#idl if someone already made this joke

[2-dsimp]

if it’s no trouble could we get another part to DILF/ nanny reader? Maybe like a willing reader? Bc I know of a hot dad wanted to date me who am I to say no? Lol great work!!!!

Cw: fem reader! jealousy, possessive/obsessive tendencies, Quio and Miki butting heads, the plot thickens

Synopsis no.2: 【featuring you being caught in the middle between your coworker and employer literally and figuratively. Miki obviously hates your employer and makes it well known meanwhile Quio does the same vice versa. The Dilf tried his best to put his and Peina’s plan of seducing you into action. But he’s constantly getting interrupted. And He’s honestly so close to snapping at this point.】

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“I wish you’d stop by here more often after all you’re already part of the family."

The Dilf sighs melodramatically, electing a small giggle from your lips. Seeing how he acted so distraught due to your absence. While he led you and your coworker to the living room, gesturing for you to take a seat on the couch.

“Oh that’s kind of you to say Mr. Evinis but I can’t possibly impose on you guys. Plus I’ve still gotta work my boring office job”

You replied with a mirthful tone at his sweet comment truly feeling as if you’ve made a second home within your employers household. You’ve already grown accustomed to his friendly work staff and of course his darling daughter who was l always clinging onto you like a baby kitten. And the fact that her father was so chivalrous and kind didn’t help your own little crush from forming on the single dad.

“Oh perish the thought sugarling~ we’re lucky enough to even be blessed by your radiant grace. In this boring household.”

Quio reassures with a charming smile, as he makes sure to fluff up some fancy decor pillows for his lovely lady. After placing the plush pillows down where you’d sit, He then put a hand on your shoulder giving a comforting squeeze.

“In fact me and the little squirt have always gotten excited at seeing you pull up and we’d be more than happy to keep you hostage here if possible”

The Dilf admits in a cheesy manner, which made you feel at ease. From how sweet his insistence at you dropping by often to hang out was. Being none the wiser to how he was being 100% serious. About the part where him and his daughter briefly molled over the idea of keeping their lovely nanny hostage at their mansion. Since they honestly couldn’t get enough of how addicting your sunshine liken presence.

Lit up every dark lonesome corner of the estate and they’d be damned if they every let you get a chance to escape from their sights. brandishes a pearly grin at the thought of being able to cater personally to his future missus.

“Also if your boring office job is what’s holding you back from spending quality time with us then I can think of a couple solutions to—“

“Um, let me stop you right there man. Whatever you’re pitching would be nice and all but I need my work wife.”

Once again you missed the small micro transgression within the Dilf’s facial features as his eye twitched at the irksome interruption done by that worthless dickbag.

“Aha work wife? With someone like you? I see you’re the type to joke around huh?”

He replied in an tone of condescension giving Miki a mean spirited smile. And an idle glance over full of scorn at the self assured confidence in this boy, who was proclaiming that his darling was his work wife.

“Well I am quite the jokester—wait what the hell do you mean by someone like me??”

You nearly busted out laughing at how Miki got a miffed expression on his face from the subtle dig done by the famous actor. You didn’t necessarily claim to be Miki’s work wife as nice as his company was. He was an utter shitty coworker to have when you’re trying to get shit done. Whenever you two were paired it’d be him cracking jokes while you were working like an effective machine.

“Well If anything they’re my work wife, no my wife, since yknow she’s looking after my kid like the little darling angel she is”

Quio nearly purred with a sharp edge to his voice as he blatantly rubbed it in Miki’s face the sheer difference. Between the two of them and how he was ultimately more important in your standings.

“Anit that right sweetness?”

The single dad hummed with a sickening sweet expression that resembled a hopeful doe eyed buck. His shouldering eyes never failed to make your heart do kick flips from how they always seemed to focus on purely you. Almost as if you were his world, his missing half. You got extremely flustered that you could barely even respond to his words. Until Miki let out a sneer and fixed his apparent love rival a shrewd scowl.

“Oh please as if! She’s your Nanny, not your substitute wife. Plus I already called dibs on her first, my guy.”

The sight of that damned flea mansplaining on the couch with the slinging over his arm right behind your head. Made Quio imagine ripping that same offending arm from our his socket and bitch slapping him with it.

“Dibs? Are you insinuating that she’s an object to be possessed by the likes of a peasant like you?”

He taunts snarkily, dropping his nice guy facade as makes his way to sit right in between you and Miki. Squeezing his bulky frame in the middle of the couch he gracefully crosses his legs as he swats off the offending arm behind your head and replaces it with his own.

“Tch! Now you know that’s not what I meant. It’s always you actors spinning fabricated lies. And the fuck did you just—“

“Miki don’t you think that it’s time for you to go soon? You’re gonna be late for work”

You interjected seeing how things were getting out of hand between the two offending men. Quio merely gave a smug smile as he saw Miki begrudgingly get up with an scowl on his face. You were right he had to go soon since he couldn’t be late for his promotion into higher management. He didn’t tell you that yet because he wanted to surprise you on the day you both worked the same shift.

“Ah fuck your right, thanks for the reminder what would I do without my precious work wife?”

Miki emphasized loudly, Shooting a glare towards the A-listed actor as he then gave you an abrupt hug goodbye whilst still glowering at the Dilf. The two seemed to be exchanging a clash of mixed silent threats behind your back.

Quio “gently” nudged Miki away from his darling with a hard shove with the pointy tip of his shoe upon his midriff. Making your coworker stumble back with a sharp exhaled grunt escaping his lips. Good, he hoped that fucker gets sore down there. The single dad was always about getting his get back by being petty whenever someone blatantly tried to piss him off.

“Alright that’s enough Casanova wouldn’t wanna keep your bosses waiting yeah?”

The Dilf chirped in a sweet noncommittal manner as he briefly pulled you into a side hug. As if to cleanse you from the poor touch Miki had given you. Miki had to bite back his tongue since he really couldn’t afford to waste time with the man’s shenanigans. And rolled his eyes he could only afford to shoot you a word of warning with concern shining in his eyes before he made his way outside of the million dollar manor.

“Be careful… You know how actors are, always so full of shit. Call me when you’re done I’ll come to pick you up okay?”

“Yeah yeah, don’t let the door hit cha on ya on the way out Miki”

Quio sassed as he couldn’t wait to have that cocky fucker out of sight and out of mind. There were so many times where the actor came close to acting out. One of his many aspiring roles which consisted of him being a deranged serial killer. It would’ve gave him peace of mind to choke out that lanky shithead and watch the life leave his eyes.

But he had better things to do at the moment rather than drone in about how he’d murder Miki in cold blood. Like wooing you over for instance which was unfortunately put on pause due to a pest intent on getting in the way between you and him. So he feels a sense of relief wash over him as Miki leaves, knowing that he can finally have you all to himself.

“It seems like you two get along well enough already”

You caught the Dilf off guard with your off handed comment as he gave you a raised brow and an apprehensive smile. He shook his head slightly and gave a dark chuckle at how naive you were to perceive their little spat to be that of a friendly origin. When they clearly wanted to go at each others necks.

“It would seem so… But hey I was wondering if you’d be interested in—“

His phone decided to go off in the most headache inducing way. He could hear the annoying ringtone which indicated that his manager was calling and he bit back a snarl from being interrupted once again. Collecting himself he excused himself from the couch not being fore taking your hand in his and giving it a small chaste kiss as he gave you an apologetic gaze.

“Sorry about this sugarling I’ve gotta take this call I’ll be right back”

With his servants taking leave at his behest today was the day he planned on tying the metaphorical knot with the cute Nanny that stole both his and his little girl’s heart. So his manager had better got a pretty damn good reason for bugging him on his day of vacation leave. Or else they’ll get added to the hitlist alongside that damned coworker of yours.

。

。

。

I’m thinking of making this into a mini series, let me know if I should continue!o(≧v≦)o

[strlingsav]

Drive: Four

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Requested: @sarcanti 🫶🏻

For this anon too since it's pretty much the same thing!!

Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

Sipping intermittently from your room-temperature drink, your eyes reached Ghost's across from you. He was settled on a bar stool, watching you as you leaned against the bar, trying to avoid his penetrating gaze.

Music hummed from the speakers, a loud buzz inside the bar as it began to fill. It was late- dark and cool, nearing midnight without a shortage of people filtering in.

The two of you were content in your own world, hardly paying much attention to the conversation beside you; idle chatter from Soap and Gaz and a few other men you vaguely recognized from previous deployments.

Your leave was almost over; a few more days and you'd be back to base, far away from the cycle of unfamiliar habits. You missed the routine, knowing exactly what to expect day-after-day, but a break from the organized chaos and a little bit of freedom was enjoyable.

Simon opted to stay with you- a decision you'd not expected from him, brought up after he complained of having to stay in his own 'lonely flat'.

You'd meant it as a joke, an offer thrown into the air with no strings attached. It was another step toward something more serious than you were sure he was ready for, maybe more than you were ready for.

A nonchalant 'alright' was all he'd said, before he packed his bags and drove the two of you there.

In an effort to contain the growing relationship between you, you maintained that you were spending your leave with family. Your squad-mates were entirely unaware that the two of you were sharing your apartment, and you desperately wanted to keep it that way; you stayed light on alcohol to avoid any drunken confessions.

The bar was grimy and sticky, smelling like an ash tray and spilled beer, but it was comfortable. No obligations, no expectations- only Simon's blackened eyes undressing you from across the bar.

You were flustered, reasonably so, thighs squeezing together with the imagery of his long fingers gripping your waist instead of the glass in his hands. You broke eye contact, moving your attention to Johnny who'd been chatting away the entire time before it became obvious you were fantasizing about him.

You liked to keep your personal life private, especially from coworkers, even before yourself and Simon founded your new situation, if it were to be called anything. You liked things that way, and it came with an added bonus; no one ever pried.

It made your secret affair a bit easier to keep secret. The only downfall being that with the eyes of your teammates watching every move, there was no palpable excuse as to why the stranger across the bar couldn't buy you a drink.

You could've lied, said you were married or seeing someone, but it would've created another layer of secrets you'd have to remember to keep. So, you sucked in a sharp breath, smiled politely and nodded curtly as he slid onto the seat beside you and handed you a beer.

Simon watched the entire exchange. His rationale had nearly all but gone, mostly replaced by a stinging sensation in his chest that threatened his temper. Even as your eyes met his across the table, and he could see the nervous smile on your lips, he felt nothing but betrayal.

You could feel the warmth radiating off of him. His eyes had finally left yours and were honed in on the smiling stranger leaning in close, brushing your arm with his. It made you cringe to imagine how it made him feel- Simon already had a bad temper, inexplicably enraged by the smallest things, and this man coiling himself around you was sure to make him combust.

You sneaked a glance up, your eyes meeting, offering an apologetic expression. It didn't seem to have the intended effect, as Simon stood from his seat, pushing off without a word.

"Where're you off to?" Johnny spoke up, catching Simon before he could slink away.

"Gotta piss," He muttered.

You watched his shoulders sway as he sauntered to the washrooms, an overwhelming amount of guilt settling in your gut.

You made polite conversation, but your body was stiff as a board. It was difficult to allow yourself to play into the charade of interest, especially with the man you truly cared about fuming just metres away.

Simon had reappeared, finding the man with his hand on your waist, his body caging you off from everything and everyone else. He couldn't handle it- watching the exchange made his stomach churn, his chest tighten with anger. He abruptly left his seat, lunging for the exit.

You cleared your throat, throwing back the final sip of beer before turning to the stranger with a meek smile.

"Thanks for the drink. I've got to get heading out, though," You mumbled, your attention focused on Simon.

You offered a short goodbye to Johnny and Kyle, who seemed just as perplexed by your quick escape, before sliding from your standing position. The stranger didn't have a chance to reply; you were dead-set on the exit, hurriedly walking out to escape the clutches of his unwanted advances.

You found Simon leaning against the rough brick of the building, a lit cigarette lighting up the outline of his lips.

You wanted to blurt out, 'I'm sorry', but a trickle of resentment- and pettiness- made its way to your thoughts before that- you hadn't had the conversation yet. Maybe you never would.

You knew your situation was wrong, entirely wrong, and illegal- but the part of you that hadn't yet become numb to normal interactions wondered if that was what he even wanted; if he wanted only you.

"You done with your li'l show?" He asked, nonchalant, uncaring, but it had a bite to it.

"My show?" You repeated, watching him stand to his full height as he scuffed out the cigarette.

"With that bloke," He nodded his head, gesturing to the bar. "Lettin' him buy you a drink, touch you." His tone was venomous, accusatory- and you hated it.

"What was I supposed to do?" You scoffed.

"You've got a mouth, haven't you?" He was stepping toward you.

"That's not fair," You said, tilting your head. "People were watching."

Your voice faltered as he closed in on you, your eyes meeting his and finding the glazed-over expression of pure anger in his gaze. It made you feel guilty; maybe not irrationally so, but guilty nonetheless.

You wanted to go home, wanted to forget how you made him feel, forget how guilty your conscience was even when the stipulations of your situation weren't clear.

You turned on your heel, heading toward the parking lot at a leisurely pace, hoping he'd catch on that you wanted to drop it and go home.

"You want fuckin' fair?" He called, quickly catching up to you with fewer strides, slowing as he watched you pull the door of his truck open. "I ain't the one bein' felt up right in-fuckin'-front o'you." His hand reached the side of his truck.

You exhaled sharply, before turning to face him. Your glare was suffocating, standing to your tallest height as you furrowed your brows. He had cornered you against the truck, scowling down at you, though your expression could more than contend with his.

"You haven't asked me not to fuck or see other people," You threw your hands up, continuing before he could interrupt you. "Maybe if you had, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

There was silence for only a few beats, before he moved even closer. You knew it wasn't entirely true- neither of you had made the effort to discuss where exactly you were headed. Your flustered judgement got the better of you.

"You been fuckin' other blokes?" He asked, suddenly stepping closer, his voice quivering ever-so slightly. It wasn't sadness in his tone, it was jealousy, anger.

You tilted your head, nearly astonished by his ability to avoid the most prevalent argument in your statement. Regardless- it wasn't entirely the lack of commitment that lead you to accepting the strangers advances, it was the presence of your squad mates. Nonetheless, you'd honed-in on his noncommittal attitude and had no patience for hypocrisy.

"You expect me to believe you haven't been sleeping with other people?" You shot back, watching his eyes dart back and forth between yours.

You held your breath, subconsciously; you knew the answer you wanted- you wanted him to tell you it was special. You were special- but your Lieutenant wasn't that kind of man.

"Yeah," He answered, deadpanned and stern. "'Cause I haven't." He leaned in even closer, nearly nose to nose as he shrunk himself down to your face. "Answer my fuckin' question."

You gave a harsh no, hidden behind gritted teeth and tight lips. He was shrouded by anger, and instead he spoke over you, pupils expanding in the darkness, redness pooling in his neck and chest.

"Got me on a fuckin' leash while you're out shaggin' other people," He spat.

"I haven't slept with anyone else," You said. "But if you don't want to be tied down, you've always been free to leave." Your hands flailed as you fought back the tears welling in your eyes.

It had been a while since you'd been close to tears; especially because of a man. The familiar sting in your eyes, the lump growing in your throat. You'd had little expectation that Simon would be much different from others before him, and a part of you hoped otherwise, but it still caught you off-guard.

He straightened his back, still caging you in behind his arm. He released a quiet breath, his shoulders dropping as he took a moment to process the conversation.

"Didn't say that," He uttered, reeking of nonchalance, and a hint of surrender.

"You did," You said. "If it's how you feel, maybe we shouldn't see each other anymore." Your gaze pored into his, unbreaking and persistent.

Your vision was blurrier than before, your voice threatening to waiver, crack, but your composure was held together by the pitiful hope that he'd do what you wanted- what you needed.

He retracted his hand, idling awkwardly while he searched his mind for a response. You watched his eyes dart from yours, cogs turning.

"That what you want?"

Your brows furrowed. "No."

He was quiet again- a common reoccurrence but not usually with you. He had his moments of silence, though his stone-like stance put you off. The calloused part of you had already begun to wall-off the the feelings you'd since developed for him, blinking away the tears gathering in your eyes and clearing your throat.

Sudden chatter outside the bar alerted you both, remembering that inside were the coworkers you'd been trying to avoid. Simon cleared his throat, standing up straight.

"Get in," He muttered, holding the door as you slowly turned to jump into his truck.

Once settled beside you, he turned the truck over, heading for your apartment. There was more silence- hardly even the sound of breathing. He didn't look your way, or rest his hand on your thigh, and a part of you took it as a premonition for the difficult conversation to come.

You'd poured a glass of wine by the time he returned from your room- dressed in only his sweatpants, void of his mask; vulnerable. You stood at the counter's edge, taking a slow sip to avoid speaking while he stared at you.

There was only the sound of deep breaths, a stalemate while you locked eyes. Simon knew he'd crumble- you'd grown too valuable to let slip away- but not without delving into the evening's events.

You sighed as he neared, wandering almost aimlessly through your apartment. Your shoulders collapsed in defeat; growing tired of the silent war waging itself between you.

"What are we doing? Where is this going?" You sighed, catching his eyes as you looked up.

As badly as you wanted to fix the anger and frustration brewing beneath your skin, you knew it would take a lot- maybe more than he'd give. You'd known from the start he wasn't like usual men, and you didn't expect him to be, but the issue at hand was starting to snowball.

"Whad'you want? You want a ring? A kid?" He tilted his head, chest expanding as he neared the kitchen island.

You shook your head, ignoring the mockery in his tone, "I need to know you want me. Only me. Even just for now, not forever. But if not-" Your lips rubbed together. "I can't keep risking my job for something going nowhere."

"My arse has been on the line too," He reminded you, his hand finding the counter. "A lifetime's worth of hard work and shite I ain't proud of- threatened by you. I wouldn't've bothered with any of it if I didn't want you."

"That's not what I meant," You tilted your head, examining his eyes. "I appreciate the risks of our situation-"

"I don't think you do," He moved even closer. "I'm riskin' everything just by bein' here. That ain't an answer for you? Doesn't tell you how fuckin' much I want you?" His breaths were heavy once he'd finished his sentence.

You blinked- shocked by the unexpected passion coming from a man whose stoicism was unmatched by anyone you'd ever known.

He set his jaw, working up the courage to solidify what you wanted desperately to hear. It was like he was choking for air, his chest tight, deeply afraid to offer his trust and commitment, aloud, without something tangible to prove you'd reciprocate it.

His jaw clenched again, his eyes flickering between yours, deciding once and for all that he'd without-a-doubt take what you'd offer without a second thought, even if he had to lay his peace of mind on the line.

"'M with you. Only want you." He stared at you, moving closer. "Don't want anyone else havin' you, either. Call it whatever you like but I ain't been subtle about it."

His words melted away the grudge you'd been holding, finding solace in his words. You had no intention of holding on to anger, especially not as he peeled back the layers of armour protecting him from being hurt. Your lips pursed, biting your lip before meeting his eyes.

"I feel the same," You answered, nodding firmly, meeting his eyes. There was a brief pause, preparing yourself to offer your commitment. "I should've said so sooner, but I only want you, Simon." Your words softened, melting slowly into his ears before settling in his stomach with weight and warmth.

It was so genuine, so utterly vulnerable he was nearly overwhelmed. For a moment, he almost forgot how poorly it could end. It was just the two of you; two people in a normal, mundane relationship, in the dim light of your kitchen, exchanging a stare that dared to pull you into an alternate universe where you didn't have to worry.

