by NorthernSparrow (32k)

A ghost hunt goes wrong, and Dean ends up fighting for his life in an icy river. A certain angel somehow knows he's in trouble and shows up to help, but doesn't have enough power left to warm up Dean. It's just a simple cold night in the woods, but things can go wrong fast at night in the woods, and soon Cas and Dean must each decide what they'll risk to save the other. And they just might end up so exhausted that they accidentally start talking.

although we are faithless by noviembre (32k)

Dean is driving. Driving down a long road with Sam, and his parents are at the end of the road, and his mom made pie, and it's everything he dreamed about when he was a kid. Everything is okay. Everything is fine.

Except it doesn't make sense, and something is missing. Something is broken here --

Dean is driving again.

Diagonally Parked in a Parallel Universe by TheBlackLagoon (37k)

Cas Novak can’t see an escape from the life of hunting. Even with the frequent pleas from Jessica to leave it all behind, where in the world is he supposed to fit in? Dean Winchester can’t see a life beyond pencil-pushing for the Men of Letter’s Midwest branch. Even with the responsibility he holds to upkeep his family name, is it really what he’s meant to do? The two duos meet on what appears to be an easy salt and burn but which quickly spirals out of control.

sir this is a wendy's by noviembre (40k)

Dean is a custodian at a fast food restaurant. Cas is the President of the United States.

Heroes for Ghosts by pantheon_of_discord (42k)

Canon-divergent from 12.08

After Sam and Dean are arrested, Castiel is left alone and scrambling to find them. He knows they’re locked away in a government facility, and he’s still able to hear their prayers, but no matter how he tries Castiel can’t seem to track them. He chases leads and even attempts to hunt on his own, but Mary is AWOL, Crowley refuses to help, and Castiel’s options are running out.

Weeks pass, Castiel’s hope dwindles, and through it all Dean prays, keeping them connected. His voice is comforting, frustrating, and occasionally annoying, but in his solitude Castiel comes to cherish it. But then one day, without warning, Dean stops praying, and Castiel is forced to confront some uncomfortable truths about his feelings.

Keep Your Love Alive by dothraki_shieldmaiden and FriendofCarlotta (42k)

Dean gets to spend eternity sharing beers with Bobby on the Roadhouse porch and riding around in his Baby with Sam. He’s at peace… or he feels like he should be. But a few things nag at him: Where is Cas, and everybody else Dean had been hoping to see in Heaven? Why does he feel like he’s stuck in a loop, reliving the same memories over and over again? And who are the strangers wearing Sam’s and Bobby’s faces?

From Sea to Shining Sea by MsCaptainWinchester (43k)

Dean and Castiel are only a few short months of college from reuniting after five long years on opposite coasts. It doesn’t seem like long, but then a virus breaks out close to Dean, and suddenly all their plans are ruined.

Now there are new plans. Dean is going to do everything he can to cross the country, picking up strays and a reputation for violence along the way. Cas is building a new colony of survivors, determined to stay still long enough for Dean to find him.

But without contact, neither knows if they will ever see the other again. Can Dean survive his cross-country road trip through zombie nation? And if he does, will Castiel still be there to meet him?

psalm 40:2 by unicornpoe (44k)

Dean meets an angel who says he's from the future. It all gets a lot more complicated from there.

This list is getting pretty long so I'll make a second part! Thank you to all the amazing writers who have shared their fics with us, and happy reading!!

[17snifflesandsnzes]

Hello! I have an odd request: can you do a Booseoksoon fic where Seungkwan gets sick while filming the fighting music video. But the odd part is can you include Youngji? Like as one of the caretakers if possible if not totally fine too!

Love your fics!

Thanks for the compliment! Sorry for the long waiting time 😅! Hopefully, it lives up to the hype! Hope you enjoy~!

We Will Always Have Your Back

BSS making a comeback after nearly 6 years was definitely a huge leap of faith for Seventeen. The song “Fighting” had been absolutely perfect for them, leading all 3 of them to want to work even harder for this comeback. Which is why Seungkwan was currently heading home at exactly 12 AM after having spent the entire day recording for the EP. As he was currently sharing a dorm with Chan, Seungkwan tiptoed into the apartment, careful not to wake the younger, only to find both Chan and Hansol awake and seated at the table. “You're back, hyung? It's pretty late…” Chan looked up from his phone, wine glass cradled in his hand and Seungkwan gave him a tired smile. “I know. I really needed to get my recording done perfectly, though.” Hansol gave him a deadpan look. “You should take better care of yourself, Seungkwan. You have to shoot the music video tomorrow, right? And here you are, out and about at 12 AM without a jacket on.” Seungkwan rolled his eyes before heading towards his room. “I'll be fine, guys. I've been through worse.” Both Chan and Hansol looked at each other skeptically as Seungkwan said that but he decided to ignore them. But just because you've been through worse doesn't mean that you won't be affected by the small things. Seungkwan definitely had to learn this the hard way.

Waking up the next morning was particularly difficult for Seungkwan. Mainly because he had a splitting headache. Cursing under his breath, Seungkwan forced himself to get out of bed. Even though his morning routine was basically muscle memory to Seungkwan, unsurprisingly, it took way longer today. When he finally dragged himself to the kitchen to get some food in his system, he found Chan already there, whistling as he made some ramen. “Morning, hyung!” Seungkwan winced at his not-so-loud-but-loud-to-him voice. “Morning.” Chan looked at him in concern at the utter lack of energy in his voice. “You okay, hyung? You sound super tired.” Seungkwan took a seat at the table and rested his head on the cool surface. “I'll be fine, Chan-ah. I'll have to be.” He heard the tell-tale sound of Chan sighing in exasperation as he placed a bowl of ramen in front of Seungkwan, but fortunately, Chan didn't say anything. After eating as much as his appetite could handle, Seungkwan was soon in his company car, driving to the music video set.

