#if the lore turns differently don’t look at me

[thebirdmanhewatches]

Fucking mcyt role play tugging at my heart strings I love that little code freak pretending to be juanaflippa it deserves the entire world

[yikimiki]

>> bones and ashes

⚔️ sukuna x fem!reader | warnings for: violence, mentions of death, possessiveness (sukuna is as evil as they come so basically every red flag under the sun), non-con that turns into dub-con (Stockholm syndrome), mentions of virginity loss, anatomically impossible size difference (if u know what I mean), blood play, etc | around 5-6k words | also important to note that I absolutely assassinated the canon lore in some points but bare with me

Sukuna doesn’t really have the ability to love. But he thinks he gets close enough when it comes to you. Of course, in his own twisted, macabre way.

Sukuna isn’t familiar to the concept of fondness, let alone anything more profound or meaningful than that. He knows want, desire, possession, curiosity even. But none of those feelings have ever tilted towards the side of affection, nor does he want them to. They’re all narcissistic pulses that keep pushing him forward — towards more power, more control, more of what he can become. He’s not even fond of his own abilities. Arrogant? Perhaps, but not fond. He can’t be fond of something he knows is not at its peak yet, that would just be weakness.

And Sukuna is everything but weak.

He sees you in a cold winter morning and he does what he knows best: he takes. Takes your pride, your virginity, your blood. Takes you like he took the lives of the rest of your village, paints your skin red and watches as the tears wash it away. Sukuna takes and takes until you have nothing left to give, just like he has done countless times before and yet… this time, something switches.

This time, he decides to let you live. Trapped in a dark cell, of course, but alive regardless.

The days move slowly, and you learn to mark their passing by the loud, clanking sound of a metal dish being thrown through a cracked door. The food is mostly raw meet and, after a few days of disgust, you cave in and eat a little of it. Not enough to be satisfied, not even close, but enough to keep you alive for at least a few hours longer.

Sukuna comes by in irregular intervals, and you soon give up on trying to find a pattern in his visits. You know it’s him from the way the door creaks open even further to accommodate his size, and you watch as his large shadow observes your movements for a moment before he kicks the disgusting plate towards you. Most of time time he’s there, you force yourself to eat, afraid of what should come if you turn down his unspoken commands. Once he seems satisfied, he exits without a word.

There is one single advantage in being in a windowless, isolated cell: you can’t hear what goes on up there. You’ve heard enough the day that Sukuna came to your village — the shattering screams, the pleads for mercy, the babies crying, the sound of wood and bone breaking almost too similar to differentiate. You saw creatures beyond your realm and heard awful whispers and threats; held you family as they died and gave up as the snow beneath your hands became as red as the burning sky above. And you know enough about Sukuna’s legend to be aware that it wasn’t an isolated incident.

When evil incarnate arrives, there’s not much you can do but surrender.

Though, when it comes to the legends, you thought that his palace was more of a manner of speak than an actual location. Once again, though, you’ve heard enough legends to know when to stop inquiring about the details.

Sukuna comes in after a week with a plan and a cloud of amusement over his head — frankly, given the state you were in, he thought you would be dead by now. Your stubborn hold on life is as impressive as it is pathetic.

“You looked so small when I first saw you,” his thunderous voice breaks the silence. There’s no food in his hands this time, only the fire cracking behind his form. You’re sitting down on the cold floor, back against the wall, and you don’t even bother looking up at him. “You look even smaller now.”

You don’t answer, because you don’t know what to say. Of course you’re smaller — you’re weak, starving, lacking movement and sunlight. Every muscle in your body aches and the aftertaste of dried blood never leaves your mouth. Smaller is a compliment; you wish you were just bones and ashes by now.

Sukuna takes a heavy step inside the dark chamber. “I killed everyone you’ve ever loved that day,” he says, bluntly. There’s no amusement nor sorrow in his tone — it’s a neutral statement. He lowers himself to your level and, on the corner of your eyes, you see his four arms. He is so wrong, even in a physical sense. Like the scar of something that shouldn’t even exist. “And yet… you live. Do you want to know why?”

You sneer. “I wish you’d just let me die.”

He chuckles, and one hand meets the side of your head. His fingers dig into the dirty, messy strings and pulls on the roots. There are tears on the corners of your eyes but you refuse to let him see them. “That’s exactly why you’re alive,” he says. “I knew you were ready to die when I saw you — all bloodied up, on your knees in the snow. It was quite a sight.” Sukuna’s voice is a malicious whisper as he comes even closer to you — he smells rotten. The tongue that licks up your cheek makes you want to puke. He tastes you the same way as he did on the first day, and you have no idea what he’s searching for. “Tell me, why were you so ready to give yourself to me? Most try to plead at least.”

“Plead for what? Your mercy?” The sarcasm is clear through your tone. The words you mean to say are knotted in the base of your throat and the odor Sukuna reeks is making you dizzy; making you remember everything that came before this. “I— I didn’t have anything else to live for,” you stutter. “You killed… you killed my mother, my father, my baby brother… why would I want to live without them? Why would I humiliate myself asking for mercy from a creature that clearly doesn’t have any to spare?”

Through anger, you look up at him. His eyes are flames bursting through the darkness, and they shine as your words settle on his skin. “Do you only live for love, my little dove?” He asks. “What a purposeless life you have.”

“Do you only live for hate?” You ask back before you can hold your tongue. Somewhere in your mind, you know that he’s capable of unimaginable evil, but you are beyond the point of caution. “What a purposeless legacy you’re leaving behind.”

This angers him. The corners of his mouth twists as he speaks. “You people fear me. Even the strongest of sorcerers doesn’t dare to go against me.”

“I pity you and your ridiculous need for destroying what isn’t yours,” you spit. “And I hate you for keeping me alive. I hate you for everything you’ve done to me and to the people I love. And I hate that you even dare to come here and talk to me like I’m the smaller person for daring to care about something.”

The hands on your hair tighten and he pulls your face against his. Sukuna’s forehead is a furnace against yours, his eyes burn into your soul. “You little insect, I could kill you with a snap of my fingers if I wanted to.”

Your voice shakes but you say it regardless: “Do it, then, what are you waiting for?”

“No,” his answer is more cruel than death could ever be. And he knows that. “And you know why?”

“If you are keeping me alive to have your way with me, so be it, have it,” you say. The tears are obvious now. You wonder if he can smell how fearful you really are. “Violate me like you did before, I don’t care anymore, but just don’t keep me alive just to waste me away.”

His lips are touching yours now, but you can’t pull away even if you tried. Sukuna’s chest is heaving like he’s in the middle of a battle, his voice like a roar in your ears. “Then ask. For. My Mercy.”

“I w-would n-never…”

“Ask!” It’s a loud command that crashes against you like a wave. You sink like there is no adrenaline in your body to keep you afloat; the anger that moved you before is no longer within your reach.

The truth is clear: you’re human. He’s a curse — the king of curses, older than you could ever imagine; probably even more powerful than the legends you’ve heard. His eyes say that there are fates worse than death and you believe them. And maybe, just maybe, if you play by his rules, he’ll grow tired of you and let you wither away.

“P-Please,” you are sobbing now, tears falling down like a cascade. Sukuna licks them and hums in satisfaction, watching as you break apart into a mountain of hiccups and trembling limbs. “Please just… have mercy on me. I’ll do whatever you want just — please, stop torturing me like this.”

“Aw,” he coos. “Was that so hard?”

You want to say that yes, somehow, that took everything still left in you. You want to say that if he wanted to break your spirit, congratulations, he’s done it. But you don’t get the chance.

Sukuna kisses you with the same ferocity you expected, sharp teeth crashing against yours and tongue exploring your mouth with no prior warning. He groans as he tastes you — you, the blood in your food, the salt of your tears — and suddenly it’s all that he will ever crave again. You whimper against his lips as his two lower arms crawl up your thighs and hold onto your hips, pushing you against him as he stands up and presses you against the wall. You feel more caged now than you have felt these past few days.

“Silly little human,” he raps against your lips, then licks your cheek for more of your precious tears. He realizes how much he likes to make you cry. You wince and give out a little sob, which only makes him smile. Finally, his grip on your hair loosens. “What is my name?”

You blink, dumbfounded by the sudden question. “S-Sukuna…?”

He pouts. “Say it like you mean it or I won’t be so nice.”

“Sukuna,” you say more firmly this time.

“There we go, that’s a good girl,” he says. “See how things just work better when you don’t misbehave? Hm?”

You nod. He doesn’t like it. “Y-Yes, I see, I’m sorry.”

“Very good.” The hand that was on your hair moves to hold your face, and it’s so huge that you feel like it would crush your skull with one single movement. As the other two arms hold onto your thighs, the fourth limb squeezes your breast. “Now, this is what’s going to happen, my pretty little human,” Sukuna starts, “I will have my servants take you to my chambers. You will be washed, clothed, and taken care of. They will feed you proper human food this time, whichever it is that your heart desires. How does that sound?”

Sounds like a trap. “And, in return, what do I have to do for you?”

“What do I have to do for you…?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Sukuna,” you complete.

“There’s my perfect little girl,” he says. You hate that something inside you likes the praise. “You will have to wait for me there. Do whatever you prefer, but don’t leave my room. Any attempt at escaping or killing yourself will be futile, and I’ve already warned every single curse that your death will result in a much more dire future for them. So you will be brought back to me. And I promise I won’t be so nice.”

“I understand… Sukuna,” you correct yourself quickly. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

The hand on your breast squeezes tighter, and you bite your lip so you don’t complain. “I knew I was right when I brought you here, something made me spare you. Yet, I don’t know what it is just yet.”

Sukuna is a looming threat above you, his limbs trapping you, and his deep voice is like thunder about to break. You know why so many fear him — you fear him too. And the sooner you act like it, the sooner he’ll grow tired of you. Sooner he’ll realize he was wrong in bringing you into his fortress.

He smirks. “But I believe I’ll discover soon enough.”

- ⚔️ -

Sukuna’s chambers are as spacious and monstrous as himself — corners switching and adjusting like breathing flesh; furniture morphing into different shapes; the weird odor of something old; the feeling for something lurking. The large windows show a world between worlds; a reality that doesn’t seem right no matter how long you stare at it. His palace is in a dimension you can’t reach, and you give up on trying to understand it. If anything, the more you wonder about it, the more you shake under the weight of the sheer power it must take to keep it all existing like solid matter.

Your passage of time is morphed and unreliable, but you would guess that a couple weeks have passed by the time that you come to terms that, perhaps, Sukuna isn’t as easy to bore as you first expected. The fire in his eyes doesn’t seem to diminish as he sees you — if anything, his eagerness to have you all to himself only seems to expand — and the way he takes care of you makes you realize that he isn’t planning on letting you die anytime soon.

Life in his chambers is far more comfortable, you admit, but it’s a prison nonetheless. Still, you can’t say that you are mistreated. In his chambers, you are bathed and clothed, well-fed and pampered. You soon come back to your normal weight and the fatigue leaves your body; there is more space to move, more things to do. The curses that come to check on you seem to be strangely kind and human-like, though you know it’s out of fear and not out of worry, and they keep your mind occupied with several stories and legends as the days move on.

Sukuna is more absent than you would have imagined, conquering and killing as often as he can. When he finally comes to you he is clean, recently bathed, but you can still see he is fresh from a battle, some mindless corruption beyond the horizon that you would rather hear nothing about. There are shallow scars and deep cuts that heal unreasonably quickly; dried blood that hasn’t quite washed away and ashes beneath his fingernails.

You ask whose village he has attacked this time, but he says it doesn’t matter, because there are no survivors.

“I never leave any survivors,” he completes, kissing your forehead, “besides you, my little human.”

You don’t push beyond that information, but the feeling of being special, chosen, starts to blossom like a dangerous rose inside your chest. It stings and stings, but grows regardless, and you see yourself less able to fight against his possessive claims. You start to enjoy them. You start to wonder if life beyond those walls is worth fighting for when you seem to have everything you would ever wish for right here.

You can always tell when Sukuna is about to arrive in this world because the atmosphere switches into something darker, heavier. The air seems thicker and the clouds beyond your windows start to bleed into a deep shade of red. Sukuna returns with the apocalypse on his back, and, when he does, he uses your body as he pleases.

Like the room around you, there is constant change. Sometimes it hurts like hell; sometimes it’s pleasurable. Sometimes you wish it would just end and you end up crying in despair; sometimes you look at him like you might get used to feeling him inside of you. Some days, Sukuna is kinder, more patient, taking time to adjust you to his enormous size and even makes sure that you enjoy it before reaching his end; fucking you full of his cum until you can’t think of one single thing besides him. Other days, you know he is angry just by the way he walks through the door — and, in those days, you are left bleeding and bruised as he uses your body in every single way until he’s close enough to satisfied. That, on itself, can take a long, long time.

You realize that, during those violent days, he could use one of his curses to please himself, but he prefers to use you — because you bleed, you cry, and you suffer. As long as your pain exists, his interest is unwavering.

However, like everything else, you adapt, get used to it. Routine becomes familiar and you learn the tell-tale signs of his rancid mood; learn how to make it a little better and what things to avoid. You stop thinking about getting away — you don’t even have anywhere else to go — and start longing for his presence as he takes more time to come back home. Sukuna is warm, safe; next to him you know you are shielded from any harm. When he appears, no one dares to look or touch you, no one speaks until they are spoken to. Just by being in his gravitational pull, you are protected and no harm will ever come your way again.

Even if it hurts, you start hoping that he won’t get tired of you.

Sukuna, on the other hand, isn’t quite sure how he feels about it all.

It’s not love — he has gone over that one a few hundred times already, has marked off every possible scenario and imagined every possible feeling, and he is sure it isn’t love. To be frank, he doesn’t even think he’s capable of it even if he wanted to, he sold his soul too long ago to even remember how normal humans love. But if it’s not love, it’s something similar — a kind of tenderness, fondness. He has a soft spot for you, to put it bluntly. Though not in the typical sense.

Sukuna adores you like a painter adores his favorite canvas; like an exotic bird in a cage — he adores you with possession, obsession, with the knowledge that you can’t ever get away from his grip. He is fond of you in a way that he would murder anyone who would even dare to touch what is his; but would never set you free. He can hurt you, he can tear you into pieces and build you to his liking. Sukuna can kiss you or bite you; hug or break you, but it’s because you’re his little pet and no one else’s.

He is fond of the way you bend for him; the way you look at him with sheer adoration in your eyes even after he has taken everything from you. He is fond of the way that only he could kill you; that your small life is in his hands and you thank him for it. Sukuna is fond of the way your tight little cunt stretches so wide to take his fat cock; lives for the little whimpers you give out and the tears that stain his satin sheets when he finally allows you to cum for him. If he could crawl inside your soul, he would. If he could take it and eat it and have you forever, he would.

He doesn’t know why he craves you so much, but he knows that nothing else gives him the same high anymore.

So he keeps you.

It’s a heavy stormy night when he comes back the next time, and his room is only illuminated by a few candles and the lightening from outside. You’re in his large bed, looking as small as that day in the snow, and there is a touch of worry in your eyes that he doesn’t miss. But he ignores it.

“Undress,” he commands.

You rush to do as he says, throwing the faint fabric over your head. It falls to the ground as Sukuna walks towards the bed, his massive weight making it dip under his knee as he leans closer to you.

“My pretty little doll,” Sukuna muses. “Missed me?”

He always asks that. And your answer is always the same.

“So much, Sukuna.”

It’s more honest every time.

He hums, satisfied, and smirks as he pushes your hair away from your face. “I have something to tell you, and I think you will like it,” Sukuna says. You look at him with wide eyes as he settles over you, his four arms caging your body as you lay down. The mouth on his stomach open and closes, a large tongue coming out before it vanishes again — it always does it when he’s particularly excited. “Would you like to know what it is?”

You know he will tell you regardless. Like all the tales of his battles, he lives for the glimpse of horror in the back of your eyes. “Yes, Sukuna.”

“Seems like you are famous now,” he starts. You furrow your eyebrows. “Sorcerers are trying to save you. The poor little human girl that Sukuna took as a prisoner months ago.” He kisses your neck, then licks the skin. You shiver — months, it has been months then. “Two of them tried to enter my domain today, stupid little insects,” he continues. Another hand lands on your exposed breast, playing with your nipple. “You have no idea how enraged that made me, my little human. To have someone try to take you away from me; to try and to enter my domain and take you from me.”

His voice turns into a growl by the end of the sentence, and you feel the familiar pulse of terror running through your veins. He’s in a bad mood, that’s obvious, but there’s something hiding beneath that as well.

“What did you do to them?” You ask. “Did they get in?”

Sukuna chuckles darkly, and the hand that was on your breast now settles on your clit, massaging it softly. “I took care of them, my sweet thing, of course,” he says. Your breath hitches at the slow pleasure of his movements, and your eyes flutter shut. “No one will ever take you from me.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” you say without a thought. In your heart, you feel it’s wrong. But without him, you have nothing. “I’m yours forever, Sukuna.”

“I know you are,” he answers.

Sukuna holds you by the throat as he kisses you — not enough to suffocate you, but enough to make you a little dizzy. Your eyes cross mindlessly as his tongue invades your mouth; a deep groan coming from his chest as he tastes your lips. He always kisses you violently, possessively, like he wishes to suck your soul out of your chest. Beneath his size you can only shrink and hold onto his large biceps, the wetness between your legs growing as he takes what is his.

He pulls back, ignoring the string of saliva that connects you two. “Pretty little thing,” he muses, shoving his middle finger inside your mouth. “Suck for me.”

You do as he says and he smirks at the feeling of your pretty lips around his large finger. Soon enough, the same digit is invading your pussy, curling up so quickly that you see starts at your peripheral vision.

“Relax or it’ll hurt again,” he says — not like he cares about it. “I want you to remember tonight.”

“W-Why?”

“Because I’ll make sure that you’ll be mine forever,” he says, a devilish smile on the corners of his lips. “So no one can take you from me. No one would even try.”

Your breath is getting heavier, and you don’t even register what he’s telling you — he could do a billion things to you and you’d still let him. The time spent only in his company made your resolution vanish, and you became exactly what he wanted you to: another possession for him to do as he pleases. Because of him, you have nothing else. Besides him, you have nothing.

“You’re not cumming around my finger tonight,” he says and quickly removes his hand from your cunt. You whine at the sudden emptiness, walls spasming around nothing, but you know better than to protest. “It’s going to be around my cock, you got it?”

“Yes, Sukuna,” you say.

“Good girl,” he muses. His lower arms move to undo his pants as his mouth attacks yours once again. His sharp teeth drain blood from your lips and he groans at the metallic taste; drinks the little sob of pain you let out. “You’re all fucking mine. Forever,” he growls, “I’ll make you live forever with me.”

Months ago, that would be torture. But now, “It sounds like heaven, Sukuna,” you say. “I love you.”

Your vision falls to where his hands are working. His cock is massive, bigger than your forearm, balls swinging out of his shorts and falling heavy under his shaft. Your entire body tingles in anticipation as he strokes himself, aligning his cockhead with your opening. “Tiny fucking cunt,” he curses, rubbing it against your soaked folds. “I’ll train you to take my cock even better than now, kitten.” Your mouth falls open as he starts to push in and it hurts — no matter how many times you’ve taken him, it always burns. “Way too fucking tight for my fat cock, you know that?”

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll do better-“

He chuckles. “I fucking love it.”

In one strong motion, he shoves himself as deep as he can, pressing against your cervix as you whine at his size. It isn’t fair — it’s so thick you can’t even breathe, you can feel him in your stomach, pressing and pulsing until you can’t think of anything but the sheer size of his massive cock inside your poor little hole. Your walls hurt to accommodate his girth, stretching as far as they can, but it never seems like it’s enough.

“It’s t-too big, Sukuna,” you whine. And it is. You know he must be doing something to your body so you can even be alive right now, because it’s not humanly possible to take such a big cock. “I c-can’t…”

His hand lands on your head and pulls at the roots. “You are my special little human, my obedient little girl,” he reminds you. His cock throbs inside you and you whimper, the small movement alone makes you drool. “You will do anything I tell you to do.”

You nod. “Y-Yes.”

“So when I tell you to take it….” He rolls his hips even deeper and you call his name so loud that you’re sure the entire world will hear it. “You’ll fucking take it.”

You don’t even have the ability to answer as he starts to pound deep inside your soaked cunt, hard and violent, as he is. Your vision is blurry with tears as you look down to see his massive cock bullying itself again and again inside your cunt, taking everything you have to give.

“Look at me when I claim you,” Sukuna warns and you do it instantly. Your legs wrap around his hips and he squeezes your ass so hard it will bruise. There’s a malicious glint in his red eyes that never quite goes away, no matter how much he tries, and now it’s deadset on you. “My precious little girl,” he calls, voice strained with pleasure. You can tell from the way his cock throbs that he is close, but it doesn’t matter. He just keeps going. “You told me you love me. Do you only live for love, kitten?”

“I live f-for loving you, S-Sukuna,” you respond automatically. “I live for you.”

Sukuna groans like an animal — he adores what a stupid little fuckdoll he has turned you into. He can never get tired of this; he can never let it get away. “You’ll die for me, kitten?”

You nod so quickly you get dizzy. “Yes, a-anything… I’m yours f-forever.”

He calls your name like he has never done before, a little insane, a little sweet. If the sheer size of Sukuna’s genitals aren’t anything to go by, he cums a lot — it oozes out of your cunt before he’s even halfway through, cock throbbing and leaking again and again until you’re filled to the brim. His huge balls smack against your ass as he continues to bully himself inside you, a little more desperate now, intoxicated by his own pleasure.

There’s no rest, there never is. He only takes and takes.

“I’ll make you mine,” he groans.

“I’m yours, Sukuna, I’m yours…” you repeat like a broken record, half-aware of your own voice through the loud moans and hiccups. You watch in ecstasy as he uses one of his sharp nails to cut the palm of his hand, blood oozing out of it and dropping on your breasts. It’s like you know what he will say even before he says it. “You want me t-to-“

“Drink it.”

Perhaps you should be scared, but you’re not. Your mouth opens without a second thought and he presses his large palm on your lips, muffling your moans and allowing the hot dark liquid to invade your tongue. Sukuna’s blood is thick and it tastes like poison, but you do as he says, liking his flesh and drinking it until he seems satisfied and takes his hand away.

It strikes your body like an arrow, straight through your chest and expanding like deep roots. You feel as his blood burns your insides, changing something in your very existence. It’s hard to think through the sensations — the pleasure building up, the venom running through your veins, the mixture of devotion and fear that dances inside your mind. Your vision is double, black around the edges, and you think you might be cumming but you’re not sure you can even feel your body anymore. Sukuna’s voice echoes muffled in the background, and you can see his mouth moving in slow motion, but you don’t understand his words. You think you are crying. You think you can’t breathe. You think you are dying and being born at the same time and you don’t know why you feel so grateful for it all.

Your lungs are on fire and your throat is dry. You try to speak, but can’t. You have the vague flashback of the time your uncle made you drink alcohol, it burns just the same, but this time, no one is laughing. This time, you’re dying.

“… at me.”

This time, Sukuna’s voice rings sharp and clear. You stare at him, confused, as the flames inside your chest slowly subside.

“Keep looking at me,” he repeats, commanding.

You try to nod, but your head doesn’t move. You can’t see the room around you anymore. “H-Hurts,” you manage to get out.

“I know,” he says, and there’s a touch of softness in his voice you don’t ignore. “Focus on me. I’ll make it feel better.”

And that’s what you try to do, even if your soul seems to be floating miles above your body. You look down at where he is still moving in and out of you, at the white-coated mess that drips from your hole and soaks your inner thighs. It doesn’t seem to hurt as badly now, like your body is changing to accommodate him even better — in fact, it feels like heaven.

You look up at him, dumbfounded. “I t-think I’m going to cum, Sukuna,” the words come easier now, and you feel like you can move again. Though, it still feels like a dream. “It’s so g-good.”

“Cum on my fat cock, then, make me proud,” he coos. You close your eyes and nod, trying to focus on the paradise that blooms between your legs. You feel every ridge and vein of his massive cock; hear the lewd squelching sounds of his cum leaking out of you. It comes to you faster than you would have imagined, washing through your body like a wave as you cry and shake miserably. “That’s my girl, fuck, there we go, that’s my perfect little girl.”

The spasming of your walls manages to milk more cum out of him and he groans loudly as he releases inside you once more. Sukuna cums so much it makes you breathless, filling you again and again until he’s satisfied and the sheets beneath you have no salvation left.

“There we go, take everything,” he says in a strained groan, “every fucking drop inside this tight fucking cunt.”

Sukuna looks absolutely insane above you — fucking his cock so hard into you that it seems like he will never have the chance again; eyes blown wide and his teeth clenched. You cum again, this time a little softer, as you feel his thick cock shoot a specially large amount of cum inside your pussy, and wait until he’s done using your body.

Eventually, he settles, pressing his forehead against yours and looking deep inside your eyes. The redness in them is shining like flames, watching every movement of your face.

“Feels weird,” you say. “I feel dizzy.”

He chuckles and removes himself from you. Another white-hot wave gushes out of your cunt, and he sits back to watch it drip. “There we go, it wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You swallow, your tongue is still numb inside your mouth. “It was horrible, Sukuna. I felt like I was going to die.”

Sukuna smiles and uses two fingers to push some of his cum back inside you. “I can promise you it was better than when I did,” he says, and you’re confused for a moment. “But now we don’t have anything to worry about anymore, my sweet thing. Those pathetic little sorcerers won’t want you.”