He hummed softly- a surrender. He gently, almost begrudgingly, pulled you into him by the fabric of your shirt, a soft kiss against your lips that was like sealing a deal- an exchange of commitment.

Still a bit irritated at your lack of observation, he threatened to pull away. Before he could, you teetered on your toes, moving to drape your arms around his shoulders as he wrapped an arm around your waist. You held him close, pressed against your body as you reconnected your lips.

"I'm sorry," You whispered. "I should've known better."

When he hummed in response, you kissed his lips again. He was stiff against you, though you felt him relax into your touch while you spoke in his ear.

"I'm glad you're here. Happy you're here."

His eyes searched yours for a moment, before he pulled you in by your waist, his lips engulfing yours with warmth and wetness.

You hummed softly, leaning into his touch, standing taller to press your lips against his. You exhaled softly as he slid his tongue against yours, parting your lips with force.

His warm, strong hands tugged you closer, hand moving to hold the side of your face as he guided you against his lips.

He grunted as he lifted you to his hips, large palms and fingers digging into the back of your thighs. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, clinging to him as he began heading for your room; you kept your arms tangled in the short hair on the nape of his neck.

He sat down, your thighs landing on either side of his as you straddled his lap. You pulled your shirt over your head, breathless and rushed, before pulling him back in. His lips fit perfectly together with yours, his tongue sliding between your lips to collide with yours.

His hand clung tightly to your waist, while his other dipped beneath your waistband and panties, gently finding his way over your clit. Rough fingertips traced it softly, a jolt running up your back at the sudden pressure.

"Simon," Yoir voice was airy and desperate, your hands grabbing pulling him closer.

He grunted in response, hardly recognizing his name from your needy mouth, and instead was focused on how soft and wet you were, his warm lips making contact with your neck.

You moaned, cradling his head as he nipped and licked, biting softly at your neck, the cool air of the room bringing goosebumps to the surface of your skin. You writhed against him, your thighs squeezing his between them, trying to stay still while his hand explored the flesh of your pussy.

Your soft moans were muffled by his neck, panting quietly into his skin as your fingers grasped at his back. Your lips made contact with his neck, sloppy and haphazard, making your way to the sharp crease of his jaw before finding his lips. He couldn't help but press into you, grind his already-hard cock against you, finding some measure of relief and pleasure.

"Doin' my fuckin' head in, you know that?" He breathed, warm breath against your neck that made you shiver.

A subtle nod between soft moans was accompanied by a meek and stubborn, "Yeah. I'm sorry."

His hand slipped from your pants, reaching for his sweats as he began to slide them down his hips.

You stood from his lap, slowly pulling your jeans down your thighs until they pooled on the floor, nudging them with your foot before dropping to your knees. You inched forward, your eyes meeting Simon's with an apologetic look- one that intrigued him as much as it turned him on.

"Go on," He nodded. "Let's see how sorry you are."

Your cheeks flushed as his hand came to your cheek, following your lead as your lips puckered around the tip of his cock. He nearly shivered- each time was like the first all over again, unable to overcome the feelings of pure lust when he watched you on your knees.

Your lips wrapping around his cock, eyes locking with his when you'd take him deeper into your throat. The feeling of your throat closing when you'd gag on his dick made him grunt quietly and subconsciously grab a fistful of your hair while he resisted the urge to fuck your throat until you couldn't breathe.

He liked watching you struggle to take it all- the desperation to please in your eyes, the shift in your hips to ease the growing discomfort of your swollen, almost sore, clit. He'd take care of it- always did, always would.

He'd close his eyes only momentarily to listen to your mouth; sloppy sounds of saliva and sucking in sharp breaths. He preferred watching, though, especially when your eyes began to water, your nose began to run, and you'd be sliding your hand up and down his cock to ease the pain in your jaw.

You met his gaze again- eyes half-shut, cheeks flushed, his hand on the back of your head as he guided your lips up and down his cock.

"That's good," He muttered, "Fuckin' hell, sweetheart."

Your heart would race when he praised you, soft murmurs of thanks that vibrated against his cock. He grinned momentarily while you tried to talk with a mouthful of his cock.

"Come 'ere," He leaned back. "Come sit on it, love."

You stood, allowing him to guide your hips over his lap, his eyes settled on yours as he helped you slowly take every inch. Your mouth fell open with disbelief- your lubricated walls drew him in without resistance, his calloused hands on your waist helping to lower you down.

"Right there," He muttered, finally exhaling as your bodies were flush together. "Good fuckin' girl."

Sitting up straight, his hand moved around to grab a handful of your ass, suddenly pulling you forward. A sharp gasp left your lips, falling into his chest with your palms.

You couldn't resist, regardless of how sore your hips were, stretched out from the position, your thighs aching; you rolled your hips forward, a shiver and quiet moan of satisfaction coming from your lungs.

Your arms draped around his shoulders, enthusiastically grinding your hips against his, slowly rising up and lowering yourself to feel his cock push back up inside you. Your soft pants hit his ear, warm breath bringing goosebumps to the surface of his skin.

He pulled you close, his own quiet grunts could be heard in the quiet of your room, especially as your pace sped up. His fingers would squeeze your waist and ass, gripping tightly so you wouldn't stop.

"How's it feel?" He asked, turning his head to watch your lips part with a deep moan. "You like ridin' my cock, don't you, sweetheart?"

"Yes," You mumbled. "Yes- fuck, please touch me," you whispered against his neck, your body hunching over his.

His spread his thighs, his fingers finding your clit as you continued to bring yourself up and down on his cock. Your head fell back, fingernails digging into the flesh of his shoulders, eyes squeezing shut.

Encircling your clit, his touch, combined with his girth sliding in and out, was more than enough to have your stomach tightening. Your moans had turned to choked gasps for air as you neared your climax, strong fingers still keeping their pace on your clit, black eyes watching you fall apart on his cock.

You froze, squeezing his cock as you came, harsh waves of pleasure that made you shudder. He sounded strained, holding in every sound that threatened to spill while your pussy clenched around him.

Rather than waiting for you to gather your composure, he lifted his hips up and began thrusting into you. It was slow at first, quickly turning needy and desperate when he saw the sweat on your brow, and disheveled expression.

"Fuck," He grunted. "Will y'let me cum in you?"

You nodded, too dazed for words, and his own anticipation got the better of him.

"Oughta get you pregnant," He huffed. His hand trailed up your waist, to gather your hair in his fist and pull. "You want it? Wanna be all fuckin' mine, don't you?"

You nearly sobbed, a quiet cry leaving your lips when his grip on your hair tightened and he forced your hips forward to meet his.

"I'm all yours," You answered, nearly all air, breathless amidst his chase for orgasm. "All yours, Simon."

Your words pushed him over the edge, a crippling hold on your waist holding you in place as he thrusted a few more times, forcefully. A low growl against your ear as he came inside you made you shiver, especially as his warm cum filled you.

"All mine, yeah?" He said, his breathing heavy.

You nodded against the side of his head, exhaling harshly.

You couldn't help but feel conflicted at the bittersweet revelation. You were his- entirely, but decades of playing pretend was not what you'd expected for yourself. You fell into him, ignoring the gnawing in your gut and pretending that the reality you'd created for yourselves was forever.

[koiiiji]

First of all miss u and ur windbreaker fics 🖤 Don't know if u ever done, a truth or dare fic with windbreaker characters wooin or any other character u like☺️ were it can get a little steamy 👀 like the reader was dared to kiss joker and they kiss. Wooin gets jealous or something lol

author’s note ; finally in that state when i can equally pay attention to both lookism and wb fandoms!! thank you for request, and sorry for delay😵‍💫

summary ; happening before vinny entered the team, like 3-4 seasons

tw ; alcohol, suggestive

boring evenings dragged on one after another, a break in the "league of streets" freed up a lot of time for you and your friends. and that's why you were hanging out at your apartment right now, suffering absolute idleness with Hyuk, waiting for Wooin and Joker to come from another deal or underground fight or whatever shit they are doing right now.

Hyuk bored poked at the screen, cozily sitting in an armchair, occasionally making sarcastic comments and saying, "yo, open the tiktok, i just threw off some real jokes." while you've already exhausted yourself waiting, and just hung your head down and threw legs on the cushions of the sofa, mumbling in response to another tiktok with a monkey, "fuck off, learn what humor is."

throwing the phone aside, you sigh and looked at the clock. it's almost 12 am and friday, so you weren't surprised that Wooin and Joker were messing with their business for so long, but still they must have at least some kind of conscience!!! these two donkeys promised to come back at 10pm and take a drink with them, and right now without any alcohol in your system it was quite difficult to tolerate Hyuk's jokes about monkeys and about a non-existent love triangle between you and two idiots who were already 2 hours late. and in your opinion, he's been pushing Joker's candidacy too hard since Wooin intentionally woke up him early in the morning three days ago, just because he woke up early himself.

Hyuk, bored and still poking at his screen, looked up when you let out a frustrated sigh. "relax, they'll be here soon," he said with a dismissive wave, eyes flickering back to his phone. you were about to retort when the sound of the apartment door unlocking made you both perk up. Wooin and Joker stumbled in, looking tired but triumphant, with a couple of bags in their hands. "you two still in same room and didn't commit any crime? im impressed," Wooin said, kicking the door shut behind him. Joker, ever the stoic, gave a brief nod in acknowledgment, setting the bags down on the coffee table. "we got the drinks," he said simply.

Hyuk sprang up from his chair, abandoning his phone. "about time, i was starting to think you'd gotten yourselves into another fight." he rummaged through the bags, pulling out bottles of soju and beer.

"close enough," Wooin said with a smirk, dropping onto the couch next to you. "but that's a story for another time."

You rolled your eyes, reaching for a bottle and cracking it open. "you guys owe us big time," you said, taking a swig. "Hyuk's been driving me nuts." Hyuk threw a middle finger at you playfully. "love you too, buddy."

as the drinks flowed and the evening wore on, the atmosphere in the apartment grew more relaxed and jovial. jokes and laughter filled the room, the earlier boredom forgotten. someone suggested playing a game, and before long, you all found yourselves gathered in a circle on the floor, playing a rowdy game of truth or dare.

"alright," Wooin said, eyes glinting mischievously. "it's your turn," he pointed at you, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "truth or dare?" you hesitated, knowing Wooin's penchant for wild dares. but with the alcohol buzzing pleasantly in your system, you felt a surge of boldness. "dare." and that's where Hyuk intervened and interrupted Wooin. "i dare you to kiss Joker." Hyuk's grin widened.

room fell silent, all eyes turning to Joker, who was lounging against the couch with his usual calm, almost detached expression. you glanced at him, feeling a flicker of nervousness. Joker met your gaze, his face unreadable. and you were about to back out when Wooin, who had been unusually loud one, suddenly shutted his mouth, turning his face away and taking a big sip. Hyuk laughed. "come on, it's just a game!"

feeling the pressure from everyone's stares, you took a deep breath and leaned toward Joker. to your surprise, he didn't pull away. instead, he remained perfectly still, legs spread widely, one if his knees been up and hand with beer in it was resting there, and his eyes locked on yours. the kiss was brief, just a soft press of lips, but it felt like it lasted an eternity.

when you pulled back, Joker's calm demeanor was unchanged, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Wooin, on the other hand, looked distinctly unhappy. He avoided your gaze, taking a long drink from his bottle again.

the game continued, but Wooin's mood cast a shadow over the fun. his usually loud and mischievous attitude was replaced with a sullen silence, and he kept drinking more than talking. as the night wore on and the alcohol flowed, the atmosphere grew hazy. the room was filled with laughter and half-hearted jokes, but the underlying tension never dissipated. you found yourself glancing at Wooin, who was avoiding eye contact with everyone, especially you.

eventually, the need for another drink drove you to the kitchen. You rummaged through the fridge, feeling the cool air wash over your flushed face. as you grabbed a beer, the kitchen door swung open, and Wooin stepped in. the two of you stood in silence for a moment, the only sound the soft hum of the refrigerator. "hey," you said softly, breaking the silence. Wooin looked up, his eyes dark and slightly irritated. "hey."

"are you okay?" you asked, closing the fridge door and leaning against the counter. he scoffed, leaning against the doorway. "why wouldn't i be?"

"you seem upset," you replied, trying to gauge his mood. he took a step closer, his expression hardening. "why would i be upset? it's not like i care that two my friends just kissed."

you blinked, taken aback by his tone. "Wooin, it's just a game. you know that."

"yeah, sure," he said, rolling his eyes.

"what's your problem?" you snapped, feeling your frustration rise. "my problem?" he echoed, his voice rising. "maybe my problem is watching my friend make out with another friend and everyone pretending it's no big deal."

"and what's so special about it? you never saw people kissing?" you raise your voice as well, starting to feel irritated. he ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. "forget it," he muttered, turning around and leaving the kitchen. "it's nothing."

"it's obviously not nothing," you insisted, stepping closer and grabbing his wrist. "why can't you just tell m-" he didn't let you finish when he turned around abruptly and grabbing both of your hands, putting them behind your back, pressing you into the kitchen unit and leaning in kissing you, his lips pressing against yours with a fervor that took your breath away. this kiss was different from the one with Joker - hungrier, more desperate. you melted into it, letting your hands out of his grip, finding their way to his hair as he pressed you with his hips against the counter. the kiss deepened, and the world outside the kitchen ceased to exist. it was just you, Wooin and the heat between you, growing more intense by the second. his hands roamed your back, pulling you closer, and you responded in kind, your body aching for more of his touch.

you moaned into his lips as you felt his teeth lightly nip at your bottom lip, pulling it back a bit, before running his forked tongue over the swollen area. his hands moved lower, squeezing your ass tighter and lifting you higher to sit you on the kitchen counter.

now you were looking down at him, running your hands down his neck, burying it in his jet black hair, pulling him back, for another kiss. Wooin stood between your legs, pressing your body closer to his, so you could feel his warmth, his hunger and greed for your touch and hands. you whined something inarticulate into his lips again when you felt one of his hands slide lower, unzipping your jeans and nimble fingers slipped under the thick fabric. barely touching, teasing and playing with your clit through the fabric of your panties, he shut up each of your moans with another kiss, pressing his tongue deeper in your mouth.

finally breaking away from each other, you both didn't look away, afraid to disturb the silence of the kitchen, and only quiet attempts to catch your breath sounded in the darkness of the room. smiling mischievously on you, Wooin was about to kiss you again, and his fingers was about to pull your panties aside, when the light suddenly turned on, and with the most sour and disgusted expression on his face, Hyuk appeared in the corridor "eeew guys, right in front of my beer? seriously?"

[jadewritesficshere]

Warmth

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie takes you home after work (1150 words)

Contents: Reader suffers from chronic pain, smoking weed, no gender descriptors for reader, reader is called Baby

Please note I am not a doctor and do not take any medical advice from me ok thanks also each person's health is different from someone elses so please be kind to each other thanks bye

You sigh as you finally lock the door for the store. You had started the day out with working your regular shift. Which had been fine, even if you had felt a little stiff. Then that coworker called in sick...again. And your boss begged you to stay late...again. You had wanted to say no, but the prospect of getting a bit extra in your paycheck, well, you couldn't pass it up.

But now your body was screaming at you. Working for twelve hours had your joints aching. Some days you could barely roll over in bed without the pain. Could barely think a coherent thought as your joints and muscles screamed at you.

And other days, the good days, you felt you could run a marathon. Not because of an absence of pain, but the pain was so little compared to what you were used to it felt like nothing. Some days started like this and ended like the bad days.

And today was ending like a bad day. Especially because that one manager, the one who seemed to not like you, was on duty. Your boss, the sweetest old man in the world, didn't care if you sat in a chair at your register. But the manager who came in for the evening shift once the boss was gone? Took it away and called you lazy, even if you were the best cashier they had.

You slowly but steadily made your way to the van that was sitting idle in the parking lot. Through the passenger window you can see Eddie smoking a joint. When you opened the door, startling Eddie, smoke furled out. You climbed in and slammed the door shut.

"You know this is just begging for someone to call Hopper right?" You groan as you turn to grab your seat belt. "Figured you'd wanna smoke and relax a bit, thought I'd get it started for you." Eddie's arm reaches across you grabbing the seat belt before you could and buckling you in. "I can do it myself," you mumble.

"Yeah, you can. But maybe I want to take care of my Baby, hm?" Eddie hands you the joint," When you said you'd be late earlier, you uh said you already weren't feeling the best. Figured I could do what I can to help. Not that you can't do it yourself, you can, but you know-" "I know. Thanks."

It still was hard to accept that this is how your life was. Even harder to accept help. The thought that people were helping out of pity made you want to scream, even if you knew some people, like Eddie, were helping because they loved you not because they pitied you.

The van roars to life as Eddie presses the gas a bit too hard, causing the entire van to lurch. Eddie winces and mutters an apology. You inhale on the joint, letting the smoke fill your lungs. You crack a window to let the smoke out, humming as you close your eyes.

By the time you make it to Eddie's, you can feel the weed in your system. Softening the edges of everything. The pain easing up slightly as you relax.

Eddie tumbles out of his side, almost face planting, as he rushes to get to your door. He throws the door open and bows, "My liege." You huff out a laugh as you graciously take his hand, gripping it tightly as you step down and out of the van. Eddie winks at you as he kisses the top of your hand, causing you to swat at him. Eddie chuckles as he drops your hand to go and open the door of the trailer.

You follow Eddie inside and to his room after kicking off your shoes. Your only thought is laying down and going to sleep. You barely shrug out of your uniform before collapsing onto his bed. Usually, Eddie would make some joke about getting naked, but tonight he forgoes that and instead dims he lights, sensing how tired you are.

Eddie's bed is old and yet somehow more comfortable then yours (probably because Eddie moves around so much in his sleep he doesn't stick to just one spot like you do, which causes your mattress to deflate and sink in one spot). You toss the nearest blanket over you, sighing in relief that you made it through the day.

You can hear Eddie enter and leave the room a few times, mumbling to himself. The sound of his rings hitting his dresser. The creaking of the drawers opening and shutting as he finds something to wear to bed. The distant beeping of a microwave going off before Eddie leaves the room again.

"Made you something," Eddie says as he reenters the room. "Not hungry," you mumble into the pillow. "Its not food- well, it is but not anymore? I mean we could eat it buuuuuttt..."

You peek an eye open to look at Eddie. In his hands is an oddly shaped lump. You can recognize the familiar pattern as the curtains in Eddie's room (and the realization there are no curtains anymore hits you). You can tell it was supposed to be a rectangle, but is more oblong like an oval.

Eddie gingerly places it against your back and- oh. It's warm.

Eddie crawls onto the bed next to you," Remember the heating pad? How it died? Well, figured might as well make my own and save us some money. Filled with rice, so if we really need to I guess we could eat it but I don't think that's uh the best idea."

"You sew?" You ask softly. Eddie grins at you," Mama taught me." Eddie readjusts the bag against you where it fell away. "Eds..." Eddie hums looking up at you," Yeah?"

"Thank you." "Anytime Baby. I'd do anything I can for you." You smirk at him," Anything?" Eddie rolls his eyes as he grins back," Weeelll-" you both chuckle. You roll back onto your side and close your eyes.

And as you lay there you think of how much Eddie loves you. How often he shows you his love. How he opens doors for you and closes them. How Eddie doesn't treat you as glass like some of your friends do, but how he still cares and makes you comfortable. How Eddie doesn't try to limit you and let's you set the pace for yourself. How Eddie took down his curtains to make you a heating pad because yours went out.