On arrival, Seungkwan was immediately swarmed by the other two members of BSS. Seokmin ruffled his hair and Soonyoung gave him a teasing look. “Oh, Seungkwanie~! How could you be late to shoot our first comeback in 6 years?!” He asked in mock-betrayal. Seungkwan rolled his eyes but there was no heat behind the action. “I got caught up in traffic, hyung! Of course I didn't want to be late!” Seungkwan pouted and Soonyoung and Seokmin laughed. “Let's get started then!” Seokmin said as he led the way to the cameras. Seungkwan braced himself for a long day. He could do this. He had to.

After about an hour into the shoot, Seungkwan had given up completely. His headache made him unable to focus on anything the director or his hyungs were saying, and he just wanted this day to end. After the first shooting was over, Seokmin approached him. “Seungkwan-ah, are you okay? You look like you barely slept last night.” Seungkwan sniffled lightly, the action causing a tickle to flare up at the back of his sinuses. He turned away from Seokmin and brought his hands up to cup his nose and mouth. “Hh'IkTChiHh!-” Seungkwan sniffled again, the sneeze having caused his nose to start running as well. When he turned towards Seokmin again, he could see the worry in his hyung's eyes. “Seungkwan-ah, are you sick?” Seungkwan shook his head, the action causing him to wince. Damn this headache. “I'll be fine, hyung. You don't have to worry.” Seokmin gave him an unconvinced look but didn't say anything.

The rest of the shooting was difficult, to say the least. Now that he'd sneezed once, it was almost impossible to hold back the tickling sensation at the back of his sinuses. After the first shoot, Seungkwan was supposed to shoot alone. Despite wanting to just curl up in bed and cry, Seungkwan tried to focus on the director's instructions. As he waited for the camera to start rolling, he felt the irritating tickle come back, and he immediately brought an arm to his face. “Ah, PD-nim, could you wait a sec…hh'IktChiHh!- hh'ItChiHh!-” Seungkwan sniffled wetly as the staff blessed him. “Seungkwan-ssi, are you ready to start now?” The director asked him kindly, and Seungkwan nodded immediately. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Seungkwan willed himself to be alright.

Miraculously, Seungkwan survived the rest of the shoot. Well, that was until they got to the shoot with Youngji, who was featuring in their song. She was bubbly as always as she greeted both his members and patted him, slightly harshly, on the back. Seungkwan tried his best to be his normal self, but he could tell that Youngji saw right through him. Before they began with the shoot, she approached him. “Are you okay, sunbae?” Seungkwan rubbed a hand over his face, turning towards her, plastering the biggest smile on his face. “I'm fine, Youngji-yah. You don't have to worry.” Just as Youngji was about to argue, Seungkwan felt the overwhelming urge to sneeze come back, and he pinched his nose between his fingers, eyes fluttering shut. “hh'NgtChiHh!- hh'ItChiHh!-” Seungkwan blinked away the irritated tears from his eyes, and Youngji patted his arm gently. “Sunbae, I think you're sick,” She said kindly. “You need to rest.” Seungkwan rolled his eyes at the tone of her voice, which sounded so obvious. “Youngji-yah, I can't just go back home on the day of the mv shoot of our first comeback!” He said, his voice rising with irritation. At that statement, he felt someone's arm wrap around his shoulders. “But you can, Seungkwan-ah. You need to rest when you're sick. We can shoot the mv some other time, and your health is more important.” Soonyoung ruffled his hair as he said that, and Youngji nodded as hard as she could. Seungkwan sighed. “Fine. I'll rest if that's what you want.” Seokmin managed to catch his last sentence, and he joined the three of them immediately. “Finally! Let's get you back home, Seungkwan-ah.” Seungkwan nodded, feeling the tickle at the back of his sinuses flare up again. Sniffling softly, he rubbed his nose with his wrist. Unfortunately, that did nothing to hold off the intense tickle. Admitting defeat, Seungkwan cupped his nose and mouth with his hands, gasping softly. “hh'IktChiHhh!- hh'IktShUhHh!-” “Bless you.” Seokmin said softly, putting an arm around Seungkwan. Seungkwan leaned against his hyung a little, drained out by the day.

Soon enough, his hyungs brought him back to his shared dorm with Chan. Chan himself wasn't home, but he'd left some kalguksu for Seungkwan. Soonyoung laughed immediately upon seeing that. “We really do know our members best. How did he know you were sick?” Seungkwan smiled softly, making a mental note to thank Chan later. “I think he caught on that I was sick this morning. He said that I looked too tired.” Seokmin nodded thoughtfully while Soonyoung heated up the kalguksu. Seokmin and Soonyoung kept him company while he ate, and as he entered his bedroom, Seokmin pulled him into a hug. “Get well soon, Seungkwan-ah! Let's film the mv once you're better!” Seungkwan nodded against Seokmin's shoulder while Soonyoung patted his head. And as Seungkwan got into bed, he realized these really were the moments he cherished the most with the members. Because he knows they'll always have his back.