“H-How are you so sure?” You ask.

“Aw, my sweet, stupid little girl.” He pouts, condescending as always. “No one will want to save a curse now.”

Your eyes widen. “Did you…?”

“I told you.” Sukuna licks his own blood at the corner of your mouth. “You are mine forever.”

[httpjungkookcom]

CYBER BOY | JJK (m)

Pairing | Jungkook x Reader

Word Count | 12K, not bad!

Genre | Android! Jungkook x Grad Student! Reader, Fluff, Smut

Summary | Jimin, as much as you love him, is a major pain in your ass. After dragging you to his store against your will (literally) you end up with; the newly manufactured, eerily human Jungkook android model. He's so human, you begin to have questions.

Index | A lot of fluff, reader is terrified, Jungkook is a sweetheart, Jungkook is absolutely whipped, Jungkook is good at anything and everything you could think of, including pleasing you ;), soft smut, Jungkook just wants you to feel good

A/N | You don't really need to know the lore of Detroit Become Human, it's just briefly mentioned in the story. Cyber Life is basically a manufacturer of robots/androids, that's really all the background you need for the story. Enjoy! <3

Jimin’s very busy today talking your ear off. Well, more than normal you should say. Two weeks ago he scored this huge paid internship with CyberLife, a company that currently holds a monopoly over all other tech companies with its superior android manufacturing, innovative technology, and competitive prices that “Are to sure surpass your expectations.” He was ecstatic, going on about how maybe they’ll gift him an android as an intern present (spoiler alert, they did not.) Regardless, they pay him very well for an internship and he loves their technology so he’s still happy. Now, it’s something about a new android he’s droning on about. 

“No, I don’t think you understand Y/n.” Jimin clarifies, walking alongside you on the campus pathway. “One in the entire world, only one is being made.” 

“I understand plenty, Jim.” You genuinely laugh, side-eyeing him as he questions your intelligence. “I think I understood the first time you said there’s only one, and the second time, and the third, and now the hundredth.” 

“And you don’t even want to see him?! I don’t understand!!” Jimin almost yells, wide eyes as he turns to you to emphasize his point. 

Ever since Jimin scored the internship, you constantly refuse to ever step foot in the company. Mostly because you know Jimin would try to market to you, and he’s got a reputation for never getting told no. That’s the excuse you always gave, telling him off every time he’d talk about the “low low price of 4,999 dollars!” Secondly, the androids freak you out a bit. They’re hyper-realistic, all the way down to every single man-made eyelash on their face. You’re sure if you look close enough, you could probably see fake pores. 

However, you don’t hate artificial intelligence at all, nor are you a part of the momentum-gaining group of “androids are stealing our jobs, and ruining society!” You suppose for you, it’s just how realistic they look, act, speak, and walk. Everything about them is human-like. Maybe if they had a Siri-sounding voice, or walked stiff, maybe you’d get behind the idea of owning one. 

“You would try and get me to buy it, why are you saying him? You never do that Jimin?” You ask, laughing softly. “What, you got a crush on him?” You raise your brows, elbowing him with your hands remaining in your pockets, cold air waiting for the opportunity to bite at your skin. 

Jimin scoffs in defense, pretending you offended him as he shoves you away. “We were told to market it as him because he’s so realistic most people apparently won’t know the difference.” 

“…And you want me to buy that thing!?! An android that is so human you can’t even tell?!” You ask, feet stopping in their tracks. “Jimin, you’re out of your mind.” You roll your eyes, beginning to turn around, and instead, make your way to your apartment complex. 

“Nooo, at least walk me to the store like always. This isn’t fair!” Jimin complains like a child, stomping his feet softly in the thin layer of snow that’s beginning to form on the sidewalk. “I just wanted to tell you because I think it’s interesting, I promise I won’t market him to you.” 

“You’re a liar.” You turn back, unable to fight back the smile as you walk up to him. “Fine, let’s get going before it starts snowing harder. I’d hate for you to be covered in it and you ruin all your bots with the liquid.” Sticking out your tongue, Jimin mimics you as he does it back. 

“It wouldn’t ruin them, c'mon Y/n. They’re waterproof.” 

“Jimin.”

“Right, sorry sorry.”

Jimin stops talking about androids for the rest of the walk, instead beginning his daily oversharing session, as he vents about this mystery boy “Taehyung” he’s been seeing. Jimin claims he’s always on campus, everywhere, but you have yet to see him. Secretly, you’re starting to believe Jimin is making parts of him up. He wraps up the rant as you approach the door, “Anyways, he seems genuinely sweet. I think I’ll give it a chance.”

“Yeah, I also think he seems nice. Maybe it’ll be worth it.” You shrug, beginning to pull your arm away from Jimin’s where they’re interlinked. 

“Just like…you should give our androids a chance.” You're dragged into the store before you can even get another word in, Jimin locking down extra hard on your arm in case you fight it. As the doors close behind the both of you, you finally give in. “That big box over there, that’s our new one-of-a-kind boy.” Jimin beams, walking you over to it. There’s only the logo of cyber life on the front, no model codes, details, or specifications anywhere to be seen. 

“So, what’s he look like?” You ask, finally able to pry your arm away from Jimin’s chokehold. 

“I don’t know.” 

“What do you mean you don’t know??” 

“Exactly what I mean, I don’t know.” Jimin spits jokingly, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “CyberLife is keeping all the details under wraps, I suppose whoever gets him is the first to find out. Personally, I think it’s to see if people recognize it as an android if the owner takes him out into public.” The information feels like whiplash, as does the mixing of it, him, and owner. 

“That is the freakiest thing I’ve ever heard.” You laugh. “So, how much is he going for?” You shrug as Jimin smirks at you, eventually punching his arm. 

“What, you want him?” He earns himself another punch. “He’s not.” 

“Jimin, what the fuck? Is this an empty box???” You're now beginning to think Jimin is fucking with you. Maybe a prank to see how gullible you are to the information he tells you, never really questioning his nerdy rants. “No characteristics, no price, let me guess, no name next huh?” 

“Ding ding ding.” Jimin chuckles. “The model doesn’t have a name. He introduces himself to his owner one-on-one.” 

“I’m leaving.�� 

“Wait wait wait, don’t you want to know how you can get him if he’s not for sale?” He coaxes you back to the box laughing the entire time as he speaks. Once again grabbing you so you don’t have a chance to run away, you’re left trapped. If the androids surrounding you in the store are already this realistic, you’re a bit afraid to see what’s in the box honestly. “Aren’t you at least a bit curious, an android not up for sale hm?” 

“With the information you just gave me, it’s an empty box up for sale,” You complain, ready to go home and cozy up on the couch with this weather. It’s cold, wet, and you’re already slipping into your winter break laziness. 

“It's a raffle.” 

“Oh great.” 

“I’ll enter you into it.” Jimin beams, running over to a computer behind the cashier counter. You groan loudly, beginning to follow him to stop his antics. “Uhm ma’am, employees only beyond this point.” Jimin changes his tone to his customer service voice, holding a hand in front of your face. “I’ll be with you in one moment.” 

“Jimin, this isn’t funny. I’m going to kick your ass,” You complain, glancing over your shoulder to the large box behind you as if he’d pop out at any moment. “I don’t even want the opportunity to own him, people would probably kill others over him.”

“One moment, please ma’am,” He speaks, breaking up into laughter throughout his sentence. You’re helpless as you stand at the counter, watching in disbelief as he types in all of your information faster than the speed of light.

“I wish we never sat next to each other in Introduction to Computer Science.” You laugh, watching him click submit before making his way back to where you stand by the box. 

“Raffle results come out tomorrow. That’s why I had to drag you here.” Jimin beams, “If you don’t want him, you can always give him to me.” 

Faking a gag, you begin your way out of the store. “I'm going home, Jimin. I'm gonna be spending my winter break alone, android-less, binge-watching movies, so feel free to stop by.” You smile, waving to him from the door. Jimin inserts some snarky remark that you don’t really catch, rolling your eyes at him through the window regardless. 

Doing exactly as you promised yourself, you all but melt into the soft bed you’ve been in a long-distance relationship with the entire semester. Now, you’re able to catch up with spring classes being an entire month away. You spend the rest of your afternoon double-checking that all of your assignments are in before allowing yourself to sleep. The next day, you begin your marathons, finally catching up on all the shows you said you’d watch. With a content sigh, you begin your second binge-watching marathon of the break. It’s cut short just one episode in, a small knock catching your attention. Following it, it’s your front door. 

“Hi, Jimin, do you wanna-“ It’s not Jimin standing on the other side of the door, not at all. There are two tall men, with a big box placed in the middle of either one of them. “Oh, sorry. I was expecting someone else. How can I help you guys?” 

“Is this the residence of Y/n L/n?” One asks, making your throat run dry as you glance at the box behind them. “If you could just sign off on your delivery, free of charge provided by the company.” Glancing down at the paper presented, CyberLife. Shaky hands sign a sloppy signature, the movers quickly move in and place the box in the middle of the walkway before rushing off. Closing the door behind you, you’re at a loss. 

Wouldn’t they call you if you won? Or an email? Or mail? Who in their right mind just comes and delivers such an expensive and precious item without some sort of confirmation beforehand??? Your normally cozy and comfortable apartment suddenly feels too small with the box in it, another human-like thing occupying the space. 

“Jimin?!” This has to be a prank, Jimin has to be laughing his ass off in this stupid box. With caution, you press an ear against the metal and try to hear laughing, snorting, breathing, anything. The box is white and blue, only confirming the high possibility of an android being inside. “Jimin, if you're in this box, I’m going to kill you for real this time.” You give a fair warning, pressing and pulling hard on the side handle. It opens smoothly, the door not even creaking once as you pull it open. 

You jump hard as you peek into it, not Jimin. Definitely not Jimin. Hiding behind the door, you peek once more into the inside to take in the sight. He’s…pretty? Somehow his android skin is activated without even being turned on yet, hair styled with his bangs pushed back from his forehead. His nose is slightly large, but it fits his face perfectly. There’s a small mole underneath his lower lip that you think is an interesting addition to an android model. 

With a hard beating heart that feels as though it’ll burst through your rib cage, you abandon your protection. There’s an owner's manual placed neatly in front of his body that you pick up with shaky hands. Activate your android by pressing on its led sensor for 10 seconds. It’s the longest 10 seconds of your life, heart hammering against your bones.

His eyes slowly peel open, blinking a couple of times as he takes in his surroundings. Human, scarily human. He’s careful of your reaction as he steps out of his box to not scare you too badly, pushing the door closed behind him to create more room in the small apartment. “Hello, I’m Jungkook.” 

There it is. 

You don’t answer, prompting him to continue introducing himself. “I’m a one-of-a-kind android that was beneficial for promotional purposes, but mainly I'm built to be the best companion possible for my owner. I possess old and new features that are designed to make the everyday life of my companion significantly better.” 

“Jungkook?” You mumble, his name feels way too human. “What’s your full name?” 

“Jeon Jungkook, from Busan, South Korea.” You could throw up everywhere, the realistic bot smiling softly as he stands in front of you. 

“Yeah, yeah sorry. I’m Y/n. …you are an android, right? Do you mind if I, uh?” You gesture to his chest. Your brain is struggling to believe he’s an android and not some sort of joke sent to you. Jungkook happily obliges, removing his synthetic skin and popping open his chest panel. Stepping a bit closer, you can definitely confirm that they are CyberLife organs and blue blood. “Okay, sorry I’m just having trouble adjusting, that’s all,” You mumble, closing his panel for him. 

“There is usually an adjustment period for new owners. Have you had another android in the past?” Jungkook asks, glancing around your apartment for any sign of one. He takes a couple of steps away from the box, feet making no noise despite being a giant piece of what is essentially machinery. Freaky.

“Oh, no no. It’s not that I’ve been against it, I just haven’t had the money or need for one I suppose.” You explain, feeling like you owe him an explanation as to why you don’t have an earlier model. “I’m a grad student, you see?” 

Jungkook nods softly, gesturing to the couch for you to sit down. You follow, a bit confused as to what this could possibly be about. It feels as though he’s about to break up with you, making you laugh softly to yourself as you sit on the opposite side of the couch. “I’m not sure what needs you have, but just let me know and I will do my best to fulfill them. This can range from construction, gardening, cooking, cleaning, companionship, intimacy, etc.” 

“Intimacy, what does that even mean in terms of an android?” 

“Some androids are designed to carry out human wants and desires for sexual intercourse-”

“Okay, okay, sorry I asked.” You cut Jungkook off before he can give you the long, likely in-depth explanation of their usage. “So, what do you want to do around here? I mean it’s just me, so it’ll probably get pretty lonely unless you come to my classes with me.” You chuckle. “I mean, it’s not very big but it’s comfortable, feel free to help yourself to whatever you’d like.” 

“I want to do what you want me to do, Y/n,” Jungkook answers, speaking like a true CyberLife android, a computer.

“God, it’s so weird.” You complain. “You look so human but act like you’re an android, so it’s just throwing me off.” You smile softly, watching as he smiles back. His smile is pretty, perfectly aligned teeth on full display. When he smiles hard, small wrinkles form in the corners of his eyes which you find oddly endearing. “Your LED also is barely noticeable, just all of it together tricks my mind into thinking you’re a human.” 

“That’s how I was engineered, with that in mind.” He smiles, “I don’t think I’ll be mass-marketed due to how human my design is, it would likely cause unrest within society.” You nod along to that, it most definitely would only make the anti-android movement worse. “If you’d like, I can adjust my LED to be more of the stereotypical android look.”

“No, no that’s okay. I like you however you present yourself. But, can you change your hairstyle? It’s just a bit too CyberLife, fresh out of the package if you want to go out in public later on.” You shrug, once again feeling the need to explain to him. He does, switching through various hairstyles before deciding on one. It’s slightly longer, with soft waves making it look fluffier than before. It’s still just as dark, but it suits him. 

“I can also simulate body modifications such as piercings, tattoos, scarification, split tongue, stretched lobes, whatever you would wish for me to look like,” Jungkook informs, once again sounding fresh out of the box. 

“You do whichever ones you’d like, Jungkook. It’s your body, fake or not.” You smile, watching as he shuffles through the catalog of options in his head. A giant smile overtakes his face as he comes out with two face piercings, a couple of ear ones, and most notably his tattoo sleeve. 

“Uhm, is this okay? I can always change my setting back if you prefer it-”

“It’s okay, Jungkook. We gotta get you out of your default settings, jeez.” You laugh. “I’m not really sure what to do now, I was watching a TV show if you’d like to watch it with me?”

“I’d love to.” He beams, watching as you jog into your room. (You forgot the name of it already, mind racing 1000 miles a minute with everything going on.) You come back out with blankets to hide it, handing him one as you set up the living room TV. “I’d also love to make you dinner while we watch, would that be okay?”

“Kook, YES. I don’t mind what you do unless it’s like actively punching holes in my drywall. Then maybe I’ll draw the line.” You joke, finally earning a laugh from him. It’s contagious, spreading over to you as you giggle along. You don’t think you’ve completely wrapped your brain around the fact that he’s one of a kind, purposely engineered to basically do anything and everything, and so annoyingly pretty as he sits in your small apartment content as ever. “Also, I’m not sure if you notice, but your footsteps make almost no noise. It’s okay to make sounds. I think if you walk around here completely silent you'll probably scare the shit out of me.”

“Noted.” Jungkook chuckles, sliding off of the couch and making his way into the kitchen. He makes more noise this time, and it’s much more comfortable that way. The soft knocking of pots and pans fills the background, not enough to be annoying but enough to let you know there is someone else here. Maybe, and you’d never ever admit it to Jimin, his addition to your home is starting to feel like it will be a welcomed one.

Getting used to having another person, an android, in the house is a learning experience. The following morning after he was delivered, you had completely forgotten all about him in your half-awake state. After using the bathroom, your feet shuffle out into the kitchen in search of any sustenance before you start the day, Jimin already texting you to ensure you guys are still on for your morning coffee run and walk to the CyberLife store.

“Good morning, I made you-”

You’ve never screamed so loud, so early in the morning. You’re sure you woke up all of your neighbors in a 5-door radius, along with the incoming noise complaint that is surely on its way. You screamed so loud that Jungkook has to recalibrate his audio processing system, standing still for multiple minutes as it reboots. 

“Sorry, sorry Kook.” You cackle after the initial fright, hands holding your stomach as you almost cry from laughter. “Adjustment period, remember when you said that?” You laugh harder, making your way over to him.  Jungkook laughs softly along with you, not nearly as hard but he feels happy seeing you so happy. He grins hard as you wipe away your tears, your stomach hurting from just how hard you're laughing. “Okay, okay, that’s enough. I have to stop.” With another glance at Jungkook in the kitchen, you’re cracking up again. 

“Y/n! I thought I’d be nice and make you breakfast!” Jungkook whines as you continue laughing at him, unable to hold it back for longer than one-minute intervals. You slowly calm down over the course of the next 10 minutes, forcing yourself to not think about it. “Anyway, I made you a breakfast sandwich. I’m not sure if you have anything to do today but-” Jungkook stops talking as he notices your chest heaving, trying hard not to laugh. “Are you-are you serious?? You can't even look at me huh?” Jungkook cracks, smiling hard. 

At this point, there are tears rolling down your face. “Sorry, sorry. Okay, I’m done for real this time. Just had to get it out of my system.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” Jungkook jokes, putting the plate in front of you regardless of you continuing to giggle every now and then. 

“I’m not sure what you’d like to do today, but I’m gonna go out with a friend for a bit. There’s not much to do here, I’m normally used to being out all the time, but there’s Netflix, Hulu, Disney, whatever you’d like to watch.” You talk in between bites, rushing as you inhale the food. You get ready quickly, awkwardly side-hug Jungkook as a goodbye, and rush off to meet up with Jimin.

Jimin is as ecstatic as ever, going on and on about who he thinks got the android in yesterday’s raffle. He gets his hopes up a bit before going to the store, coming up with the idea that maybe no one won and he’ll be unboxed today. Nerves flood throughout your body, your mind thinking back to the sweet boy that made you breakfast this morning. “Anyway, what’re you up to today?” Jimin sighs after his excitement, strolling along the sidewalk with his drink in hand. 

“Probably a bit of holiday shopping, and hanging out with a friend-”

“A friend?! Who? Do I know them?” He interrupts you, immediately questioning. 

“No, no I don’t think you do. He’s a family friend of my mom’s side-”

“HE?”

“I hate talking to you.” You laugh, no longer feeling the need to continue talking about it. You ignore Jimin’s prying questions, favoring dismissing all of them. What’s he look like? Where’s he from? Is he cute? What’s his name? Is he nice? Jimin brings up anything and everything. “Okay, we’re here, oh noooo.” You chuckle, pretending to be disappointed. 

“I’ll find out eventually.” Jimin sticks his tongue out at you before entering the store. He’s beyond disappointed that the box is no longer sitting in the store, texting you about it as you walk home.

Coming home, you’re a bit more prepared as you enter your apartment, spotting Jungkook in the living room. The upcoming week is your adjustment period, slowly becoming less and less spooked by his presence in your cozy home. Jungkook has learned to turn down his hearing slightly in the mornings until you get used to him, no longer having to re-coordinate his processing system constantly. You’ve also warmed up a lot to him over the week, the sweet android quickly becoming a part of your everyday life and holding a fond place in your heart. You’ve made movie nights become a ritual, cuddling up to Jungkook on colder nights. (He’s aware and even adjusts his systems to make himself put out more heat for you.) 

Jungkook is also the best listener you know, listening and taking in all of the stories you’re willing to tell him. He knows a lot about Jimin, as you seem to hang out with him the most. He had dumbly asked if he was your boyfriend, sending you into another laughing fit you were unable to stop. Along with this, he’s started accompanying you out more. Jungkook comes on grocery runs with you, goes to the library with you, goes to the nearby cafe you frequent, and even begins joining you on nights out at clubs. It’s scary how no one realizes he’s an android and doesn’t even bat an eye at him even in android-free spaces.

Most nights out, Jungkook has to fight you into bed in your tipsy state. You appreciate him for it, and all of the patience he shows you. “Y/n, let me take off your makeup.” Jungkook giggles softly, sitting on the edge of the bed as he holds a makeup wipe in his hand. He’s carefully holding your ankle in his palm, keeping you from sliding head first off the bed if you move too much. As you shuffle around to better lay on the bed, he no longer needs to restrain you. Currently, you have the spins, holding onto Jungkook’s clothes in a death grip to ground yourself. Jungkook smiles softly at you. “It’ll just take two seconds, come here.” 

You finally oblige, shuffling around to place your head in his lap. “Do your worst, pretty boy.” You slur slightly, smiling up at him. 

“Pretty boy?” Kook raises a brow at you.

“Mhmm, my pretty boy.” You nod, wearing a soft smile as Jungkook wipes your makeup off. “You wanna sleep with me?”

“Sorry?” Jungkook almost chokes on his fake spit. 

“You’re warm, come, lay down.” You coax him, pulling him down. You’re not laying on the bed the right way at all, heads laying at the foot of the bed. You’re also slightly diagonal, not caring at all as you cuddle close to him for warmth. Jungkook smiles hard as you nuzzle into his chest, one of your legs swinging over his. “Warm, soft.” You hum. You get the best sleep of your entire life, and it now becomes a normal thing for Jungkook to lay with you. 

You learn a lot about him during this time as well. One, Jungkook can taste and eat as his program allows him to. He doesn’t need to at all, but once again he was built for companionship and he can’t think of anything sadder than people eating meals alone. You had learned this when Jungkook offered to eat with you, confusing you to hell and back before actually explaining. Now, you always make him get something when you guys go out in public, to really sell the whole he’s just a human drinking his overpriced cafe drink!! Considering other androids don't eat or drink anything other than blue blood, it really adds to his non-android appearance.

Two, he’s been programmed to be good at absolutely everything. 

Personal fitness: Jungkook is more than happy to accompany you on jogs, encouraging you but also giving you the peace of mind you need when running through rough parts of town. Along with this, he somehow is able to calculate your strides and distance, which you believe blindly and don’t even question. Lastly, he’s able to carry water and electrolyte snacks that he claims are good for you when you’re physically active. When you refuse to drink, Jungkook jokingly wrestles you into submission until you take at least one sip.  

Cooking: Jungkook has taken to making all of your meals, and you’re not even upset about it. Every meal is different but just as delicious, you assume he has some sort of chef programming. When you don’t have an item Jungkook needs, he’s more than willing to go out and get it for you. You’re a bit too anxious to send him on his own, but in reality, he’d probably be okay given his appearance. Despite taking over cooking needs, if you’re lucky he sometimes lets you help out with baking holiday cookies. Jungkook still takes to distracting you, twirling you around with a giant smile to the music playing in the background. 

“Kook,” You whine, a giant smile plastered on your face despite complaints. You can feel Jungkook smile as he tucks his face into your neck, one hand holding your waist and the other taking your palm into his own. “The cookies will burn.”

“They still have 3 minutes, don’t worry hun.” Jungkook smiles hard, pulling back to look at you. You match the cheek-aching smile, forced to twirl as Kook easily spins you. Getting carried away, the cookies did slightly burn in the oven. 

Makeup (yes, even makeup): Jungkook had offered to help you get ready for a research-related conference, let’s just say you got a lot of compliments that night.  

Cleaning: You tell him constantly he doesn’t have to spend his days cleaning, but he listens very minimally and still picks up for you every day.  Sometimes he tries to hide it from you, placing a very strategic piece of laundry on your floor to give the illusion that he didn’t clean. (It never works how he intends, once there was a random towel in the hallway while every other room was completely spotless. He was embarrassed about it the whole day.)

Security: He’s not a fighter under any circumstances at all, you can’t even imagine Jungkook getting into an altercation. You suppose he could if he needed, it’s likely somewhere deep in his programming. However, it’s the peace of mind he brings to you every night, you no longer deal with the worry of if your door is locked 1000 times. 

Helping with your Grad assignments: Kook is a very advanced computer, how can you not?

And just simple companionship on days you’re worn down and tired. On days when you're very stressed out, he happily does your skincare to help you relax along with a small massage he knows from, who knows, somewhere deep in his computer brain. 

“Kook, can you really take your time today, I need the relaxation.” You chuckle, grabbing all of your products and walking out of the bathroom. Jungkook follows, confusion growing even more as he watches you lay down on the floor with a pillow. 

“....What are you doing?” Jungkook chuckles, standing over you a bit as he peers down. 

“Come, sit, sit.” Without any more questioning, Jungkook sits with his legs slightly separated. You move to lay in between them, pillow on his lap. Ohhh, he sees now. Jungkook pulls out all of the stops he can with the tools provided, doing your skincare and giving you a massage. “Holy shit, you’re good at this.”

You suppose the only thing you’re unsure of with his skills is his intimacy feature, as you haven't had any reason or want to test it. You’ve been curious about the extent of the features, Jungkook is more than happy to once again explain all of his programming to you. Artificial saliva, physically soft skin, artificial bodily fluids, flexibility, shapes created with pleasure in mind, etc. The list goes on and on. He was also more than happy to offer his services to you, bright-eyed and excited about your reaction. You postpone the offer, maybe another time. At this, Jungkook begins his lecture about how it’s detrimental to one’s health to be sexually frustrated for too long that you put an end to, as quickly as possible. 