You reach back and slowly link your hand with his. Eddie hums slightly, linking your fingers, before shifting and wrapping his arm around you, drawing you closer.

You can feel the warmth from the rice. The warmth of Eddie's body. The warmth from his breath as he falls asleep. And the warmth from your heart as it yells out how in love you are.

[wondrous-art]

Ouch, that's gotta hurt. Felt like drawing some angsty artwork of Oswald's transformation since I hadn't attempted doing that in a long time.

I also decided to share a snippet of my writing to go along with this piece under the cut, if you'll humor me.

***

Oswald tried to let his mind relax while he was out on the open road heading out of Dusk Valley. He should be relaxed. He was finally getting out of that boonie town, away from the crazy locals who were right at home away from civilized society. 

He'd been stuck there for nearly a month after his accident, when he hit that creature with his car, and got attacked by it. 'Cause screw him for being worried about hitting someone's dog or something, right? Every second he spent in that town after the fact had been complete and utter misery. He got sick in front of his client and nearly blew the job he'd driven out here to do. It's never a good look for your accountant to faint and throw up in your trashcan. The pay wasn't even that good to be worth all this mess. Then he was sure people were sabotaging his car, probably that weird kid who kept harassing him. He didn't even care if his car still needed repairs, he was going to risk it and deal with the rest once he was back in Portland. After all of that, he was ready to face whatever was waiting for him back home.

And yet, after escaping all of that, he still was tense as he gripped his steering wheel with an intensity that made his knuckles turn white. He couldn't get his last encounter with that kid out of his mind; when he was filling up his gas tank one last time before bailing. He'd stalked him to the gas station to keep spewing on about his bullshit about monsters and cryptids. But one thing repeated over and over in his mind.

"You can't go home. You're going to hurt people." His voice echoed in his mind.

He just couldn't shake it, no matter how hard he tried to rationalize it in his mind. 

It was just a crazy kid, he thought.

It's all a practical joke to freak him out.

Still, his stomach turned with anxiety, among other things. As the sky grew darker and his headlights were the only thing illuminating the road ahead of him, he started to feel overwhelmed with nausea. A constant body shudder ran through his torso rhythmically, had been since before he left in fact. But what was once a pulse every 5 minutes or so, now hit back to back, like the seconds on a ticking clock. It wasn't painful, just uncomfortable and it was making it hard for him to focus.

After a while, the shapes and outlines of the trees and the lights started to sway and blur. Rubbing his eyes was useless, and his hands were starting to shake. Even though it was all clear, open road ahead of him, Oswald didn't feel safe continuing to drive in this condition. He pulled off onto the side of the road and let his car idle there for a moment. Now left in the quiet of the dark, empty highway, he took a few breaths to get his bearings.

It's the stress, he told himself. It'd been a long few weeks, it was dark, and he didn't feel well. He'd just take a break until the feeling passed, and if not, he'd call someone. Hell, he'd rather sleep in his car out here than go back into town.

He waited for a few minutes, leading back into his seat and controlling his breathing. He rubbed his stomach, with a moan, as it had started to hurt from the body shudders. The area beyond his headlights was now pitch dark. He was surrounded by nothing but dark forest, alone in this tiny metal box, and he wasn't getting any better.

Oswald let out a shaky huff. His body was trembling, and he felt a sudden hot flash come over him, his body feverishly radiating heat like it was a sauna. He turned on his air conditioner at full blast and picked up his phone, contemplating calling for an ambulance. He was already panting. Something was seriously wrong with him.

As he typed the ems number on his screen he raised his hand to wipe the film of sweat forming on his forehead, but hissed when he was unexpectedly scratched by something sharp. He looked down in confusion to find his nails turning a brownish black color, almost like the skin underneath was rotting, and they were long and mangled, despite being freshly manicured not even the day before. 

Before he could investigate, one last convulsion pulsed through him, this time a sharp, painful cramp that shot up his spine and down his limbs like electricity, forcing his back to arch off the seat. He let out a yelp and gasped for air.

He hit the call button on the phone and got the classic "911, what's your emergency?"

"I need an ambulance, I think I'm having a heart attack or something." He explained, despite his symptoms not really matching. 

As he was speaking, he immediately felt a terrible ache in his hand, like it had been freshly slammed into a door. When he looked down he could see bruising forming around the knuckles as the bones seemed to be stretching. As his fingers popped out of place on their own volition, Oswald barely recognized the voice on the phone over his own panicked whimpering.

"Sir, I need to know your location," The person on the phone repeated. 

“Ah-- uhm, I-I'm on the highway n-north of Dusk Valley." He stammered as he tried to explain, but his eyes were transfixed on his grotesquely mangled hands. He bit down on his lip in an attempt to choke down any cries of pain, but instead he felt something puncture into the flesh, causing him to shout anyway. As blood trickled down from his injury, he felt around his mouth, feeling misshapen teeth pushing their way out of his mouth. He suddenly tasted coppery blood as it filled his mouth. He gagged and opened the door to spit it out onto the ground, but to his horror, with it came a half dozen of his teeth. 

Before he could even process what he was seeing, his body was wracked with pain as every muscle in his body seized and cramped like a full body Charlie horse. His veins buldged against his skin as his muscle tensed to hard he could barely move. He managed to still choke out a scream through his closed up through muscles. He dropped the phone as his hands could no longer properly grip the device, and it fell to the floor.

The voice of the responder became muffled in an ocean of noise from his own heartbeat and heavy breathing. Then the first snaps of his ribs and spine breaking rang out above everything else. Oswald let out a visceral scream as his chest contorted and swelled against his seatbelt, which began digging into his skin. He managed to regain just enough control over his limbs to slam his palm down on the buckle release and fall out of the car onto the hard concrete beneath. His glasses fell off his face and cluttered somewhere under the darkness of the car.

He laid on his stomach on the ground, unable to back onto his feet with his muscles burning as they were. Bile rose in his throat as he cried through wheezing breaths. He managed to get his knees under him and lift his face off the ground just long enough for him to vomit.

The only thoughts running through his mind were 'This can't be happening. Why is my body doing this? Make it stop!'

The cracking of bones extended down his spine and into his limbs. His arms grew thin and elongated. His feet were stretching and being forced out of his loafers; claws tearing holes into his socks. His body was engulfed in a fiery assault as his muscles swelled. His nice dress shirt and pants were unable to withstand the strain of his body growing exponentially in size, and ripped at the seams. He had to hold himself back from getting sick again as he felt his organs shifting under his skin, growing, shrinking, and rearranging themselves to fit their new skeletal frame. His spine grew in length, pushing the skin out of the back and forming a crude, half formed tail.

His skin burned and itched as a thick coat of blonde fur spread down his neck and spine and towards the rest of the body. He let out a horrible groan, as his throat was already raw from his vocal cords tearing and reforming. Tears flowed freely from his eyes, while snot and drool dripped down his face. He didn't want to believe he was actually turning into a monster. It had to all be a horrible nightmare, but the pain was real. He should have listened to the warnings. 

"H-help me--! Please--!" He screamed into the void, but he was alone. There was no one who could save him from the torment of his transformation. Yet the blinding pain bore desperate cries to someone, anyone. The pain was dizzying. He could no longer recognize the body trailing behind him as being human, and he was starting to feel less and less connected to his body. The world around him felt fuzzy, like he was slipping in and out of a dream. He felt himself dissociating, his soul leaving his mind to escape the pain he was in.

He saw his face growing, his jaw snapping into the shape of a snout, but by then it was as if he was a passenger in his own body, slowly sinking deeper into the void's embrace until he couldn't think, only felt a bubbling anger in his chest, and a growing hunger. So... so hungry.

[standfucker]

Engravings

inspired by the following comment on my last SH fic:

Couldn't stop thinking about it, which eventually led to this.

Characters: Sanji

Reader: GN, they/them

Word Count: 6.2k

CW: Hurt/Comfort, SH, SH scars, auditory hallucinations, PTSD, mental institution-related trauma. No shipping, ace-friendly

Summary: It’s Sanji. You’re immediately, wholeheartedly certain. It’s Sanji, and he knows.

AO3 Link

"I’m listening to everything / please, tell me everything"

Nothing’s happened.

The sea is calm, the sun is shining, and the breeze is strong. All in all, a great day for sailing.

Nothing’s happened…

No recent squabbles among the crew, no surprises from sea beasts, no battles with pirates or Marines.

There’s no reason to feel the way you do. No trigger or logic to it. But you feel it anyway.

It’s like there’s an invisible filter over everything. Nothing looks different. Things sound different, though. The sounds of the waves and wind, the snapping of sailcloth and rope, the din of the crew’s voices. All of it wavers, like someone has their hand on a universal volume dial, yanking it back and forth at random. Sometimes the sounds are piercingly loud, like they’re right next to your ears, making you resist the urge to cover them. Sometimes the sounds blend into the background of everything else in a low, dull hum–so distorted that you have to focus to parse what’s being said to you.

The sound issue is your second tip-off that you’re having that kind of day. The first is the sense that the Sunny feels too small. And, crushingly, overwhelmingly, it feels like your fault. Irrational, but you can’t shake it. Really, it’s stupid: On the outside, it just looks like you’re hanging out next to your crewmates, making idle conversation. Inwardly, there’s such a deep feeling of guilt for just being there that you’re ready to throw yourself overboard.

You try to cope. You really do. You make an effort, mentally talking yourself through it.

I am allowed to take up space. I am allowed to exist.

You want to cry. You want to get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness. It doesn’t make sense, and there’s no cause you can identify. You feel like you’re going to throw up.

No one notices. How could they? Your mask is calm smiles and practiced eye contact, formed with easy jokes and interest in what the others say. Your mask is years in the making, thick with each layer you’ve added to seal in the cracks. It’s heavy and ugly, but it keeps you safe.

I am allowed to exist.

There’s no danger. You can’t explain why your fight-or-flight response is going off. There’s something wrong with you, and no one can see it because the problem is deep in the wiring. You can’t even see it. But you can feel it, and it feels so god-awful you don’t know how to endure it.

You feel yourself shaking from head to toe, so much so that it’s hard to keep your balance. But when you look down, your body is completely still. The noise around you blends together and buzzes like static, harsh on your ears. Then it gets louder.

I am allowed to exist.

You want to crawl in a hole and hide.

I am…

You excuse yourself–casually, collectedly–and head for the ship’s interior. You know what you’re going to do before you even start moving, like the decision’s already been made for you. A certainty that settles in your system, something to hold onto. The background noise grows even louder.

You stumble into the bathroom. As soon as you shut the door, all sound cuts out. 

You can’t hear anything. Not even the sea, nor the creaking wood of the ship. The room shifts, draws away from you until you have tunnel vision. Your vision warps, then focuses on the cabinet above the sink until you can see nothing else. Just like before.

It’s been a few weeks since the last time.

The background noise slowly picks up, but it’s distant, like you’re hearing it coming from a different ship. You reach for the cabinet.

What are you doing?

You open the cabinet. It’s organized so each crewmate’s stuff is clustered together, with the common items at the bottom. Your gaze passes over your deodorant, your nail clippers, your toothbrush, and settles on your straight razor.

Aren’t you too old for this?

You take your razor. From the common items, you take a bottle of alcohol. You fold up some tissue paper.

What would the crew think?

It’s hard to ignore the thoughts. But like any bully, they usually go away if you don’t give them energy. Usually.

The razor’s weight in your hand is comforting. It shouldn’t be, but it is. You unfold it, wipe down the blade with some alcohol. Then you lift up your sleeve and slide it over your shoulder.

This stretch of sea has been balmy. With the pleasant weather, you’ve worn a t-shirt, the short sleeves going just less than halfway down your arm. Underneath them, high up on your shoulder, are the scars. Faint and healed, a few shades lighter than your skin tone. Noticeable in the light, but that’s why you don’t participate in the group baths.

The background noise gets louder again. You think you hear shouting, faintly, but that’s normal for the crew. It barely registers over your heartbeat. 

Your heart is beating harder than before, dull thumps in your chest that seem to echo. Anticipating, ready.

Everything is going to be okay.

Finally. Finally. A hurt you can make sense of. Small, controlled. Yours.

There’s supposed to be a rush, you’ve heard. You don’t feel one. But there is a difference. The tunnel vision stops, the filter lifts. The world snaps back into place, the sound goes back to normal.

That’s when you really notice the shouting, no longer muffled by brain static. Something’s off. You focus. It doesn’t sound argumentative, like Zoro and Sanji. Nor is it playful, like Luffy or Franky’s might be. It’s startled and panicky, immediately grabbing your attention and making your adrenaline surge.

A second later, you hear an echoing BOOM, followed by an ear-splitting crunching of wood. It’s a sound you recognize, one you’ve heard before–a cannonball tearing into the ship.

You’re under attack.

For just a moment, you stare at your equipment, caught off guard. Then you pull yourself together–take your feelings and compartmentalize them for later dealing with–and tear out of the bathroom, dropping the tissue in the process. Your pistols are in their case, in the sleeping quarters. You need to get to them before you can join the fight…

The enemy pirates are strong–for a New World crew. Unfortunately for them, they’re completely outclassed by Luffy alone, much less the combined strength of the Straw Hats. Still, the numbers favor the enemy, and the battle is tiring enough to be distracting. Enough so that you forgot about what you were doing before it started. It’s only an hour into helping Franky patch up the ship, when you feel your shirt sleeve catch on your scabs, that you remember.

Then you realize you left your equipment out in the bathroom.

The razor. The alcohol. The bloody tissue paper.

Panic floods your system. You drop your tools and jump up as if electrocuted, all but flying to the bathroom. Has anyone used it since the fight?

Please no, please please please be wrong.

You kick the door open. It bangs harshly against the wall.

The equipment is gone. Your stomach sinks.

No no no no no.

You open the cabinet. Everything’s been returned to its place. Your straight razor has been folded and put away, as has the alcohol. The used tissue paper is gone. Not in the trash, either. Whoever it was must have discarded it in the toilet.

No no no no no!

Who? 

Who was it? You run through the possibilities in your head. Zoro? No, he wouldn’t clean up after someone else’s mess. Neither would Nami. At least, not for free. And what about the rest of the crew?

Whoever it was, would they even know what they saw? Surely they’d just think you cut yourself shaving. That was the only explanation, right? Even if the patterns on the tissue paper were distinct, the stains shaped into blurry, beaded lines–unless they had done it before, there’s no way they’d know. Right?

This time, when you shiver, it’s for real, not just a figment of your imagination. What would happen if you were found out? At best you’d be kicked out of the crew. At worst…

I’ll get locked up again.

You feel ill. Dizzy and nauseated with the prospect. You try not to spiral, try to get a grip before panic can take hold. The best you can do is to close the door behind you, sit on the floor, and take deep breaths.

You’re not sure how long you’re there–minutes, hours–but you don’t get up until someone knocks on the door.

“You almost done?” Usopp calls from the other side.

Swallowing hard, you find your voice. “Yeah. Just a sec.”

Usopp doesn’t so much as give you a second glance when you pass him. It’s not him.

You’re hypervigilant the rest of the day, scrutinizing every action, every word from your crewmates. Nothing seems different, but that only makes you more paranoid.

Nami offers you a tangerine. The simple action sets off a cascade of racing thoughts: Is she trying to make you feel better? Because she knows? Did she tell anyone? Did she tell Chopper? Luffy?

Every interaction is like that–an innocuous action that makes you flip out internally.

Franky gives you a gift: A cute little wind-up frog toy, made from scrap metal. He says it's to thank you for helping with repairs. You scan his face, but he’s only grinning proudly. Not Franky, either. 

Zoro invites you to drink with him. Brook plays a song you like. Robin hands you a book she’s just finished, saying it might suit your tastes. Nothing unusual, but enough to make you second guess everything. Each time, you cling to your mask, holding it so tightly to your face that you can barely breathe.

The next day, Sanji cooks your favorite meal for dinner. That wouldn’t be too weird, except you know for a fact that your favorite involves pricy ingredients that he prefers to save. You know this because he mentioned it, years ago, when he was teaching you how to make the dish.

You and Sanji had joined the Straw Hats at the same time. Two weeks before Luffy had shown up, you had tried and failed to dine-and-dash from Baratie. Zeff forced you to work to pay it off, plus an extra week to “teach you a lesson.” That was when you got to know Sanji. Unlike the rest of the chefs, he wasn’t mad at you for what you did. He even taught you some of the basics of cooking. As the only soft presence on the floating restaurant, you grew attached, and that feeling of reliance never really left since then. You were drawn to his air of confidence and self-assuredness, but mostly to the fact that he never hid who he was, even when who he was could be straight-up idiotic at times. But you still respected that about him.

You always liked to hang out around the cook, helping him prepare meals with what you learned at Baratie. You both fought well together, having each others’ backs in battle despite your different fighting styles. It was safe to say that he was your favorite crewmate, and though you weren’t sure what he thought of you, you viewed him as your closest friend.

So you really, really don’t want it to be Sanji.

You appraise his expression, his movement, his actions. It all seems normal, on the surface. And yet, it feels off somehow, but you can’t tell if that’s just the paranoia speaking.

“How is it?” Sanji inquires.

You stare for a second. It’s not a question he usually asks–he knows it’s your favorite and he knows you think it’s amazing. Maybe it’s just your imagination, but the smile doesn’t seem to reach his eyes.

“Delicious, as always,” you say. Your own smile lights up your face, the way you’ve carefully practiced. “What’s the occasion?”

He pauses, rubs the back of his neck. “No reason, really. I just thought that it’s been a while since we’ve had it.”

That evening, you’re alone at the port side of the ship, leaning against the railing and looking out at the night sea. Sometimes it helps with your racing thoughts. This time, it does nothing. Nothing keeps you from fixating on the situation. You feel like you’re hanging by a thread, like at any moment you’ll get kicked off the crew, and then your whole world will unravel. And it’s entirely your fault.

The questions won’t stop repeating themselves: Who was it? Did they know?

Behind you, someone clears their throat. You whirl around a bit too quickly and steady yourself with a hand on the railing. Sanji’s standing there with his hands in his pockets. Something about his posture sets alarm bells off in your head. He’s too stiff, trying too hard to appear composed.

“Hey, Y/n,” Sanji says gently, “can I talk to you about something?”

It’s Sanji. 

You’re immediately, wholeheartedly certain. It’s Sanji, and he knows.

You gape at him for a moment, then collect yourself. The mask comes back on.

“Actually, I’m pretty tired. Gonna turn in for the night. Tomorrow, okay?” you dismiss, and go to walk past him.

“Wait a second, Y/n,” he reaches to grab your wrist, but you yank it away before he can.

“Don’t!” you snap, stepping back, then quickly correct yourself. “I mean–don’t surprise me like that! We’ll talk tomorrow. I really should sleep...”

Sanji frowns, hand slowly lowering, and you make a hasty retreat.

The rest of the week is torture. You’re constantly avoiding Sanji wherever possible. He doesn’t strike up conversation when the others are around, which only makes you more certain that he knows. You ensure that you’re never alone with him, and if he does approach you by himself, you make yourself scarce. It becomes harder and harder to hide that you’re avoiding him. The crew takes notice–it’s not difficult considering you and Sanji are normally close.

Zoro’s the first to say something.

“Oi, Y/n. Did you have a fight with the cook or something?” he asks bluntly.