[cozyquinn]

Fate of the Dice

warnings: 18+ smut ahead, minors DNI. No established timeframe, but Eddie and reader are in an established relationship (one that has elements of a Dom/sub arrangement), Dom!Eddie x fem!reader, NO use of Y/N, this fic gets dark- please proceed with caution!

trigger warnings for: pet names (baby), also name calling in degredation (whore, slut, cumslut etc), mention of a safe word, physical sadism, Dom/sub elements and use of terms alluding to that (Sir/Master), use of restraints, masturbation -male and female recieving , spanking to v with hands, mention of branding (but not written about in detail) aftercare at the end! Please let me know if you find any others, but also note that this list is not exhaustive- please consume content safely and cautiously!

You'd been miserable all day having had an awful night's sleep, on top of a disheartening week; you couldn't make it to the Hideout on Tuesday for Corroded Coffin's set thanks to a late-running shift, you'd managed to shrink a number of your clothes in the washing machine, and your libido was spiking without a readily available means of release- what with Eddie preparing for the climax of the current campaign.

Despite your overall bad mood and lack of sleep, you agreed to attend the DnD campaign that evening as Eddie's good-luck charm; he knew he was going to have his hands full seeing as the guys had prepared ten-fold for this one.

Against your body's desperate pleas to be touched, held, controlled, you vowed to be good for the evening- you really did. You did your best to sit still, settling on a subtle fidgeting of hands as you watched the game unfold; dice clattering and a plethora of groans, gasps and cheers rotating to fill the room around you with each next turn.

You could feel yourself shrinking under the weight of the noise, it all becoming too much, made worse by Eddie seeming unreachable as he perched in his throne; you screamed out silently for his touch, swallowing down the pathetic whimpers trying to force themselves past your lips.

The ache between your legs and the buzz of your mind worsened with each cackle and roar that bellowed from Eddie's mouth, each dramatic flare sent a shiver down your spine and a pooling of warmth settled in your stomach.

Knowing the only remedy to be the oh-so needed attention from Eddie, you braved a simple knock to his foot with yours, a small smile overtook your lips as you awaited Eddie's signature smile in response.

It never came.

With a slight shift of your head, you peered up at Eddie through your lashes to find that he wasn't looking at you at all; his eyes were focused on the game board gracing the table, analysing the small figurines littered across the 2-dimensional spread of a fictional land.

The frustration that came with sleeplessness reared its ugly head with very little encouragement (or resistance) from you. Your feet seemed to gain their own consciousness, idly swinging closer to Eddie's beaten up sneakers with purpose; the soles of your shoes successfully prodding at them 3 times before Eddie's attention shifted to you.

A bothered glint flashed across his usually soft brown eyes, before a gentle hand was placed on your knee and offered a small squeeze to your soft skin. The mess of tangled curls tickled your cheek as Eddie leaned forward to whisper sweetly into your ear.

"Behave, baby. Just a little bit longer, then I'm all yours, okay?". You responded with a disappointed nod, a small forced smile gracing your lips.

The fruitless attempts to gain the attention that you so desperately, and urgently, needed flicked a switch in your brain; the restless brat clawing her way to the forefront of your brain, overriding all rationality you had managed to latch on to.

With a concealed smirk on your lips, you waited for the perfect opportunity to arise to make your presense known to the oblivious metalhead to your right. Your inner brat squealed at the concoction of disobedience about to unfurl.

The opportunity arose quickly, but not quickly enough, when it fell upon Jeff to roll the D20. Lifting your leg at the knee, you rested the toe of your shoe against the underside of the table and supported the underside of your thigh with your hands to steady yourself as you braced.

Oblivious to your scheme, Jeff sent the die clambering along the table top, a round of murmurs rumbling around the table, all pleading for a high number. As the die settled, the shine of the high-scoring number barely saw the light of the lamp glaring down from above before you sent a malicious kick into the underside of the hardwood table, the die shrieking as it was catapulted back into a steady rhythm of thumps against the board to meet a much less favourable outcome for the party.

The party members looked around in confusion before groaning at their ill-luck, shrouding the room with enough distraction to hide the resentful glare burning through your skin; Eddie's clawed hand ripping at his jeans, keeping him grounded whilst his mind screamed at him to reach over and discipline you right there and then.

You'd been caught, your intentions brandished across your skin with a harsh blush under the scrutiny of the Dungeon Master.

You shifted in your seat, your knees now pointing towards the throne but your torso remained facing the table as you braved a daring look up at the Dungeon Master, who was seemingly melting in anger behind a facade of intrigue.

You chanced a knowing smile, the palm of your hand coming to settle against the apple of your cheek as you sent an antagonistic wink in the direction of your Master.

The controlled growl that ripped through his chest subdued you for the remainder of the campaign, subtle glares shot in your direction kept your shoulders sunken into your chest and your eyes trained towards the floor.

You knew better than to make another move, opting to stay silently still as the campaign slugged on; your consciousness only seeping back to reality on the penultimate roll of the dice. You winced, feeling the attention of the Dungeon Master falling upon you despite the tension in the game.

As soon as the campaign had wrapped up and everyone had packed away, Eddie had you harshly by the elbow, dragging you with urgency out into the evening chill and towards his van.

The drive back to Eddie's trailer was just as quick, and nothing short of suffocating. Your skin ran cold from the lack of touch, Eddie's hands opting instead to torment the peeling leather of the steering wheel. He barely offered you the courteousy of a glance until you reached the winding path of the trailer park, the cobbles leading to your inevitable doom.