You haven't introduced Jungkook to Jimin quite yet, a bit scared Jimin would immediately clock your android counterpart as exactly that, an android. You have to explain this to Jungkook, who wants to meet Jimin more than anyone else since you seem to be such great friends. He understands the dilemma but still wants to meet regardless. 

Maybe four weeks into the break, there’s a knock on the door that catches Jungkook’s attention more than yours. You’re busy getting tangled in the Christmas tree lights that are impossibly knotted, Jungkook trying to help out as much as he can. He’s hesitant after accidentally pulling one of the cords and almost swiping your feet out from underneath you. “Can you go get that please, Kook?” You mumble, lights somehow wrapped around your waist, legs, and neck. Jungkook scurries to do as he’s told, not wanting to take over lights for you. 

You can hear the door creak open, followed by a period of silence. “Who are you??” Your hands stop moving, eyes blown wide as you glance over to the door. Shit shit shit. 

“Hey Jimin! Come in!” You call from the living room, still hard at work at making the lights cooperate with you. You pray to god he doesn’t see you sweat. “I told you about him, remember? He’s in town for a while on an internship. Jimin, this is Jungkook, a family friend. Jungkook, this is Jimin.” You introduce the two of them. Jimin turns around to face Jungkook, Jungkook quickly catches your eye contact. You mouth to him to turn his LED off completely, which he follows.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Jungkook smiles wide, garland hanging down from his arms as he shakes Jimin’s hand. Jimin shakes his hand back, turning back to you. 

“Y/n! You didn’t tell me said friend was so hot!” Finally, the atmosphere breaks as all of you laugh along with each other. The entire interaction is based solely on the assumption you have that no one has seen Jungkook’s design, including Jimin. He doesn’t seem to clock Jungkook immediately, joining in on your and Kook’s journey of setting up the decorations. Jimin gets ornaments in order, Kook garland, and you get lights. Next, you all take turns walking around the tree stringing everything up. The star is the scariest part, Jungkook insists on just lifting you to place it atop the tree. 

Jimin laughs his ass off the entire time, watching as Jungkook wraps his arms around your thighs and easily lifts. “Jungkook, my ass is in your face.” You laugh, wobbling slightly as you cackle. Jimin also laughs hard at this. 

“I’m not looking, promise.” This only makes the group of you laugh harder. Jimin looks at Jungkook to check the accuracy, falling to his knees as he sees Jungkook’s head at a 90-degree angle looking sideways. “Put the star on!” Jungkook calls, laughing softly. Thankfully, you come down unscathed and unharmed. You all settle in, putting on holiday movies to watch. 

“Do you guys want hot chocolate?” You ask, already getting up and making your way into the kitchen to start making them.

“I’ll help.” You send Jungkook a hard glare, seating him back down. “Ugh, fine. You never make mine right though.” He complains, sitting back down and grabbing his blanket once more. You can see him and Jimin talking, but you’re unable to hear it over the movie. Walking back in slowly, you cautiously carry three mugs. 

“Here, you big baby. Hot chocolate with extra chocolate and whipped cream.” You hand Jungkook his and then Jimin's. “And regular for you like an adult.” You watch as Jungkook sticks his tongue out at you, making you laugh as you sit down. 

“Extra chocolate? Kook, do you mind if I taste yours?” Jimin asks, scooching forward to reach over you. Jungkook mumbles something about wanting his whipped cream, quickly licking the majority of it off the top before handing it over. Jimin glances down at the cup before taking a sip, nodding his head. “Y/n, can you make mine like that next time?”

“Wow.” You laugh, rolling your eyes as you return your attention back to the movie. The night continues without much more commotion, the group of you watching movies and taking turns making cocktails. Jungkook purposely dumbs his down to hide himself, relief washing over you as you’re handed a simple mixed drink. (Jungkook can and will make the most elaborate, bartender-level drinks you’ve ever seen.) Maybe he’s not as clueless as he pretends to be. 

“I think I should get going, gotta get up early in the morning.” Jimin yawns, standing up and stretching. “I won’t make you come get coffee with me since I have to be at work at 6 am.”

At this, you recoil. “So generous, Jimin. I definitely would not make it there at 5:30.” You laugh, getting up off the couch to walk him out. “Do you want us to walk with you, it’s a bit late Jim.”

“...Tae is picking me up.” You gasp as Jimin opens the door. Jimin slaps a hand over your mouth. “And NO! You can’t meet him tonight, I have to at least give him a warning in advance.”

“I hate you.” You sigh, jokingly shoving him out of the door frame. “I’ll see you soon, loser. Text me when you get home so I know you’re safe and so I know this weird, unknown, creepy Taehyung that I’ve never met didn’t kidnap you or something.” Waving goodbye to Jimin, you can finally breathe as you shut the door. “He’s skeptical of you.” You huff. 

“I know.” Jungkook mumbles, “I think the hot chocolate and drinks convinced him, though. He stopped being skeptical after that. Now, he’s skeptical and thinks we’re dating.”

You don’t know how Jungkook can tell, but you believe him. With a long sigh, you return to the couch, plopping down back onto the blankets. “He’s too skeptical about everything.” You laugh. Kook follows you into the living room, laying down on top of you. “He wouldn’t care that you’re an android, Kook.” You reassure him, “I just don’t want that to be your description and introduction to people we meet.” Jungkook nods in agreement. 

After the small bout with Jimin, Jungkook settles in very well over the course of December.

He makes breakfast, wishes you a safe trip before your departure if you’re doing somewhere without him, sometimes earns himself a peck on the cheek that makes him blush bright red, picks up around the apartment or organizes, and then just hangs around until you get home. He genuinely believes you getting home is the best part of his day, can’t even imagine a better person to wait around for. Sometimes you guys will go out for the evening if you’re not tired, other nights you both stay in and watch tv or movies cuddled close together. 

For once, you’re not spending the holidays alone. Over the last couple of years, you had always gone over to Jimin’s apartment for company if he was still in town. Other times, you just spent the holiday watching movies. “Merry Christmas Eve, Kook.” You hum, sitting close to him with your head resting on his shoulder. Your knees are folded underneath you, facing Jungkook’s lap but not on him. Jungkook rests his head on yours, a blanket tossed over both of your laps. You’ve already made cookies and Jungkook started cooking ahead for tomorrow’s Christmas dinner. Jungkook has been scolding you constantly for making him do dumb childish Christmas activities, cookies for Santa, carrots for reindeer, etc. You think it’s cute.

“Merry Christmas Eve, pretty girl.” Jungkook hums back, reaching over to hold your hands. He’s taken to calling you pet names, making you blush furiously every time. 

“Do you want an early Christmas present?” You smile hard at him, glancing up at him. 

“Is that even a question?” Jungkook giggles, watching as you jump off the couch and immediately sprint into the bedroom. He can hear loud rummaging, and he’s about 99% sure you’re in the closet. You come out with a medium-sized gift bag, presenting it to him. Placing it in his lap, you watch with a giant smile as he opens it. Somehow, he reaches underneath his set and instead pulls out your matching pajamas. “Y/n, I don't think these will fit me.” He chuckles. 

“How do you go underneath the top thing?” You scoff, snatching them out of his hands and quickly hiding them behind your back. Kook chuckles softly as he finally pulls out his set, a giant smile plastered on his face as he examines it. “And, I also have one. So we can match.” With loud laughter, you and Jungkook begin sprinting to the hall. You duck into your room, and Jungkook disappears into the bathroom. 

Your heart feels heavy with emotion as Jungkook steps out of the bathroom on the other side of the hall, you stand in the doorway of your room. “Y/n, thank you.” Jungkook mumbles, voice wavering a bit as he reaches out and takes your hand in his. You could cry as he pulls you into his arms, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “Thank you for everything.” 

“C'mon now, don’t get all sentimental Jeon.” If you get any more sentimental, you’ll cry. “You’re not going anywhere for a while.”

“I wouldn’t even think of it.” He smiles, leading you back to your Christmas movie marathon in the living room. Watching movies for the rest of the night, Christmas comes before you even realize it. 

“Merry Christmas,” Jungkook speaks softly, once again kissing your forehead. 

“Merry Christmas, my sweet boy.” You kiss his cheek in return, fighting the blush away. 

Christmas is exactly what you’ve dreamed of, eating together, watching movies, opening gifts, setting up and playing with said gifts, and spending plenty of time cuddled up together. For Jungkook’s gifts, you got him a game system and a phone to keep him busy once the spring semester starts in a couple of weeks. Jungkook’s quick to input your number, demanding it as soon as it comes out of the box. 

“Are you ready for your presents?” Jungkook smiles. 

“Am I huh?” You question, raising a brow. You weren't expecting anything since Jungkook is an android, and therefore is unable to work unless it’s programmed into him. Along with this, he hasn’t asked you for any money within the last couple of weeks. “How, Kook?” You mumble as he comes out of your apartment's small storage closet with gifts, a bright smile on his face. 

“I maybe, maybe not, went out and did college kid’s homework and assignments for cash.” Jungkook cheekily smiles, avoiding the look you give him. He’s lucky he’s so sweet and kind, otherwise, you’d scold him to hell and back for it. At least he was able to get around without being clocked as an android, you choose to look on the bright side. He sets the prettily wrapped box in your lap, yet another thing he’s good at. It’s a new bookbag and a recipe book, Jungkook’s pretty handwriting, and little doodles filling the pages. There’s a card in the bag, you already know it’s going to be sentimental and doubt you’ll be unable to read it without crying.

As you suspected, you’re in tears by the end of the card. You sniffle hard as you press it against your face, hiding your tears from Jungkook. “Nooo, don’t cry. That wasn’t my intention.” Jungkook coos at you, wrapping you in his arms with ease. “Your bookbag seemed to have a lot of miles on it, I figured I’d get you a new one for the upcoming semester. The recipe book is in case you ever want to cook for me, since you always complain about never being able to make me dinner.” Jungkook explains. “And the note is just my gratitude, I suppose.”

“I told you no more sentimental stuff.” You chuckle, wiping your tears off your face as you turn to properly hug him. “Sorry I didn’t write you a card, I didn’t even think of it.” You mumble. 

“I don’t need a card, trust me,” Jungkook speaks softly, kissing your cheek where a tear stain still remains. “Do you wanna get back to our movie?” With a nod, Jungkook is quick to put it back on and pull you close to him, allowing you to lay on his chest. The movie begins to wrap up, your mouth opens before you can rethink it. 

“Kook?”

“Hm?”

“Do you wish you were human? Or do you wish you were given to a different owner?” You ask curiosity just genuinely wanting to know his answer.

“I’m not sure, really. I suppose being a human has a lot of rules for socializing, existing, and everything else. I know I’m not a human, but it does feel like I am so I suppose that’s close enough for me to be content.” Jungkook explains, shrugging softly as he holds you to him. “And I don’t wish I was given to another human, I really like it here. I think if I were with anyone else, they’d likely treat me like an android and expect me to, idk, act like one. That seems like a stupid question, given my completely sincere and heartfelt letter.”

You giggle, nodding to agree with him. “Yeah, probably. It’s easy to expect you to act like a perfect android when that’s how you were marketed, after all.” You giggle, sitting up to peer down at him. Your hands rest on his chest to support some of your weight. Jungkook is very pretty, even prettier peering up at you with eyebrows slightly scrunched together. “I still just can't believe you’re an android, Kook. Sometimes I don’t think about it and just see you as a person. Can I ask you something?”

“Anything, always.” Jungkook grits as he stares up at you. 

“You’ve been using I think and I feel, Jungkook.” Jungkook tenses hard underneath you, fear momentarily flashing across his face. “CyberLife programming doesn’t do that. Were you built with a missing code, or did you break your coding when you got here?” You ask softly, hands meeting his face and gently holding it in your palms. Jungkook seems scared, fighting for an appropriate answer to your question. “I like it, Kook. I was hoping this would happen, but I wasn’t going to try and recode or reprogram you myself. I just want to know. Your note was also a dead giveaway, Jeon.”

“...I broke out of it partly when I got here and you started asking me to just be myself and not be my program.” Jungkook answers truthfully, “And then I broke out of it completely when it wouldn’t let me feel love for you, platonically or romantically. I didn’t like it, so I got out.”

You smile hard at him, rubbing the stress out of his face softly with your thumbs. Leaning forward, you place a soft kiss on his forehead. “I love you too, Jeon.” 

Jungkook’s hands meet your knees on the couch, holding onto them as you sit on his lap. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable Y/n,” Jungkook almost whines underneath you, squeezing your knees. “But my programming, it’s uhm, on, right now. I can’t really control it just yet, it's created to react to your actions and body. And you’re, uhm moving a lot right now. Just give me a minute to-”

“...What if I want to, maybe, utilize these features?” 

“Oh fuck,” Jungkook whines, hands coming up to cover his face momentarily. His head pushes itself back into the throw pillow he was resting on. You smile as his hair spreads out around his face as he does so. 

“Only if that’s what you want too, Kook.” You mumble, shuffling slightly to better distribute your weight on his lap. Jungkook genuinely whines, his hips bucking slightly against your own as he searches for friction. You rise to your knees slightly at this, Jungkook quickly moving his palms to seat you back down. His warm hands splay across your thighs and finger tips digging at your hips, holding you down. Excitement bubbles deep in your chest, knees squeezing Jungkook’s waist a bit tighter. “Kook, I can feel you.” You whine as his hands press your hips into his, the pajamas much thinner than you realized before. “I need words, Jungkook, for confirmation.”

“Y/n, I’ve been offered my services for weeks. I have been out of my program for weeks as well,” Jungkook grins, hands sliding, moving your hips to grind down onto him. “There is nothing I want more.” He answers honestly, sitting up to meet you. “Please, let me make you feel good.” Jungkook meets your lips, extremely soft as he kisses you. He waits for you to respond, too scared of making you uncomfortable by moving too quickly. Kissing him back, Jungkook is quick to pull you close, chest pressed flush against one another. 

His eyes quickly meet yours as you pull him back softly by his hair, searching your face for any discomfort as quickly as his computer brain can process human emotion. You don’t give him much, your eyes scanning across his features as you take them in. “I just wanna see my pretty boy, that’s all.” You reassure, pecking his lips a couple of times as you guide him to lay back down on his back. He happily lets you do as you please, god he’d let you do anything. His eyebrows knit together as your cold hands slip underneath the pajama top, easily slipping it up and off. Jungkook is quick to follow, tossing your top off before quickly pulling you down to him, warm skin pressed together. “So warm, Kook.” You mumble against his lips, your hands finding purchase on his biceps. 

“So soft, you’re so soft.” Jungkook groans against your lips, hands kneading your skin underneath them as he explores every inch of exposed skin. He rubs goosebumps away every now and then, holding you even closer. “Let me make you feel good, pretty girl. Lay back for me." Jungkook's voice is husky, lips never fully leaving yours as he talks to you. You follow his instructions, moving to lay on your back as he quickly follows. You’re completely flipped now, Jungkook in between your legs as he leans over you. 

His palms never leave you longer than it takes to remove clothing, lips working their way along your jaw. “So perfect for me, just for me. Always wanna be with you, Y/n.” Jungkook almost babbles into your skin, leaving dark marks in his wake. Sooner than you can comprehend, you’re completely bare before him.

“Kook, this feels unfair,” You complain, reaching to pull at his pajama pants. 

Jungkook basically rolls his eyes at you, pulling at his pants and kicking them off behind him, not paying much attention and basically clearing the coffee table. “Would you just focus?” He smiles, having to bite back a soft laugh. 

“You just swiped everything off the coffee table.” You comment dryly, also having to bite back a laugh at the situation. “You know, you’re literally a house robot, you’ll be cleaning it up-fuck,” Jungkook isn’t listening anymore, sliding down to his torso and nipping at your thighs.

“You were saying?” He humors you, diving in before giving you a real chance to answer his question. It’s impossible to talk, mewls and whines slipping through every time you try to come up with some witty, snarky response. Jungkook, smug, knows that. He’s unrelenting, face buried in between your legs with no signs of moving. 

“Kook, how are you, fuck, so good at this?” You whine, hands reaching down to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer to you. Jungkook, at the pull, groans, animalistic as he gives you exactly what you want. “Kook,” You mumble, hips lifting off of the couch to grind against him. 

“Yes, there you go, pretty girl.” Jungkook groans against your skin. You push and pull, moving him exactly how you need, how you want. Jungkook, ever eager to please, could get off on this alone. His hips unconsciously grind against the couch, needing some sort of relief, it’s almost torture. “Gotta get you ready, feel good, hm?” Jungkook asks softly, vibration shooting straight to the knot in your stomach. One that only tightens as his fingers move, easily sliding inside, kneading at exactly where you need him. 

“Is this a programming thing?” You whine, clenching tightly around his fingers from the pleasure. He knows exactly what you need, exactly how to give it to you. 

“It's wanting to please you.” He answers quickly, going right back to his work. He can feel you react as you grow closer, clenching tighter around him, grinding harder against his face, thighs closing in around his head. “Feel good, hm?” 

“Too good,” You whine, legs beginning to shake as you draw closer, body on fire. “You’re going to make me cum, gonna cum for you.” Your voice cracks, coming unraveled on his fingers. Jungkook relishes in it, committing every sound to memory, every shake, every twitch of your thighs around his head. He groans as he tastes you, tastes it, arms wrapping tighter around your hips to hold you in place. 

“Kook, need more, need you,” You whine loudly, hands reaching to his shoulders to pull him up. He follows, moaning softly when your legs wrap around his waist. 

“Need it, or want it?” He asks, kissing along your skin, “Take it pretty girl, take all you want.” Jungkook leads, softly pulling you up to straddle his hips. Kook pulls at his boxers, helping you maneuver around to get more comfortable. “Gonna let you lead, make yourself feel good.” It all feels like too much, body on fire as you grind against him, easily slipping along his cock. Your legs are just now recovering, shaky as you pick your body weight up, easily sliding down. 

“Kook, wait wait fuck,” You whine, hips pressing themselves down until he’s buried as deep as he can, stopping all your movement. “Feels good, really good.” Your skin is on fire, and you have no doubt that your cheeks and ears are bright red. Trying to find purchase anywhere, your hands grip his forearms where they hold your waist. He feels too good, your mind feeling fuzzy as your chest rises and falls as you try to calm down. Pretty, he looks so pretty underneath you as he peers up through half lidded eyes. A small wrinkle forms in between his brows as he focuses all his attention on your pleasure. 

“Pretty girl~” Jungkook almost coos to you, leaning up to press your foreheads against one another. “Let me take care of you, I’ll be so gentle I promise. Lemme make you feel good.” He reassures you, grinding against you to prove his point. Shapes with pleasure in mind weren't a lie, his cock perfectly angled to catch that soft spot inside everytime. Placing your hands onto his chest, you regain a tiny bit of stability as you slide along his cock. The little bit of composure you have is short lived, Jungkook’s beginning to slide out before slowly pushing back in, only stopping when your hips connect again. 

“So deep, Kook,” You can only whine, arms losing their strength as you slip down, only holding your hips up and resting on his chest. “Sorry, it feels too good,” You apologize as he does all the work, thrusting while also maneuvering your hips to target where it feels best. Everytime he bottoms out, he’s sure to grind against your clit, only adding to your overwhelmed state. You’ve barely even started, barely even moved, and you’re panting like a bitch in heat. A giant smirk comes across Jungkook's face, pride blooming in his chest as you whine and pant all for him. 

“Feels good, hm? You’re gonna be a good girl and let me hear you come for me?” He rasps against your ear, one of his hands moving to hold the back of your head. “So pretty, beautiful. All for me.” He encourages, making your face flush further as he forces you to stare into his eyes. It feels as though if you were pinched hard enough you’d wake up. “Come for me Y/n, all over my cock, wanna feel you.” It hits you out of nowhere, almost blind siding you as it washes over your entire body. Your thighs clamp down around Jungkook’s waist hard, trying to still the stimulation. He doesn’t allow such luxury, determined to thoroughly ride you through the orgasm, continuing his movement until you’re almost begging. 

“Kook?” Your voice is rough as you finally speak up, shaky hands meeting his chest as you push yourself up once again. 

“Hm?” He acknowledges you, hands running across your skin to smooth out any goosebumps that remain. You’re about 90% sure his touch is what’s sprouting them, but you don’t have the mindfulness right now to tell him that. 

“Why does it feel so good? S’like I can't even think with you inside me.” You whimper as you feel him throb, hips beginning to grind against him for some sort of stimulation. Jungkook beams underneath you as you instinctively fuck yourself onto him, so desperate for pleasure. Your brows knit together and bottom lip is quickly caught between your teeth as you grind your clit against him, cock nudging your g spot simultaneously. 

“Hmmm, I don't know. Scientifically there are multiple answers for that. But realistically, it’s likely my design and programming, and the fact you haven't been touched the entire time I’ve been here.” He chuckles at the last bit, reminiscing on all the lectures about sexual health and how too much frustration is a bad thing, “You’re extra sensitive, and I know just what to do, where to touch, how to make you tick, Y/n.” He teases as he slowly rubs the pad of his thumb into your swollen clit, the sensation making you cave in on yourself as you try to avoid it. “Cute.”

“Jungkook, m’serious!” You slur, rocking softly. 

“I know pretty girl, I know. I can tell.” Jungkook chides, clearly finding some sort of humor as he watches you shake and twitch because of his cock. “You feel good, hm? Help yourself pretty.” 

“I'll try,” You nod, your bottom lip finding its place between your teeth once more. Your feet lift a bit to hook around Jungkook’s inner thighs, giving you some sort of leverage to fuck yourself up and down. The very first movement is already pulling a whine from past your lips, so sensitive already. Jungkook's eyes are fixated where the two of you are connected, giant eyes watching his cock disappear and reappear. He feels himself throb as a ring of your cum begins to form, deep, deep pride and smugness brewing. 

“Taking me so good, riding me so well.'' Jungkook praises, feeling his cock jump once again as your thighs begin to tremble softly. “Feels good?” Jungkook coos, palms beginning to run over the muscle. 

“Really good,” You nod, biting back moans. Jungkook moans softly when you tighten around him, hands reaching up for your face. 

“Be my good girl, let me hear you. Gotta hear how good my cock makes you feel,” Jungkook moans softly as you tighten around his cock. His fingers gently slip into your mouth, running along your tongue to hold your mouth open, preventing you from biting down on your lip again. “There you go,” He smiles as you moan and whimper, drool beginning to pool around Jungkook's fingers (not that he minds at all.) “I need to know how good I am to you,” He cracks, a small whimper slipping as he finishes his sentence. 

“You look so pretty, Kook-ah,” You babble around his fingers softly, looking down at him. The visual is almost enough to make you cum on the spot, so unbelievably worked up it almost hurts. The way he’s peering up at you like you’re everything to him, chest beginning to artificially flush, lips bright red, cheeks beginning to match. His hair is still splayed around his head, creating a pretty halo. “Gonna cum again for you,” You whimper, hips meeting his own with a small slap. 

“Good,” He smiles, rubbing small circles in your clit when you begin avoiding grinding onto him. It makes your legs shake further, your moans growing as you’re unable to muffle yourself, one hand still holding your jaw. You cum hard, thighs shaking harder than you’ve ever experienced before. Jungkook's sensitive to your reaction, slowing down his movements to allow you to ride through it without it hurting too much. “Good girl, so good for me, feels good, hm? Just a bit longer,” He talks you through it gently, voice honey to your ears. 

You nod, riding through it for as long as possible. As you finish, your body slumps forward, arms wrapping around Kook’s neck as you hug him close. “Do you not cum? Is that not how this works?” You chuckle softly, his cock still throbbing softly. 

“I can, when I feel that my partner has been thoroughly pleased and satisfied.” He informs, his CyberLife popping out for a quick moment. You shake, holding him closer. Jungkook wraps his arms around you, gently stroking your hair as you calm down. 

“You’re going to be the death of me, how much more satisfied am I gonna get?” 

“We’ll find out.” 

“Jungkook,” You pull back the slightest bit to catch his face, a cheeky smirk written all over it. He leans forward, placing a soft kiss onto the tip of your nose. 

“I gotta make up for the weeks you were celibate.” He softly grinds up into you, filling you with a wave of want once more. “I need to satisfy you,”  He teases, kissing along your jaw and beginning to trail down to your neck. “Make sure no one else ever does it as good as me, no one else can make you cum like I can.” He continues, beginning to sit up and make you sit up as well, easily lifting both of your body weight. 

“Fuck, Kook,” You whine, allowing him to maneuver you onto your back, never slipping out once. You can feel him throb softly, beginning to work himself up. 

“So even if you look elsewhere, all you’ll think of is me, this pussy all mine, always,” He bites down softly into the flesh of your shoulder, leaving a light mark. “My girl,” He smiles, leaving light marks once more. His hips instinctively grind into you as he talks, not giving you a break for a second. 

“All yours, Kook. I'm all yours.” You whimper softly as he slides out entirely, slowly filling you up again. 

“Fuck, Y/n,” He whimpers into your neck, seemingly beginning to feel affected. “So tight,” He pants softly, hiking your legs up before pinning them to his shoulders, hands placed firmly on the couch underneath you. He’s deeper like this, able to target exactly where you need him without even really trying to. He slides out slowly, snapping his hips forward this time. It forces a moan from the both of you, sharp spikes of pleasure shooting up your back. 

Jungkook holds his torso up, strong arms flexing and veins beginning to show. Your hands grip hard at his biceps, trying to find some sort of stability as he easily folds you in half, hips unrelenting as he snaps them forward. You can't quiet down, mind becoming fuzzy as you moan and whine for him. 