“No, we didn’t,” you reply.

Zoro’s eyes narrow slightly. “Well, you’re both acting weird.”

Some of the others are looking your way, now. Anxiety sours your stomach. You hold your mask steady as he continues.

“You’ve been kind of flighty lately. And he’s oddly subdued,” Zoro says, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, since he’s finally quiet for once, but it’s annoying. Would you just talk to him?”

“Uh…yeah, sure thing.”

Obviously, you don’t talk to Sanji. You keep evading him at every turn, only growing more distressed with each passing day. You know you can’t dodge the issue forever, but the moment you stop is the moment you’ll get kicked off the crew or worse, and that thought makes you want to die.

But the Sunny is only so large, and eventually, Sanji manages to corner you one night at the bow of the ship. You have your back to the figurehead, throat dry as you face him. Brook is up in the crow’s nest, keeping watch. Everyone else is asleep. It’s just you two, and you know you’ve run out of luck.

“We need to talk, Y/n,” Sanji says firmly.

Your throat goes dry. “Now?”

“Right now. No more running,” he says, taking a few steps closer. “I need to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly.”

There’s no getting out of it anymore. “...Alright.” you say. Your heart pounds harder, palms growing damp.

Sanji takes a long drag off his cigarette, then stubs it out–that’s when your adrenaline really spikes, when you know you’re in for it. He looks you in the eye.

“Should you have access to firearms?”

The question hits you like a brick, stunning you into wide-eyed silence. You open your mouth, then close it, unable to respond for a second.

“...What are you talking about?” you try.

“Given how you’ve been avoiding me,” he says coolly, “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I’m–I’m not following.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Y/n!” he snaps, and you cringe. “Of everything you’re hiding, this is the one thing I’m going to find out. I’m not asking. You’re going to tell me or I’m going to tell Chopper. So answer me, right now: Are you safe around guns?”

You can’t take another step back, but you instinctively try anyway, your heel scraping the wood of the ship. But there’s nothing you can do. The mask crumbles, years and years of desperate crafting turning to dust in an instant.

“God, Sanji,” you respond, “what am I supposed to say to that?”

“The truth,” he says.

“And if you didn’t like my answer, what would you do? Take them away from me?”

“Yes.” His tone is unyielding, his eyes hard.

Yours start to sting at the corners. “And what after that? You’ll have me–” you bite your tongue to keep the tears from forming, “–you’ll have me kicked off the crew?”

“I never said that,” he says stiffly, “you don’t get it–”

“You don’t get it!” you bite back, voice rising. You lower it before continuing, “you don’t know anything.”

“I know you’re cutting.”

You flinch. The words sting. It’s not a pleasant sting this time. You turn your head, unable to look him in the eye.

“It’s just…” Sanji says, and there’s a touch of hurt in his voice, “after everything we’ve been through, I thought you trusted me.”

“I do,” you say automatically.

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

That stings even deeper. You shake your head. “I do, Sanji, but this is different.”

“Why?”

“It’s none of your business!” you bite. Bile rises in your throat at your venom; you hate being callous.

“My friend’s hurting themselves,” Sanji replies thinly, “that makes it my business.”

“That isn’t how this works!” you argue. “You don’t get to know everything about me just because you don’t like this!”

“Don’t I?”

“No!”

“You don’t feel safe with me.”

That one’s like a punch to the gut. You can’t tell what’s worse, the words themselves or the way he’s looking at you. That one hurts the most, because it’s true.

“...No,” you say after a moment, then steel yourself. “You’re right. I don’t. I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Sanji, please.”

“Don’t you plead now,” Sanji says, his tone hardening. “Don’t you put me in this position, Y/n.”

“I don’t have a choice, Sanji. I can’t. I just can’t.”

“Why?”

“Sanji!”

“Why?!”

“Because last time I trusted someone with this, I lost everything!” you blurt out. “I was institutionalized, okay?! Locked up! Is that what you wanted to know? Are you satisfied now?”

Your words echo in the silence that follows. He stares, jaw dropped slightly. You’re shaking, for real this time, and the words pour from you like a dam unblocked.

“You don’t know how humiliating it is, Sanji, to have the strings on all your clothes cut off, to be given only felt tip pens to write with, to not have doors, to have a scheduled bed time. To have all your choices taken away.” Your vision blurs as you continue. “I couldn’t do anything. It was like a prison. The other patients didn’t give a shit. The staff definitely didn’t give a shit. And all the while, they drained me of all my savings, until I didn’t have a single berri to my name. Then they kicked me to the curb. The one who reported me didn’t want to be associated with a crazy person. Neither did the rest of my friends. I was homeless. I had no one and nothing! That’s why I fled my home island, and that’s why I tried to dine and dash at Baratie.”

Sanji looks taken aback. He blinks quickly, then stares down at the deck. “What would you have me do, then?”

“This is supposed to be private!” You cover your face, fighting back tears. “You need–you need to keep your mouth shut and mind your business! I don't want anyone’s ‘support.’ You were never supposed to know.” You take a shaky breath and lower your hands. “If you really care, you’ll keep it to yourself, you’ll forget what you saw, and if you tell anyone…I won’t stick around to make the same mistake twice.”

Despite what you say, you already know it’s too late. There’s no going back, and now that he knows, it’s only a matter of time until you’re left behind. You bite your tongue to keep from crying at the thought, but you have to bite harder this time. The tears keep threatening to spill anyway, until you’re tasting iron.

Sanji is quiet. He pulls out his cigarettes and lights one, not speaking until after he takes a drag. “…Do you regret joining the crew?”

“Joining the Straw Hats was the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” you say honestly. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“But you aren’t happy, are you?”

“Multiply something by zero and you get zero, right?” You look away, guilt eating at you. Experience tells you that no one wants to hear this. “I’m not trying to sound dramatic. I just… I don’t work right.”

“I don’t think you’re being dramatic.”

For some reason, that, more than anything else, breaks you. The first tears slip past your defense. You say nothing, lower lip trembling.

Sanji takes another slow drag of his cig and exhales away from your direction. “I don’t know how I missed it.”

“I do,” you say. “At the hospital, they…” the words die in your throat as the memories surge forward. “They…they…” You can’t finish, but tears begin streaming down your cheeks. You shake your head. “Let’s just say, after that, I learned not to ever give anything away. Never again.”

“They did something to you.”

You barely nod. Already you feel yourself slipping into a flashback, feel the nurses holding you down and the needle jabbing into your flesh.

“I’m sorry,” Sanji says, taking a step toward you, and then another, until he can reach out and gently touch your forearm. The touch brings you back, grounding you so that you’re back in the present. But the gentle action, and Sanji’s soft expression, only makes the tears flow faster, makes your nose run. You shrug.

“It must have been scary.”

Slowly, you nod again.

“Will you answer my question, Y/n? Please?” Sanji asks. “Please, I need to know you’re safe around guns. Will you at least tell me that much?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and wipe your face. When you answer, you look him in the eye so he knows you’re telling the truth. “Yeah. I’m… Yeah.”

Sanji sighs, his shoulders sagging with relief. “Thank goodness. Okay. Can I ask you something else?” At your nod, he goes on. “How long have you been feeling like this? Before the hospital, I mean.”

“...Since I was young,” you sniff. “I’ve been ‘coping’ on and off for years.”

Sanji sticks his hands in his pockets. “Okay. Can I see?”

“What?” The question catches you so off-guard that you stop crying. “I’m–I’m sorry?”

“You’re not going to show Chopper, right?” Sanji says. “So–”

“You’re not gonna tell him?” you cut him off, surprised.

“I haven't decided yet,” he admits. “I don’t want to go against your wishes, Y/n. But I don’t know the extent of the damage. Just… Just, let me see?”

“No.” You’re shocked at his audacity. What’s he thinking? Of course you can’t do that.

“I won’t judge. I swear, I just want to know you’re okay,” Sanji says.

“You can say that, but…” you rub your arm. “Be real. You’ll never look at me the same way again.”

“It won’t change how I think of you.”

“It will!” you shout, then lower your voice. “It will, forever. There’s no going back once that line is crossed and you see me for what I really am.”

He frowns. “Which is?”

“A freak!” 

Neither of you say anything for a moment. Then you shake your head again. “I’m sorry, Sanji. But a guy like you–strong, handsome, confident–you wouldn’t understand.”

Sanji gets a weird look on his face, one you’ve never seen in all the years you’ve sailed with him. He looks to the side, then down, then up. His drags on his cigarette become long and harsh, finishing it in three breaths. He lights another, making a face. Then he nods to himself, like he’s decided something.

“Okay,” Sanji says. “There’s something I want you to see.”

You frown. When Sanji puts his hands on the hem of his pants, you frown deeper. He pauses.

“Um. Just trust me, okay? I promise I’m not doing anything weird–just wait a sec.”

He slides down his pants, and you have no idea what’s going through his head until his pale upper thighs are exposed. Then, finally, you understand, and you cover your mouth in shock.

Both of his upper thighs are covered in a myriad of scars. There must be over a hundred, clustered just above where shorts would hide them. Most of them are big, inches long and criss-crossed with each other. A few are keloid scars, thick and raised above the skin.

Your stare could burn a hole through his flesh. Slowly, you look up at him. Sanji has a faint blush on his face, looking sheepish.

“Guys like me can be freaks too,” he says simply.

You’re in complete disbelief. You keep looking back from the scars to his face. It’s too much to process–where would you even begin? Sanji, of everyone on the crew–Sanji’s like you? Brave, unwavering, gallant Sanji? Of everyone? When you don’t respond, he speaks again.

“See, Y/n? You’re not alone.”

Tears sting the corners of your eyes again. You find your voice. “Yours are old.”

“Yeah. I got lucky. Had someone’s support.” Sanji smiles slightly, in a way that he only does when thinking of…

“Zeff?”

“Yeah. He eventually found out.” Sanji laughs nervously. “At first he freaked out. Thought I was using kitchen knives. After he calmed down, he told me…he told me he wouldn’t abandon me over that, because what kind of parent would that make him?” His expression wavers like he’s trying not to cry.

You, on the other hand, start crying again the moment you hear the word “abandoned.” You realize that’s precisely how you felt back then.

Sanji grabs your shoulders so you look up at him. “You’re not getting kicked off of the crew.”

“...I’m not?” you ask, voice small and pathetic.

“No. I promise.” Sanji squeezes your shoulders reassuringly. “No one else needs to know. But, Y/n, I’m not going to leave you to deal with this alone. So, will you show me?”

“...You won’t tell anyone?”

“I won’t. I swear on my honor. This stays between us.” He lowers his arms.

You bite your lip, sniffing. You shut your eyes, mustering up your courage, and nod. Sanji waits patiently as you breathe slowly to steady yourself. You hesitate before peeling back your sleeve, exposing your upper arm.

He’s quiet as he inspects the damage. Unlike his old scars, yours have yet to finish healing, still in the scabbing stage. A ladder of thin, dark red lines decorate your upper arm and shoulder. You look between your cuts and his scars. Yours aren’t as deep as what Sanji had done, which you feel weirdly ashamed about.

Sanji’s hand comes up, hovering over your cuts like he’s going to touch them, but then he rests it on your forearm instead. Despite the clear evidence that he won’t judge you, you’re still self-conscious, so you break the silence.

“The scabs catch on my sleeves,” you say awkwardly.

Sanji nods. “I had to bandage my thigh so it wouldn’t bleed through while I was working. It always felt so…”

“Stupid,” you both say. Then you both smile at the unexpected camaraderie. 

“What’s really stupid is how long I went thinking I was the only one,” you say, “and all this time, you…” You gesture vaguely.

“Can you do something for me?” Sanji asks. “Whatever you’re using–I’m not going to take anything from you. But in exchange, I want you to talk to me. We can talk in the galley, when it’s just us two.”

“I don’t know how to talk about it.”

How could you, after what had been done to you? After everyone you used to trust turned their backs? Knowing that Sanji understood you couldn’t fix the mental scars left behind by others. You could try to rationalize it, but just thinking about discussing the past made your throat dry up.

“If I told you about mine first, would it make you more comfortable?” Sanji offers.

You balk. “You–you don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind, if it means helping you.” Sanji says earnestly. “You can tell me anything. I won’t judge. How could I? We’re the same.”

Something broken inside you changes right then. Deep engravings fill with gold like broken pottery, sealing some of the cracks in your soul. Unmasked and exposed, Sanji sees into you, and he doesn’t waver or turn. He smiles, gently and softly and lovingly. Your eyes fill with fresh tears.

Sanji holds out his pinky finger. “Freaks?”

You smile from ear to ear, even as the tears start flowing again, and lock pinkies with him. “Freaks.”

So caught up in the moment are the two of you that neither one notices when Zoro appears until it’s too late.

He’s further down the deck, but standing right under one of the ship’s lights, so you can see him smile. “Hey, you guys are–” he starts, then notices Sanji’s pants. His smile instantly turns to a look of indignation, then rage. “What the hell?!”

Sanji scrambles to pull up his pants as Zoro charges.

“What the hell are you doing to Y/n, you creep?!” Zoro yells.

You hurriedly pull down your sleeve and move in front of Sanji, holding your arms up. “Wait a sec, Zoro!” 

“I-It’s not what it looks like!” Sanji cries.

Zoro screeches to a halt right in front of you, but then stretches over your shoulder to snarl at Sanji. “You better have a good explanation for this, shitty cook!”

You grab Zoro’s arms to hold him back. Not that you could ever hope to overpower him, but you know he’s too brotherly toward you to push you out of the way. “Zoro!”

“What?” Zoro turns his focus on you, “what did he do? I’ll kick his ass for you, Y/n.”

“No, that’s–”

Sanji interjects, “I didn’t–”

“We were…”

Zoro relaxes somewhat, now frowning and looking at both of you weirdly. “What exactly were you guys doing?”

Really, being in the middle of the night, it’s not a good look. You and Sanji are both caught off guard. Fumbling hard, you both speak at once.

“I was looking at a fungal infection!” you say.

“They were removing a tick!” Sanji says at the same time.

Both of you glance at each other.

“Tick,” you correct.

“Fungal,” Sanji says.

Zoro blinks. “A fungal tick?”

You both just nod.

Zoro stares between you two, then relaxes. “Oh... Okay. Good of you to not wake Chopper.” He nods and turns, leaving the two of you to it.

So flooded with relief are you that it’s staggering. You mentally thank the stars that Zoro is a simple and straightforward type of guy.

You and Sanji watch Zoro walk away. Once he’s out of earshot, you both look at each other.

Then you both burst out laughing.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, clutching your chest.

Sanji wipes away a tear. “That was close, huh?”

The laughter dies down into giggles before you calm yourselves, grinning at each other. Then you’re both throwing your arms around the other in a tight embrace, squeezing like you’ve never been hugged before in your lives. You bury your face in Sanji’s chest, he rests his head on yours. Your fingers dig into the other’s clothing, soaking in the warmth and the comfort that you could only get from someone who truly understood. You stay like that for a few minutes, quiet, close, and held.

“Are you sure?” you whisper after a minute. “That you want to deal with this? With me? What if I never get better?”

“Nothing’s set in stone but the poneglyphs,” Sanji replies, running a hand over your head so you look up at him. “Our future hasn’t been determined.”

“Our future?”

“You and me and the rest of the crew. There’s still time to grow, and to change.” He holds the back of your head tenderly.

“When does that time run out?” you ask, uncertain.

“It doesn’t.” Sanji smiles down at you. “As long as we’re alive, there’s another chance. That opportunity is always there.”

You smile back, then press your face into his chest again. Sanji squeezes you tighter.

“Tomorrow,” you mumble into his shirt. “Let’s talk tomorrow. I’m tired.”

“I bet.”

“I never want to hide from you again.”

You feel Sanji kiss the top of your head. “And I never want to make you cry again.”

“I want to tell you everything.”

“I’ll listen.”

You both stay like that for a while longer, each second spent there healing something within yourselves.

It will take weeks to figure out how to talk about your troubles. When you’re up for it, you talk in the galley as Sanji cooks, you helping him out as usual with prep and cleanup. It’s even longer before Sanji learns everything. In the interim, you become the only Straw Hat to learn of Sanji’s past before he ever gets a wedding invite.

Like worn muscles rebuilding, like bone regrowing stronger, the scars you’ve revealed to each other, both physical and mental, strengthen your bond more than anything else ever could.

"let it out, let me in, take a hold of my hand / there's nothing like another soul that's been cut up the same" -Handwritten, The Gaslight Anthem

[amethysttribble]

“He resembles Princess Luthien greatly,” Oropher said and Celeborn stiffened on instinct.

He side-eyed his kinsman, bracing for the impact of whatever came next. Oropher never made idle comments. Oropher epecially never made idle comments to him, not without the direct intention of starting a fight.

Celeborn hoped this wasn’t intended to be a fight. He’d promised Gil-galad, and more importantly, Galadriel, that they wouldn’t so much as bicker tonight. They were supposed to stand next to one another in solidarity and pretend like the High Council of Lindon wasn’t fracturing at the seams and about to fall apart, the direct consequence of Oropher’s words and desires and pride.

But right now, Oropher at least wasn’t speaking of their king- ‘I don’t remember choosing him, do you think you speak for all of us?’- but of the one standing next to him on the ballroom dais. Of perhaps the one person whose name and presence between them was just as, if not more, incendiary than Gil-galad’s. Poor Elrond.

“He does,” Celeborn replied mildly, biting his tongue before he could ask why Oropher was bringing this up now. It wasn’t like he’d never seen the young lord- no longer a boy, not a child by any race’s measure, though it was hard to remember- before. It wasn’t like they all didn’t meet and talk often enough.

“More than either Elwing or Earendil. Or her.”

And, ah. There it was.

“True enough,” Celeborn said, and he wasn’t sure if Oropher wanted him to agree or not, but he wasn’t going to lie.

Elrond took greatly after dear Aunt Luthien. In some lights it was slightly nerve wracking.

Oropher crossed his arms rather than reply immediately, his face closed off. Not stony or hard like at council meetings, but his thoughts and feelings were far away from any observer. He actually looked like the lord they pretended he was, rather than the rogue marchwarden he actually was; regal. When Oropher looked like that he reminded Celeborn of Galathil.

He looked away.

“I think, in the details though, they are more present. His cheeks, for example-“

“And it’s funny,” Oropher said, and he even huffed a very sad laugh, trying and failing to make it sound like he actually was joking. The two of them hadn’t shared a joke since… since.

Celeborn certainly wasn’t laughing. He closed his eyes and swallowed his annoyance at being interrupted. He knew Oropher did it on purpose, perpetually the preteen at his brother’s table delighting in ribald and shock.

And there were his words to consider.

“El-Elwing didn’t really take after Luthien very much.”

She didn’t. She’d taken after the person whose presence hung between Oropher and Celeborn like the unlight of Ungoliant, sucking the air out of the room. Which was a horrible legacy for someone they both loved so much, but grief did strange things to already strained relationships.

“I keep asking myself if there’s something about Earendil I’m forgetting.” Oropher was rambling now, highly uncharacteristic. Celeborn drew in a long breath and re-centered himself in anticipation for wherever this was headed. “Has Galadriel said anything about a resemblance to anyone in her family?”

Celeborn raised an eyebrow, but Oropher wouldn’t look at him. His eyes were locked somewhere past Elrond’s head. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed.

But Oropher acknowledging Galadriel’s family, Earendil’s family willingly?