In the same moment the van was parked, Eddie's clenching hands reached over to unbuckle your seatbelt, his red hot tongue scolding you with a brash "Inside. Now.", before crashing his way out of the drivers side.

Knowing better than to disobey further, you reached for the door handle, quickly realising that something, or someone, was holding it closed. You rattled the handle, clammy hands slipping whilst you fought helplessly to follow your Master's orders.

A deep ache settled in your chest as the thrum of submission melted into your pores, a jabbing need to please willing all of your strength into your grip on the handle.

Just as a tear threatened to breach your stinging eyelids, the door clattered open and firm hands gripped at your shoulders as your back met the cold metal of the van.

"I thought I told you to get inside." The toneless venom slipping from his mouth brought a dryness to your throat and sent your knees buckling beneath you.

"But Sir, you w-wouldn't let-" You stuttered out, clinging on to his leather-clad arms as you felt your feet slipping beneath you.

He leant down to graze your ear with his teeth, his body leaning against you with a hefty weight that blanketed you with fear.

"Did I ask you to talk, slut?" You barely heard the words slipping from his mouth over the pounding in your ears as your blood rushed to your head.

You lightly shook your head in response, mouthing a silent "no, Sir" into the cold winter air.

He smirked. "That's what I thought. Get inside, now. Clothes off, I want you kneeling by the time I get there"

With an anxious nod, you retreated into the haven of the Munson trailer before he could finish his demand; counting the footsteps to your very own dungeon awaiting you as you went.

With Wayne safely out of the trailer for the night, you began undressing as you reached the end of the sofa; the removed clothes remained in your grasp, knowing that Eddie would expect them neatly folded on the chair when he entered his room.

Leaving the folded pile of linens on the chair at the threshold of the room, you followed suit to kneel at the foot of the bed; you tied your hair up into a sturdy ponytail, and ghosted the backs of your hands against the skin of your thighs as you waited. The slam of the front door sent a shiver up your spine, your rigid bones flinching with fearful anticipation.

A grunt reverberated around the room behind you as you continued kneeling and facing forward, the raging heat lashing from Eddie's body warmed the air around you as he got closer.

"So, slut, do you want to tell me what that was all about? What's caused this bratty behaviour, hmm?" He jabbed, towering over you. Your body shivered, in need of his touch; a quiet whine leaving your lips as he maintained the distance between you.

"I just wanted your attention, Sir. You were ignoring me." You squeaked, your gaze falling to the floor in shame.

"So you thought ruining the game for everyone was the right thing to do? Selfish little whore" His words bit, tears now truly falling down your soft cheeks with fervour.

"Didn't wa-wanna ruin it for the g-guys, Sir. Just wanted you to notice me. You barely l-looked at me, y'were too focused on that stupid game." His steely eyes widened as he crouched to sneer in your face, daring you to carry on. Seeing as you were so far gone, your bratty subconcious spat its own sharp venom back at Eddie before you could stop it.

"It's a stupid game with stupid fucking dice. I hate it, hate those stupid pieces of plastic too!" You hollared, a concoction of overwhelming emotions and tiredness overtaking you, an unknown bravery bubbling in your chest as your eyes squinted up at Eddie.

Within the span of a breath, the searing heat of Eddie's palm collided with your cheek, the sound hovering in the room like a thick mist.

"Watch your mouth, brat." His harsh tone bit at your skin almost as harshly as the slap to your cheek, your throat constricting around nothing as you felt a haze slowly begin to cloud your mind and an almost audible wetness seeped from your cunt.

You could only stare up at him with bleary eyes, your chest rising and falling quickly as you tried to predict his next move.

"But, seeing as you hate the dice so much, I think I'm going to let them decide how this is going to go. Give you a reason to really hate 'em".

He spoke with confidence, but your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, a quiet "huh?" merging with the soft breath leaving your lips.

"Such a brainless little thing, aren't you? Can't even keep up. Here, remember this list we made, hmm?" He taunted.

With a smirk, Eddie fumbled around his desk to grab a sheet of paper, instantly recognisable to you as the scribbled words you'd written just a few weeks ago; your usual cursive letters slanted and smudged from the distraction of Eddie's relentless thumb on your clit whilst you wrote.

Forcing the page in front of your eyes and pulling a single D8 from his pocket, Eddie continued. You stared at the page through bleary eyes, noticing Eddie's blotchy scrawl squeezed at the front of each line, vaguely resembling numbers.

"Now, you are going to roll this D8 like an obedient little slut, and you're going to take whichever punishment the dice decides for you. Understood?"

Little more than a whimper escaped your lips as the weight of your hips shifted uncomfortably, your foot arching in towards your heat to seek even a little friction.

Noticing your subtle movements, Eddie's dominant hand reached out to claw at the roots of your hair, yanking your head back to focus your gaze into his angered glare, forcing a gasped "Yes Master, I understand" from your lips.

With a brash nod of his head, Eddie released your hair carelessly, leaving you to slump into yourself momentarily; rushing to recover yourself and show your manners before further punishment could be tallied on to the agenda for the night.

You reached out for the D8 as Eddie pinched it between his thumb and forefinger, the warmth of his hand lingering for just a second against your goose-bump laden skin. You cupped the die in a shaking hand, using the rush of blood coursing through you to gain momentum behind the throw of fate.