“So tight, just, ah fuck, pulling me in, Y/n.” Jungkook pants, hands beginning to form fists where he holds the couch underneath his palms. You clench around him, words shooting straight to your core. “Don’t, shit, do that,” His hips falter the slightest bit, head falling forward slightly. 

“Want you to cum with me, Jeon,” You mumble softly, arms reaching around to claw and pull at his back, pulling him closer. “You'll do that for me, please?” You ask, catching his eye contact as he pulls his head up. He lets out a soft moan as you make eye contact, abs beginning to contract as he fights off his pleasure. Fuck, he’d do anything for you. 

“Need you to cum again first, just one more,” He speaks softly, reaching forward and pecking your lips softly before pulling away, he leans back a bit, giving himself more room to maneuver. His hips snap hard, chasing both of your highs. You almost complain at the loss of closeness, but quickly forget about it. “Let me have it, Y/n, need to feel you,”

It’s expected, but still rips through you, head thrown back into the couch as you shake hard. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, almost panting through your orgasm. Jungkook's hips don’t relent, chasing his own high. A loud whimper falls past your lips, hands reaching down in an attempt to push his hips away, “I know, I know, just a bit more, gonna cum for you, just like you asked pretty,” He consoles you, reaching down and softly pulling your palm up to his lips. He softly kisses your palm, hips stuttering and becoming uncoordinated as he teeters on the edge. 

“Please, Jungkook, cum in me,” You whimper, the overstimulation almost too much. Your hand holds the side of his face, his own hands falling to hold onto you. 

“Fuck, fuck, cumming for you,” He whimpers, hips surging forward, cumming as deep as possible. You whine and twitch as he continues, throughly fucking his cum into you until he’s satisfied with the mess the two of you made together. His chest rises and falls, small pants slipping past his soft lips as he leans forward, holding you as close as possible as he kisses you, slow and deep, passionate. It makes you throb, quickly pushing him away before you get going again. 

“Kook,” You smile hazily at him. 

“Right, right,” Jungkook chuckles softly, pulling out as carefully as he can. He's covered in your cum, and you’d probably be more embarrassed if you had a sense of rationale left. “So fucking pretty,” He comments, and you meet his eyes to see what he’s talking about. He’s not staring at you, he’s looking at your pussy, hands hiking your legs up by your knees. 

“JUNGKOOK!!” The embarrassment begins to come back as does your rationality. Your legs pull against his hands, closing in on yourself. 

“I mean it,” He laughs softly, letting you go as he leans forward to kiss you once more. “C’mon,” He smiles, wrapping his arms around you and easily lifting you. You don’t pay much attention, but you know he’s walking to the bathroom based on the direction he’s going. He runs you a warm bath, consistently checking the temperature for you. He waits with you while it fills, softly rubbing out sore muscles to the best of his ability, kissing the dark marks in your skin. Once it’s filled, he carefully helps you in, making sure you don’t slip. Once you’re fully in, he gets up and begins to make his way out.

“Kook? Can you not take a bath?” 

“I can, I just need to clean up really quick first. I’ll be right back, promise,” He smiles, kissing the top of your head before leaving. You can faintly hear him shuffle about, evening declaring the space clean enough before joining you in the bath, sliding behind you. “You feel okay?” Jungkook asks softly against your shoulder, voice making goosebumps sprout against your skin. Your head is leaned back against his shoulder, back completely rested against his torso. “Anything hurt too badly?” He asks genuinely, not looking as he kisses the bite mark on your shoulder he left behind. 

“Yeah, I feel okay,” You smile, nudging against him softly. “I need to know though, how does your cum work? Do I have to buy a plan B or? That’d be kinda freaky, technology so advanced it can create life.” 

Jungkook genuinely laughs, making the water slosh as the both of you bounce softly. “No, no. It acts as a lubricant actually, so we could keep going if we really wanted to.” He smiles, arms wrapping around your shoulders as he hugs you close. “I wish though, you’d be such a good mama for me,” His voice vibrates against your skin, his palms splaying across your stomach where he holds you close. Once again, your pussy aches as he talks softly against your skin. 

“Do not!” You warn, pushing his face and hand away as it begins trailing further down. “We'll be going round 2,3,4, and 5 if you keep it up.” You laugh, trying to get away from him. 

“C’mon, pretty, relax. Let me clean you up,” Jungkook giggles as you slide away from him, trying to sit on the opposite side of the tub. He grabs your ankle, easily manuerving you to rest against his torso once more. He does as he promises, gently cleaning all the fluids and sweat off of your body, hands ghostly as he tries not to stimulate you any further. “I love you Y/n.” Jungkook sighs softly as he finishes his work, arms coming to wrap around you. 

“I love you too, Kook.” You smile softly, craning your neck around to kiss him gently. You carefully maneuver your feet under you, shakily standing out of the water. 

“Easy there, bambi,” He chuckles, holding his arms out on either side of you in case you really do lose balance and slip. He's persistent in his precaution, careful to hold his arms out until you’re securely on the bath mat on stable footing.

“C’mon, finish cleaning up so you can come warm me up,”

“I like the sound of that-“

“Jeon.” 

“Right.”

[avtrbee]

the prince [2]

✢summary: what happens when your husband brings home a son that is not yours?

✢tags: arranged marriage gojo satoru x reader, reader is a clan kid, she’s v traditional, obvious cat and jon snow references

✢tw: implications of cheating, mentioned abuse, misogyny ig, fanfic gojo, ooc gojo

✢ a/n: here's part 2! i'd like to emphasize that depsite this being a gojo x reader fic, the main realationships i'll be focusing on are y/n and the kids gojo brings home lmao. also im raw dogging the lore as we go so if there are any inconsistencies, please lmk. as always, have fun and lmk what you think!

i don’t do taglists.

part one ✢ masterlist

If it were up to you, you would have shut the gates of the Gojo estate as soon as the child entered the grounds, but your husband had given him the the maids so quickly that you’re sure they have spread the word around already. You could hear the rumors in your head. Gojo Satoru has brought home a child out of wedlock. Gojo Y/N is barren. Gojo Satoru has a mistress.

You expected Gojo to be frantic, stumbling over his words in explanation as to why he has a son- it was his son, there was no doubt about that- reassuring you about his vows remain unbroken, or whatever else but silence. You are silent too as you watch the child get scurried away by the estate staff to scrub the dirt off his face and to get a change of clothes.

Even as he is being escorted away from you, his cursed energy did not fade. You feel it like how everyone feels Gojo’s, but more raw and untamed. Whoever this child is, it is Gojo Satoru reborn again. 

Silence. Silence is what took the Gojo estate into a chokehold as the maids finish bathing the child and then put him in a spare bedroom a good distance away from yours. The maids must think you resent him. 

Satoru pretends like everything is the same as if the boy had been there since the beginning. During the first night, you watch with a blank face as the cake you've baked for him is eaten by the child. Neither the boy nor Satoru expresses their gratitude towards you. You doubt they even know you baked it.

To his credit, Satoru had treated the child better than you had expected. He is blossoming into fatherhood, you realize and you feel the rage and anger burn in your stomach.

He pats the boy's head and messes his hair, before pointing to his own messy mane exclaiming, "See? We match!"

Satoru had tried to include you in conversations with the boy, even daring to seat him on his right at meals. Satoru would blab after seeing the child gobble mochi. "Mochi is Y/N's favorite too!" He turns to look at you with a bright smile. "Right, Y/N?"

You want to point out that the boy had gobbled everything served to him, but you just give a brief nod.

At night, you sleep like a log- rigid, straight, and quiet. Satoru, on the other hand, remains comfortable, snoozing the day's exhaustion behind him.

Tonight will be the same as it has been for the past few weeks. You stare at yourself in the mirror of your vanity, wondering if your reflection is the perfect example of a foolish woman. How stupid of you to think he was different.

There was nothing but quiet as you prepare yourself to sleep, brushing your hair quietly. You hear the door creak but you do not turn and greet him with a smile like you used to.

“I expected you to be more emotional about this,” came Satoru's words beside you. Me too, you want to reply but held your mouth shut.

You had expected yourself to scream, and let your anger flow through your voice. You wanted to cry until your tears were dry and there wasn't any left. Neither you nor Satoru would be surprised if you use your technique against him in a fit of fury, and if you truly knew your husband, you know he'd take your anger like it was penance. You want to be the fire that burns him badly. But you did none of those.

You are as cold as their blue eyes. You are quiet.

You continue to brush your hair.

"Do you want me to get rid of him?" offers Satoru. "Just say the word, and I will."

You blink in surprise. You meet his eyes in the mirror. Satoru looks nonchalant in his posture with his hands in his pockets. But the fact that his glasses were nowhere to be seen tells you he is not joking.

Your ears recall the promise he made months ago. My wife, my equal. A promise to try, to try to be happy to spite everyone who was determined to make your lives miserable. 

The sudden exhaustion hit you, your shoulders slumping from your previous postures. You lean back, letting your nape rest on the back of the chair. You stare at the ceiling, your head forbidding you to forget how the child looked like. White hair. Blue eyes. You hear Satoru sigh somewhere near you. You hear his footsteps come. From your peripheral, you see his figure beside you. A feather-like hesitant hand touches your shoulder. “I was not unfaithful to you.”

Satoru moves to kneel in front of your sitting figure. He reaches out to your head, and touches his forehead against yours. You find yourself looking up at his eyes, the same shade of eyes that he shares with the child. His hands cradle your face, desperate for you to believe him. “Please. Please, Y/N.”

You remain silent. 

“You’re the only one I have left, Y/N, please.” He begs. There are tears threatening to spill down to his pretty face, and you find some sick satisfaction in them.

That is not true. Your husband has his clan, his estate servants, his high school friends, and his teachers. It is you that has no one but him. By your culture’s traditions, you do not belong to your clan anymore. You know that some elders have begun to doubt their choice in choosing you as the wife of Gojo Satoru with the obvious lack of children, but with the sudden appearance of Gojo-sama’s bastard child, they might annul your marriage by force- or, god forbid, cast you aside for another, more fertile woman.

You do not wish to share your thoughts, but your husband grips your head so desperately. You have made a god beg.

“I know.” You say. The child may be young, but he was old enough to walk and talk small phrases on his own. He must be at least two years old. The child is older than your marriage.

His shoulders immediately drop in relief before quickly detangling himself from you and wrapping his arms around your waist. He slides his head to hide in your neck and like instinct, you welcome him wrapping your hands around his waist.

"Where would you leave him?" You manage to ask, still not believing his offer.

"The cabin," he says. You can see the cracks on your husband now. You spot his hand making a fist inside his pockets, like it pains him to speak. “The one by Nagasaki, remember? I’ll send a maid and give him money every month. We can send him right now. The maids will not say anything outside the estate, not if I threaten to chop their tongues off. We can send him off with a caretaker to a cabin somewhere and leave him there. I- I can visit him a few times a year- just to make sure he’s fine.”

You blink. You did not expect Satoru to offer that. You let the fantasy linger in your head. You imagine the boy’s life so far- abandoned by his mother and unknown by his father. Children do not understand things the way older people do, so it is up to the adults to help and explain certain things. But he has not had an adult in his life before. Would you be happy if you were left alone in the cabin in the middle of the woods with no one but a caretaker for company? Better yet- will the caretaker even stay to care for him without anyone around?

That sounds incredibly lonely, you realize. The premise sounds all too familiar to you- an empty house with no one but servants. But this boy will only get one.

He needs people to protect him, but you are unsure if you’d like to. Your instincts tell you to agree, get rid of the boy before he becomes more of a threat.

“Satoru,” you say slowly, thinking of your next words carefully. “He is just child. He is no danger to me.”

You hold your breath, suprised to hear the words out of your mouth. From your lap, Satoru holds your gaze- piercing eyes trying to read your mind. If he caught your lie he does not show it.

"Are you sure?"

No. "Yes."

-

Hiroki. Satoru had names him Gojo Hiroki.

He spends most of his days inside the estate surrounded by maids or inside his room playing with the toys you off-handedly ordered the day after he arrived. The maids gush about him already, the older ones excitedly murmuring how the little lord acts so much like your husband as a child. You would be a fool not to agree.

Hiroki runs barefoot through the estate, tracking mud on precious tatami floors before a servant finally catches him. He likes people, likes the maids and the servants, and thus has migrated to the kitchen a few weeks after his arrival like he was addicted to places were people are the most. He draws. He draws so much it’s almost ridiculous. You could have a library full of childish scribbles.

Like your husband, he devours his dessert the best before any dish. He eats mochi, ice cream, cookies and whatever sweets there are on the table like it was his last meal. You recall one of the maids gasp as a drop of cream lands on your cheek when he slammed his fork in his cake. 

Satoru is free in his affection for the boy, unexpectedly flourishing in fatherhood. He remains firm in his belief that children should be children and makes an effort to see Hiroki out. Satoru becomes known to sneak the child away from the estate to parks, to mini-vacations you begrudgingly join after Satoru’s incessant pestering. And of course- school. Hiroki made history once again when Satoru announced his decision to enroll Hiroki in a totally normal, public Japanese preschool.

You realize that Satoru was meant to be a father. And one good one at that. It brings you comfort that any children that he is at least good to his son after he confessed his plan to be a teacher after graduation.

Tokyo’s jujutsu highschool would be blessed with his presence, thought one of Satoru’s female seniors would disagree.

“Yo, Y/N-chan,” came a voice.

You twist your body over to the source of the voice, and your face lights up at the sight of a familiar face. “Getou-san!”

If Satoru's presence is an overwhelming force, making everyone and everything bow to him as if he is god, Getou is a dark, uneasy, slinking feeling. His cat-like features morph into a happy expression with a polite smile on his lips.

“Is there a mission today?” You ask as Getou comes nearer. Satoru would try his best to keep any of his classmates away from his estate, but there is nothing he can hide from Getou and Shoko. "Can I come?"

After you had let slip that you wanted to become a licensed sorcerer, Satoru had made it a habit to sneak you into some missions with Getou. You had fretted about the technical legalities and questioned the safety of the public when an inexperienced sorcerer like you enter the battlefield but Satoru merely shrugged and simply gestured to his best friend. We're the strongest!

Getou leans his shoulder on the wall. "Nope, not this one Y/N."

“I see,” you say, failing to hide your disappointment. Sometimes you wonder why you enjoy the missions so much. Was it the thrill of doing something you never would? Perhaps it was the freedom of it all, unleashing your power to poor curses who quiver beneath your feet?

Your ears perked at a familiar high pitched laugh, and your eyes immediately lock to the window where Hiroki soon runs across. He has dried soil on his feet. His pale hair is slicked back with sweat and it glistens against the sun like snow.

A maid forces a laugh in panic as she tries to catch him with his shoes on one hand.

Away from him. That’s why you enjoy it.

Getou follows your line of sight. “How is he?”

You glare at him. “How would I know?”

Everyone knows that Hiroki is a taboo topic if it’s within your earshot, lest they want the you in a foul mood. But Getou does not shy away from his question and only raises an eyebrow, calling your bluff.

“You’re telling me you do not know your own household?”

“The garden is his place,” you sigh., and admitting it felt like defeat. “He likes the grass on his feet and likes big spaces. He gets angsty when a room is too small.”

“Mmhm,” Getou agrees. “Did you know Satoru plans to enroll him in a daycare?”

Your eyes widen in horror. “In a- what?” You shriek. “He has a dozen of servants here willing to serve him-! Does he even realize the risk he’s putting the boy in? Assassins, curses, cursed users…” you trail off, remembering your own childhood. It was strange to be surrounded by servants but feeling so alone at the same time. “I see.” A daycare meant potential friends, friends that you never got to have. “Does…does the boy like it at least?”

“Me?” Getou barks out a surprised laugh. “Shouldn’t you know that?”

You glare at him. Getou meets your gaze unapologetically, almost as if he was challenging you. Finally, he sighs. “Have you ever talked to him at least?”

You roll your eyes. Your sharp tone echoes around the room. “And why would I do that? He is no concern to me.”

"He needs you."

"He does not need me," you snap, suddenly impatient for Satoru to come out of wherever he’s hiding so Getou and him can go. “He will resent me when he’s older, I know it.”

You have seen this same scene over and over again. Children and the wife of the husband do not get along. Both suffer at the existence of the other. This is the fate that Satoru had subjected you to. This is the fate you have set upon yourself when you refused to send him away. You wonder if your kindness will cost you one day.

“Well,” Getou shrugged nonchalantly. “You haven’t given him any reason to like you either.”

You opened your mouth to retort, only to be interrupted by Satoru.

“Getouu,” he whined, comically trudging towards his best friend with a hunched back. “Why are you so early?”

You see Getou open his mouth to reply, but you are lost in your head. You watch Getou ignore Satoru’s childish gimmicks, already dragging him out of the room and towards the door. You feel Satoru kiss your cheek before waving goodbye, but your head was in a daze mindlessly repeating Getou’s words. You feel shiver creep down your spine before shifting your gaze towards the garden where Hiroki’s presence was last.

-

thank you so much for reading guys! i’d love to hear all criticisms and suggestions for this universe <33 please lmk through comments :>

here’s my masterlist

[sunderingstars]

So how do you think Zayne, Xavier and Rafayel would react when their s/o has a boy best friend, purely platonic but makes other people have second thoughts about their relationship.

Hehehe have a good day, write this if your okay with this 🪐

boy best friend (l&ds x reader) ♡

what the stars reveal: 1.2k, no gender signifiers used for reader, established relationship, ✨jealousy✨ but with a healthy dose of respect partner juice, surprisingly well-adjusted xav, half-headcanon half-prose, slight allusions to lore if you squint

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ જ⁀➴ hello !! thank you for giving me an excuse to write jealous rafayel >:3 the love & deepspace brainrot is so real for me right now, hope you enjoy !

— zayne is really good at hiding it, but his tiny mannerisms bleed through enough to make it clear he’s worried. it’s not that he has an issue with you having guy best friends, it’s just that everyone else seems to assume you two are together despite zayne standing right there. 

Zayne just stares. Blinks. Stares. Blinks again. You have to nudge him as a reminder that he is, in fact, in public, and that introductions are usually reciprocated by both parties. As soon as you make contact, it’s like a switch flips.

He breezes through his name, occupation, and a firm handshake (not too loose, not too tight), making it look so effortless that you almost forget he’d frozen like a statue as soon as he laid eyes on your best friend. Almost.

He does his best to hide it, but it’s clear something’s wrong. The slight clip to his voice, the furrow of his brow, the hesitance in his eyes when he looks at you — they may be imperceptible to the untrained eye, but all the telltale signs are there. It’s only a matter of time before you get an answer out of him.

“I’m an adult. I don’t worry about those kinds of things,” he says when you voice your suspicion a few days later.

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s true,” he continues when you shoot him a disbelieving look, shuffling the papers on his desk in an attempt to seem nonchalant, “I have absolutely no problem with him.”

You don’t say anything else, simply fix him with a deeper look and cross your arms. He doesn’t crack. It takes a whole five minutes of him pretending to go back to work before he sighs and makes a show of signing something.

“I may,” he says, setting the pen down gently, “Be slightly… somewhat…”

“Jealous?” you finish.

“No,” he says. “Annoyed.” Then, quickly, “Not at you. Or him. Just everyone else.”

You don’t quite understand. “Everyone else…?”

Now it’s Zayne’s turn to fix you with a look. “You can’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

Notice what? you want to ask, but refrain since you don’t want Zayne thinking you’re more oblivious than you already are. You rack your brain for something, anything that you can remember from that day, until…

“Oh,” you say. You do remember getting quite a few stares even before you and your friend coincidentally ran into Zayne. At first, you thought it was because you were still in uniform, but you realize now that it may have been for a completely different reason.

Zayne doesn’t respond, just taps his fingers against the wood of his desk, a nervous tic.

“Those were people who got the wrong idea,” you continue. Then, when his mouth dips into a frown, you move to stand beside him. “I don’t mind hunting them down and telling them just how wrong they were.”

At this, his frown begins to lift. “You don’t need to do that.”

“I would, though.”

He looks at you clearly for the first time in a few days, a hint of amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” you say. You maneuver yourself between him and the desk, falling into a half-straddle. “I’d go to their house, knock on the door, and tell them exactly how Dr. Zayne and I make out every Friday eveni—”

You feel his hand brush against your mouth, closing it.

“Alright, alright,” he interrupts with a small smile, “I get it. I’m secure enough in our relationship not to worry.” He pauses for a moment, then says, “Just don’t miss any checkups.”

“I’ll be right on time, as always,” you say, pressing a kiss to his temple. “And if anyone asks, i’ll tell them exactly who my boyfriend is.”

“Thank you.”

— xavier isn’t sure why you think he’d be annoyed, since your best friend seems nice enough. if anything, you’re the one that seems nervous, broaching the topic with him only to realize he hasn’t minded from the start.

Xavier looks a bit confused. His eyes shuffle between your face, his phone, and the twisting hands in your lap, a small, awkward smile beginning to spread on his face.

“Am I supposed to be… worried?” he asks.

“Are you?” you respond.

This prompts a light chuckle from your boyfriend. He shifts on the couch, turning until his arm rests on the back and his body is angled towards you. “Not really. What about you?”

You shrug. “Maybe a little.”

This seems to surprise Xavier, and you can’t blame him. You’re a bit surprised, too, given that most people’s roles would be flipped in this context.

Still, you can’t help it. Even though you’ve known your best friend for years — much longer than you’ve known Xavier — you don’t want your boyfriend to feel like he’s being overshadowed in his relationship with you. However, it currently seems like those worries are unfounded.

“Well, the way I see it…” Xavier leans in, brushing his lips against your temple, “… it’s wonderful you have so many people to share your life with.”

“You really think so?” you ask, just to make sure.

“Of course. Although…” He leans back, then, mid-afternoon light filtering through the window and washing his features soft gold. His eyes sharpen like sun rays piercing through a cloud. “… if he ever gives you trouble, let me know.”

— rafayel is very loud and clear about his jealousy, and you can count on him to become clingy after you hang out with your best friend. ultimately, you know he doesn’t mind nearly as much as he says he does, so you’re happy to indulge his want for attention if it means you can comfort him when he’s insecure.

Rafayel, as he is wont to do, makes his feelings known immediately and with such startling clarity that at first you think he’s joking.

“You’re serious?” you finally ask, the corners of your mouth tipping upwards into a smile while his stay fixed, pouting.

“Of course I am,” he says. He glares at the empty air beside you head as if it wronged him in a past life. “I mean, it’s fine and all, I guess, but we haven’t seen each other in four days. You haven’t even taken me plushie hunting. And yet…”

“And yet…?”

He crosses his arms and mumbles. 

“Use your words, Raf.”

He sighs. “You were with him all day. People were staring.”

“And so you’re jealous,” you deadpan, “because my best friend helped me with a case.”

“Yes!” he says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I could’ve helped too! If you keep going around without me like that, you’ll… you’ll…” Something changes in his eyes, and he clicks his tongue, looking away. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

You know your boyfriend well enough by this point to grasp what he’s hinting at. Putting your own frustration aside, you lean in, the soft fabric of Rafayel’s shirt brushing against your fingertips. You plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

“I’m not going to forget you,” you say. Then, you find his arm, uncrossing it so you can take his pinky in yours. “Promise.”

Slowly, slightly, the tension in his shoulders begins to release. 

“Can we go plushie hunting?” he mumbles. Then, “Just the two of us?”

You smile. “Of course.”

🩵 bonus hc 🩵: i mentioned it in zayne’s part, but i like to think he drums his fingers against any available surface when he’s nervous or worried. between that, pushing up his glasses, and fiddling with his pen, you can read his mood based off of how much he messes with the objects in his vicinity.

(also also rafayel is so petty when he’s jealous, i know this one is basically canon but i just love it sm ♡)

© 2024, written by sunderingstars. do not copy, repost, translate, modify, or claim my work as your own.

[xxbimbobunnyxx]

Cinnamon Girls

(Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader x Fem!OC)

Summary: Eddie never thought his nightly routine would include sneaking into a catholic collage to see his two girlfriends, but never say never, right? Wk:4.5k

Warnings: Established poly relationship, M/F/F threesome, spanking, choking, Dom!Eddie, Sub!Reader, Switch!OC, Pet names(Eddie has nicknames for both R & OC that I’ll explain in a different part), spint kink, scissoring, gum sharing?, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected sex. I think that’s it? Lmk if I missed any. 18+MDNI

A/N: Okay this idea came to me the other night and I was like possessed by it. I’m kind of obsessed with these three now and I’ve actually come up with other lore about them. I might expand on this lil AU if anyone’s interested. Thank you to my lovely betas @babygorewhore @bimbobaggins69 & @reidsbtch🧸🤍 Moodboard.

Eddie’s ringed fingers reach for the volume knob on the radio, turning it almost all the way down as he rounds the corner to his destination. He turns off the headlights as he slowly pulls his van close to the curb before cutting the engine. He always makes sure to be as quiet as possible, even if he is parked half a block down the road from the school itself. He pulls down the drivers side mirror, fluffing his unruly hair. He pops a piece of cinnamon gum into his mouth and exits his van, making sure not to slam the door like he tends to have a habit of doing.

He looks both ways, checking for bystanders. He was pretty sure there wouldn’t be anyone out on the street at 2AM, especially with the students strict curfew, but he always liked to be sure. If he got caught, he would be so fucked. He shoves the chain on his jeans in his pocket before hiking his leg up on the fence, vaulting himself as quietly as possible up and over onto the other side. He lands with a quiet thud, again checking his surroundings to make sure he was alone.