Oropher had always seemed to operate under some purposeful mental dissonance, wherein he forced himself to think of Galadriel as some Telerin princess who had mystically made her way across the sea alone and by sheer force of will. And Earendil? He might as well have been prince to some lost, entirely independent Elven kingdom- not Sindar, not Laiquendi, certainly not Noldor- for how Oropher acted, for the most part.

He’d slipped in an argument about Gil-galad once when he shouted that, ‘Earendil was the only Noldo I would have ever had for my king and he’s gone!’

“She’s never made any special mention of a resemblance,” Celeborn said carefully. He didn’t want to call attention to the… mannerisms picked up from certain half-cousins that Galadriel had noticed. That wasn’t a resemblance, after all. “Why?”

“No particular reason,” he said, though it was becoming clear that there was a very particular reason, “just, many remark that his brother took after Earendil and I never saw it, so I-“

“I always thought Elros more so resembled Dior.”

Oropher’s head snapped over to finally look at him. He nodded, slow and low, not even slightly upset at being interrupted.

“Yes, I thought the same,” he said. “Funny that. Identical twins, but it’s in the- the bearing. Who they take after. Luthien and Dior.”

Celeborn fought off the shudder that threatened the shake him, to make him crack and crumble under the weight of the thing between him and Oropher that would never go away. He actually looked Oropher in the eye, and in that faraway gaze, this time he saw the same weakness.

“How much have you had to drink this evening?” Celeborn asked.

Oropher shrugged casually, with one shoulder, and that was plenty of answer. Surely he couldn’t be as drunk as either the time Celeborn found his and his friends deep into Galathil’s liquor cabinet or the night they drank themselves into a state in Sirion after… after. Still.

“That’s very unbecoming.”

“You see it though, right?” Oropher said, voice still uncharacteristically even, but when they met eyes…

He was such a weepy drunk.

“Elwing and Earendil’s boys, they carry themselves well,” he said, voice bitter as could be. “Beautiful, kind, clever, magnetic, the both of them. Princess Luthien’s wildness is in Elrond, and Dior’s wonder at the world is in Elros. They stand so tall. And, yes, you’re right, Elwing and Earendil are there in the margins, but there’s also- also them. And so much space is taken up, our- Lothig is eaten whole.”

Hearing Nimloth’s childhood nickname come out of Oropher’s mouth was like being stabbed. There was no more air. Just like that, Celeborn was drowning.

“You should be proud,” he hissed back, trying to keep his head above water. “That is a fine legacy to resemble, our princess, our king. We loved them as well. At least, I did.”

Oropher wasn’t listening. He never did.

“Do you think any of these people-“ he swept his arm out to gesture at the entire room, the entirety of Lindon’s court; Noldor, Sindar, Nandor, Men and Dwarves in the margins, and one peredhil. “-care that they killed her?”

“Don’t put that on him,” Celeborn snapped quietly, “he doesn’t owe you grief for someone he never knew-“

“I don’t care what Elrond feels, I can’t even look at him,” Oropher spat out, every word sounding pained, and there was torment in his whisper quiet voice.

That whisper, more than anything, tipped Celeborn off to the fact that this conversation wasn’t just one of their drunken spats about trading blame.

“I would have raised that boy like we raised his mother and your brother raised me,” Oropher said, “but that didn’t happen, and I can’t look at him. He looks like Luthien. His brother looks like Dior. And that’s a wonderful thing for everyone else in this room, isn’t it? That’s hope. The beautiful king taken too soon reborn and the Nightengale who stole her happy ending walking among us, and that’s such a lovely end to this tale for them. But what about for us, Celeborn?”

For Celeborn? Celeborn was shaking with the effort it was taking to keep his breathing even. Galadriel touched the edge of his fea to ask if he was okay. He gently pushed her away.

Oropher was right about one thing, this was about their family; about Doriath and Menegorth and being the last two members of Thingol’s inner court on this shore.

Eru Iluvatar, how did it end up being them? Just a pair of hot-headed youths with the weight an entire dead kingdom on their shoulders.

“Gondolin and Nargothrond are gone too,” he replied, the words dull even to his ears. “Hithlum and Dorthonion, half of Ossiriand, and even Himlad and Thargelion. It’s about building something new for all of us. Hope is not a bad thing.”

“It’s different for us.”

Yes. It was. Because Doriath and Sirion need not have fallen like that, and the monsters who took their homes and their loved ones from them weren’t even defeated. They faded, sad and pathetic and allowed to escape by everyone and everything but their prize, and there was no catharsis in that.

And in this kingdom they spoke Sindarin, but they took a Noldorin king who ruled through Noldorin traditions- with a few of Cirdan’s lessons thrown in there- in a city built by Noldorin hands. After his death, Thingol had lost his war of cultural influence. Badly.

“No one here remembers her but us, Celeborn,” Oropher urged. “They remember our heroes and our most tantalizing tragedies, but they don’t remember her. They don’t see her. She’s just one more dead wife and mother, if they get that far, but not a cousin, a niece-“

“Enough, Oropher.”

“-an astrologist, a troublemaker, a queen, a girl who was so scared of being outshined-“

“Oropher!” Celeborn snapped, more harshly than he meant to. It made Oropher stop long enough that he could put a hand on his shoulder, though.

“Oropher, you’re weeping.”

He blinked harshly, then brought up a hand to wipe at his cheek. When he pulled away, Celeborn could see how wet the palm was. Oropher glared at the remnant of his tears like they’d personally offended him.

He muttered, half to himself, “Surely you can’t keep living like this. Ignoring what was done to us because it’s awkward and inconvenient for the new age they’re building.”

Could he? Celeborn didn’t know. He was trying. Galadriel was trying; she had as many wounds as him she was trying to swallow for the sake of something new and bright. But it was hard. Lindon made Celeborn feel old, somehow. But with Oropher he was always just a boy again, strutting around Menegroth, trying to make his place, being too loud and too proud and too sure of himself.

Perhaps that was part of why they couldn’t stop fighting. Always just boys when together. And those boys, they had a few things in common.

Doriath, Galathil, and Nimloth were in Oropher. And when Oropher looked at him, those same things were in Celeborn. There was no place for those things in this new world.

Because Doriath, Galathil, and Nimloth were forever gone on this shore. Oropher needed to realize that. Not matter how much it fucking hurt.

“Go to bed, Oropher,” Celeborn told him softly. “You’re drunk and emotional. You’ll embarrass your son. He’s one of those young people looking for something new. Something hopeful.”

And when they looked back towards Gil-galad’s dais and the youths surrounding him, there was Thranduil, charming smile on his face, making Elrond toss his head back and laugh. If anyone took after Nimloth, it was him; her mother and Oropher’s had been identical twins.

Celeborn’s hand was suddenly colder and hanging in the air. He turned back to the kid who showed up one day and took so much of his older brother’s attention and who he’d never forgiven for that small slight. Oropher was composed and looking like Galathil once more.

“I hate that you’re right,” he whispered. “And he probably needs me to be better than this. But I can’t be better here.”

And he left.

The next week, Oropher would formally announce his intention to travel east and settle there, alongside anyone who would join him. Celeborn, to the surprise of every other council member but Galadriel, raised no objection. Very briefly, the thought crossed his mind to join Oropher.

But that desire faded quickly. The envy didn’t, though, not for many, many years.

Not until the day he planted a little silver tree in Lothlorien.

[idolish7imagines]

Could I request Re:vale with a very protective reader who scares off Tsukumo by breaking a door by roundhouse kicking it then threatening him?

Re:vale with a very protective reader who scares off Tsukumo

A/N: truthfully i did NOT expect to write them this long but here you go; also reader is married to Yuki in this bc i thought itd be funnier

Yuki

Yuki wasn't rolling his eyes yet, but he was certainly getting there.

The president had stopped him right when he was about to head home for the day from a shoot, and unlucky him, the president of Tsukumo Productions was also there and decided to not only corner him in his dressing room, but chat a little bit like they were buddies.

Despite the fact in another timeline, Yuki would've already bashed him over the head with a metal bat.

They weren't talking about anything special, making him question even further why Tsukumo would waste both of their time with idle chatter truly neither of them cared for.

Until, the next statement nearly feels like he set his blood aflame.

"You know you can't hide them from the public forever, right?" The president says in a teasing tone, yet also seemed like he wasn't just pulling his leg with a meaningless joke.

"i...excuse me?" The idol blinks, now looking him straight in the eye.

Ryo lifts his hands up in sadistic joy. "Ahaha, I got the Yuki-san of Re:vale to stutter for a moment!"

Yuki bites the inside of his jaw, not even hiding his distaste for the man with his expression anymore. "Answer me."

"Why, your partner of course!--oh wait, thats the word you use to describe Momo.." He presses a finger to his lips in mockery. "Maybe I should use a different word..let's say, spouse?"

The man's brows furrow. Thoughts flooding through his mind both of wondering how he found out and not being suprised at all.

"Sorry but my spouse doesn't really like pathetic business men, so they stay far away from work, or else they'll be in the situation i'm in right now." Yuki says with a smile spitefully courteous enough to make Ryo's brow twitch.

"Is that so? They'll be a bit disappointed finding out what you get up to during the day then."

"I don't have any reason to feel guilt, unlike you."

That statement is what makes Ryo's facade drop first, eyes squinted and fists slightly lock.

"Really now?" "Really." Yuki keeps smiling. "In fact, they should be here in a moment."

As if on cue, he moves and the door behind Ryo goes flying off its hinges into the nearest couch of the dressing room.

Much to Yuki's dismay, the clicks of the door signaled Ryo to move before he wouldve gotten hit and hopefully hospitalized-

"I will not be late for our dinner just because Tsukumo wants to play games!" You bark, stomping over to your husband and taking his hand in yours.

Ryo clicks his tongue with his eyes narrowed, before trying to brush it off with a smirk.

"I wouldn't have thought you were into the feisty ones." He says.

"Well, theres' a lot you don't know about me." The idol puts a hand into his pocket. "Now if you'll excuse us, we do actually have a reservation." He says calmly.

"If I find out this happens again that door will be you." You turn to Tsukumo. "Stop talking to my husband. We don't. Like you." You firmly state.

Before he can respond, the two of you start walking out, hand in hand.

"..I love this side of you." Yuki nuzzles his head against yours, something he does when feeling more playful, despite what just happened.

"I know."

Momo

Momo regrets even telling you the address of Tsukumo's house. He did it in the name of trust, that if anything were to happen to him like before, you'd at least know his location.

The lies and misdirection was getting exhausting to keep up, and he needed someone to lean on...but he knows how you get even at the mention of the evil, sadistic president's name.

Which is what was making him at least 2x as nervous than he would be typically when having dinner with the man tonight. Even the thought of eating something he had made makes Momo's stomach turn.

On one hand, it could be poisoned, but on the other, he doubts Tsukumo would hurt his favorite 'toy' that much. Or else he wouldn't be as entertaining when he grovels.

"Something wrong with your appetite, Momo?" The man's typical cat-like grin spread across his face, seeing him all but grow visibly pale at the sight of the food.

"-ah-ahaha! No, not at all, it looks great! Maybe you could share your recipe sometime?" Back to the act. His defense mechanism.

"A good chef doesn't share his secrets!" Ryo pridefully proclaims. "Well, unless you want to give me something in return~"

Yeah, he was definitely nauseous now if he wasn't before.

"Awwww!" A dramatic pout in response. "But I couldn't possibly come up with something t-"

His phone buzzes, making both of them pause abruptly.

Momo prays silently that it isn't one of his friends, Yuki, or god forbid you. At best it'd be someone who got the wrong number.

Ryo waits a bit boredly with his hand on his cheek, waiting for the other man to be done. Almost like a child waiting for their older sibling to finish attending to something to continue their play time.

Fortunate a sight for him and far less for Momo, the idol's expression visibly changes to one of slight fear when he sees the text.

Quickly, he starts to get up, reaching for his bag and slipping his shoes back on, leaving Tsukumo befuddled.

"Momo, we're not done." He forces a smile, but there was unpleasant bass in his tone, one Momo was all too used to.

"I-i'm so sorry Ryo-san, I need to head out--ah--its an emergency!" He quickly tries to cover himself, hoping he would accept the vague excuse.

There was stomping heard outside the door and getting closer, making the president tilt his head in confusion and slight curiosity.

At first there's only a knock, which has the idol's heart pumping even harder against his chest as he's too late.

"If its room service it can wait, I'm in the middle of important business matters." Ryo says in a snooty tone. The other nearly rolls his eyes at his idea of important business matters.

Another beat of silence.

Suddenly the door shakes as a force on the other side pounds into it. Momo dodges a hinge that flies off nearly towards his face.

Another one comes swiftly after, now making it turn diagonally.

Before the third impact comes, sending it hurling towards the wall, coupled with dust rising up.

Tsukumo quickly rises from his seat, wondering who on Earth in their right mind would knock down his door.

A figure soon comes into view through all the dust, brows furrowed and quickly lunging to grab Momo's ear.

"You are coming home now!" You demand. It wasn't a hard pinch, but you did have a firm grip on his ear while your boyfriend squirmed.

"I-its not what you think, me and Tskumo are fine, nothing shady-" "Not today Momo." You bite back a bit harshely.

"My oh my, who might this be?" Ryo quickly becomes intrigued.

Momo feels like a fire may as well be lit under him if he pieces it together that you're his significant other.

"None of your business unless you keep pulling these stunts." You scowl towards him.

"Oh I see, so you've come to collect precious Momo?" He grins, unphased.

"Yes. Bye. I'm not paying for your door." Starting to drag him out, you step right over the expensive debris on the floor. You may have even knocked a vase over, but judging who it belongs to, you could care less.

Tsukumo looks at the two of you incredulously as you walk down the hall to the elevator.

Once in there, your boyfriend sits on the cold steel floor, pulling his knees to his chest.

"We are screwed, we are so screwed-" He mutters over and over, prompting you to bend down to comfort him.

"We're not screwed Momo. We just need to be assertive with him from now on. He can't just do what he wants...I..."

You pause, looking away with a few teeth gently biting your lip.

"Everyone almost lost you a while ago..because of him." You slightly hiss.

"please..just trust me? Like you said you would.." A hand reaches out to gently caress the face you adored greatly.

His fuchsia eyes peer up into yours. Hesitant, but accepting.

"..yes. I love you, (y/n)..Thank you for being here."

[the-boney-rolls]

The Great Covid Beatles Binge, Day 3: The Rutles

This is gonna be short and sweet because it's just a good, funny movie! There's not much to say about it.

The going from car to car to car is very good and already I'm giggling. I know this was made before Broad Street but that's what this license place makes me think of. I'm gonna go off on a limb and say Paul was not making a Rutles reference and this was a funny coincidence.

All of the names are fantastic but I gotta give the award to Leggy Mountbaton.

I like how some things just aren't jokes, like Ringo saying he wanted to be a hairdresser.

“Goose Step Mama” !

Why is Eric Idle actually the best Paul I've seen? Petition for Monty Python to cast the biopics.

“Shoot me down in flames if I should tell a lie” I love how insane the joke lyrics are.

Another thing that isn't a joke, Dick Jaws  “an unemployed music publisher of no fixed ability." Brutal. chef's kiss

The references in this are so specific. Almost complete shot for shot remakes of The First US Visit. This was made by people with deep Beatles knowledge. If I had watched this when I was a teenage fan I wouldn't have gotten 90% of the jokes.

And damn this is cram jammed full of jokes. I almost lost it at "A Cellar Full of Goys"!

Bill Murray the K! Incredible. The casting in this is a work of art.

Oh look, a Beatles podcaster

"Four Oxford history professors on a hitchhiking tour of tea shops in the Rutland area." I don't know, sounds like a great idea for a Beatles movie to me.

Eyyyyyy, there he is! The George character meanwhile is conspicuously under the radar. They gave him Paul is Dead instead of anything of his own! Hmmm

Can't not acknowledge "Things had gotten so bad that both Dirk and Nasty got married. Not to each other! To women." No comment needed.

Is this scene the entire reason Paul didn't like this movie? It is an odd take on Paul. It's almost like someone knew that portraying him as awkward around women would particularly irk him.

“The art had all been dropped out of tall buildings and then put on display” sounds like a plausible modern art exhibit.

The Yoko stand in is a literally Nazi damn!

The feet film! Oh my god, George, what did you tell them??

John Belushi as Alan Klein, another genius casting choice.

I'm just gonna end on this shot of punk Dirk, stand in for glam mullet Paul, my beloved.

What a great time! Even if they did have George spilling the tea to them behind the scenes, I feel like this was made with a lot of love, by and for the hardcore girlies.

[clerichs-xi]

This is long overdue, but here is the ref sheet for Klaus Lierstark! He's the main character of my personal passion project where he's a monster hunter who, due to specific circumstances, lost 10 years of his memory and is working with a demon to get them back. The two of them travel through the mortal realm and through different planes later on, solving different dilemmas and unearthing the greater plots at play in their world. they also discover more about themselves and each other along the way!

Hopefully now that i'm on summer break i can start posting more official stuff for this project of mine!! im so excited to finally have more time in my life to write more for Klaus and his world! i hope you enjoy reading thru it twirls hair stick around if you wanna see his boyfriend's demon patron's ref sheet in about a month hehe

Transcript for the written information on the sheet, expansions on said info, and closeup on details under the cut:

Klaus Lierstark (next to his basic outfit is his height: 6'6 or 200cm)

Human, White and Chinese

46 years old

Lives in the mountains as a monster hunter

10 years ago made a pact with a patron for magic

Recently lost those 10 years of memories

Made a new deal with demon patron that if Klaus acts as [the demon patron's] bodyguard, his patron will endeavour to help Klaus recover his memories

Now traverses the mortal realm with his demon patron, but starts developing feelings beyond the parameters of their agreement

✧ ABILITIES ✧

Enhanced strength and speed

Swift healing

message reception from patron (any distance and interplanar but only one way; Klaus can only receive messages from his patron, not send any)

Limited spellcasting (still in the midst of learning)

Proficiency with virtually all melee weapons

✧ LIKES ✧

Warm, thick clothing

Home cooking; doing it and eating it

Outdoor activities (eg fishing, hunting, hiking)

heavy/strong tasting food and drink

✧ DISLIKES ✧

Complex social situations (eg parties, negotiations; just any event where people's motives aren't immediately obvious and every word matters)

manipulative people/social situations (eg talking to someone who purposely misconstrues what you say to prove a point)

really humid and hot climates

Being idle in the same place/indoors for too long

✧ FUN FACTS ✧

Really high resting body temperature; feels like a furnace 90% of the time (really prone to overheating as a result, even in the mountains)

lactose intolerant

greatly enjoys romantic poetry and stories

most normal guy in the whole story (im not joking thats why hes the protagonist of the story because he's so normal)

Closeup on details:

(i will figure out how to do an image id for the ref sheets hopefully soon! theres so much text here already weeps)

[specialinterestshows]

Get by with a little help from your friend in this latest chapter of my Rhea Ripley x lady!reader fic, Absolute Smokeshow.

Warnings for this section: Anxiety, cannabis (weed), dirty talk

-

Absolute Smokeshow (Part 61 of ?): Sending A Message

“Free for that smoke sesh?”

You stared at the text for a few seconds, hand hovering hesitantly over the “send” button as you sat in your idle car.

The smell of Rhea’s perfume lingered on the passenger’s seat; not unusual, as you had just dropped her off at the airport. It only took about a minute of driving back home before you though of how empty your apartment would be without her.