Your eyes closed as the D8 stilled against the floor, a broken breath held in your throat as you awaited the verdict.

"Hmmm, a fitting punishment". He hummed in appreciation of the outcome. The tap of a finger under your chin commanded you to meet his stare as a smug laugh dripped from Eddie's full lips.

"Looks like the dice think that pretty little cunt of yours needs a little beating. Such a shame really, but I bet that little pussy's just beggin' for it right now, huh?" You gasped at his lewd words, the weight of the punishment slowly settling on your stomach; the weight of your arousal sending a dull ache through your muscles, the wetness a welcome preparation for the torture on the horizon.

You knew not to beg or speak out of line, both offering only additional, unnecessary pain. But you had to try, you were desperate.

"Please n-no, Master. I'll be good, I'll do as you say an-and take any other punishment. P-please, need you t-to touch me so-so badly." You pleaded, hot tears staining your cheeks as your hands reached up to grab the hem of his shirt, each small tug at the fabric a plea for forgiveness.

"The only touch you'll be getting for now, slut, is the palm of my hand slapping your cunt. Now. Shut. Up."

His rough hand grabbed at your wrists, the metal of his rings branding your skin with a delicious sting. With a flex of his arm, you fell onto the groaning mattress, your right cheek caressed by the comforter as you strain your neck to find your Master; your submissive mind and leaking cunt equally vying for his attention.

"Arms behind your head, now. Wrists together". You followed his barked orders, flyaways from your ponytail reaching to tickle your sensitive skin as your hands settled against the nape of your neck.

You feel the worn leather of Eddie's belt twist, almost painfully, around your wrists. The metal of the buckle clinks as you're fastened tightly into your restraint, your breath hitching at the overstimulation of touch and sounds pooling at your neck.

You're momentarily brought back by the scratch of fabric rubbing at your restrained wrists, as Eddie weaved his bandana through the loop of the belt between your hands, and knotting it tightly at the base of your ponytail.

Arms now fully restrained and flush against your head, you breathed deeply; the last drops of control to oozing from your body, following the trail of arousal painting your thighs.

Eddie traced his calloused fingertip along the swells and dips of your body as the rise and fall of your chest deepened. A warm, wet kiss placed on the skin of your shoulder, lips dragging lazily up to the shell of your ear.

"You remember your colours?" His calmer tone sent a buzz through your empty brain, the hum travelling down your spine to alight your senses.

"Mhm, yes'sir. Orange to slow, red to stop". The words barely a whisper from your lips.

"And what's your colour now?" His softness began to harden at the edges, the anticipation in his voice rousing excitement in you both.

"Green, Master" You squeaked.

A quiet "good" is the last kindness from his mouth before you were flipped roughly onto your back, the buckle of the belt secured at your wrists fusing to the skin of your neck like a hot poker; the sensation akin to the branded initials of your Master blessing your left hip.

The sudden harsh clip of his metal rings against your swollen clit had your back arching from the mattress, the stretch of calloused fingers across your thigh pinning your leg down; your cunt bared to him in vulnerability, the cold air lapping at your puckering entrance.

You turned your blurred gaze to Eddie, now standing before you in just his boxers; his devilish smirk taunting you, bullying your eyelids closed as a pathetic whimper escaped you.

You bit back the screams that burn your throat, your lip swelling from the force of your teeth biting painfully into the painted plump skin, as a succession of merciless thwacks bared down on your red-raw folds; your eyes and cunt equally weeping as your Master uses you as he pleases.

The sharp stings spread to your inner thighs, occasional nips at the skin left you flinching; the tug of your restrained wrists against the ponytail perched below the crown of your head sending delicious throbs through your scalp.

Unexpected praise warmed your tummy, your mind swimming having lost count of the slaps to your cunt, as you felt the gentle nudge of Eddie's nose tickling your throat, his firm hand still cupping the pulsing heat between your legs.

He leaned back, his hand now rubbing harsh circles into your mound. His other arm reaching down, releasing himself from his boxers, his heavy cock bouncing excitedly just below his navel.

The hand on your mound spreads, his forefinger dipping to caress your sore and swollen clit. The assault on your pussy left you sensitive to the touch, the built up tension almost exploding with the gentle prod of Eddie's finger to the bundle of nerves.

"G-gonna cum, Master. Too sensitive. Please, been s-so good, please" Your voice cracks as you begged and pleaded, bringing a sadistic smile to Eddie's face.

"Hmmm, I suppose you have earnt it, my messy little whore. Let go for me, be a good little slut" He coos, his pace unrelenting as he urges you to your climax.

His words tipped you over the edge. A scream rips through your throat, a chant of "mastermastermaster" following close behind as a gush of arousal soaked the mattress below you; your arse cheeks glistening like globes, smothered in the polish of your release.

"You think Master's cum will soothe that sore pussy of yours, huh?" He rasped out, the pace of his hand tugging on his rigid cock never faltering.

You nodded desperately, your hazy brain failing to comprehend the words rasping over his tongue.

His pace picked up, his veiny hand blurring with each rough pump of his cock. The drip of precum sliding down his shaft calling to you like water to a parched throat.

"That's it. Master's going to cum all over that pretty little cunt of yours. You going to thank me like the good little cumslut I know you are?" You feverishly nodded in response, as a rambled mess of "thank you Master" and "all yours" spilled from your mouth.