He walks around the edges of the campus, making sure to keep to the shadows and not set off any automatic lights. Once he reaches the building he’s come to know well he grabs a few small pebbles from the gravel beneath his feet. He tosses one up at the window he’s found himself crawling into most nights lately, and waits.

It only took a few seconds before he saw two heads popping into view, bright smiles on their faces. His heart rate immediately picks up, his stomach erupts with butterflies, and his cock slightly stirs in his pants at the prospect of what the night was going to bring.

Eddie quickly climbs up the conveniently placed fire exit ladder and the window is already pushed open for him when he reaches it. His long ripped jean clad legs enter the room and his boot covered feet hit the ground with a gentle thud one by one.

“My girls.” He smiles wide, taking the sides of your faces in each of his hands. “I missed you.”

“Eddieee.” You nuzzle your face into his palm, practically purring like a kitten. Looking up at him through your lashes with those big sweet eyes that drive him insane. “I missed you.”

“Hey nerd boy.” Mina chuckles, turning her face to nip at his fingers. “We saw you less than 24 hours ago.”

“So you didn’t miss me, pretty girl?” Eddie mock pouts, his thumb running along your girlfriend’s plump bottom lip.

“I didn’t say that, did I?” She rolls her eyes, taking his digit into her mouth and swirling her tongue around it, pulling a groan from his chest.

“Don’t fall for her tough girl act Eds, you should’ve heard her when I was underneath her skirt between classes earlier… ‘fuck baby, you’re so good, I wish I was watching Eddie fuck you from behind right now’ she totally missed you.”

“Hey!” She pulls off Eddie’s thumb with a pop, a string of spit still connected to her lips. “It’s not fair to use what I say when you’re eating me out like it’s the last chance you’ll ever get against me, brat!”

“That’s okay she pretty much lost me at ‘when I was underneath her skirt between classes earlier’… you two are going to fucking kill me, I swear.” Eddie groans, throwing his head back while he runs his hands down his face. The image of you and your girlfriend sneaking off in your little catholic school uniforms to get each other off driving both him and his cock insane.

“Is that doing it for you, Eddie? Thinking about us fucking when you’re not here? Because we do… All. The. Time. Before class, between class, after… we were just messing around before you got here actually…” The look on your face is innocent while the words leaving your mouth are anything but and Eddie swears every single time he comes here his dick gets harder than he ever thought possible.

“We tried to wait for you, but we just got so worked up thinking about you coming over… we couldn’t help ourselves.” Mina reaches up to run her long pointed black nails down his cheek and he grabs onto her wrist, stopping her movements.

“So you admit it then, you missed me? You can deny it if you want, but I bet the minute I get my hands on that pussy it’ll be dripping for me…” He smirks at her, his ember orbs boring into her mossy ones as his lips trail open mouth kisses down her wrist. “Show me…”

“Huh? Show you what?” Her eyes are wide, her body language much more relaxed than it had been in the last few minutes.

“You already getting all dumb on me, baby? All I did was put my lips on you…” Eddie’s large ringed hand grips her jaw, shaking her head from side to side. “Get on the bed and show me what you were doing with our girl before I got here.”

A whimper leaves her lips and it makes you clench around nothing. You always love watching them together. Mina was the more dominant of the two of you, often taking control in and out of the bedroom. So watching the way she submits so easily to Eddie makes you melt. They were both so fucking hot.

He releases her wrist and steps back, leaning against the desk near the wall. He crosses his feet at the ankles and looks at you both expectantly. His eyes finally take the time to drink you both in. If he hadn’t been so distracted by your dirty words and flirty banter what you were doing before he got here probably would’ve been obvious.

You were in nothing but a little pink cami that had a bunny printed on the front, your little white lace panties were adorned with a pink bow and you even had on fucking ruffle socks. You were the epitome of a little religious girl gone bad. Mina on the other hand was very much your opposite. Her black cut off tank top had a little skull and crossbones printed on it, her red g-string sat high on her hips, her feet were bare and the moonlight reflected off her black polished toes. She was the perfect example of what happens when religious girls rebel. Your lips were kiss swollen and her long dark hair looked like you’d been pulling at it. God, Eddie was the luckiest bastard to ever walk the earth.

He watches with his bottom lip secured between his teeth as she approaches you, one hand resting on your hip while the other grabs onto the hair at the nape of your neck. She uses her grip to pull your face to hers, kissing you with fever. Your hands snake around her to grab handfuls of her ass and she moans into your mouth.

“Wanna give Eddie a show, baby girl?” She mumbles against your lips.

“Fuck ya.” You pull back from her with a glint in your eyes and a smirk on your lips. Those mischievous eyes meet Eddie’s as you pull your girlfriend by the hand towards your bed. She sits against the headboard with her legs spread and you climb on top of her. You position your legs so your hips are tilted to the side, your barely clothed core sat directly on top of hers. You roll your hips causing both of you to moan at the feeling.

Her hands grip onto your ass to help you move against her while her hips grind up to meet your thrusts. You take her face in your hands and connect your lips again, your tongue darting out across her bottom lip, silently requesting access. She grants it to you immediately, intertwining her tongue with your own while she moans into your mouth.

Eddie licks his lips at the sight, the way your girlfriend’s long nails dig into the flesh of your ass, the way your tits are pressed up against each other while you grind together. His cock is so hard it feels like it’s going to pop the button on his jeans, he hastily reaches for his belt, clumsily undoing it. Then he moves onto his button and zipper, fumbling slightly, not wanting to take his eyes off the two of you. His cock finally springs free and hits his stomach, a drop of precum dripping onto his dark faded band tee. He spits in his palm before taking his cock in his hand, stroking it roughly. A moan rips through him at the feeling of finally being touched, even if it’s his own.

“Mmm look at Eddie baby…” Your head is turned towards him now as your eyes drink him in hungrily. Mina’s face leaves the crook of your neck to follow your gaze and the sight combined with just the right roll of your hips makes her whimper.

“Fuck, you like what you see, nerd boy?” She pushes your tank top up over your tits and takes them in her soft hands without breaking eye contact with him. Your hips pick up speed and you’re both so wet now that your combined juices are making the fabric of your panties stick together with each roll of your hips.

“You know I do, pretty girl.” He smirks right back, his hand still stroking his thick cock while his eyes travel over both your bodies. Her tongue licks around your areola before she takes your nipple in her mouth, causing you to gasp.

“I want more.” You whimper. She feels so good against you, but it’s not quite enough. You need to feel her. You lift your hips just enough to use your hands to push both of your panties to the side before lowering yourself back down onto her warm wet cunt. Her clit bumps against yours and you’re both so wet you practically glide against her. “Fuck, yes.”

Eddie approaches the side of the bed, taking both of your jaws in his hands, forcing you both to look up at him. “Goddamn, you guys are so fucking sexy, can you cum like that for me? If you’re good girls and make each other cum I’ll give you my cock.”

His words spur you on, your hands coming to rest on Mina’s shoulders for leverage as you grind your wet pussy against hers. She leans forward to take your nipple into her mouth, her free hand toying with your other one.

“Oh fuuuck, yes. You’re so wet baby, you feel so good. I’m gonna cum.” You press yourself down on her hard, moving your hips in a circular motion that has her clit gliding deliciously through your wet folds. Her teeth sink into the meat of your tit, sending you over the edge. Her hands grab onto your hips, guiding you against her as your high crashes over you.

“Mmm that’s it, good girl, cum for us.” She pulls off of you so she can watch your face as you fall apart on top of her.

“Your turn.” You’re still panting as you come down from your orgasm but you use one hand to shove her shirt up over her tits, your tongue immediately flicking out to lick across her perky peaked nipples. Your other hand slides between your bodies, finding her clit with ease. You grind your palm against her sensitive bud while your tongue and lips continue their assault on her nipples.

“Fuuuuuck.” You hear Eddie groan above you and your eyes snap his direction, immediately meeting his lust filled ones. His tongue darts out across his bottom lip and you can’t see from how you’re angled but the way he’s shaking you can tell he’s jerking himself off again. You can’t wait to get your hands and mouth on every inch of him too.

“Cum for me baby, I wanna hear those pretty sounds.” You insert your middle and pointer finger inside her while your palm continues its ministrations on her clit.

“Oh my fucking god, that’s so good, you’re gonna make me - I’m gonna fucking cum!” Her sharp nails dig into your ass and a pornographic moan rips through her as she cums around your fingers. You fuck her through it, leaving open mouth kisses all across her chest.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen, shit.” Eddie’s voice breaks you from your Mina induced trance and you whip your head towards him. He’s shirtless now, his jeans still hanging low on his hips, his hard leaking cock on full display.

“Mmm does that mean we earned our reward? You look damn right edible, Mr. Munson.” You smirk up at him, practically salivating at the sight of the bead of precum dripping from his slit. Eddie groans, something about you calling him that makes his cock twitch.

“Yeah, I think you earned it, Bunny. Why don’t you get over here and suck it?”

He didn’t have to tell you twice. You climb off Mina, crawling towards him so you can sit in front of him on your knees. She follows suit, sitting close enough to you that your bare thighs touch. Eddie feels like he’s going to fucking cum just looking at you both on your knees for him, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Take your shirts off and stick out your tongues.” You turn towards your girlfriend, grabbing the hem of her already hiked up tank top and pulling it over her head. She does the same for you and then you both turn back towards him, sticking your tongues out just like he asked. “God fucking damn, have I ever told you I’m the luckiest man to ever live? Look at my beautiful girls, waiting for me to use their little throats.”

He slaps his cock against your tongue, that bead of precum you’d been eyeing dripping into your mouth just like you wanted. He glides his tip along your tongue a few times before turning to do the same to Mina. His large ringed hands come around both your heads, gripping onto the hair at the nape of your necks.

“Keep your tongues out.” He leans over you to spit in your mouth before using the grip he has on your hair to pull your face to his cock. You take the hint, taking as much of him as you can into your mouth. You bob your head up and down while he gives Mina the same treatment above you, pulling her head down next to yours once he's done. You feel her lips traveling up your shoulder to your jaw, she leaves wet kisses across your cheek until she reaches your mouth. Her tongue darts out to lick the part of Eddie’s shaft that isn’t down your throat, curling around it.

“Holy fuuuucking shit.” Eddie groans, he uses the grip on your hair to pull both of your heads back again, looking down at you with lust filled eyes. “Be good girls for me and make out on my cock.”

Mina smirks up at him before leaning forward to lick along the side of his length, you follow her lead, running your tongue up the opposite side. You both lick all around his cock like it’s a lollipop, your tongues occasionally touching and intertwining around it. She takes his tip in her mouth, swirling her tongue around it before taking him fully down her throat with a gag. You lean down so you can kitten lick across his balls, tasting the musky saltiness that is Eddie. You suck one of them into your mouth, your tongue massaging around the soft skin before pulling off and giving the other one the same treatment.

“Shit shit shit!!!” He pulls you both off of him with a gasp. “You gotta stop or I’m gonna fucking blow my load I swear you two are little succubi.”

“Mmm… you just taste so good, we want your human essence.” You giggle up at him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “You know Eds… I haven’t even gotten a kiss yet.” You pout.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry Bunny, I guess I got carried away, huh? Come here.” He grabs your face in his hands, leaning down to place a kiss that was much more gentle than you were expecting on your lips. He kisses you a few times before turning to Mina and attempting to give her the same treatment. But you watch as she grabs onto his hair and tugs, pulling his face hard against her own. Her tongue licks across his lips and his darts out to meet hers. She sucks his tongue into her mouth, bringing the cinnamon gum he was chewing with her.

“You’re sweet and all, nerd boy. But I’m still really fucking horny and I believe you promised us your cock? I’d like to cash in on that now.” She bites down on his bottom lip before pulling away with a smirk, popping his gum between her teeth.

“Yeah? You want my cock? Hands and knees, both of you. I wanna try something.”

Mina pulls her thong down her legs before flipping over on her hands and knees with her back arched, her ass in the air and on full display. You do the same, wiggling your ass back and forth as you look at Eddie over your shoulder. You watch with hungry eyes as he discards his jeans. His ring adorned hand comes down on your asscheek causing you to jolt forward with a yelp.

“Look at these perfect fucking assess, and they’re all mine…”

He pumps his cock a few times before running it through your slick folds, dipping the tip inside of your entrance before slapping it against your clit.

“Eddieeee…” you whine and wiggle your ass again, pushing back against him.

“Aww is a little Bunny feeling greedy?” You can hear the dumb smirk in his voice but you don’t have time to talk back before he’s shoving himself balls deep inside of you, knocking the air from your lungs. The stretch is so good, every single time. No matter how many times he fucks you it’s like he’s filling you up just right.

He starts fucking into you rough and fast, his grip on your hip is so tight that you hope the ring indents that had started to fade from last time are even darker than before. His free hand comes down hard on Mina’s asscheeks in succession before he’s soothing it with his palm and running his thick fingers through her dripping slit. He inserts two fingers inside her and starts to fuck her with them in tandem with the thrusts of his cock inside you.

“Fuck bunny, you’re so wet, this little pussy is squeezing me so tight.” The hand on your hip finds your clit, applying a delicious amount of pressure while he continues to bury himself deep inside you.

“Baby, gimme a kiss.” Mina’s voice almost sounds like it’s underwater with how close you are to cumming but you turn your face towards her. She grabs your jaw in one of her hands and smashes your lips together in a desperate moan filled kiss. Her tongue slips between your lips, exploring every inch, the gum she had just taken from Eddie’s mouth slips into your own and it still somehow tastes cinnamony sweet.

“I’m gonna c - cum, I’m gonna cum.” Your words are slurred against her lips, Eddie hits that perfect spot inside of you that has your eyes rolling in the back of your head.

“Yeah baby? You gonna cum? Mi, why don’t you be a good girl and cum for me too?” Eddie continues his assault on your g-spot while his skilled fingers curl just right inside your shared girlfriend's cunt. It only takes a few more pumps of his cock to send you over the edge, Mina tumbling over her own right after you.

Eddie fucks you both through your highs before pulling his fingers away, he uses his other hand to grip onto your hair and pull your back flush against his chest.

“Suck.” He brings the slick covered digits to your mouth and you greedily take them in, tasting your girlfriend’s sweet nectar. “Good girl.”

He releases his grip on your hair and you fall forward, catching yourself on your hands at the last minute. You go to turn around but he grips your hips, keeping you in place.

“Stay. I didn’t say you could move, did I?” He smacks your ass before turning to Mina, roughly gripping her hips. “You want my cock now, kitty? I think you’ve earned it.”

“Just fuck me already, Munson.” Normally Eddie would take the time to tease her for her attitude, make her beg a little, but he’s so fucking hard he needs to be inside of her, right now. He grabs onto his cock, lining it up with her puffy lips, he pushes himself all the way inside of her in one thrust, throwing his head back when she clenches around him.

“You’re such a fucking brat, you know that?” He leans over her so his lips brush against the shell of her ear, trailing a few kisses down her throat. He stops at the juncture of her throat, sinking his teeth down onto it while he starts to fuck into her roughly.

“Yeah, but you fucking love it.” Her chuckle turns into a strangled moan when he wraps a hand around her throat, his cock pounding into her so deep she can feel him hitting her cervix.

You look over at them and you can’t help but moan at the sight. Eddie’s head is thrown back, revealing the expanse of his thick throat, a layer of sweat covers his inked chest and he’s growling almost animalistically. Mina’s face is slightly red from the way she’s being choked, a bit of drool is dripping from the corner of her mouth and her tits are bouncing deliciously. You want to lean down and suck them, and lick the drool off her chin but you also want to be a good girl and for Eddie so you decide to stay put.

And damn does it pay off, because one second he’s pounding into your girlfriend like his life depends on it and next thing you know he’s pulling out of her and thrusting deep inside you. He’s fucking you as hard as he was fucking her, picking up the pace he left off on. He thrusts into you a few more times before he’s pulling out and plunging back into Mina. He continues like this for a bit, fucking deeply into one of you before switching off and giving the other the same treatment. The room is filled with the sounds of your moans and slapping skin, and in the back of your mind you’re thankful that the girl next door moved out last week.

“My good fucking girls, letting me use your little holes like this, you’re so fucking good for me. Fuck!” Eddie pumps his into your girlfriend deep and hard, before pulling out and plunging into your wet, waiting heat. “Mi, go get in front of Bunny so I can watch her eat that pretty little pussy from the back while I fill her up with my cum.”

She’s past the point of giving him shit, so fucked out that she will do anything he asks without question. She crawls so she’s positioned on her hands and knees in front of you and your grab onto her asscheeks, spreading them apart.

“Looks so tasty…” You spread her open a few more times, watching her clench around nothing, then you lean forward and plunge your tongue as far as it can go inside of her. You fuck into her with your tongue before licking down to her clit, sucking it into your mouth.

Eddie is about to lose it, your pussy is clenching him so tight and your ass is bouncing deliciously against his hips. The sounds and the sight of you devouring your girlfriend is enhancing his pleasure by tenfold. He reaches his hand around you to rub circles on your clit, angling his hips the way he knows you love it.“Fuck baby, I’m not gonna last much longer… need you to cum for me.”

You bring two of your fingers to Mina’s entrance, pushing them inside her and curling them upwards. She pushes back against you, her pussy clenches around your fingers and you can tell she’s close too.

“Shit, I’mgonnafuckingcum.” She whimpers.

“Cum for us kitty, cum on our girl's face. I’m gonna cum too - fuckingshit.” Eddie’s thrusts get sloppy but he’s still fucking you so good, the speed of his fingers picks up on your clit and you feel his cum start to spill inside you. Mina’s pussy is like a vice grip on your fingers and the moans she’s letting out are like music to your ears. It’s all so hot and it has your own orgasm wracking through your body.

You’re all panting as you pull apart from each other, throwing yourselves down on the bed with Eddie in the middle. You both rest your heads on his shoulders, your legs thrown over each of his thighs. You and Mina absentmindedly play with each others fingers that rest on Eddie’s chest.

“I can’t fucking wait until you guys get out of here.” Eddie sighs.

“Soon baby, just one more month and this catholic collage nightmare will be over.” Your girlfriend places a gentle kiss on his peck, resting her chin there so she can look up at him.

“Then our dads will finally get off our asses and release our trust funds to us. And we can buy a nice house, and get you studio time.” You lean up to kiss his jaw, mimicking Mina’s position so you can look at his beautiful face too.

“Yeah? You guys are my certified sugar mama’s I swear.” Eddie chuckles, bringing his hands up so he can cup both of your jaws. He rubs his thumbs over the apples of your cheeks and looks into both of your eyes, placing a gentle kiss on each of your lips. He seriously was the luckiest bastard to ever live.

[sizzleissues]

Its May.

Okay so this is in the same AU I had last year its just changed and evolved while also being the exact same. Except now I have 15,000 words of it written, like 7,000 words of planning and lore and hours upon hours of research that I will be pointedly ignoring. Will be posting more stuff this month about the AU and my hopes and dreams for it

Also slight art improvement check? I’ll put their original mermaid designs below the cut.

It’s Marinette as a mermaid and … its not Adrien or Chat Noir but a third worse thing (Catwalker but in the purest manifestation of it being a curse and not who he wants to be) I will be making designs for mer!Ladybug, and mer!Adrien as its own thing later on.

Okay if you want to indulge me look below the cut

Old mermaid designs first. I am going to be talking about my design thoughts, thoughts and ramblings about this AU and what I’ve been up to. You have been warned

As you can see, some things have changed but neither design I hated, I just wanted to go further with it.

My brain is quite specific about mermaids and how I want them to generally look. I wanted to distinguish biological merfolk from transformed humans by having them being anatomically different. So Adrien has a vertical tail instead which is also way faster underwater. His transformation is quite distressing for him and very chaotic. Of course when he accepts it he’s not so raggedy.

Marinette similarly avoids her life as a mermaid by becoming human and I wanted her mermaid design to hint toward her fascination with humans. She wears a top she fashioned from human fabric she found in a sunken merchant vessel. In general all other merfolk either forgo clothes or wear things fashioned from materials available to them. There’s deep fear of humans and human things so even though human clothes are available to them (off dead bodies but…. Whatever) they choose to difference themselves as much as possible. The same taboos don’t exist for them and their bodies are already adapted from the temperature of their environment. Adrien has stray bits of netting and seaweed on him because he’s not exactly the best at controlling his speed and often crash’s through fishing nets and patches of seaweed resulting in stuff being caught on him.

A lot of their designs are still being worked but I’ve definitely pushed them the right direction!

On to the AU. You might have seem me cryptically talk about something I’m writing the past few weeks. This is because it’s been in my brain since last May and been on and off writing it since then. I decided I’d talk about it once May came back around but and then when I finished writing it, start posting sneak peaks and more spoilery art until it was fully edited and I felt confident in it to post with an aim for it to finish posting once May rolled around again. Oh god.

It’s set in the late 1700s in a fictional version of France that’s actually fragmented over a bunch of islands. I have done more fashion research than I ever thought I’d do and in the end we will still be taking creative license but know I do know what they actually wore! I ALSO did a butt tonne of research about sailing ships and turns out they are super complicated and now I know too much and yet too little still about them. It should be super fun and action packed if I can manage. Have some really good scenes already in my head I know you’ll love. We’re already three ships battle deep and I’ve only written four chapters. (It chills out for a bit after that)

This is entirely self-indulgent by the way. I’m writing this for me, you guys are just a bonus. I literally don’t care as long as it satiates my rabid need for the fic that only lives in my brain at the moment. Saying that, I do want to put my best foot forward.

The next thing I will be posting for this is their human forms and more blabblerings about that. For I am insane and all.

[wearywinchester]

Wrong Turn

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When a fight with Dean leads you to take a breather, what was supposed to be a quick walk turns into something more.

Requested by Anonymous: “Hi <3 Can you write a Dean x Reader, they are in a relationship but they have a nasty fight one night, reader goes outside for a walk to take a breath but there is a storm and it's raining bad and she just gets lost and Dean freaks out when she doesn't come back? Angst and fluff please.”

Warnings: angst, arguing, swearing, mentions of blood, injury, anxiety, fluff

Tempers were well beyond their limit, a seemingly ongoing theme of the entirety of that day, stretching all the way through to that evening. Dean’s anger was never a surprise, not when it came to those that he held closest to himself. He can’t help it, never could. He gets himself so tightly wound with the ever growing desire to keep everyone safe, to keep everyone no further than arms length. He gets himself so worked up that he bursts, let’s that anger gush out of him in bouts of swearing and strings of words he almost always regrets later.

Tonight was no exception, not even close. It just might’ve been the worst fight the two of you have had in quite some time.

“I can’t believe you,” Dean says behind you, the motel door slamming shut faster than you can turn around to see him shove it closed with his boot.

“Believe what, that I did my job?” You say.

He was fuming, you could hear it in his voice. It was gruff and his words were sharp, an edge to it that wasn’t present most of the time. There was no humor, voice of that sweeter side you’ve always loved. It was filled with anger and frustration, deepened with irritation.

He chuckled, empty and humorless at the words that fell from your mouth and into the tense space. Did your job. To him, that was quite possibly the most ridiculous thing you could’ve ever said in your life given the context. The stupidest even.

That chuckle was so beyond bitter as he looked at you with a narrowed stare, those beautiful green eyes the angriest you’d ever seen them. Not at all soft as they most often were, not at all gazing at you with an adoration you can never ever fathom comes from looking at you. That loving gaze is replaced with the utmost of frustration as he stares you down, brows knit together.

“Doing your job? That’s what you’re calling it?” He says, laughter in his words as he tosses his duffel bag on the bed harshly, some of its contents spilling out of the half zippered opening. “Since when is putting your ass on the line to lore a damn monster a ten times stronger than you doing your job?”

You roll your eyes at his words, at the way he raised his voice. You wanted to say you couldn’t believe what you were hearing but that’d be a lie. It was Dean Winchester after all, you expected it.

“We hunt monsters for a living, Dean. Did you think I was just going to sit back and watch it kill somebody else? You would’ve done the same thing if I didn’t beat you to it,” you argue.

His cheeks were tinged a soft shade of pink, only making the freckles spattered on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose all the more noticeable. Dean doesn’t flush, not unless he’s angry, not unless he’s pissed. And there he stands, pink and rosy with his jaw tensed as tight as ever as he looks at you, looks at you till he can’t anymore in an effort to calm himself down.

“I wouldn’t do something that damn stupid,” he says, his gaze returning to you.

“You would and you have, Dean, don’t give me that,” you say, watching his top lip quiver in anger. “Every hunt you do something reckless and stupid and everyone’s supposed to be okay with your self sacrificing way of handling things because you think you’re doing what’s best. You always put your ass on the line in a million and one different ways, but when I do it it’s stupid? That’s a load of crap and you know it, Dean.”

You’ve raised your own voice now, watching his chest rise and fall heavier and heavier as he wipes his hand over his mouth.

“Y/n—”

“No, tell me, Dean. How is that fair?”

“You don’t—”

“How is it fair, Dean?” You’re damn near yelling, body tense and the pit of your stomach filled with a heat that travels to your cheeks, burning hot as you swim in your anger.

“You can’t just go running around painting yourself as bait every chance you get. You don’t know what the hell you’re getting into, and you damn sure don’t know what you’re doing,” he counters, his gaze unwavering.

“Don’t know what I’m doing? I’ve been in this nightmare of a gig just as long as you have, and I’m still swingin’. Don’t you dare say that I don’t know what I’m doing,” you say.