Now, you were sitting in the parking lot of some strip mall you had pulled into when that wave of loneliness hit, staring at the contact name “Marisol” and your message one more time before hitting send.

A second later, you were dropping your phone as if it had suddenly grown thorns. Bombarded by emotions, you weren’t sure what to do next. The thought of seeing Mari again made you excited and nervous - but part of you felt guilty. Rhea’s plane hadn’t even departed yet and you were already looking for comfort elsewhere.

If you hadn’t just dropped her off, you might have considered messaging Rhea asking if she wanted you to let her know whenever you’re seeing someone. Recalling her yelling at Dominik over the phone months ago for what sounded like telling her too much about his night with another man, you were entirely too anxious about what Rhea’s response might be.

Then again, there was her small confession the night of her surprise visit.

The loud buzz of your phone, lying on the floor where you dropped it, brought you back to the present.

Looking down, you take a deep breath and let out a sigh before picking up your phone. Reluctantly, you turn it over to look at the screen.

“Can’t today, but I’m free tomorrow”

The relief you felt reading Marisol’s reply was instantaneous - you had time. You could even cancel if you needed to.

“Sounds good!” was your reply.

Startling you a bit, your phone buzzed in your hand a second after you hit send. It was one of your friends:

“Is it safe to drop by and hang, or are you still in sex-marathon territory?”

Giggling to yourself, you message back:

“Marathon is over: we both won. Gimme time to drive back from the airport”

Approaching your apartment door a while later, you notice your friend is already waiting for you.

“Where’s your medal, marathon winner? Or is it a trophy?”

Sticking out your tongue, you playfully push past them to unlock the door.

Soon, the two of you were three bowls deep and your friend was acting as moral support for what you wanted to discuss with your girlfriend.

“You’re overthinking it,” your friend insisted, letting out a hit before passing you the bong, “She said she’s trying to change for the better. She wants you to be happy.”

“You’re right,” you sigh, “I just wish knowing that made a difference to my anxiety.”

“You can do this,” they reassured you after a moment, “You’re not alone.”

“I appreciate it,” you smile, but it must not be convincing - your friend was looking at you skeptically.

“So how much are you getting paid?”

“… What?” the question confused you enough that you forgot about the stress for a moment.

“To babysit that bong!” they laughed at their own joke, “C’mon, girl, take a hit.”

Doing your best to roll your eyes, despite your own giggles bubbling up, you brought the bong to your lips and lit the bowl.

Once you were in the middle of blowing smoke rings, passing back the bong, you noticed your phone light up in your periphery. It was Rhea:

“Landed safely, miss you already”

The message ended with her usual black heart, making yours skip a beat.

“Miss you too, Rhe. I love you so much”

After sending your reply, you turn and almost accidentally headbutt your friend, who was presently looking over your shoulder at your phone.

“Jeez, nosy, give a girl some warning,” you joke, pausing before you ask them, “…So where do I go from here?”

The phone buzzes in your hands, making you look down at a new message from your girlfriend:

“I love you too, baby”

Another black heart.

“I think you just… ask,” your friend suggested, “Those “can we talk” messages stress me out.”

Nodding, you take a deep breath and compose a text.

“I was wondering: Do you want me to tell you when I’m going to be seeing someone I might be interested in?”

You stared at your sent text before quickly typing and sending another text explaining:

“I would rather ask than hurt you by making assumptions”

“Nice add-on,” your friend complimented, pulling their supplies closer and turning away to pack another bowl as you re-read your messages. It felt as though time was slowing down as you waited for a response.

Even so, you jumped a bit when the phone finally did buzzed in your hand with Rhea’s response:

“Only if you think you might end up in bed with them. Mami likes to keep tabs on her sluts, without too many details”

Halfway through reading, a second text followed:

“Unless you and Dom-Dom get together without me: then you better tell Mami every filthy thing the two of you did”

Biting your lip at another heart, you jumped again as your friend’s too-close voice unexpectedly commented, “Hot.”

[end part sixty-one of ?]

Part 62: https://www.tumblr.com/specialinterestshows/741216784194076672/absolute-smokeshow-part-62-of-heart-and-sol

-

Tag List (thank you!)

@littlemiss-fanficlover , @babybatlover , @girlofpink , @kagome2909 , @domripley , @wiccanpriestess , @falloutboy-lover , @aut0luminescence

[bratzforchris]

Heyo! I was wondering if you could do a piece about Micheal is reader’s little brother and reader has a crush on Ashton so Micheal has to like… help reader get up the courage to tell Ashton and he also kinda plays matchmaker. Idk if that makes sense but feel free to ignore this! Take care!

<33

Cupid

❃

Summary: Above

Pairing: Ashton x feminine reader+younger brother!Michael

Warnings: Slight cursing

Word Count: 903

A/N: Thank you for the request!

❃

You sighed, peering through the window into the room where the after-school music club was currently meeting. Your younger brother, Michael, was in the club, but that wasn’t the reason you were here. You smiled as you watched the drummer, banging away a hearty tune. 

You’d had a crush on Ashton ever since he had come over to your house with Michael after school. He was beyond sweet and had always talked kindly to you, but you were unsure if he liked you the way you liked him. The honey-blond was currently a senior, while you were a junior and Michael was a sophomore. Sometimes you wondered if Ashton came over to see you, but then would quickly shake the thought from your mind, knowing it was just so he could take your younger brother under his wing. 

You jumped back quickly when the door opened, straightening yourself out like you hadn’t been spying. 

“Hey Y/N. What are you doing here?” Michael asked, coming out of the room and swinging his backpack over his shoulder nonchalantly. 

“Uhhh….nothing. Just waiting for you.” You tried to say casually, ignoring the way your cheeks were flaming. 

“You never wait for me?” Your brother questioned, sweeping his currently-blue-fringe out of his eyes. 

“Well. Today I did.” You huffed, watching the door to see if Ashton would come out. 

Sure enough, the drummer trotted through the door, giggling at something one of the senior girls had said and your heart sank. You knew Ashton probably already had a girlfriend. He was way too kind to not have one. Those thoughts were banished from your mind, though, when he turned to you and Michael. 

“Bye Michael! Bye Y/N!” he said cheerfully, swinging his keys around his finger and walking towards the exit doors. 

It hadn’t been much, but he had still acknowledged you. You couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto your face as you thought about what it would be like to hold Ashton and have him hug you and maybe kiss him. 

“Oh, you so like him.” Michael snorted, looking up from his phone. 

“I do not, you butt!” You protested, pushing his shoulder slightly. 

“Then why do you look like a fucking unicorn just threw up on you?” he asked, texting someone. 

“Ugh,” You groaned. “Whatever. If you want a ride you better hurry.” You told him, speed walking to the parking lot. 

Truth was, you were hoping Ashton hadn’t left yet, but you’d never let Michael know that. He already had enough blackmail on you from the two-minute interaction, no need to give him more. The empty lot proved that the honey-blond had already left and your heart sank. You simply unlocked the doors to your white SUV and got in on the driver’s side. 

“...you know I can help you if you really like him?” Michael asked quietly, getting into the passenger side as you started the car. 

“How are you going to help?” You asked skeptically as you pulled out of the parking lot. 

“I dunno. I can talk to him?”

You looked over at Michael, wondering what his ulterior motives were. “You’d do that?”

“I mean obviously I won’t tell him ‘my sister has a fat crush on you’, but yeah. I’d talk to him.” Michael snorted. 

“If I find out this is some sort of prank, you’re dead.” You said with a hint of joke to your voice. 

“I promise, it’s not,” Michael said earnestly. “Now leave me alone, I’m going to play Call of Duty.” he hopped out of the car and began to walk inside. 

You continued to sit in the car for a few moments, letting it idle. Was Michael really going to play matchmaker for you? You sighed and tried to push all thoughts of Ashton out of your mind, heading inside to start your homework. 

Sure enough, Michael followed through with his word. You were laying in bed, watching Netflix when your phone pinged. Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest when you saw a DM from @ashtonirwin94. 

ash: hey you :)

you: hi ash, what’s up?

ash: nothing much…

ash: would you wanna go get lunch tmrw?

You held your phone to your chest and nearly squealed. Ashton was asking you out? There was no way this was real. Not wanting to leave him on seen for too long, but also not wanting to say yes right away, you crept across the hall to Michael’s room. 

“Mike?” You asked, knocking the door. 

“Yeah?” he called out. 

“Did you tell Ashton to ask me out?”

“No?” Michael opened the door, an astonished look on his face. “I just told him he should talk to you because you both like music and all that weird hippie-dippy shit.” he laughed. 

You squealed, your cheeks turning pink. “You’re the best brother ever!” You smiled, wrapping your arms around his torso. 

Even though Michael was younger than you, he was already almost a foot taller at 6 '2”, compared to tiny, 5' 3” frame. Sometimes it sucked, but it kind of felt awesome, especially right now. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll remember those words next time I eat the last of those pizza rolls.” he told you, slipping his headphones back on and going back to his PC. 

You smiled as you walked back to your room, typing out a text message. 

you: i’d love to<3

⌗

➜ taglist: @lukesbolts @thatmarvelgirly

[andkisses]

♡ hi high | sunoo ♡

today is the day–sunoo either confesses, or he doesn’t, because his heart can’t take much more of this

♡ sunoo x gn!reader | wc. 1.4k ♡ genres/tropes: FLUFF !! mild angst on his part he’s just too in love, artist!college!au if u squint ♡ mentions of/warnings: n/a ♡ a/n: this was originally something i wrote for jisung from skz and had  posted on an old blog which has since been deleted </3 enjoy ! ♡ masterlist ♡

Thoughts bubble up in his head brighter than the colors that surround him, bursting with possibility. He hasn’t seen you all day—he planned it that way. This is all part of his plan, that he has under control and is totally ready to execute.

So why does his stomach turn whenever he takes a step?

Sunoo leans forward, resting an arm against the lemon yellow art lockers to stretch. Why is he even nervous? This morning, in the art composition class you share, where you sit two rows in front of him and one over, he couldn’t even dare send his glance your way. He’s sure he made you worried; he’s normally sending petite paper airplanes over your shoulder with witty jokes about the assignments or the professor’s rant of the day. Heeseung already tried to talk it out of him, running the conversation in circles until he almost succeeded, but Jungwon came in with some sort of distraction. He’s the only one who knew what, exactly, Sunoo’s plans entailed.

He isn’t sure why he picked today, even. Maybe someone else picked it for him. He can’t remember. But it doesn’t matter. He knows that if he doesn’t have a hard deadline, a do-or-die date, he’s never going to commit. He’ll sit in his feelings silently forever and never do anything. How many times had he nearly gone up to you, only to rush past? Or turn the other way? Or simply stop walking altogether?

Surely, you’d seen the way he’d looked at you. You’re so clever, he knows; you have to have noticed. Most days, it was as if you drew up the sun in the morning and set it to bed at night, only to pull out a glossy curtain of stars. Sunoo couldn’t help but watch as you went throughout your day—you shared several classes, having similar enough majors. You got lunch together often and would study for shared exams together at the library. Your friend groups even overlapped. You had to have noticed.

How Sunoo’s heart soars when you’re nearby, and gets despondently sad when you’re away. How he tries to laugh brighter, tell better jokes, try to hide how his hands shake and keep his voice as steady as possible when he teases you back? How being your friend is the best thing in the world.

Falling in love with his best friend wasn’t ever an option in his head, but now he’s here.

He recalls an instance last summer, where everyone had met up to watch fireworks and eat ice cream on the shore. It took one look, and then it was as if Cupid had glued Sunoo’s shoes to the pavement. The way the rich late afternoon lit up your hair, or how your smile seemed even brighter. If he hadn’t already known, Sunoo would have picked that instance to say he had fallen in love. The moment of total clarity.

Somehow, he’s gone from leaning against the lockers to sitting on the floor, back pressed against the chilly metal. A knot forms in his throat and all too suddenly it’s hard to breathe, and everything is all too real. Could he really do this? How many stories had he read, dramas had he watched, where confessing ruins the friendship? Could he manage life without you in it? Your smile, your voice, the sweet scent of your perfume?

Those are all only stories, though.

Right?

The campus clock chimes the top of the hour in the distance. Sunoo knows his own time is running out, sand disappearing through his fingers. The flowers he purchased earlier lay idle by his side, sparking hot pinks and lemon yellows and apple greens. They don’t match the autumn weather outside, the leaves that slowly turn crunchy with the wind that nips and bites at cheeks. Maybe, if he had thought of it, he could have waited for you outside, then he could blame the flush of his face, neck, ears, on the encroaching winter breeze.

Sunoo tries to encourage himself by thinking of things that are harder than this, but that in itself is fairly difficult. Confessing to you—spitting out three simple, itty-bitty words—is harder than the college practice exam he took to get in, or any exam for his major since. At least with that, there were guidelines to follow that, if done correctly, yielded an expected outcome.

With this? With you?

There’s only hope to guide him.

The phone in his back pocket buzzes, but he doesn’t check it. He’s reminded of your text at lunch, while he was deliberately avoiding you. Treats after school? Wednesdays are always cafe days. You two meet up once your afternoon classes have finished and walk to the nearest cafe, order each other’s favorite drinks, and talk about the day. Sunoo’s planning on taking you there as your first official date, should you say yes.

Should you say yes?

He had to ask you before you could have a chance to say no.

He had to ask.

He has to ask.

The sound of his shoes against the newly-polished floor echo against the lockers. Students gathered in small groups working on beginning-of-semester projects offering him a passing glance before returning to their work. Early evening sunlight cuts at harsh angles, but Sunoo doesn’t mind. There’s only one thing he’s focused on—finding you, asking you, telling you. His heart can’t take the secret anymore. He can’t stand being in a room with you and feeling like his entire being was about to burst with how much he adores you.

The distance between the two of you, he decides as his heart pounds, either needs to vanish or become insurmountable. 

The doors press open and Sunoo realizes he didn’t put his cardigan back on, it’s still tied around his waist, and the early autumn winds claw at his button down’s white sleeves. He’ll have time to do it later, he decides. He’ll have time to do a bunch later. The flowers also aren’t in his hands, left behind on the floor by the lockers, but he knows there’ll be other times to buy you more.

He’d buy you the whole world if he could. 

His nerves dare him to stop, turn back, call off cafe day. His heart pushes him forward, blood rushing in his ears. You’re consuming his thoughts. He knows where to find you;it’s where you always wait. He barely registers Jungwon walking away from you, his seemingly casual glance and wink in Sunoo’s direction. It's a good luck. It’s a go get ’em. It’s the last bit of encouragement Sunoo needs.

“Why did you run? It wasn’t like I’d leave without you.” You laugh, and it sounds like bells to Sunoo. You sock him in the arm, but he doesn’t feel that either. Your gaze shifts from teasing to concerned. “Sunoo... are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just…” Sunoo stands up straight, reaches for your hands, and stops himself. The words get tangled on his tongue and he blinks slowly to catch his breath. This is it. The point of no return, and even though he hasn’t said anything, you’re clever; he knows you know something is happening. The wind blows a lock of hair into your face and, for once, Sunoo doesn’t freeze. Doesn’t stop himself or hold himself back. His hand reaches up, fingertips catching the flyaway strands and tucking them safely behind your ear. When his attention turns back to you, it seems that you’re the one who’s frozen up.

He takes both of your hands lightly in his his, fingers grasping yours with his thumbs on your knuckles. “I have something to tell you.” He curses the slight shake at the end of his words, but your hand is still so warm, even after waiting in the cold for him. Which must be why your cheeks are red, too. Because of the chill in the air?

Or maybe…

All you manage is a small “Oh?” and it’s enough to send Sunoo over the edge. This is it. There’s really no going back. He breathes deep, closing his eyes, before exhaling, the words falling out. I like you. “I like you a lot.” He’s afraid to open his eyes, but your hand hasn’t pulled away, so Sunoo dares to look.

Your eyes are wide, and your breath seems to have gotten stuck, and now Sunoo’s sure he’s messed up somehow. Fear creeps up his neck, sticking needles where even the wind can’t bite, and he’s about to pull his hand away when you tug him close. Your shocked expression turns to one of joy, and you stretch up on your toes to press a small, chaste kiss to the apple of Sunoo’s cheek, and now it’s his turn to look surprised.

You sink back onto your heels with a large smile, lacing your fingers in between his. “I thought you’d never tell me.”

[izukuwus]

Koi no Yokan 6: hide behind whatever you can (Nishinoya Yuu x Reader)

First - Prev - Next - M.list - Ao3

Summary: As exam week drags on, you spend the time out of practice and largely being bothered by your latest pastime.

Warnings: general series warnings

Word count: ~3000

Exam week drags on. You wonder a million times over the course of the week whether you made the right decision in joining, whether it's a good idea to even keep talking to Noya. He's nice, whatever his intentions are don't seem malicious, but the problem with having friends who insist on knowing you is that at some point he's going to want to actually know you. And now he has your number, which he's using liberally.

Each morning the week of exams, you get a text: good morning! Please marry me!. Even though he doesn't track you down before school, though it'd be easy, he goes out of his way to say that much to you and leaves you alone unless you reach out to him first.

And you, lonely in the afternoons like you always are, always reach out.

[name] to Noya at 16:15

[name]: I don't think I'm allowed to bully you for the popsicle thing anymore

Noya: oh PLEASE tell

[name]: [image attached. Image description: a bowl of cooked white rice with what appears to be a handful of crushed potato chips piled on top.]

[name]: this is what the 4pm dinner of CHAMPIONS looks like. I should go to culinary school

Noya: oh yeah there's no way I'm letting you bully me for the popsicles ever again

Noya: why are you eating dinner at 4pm???

[name]: bored

Noya: come over then. I own at least one video game

[name]: no I have this luscious spread of food

[name]: I worked so hard to put rice in the rice cooker and then ruin it with spicy potato chips

[name]: how do you know I even care about video games???

Noya: you called volleyball *pvp don't let the ball touch the floor*

Noya: *pvp*

Noya: that's gamer words, [name]-san

[name]: …I can’t believe this

Noya: don't you wanna see Soba and her toe socks? :(

Noya: she's pacing around the house

Noya: she misses you already

[name]: …fine alright I'll come over when I'm done eating my Sad Rice Surprise GOD

[name]: bribing me with a cat.

[name]: unbelievable.

You only come over twice that week, but the rest of the time is interspersed with stupid jokes, cursed dinners you just threw together, and idle chatter just to keep your brain off of how quiet your house is. Once while you're making dinner, he calls, which forces you to make a real dinner instead of doing fucked up shit to a bowl of rice.

The entire time, he asks questions. They're half-prying, you think, little things like what are your hobbies and do you like to cook?

"I don't, really," you admit, stirring a pot absently. "I like all the individual actions, and I like making a meal come together, but I don't like putting in all this effort if I'm the only one eating it. Food only tastes good if someone else gets to eat it, you know?"

"But you get to eat it. And what about your dad?"

Silence stretches between you as you look for a reply. "He usually gets convenience store bentos instead of eating my food. I guess I'm probably not that good at cooking, haha!" That's great. Saying haha out loud is super convincing.

"That can't be right. You sent me a picture of your dinner earlier this week that looked like some real gourmet shit."

"What, the plain white rice topped with hot chips? Or the fried rice that I overseasoned?"

"Yeah!" He pauses. "If you bring me some at school, then someone else gets to eat it, right?"

"…are you just trying to get me to cook for you?"