With a trail of rasped grunts, ropes of Eddie's thick cum poured from his swollen tip; his head thrown back and sticky curls clinging to his forehead as the tension in his body slowly released.

His forefinger began rubbing circles through the cum pooling on your folds, as if it were a soothing balm to cure a burn or a graze. His movements, gentle and trance-like, distracting him from the tension building in your limbs.

"Ah, Eds. Arms, please" you pleaded breathlessly, your arms now visibly shaking in their restraint.

"Oh shit, baby. Sorry. Hold still, doing so good for me, such a good girl" he cooed, carefully releasing the restraint from around your wrists and kissing along the reddened skin.

A whispered gratitude spilled over your lips, your palms opening and closing to beckon Eddie's warmth on top of you.

His weight shifts off of you momentarily, though your hazy brain doesn't quite know how long for, until the drag of damp fabric across your sore cunt sends a hiss barrelling over your tongue; a quick, and sincere, apology bringing the hazy smile back to your face as gentle kisses sent tingles across your skin.

Reassurances and sweet nothings whispered into your ear helped to ground you, to bring you back to your Eddie. He checks in on how you're feeling, eyes dancing down your body to check for unnoticed marks or grazes, before his humour cuts through the thick air.

"How'd you feel about the dice now?" Eddie teased, with a gentle nuzzle to your neck.

"Hmmm, still undecided" you giggled, the warmth of Eddie's breath and gentle touch lulling you into a cozy slumber.

[livinglouderx3]

SNS Month day 6 - There was only one bed

"What do you mean there are no other rooms available?", even though the question was adressed towards the inn owner, his eyes were glued to Naruto,noticing the slight flinch of the blonde in front of him.

"Unfortunately we are fully booked. As the reservation had been made for a team only four rooms have been booked-"

Kakashi only let out a laugh behind him. Sasuke wanted nothing more but to punch him. His old teacher had surely known or at least suspected something like this yet he had choosen not to share this small but completely relevant information with Sasuke. Sasuke should have known better though. He shouldn't have agreed to this, to join this "team 7 trip for old time's sake" Naruto had pestered him about for the last month. Of course the idiot had forgotten to take into account that their team was no longer just a 4 man squad. Or technically it was. Sasuke wasn't sure anymore. He tried to ignore Sai's unsettling smile, no matter how much time passed he couldn't quite figure out what his deal was.

"We apologize for any inconvenience. We can only offer to upgrade one room to a double bed-"

"Now that seems like a plan.", Kakashi quipped, unable to hide his obvious amusement. Yes, he had definitely known.

Smiling under that stupid mask of his, he clapped Sasuke on the shoulder. "It's fine right Sasuke? You will just share a room with Naruto." He even had the audacity to wink. Sasuke's sharingan flared up, his patience threatening to crack.

"I don't-"

Almost immediately the blonde turned around, a glint of hope written all over his face at the possibility of Sasuke still staying, making him stop midsentence. He remembered Naruto's expression from two days ago when Sasuke had told him that he would join this trip. He had been smiling that huge warm smile, melting Sasuke's heart, making him all fuzzy. It had been the first time since Sasuke had returned to Konoha that he had agreed meeting up with his old team. Naruto had been more than happy, he had been burning with excitement.

Of course at that time, Sasuke hadn't taken into account that Sai would be there too. He hadn't expected to see him as a part of Team 7. He couldn't explain it, yet it didn't sit right with him.

Anyway, Naruto had been happy. He is happy now, hoping that Sasuke would accept. He could do it. It wasn't that big of a deal. They would share a room and then-

"Sasuke could also share with me."

Sasuke cringed internally at Sakura's sudden proposal. He would absolutely not do that. Under no circumstances. What was she even thinking proposing something like this all of a sudden?

"Or ...Naruto could share with me, then Sasuke could have his own room. Problem solved.", Sai smiled and without even meaning to Sasuke shot him the iciest glance. That was even worse than him having to share with Sakura, which already said enough. There was no way he would let that happen.

The next words were no more than a reflex, like a wolf protecting his territory (which technically didn't belong to him), Sasuke spit, "No need. Naruto and I will share."

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Sakura visibly deflate as always. A small part of him felt bad for her.

Though he really couldn't get it why she just wouldn't give up instead of chasing such an hopeless crush.

Or well, maybe, when his eyes met Naruto's - the lopsided grin he was giving him-, maybe Sasuke could relate to her situation only a tiny bit.

Calling it a double bed had been too overdone. Even though they were back to back, due to the tiny bed there was barely any space between them and Sasuke could feel it - how the matress shifted each time Naruto moved, each time he breathed - just everything. He could feel Naruto's warmth, the delight truly radiating from him just because Sasuke -his friend- was back, going on this stupid trip with him. Sasuke let out a small sigh. He really should have more empathy with Sakura, he was just as hopeless as her.

"...Sasuke. Are you asleep?"

Naruto's small voice pulled him out of his thoughts. For a moment he contemplated keeping his eyes closed, keeping quiet. He could barely deal with the situation at hand, yet his curiousity got the better of him in the end.

"What is it, usuratonkachi?"

Naruto let out a small laugh. He remained quiet though, for a while, making Sasuke impatient. Why did he even ask if he would chicken out in the end. He kicked him under their shared blanket,earning a yelp.

"Ouch-" Naruto shrieked, feigning pain, "is that how you treat your bedmate Sasuke?"

Sasuke rolled his eyes. There was a slight blush at Naruto' choice of words, so now he was happy that only his back was facing Naruto, "What did you want?"