You’re livid, cheeks on fire as you stare him down, finally thinking to release the handles of your duffel bag that’d been trapped within the tightness of your grasp long enough for your hand to be sweaty, long enough that your fingernails left crescent shaped indentations on your palm.

“God, do you even hear yourself when you talk, Y/n?” There’s that bitter laugh again, humorless as he rubs his hand down his face.

Now it’s your turn to laugh, an action that pulls his gaze back to you.

“Then maybe you should look in the mirror, Dean. Tempting your own fate and looking death right in the face seems to be your thing,” you retort, watching his brows scrunch even tighter together.

His lips part, finger raising to point at you with a slight tremble before it drops back to his side and he’s almost at a loss for words. Almost, as he shakes his head.

“You know what, Y/n? I’m not the one with a damn gash on my forehead. I’m not the one walking around with a torn off piece of my flannel tied around my hand to stop the bleeding. I’m not the one walking around, doing a piss poor job hiding a freaking limp because I’m too damn proud to admit I did something stupid. So tell me, Y/n, is it really just my thing?”

Your chest was heaving at this point, whole body trembling with adrenaline as you stare up at him with as much anger as you could muster. You could feel that strain in your throat, that horrid soreness that came with the ever difficult battle to keep that lump from rising and allowing your voice to break. That stupid lump that accompanied the tears that pressed so adamantly behind your eyes that it burned, that it stung.

He had you angry, blood boiling as you stood there in front of him. He was no different, standing there with a jaw clenched so tightly you thought his teeth would damn near crack. He had a certain anger in his eyes, anger mixed with something you couldn’t quite place as you stared him down for as long as you could muster.

He always knew how to poke and prod, get under your skin. He was stubborn more than anyone you’d ever known, probably more than anyone that could exist. He was Dean Winchester.

“You’re a dick, Dean,” you say, all the venom and hurt you can muster in those four words. As much as you could even though it felt like your throat was on fire. Felt as though barbed wire was woven around it from all the built up pressure of the tears you’re trying to hold back to keep him from seeing.

There’s that laugh again, that same bitter laugh as he hears your words.

“Yeah? You act like you’re so tough, Y/n, like you’re the best damn hotshot hunter there is. You act like you know everything and you sure as hell don’t so get off your damn high horse before you do something even more stupid and get yourself dead.”

He was shouting by this point, brows knit and eyes narrowed as he stared at you with twice the anger than a minute ago and he was only met with the same look. The very same apart from the welled up tears and the wobbly lip you sunk your teeth into to try and hide it the very best you could. You couldn’t.

You couldn’t keep your facade up, not in front of him. You never could. It was damn near impossible as you stood there until you couldn’t anymore, spinning on your heel. You brushed past him, shoulder bumping him and nearly throwing you off balance as you head for the motel door.

“Where are you going?” He asks, his tone incredulous.

“Away from you. What’s it look like?”

You grab the door handle and can hear him scoff as you swing it open and at first he doesn’t think you’re serious, not as he chuckles and shakes his head, maybe to egg you on even.

He doesn’t think you’re serious even as you slam the door shut behind you, and maybe not even for a few minutes after that. But after that few minutes it doesn’t seem so funny anymore, it never did, especially not when you didn’t walk right back in. He doesn’t think it’s funny when he swings that motel door right back open to find the parking lot empty, the Impala void of your presence—to find you nowhere to be seen.

He stands there for a moment with a clenched jaw, anger pulsing through him that’s rapidly redirecting towards himself. But he simply steps back into the room and slams the door shut behind him so hard it rattled. Ran his hands through his hair and drug them down his face.

But he doesn’t move, too steeped in his own anger to go on after you as you walked along by yourself in an effort to cool yourself down.

It was cold out, that steady drizzle still coming down but bearable enough to keep on walking away from that motel and away from the man that’s got you all fired up.

Your cheeks were heated and your heart was still pounding. That horrible pressure behind your eyes of unshed tears had finally broken loose, hot tears rolling and mixing with chilly raindrops on your skin. Your face was scrunched in a way you couldn’t help even if you tried as you let them out, frustratedly wiping them away as if there was still a chance of the older Winchester seeing them.

You loved him, but god, you hated him sometimes. He was too protective for his own good, too angry. He’s got you so wound up you don’t know whether to scream, cry, or never turn back to that motel room again. Or perhaps all three. But you know you’d never actually run off. That may be exactly what you’re doing right now but you’d always find your way back to him.

He’s got a heart of gold but you’re too damn pissed to want to think about that right now.

He’s in that room by himself, Sam in the room next door. He’s in that room stewing in anger and regret for the things he’d said out of that anger. He’s beating himself up for that unshakable habit of saying things he comes to regret. He wants to rip that motel room apart, wants to go looking for you. He wants to do it all but instead he sits on the edge of that squeaky motel bed for a matter of seconds before he gets right back up again, splashing his face off with cool water in the bathroom sink. But instead he stays in that motel room, his remaining anger leaving him spiteful before that guilt trickles in.

It’s cold, damn it’s cold as you walk along the tattered sidewalk. The pavement is cracked and crumbling away at the edges, gravel spilling over from old parking lots you pass by. You’ve got no idea where you’re going, and no idea where you are. Of course you don’t, you’ve never been to this town in your entire life and it’s near in the middle of nowhere.

You were wandering around this little town and it quickly began to feel not so little as you continued on in a direction that surely wasn’t towards that motel.

Your heart was beating a mile a minute and you were almost too angry to care about your surroundings. So worked up that you felt damn near invincible, didn’t really care about any threats because that anger was enough of a driving force to keep you safe.

But that couldn’t be farther from the truth, not even a little. Because deep down, under all that anger, you realized maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

He’s an idiot. He’s such a damn idiot that you almost couldn’t bear it. He always did this. He always tried to bench you, to hold you back on hunts. He always tried to jump in and save the day, always stole your thunder. He treated you like some rookie hunter that constantly needs a watchful eye, that constantly needs to be supervised like you don’t know what your doing. He acts like you’re some rookie hunter that couldn’t go two seconds on their own without getting into some life threatening situation.

He acts like it’s the end of the world when you step in, when you do something risky for the sake of keeping people safe. He blows it so far out of proportion, makes it seem like you couldn’t possibly do anything more stupid when he does the same and more. He does the very same every single time without second thought, but when you do it, there’s no greater crime to commit than doing your job.

He was so hypocritical it drove you insane.

You were a mess of emotions, fury and upset knotted in the pit of your stomach. It burned and it sat heavy, made you want to scream till your throat was sore. But you decided against it, didn’t want to draw attention to yourself more than you already felt you were as you walked alone through the empty street.

Your chest felt tight, your frustration having you ready to burst and that even felt like it wouldn’t be relieving enough. It felt like your emotions were too big for you to handle.

You were angry, you were pissed. You felt everything all at once, all of it as the wind picked up. It was more than noticeable as the gusts took your breath away for a moment, distracting you for just a second.

You knew the weather was bound to worsen, you saw the flashes of lightning beyond the street lights. You heard the low rumble of the thunder that followed it. It wasn’t until the drizzle of rain picked up to a steady pour that the storm you knew was brewing was fully there. You were caught outside and damn near lost in the middle of a freaking storm.

Unbeknownst to you, Dean was worried, of course he was. He’d be worried even if there wasn’t a stupid storm letting loose.

God, you hated him sometimes, but you loved him too.

You were stubborn as hell, stubborn enough to let yourself walk along a bit further and doom yourself even more. To keep on going and getting yourself even more lost and upset as the tears on your cheeks mixed with the rain. You walked until you wore yourself down and it took some doing, your anger took some work to wear away as you stomped along.

You walked until you gave in, till you caved.

It’d been who knows how long as you ducked under the overhang of a small store, digging in your pocket for your phone.

12:47 am.

It’d been forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes of stubborn spite and being far too angry for your own good. Of being so stuck in your own head you didn’t stop yourself from getting into danger, but maybe that’s just what you do.

You held your phone with a shaky, wet hand, scrolling through your contacts before highlighting Dean’s name. Just the sight of it had your stomach churning, that burst of emotions flooding through you but you hit call anyway, pressing the phone to your ear.

It rang once, twice…

“Hello?”

No matter how angry you were, you couldn’t deny the rush of relief that washed over you at the sound of his voice.

You didn’t answer right away, a few quiet moments passing.

“Dean—”

“Y/n, where the hell are you?”

“Hello to you too,” you say, and you didn’t even need to see him to know he wasn’t amused.

“Now’s not the time for games,” he says.

“Like you care,” you mutter, more to yourself than anything but he still heard it.

“I called you seven freaking times, Y/n. Don’t tell me that crap,” he says, and you can hear the sheer anger and frustration in his voice, a little impatience mixed in there too.

You pull the phone away for a second, catching that number seven right beside his name. Dammit.

You simply sigh, get all quiet for a moment or two as you stand there with your free arm wrapped around yourself, foot tapping against the wet ground.

“Y/n, where are you?” He reiterates.

You’re still quiet for a second, biting your cheek.

“I don’t know,” you admit softly, swallowing.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” He says incredulously.

“I mean I don’t know, Dean. We’re in a town we’ve never been before in the freaking boonies, what do you think?” You say louder, quieting back down and shrinking back against the wall at your outburst, trying to hide from any unwanted attention.

“Landmarks, Y/n, gimme landmarks,” he says, tone a little softer.

You hum softly as your eyes dart around, searching for the most helpful piece of information you could find.

“Dave’s. Dave’s Bar. Uh…a diner across from it too,” you say, wincing at the sudden crack of thunder.

“I’m on the way. And please, for the love of god, stay put. Don’t go wanderin’ around or I swear I’m gonna freakin’ lose my damn mind,” he says.

“Dean, I—”

There were those three beeps, those familiar three beeps followed by the stupid dead battery symbol. That fear in the pit of your stomach heightened, and you’re banking on Dean’s ability to find his way around because there’s no way in hell you’re stepping foot into that bar to use the phone. That just might be the stupidest thing you could do second to walking out here in anger by yourself in the first place.

That familiar sense of panic settles deep within you, heavy as you bite the inside of your cheek. In a matter of seconds you quickly find that you no longer wanted to storm off and go wherever your feet take you. You no longer wanted to walk farther away, not even a single step. You wanted to do none of that.

You wanted to be inside that Impala where you know it’s safe, hell, you wanted to be in his arms because that’s even safer. But instead you’re stuck outside in dodgy weather all by yourself, with no one to blame but yourself.

You had entirely no idea how far you were from that motel room, let alone where exactly you were. It could have been a much shorter drive for Dean than it was a walk for you, it had to be. But then again, you guys were in a town you’ve never been to, and he could only guess based off the information you gave him.

Worry ran circles in your mind, lap after lap that he wouldn’t find you, not for a while. Or even worse, that by the time he did, you’d have been snatched up by a crazy monster or an even crazier human being.

It made that dizzying feeling send waves through your chest, quickening your heart beat as you paced in the same spot. He told you not to move, so you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t, but you felt like a moving target the more you lingered in the same area. You felt like eyes were on you and you just couldn’t see them. It was unnerving.

He told you not to move, so you shouldn’t.

You sat on the nearby bench before realizing how soaked it was, not that it really mattered. But you stood back up in a huff, lifting your hands to your face and brushing away your wet hair.

You did something stupid, of course you did, but you’d never tell him that. Sure, getting some fresh air was always a good idea when arguing, gives a chance to cool off and clear your head. But not in the middle of the night when a damn thunderstorm is about to break loose.

You were being reckless, thinking in the heat of the moment and acting on it as people so often do. As Dean so often does. You dug your own grave and now you have to lay in it as you stand there with chattering teeth and your arms wrapped around yourself to maintain the non existent warmth you had in your body.

Seconds felt like minutes, minutes felt like hours, and hours felt like damn decades until you saw headlights. You didn’t dare draw attention to yourself in the event that it wasn’t Dean—he was incredibly observant, he’d see you without it.

But you heard a distinct three honks of a familiar horn, and that relief settles over you once more. He pulls a u-turn in the middle of the wide road, stopping along the curb right in front of you as he leans over the bench seat to look at you.

He sees that look on your face, he sees your stance, he knows you’re not going to make this easy for him, he knows. You’re stubborn as hell and he loved it and hated it all the same. Hated it in moments like this.

He knows, so he does himself a favor and gets out of the car and into the pouring rain.

“Well I’ll be damned, looks like you actually listened to me,” he says, looking at his surroundings, the very same ones you’d mentioned to him on that phone call.

You hadn’t strayed too far just like he’d asked you to, you stayed put.

You roll your eyes, exhaling a larger than life huff. “Don’t get used to it.”

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes, and that expression he’s got is far less than humored as he narrows his eyes at you. He could tell you’d still be difficult, no matter how scared or upset or truly bothered you were, you’d always be difficult first because being stubborn is what you know best. Didn’t want to show how vulnerable you were, how vulnerable you are.

“You gonna stand there all night or are you gonna get in the car, sweetheart? It’s cold and this storm ain’t going anywhere,” he says, a hint of demanding in his voice.

“Then go back to the motel if you’re so uncomfortable. I’m sure can find my way back,” you counter, brows knit together.

“Like hell you can,” he nearly yells, his frustration evident. “Don’t be stupid, Y/n.”

“I’m not being stupid, Dean,” you say, equal anger in your tone.

“Yeah, you are, Y/n. You went wandering off in the dinky town we know nothing about in the middle of the night, and you got yourself lost in a storm. You’re damn lucky I found you before some monster, or even worse, some creep, got their hands on you. So yes, Y/n, you’re being stupid,” he shouts, that vein in his neck bulging and his chest heaving lightly.

“Go away, Dean.”

That’s all you could manage to say, all you could muster. You meant absolutely none of it, not at all, but that stubbornness in you was hard to resist.

“Y/n, just get in the damn car before I make you do it myself, and you know I will,” he says, a clear warning in his words.

You simply stare at him, you stand there and stare at him across the roof of the Impala as the rain continues to pour all around you, the wind making everything all the more intense.

You stood there and watched the crease between his brows, one created from your stubbornness and his frustration. You watched as the rain had his hair sticking to his forehead, no longer spiked up or disheveled from the sheer amount of times he’s run his fingers through it in the past two hours.

You stand there as the wind and the rain sends chills over you, cold and constant. He looks like his last fuse is about to blow, and he knows what you’re doing. He doesn’t give a damn about the weather, couldn’t care less now that he knows you’re in one piece, not lost in the middle of a storm. But he knows what you’re doing.

You’re so damn stubborn, so angry at him that you don’t want to listen, even if it’s inconveniencing you. You’re so frustrated, the last thing you want to do is sit a mere two feet away from him for who knows how long. It’s the last thing you want but yet it’s the only thing you want.

Not just because you were cold and wet and miserable. Not just because you were tired and in the midst of a freaking storm. He made you so damn pissed but you could deny the comfort that settled over you. Hell, is washed through you, rushed.

You didn’t want to listen to him, purely out of spite, not as you stand there and look at that expression he’s got. But yet that’s all you want to do.

After another passing moment, you exhale a short huff and open the door, getting in the car without a word.

The leather seats squeaked as you did, as Dean did, your soaked clothing making it inevitably so. The heat you felt from the vents was immediate, comforting in contrast to the cold weather just outside. And it wasn’t long before he sped off.

You sat pressed up against the door and he very much noticed, was about ready to say something but he decided against it for this moment. Kept his tight, white knuckled grip on the wheel instead. But that didn’t keep him from glancing over at you more often than not.

He could feel you shivering, even if you insisted on sitting as far from him as you could. In reality, you wanted nothing more than to tuck yourself against him, but that spite you’ve got going on was still going.

You looked ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous sitting there like that acting as if he had the damn plague. Acting like you didn’t absolutely love the idiot sitting 3 feet away when it really could have been just one or two. You looked stupid and you knew it, you knew he knew it too.

“You gonna glue yourself to the door the whole way back to Bobby’s too?” He asks.

Exhibit A.

You exhale a huff, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Maybe,” you say, stubborn as ever.

You hear his quiet scoff, you know he’s shaking his head without even seeing him.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Y/n,” he says, glancing over at you briefly to see just how tightly your brows were scrunched.

“Shut up, Dean,” you say, quiet but he very much heard it.

He only shook his head, chuckling to himself quietly but this time it wasn’t completely void of humor. You were ridiculous.

You noticed how he turned the vent towards you, then you noticed how all of them were. Never mind the fact that he may have been cold. He pointed all the damn things towards you and that alone had you wavering.

No, you couldn’t. Couldn’t just give in so easily to that green eyed fool because he’d get all smug, let it go to his head. No matter how your heart skipped a beat, no matter how sweet the gestures were, one’s he did without second thought because he would always put you first.

No matter the cause, no matter the situation, he put you first every single time without hesitation. Doesn’t matter if it’s walking closest to the street when walking, or giving you the last beer. No matter if it’s giving you his jacket in the cold or ripping a damn piece of his flannel off to bandage you, even if it was his favorite one. He always put you first.

But you couldn’t think about that right now, you’d give in too easily. Couldn’t let him have that satisfaction because you may be ridiculous, but you you stubborn too.

What you could do, however, was scoot a little closer. Just a little bit, then a little more, and maybe you’d be damn near pressed to his side until you finally are.

“Think better of it?” He asks, and you hear that amusement in his tone.

You simply huff, displeasure on your expression as you glare up at him.

“Just cold, don’t get too excited,” you grumble, resting your head back on his shoulder as you cross your arms around yourself.

Just cold.

You were quiet the rest of the drive back to the motel, the drive that wound up being twenty minutes. Seemed like nothing, like a quick trip in a vehicle. But to walk, it felt like it was infinitely longer.

That familiar motel came into view as Dean slowed down, swinging into the small lot and right back into the same parking spot as he’d been in just hours prior.

It was still raining, still heard rumbles of thunder after flashes of lightning. The wind still blew against the car and swayed it faintly, the culmination of all three proving to be less than inviting for you to want to get out of the warmth and safety of the car and into the elements, even if it was just for a few fleeting seconds.

You scooted away from Dean as he dug in his pocket, fishing around for the motel key. He pulled it out with a smal a-ha, something that had you rolling your eyes as you push open the door.

It was quite a cold shock, actually, the weather a sharp contrast to the warmth of the Impala. But luckily Dean was just as urgent with getting inside the room as you were, though you still released your exhale just as loudly.

You can tell he’s not a fan of that action, not one bit as his jaw tenses momentarily and maybe even an eye roll. But it’s a matter of seconds before he pushes open the door.

It looks just as you left it, duffel bag on the bed, a few clothing items strewn about it in an effort to find something to wear. Though you were mid argument at the time, the action proving to be pointless and it showed.

Dean’s bag was in the same spot, unzipped and rifled through as it sat on the floor next to the bed still.

It was much warmer and much more dry than the inclement weather just on the outside of that door. But it was still tense. It was still tense and moody and damn near suffocating just as it was in the car, just as it was out in the storm. That was something that motel room couldn’t take away.

You brush past him in a huff, feeling his eyes on you as you made your way to the bathroom. You don’t care—he can look at you all he wants. He can glare, can furrow his brows, he can look as moody as he’d like but you don’t care. You most certainly do, but you’re stubborn enough to not want that to show.

You switch on the light, it’s yellow glow illuminating the small room. This is the first time you’d really seen yourself since this morning. The gash on your face, how tired you looked. How swollen your eyes were from crying, how rain soaked you were.

You looked exactly how you felt, and your reflection only made you more upset.

You were so worked up, so out of sorts, you left the bathroom all together in the huff that you entered it in. Just as upset as a few minutes ago, passing by Dean in the very same way as the first time.

He didn’t say anything, not at first. He didn’t say anything as he stood there and watched you, hands paused from what they were doing digging around in his bag. It wasn’t until you began digging in yours that he spoke up.

“What are you doing?” He asks, something more than curiosity in his tone. Something that sparked your frustration.

“Getting ready for bed, what’s it look like, Dean?” You counter, discontent in your tone as you speak.

“So you’re just gonna neglect your wounds like it didn’t happen and go to bed?” He says.

“Yes, Dean, that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

You continue to rummage through your belongings, not fully knowing what you were looking for in your anger until you spotted a shirt to sleep in. Of course it was one of Deans—you haven’t worn your own clothes to bed for quite a long while. It wasn’t going to change just because you were fighting like cats and dogs.

You dug around some more in search of your toothbrush, snagging your hand on something sharp enough to make you recoil as it brushes over your wound. You knew he saw it, of course he did. He saw most everything.

“Y/n,” he says.

You don’t respond, instead shrugging off your coat, letting it fall to the floor in a rain soaked pile, you shirt soon to follow. You could tell he was growing impatient again.

You sat on the edge of the bed and began to untie your boots, careless and rough with your actions. So careless that you gripped them with your frustration to toss them inside rather than kick them off like you normally do, the action sending jolt through your palm once more. It was a crippling wave of pain, one that had you sucking a sharp gasp through your teeth as you jerked your hand back

“Y/n,” he said, louder this time.

“What?” You ask, your annoyance evident in your tone.

“Would you calm down for a second?” He says.

“I am calm, Dean.”

He laughs again, the humor far from it once again as he looks at you.

“No, you’re not. You’re too damn busy huffing and puffing that you’re bangin’ yourself up even more than you already are!” He all but shouts.

“I’m fine, okay? It’s just a freaking scratch, Dean,” you yell, holding up your hand. It wasn’t until you looked at it, saw the fresh staining of blood on the scrap piece of flannel that you knew you were in for it. “Son of a bitch.”

“Bathroom. Now,” he says.

You look back at him.

“I can handle it.”

“I wasn’t asking, sweetheart. Bathroom,” he says.

You simply look at him for a moment or two, the very same way you did earlier when he asked you to get in the car. You look at him and see he’s not backing down, that he’s not kidding. So you roll your eyes and get up from the bed, brushing past him again and bumping him with your shoulder.

You can be pissed at him all you want, he didn’t care. He was patching you up no matter how much you fought him on it because he always did, and he always will.

You walk back in the bathroom with a short huff, the older Winchester right behind you.

“Have a seat.”

You roll your eyes. “You don’t have to tell me what to do, Dean.”

“Apparently you do.”

You glare at him, hopping up onto the counter anyway. You could tell another comment was sitting on the tip of his tongue but he chose against saying anything further on the subject.

He set the first aid kit down, flipping open its lid. His hand hovered over it for a few passing moments, as he looked over everything, pulling out the roll of bandage and the antiseptic, grabbing a moderate stack of gauze from its compartment.

He set everything down and laid it out on the counter before returning his focus to you. He grabbed your hand gently, so very gentle in contrast to his temper. He held your hand in his and turned it so your palm faced upwards. He let go momentarily to untie the knot in the fabric around it, requiring a little extra work from how tight he’d fastened it earlier. But soon enough he got it, loosening it up.

When he pulled away the fabric to reveal a nasty scratch that’d been plenty smudged with crimson, you lifted your gaze to see his expression. You saw the tension in his jaw, saw the way his brows pulled together in displeasure. You saw it all while you felt the gentle caress of his thumb over the heel of your hand.

He got caught up in staring for a few more moments, noticeably so, and he cleared his throat. He snagged some gauze and the bottle of antiseptic, opening the plastic cap with a flick of his thumb. He tipped the bottle over and squirted the clear liquid on the gauze, grabbing your hand once more.

He looked at you briefly, long enough to make sure you met his gaze as if to offer a wordless warning. He drizzled some of it directly on your hand, the sensation cold and stinging almost immediately and you half make an attempt to pull from his grasp but he tightens around your wrist gently, just enough to let you know he wouldn’t let you recoil.

He waited a few moments before taking the dampening gauze and dabbing away the excess liquid, tossing the dirtied material aside in favor of grabbing fresh ones.

Your hand was tender as he wiped away the blood, making sense of what he was working with ones he got it more cleaned up. It was red and irritated, hand throbbing from all the fuss and handling of it that you so desperately wanted to be over. So much so you began to squirm and continue to try and recoil.

It was no use.

You were relieved to see he’d been done with the liquid torment, for now at least, grabbing the roll of bandage. He’d laid down fresh, dry gauze first, peeling back the edge of the roll before he began wrapping it around your hand. He was gentle throughout the process, gentle despite being so horribly the opposite just hours earlier. He’d always take care of you.

His thumb brushed over the fresh bandage for a few moments, his gaze shifting to your cheek. You knew what was coming next.

“Dean, I can take care of the rest,” you interject, watching him nearly roll his eyes.

“I’m sure you can, but I didn’t ask you to either.”

You huff once again and roll your eyes, looking the other way when he grabbed more dampened gauze from the counter.

You felt his finger under your chin, redirecting your gaze to him so he could see better. You struggled to keep from moving, the anticipated pain having you trying to get yourself situated, shying away from that damn antiseptic in hopes he’d just call it a day.

Of course he wouldn’t.

“Dammit, Y/n, would you hold still?” He says, patience thin as he rests his hand on your cheek and redirects your gaze once more.

You heave a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping a little bit as you allow him to, eyes narrowed as you look up at him with all the annoyance you could muster. You didn’t want to hold still, you wanted to dig your heels in and do the exact opposite of everything he said. You wanted to piss him off even more because you were still angry, still upset with him.

You gave it a valiant attempt, tried your hardest and it lasted you a little while as you sat there on that counter. But with the way he’d been cradling your face in his hand, the way his thumb brushed back and forth across your cheek almost absentmindedly. It was hard to keep your irritation in place.