"Guilty." You can hear him smile over the phone.

Still, it's… not a bad idea. "Fine. Lunch tomorrow after exams?"

"Deal! I'll come pick you up."

You smile, fall back into easy chatter as you add some spices to the pot. "Then I'll see you tomorrow."

~

As the final final exam closes and you are all dismissed for a short lunch, Yachi scrambles to grab a folder from her bag and approach you. She drops the folder on your desk, closed, her eyes alight with excitement as she speaks.

"I picked these up from the print shop last night!" she says. "Are you free to put them up with me after school? Or tomorrow, maybe?"

"Oh, shoot, the posters? Let me see!"

She grins, opens the folder to show you what she settled on, and shit. They're super fucking professional-looking. They barely look like a high schooler was involved at any stage of the process. The lights of the volleyball gym shine a halo around Hinata's form. He's at the peak of his jump, preparing to spike. The words, The Crows return to the national skies once again and Return of the "Little Giant" frame him, a neat little box at the bottom including information about the request for donations and how to contact Takeda-sensei about donating to cap it off.

"What the hell, Yachi-san?" you breathe. "These are amazing. You made these?"

They're… really amazing.

You swallow down the lump in your throat. What have you done for the club? It's not like you're gonna be able to take credit for helping put them up. You wouldn't, anyway—all that's gonna entail is going around a couple shops and handing them out to willing shopkeepers. Hardly anything like this.

"You know how I said my mom runs a design company?" She rubs the back of her neck. "She's taught me a little here and there. Honestly, my first draft was no good at all, so she helped me think about it a little more, but…"

"But you made them," you finish. "You're amazing."

She goes fully red at that. "Eh? Um, n-no, that's not…"

"Woah," Noya breathes from behind you.

You yelp, jerk away from him. "Dude, you can't just—"

He laughs softly, eyes trained on the poster Yachi's shown you. "These are amazing!"

Yachi shifts nervously, avoiding both your eyes. "Um, thank you both."

"These are for the volleyball club?"

"All Yachi-san's doing. I'm gonna help her put them up… you said after school today, right?"

She nods, wringing her hands together. "Only if you're not busy."

"Not at all. Let's do it."

"Oh! Great!" She glances at Noya. "Um, Nishinoya-san, you came to steal [surname]-chan away, I'm guessing?"

He nods, beaming. "Someone promised me."

You laugh. "Right, right. Yachi-san, we'll talk later?"

She nods, and Noya barely lets you grab your bag before he's dragging you out of the classroom. He speaks brightly as he pulls you along—apparently towards the roof. The rainy season isn't quite over yet, but it's close enough and sunny out, so you'll let him have this. "Those posters Yachi-san made really do look professional. We're gonna look so cool with those!"

"Yeah." It comes out perhaps more bitterly than you'd meant for it to—you're not bitter, really. Really.

He pauses. Eyes you. "You okay?"

"Yeah, sorry. It's the last day of exams and I'm just a little exhausted, that's all."

The look on his face says he doesn't believe you, but he can't press it if you don't let him. You force a smile, pick up your pace so you're dragging him along. "Come on. You wanna try my cooking, right?"

~

His first bite of your food earns you another marriage proposal, thoughtless and breezy. You can't help but notice, as you sit and share lunches, that Noya isn't how he usually is—not quite as bright, not quite as high-energy.

Maybe you should ask him what's wrong. Then again, you don't really deserve to ask about it when you won't tell him anything real about yourself.

You push the last bite of food around your bento before sliding it to him. "Here. You get the last of it."

"Really? Thanks!" He snaps it up and talks with his mouth full once he has. "You really are a good cook, you know."

"Thanks."

"You're sounding all down again. What's up with you?"

"What's up with you? You're the one who's acting all like… normal-key."

"Normal-key."

"Yeah. You're normally high-key. Right now you're acting like a normal person. It's weird."

He sighs. "You actually noticed?"

"Of course I did. What's up?"

"That last exam kicked my ass. I don't think I'm going to Tokyo."

"What? Of course you are."

"I don't believe you," he grumbles. "I think it's cruel and unusual punishment to make us do all the exams back to back. Of course my brain was gonna shut down by the end."

"Why do you think you're gonna fail?"

"I'm not cut out for this! I was able to sort of focus with someone there to keep me on track, but the rest of the time I just get distracted and—and even during the stupid test it's like my brain just refuses to focus on that stuff!" He tosses his hands out in frustration.

You reach forward, pat his arm reassuringly. "You've been working hard. Did you finish the exam?"

"Barely. I didn't get to finish checking over my answers like you told me to, but the half I was able to check seemed alright when I could actually get my brain on them."

"Half is passing. More than passing, actually. You and Tanaka-senpai have both been working really hard, you know? And I was there for enough of it that I can say for certain—you're a smart guy. You're gonna be fine."

"[name]-san…"

You pull back, only for him to catch your wrist.

"Will you still marry me even if I fail my exams?"

"You're not going to fail. But yes, if you ask me nine hundred and seventy-five more times, I'll think about it."

"Yes! Okay, so, that aside—what's up with you, really? Don't think I didn't notice you trying to deflect earlier."

"See?" you grin as the warning bell for the end of lunch sounds. "Smart."

You do not let him wriggle an answer out of you. Today, you escape with your life.

~

Yachi seems to blossom as your outing together stretches on. Some shops, you enter together, always the same script: Hi! We're managers for the Karasuno volleyball club and the club is currently looking for donations to fund us as we work towards Nationals. Would it be okay if we left this poster with you to hang up?

Invariably, the answers are positive, especially after seeing the posters. On occasion, the two of you will split up, one of you taking the establishments next to or across the street from one another, but every time you enter together, you can tell how much more confident she is already.

This is good for her.

The constant compliments on her professional-level work bolster her. The good response to the poster-hanging requests has her shoulders relaxing more and more. You think that, probably, once she gets used to manager stuff, it'll be second nature to her. She'll grow into this role beautifully, and by her third year she'll probably be just as ethereal as Shimizu is to you now.

You keep your charming little smile on your face and speak politely as you distribute posters. By the time it's getting late enough to think about dinner, you're basically done. You briefly consider asking if she wants to grab dinner at one of the places nearby, since you're already in town, but instead you walk her to the bus with that same strained smile.

"Thank you so much for your help! I don't think I could have gotten all those handed out without you."

You laugh, shake your head. "Nah, you would've been fine. You're a natural at this stuff."

"What? B-but I was completely falling apart at the start there. If I didn't have you to work off of, I would never have been able to get the words out right and probably would have totally gotten shut down."

"Uh, not once they actually looked at the posters. Did you hear any of those shopkeepers talking about them? I'm telling you, they're amazing. You probably didn't even need to say anything and they would've put them up anyway."

She rubs the back of her neck, cheeks red. Of course she has to be cute, too. She's done all this cool stuff, and you haven't even gotten a fucking permission slip signed.

"I-it's sort of amazing hearing you praise me so highly," she admits. "I mean, you never seem to try really hard at anything, but you just get it."

You blink. "Uh, no. I'm—trying a lot harder than I'd like to admit. It's probably the reason I don't have the energy to get excited about anything. I use it all trying to do stuff well and hiding the fact that I'm trying."

"What? But, you're so cool, though! I mean, you've got Nishinoya-senpai head over heels for you! And you've probably got it together better than anyone else I know! I mean, during practices you're always saving me from getting hit and stuff and I can barely react at all until I would've already been hit… I think you're probably way better at this than me. And you're already starting to get everything with volleyball, right? You follow along way better than I do during practice."

You shrug. "That's just because Noya-senpai took the time to explain it to me. We could always sit down and compare notes over lunch or something so we both understand it better, now that we're not tutoring?"

She smiles, nods. The bus arrives, and you wave her off, turning to make the trek back to your house in silence.

You'll probably quit once she's confident enough to stand on her own. At least they'll have a good manager to rely on.

~

You survive the weekend the way you always do, but suddenly, it's intolerable. You pace restlessly around the house for the first few hours alone, and then put on shoes and go running, half-expecting Noya to materialize out of nowhere to run with you. But he doesn't.

You've given yourself until Monday to get a signed permission slip for the Tokyo games.

There's a chance that your father comes home this weekend, so you spend most of the weekend pacing and hoping he will, permission slip in hand. It takes hours, too many, until you're once again waking up on the couch to find him standing in the doorway, hurt in his eyes.

"Can you sign my permission slip?" you ask in lieu of a real greeting. "It's for some away games for the volleyball club. We're going to Tokyo."

"Tokyo? Wait, volleyball club?"

You raise up the paper. "Yeah. I'm pretty sure it's blanket permission for later games and stuff, too. But, you know, you said it was a good idea the other day, so it'd be nice if I could actually participate." The lie doesn't even taste bad in your mouth.

"Oh, right. When did I say that?"

"When you gave me the debit card for groceries? What, were you just completely ignoring me?"

"I'm sorry," he says. He sounds like he means it. "Here, I'll sign it. Tell me about your volleyball club. Are you playing, or…" He takes the paper from you, scribbles on the appropriate lines.

"Managing for the boys' team."

"Really?" he raises an eyebrow. "Those boys nice?"

The surge of temper startles even you. "Yeah, 'too-san, they're really nice."

"I see," he says, and that's it. No more prying, no weird protectiveness you've always hated the idea of but seem to want to hear now, no questions. Just I see and a signed permission slip. Just easy lies.

That night, during the short period in which you're out of your mind, you reach for your phone.

[name] to Noya at 01:37

[name]: if this is stupid please ignore it

[name]: but when you see this can I have a picture of sobas toe beans?

[name]: its important

~

Noya to [name] at 06:12

Noya: [image attached. Image description: the underside of Soba the cat's front paw. One toe bean is black, while the rest are pink.]

Noya: [image attached. Image description: the same cat paw, except a single fingertip is pressing into it from off-camera. The paw pad squishes around the fingertip.]

Noya: wanna talk about it?

[name]: would it be completely impossible for you to believe I just wanted to see her beans at one in the morning?

[name]: they're good beans, senpai

Noya: you're right, they ARE good beans

~

He meets you as he usually does. On the way to practice that morning, he doesn't press about the night's bean request, simply chats you up like everything's the same as it has been. You fire back as best as you can manage, but your mood just won't seem to lift.

Morning passes like normal, and classes drag on. It feels a little pointless to be in classes right after finals like this when the term ends in a couple of weeks, but a lot of things feel a little pointless. You get used to it. Lunch, you consider talking to Yachi, but she's busy talking to her friends, so you pick over your food alone, staring out the window.

And then there's afternoon practice.

Though one or two guys complain about the heat, Daichi insists, and so everyone's wearing their jackets for your and Yachi's official induction. They display the backs proudly as Shimizu dispenses a club jacket of your own to each of you, shout a welcome that would have scared you shitless a few short weeks ago.

You look at the back of your new jacket, the white Karasuno High School Volleyball Club embroidered there, stark against the black. Bow. Give them the polite "I look forward to working with you!" and move on.

That night, walking home, Noya says: "Oh, right. I meant to ask this earlier, but I didn't want to ruin the moment."

"Dare I ask?"

"You were smiling really nice when you got your club jacket. Will you marry me?"

You pull the jacket in question tight around your shoulders and look away without answer.

Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory

[ghastlybin]

Hello love! Can I request G idle x reader reaction where they see the reader is uncomfortable with someone talking to them in a club or party and they pretend they know the reader? ot6 please 🥺

Hell yeah I can do OT6! Also first reaction milestone :,) I hope I did this right lol I’m sorry if it’s not very good, you can blame it on me being sick. As always, thank you for your request 🫶

TW: harassment, creepy person, if you’ve had an experience like what was described in the ask- I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

Note: I’ve never been to a club so if anything is inaccurate, blame it on me being sick. Also everyone is gender neutral (except idle). I know people who have been harassed by men and I know people who have been harassed by women so, again, I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. Also, I’m kinda bad at describing people that already exsist because I’m afraid of getting a detail wrong. please forgive me.

You had originally come to have fun. Music, dancing, food, and drinks. A night to just be free.

Until you found yourself being followed around by a creep, who insisted on getting your number or trying to get you to let them “take you home”. You resisted every advance and made up as many excuses as you could think of.

“Come on, why are you so stubborn?” The creep was getting mad. Upset, even, to the point you were fearing for your safety.

Soyeon

“And why are you harassing my partner?” A woman a lot shorter than the person harassing you appeared, stepping between you and the creep harassing you.

You felt relief as the creep reluctantly walked away and left you alone.

“Are you okay?” She asked, tentatively. You gave her a quick nod, feeling better now that she was there.

“Good. A second longer and I’d be calling an ambulance.” She paused, “and it wouldn’t be for me.”

You laughed, imagining her getting in a fight, even if she was joking. She held out her hand with a smile.

“I’m Soyeon.”

You shook her hand.

“I’m Y/N.”

Miyeon

You felt a soft tug on your arm, turning to see a woman you’d never met before. She appeared to have a confused glare shooting at the person harassing you.

“I have been looking for you all night.” She spoke towards you yet loud enough for the person to hear her.

They got the hint and walked off with a defeated huff. Still, the woman helping you had pulled you away from that area of the club and out of sight in case that person came back.

“Thank you.” You sighed a breath of relief. “I was starting to get scared.”

“I saw. You looked very uncomfortable so I figured you didn’t know that person.” She glanced around the place at other party-goers.

“My name is Miyeon, by the way.” She introduced herself once the coast was clear.

Minnie

“Hey, my love. So sorry I took long, it was like the whole city was in the restroom.” A woman with a sweet smile came up beside you, putting her arm around you.

“And you need to leave my darling alone before I call for security.”

You smirked watching the creep walk away.

“I hope you didn’t mind me being your girlfriend for a minute there.” She moved in front of you, the same sweet smile on her face directed toward you.

“Not at all.” Your heart fluttered saying that.

“I’m Minnie.” She introduced herself, her cheeks tinting in the color of a rose.

“I’m Y/N.”

Yuqi

“Hey! You told me you were going to the restroom!” A woman with curly hair walked up to you two, noticing your discomfort.

“Who are you? And why are you talking to my partner?! They’re mine!” She looped her arm around yours, tugging you in the direction of her friends.

She looked back to make sure you both weren’t being followed. To your relief, you weren’t.

“My name is Yuqi. You can say you know me.” She spoke in a hushed voice in case any more creeps lingered.

“My name is Y/N. Thank you.”

Yuqi smiled at you, allowing you to sit with her friends.

“This is Y/N. They are my partner for tonight.”

Shuhua

“You’re the one being stubborn!”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. And to the harasser's dismay, they were surprised too when a woman came up beside you with a protective hand on your shoulder.

“Uh… I-“

“What are you still doing here?! They are my partner! Not yours! I will call security if I see you near them again!” She shot glares into the person’s face as they walked away.

She let out a heavy sigh, her hand still on your shoulder.

“I’m Shuhua. Are you okay?” Her anger dissolved into a more kind demeanor. You almost didn’t believe she was the same person from a moment ago.

“Yes… I’m Y/N.”

Shuhua smiled, “What do you say we enjoy the rest of tonight?”

Soojin

You tried to leave, but the fear froze you in place. That was until a woman stepped in, leading you away.

“Are you okay?” She asked you in a whisper after leaning close enough to you in the loud club.

“Who are you?!” The creep asked, more upset by the fact you were getting away.

“It’s none of your business!” She ushered you away faster until you two were standing near a security guard.

“Now are you okay?” She asked again. You felt secure upon noticing the creep did not like that you were near a security guard and therefore did not continue to interact with you.

“Yes, thank you so much. I really should’ve-“

“No. It’s not your fault some people don’t understand boundaries.” She interrupted.

She put her hands on your shoulders, “would you like some company for the rest of the night?”

“Sure.” You accepted. She smiled, leading you to the dance floor, yet near another security guard just in case.

“My name is Soojin! What about you?” She danced to the beat of the song playing overhead.

“I’m Y/N!”

[woundlingus]

do you still take prompts? if yes how about wing kink sabriel but reverse!au? please and thanks

SORRY THIS TOOK ME FOREVER 😭 hate being a working girly, but I came I saw I conquered- or as the great poet Pitbull says, I saw I conquered I came.

Angel!SamxHunter!Gabriel wingkink, Enjoy ❤️

“Can I touch them?”

The question that started it all, the slow unraveling.

It had come so innocuously, as innocuous as someone like Gabriel could be. Sam had complained of an ache, the weighing of the mortal plane on his incorporeal form, and it had piqued a curiosity in the hunter.

If they can hurt, are they physical?

That wasn’t such an easy question to answer, but before Sam could even open his mouth to begin the explanation of the physical manifestation of God’s divine will, he could already see Gabriel’s eyes begin to haze over with disinterest; and so, he simply said yes. Yes, they can be.

“Can I touch them?”

Sam hadn’t answered, and he didn’t get it in the moment when Gabriel had smirked at him. What was there to smirk about? A lack of answer was the answer, Gabriel had clearly interpreted it wrong- interpreted it sexually, no doubt. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why someone chosen to be so holy was possibly the most vulgar human on the planet.

“Can I touch them?”

The very idea was abhorrent. Angels did not touch one another on the wing, they were not primates in need of grooming. Frankly, Sam was a little disgusted that Gabriel would even suggest such a faux pas… Though, a week had passed and Gabriel hadn’t so much as looked at him funny about, so he’d likely forgotten all about it. Just another of his “funny” jokes.

So why was it then, that it was still on Sam’s mind?

Sam had seen Gabriel touch others; the lingering of his hand on the waist of women in bars, and the subtle slip of it lower that always roused a drunken soft giggle out of the both of them; the press of his lips to those of other men in the backseat of his car, and the way he clung to hair and shirt like it wasn’t possible for him to ever get close enough; he’d even seen Gabriel lay hands on himself, one hand up under his shirt and the other down his pants, mouth open and exhaling unholy ecstasy. Gabriel was his charge, he was meant to supervise him and there was nothing particularly unusual about his sexual habits that differed him from any other human on the planet- except one thing, the uneasy weight of shame that sat low in Sam gut when he watched it happen. Like he should feel bad for what he was doing.

That had… never happened before. Humans were just like any other creature, they procreate, he’d seen it ample times. But something about standing in the presence of Gabriel sinking his fingers into the soft flesh of breast, and drinking his fill of the tender curve of waist with the length of his tongue up the navel… it filled him with a burning shame, one which drove him to avert his gaze and found he could not.

Gabriel made the simple act of touch look like a religious experience, in all the times he’d sat as invisible bystander he’d not once seen a companion walk away displeased. Gabriel devoured them like a man starving, with a wanton grin and hands that scoured every inch of his lover’s frame to eke out a beautiful melody that had Sam’s own lips parted like he wanted to join the chorus to a song he did not know how to sing.

“Can I touch them?”

Sam sat idle in the backseat of the car with the Shirley boys, and watched them like a scientist might have watched their favourite lab rats in a beloved experiment. Gabriel was an affectionate person, and he lavished this on his own kin as well as his lovers.

Gabriel let go of the wheel with one hand to knock his fist playfully against Castiel’s shoulder, and laughed with his brother as he reached across to smack him upside the head. Arguing lightheartedly about antics Sam cares not for, all he can see is Gabriel’s hand, he watches it land on Castiel’s knee and squeeze.

Sam stares intently at Gabriel’s hand, waiting for it to happen- the magic, for the feeling of shame and confusion to return to his own gut; and instead finds it woefully empty at the interaction.