Now there was silence again. Sasuke thought about kicking Naruto again, he was obviously overthinking something and Sasuke didn't want him to fry his brain over it, so he would just insist once more. "Nar-"

"I'm happy."

Sasuke suddenly let out a breath he didn't even realize he had been holding. There it was again, this fuzzy feeling.

Me too. I'm happy too. He wanted to tell him, but his mouth wasn't cooperating. Damn it.

"Usuratonkachi.", he whispered instead.

He could feel Naruto smile.

[dancingacrossthemilkyway]

The pain is worse some days. This is normal, Jon knows, but the knowledge doesn’t make him feel any better in the moment.

It’s made worse by the fact that it can be such a bone-deep ache that medicine barely takes the edge off. At first, Martin had insisted they go to the doctor on the bad days, but Jon had waved him off. He’s had enough experiences with doctors to know how utterly useless they are for this kind of thing.

Chronic pain has always been his life; this is simply another addition to it.

They’ve carved out a fairly decent life for themselves in their somewhere else. The flat is nothing special but it’s home to them and their two cats. Martin works full-time at the uni library and Jon’s only recently started to dip his toes back into a job. Waiting for a major chest wound to heal took far longer than he expected, and it’s on days like today that he wonders if he shall ever be free of it.

Of the very physical memory that reminds him of the way he betrayed Martin.

It’s only a part-time position in the local library, the public one - he’s quite done with academia, thank you. The pain comes on about an hour into his four-hour shift, an ache at first that has him rubbing absentmindedly at his chest. Then it spreads, crawling like rot to infect each of the marks on his skin - a less-than-subtle reminder of his mistakes. There’s no discernible reason for the worm scars or the slash across his throat to throb as they do, but unfortunately that doesn’t change the sensations themselves. He tenses, muscles taut, which only sets off the muscle spasms in his low back.

He really should go home, he knows this. But it’s only a four hour shift, one he’d agreed to pick up after calling out for a week due to a flare-up of whatever autoimmune disorder his body has chosen to plague him with (he had been in the process of getting tested before Elias beat Leitner and left him bleeding all over Jon’s office). So it’s guilt that keeps him there - the guilt of leaving after so recently agreeing to work, and the guilt of not bringing in any money.

Naturally, he pays dearly for this choice. Every nerve edge is on fire by the time he stumbles through the door of their flat, the noise of a quiet ‘mew’ as grating as that of the din of the bus he’d taken home. Martin waves at him, preparing to stand but Jon simply kicks off his shoes with a shake of his head and staggers to the bedroom. After ensuring both cats are sufficiently locked out he collapses heavily onto the mattress, eyes wet with tears bred by the pain of pushing himself too hard. Everything hurts and his brain is screaming at him in overstimulation. He sends a simple text to Martin (Everything is fine. I am simply in need of some time alone; if you need to come into the room, please make sure the cats remain outside.)

He lays there unmoving for hours feeling nothing but his misery.

Eventually Martin comes to bed, tiptoeing around the room so as not to disturb him. Unnecessary, as Jon is awake, but he appreciates the sentiment. The very way Martin gets in bed is as gentle as possible, and he gives Jon a wide berth. While it hasn’t been this bad before, Jon assumes Martin picked up the true depth of the situation by one simple fact: Jon never forbids the cats from entering the bedroom.

Some indeterminate amount of time passes, Jon getting more restless by the minute. Surely he doesn’t want physical contact, right? The very thought of Martin touching him sets him on edge, and yet the need is there, sparking under his skin. Eventually he finally rolls over and headbutts Martin’s elbow, pressing against it. Martin inhales but doesn’t move, letting Jon worm his way around until forehead is against forearm firmly.

Finally, Jon feels at peace. The pain is still there but his mind quiets, blissfully calming down from a state akin to walking through fire. “Is this okay?” he murmurs, and Martin gives an encouraging hum. Jon presses into him further and eventually falls asleep.

[eluminium]

Skizz week 2 day 3! I had a lot of fun with this one for...reasons. hehe. Of course, thank you to @skizzlemanweek for today's prompt!

Prompt 3: Fight / Fun

The dull edge of a wooden blade slams into his side, causing a sudden ache to spread throughout his nerves. Skizz grits his teeth as he stumbles back, but he quickly locks his feet in place and puts his own wood sword diagonally in front of him to guard. He doesn't move a muscle until he hears the faintest sound of wind, and when it reaches his ears he thrusts his sword forward to parry his enemy.

Splinters explode around them when the blades clash and lock together, but it's not long before one of the swords gets pushed back a few centimeters, and a smirk graces Skizz's face. His enemy clearly doesn't possess the raw strength he does. With a roar, he slashes forward in a flat arch and knocks the attacker back. A gasp of surprise echoes in the dark. A grunt follows shortly after as his foe tries to regain footing.

Oh yeah, the area is completely clouded in darkness, bee t dubs. The most Skizz can see in front of him is his sword, leaving the enemy hidden in the shadows. He hisses and tries to prick up his ears, to no avail. The attacker remains as quiet as a sneaking creeper. This stupid darkness sucks! It's one of the reasons he's been beaten up so much! His right side still aches something fierce from that earlier hit. It's probably already bruising.

He can't be too caught up in that though, he's still in the fight! The sound of quick, light footsteps alerts him to that fact as he takes a few strategic steps backward. The "woosh" of the sword missing makes his adrenaline spike and he strikes out with his own mighty swing. His foe cries out in pain, the noise like music to Skizz's ears. Direct hit! To what? Who cares, it's a hit!