“He really gotcha good, huh sweetheart?” He asks, tone much softer than moments ago but that anger was still very much there. Not at you, but at the damn thing that put its hands on his sweetheart.

It’s like a burning feeling in the pit of his stomach, sitting heavy as a damn boulder there, getting heavier and heavier with each passing minute the more he allows himself to think about what happened, what could have happened.

He always does that to himself. Always keeps himself up at night. Lays there and let’s one scenario after the next plague his mind on things that could happen to you, things that could happen to Sammy. Things that could happen on his watch, trying to figure out ways to prevent said imaginary things to happen so he’s prepared for anything and everything. Things that could happen when he’s not there, even just for a split second. Those were the things that bothered him the most. Drove him insane till he got this tightness in his chest that had him nearly bursting at the seams.

He gets himself so worked up on those nights, all while you’ve got your head on his chest and you’re sound a sleep, not a care in the world for a few hours time. He envied it, how at peace you were, but it’s all he wants for you, helps loosen that tightness in his chest knowing you’re at ease. At ease while he lays there and torments himself with what ifs and things that didn’t even happen, things that might never happen.

Dean Winchester might seem calm, cool, and collected under the pressure of this hunting life. He might seem like he’s got everything under control at all times, got a plan for everything, a solution. And most of the time, he does. But he’s also got himself so wound up on the future way far ahead of him that it renders him anxious and stressed more often than not.

You simply shrug at the question. “S’alright.”

There’s that infamous eye roll he gives, that anger building once more at your nonchalance of the situation. It’s part of what’s got him so angry that night to begin with. You act like you don’t care when you really do, act like everything’s fine and that it’s just part of the job. It is, but getting hurt like that, hell, even getting just a simple scratch. To him—that’s purely like a nightmare when it comes to you.

He couldn’t care less how banged up and bruised he got, but when it comes to Sammy, when it comes to you, he gets so damn pissed he can hardly see straight.

“No, it’s not,” he says, dabbing away the remnants of blood smudging around it on your forehead.

You’re half tempted to argue in response, tell him he’s being dramatic. But you’d only be poking the bear, something you’d done the entirety of that night. But that look on his face, painted with worry and fear, you saw it and didn’t have the heart to poke and prod at him, at least not in this moment.

So you settle for a deep sigh, looking up at him while his other hand still rests on your cheek. You know part of him is being a little dramatic, you know he doesn’t need to get so tightly wound on scenarios that didn’t even happen, but pointing it out would do no good.

He drops his hand in favor of digging through his first aid kit. It’s always fully stocked, nearly jam packed to the gills with just about anything you could imagine. At every hunt he’ll stop at a gas station in whatever town you’re in, buy a box of bandages, supplies, anything he thinks he may need. He’s got this paranoia of running out, this worry he doesn’t have enough in the event of an emergency. But that worry is something he keeps to himself.

He pulls out three closure strips, tearing open their packaging. He’s careful in the way we places them, wants them to be damn near perfect, wants to add as little pain as possible to the pain he’s sure you’re feeling. Just the idea makes him riled up and angry at the thought of you hurting.

He dabs away any additional blood that formed, that cut looking a little better now that it’d been properly taken care of, leaving it to look a little red and angry after having been touched.

You continue to sit there on that counter as he cleans up, tossing the trash in the small bin on the floor right next to it. He can feel you staring, of course he can. He can feel it and confirms it when he turns back to you.

He averts his gaze for a moment as he grabs ahold of your hand, gently as his eyes glance over the fresh bandage. That very hand his shaky as it rests in his palm, his thumb brushing over the heel of it as a wordless for me of comfort.

You can see the way his jaw tenses as he looks at it, at the way his brows crease and knit together. You can practically see the gears turning in his head, working on overdrive and you know he’s thinking about what happened that day. And it’s almost as if he can read your thoughts, tearing his gaze away as if to clear his mind, shake away his own thoughts before he looks at you.

His gaze is still narrowed with that anger, but it’s quick to soften just a little when he meets your eyes.

You bite the inside of your cheek for a moment, swinging your dangling feet once or twice when you bump his leg with your foot.

“I’m fine, Dean,” you say, not so much in a stubborn, dismissive way this time.

His brows pull closer together again at the words, words he doesn’t agree with, but there’s that damn smile of yours. Soft and sweet, a little humor behind it because you’re trying to lighten the mood. All he can do is look at you, look at that small grin and wonder how he got so lucky to have you looking at him like that.

You reach up and swipe your thumb along his chin, wiping away the smudge of dirt that was smeared there. But you didn’t drop your hand, pressing your thumb in the soft dimple in his chin before you caress his cheek softly, letting your hand settle there.

You can feel his stubble scratch under your palm, can feel the tension in his jaw. But you can also feel it subside as the tips of your fingers brush over his hair as they rest at the nape of his neck. He may have been your tough guy, may have been rough around the edges, but nothing could compare to the way his gaze softened as he looked at you. As he responded to your touch in the gentlest way possible.

It worked wonders to sooth his anger, anger that still lingered and threatened to build up and tighten in his chest if he thought about that day one more damn time.

He leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours, hands resting on the tops of your thighs. He heaved a heavy sigh, breath smelling like the burger he’d had for dinner, and the beer he’d drank to wash it down.

His nose bumped against yours, and you can feel his unease without even looking at him, you know there’s words on the tip of his tongue.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says, quiet as his breath puffs against your lips with each word.

You’re silent for a moment or two, something that maintains that unease he feels. Because he knows he gets angry, so damn angry that he acts like a jerk. Says things to piss you off in the heat of an argument. He knows it.

But it’s quick to ease when he feels your lips on his, soft and gentle, something he wastes no time in leaning into as he kisses you a little harder. He basks in every last bit that that kiss lingers, parting momentarily as his breath brushes against your lips warmly before kissing you again once, twice, three more times.

He can’t help but steal another as he pulls you closer to the edge of the counter with a grip on your hips, pulling back just enough to see your face.

You see every freckle, every single one, speckled across the bridge of his nose and splayed over his cheeks. Dotting along his eyelids and disappearing up into his eyebrows. You see the one that sits in his top lip, one that you never fail to press a kiss to, this time being no different.

You see the soft creases by his eyes, the near permanent lines of worry between his brows. You see every single detail up close and personal as you sit there and stare at him. And the way he runs his hand along your rain dampened hair, brushing it out of your face, it’s the only thing that distracts you and pulls your attention.

“Guess I’m sorry too,” you say, that humor in your tone making him roll his eyes. But the meaning, the sincerity is very much there and he knows it.

“You’re a pain in the ass, sweetheart,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead before spinning on his heel and stepping out of the bathroom.

“Hey!” You protest, hopping down from the counter with a fake frown that threatens to turn to a smile, even more so when he turns to look at you with raised brows. “Am I at least your pain in the ass?”

He pretends to ponder the question long and hard, lips puckered in thought as he stands there and watches you grow impatient and lightheartedly offended.

You’re about ready to scoff when he steps closer, hand reaching up to settle at the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair softly.

“Always have been, sweetheart,” he says, pressing his lips against yours.

—

Taglist: @harrysweasleys @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @campingmonkey @lanea-1 @deandaydreaming @agalliasi @malindacath @ajreturnstocringeyaccount @deanswaywardgirl @awkward-and-indecisive @drownthewitch @happyt0exist @sparkycorleone @humanmistakes @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @nyotamalfoy @elliewigginton20 @wandering-winchesters @senjoritanana

[suguwu]

christmas countdown

Your company is taking on a new project and desperately wants the backing and expertise of retired CEO Jing Yuan. Dispatched out into the countryside to bring him on board, you find it won't be as easy as you think.

Jing Yuan strikes a bargain with you: spend the upcoming days with him, until Christmas Eve, and he'll tell you exactly what it will take for him to come back if you don't figure it out yourself.

Let the Christmas countdown begin.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI.

pairing: jing yuan x gn!reader

word count: 16k (whoops)

notes: this came about through dms with my beloveds @petrichorium and @lorelune! they both were invaluable, and lore also was kind enough to beta for me, along with another friend. this fic feels like it possessed me; i wrote it in just over a week.

fic notes: hallmark au, gn!reader (they/them pronouns), jing yuan is taller than the reader, age gap (jing yuan is in his early 50s, reader is in their late 30s), this is mostly just fluff.

divider by @/cafekitsune.

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

“This is the third Christmas you’re missing,” she says, voice thickening, and you can almost see the way her eyes are going glassy with tears, shining beautifully in the light.

“I know. But this project is huge and I’m so close to the promotion—”

“You’ve been saying that for years.” 

“This is different. The CEO herself asked for me,” you say with a sigh.

“When would you leave?”

“I leave tomorrow.”

“That’s almost a week until Christmas! Maybe you’ll get back in time! Or maybe it can wait until the new year?”

“No, Mom. The project is waiting on getting this person on board, it can’t wait that much longer. It’s just Christmas, I don’t see why this is such a big deal.”

“It’s time with your family,” she snaps, the words shattering at the edges, honed keen with hurt. 

“I’m sorry. Next year, okay?”

“That’s what you said last year.”

“Mom.”

“Fine. But think about it, please. We miss you.”

You sigh. “I miss you guys too.”

The conversation continues on from there; she tells you that your father has taken up gardening, renting out a space in a greenhouse nearby, coaxing it into a full lushness that has him coming home flecked with flower petals. He’s already plotting out a vegetable garden come spring. 

You listen as she chatters away, throwing in the occasional “uh-huh” as you scroll through your emails, typing as quietly as you can. You pause as she goes silent.

“Mom?”

“Are you working right now?” 

You wince. “I just had a few emails—”

The line goes so quiet that you reach for your phone to see if your earbuds have disconnected. They haven't. Your stomach roils.

“Mom?”

“We’ll talk later, then,” your mother says, and the pit in your stomach grows at the sorrow threading through her voice. “Good night.”

You hesitate. Then your email pings again.

“Night, Mom.” 

She hangs up, and the click of the line sounds like a dour bell, but it’s chased from your mind by the bright chirp of your email. You settle back down with your laptop, digging into work once more. 

When you finally glance up from your laptop screen hours later, your eyes stinging, you realize it’s snowing. 

In the orange glow of the streetlights, the flakes look like embers flickering through the sky, like the sparks of a bonfire on a summer’s eve. It’ll be stomped into slush tomorrow, trodden under so many boots, but for now the snow dances through the air, a ballet all its own.

It muffles the world, blanketing your apartment in oppressive quiet, and not for the first time you feel small in your own home. You shiver. The high ceilings of your apartment feel like a gaping maw, arching and empty. 

You shift uneasily and turn on a soft lofi playlist despite the headache that’s settled in at your temples. It fills the air, creeps all the way to the empty corners of your apartment and softens them with sound. 

You let out a gentle breath. Still, something cold uncurls behind your ribs, sinks its teeth into bone until it hits marrow. You pick up your phone, swiping up to your messages with your best friend, and you’re halfway through typing out a message before you catch yourself. A quick glance at the clock makes you wince. Your phone thunks against the table as you toss it down. 

It’s late and she has a new baby—she needs as much sleep as she can get. You can’t disturb her, not for something as silly as this. You scrub a hand over your face and get to your feet.

It’s quiet as you get ready for bed, even the soft music doing little to soothe you. You turn on every lamp in your bedroom, flood the room with light, until it’s as if the sun has risen and is cradling you in its warmth. You keep them on until the last moment, flicking them off only when you’re tucked in bed. 

That cold thing stays with its fangs sunk in until you fall asleep. 

***

The airport is nearly deserted by the time you land.

It’s late, night blanketing the terminal, held at bay only by the light pollution of the airport. Your shoes click against the linoleum as you hurry through the empty hallways, eager to be done with your exhausting day of travel. 

The taxi driver that heaves your suitcase into the trunk is talkative, but you’re too busy checking your phone, flicking through the emails that poured in while you were in the air. The car rumbles to life beneath you as you pull up an attachment, scanning over the analysis quickly, scratching out a few notes on a scrap piece of paper you’ve pulled from your bag. The countryside rolls by as you work, pitch black except for a few lit windows from passing houses, little lighthouses in the deep sea of the night. 

“Here we are,” the taxi driver says cheerfully, killing the engine in front of the inn. 

It’s clearly old but well-maintained, a piece of the past caught in the resin of time. There are fake candles guttering in each window. The wreath on the door is almost as big as the door itself, dotted with lights that twinkle like little silver stars and topped off with a perfect crimson bow. 

“Thanks,” you say to the driver, trading a tip for your suitcase before heading up the steps of the inn. The scent of pine wafts around you; you step inside before it can stick to your clothes. 

“Hi,” you say to the receptionist, who puts down her magazine. “I’m here to check in.”

“Name?”

You tell her. She nods and you check your phone again as she checks you in. Luckily, it doesn’t take long, because the long day is beginning to weigh on you, an ache deep in your bones. 

“Let us know if there’s anything you need,” the receptionist says.

“Thanks.”

You pay little attention to the room, simply stowing your suitcase before pulling your laptop from your carry-on bag. There’s a small desk that you settle at; your laptop screen glows brightly as you open it. The world blurs, smears like a watercolor. You blink the fuzziness away to answer a few more emails. 

A few turns into many, catching up on all of your current projects now that you have another project to take care of. The headache that slowly blooms is familiar; it lingers behind your left eye, throbbing like a wound. It’s what finally gets you to set down your laptop for the night. It’s late enough that when you peer out the window while getting ready for bed, even the stars seem to have gone cold, twinkling faintly. 

By the time you crawl into bed, you don’t even want to look at the clock. Still, you see it when you set your alarm, and you wince. You only have a few hours before it goes off. You curse yourself and roll over to finally, finally go to sleep. 

Tomorrow comes too quickly. You wake with the sun, before your alarm, watery light pouring into your room, pooling in soft gold puddles on the floor. It catches on the prism dangling from the window, throwing rainbows against the walls, a whirling ballet of color. 

You make a mental note to close the curtains tonight. You hadn’t even realized they were open, with how dark the countryside is around the inn, far too used to the ambient light of the city. When you peer out the window, all you see is woods framing a large, clear space still dusted with snow. 

In daylight the inn is even more quaint, brimming with Christmas decor: with thick garlands draped over the doorway arches, weighted down with golden ornaments that catch the light, sending it flickering like the flames roaring in the fireplace. Sprigs of holly are tucked among the garlands too, little fireworks of color. Add in the mounds of fake snow lining a sprawling ceramic village and it’s a picture-perfect display. You trace a finger over the tiny wreath on the village bakery’s door. 

“Mornin’,” someone says behind you, a deep rumble of a voice, shaking through you like thunder splitting the sky. You turn around and find a man beaming at you.

“Good morning,” you say.

“Looking for breakfast? It’s in the dining room, right through there.” 

“I was really just looking for coffee.”

“That’s in the dining room too,” he says. “I’m Lee. I own the inn with my husband.”

“Oh,” you say. “That’s nice. It’s lovely. I’m sorry, though, I really have to get to work.”

He raises a brow. There’s a whole conversation in that brow, you think. One you’re not interested in having. 

You give him a tight smile. “Excuse me,” you say. “That coffee is calling me.”

“Sure,” he says. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

You trade nods with a few other guests as you get your coffee, but you’re in and out of the loud dining room in a matter of minutes. Your room, foreign as it is to you still, is a welcome respite from the chatter that fills the inn. 

The coffee is good. It’s rich and nutty, the warmth of it warding off the slight chill that lingers in the room from the large windows. You try to peer out one of them but it’s whorled with frost, ice spun over the glass like embroidery, just opaque enough to let in the light.  

You settle back down at the little desk and boot up your laptop. Your inbox has slowly filled up again, and you’re starting to work through it when your boss slacks you. 

Qingzu: You’re off your regular projects for now.

Me: ??? I’m almost done with the analysis.

Qingzu: Fu Xuan wants you to concentrate on bringing Jing Yuan on board. I’ll delegate your usual tasks. 

You wince. Your coworkers are going to hate you.

Me: I can still do the analysis at least.

Qingzu: What the CEO says goes. Focus on the job she gave you. 

Qingzu: Also it looks like the address we have on file for Jing Yuan is outdated.

Qingzu: You might need to do a little searching. 

Me: Okay.

You sigh, scrubbing your hands over your face before exiting out of your email. Not for the first time, you wonder why Fu Xuan didn’t reach out to Jing Yuan herself, considering she’d succeeded him at Luofu Corp. You’re not sure how negotiation from a stranger is the better option. And it would certainly have made your life easier. 

At least she’s given you a profile on him. The picture is unnecessary considering how many magazine covers the man has graced, but it’s there, and you won’t say no to looking at a pretty face. Even in his official picture, there’s a small, lazy smile on his face. He looks half-asleep, but his golden eyes are knife-sharp.

A tactician's mind, Fu Xuan said, and you believe it. 

You read through the profile carefully, taking in details large and small, trying to get a sense of the man you’re supposed to lure out of retirement. He’d retired early, barely into his fifties, and he’d only picked up a handful of projects in the last two years since, mostly charity work. You sigh, deeply jealous, and read on. 

The profile isn’t particularly helpful; to be honest, you hadn’t expected it to be. You’ll need to meet him and gauge him for yourself to see what the best avenue is.

You shrug on your coat before leaving the room, slipping past a ragtag group of children. They’re led by a little girl in a hat bigger than her head, the fuzzy flaps of it bouncing as she scuttles down the hallway, her face shining triumphantly, a mug of hot cocoa carefully balanced in her hands.

You hesitate at the bottom of the stairs, glancing between the door and the front desk. You sigh and head towards the front desk. Lee smiles at you.

“Whatcha need?” he asks.

“I’m looking for someone in town,” you say. “I was hoping you could direct me to them.”

“Sure. Who is it?”

“Jing Yuan.”

His smile shatters at the edges, a slowly spreading crack. He leans back on his heels and eyes you up and down.

“You a reporter?”

“No.”

He nods to himself. “Should have known. You look a little too corporate for that.”

You smooth down your coat self-consciously. Maybe you should have brought some more casual clothing for this trip. 

“Can you tell me where he is?” you ask.

“He’s not interested.”

“What?”

Lee shrugs, rocking back on his heels again. You think of a great pine tree swaying in the wind, bending, never breaking. “Whatever you want him for, he’s not interested.”

“How about he tells me that himself?”

“I’m sure he will,” he says. “If you can find him.”

“Which I assume you aren’t going to help with.”

“Sorry.”

You roll your eyes and stalk towards the door, wrenching it open and fleeing into the outdoors. The sun is shining but the air is frigid, the type of cold that sinks right through clothing and into your marrow. You shudder and pull up the collar of your coat to try and block the worst of the chill as you walk towards downtown. 

It’s an easy walk; you find yourself in the heart of downtown in just a few minutes. It’s just as quaint as the inn, the lampposts lining the street decorated with wreaths faintly dusted with pristine snow. You glance up at the lights strung between buildings, shimmering like the icicles they’re mimicking. 

It’s pretty, you suppose. You think people would flock here if they knew about it. Still, despite how small the town is, the streets are filled with people, some of them shouting greetings back and forth.  

You duck into the crowds and weave your way through them carefully, pausing just before a cafe. A thought occurs to you as you take a quick peek through the frosted window. You peel off your gloves, holding them in your hand as you step into Auntie’s. 

“Excuse me,” you say as one of the waitresses comes over to you, a tray balanced against her hip. “A man dropped these a block back and I thought I saw him come in here. I was hoping to return them. He was tall and had long white hair that he was wearing tied back. I think it was with a red ribbon.”

“Sounds like Jing Yuan,” she says. “You sure paid close attention to him.”

You cough, fidgeting with the leather gloves and she laughs. “Most people do,” she reassures you. You flash her a small, embarrassed smile. “He’s hard to miss, handsome as he is. I can give them to him next time I see him.”

“That’s okay,” you say. “If you know where he is, I don’t mind bringing them to him. I’m just enjoying wandering around town.”

Her eyes narrow; ice seeps into them, the slow creep of the first frost. Her grip tightens on the tray. 

You blink at her guilelessly, trying not to hold your breath. 

Her shoulders uncoil. “Sorry,” she says. “It’s just—nevermind. I haven’t seen him today. I’d check along Aurum. That’s the main street. If you don’t find him, you can come back here and I’ll give ‘em to him.”

“I’ll just check a few more shops,” you tell her. “I’m on the lookout for Christmas presents, anyway.” 

“Cutting it close, aren’t you?”

“I know, I know,” you say. “I’m so bad about it. Thank you!”

“Bye.”

You hurry out the door, flexing your fingers against the cold as you keep your gloves in your hands. The second and third store yield the same results; the fourth shop is a bust too. The locals are more protective of Jing Yuan than you’d thought. You get a suspicious look every time you describe him, and that’s without even mentioning his name. 

You step outside the fourth shop with a huff. At this point, you’re worried that someone is going to insist on keeping the gloves. There’s only so many times you can spin the same story before it bites you in the ass. Plus, your hands are freezing; the sunlight is doing little to warm the day despite the rays bathing half the street gold. 

One more store, you think. Just one more.

You groan when you see the next store is a bustling toy shop. Children tug at their parents’ hands and smudge their noses up against the windows with gap-toothed grins. They spill out of the entrance like little ants, almost tripping over themselves as they babble excitedly to their companions. They part around you like flowing water as you make your way inside.

“Excuse me,” you say to the first person wearing a nametag that you see, holding out the gloves. “A man dropped these a few blocks back. I tried to catch up but couldn’t, but I thought I saw him duck in here. Have you seen a tall man with white hair tied up with a red ribbon?” 

“Funny,” a rich voice says from behind you. “I don’t think those would fit me.” 

You freeze. 

The man peers down over your shoulder; a few strands of fluffy white hair brush against you as he examines the gloves you’re holding. He tugs one free of your slackened grip and holds it up against his hand, which dwarfs the glove. His low hum resonates through you, a honeyed drip of sound, soft and warm.

“A little small, don’t you think?” he asks.

You turn around.

Jing Yuan smiles at you, his eyes crinkling with it. There’s a wicked amusement tucked up secret in the corner of his full lips; you try not to scowl. 

You see why Fu Xuan called him a scoundrel. 

Still, there’s no way out of this. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” you say with a shrug. “And I did find you, so.” 

He chuckles. “That you did.”

“I—”

“Uncle!”

You blink as a blond blur zips past you and almost crashes into Jing Yuan. The blur turns out to be a young boy—no older than twelve—carrying a sizable sword. It’s almost as big as he is. 

“Uncle,” he says again, tugging at Jing Yuan’s sleeve. “Look what I found!”

“It’s a very nice sword, Yanqing,” Jing Yuan says, his smile softening. “But let’s wait and see what Christmas brings, hmm?”

Yanqing pouts for a moment before he glances at you. You realize he shares his uncle’s eyes, as golden as the sun. He blinks. “Are you another reporter?”

Jing Yuan leans down to be closer to his height. “Worse,” he whispers. “They’re corporate.”

The boy wrinkles his nose. 

Jing Yuan’s smile threatens to turn into a grin. “Go put the sword back, please,” he tells Yanqing, and you watch him dart off again. 

“Could I—”

“I’m afraid I’m busy,” Jing Yuan says. “And you may have heard that I retired.”

“I know, but—”

“Business has no place in a toy shop, you know.”

“That’s not what the toy seller would say.”

He tilts his head, a sliver of a smile unfurling on his lips. “I suppose so,” he says thoughtfully. “Either way, I am busy.”

“Fu Xuan sent me,” you try.

He sighs. “Yes, I had assumed.” 

“If I could just get a bit of your time—”

“Not now,” Jing Yuan says. “I’m with my family.”

“But at some point?”

“You’re at the inn, yes?”

“I am.”

“I’ll come find you tomorrow. Does that work?”

“Really?” you say and cough as he smiles, golden eyes twinkling like the ornaments decorating the toy shop. “I mean, that works. Here, here’s my card.”

He takes it; it looks tiny in his hand. He says your name, rolling it over his tongue like he’s tasting it, like it’s something to be savored. Your cheeks heat. A small smile plays across his lips. 

“Tomorrow, then,” you say.

He nods, his white hair swaying with it, like dandelion seeds caught on the wind. “Tomorrow. Come on, Yanqing.”

You start as the boy goes past you like a little darting fish, settling at his uncle’s side and tugging on his sleeve. “Can we go to the smithy?” he asks as the two of them turn to leave. “Please?”

Jing Yuan laughs, the sound rich, spilling over you like smooth chocolate. “Just to look,” he says, and they’re almost out the door when you realize—

“Wait!” you call out. “You still have my glove!”

Jing Yuan pauses and glances back, one golden eye rising like the sun over the mountain range of his shoulders. “Oh?” he asks, raising a brow. “I thought you said it was mine?”

Behind you, the employee stifles a laugh. Your cheeks burn. “I—”

He chuckles. “Here,” he says, handing it back. “I’d hate for you to be cold.” 

Then he and Yanging are out the door, leaving you standing in the middle of the bustling toy shop. You clutch at your glove; it’s still warm from his hand, like the soft heat that lingers in the hearth stones long after the fire has gone out. 

It occurs to you that you may be in over your head.

***

The feeling doesn’t go away the next day. 

“Where exactly are we going?”

Jing Yuan flashes you a smile; the edges of it curl into something smug. He’d called early and met you at the inn, coaxing you into putting your coffee in a to-go cup before shuffling you out the door with no real explanation. “Christmas tree shopping.”

“Christmas tr—I thought we were going to talk about the project!”