Castiel smacks it away, and they continue on driving despite the sudden flap of wings in the backseat alerting them their angel friend had departed for the day.

“Can I touch them?”

How, Sam had begun to wonder, would Gabriel touch them?

He imagined the soft hand he had seen Gabriel curl in the hair of Castiel as he’d dissolved into tears against his brother’s chest, and imagined it instead in his own feathers and felt a heat rise to his chest, a warm flutter. Perhaps that wouldn’t be so unpleasant. If Sam opened up to Gabriel about his fears and anxieties, would the man comfort him too?

He imagined that hand tightening to form a fist, the slight sharp tug of feathers Sam should associate with foul play, dirty fighting, assault. He imagined Gabriel could pull at his feathers with the intent of hurting him- not that he could- but he might try, and then he might make that soft sigh that replayed over and over in his mind, the almost purr of contentment. He imagined Gabriel might cling at his wings like he he clung to hair and shirts, and wiggle those fingers between every bladed feather to drag his nails along the soft flesh beneath, and the warm flutter in his chest sunk low back into the pit of his gut.

He began to wonder what was so wrong with him that he was beginning to welcome that feeling.

“Can I touch them?”

Sam thought about Gabriel attempting to take it by force, the sin that had them wipe cities entirely from history. Surely it might just take some of the pressure off, Gabriel would grab him and then Sam would just know in that moment and it wouldn’t be his fault, because Gabriel was a lustful man. But if Sam knew that, and continued to flirt the possibility of allowing Gabriel to try then he knew deep down God would not see it so plainly as he.

Maybe Gabriel would try, and Sam would stop him. Sam would hold those wrists with all his divine strength and keep him tethered to the ground and unable to move, desperate and begging for Sam to let him go, ‘oh please just let him go, allow him the grace of just one touch’. Gabriel could cant his hips, and tremble at Sam’s might, and Sam would deny him until he writhed with agony. It would torture Gabriel, and he might learn his lesson.

As though Gabriel were the sinful one here, and not simply the product of an imagination that was beginning to woefully spin out of Sam’s control.

“Can I touch them?”

Holding his breath, standing before the mirrored reflection of his nude vessel, Sam unfurled his wings. Gently, he pressed calloused finger tips to skin, tracing the hardened outline of muscle and allowed the physiological response of a shudder to rush over the body. It was an attractive one, he wasn’t unaware that humans of all genders observed him in a sexual manner when he passed them by, nor could he possibly be oblivious to the way Gabriel openly stared at his ass.

The wings, though. Sam’s were simple. Dean’s were something glorious to behold, and despite how often Sam would chide him for it, Dean was quite boastful of the beauty of them as well. Sam’s were mundane colours, he could be a common sparrow for all anyone cared.

He stretched them to their full extent, held them sparingly above the height of his small mortal frame like he hoped to come across as intimidating, and then curled them softly around his body as though he were coy. Coy felt… better. He could imagine Gabriel finding him like that, and he would hide his shame with the plume of his feathers, just for the little asshole to shove his way through.

Sam tangled a hand in his own feathers, and felt that pooling sensation in his gut collect and interest the anatomy hanging between his legs. He gave it a curious pull, and gasped.

“Can I touch them?”

Gabriel glanced up from where he’d been haphazardly stuffing his belongings away in a duffle bag, glancing down at the balled up shirts in his hands and raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the angel,

“You want to touch my shirts?”

Stupid idiot. Sam was about ready to fly off in a big flap about it, abandon the foolish idea of the possibility of Gabriel touching him, the idiot clearly didn’t deserve it. But the ache in his chest had him plant his feet, and try again.

“That’s what you said to me. A couple weeks ago.”

There was a sort of slowness to Gabriel sometimes that Sam held a great affection for on most occasions, the way he’d furrow his brow in concentration as he tried to catch up- this time it bothered him greatly, antsy, wanting Gabriel to acknowledge him already. It felt like forever when the memory finally dawned on his face.

“Oh yeah,” Gabriel mused and returned to his packing, tossing the full bag over with the rest of his things. “I remember that. You ran away.”

“I did not run away.”

He says it so fast that Gabriel immediately starts to smirk again, that mischievous little “all knowing” look he got to him like he always knew everyone’s great secret and shame. He sounded defensive, and they both knew it.

“Sure, whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night.”

“I don’t sleep at night.”

Gabriel stopped what he was doing to cross the threshold between them, standing toe to toe with Sam with his arms crossed,

“You couldn’t possibly have come all the way here to talk wings just to have a fight with me… What do you want, Sam?”

There it is, the purr.

Sam had gotten good at being able to tell when Gabriel was making fun of him, often he flirted with him just because if amused him in a strange sort of way, perhaps the delight in making a divine creature squirm. But Gabriel watched him now with a gaze so steady and sure that Sam truly couldn’t tell if he was being made fun of. He hoped again that this human may read his mind, and just touch him so he would know… But Gabriel didn’t, and left the silence lingering and loud. He wanted to hear Sam say it.

“I suppose I want to know… If you still think about it?”

That wasn’t quite true, but it was enough just to dip his toes into the water to gauge Gabriel’s reaction, to watch the slow softening of his features at Sam’s question. The tension dissolving from Gabriel’s shoulders, and the curious tilt of his head as he weighed up what it was he wanted to say, all with the slow roll of his tongue over his lip.

He caught Sam staring, and he grinned.

“All the time,” Gabriel answered, and Sam could tell he was being honest. “I think about how soft they might be, how large your wings might span… I think about petting them, letting my hands drift through them like a cloud.”

That sounds nice, it brings the flutter back to Sam’s chest, which hardened into a large thump of his heart in his throat as Gabriel took a step in closer and the softness to his face gave way to a darkness.

“I think about the space between them, and how it would feel to kiss muscle and bone I don’t understand. I think about holding them, right here,” Gabriel tells Sam, reaching around him to cart his fingers over the jutting of his shoulder blades. “And pushing you down on my bed. I think about all that hair you’ve got, and how pretty it would look all messed up in the pillows, and I think about you letting me do the same to your wings.”

Sam opens his mouth to say something, do something, correct the behaviour before it gets out of hand… but all that comes out is a humiliatingly needy croak.

“Do you want me to touch them, Sam?”

Gabriel says it like the first time he’d asked Sam if he could touch them, like it was something innocuous, innocent. But the way Gabriel watched him was anything but, like he already knew the answer, and just found it sexy to hear the words out of his holiness.

Sam unfurled his wings for Gabriel, curling them around his body to tempt him into taking, and all he managed to accomplish was making the hunter grin at him almost feral.

“Oh, you want me to touch them so badly, don’t you?” Gabriel crooned, trailing his fingers down to the small of Sam’s back and away from where he truly wanted it. “Look at you, presenting yourself so pretty for me, hm? I know what you’re doing, Sam. I won’t make this so easy for you. Want me? You gotta tell me. Take responsibility for it.”

Sam towered with the full height of his vessel over Gabriel’s small frame and glowered down at him, a tinge of grace glowing faintly to him, like he could threaten something like Gabriel into submission… When all he was really achieving was adding fuel to the flames.

“Is that how it is, huh? You trying to scare me?” Gabriel laughed, tilting his head back to meet Sam’s challenge. Not that he was unafraid, he’d be an idiot not to tremble just a little at the way Sam imposed himself over him, he was just more sure that Sam wouldn’t hurt him than he was afraid that he could.

“Don’t pretend, because I know something you don’t know,” Gabriel told him, his tone sing songy, a mockery.

Sam didn’t think he liked that, not one ounce.

“What do you know?”

Gabriel wound a fist in the front of Sam’s shirt and gently tugged it, and Sam followed it down against his better judgement so Gabriel could murmur against his ear,

“I know you watch me.”

Sam feels the blood in his vessel turn to ice in his veins, making his whole body go rigid stiff. He couldn’t. He couldn’t know that, Sam had always been careful to never make himself visible or create sound. He couldn’t know.

“You’re always around, Sammy dear. You’ve got an interesting smell I’ve learned… it’s like, the air in the room suddenly gets cleaner whenever you’re around, I can smell the difference. One time, perhaps a coincidence. Twice? It could happen. But as many times as you’ve watch me?” Gabriel tsked against his ear like he was chiding a small child instead of one of God’s most elite warriors. “You’re a naughty boy, Sam.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam told him, a pathetic lie really, it would’ve been less humiliating to say nothing at all because from the very first syllable his speech was dripping with a breathlessness that shouldn’t have been possible for an angel.

“Yes you do,” Gabriel corrected, “You’re not fussy; boys, girls… it’s all the same to you, just so long as I’m doing one thing in particular. Giving. You want me to give a little for you? Touch those pretty wings?”

Sam turned away in the hopes Gabriel wouldn’t catch the way his breathing hitched at the word “pretty”. His approval meant more than he’d wanted it to, the idea that he was appealing, attractive… that he was something Gabriel wanted to not just gaze upon but enjoyed the sight of.

It was pathetic, this game. Sam resigned.

Leaning down to meet the eye level of Gabriel’s short stature, Sam glared hard for a moment, one last ditch effort of scaring Gabriel into submission, and when he didn’t he let the facade melt away into a desperate pleading,

“Touch me.”

That’s all Gabriel needed, that was perfect. The whine in the voice of an angel, begging for his hands to take him apart beneath him.

Sam gasped with the electric feeling of Gabriel’s hands finding the base of his wings, he sure wasn’t shy about it at all, near no hesitation as he got to exploring Sam’s body- his actual body, not just the one he pretended was him; and was embarrassed at just how needy he really was underneath all the bravado.

Gabriel was so skilled with those deft fingers, pushing their way through feathers to find skin, gasping against Sam’s ear at the slickness he found at the tips of his fingers and rubbing the gland oil between them and his thumb, and before Sam could begin to explain or apologise, Gabriel was already lifting his fingers to his mouth to explore the taste of him.

He wasn’t even touching Sam, and still he moaned.

He was a big guy, even just measuring him by human size he was a big guy, but Gabriel handled him like he was nothing at all and as light as a feather. Grabbing him by the waist to spin him around, and maybe if Sam was still hanging on to any sort of higher brain function after watching that pretty pink tongue wrap itself around fingers to taste the slick of his wing oil he wouldn’t have been moved quite so easily, but when Gabriel pressed a hand between his wings and pushed him he went down like it was nothing at all; face pressed to the mattress, legs ass up, and his wings gloriously spread out before Gabriel like a feast for his creativity and curiosity.

Sam was a fool to think that being subjected to the touch of Gabriel was something easy to withstand, despite his festering grudge against those who happened to fall into Gabriel’s bed at any given point in time, he was beginning to form some what of an appreciate for their resilience. Because Gabriel was indeed a hungry man, only tonight, Sam was on the table.

Wings were a feast he was unaccustomed to, so much space and anatomy he didn’t yet understand and yet approached it with the same interest and vigour he would the ample swell of a lovers ass. With groping, and he wasn’t shy about it. Digging his fingers in at any given sound Sam made just to hear it again and again until he was satisfied at how Sam was writhing and clawing at the bedsheets, fingers slick and covered in wing oil, and his cock maddeningly hard against Sam’s back.

He could feel that too, the firm bulge restricted by jeans, and the way Gabriel rocked his hips every now and then like he was trying to be subtle- almost as though he were shy of it in the presence of Sam, like he didn’t quite know yet if he should go all the way despite how he was making Sam desperately grind his hips against the mattress for some friction on his own cock.

That wouldn’t do, Sam wanted to be consumed. So with far more indecency than an angel should ever display, with far more indecency than he was sure any angel had ever displayed, he arched his back to present his ass up toward Gabriel, and in the least broken and tearful way he could possibly manage he begged him just one more time,

“Please, touch me.”

How could Gabriel tell him no? When the poor angel was rock hard for the first time in his life and swaying his hips back and forth wantonly seeking for something to fill him, make him whole.

“If I go to Hell again for this, I’m going a happy man,” Gabriel murmured mostly to himself as he hooked his fingers under the waistband of Sam’s pants and underwear, lowering them both down in one fell swoop to expose Sam’s skin to the air and watched it prickle with an almost human anticipation.

He carded his fingers back through Sam’s feathers, making him borderline squeal with the over stimulation of him fingering his glands again to get his fingers nice and slick, and pressed them to to pert little hole Sam had.

“I know you’re an angel and all, but for your first time you should probably take a deep breath,” Gabriel told Sam, and got a scoff in return at the idea that Gabriel could possibly hurt Sam- but it wasn’t the hurt that had him utterly breathless, but the pure unadulterated thrill of Gabriel breaching him to slowly press in a finger, and then another, using his wing oils to fuck Sam on his fingers.

He was doing it, this was sex. This was… forbidden, bad, but fuck did Gabriel make everything about it feel so damn right. How could he possibly turn away at this point, Sam wasn’t even sure he’d be capable of it, not with his desperately he was swinging his hips back to take Gabriel’s fingers harder, deeper, too desperate and pent up after angrily stalking Gabriel in the night for weeks in the hopes of catching him touching another to play the innocent blushing virgin.

“I need you, I need more,” Sam loathed how snivelly he sounded, caught breathless and weakened by the simple act of touch.

So much for being a warrior when he could be so easily broken.

But for as broken as he felt there was little to fear when Gabriel had him held tight, and there was a strangeness to the kind of security Sam could feel here under the body heat of a mere mortal man. Gabriel would never be able to go toe to toe with angels and demons the way Sam had done on the front of battle lines, Gabriel wasn’t highly skilled in any sort of fighting style really aside from his own instinct and muscle memory, and he was short for a man and though he was built stocky like most hunters he certainly wasn’t going to win any lifting competitions. Everything about Gabriel was soft, from his hair to his stomach, to the sparkle in his eyes when he was toying with Sam lightheartedly, to the way he now gently soothed a hands up and down Sam’s spine and shushed him like an infant child.

Gabriel’s hands were always sure and steady, and there wasn’t a doubt in Sam’s mind for a single moment that when the pieces of him shattered apart on this bed in ways that he would assure he was never quite be made whole as an angel again, Gabriel would pick them up and fit them into something better, and it would feel right.

“Relax,” Gabriel told him, and Sam just for a moment finds himself able to obey with the soft press of lips between his wings. “Let me take care of it, I’ve got you.”

Sam whined mournfully at the lack of anything to rock his hips back upon with the removal of Gabriel’s fingers, it didn’t much feel like Gabriel was “taking care of it” by stopping entirely, but his breath hitched and his body went still with the blunt head of the tip of his cock pressing to his entrance.

The hand returned to his lower back, tracing soothing circles until Sam relaxed his spine back down into the arch, and only then did Gabriel start to fill him.

Being an angel afforded Sam a great many perks on the mortal plane, he never had to get sick, or cold, nor did he have to feel pain if he didn’t really want to. But the slow burn of stretching apart, accompanied with the fullness of Gabriel’s cock rubbing up against him inside in ways that shouldn’t have felt as good as they did had Sam allow for his knees to slip apart just that little more to make way for him, and forgetting entirely that he was in fact an angel who could make the hurt go away. But why would he want that, and dampen the full and raw human experience?

Just when it all felt like it might be too much for Sam to want to continue with, two hands wound themselves up in the warmth of Sam’s feathers, Gabriel collapsing over him, chest to back as he filled him to the brink. Sam could feel his face in his wings, and the soft breath of a content and happy sigh ruffle the feathers ever so slightly. For a moment Gabriel simply stayed like that, enjoying the impossible heat of Sam’s body and the comfort of his wings in a way that had Sam wish he could curl them around the hunter and never have him wander out the door to danger of the real world outside again. It was just right, he didn’t think anything could ever get more right, until Gabriel started to move and Sam felt the drag of his cock back, leaving him feeling hollow for just the barest moment, only for Gabriel to snap his hips forward hard enough to rattle the bed against the dry wall.

Sam cried out into the sheets, gripping them as tight as Gabriel pulled at the feathers of his wings, holding him down in a vice tight grip to shove him down into the mattress as he fucked him.

“Fuck they’re so pretty, Sam,” Gabriel groaned, his fingers seeking out the sensitive little bundles of nerves around Sam’s joints to push his nails in to hear Sam moan. “I’ve never heard an angel make such filthy sounds, that must make you special, that must make you mine.”

Sam could barely make out most of what Gabriel was saying despite for the very first time since meeting the vulgar human, he wanted those filthy words that dripped from his lips to carve behind his eyelids so he might never forget them. What he did hear was “mine”, and it made his feathers ruffle and fluff with pride.

“These are mine, all mine, only I get to touch them,” Gabriel continued, egged on by such a visceral reaction from Sam. “Only I get to see you bent over so pretty, taking human cock like you made for it, made for me. I’m gonna make them mine, Sam. I’m gonna come in your feathers.”

Sam shuddered as he felt Gabriel’s fingers move to point out exactly where he was going to come on him, right in the middle where Sam couldn’t reach, where he wouldn’t be able to preen it out alone without the assistance of Gabriel taking pity on him and cleaning it out. He’d be marked, claimed in the filthiest way and carrying a token of the sin he’d committed everywhere he went, with every flap of his wings.

“Please, I’m gonna, it feels too much,” Sam whined, thrusting his hips searching, and found what he was looking for in the right vice of Gabriel’s hand around his cock and stroking it in time to his thrusts.

“You can do it, I wanna see it, I want to see you make a mess of yourself, Angel. Come for me.”

Sam didn’t think he could, and scrunched his eyes shut tight like he could block it out but the sensation was coming for him whether he was ready for it or not, curling his toes and making him fist his hands in the pillows sobbing with the overload of just how good it felt, all building up and up, and just when Sam thought it couldn’t possibly get to be any more it somehow still kept pooling and hanging heavy in his cock like he might never tip over the edge, and then and only then, did he finally come, going lax and slumped down against the mattress and felt Gabriel’s cock slide out of it.

He would’ve mourned the contact if he could get any higher brain function to work for him, but all he could feel was the swirly happiness that almost made him just a little sleepy, and very content. He would have closed his eyes and let it carry him away, but he turned to watch Gabriel from the corner of his eye as he moved up higher to straddle his mid back, stroking his cock and creating a litany of filthy moans.

Sam’s breath caught in his throat as he realised Gabriel was actually going to do it, come all in his feathers and paint him a whore and there’d be nothing he could do about it. His gaze caught Gabriel’s, and the human just beamed a wicked grin, and aimed his cock down at Sam’s feathers as he started to spurt thick lines of come across the pretty brown feathers and watched as it sunk in between them and stuck good, dripping, sticking them together as it soaked through.

“There, now when you go back to Heaven you’ll always have a little piece of me with you, just you and me know- and I guess your Father, right? Since he knows everything all the time.”

Sam yelped a little at the sudden slap of a hand against his ass, and then Gabriel was off of Sam’s back and he was free, free to do whatever he wanted now. He could go and he could dunk himself in the ocean and shake off until he felt satisfactorily clean, but all he truly wanted to do was feel the weight of Gabriel sink down next to him in the mattress and drape a wing of his body to blanket him in them.

“I’m yours?” It came out so soft that it managed to take Gabriel by surprise, and a soft smile crossed his face.

“Yeah,” Gabriel replied, pressing a kiss to his lips that reignited the fluttering in Sam’s chest again. “And I’m yours.”

That sounded good, that sounded more right than anything else currently happening outside of the motel room. Wars would wage, but Sam was Gabriel’s, and he was his in return, and maybe things might be okay.