With newfound confidence, Skizz lunges forward, delivering another strong slash, bloodlust roaring through his veins. The wood sword doesn't slide as satisfyingly off of his enemy as the first swing, but he must have at least gotten a nick based on the hiss of pain that sounds so loud in the empty dark. He's got his foe on the ropes, surely! Without thinking it through, he leaps forward again, his arm stretched out completely as he tries to get another hit.

This time, he hits nothing.

He doesn't have time to think about how hard he's screwed up before something tackles him, hard. A smaller body collides with his and forces him to fight his own feet to stay standing as he tumbles back. An undignified squeak escapes Skizz's mouth, and it does not go unnoticed by his attacker. Before he can even regain the breath that was unceremoniously knocked out of him he's battered by impossibly quick slashers. The motions he has to perform to block them may as well be described as flailing, and even then he's getting hit at times. How is this possible?! Who attacks this fast?! Each blow knocks him into the next like he's getting juggled! Is this guy divine or something?!

Skizz doesn't know how much longer he can keep this up. That earlier hit that he thought might bruise? Screw it! His entire body may as well be one big bruise! Not just from his enemy's sword, but from his own body. His tied-up wings are stiff and sting something fierce, begging to be stretched. The constant need to keep moving and dodging has made his arms and legs heavy like lead. And now, with every strike that clangs his sword, the powerful shockwaves travel through his body and cause the aches to flare and become worse. If his foe keeps this up, he'll be utterly wrecked! He has to do something to get out of this. Just one more hit to get the bloodlust adrenaline going again!

He wastes no time. When the next attack bounces off of his sword, Skizz roars again and strikes forward with all the energy he has left.

His sword stabs through something. For a second, he's hopeful.

A fist lands square on his outstretched wrist, knocking the sword straight out of his grip. It flies through the air and into the darkness, together with his hope of victory. Before he even knows it he's pushed hard enough to knock him on his butt and a tick later a foot on his chest is forcing him down on his back. He groans in pain, and in defeat. The tip of his opponent's blade appears in his vision, pointed towards his throat.

At least it'll be quick, he thinks as he closes his eyes.

The strike to kill never comes. Instead, his head is softly forced up by the tip of the sword as it digs into the underside of his chin.

"That wasn't bad, Skizz!"

Oh. Right. Why did he assume he was gonna die?

The lights suddenly turn on, completely assaulting his eyes. He yells in annoyed pain, and his voice isn't the only pained voice that bounces between the walls. He covers his eyes reflexively. The tip of the sword disappears from under his chin and a few seconds later something clatters against the ground. Amused giggles reach his ears as he sighs fondly. He uncovers his eyes and looks up at his "attacker".

He's met with various shades of hot pink, an adorable frog-themed bucket hat, and raven-black hair. Under the hand currently blocking out the light, Skizz knows there are two kind but dangerous beady eyes.

"Thanks, Jojo! It sure feels like I did bad though!" He says as a smile coats his face.

The hand covering her eyes falls away and she blinks a few times before she meets his eyes and smiles too. "No no, you got some pretty good hits in! And you used your strength to your advantage, just like we talked about," She praises while reaching a hand out, a hand Skizz gladly takes. She helps him back up on his feet, but not without a few aches making themselves known to them both. Well, one more than the other, but still.

Skizz grumbles as he twists to get his wings out of their restraints. "I can't believe you had me fight you in the dark! And then you beat me black and blue!"

Jojo flushes a bit. "That wasn't my goal though! I told you, we're training intuition and reflexes! Besides, you just about wrecked my poor shoulder over here, so don't put all the blame on me," she reasons, gesturing to the big gash across her left shoulder. A smaller slash traces over her right cheek. They must be those two hits he landed before he got all stupid. A pang of guilt hits him, then his sides scream in pain again, and he feels a bit less guilty.

"Okay, fair. I did get you a little. But you got me a lot!" He exclaims dramatically but with no malice in his tone. It's all for training, and for fun!

"However…" He scratches his chin, as he looks over Jojo and her injuries. "I did stab you before you punched me, but you seem to be fine on that front…"

A small laugh escapes her. She gestures to her hair around her right side, just above her shoulder. "You did give me a free haircut, I guess?"

He narrows his eyes, looking closely…

"DANG IT!" Skizz yells, because yep, a few bits of Jojo's hair seem clumsily chopped off. Man, he totally missed! She snorts at that and goes to pick up her blade.

Two laughs come from the side of the training arena. Skizz looks over and sees his stupid friends, Tango and Impulse, having the time of their lives apparently.

"You kicked his butt, Jojo! He didn't even have a chance!" Tango announces smugly. Both he and Impulse (who is still giggling) have the biggest shit-eating grins on their faces.

"Hey! Can it, peanut gallery! Don't forget it's your turns to fight Junior Shabado next!" Skizz calls back, already tasting the schadenfreude as panic strikes both Tango and Impulse's faces.

"Nooo, I need a break first! My heart can only take so much action! I can't die young!" Jojo whines as she walks towards the storage of health and regen potions, which is tucked in the corner.

Skizz follows her because honestly, chugging a few potions right now and then not moving for an hour sounds great. "The merciful Junior Shabado has let you idiots have a few more moments to live! You better warm each other up if you want to stand a chance!"