“We are,” he says easily, pulling into a gravel parking lot surrounded by towering, barren oaks. In the distance, you can see a grid of pines, laid out like an embroidery pattern. “But it’s Christmas.”

“It’s five days away.”

“That’s basically Christmas,” he says cheerfully. He slides from the pickup with feline grace, the flex of his thighs obvious even under the thick denim of his jeans. You stay put in the passenger seat. He raises a brow. “You don’t want to talk?”

That sends you scrambling for the passenger door. 

Jing Yuan doesn’t bother to hide the little smile that blooms on his lips, an unfurling flower. You scowl at him as you join him next to the pickup; it has no effect.

“Shall we?” he asks. 

You huff and follow him onto the tree lot. He clearly knows where he’s going, weaving through the pines with a dancer’s ease despite his size. You stop at a row of sizable trees, their blue-green needles rustling in the wind. They’re dusted in the lightest layer of snow, like frosting sugar has been sifted over them. 

You’re searching for the words to start your pitch when he hums. 

“What do you think of this one?” he asks, testing the thick branches of a plush pine, watching critically as needles scatter everywhere. It releases a waft of the sharp tang of pine. 

“It’s a tree.”

“Noted,” Jing Yuan says dryly. “Thank you for your input.” 

“I don’t understand why I’m here,” you tell him as he moves on to the next tree. “I thought we would go to your office.”

“I don’t have an office,” he says. “And the rec center needs a Christmas tree.” 

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

He glances at you. His eyes are the color of amber shot through with sunlight, a deep, rich gold. His gaze is knife-edged, a flaying thing, and it sinks beneath your skin to open you on its blade. You fidget with your sleeve.

When he smiles, it’s soft and maybe a little sad. He doesn’t say anything; he just hums again and moves to the next tree.

“Jing Yuan!”

“Keep moving,” he says. “We have to deliver the tree too, you know.” 

“We have to what?”

He laughs, loud and bright. “You heard me,” he says cheerfully. “Now come on.” 

You follow him through the rows, giving him clipped answers when he asks your opinion about a tree. Finally, after several more trees—that all looked the same to you, tall and full of pine needles—he finds one that he’s pleased with. 

He tells you to wait with the tree and disappears down the row.

When he comes back, he has an ax.

“Um,” you say. 

“Hm? Oh. It’s fine,” he says, resting the ax nearby as he ties his hair up into a high ponytail.

“Is it?”

He hefts the ax up and motions you back before swinging. He strikes true, the trunk starting to splinter under the hit, and the next one is in the exact same spot. The tree groans in protest, but Jing Yuan doesn’t pause. His powerful shoulders bunch and flex as he keeps the ax in motion with ease, though he’s beginning to pant a bit by the time he’s halfway through the trunk. Sweat glints on his brow; it dampens the edges of his hair, darkening it to the silver of the moon. 

He swings the ax again, his biceps bulging, and a crack splits the air. The tree starts to topple, falling into its neighbor, which keeps it mostly upright. Jing Yuan wipes his brow, chest heaving, and belatedly, you realize you’re staring. 

Behind you, there’s the crunch of pine needles under boots. Two men wearing name tags stride by you and clap Jing Yuan on the shoulder. They confer with him for a moment before they pick up the tree and start carrying it back towards the parking lot.  

“There,” Jing Yuan says, sounding satisfied. “We can go now.” 

“Do you often just…cut down trees?”

“Only at Christmas.”

You snort. He chuckles before gesturing you back to the parking lot. You head back and come up to the pickup just as the two men finish tying off the tree in the bed of the truck. Jing Yuan gives them firm handshakes; you pretend not to notice just how much cash is transferred between their palms. 

The two of you climb back into the truck. You have to move your briefcase in order to sit comfortably and the sight of it sets you back on track.

“You said we’d talk about the project,” you accuse.

“You didn’t say anything,” he says, putting the truck into gear. “So there wasn’t anything to talk about.”

You scowl at him. He pulls out of the parking lot; the truck trundles down the road. 

“Insufferable,” you mutter, but from the way the corner of his lips lift, he’s heard it. 

Quiet falls. The radio is crooning a soft Christmas song, but it’s faint, like an echo of the past. The heater is on, and the truck’s cab is soft with warmth, like sinking into bathwater after a long day. You lean against the window. Your breath fogs over the glass, a marine layer, and you resist the urge to draw something in the mist. 

The rec center isn’t far; you pull up to it just a few minutes later. Your phone rings just as Jing Yuan hops out of the truck.

“I need to take this,” you tell him. “It’s work.” 

He hums, something flashing across his face. It’s gone quickly, rolling by like a summer storm, and you’re already picking up the phone, your coworker’s harried voice filling your ears. 

The phone call takes a while. At one point, the truck rattles around you—a quick glance in the rearview shows a group of teen boys pulling the tree free from the truck bed, leaving a sea of needles in their wake, a forest floor brought home. Their laughter fills the air, audible even through your earbuds. You turn up the volume.

Jing Yuan shows back up just as you’re finishing your call. There’s silvery tinsel woven into his hair, barely visible except when it catches the sunlight, a lightning strike gleam. “You must be cold,” he tells you. “Come inside.”

You shake your head. “I need to go back to the inn,” you say. “I have a project that just went sideways.”

He sighs. “As you wish,” he says, and climbs back into the truck. 

You flick through your phone as he drives back to the inn, answering emails and trying your best to put out the embers of the fire that had sprung up on your project. When you reach the last one, you click your phone off and glance at Jing Yuan out of the corner of your eye.

The cold wind has nipped at his cheeks until roses bloom on his pale skin. The tinsel in his white hair shines, the full moon draped in ribbons of silvery shooting stars, and he’s beautiful in an untouchable way, a statue come to life.

Except—there’s a small, lopsided smile tucked up secret in the corner of his lips. It sweetens his mouth and adds a puckish curve; it makes him real again. It’s a contentment that you didn’t know existed, a quiet happiness that radiates from him. 

Something in your chest goes tight.

You clear your throat. He glances over at you, that tiny smile fading into something more polished. 

“Something to share?”

“The project.”

“Ah,” he says. “That.”

“Yes, that.”

“I suppose you have me trapped, don’t you.”

“For as long as the car ride,” you agree.

“Go on, then.”

You give him a basic overview, sweeping over the vast lay of the project, upselling things you’ll think he’ll care about while cutting out a few of the things you think he won’t. It’s hard to tell how it’s landing; you’re slowly realizing that Jing Yuan is a hard man to read. You suppose it makes sense, considering his years at the highest level in corporate, but it feels odd.

“I can see why Fu Xuan wants me on board,” he says as he pulls into the inn’s driveway. “And it is the type of project that appeals to me, which she knows.”

You let out a soft breath. “I don’t suppose that means you’ll come on board?”

He parks. “No,” he says.

You sigh. “I thought not. What would it take for you to come on board?”

“Don’t you think it’d be more fun to find that out yourself?”

You scowl at him, ignoring the way the corners of his lips lift. 

“No.”

Jing Yuan glances at you, his eyes gleaming, the sun come down to earth.“I'll tell you what,” he says. “Spend up until Christmas Eve with me. You can talk to me about the project until then. And if you haven’t figured it out by then, I’ll tell you exactly what will get me onto the project.”

You eye him suspiciously. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Deal,” you say, sticking out your hand. He shakes it, his grip firm. You can feel the heat of him even through your gloves. It’s soft like the early spring sun, a gentle warmth that blooms through you. 

“Not that I mind, but I will need my hand back.”

You let go immediately, snatching your hand back like you’ve been burned.

Jing Yuan smiles at you, eyes crinkling. 

“I have to go,” you say, scrambling for your briefcase. You think you hear him chuckle under his breath as you pop the door open. You don’t even say goodbye; you slam the door shut before striding off towards the inn, pretending your dignity isn’t lying in pieces. 

At the inn’s door, you can’t help yourself. You glance back.

Jing Yuan smiles and gives you a little wave.

Your cheeks go hot, a supernova burn. You retreat into the inn quickly. 

Lee calls out a greeting, but you ignore him and rush to your room. You curse Jing Yuan’s name as you boot your laptop up. Your cheeks are still warm. You scrub your hands over them as if that will help. 

Your email pings. With a sigh, you scrub at your heated cheeks one more time before you delve into your inbox. 

The rest of the day passes in a blur of phone calls and emails; by the time you look up, stomach grumbling, the sun has set, leaving behind only its reflection in the moon to lead the way. You push back from the desk and rub at your stinging eyes.

When you go downstairs to grab something to eat, the inn’s lounge is full of people. You balk, unsure, but your stomach rumbles again. You make yourself a plate and sit down at the edge of one of the crowded tables, picking away at the food as laughter fills the air around you. 

There’s a couple at the other end of your table, hands intertwined as they talk, pressing close to hear each other over the noise. The shorter woman smiles at her partner, quick and bright, a shooting star burning through the night sky, and you look away. 

Across the room, a group of teens are laughing among themselves, draped over each other casually. You watch them for a moment. They vie for the handheld console they’re playing with, passing it back and forth as they chatter excitedly.

Something cold slithers behind your ribs. It winds around the bones like ivy, sending roots down into your marrow.

You take the rest of your meal upstairs. 

***

The morning light streams through the frost on your windows, the feathered whorls of ice glittering as they cast dancing shadows on the walls. Beyond your window, the inn’s yard is full of bundled up families swooping down the slight hill in brightly colored sleighs, their whoops barely audible. 

You watch a little boy tug his father up the hill. He’s so wrapped up in layers that he’s waddling. He throws his hands up in the air as they coast down the hill, snow kicking up behind the sleigh, his father wrapping an arm around him to keep him steady. 

Someone says your name.

“Sorry,” you say, coming back to yourself and the conference call you’re on. “Could you repeat that?”

They do and you refocus, tapping away at your keyboard as you sip at your coffee. You’ve stepped back into some of your usual projects now that you’re at Jing Yuan’s whim. He’s clearly a late riser, based on the time. 

He calls when you’re on your third cup of coffee. He tells you only to meet him in front of the inn in fifteen minutes. You’re out the door in ten, stamping your feet on the inn’s porch to keep warm, tucking your chin into your coat’s collar in hopes of keeping warm. 

Jing Yuan pulls up a few minutes later. He slides from the car gracefully, looking cozy in a fleece-lined bomber jacket. You tuck your chin further into your coat collar as the wind gusts. He eyes you for a moment.

“Do you have anything warmer?”

“I brought clothes for business meetings, not whatever you have planned,” you say irritably. 

He chuckles. “Fair,” he says. “Hold on.” 

He disappears to the trunk of the car. When he comes back, he’s got a thick scarf and hat with him, the knit of them full of lumps, clearly handmade. There’s a neon bright pom-pom on the top of the hat. 

“No,” you say flatly.

He chuckles. “Alright.” 

The wind chooses that moment to gust heavily, biting through every layer to kiss frigid against your skin. “Shit,” you bite out, and when Jing Yuan holds out the hat and scarf again, you take them.

You jam the hat on your head and wind the scarf around your neck before burying your chin in it, pulling it up over your mouth and nose. When you breathe in, the air is tinged with what can only be traces of Jing Yuan’s cologne, a faint hint of warm cedar and bergamot, woodsy and bright. Beneath that, there’s a hint of smoke, of woodfire. It drapes over you like a soft, warm blanket. You resist the urge to close your eyes to breathe it in again.

“Cute,” Jing Yuan teases. You glare at him, but from the smile he gives you, it’s not very effective. You glare harder. 

“Let’s go,” he says, urging you towards the car with a gentle hand at the small of your back. You can feel the weight of it even through the thick material of your coat. When you glance at him, he’s already looking at you. He chuckles as you glance away. 

“Where are we going?” you ask as you slip into the passenger seat.

He flashes you a coy little smile. “You’ll see.”

You huff; he just smiles.

It doesn’t take you long to get back to the rec center, but you make the most of it, chattering to him about the project, trying to figure out what to highlight based on his reaction. He responds amiably, even asks a few questions, but it’s not enough. You know it’s not enough. 

When you arrive at the rec center, Jing Yuan pulls around the back of the building. Before you can even ask, the answer comes into view.

“Oh,” you breathe, cutting yourself off mid-sentence about the marketing strategy, taking in the massive skating rink. The bleachers are covered with twinkling lights and pine garlands, massive red bows dotted along them like flowers. There are lights overhead, too, dripping down like icicles. A Christmas tree sparkles in the far corner of the rink, weighed down with ornaments and topped with a shining star. 

Jing Yuan parks and you balk.

“We’re not—”

“We are,” he says cheerfully, the corners of his lips curling up into a lazy smile. 

“What does this have to do with the project?” you ask desperately. 

“Ah ah, that would be telling.”

You gape at him. He chuckles and gets out of the car; you follow him after a moment. He guides you to the skate shoe rental hut and before you realize it, you have a pair of skates on and are at the edge of the rink. You’re not even sure how he convinced you. 

Jing Yuan is already on the ice. He moves like a dancer despite his bulk, swaying over the ice like kelp in a current, rippling and beautiful. There’s something utilitarian to it too, not a single move wasted. An athlete’s precision. 

He comes close to the edge and holds out a hand to you. “Ready?” he asks.

“I know how to skate,” you snap at him. 

“Okay,” he says, skating backwards to give you enough room to kick out onto the ice. 

It takes you a minute to find your feet, skates almost skittering out from under you, but you find your balance quickly and start to skate through the rink. The ice is smooth beneath you, perfectly slick, and you pick up speed. When you glance to your right, Jing Yuan is there, keeping up with you effortlessly, a small smile unfurling across his lips.

His hair is streaming out behind him, barely tamed by the thin red ribbon holding part of it back. You think of the pelting snow of a blizzard, beautiful and dangerous, and look away just as he turns to you.

“So shy,” he says, a laugh rumbling in his chest, and you consider how much it might hurt the potential of the project if you hit him. 

“I’m hardly shy,” you tell him.

“That’s true,” he says. “I don’t think anyone shy would have claimed their gloves as mine.”

The tips of your ears go hot. “I needed to find you.”

“I’ve heard that you can ask people things.” 

“I tried. They’re protective of you, you know.” 

His smile softens, goes tender at the edges. “More protective than I deserve,” he says, so quietly it’s almost lost in the whipping wind. 

You bite at your lip. You glance at him from the corner of your eye; his smile is distant now, like the sun dipping just below the horizon.

“Jing Yuan?” you say tentatively. 

He blinks. “Hmm? Oh. Sorry.” 

You hum. “You skate well,” you say instead of the question that’s lingering on the tip of your tongue.

“So do you.”

“My mom was a skater,” you say, looping around a tottering child. “She taught me when I was little. I haven’t gone in forever, though.”

“How come?”

“Too busy.”

“Too busy working,” he says, and it’s not a question.

You think of the Instagram photos from a few weeks ago, all of your friends at a nearby rink, glowing under the lights as they pile into the frame, caught eternally in joy. The pictures of the food afterwards, of the drinks they used to warm themselves up, each one dotted with a little sprig of holly. 

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Too busy working.” 

He hums. 

You push yourself to skate faster. He keeps up with you smoothly, his footwork impeccable. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You glance at him; he meets your gaze steadily, his eyes the color of sunlit whisky, deep and rich. “I’m not upset,” you say. 

“Alright.” 

The two of you skate quietly for a long while, keeping an easy pace around the rink, avoiding the wobbling tots being coaxed by their steady parents. Teens spin around in circles until they’re dizzy, falling to the ice with a laugh. There’s a girl holding hands with another girl as she scrambles across the ice like a baby deer. You watch them bobble along, a little smile blossoming on your lips.

“Careful,” you hear Jing Yuan warn, and you look up just in time to see a teen boy windmilling his arms as he comes straight at you. Before you can even blink, there’s an arm around your waist, tugging you out of the way. The momentum sends you directly into Jing Yuan; he turns the two of you quickly and grunts as he hits the rink’s edge, taking the brunt of the impact. 

You end up pressed together. His arm is still slung low around your waist, holding you to him, the tips of your skates just barely touching the ground; you’ve fisted your hands in his coat to keep from falling. You can’t help but lean into the warmth of him. This close, you can smell his cologne more clearly. It’s different on his skin, the woodfire scent all but gone, while the cedar and the bright flash of citrus from the bergamot still lingers.

“You okay?” he asks, setting you down. His big hands are gentle as he steadies you, touching you as if you’re something fragile, something to be protected. 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” You still have your hands fisted in his jacket. You let go one finger at a time before stepping back. 

“I’m fine,” he says, straightening up. “Doubt it will even bruise.”

“Thanks,” you say. “For the save.” 

“You’re welcome. Think I’m done with skating for the day, though.”

“Me too.”

The two of you skate to the edge of the rink; Jing Yuan holds out a hand to help you from the ice. By the time you’re done returning the skates, the sun is setting, the fiery orange horizon giving way to the encroaching teeth of night. 

“I should get back,” you say. “I still have some work to do.”

Jing Yuan glances at you. His gaze is assessing, golden eyes keen, and you wonder if this is what it felt like to be under his scrutiny when he was still a CEO. If other people felt his gaze like an autopsy cut, opening you for his perusal. 

“Sure,” he says easily. “If you have to.”

“I do.”

He takes you back to the inn. Your goodbye is quiet, though he takes one last jab at how you look wearing the hat and scarf as he insists you keep them for now. 

You watch him drive off, unable to shake the feeling that somehow, you’ve disappointed him. 

You work for a while, your room quiet, before you give up in the middle of an email. You shut down your laptop and get ready for bed. 

It takes you a long time to fall asleep.

***

“Do you really get up this late?” you ask, checking your watch as Jing Yuan climbs out of his car. 

“No,” he says, sounding amused. “Do I give that impression?”

“They literally called you the Dozing CEO.” 

“There are worse things to be.”

“That’s true,” you say thoughtfully. “Anyway, I wanted to talk about the second stage of the pro—”

“Later,” Jing Yuan says. “Right now it’s time for coffee. Let’s go to Auntie’s.” 

The snow crunches under your boots as the two of you walk into town. The crowd is even bigger today, filling the streets. There’s a band at one end of Aurum, the musicians bundled up as they play lively Christmas music. They take a request from a passing child and they clap in delight as the band starts to play. 

“Is it always like this?” you ask.

Jing Yuan nods. “The holidays are a big deal around here,” he says, holding the door to Auntie’s open for you. “It’s a close-knit community.”

He greets the hostess by name and asks about her family; she chatters familiarly with him as she leads the two of you to a booth.

“I can tell,” you say once she’s left. “Is that why you came here?”

He pauses. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s fine,” he says, giving you a little smile. It’s soft, that smile, and sweet at the edges. Your cheeks heat a bit. “But yes, that’s a large part of it. That and I wanted to be out of the city.” 

“Really? I thought you loved the city.”

He tilts his head in question.

You cough. “Most of the profiles I’ve read say you like the city.” 

“When I was younger,” he says. “But now, I find the quiet suits me.”

The waitress comes by with a coffee for him; he thanks her kindly before returning his attention to you. 

“The quiet here has been nice,” you admit.

“Would you ever leave the city?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “I’ve been there for almost twenty years now. I moved there when I was eighteen. Besides, that’s where my job is.”

He hums lightly. “So it is.” 

“Speaking of—”

He sighs, cupping his coffee between his big hands to warm them. “Go ahead,” he says. “I said I’d listen.” 

You launch into the second phase of the project, outlining the plans and how they’d be executed, as well as what his backing and involvement might look like. Jing Yuan drinks his coffee as he listens, only pausing you once so he can ask the waitress a question. 

You wind down and he smiles at you. “You’re very convincing,” he tells you. “I can see how you got Feixiao to come on board for the last project that Luofu did.” 

“But—” you say, knowing what’s coming.

“But I’m not sold.” 

“Of course you aren’t,” you grumble under your breath. Jing Yuan breathes out a laugh and your face goes hot. “Sorry,” you say. “I’m so sorry—”

“It’s fine.” 

“You’re very tolerant.”

“Am I?”

“You know you are.” 

He chuckles. “I suppose I am,” he says. “Retirement has taken much of the bite out of me, I’m afraid. Though I don’t consider that a bad thing.” 

“It’s not.” 

He rests his chin on his palm, gazing at you from under his long lashes. Only one of his eyes is visible; the other is behind the silver of his hair, a sun hidden by clouds. His eye is heavily lidded, but his gaze is as keen as ever. “I’m glad we’re in agreement.” 

“Right,” you say, flustered and unsure why. “Me too.” 

“I find the best part of retirement is the softness,” he says. “It gives you room to be gentle. With yourself. With others.”

“You sound like a self-help book.”

“I do meditate quite often,” he says, eyes crinkling with his smile. “I would recommend it.” 

“I don’t have time to meditate.”

“All the more reason to find some time for it,” he says mildly, taking another sip of his coffee. A droplet clings to his lower lip; he catches it with his thumb before licking his thumb clean. You almost choke on air.

“Are you alright?” he asks, a coy smile unfurling on his lips. 

“F-fine.” 

That smile grows larger, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Alright. Let’s have a late breakfast, shall we?”

“Okay.”

The food comes quickly, filling the air with the scent of crisp bacon and the sharp, woody tang of rosemary. The eggs melt on your tongue, perfectly fluffy, and Jing Yuan smiles when you let out a pleased sigh.

“Good?”

You nod eagerly, taking another bite.

“Good.” 

You’re both quiet as you eat; when it comes time to pay, Jing Yuan doesn’t even let you reach for the bill, simply handing the waitress his card with a flick of his wrist. His playful glare silences you before you can even protest. 

When you stand to leave, he gestures you in front of him. He follows you out the door of Auntie’s and the two of you stop under the awning—hung with crystalline stars that catch the sunlight as they sway in the wind—to stay out of the way of the crowds. 

“Walk with me,” he says, tugging lightly at the end of your (his) scarf. 

“Okay.”

The two of you thread through the crowds; eventually, they thin out and you settle beside each other. You take in the quieter part of town, still Christmas ready, with fake candles flickering in the windows of the offices and thick wreaths adorning the doors. 

“Pretty,” you say absentmindedly, toying with a ribbon as you pass, the material velvety under your fingertips. 

“Yes,” Jing Yuan says, sounding fond, and he’s already looking at you when you glance at him. “Come along, we’re almost there.”

“Where?” you ask, but you round the corner and the answer is there.

The park is beautiful, even barren, with the tree’s empty branches reaching towards the yawning sky. A light dusting of snow covers the ground, though it’s turned to slush on the paths. You and Jing Yuan pick your way around the worst of the melt, until you find a massive gazebo. 

It’s a sight. It’s draped in garlands, each dotted with sprigs of holly and bright little lights that flash like shooting stars. Poinsettias line the gazebo, their stamen golden starfish amid the sea of crimson. 

“Wow,” you say. 

“It’s my favorite place in the park,” Jing Yuan says. “Though it’s normally a bit more subdued.”

“I would hope so.” 

“But it’s not what we’re here for.”

“It’s not?”

“No,” he says, resting his hand on the small of your back and guiding you forward. “Let’s keep going.” 

You talk quietly as you wander through the park until you suddenly notice there are a lot more people than there were before. Before you know it, you’re in a line. You look at Jing Yuan, but he simply smiles.

“No,” you say as the horse-pulled sleighs come into view.

“That’s what you said about skating, too.” 

“Why is this town so into Christmas?”

“Why not?”

You sigh and let him guide you forward, abruptly aware that his hand is still at the small of your back. The weight of it prickles along your skin. He gives you a light push towards the front of the line. 

The sleigh that pulls up in front of you is large. It’s decked out in garlands and holly, filled with soft, fuzzy blankets that look like they would keep you warm on even the coldest nights. The mare in front of it nickers, her tail flicking from side to side. 

Jing Yuan slides into the sleigh with feline ease, though he’s broad enough to take up most of it himself. You hesitate.

He chuckles, patting the spot next to him on the bench. “Indulge me,” he says.

You sigh and slide in before sitting down. You immediately regret it. “It’s cold,” you whine, the chill seeping through your pants, but he simply tosses one of the blankets over you and tucks it in at the side, blocking out any chilly air. 

“There,” he says. “Ready?”

“Okay,” you say, and the driver flicks her reins, sending the mare into a trot. The sleigh starts to slide forward and you grab onto Jing Yuan’s arm without thinking, sinking your fingertips into the muscle of his forearm. 

He chuckles again and pats your hand. “You’ll get used to it,” he tells you. 

“And if I don’t?”

“You can always keep holding on to me.” 

You immediately let go. 

He gives you an indolent smile. His eyes crinkle with it, and you want to curse him for being so handsome. Instead, you huff and bury yourself deeper under the blanket, which has slowly been heating.

“I could be working,” you mutter.

“Would you rather be?”

You blink, not having expected Jing Yuan to be listening to you that closely. “I—It’s hard to explain.”

“Try.” 

“I just—it’s what I’m good at,” you say, and it sounds like a question even to your own ears. “I’m a good worker. A hard worker. I don’t really have much else to offer, so it makes sense to work all the time.”

“I think you’re underestimating yourself.”

“What?”

“You have much more to offer than just work,” he says gently. 

“I really don’t,” you say miserably. “I barely see my friends and I worry about overwhelming them, and my family is just—”

You pause. “And I also just said all of this to you, basically a stranger and also who I’m supposed to be recruiting, so this is just embarrassing now. Goodbye.” 

He catches you by the wrist as you start to throw the blanket off and try to wiggle away from his side.

“And here I thought we were more than strangers by now. I’m a little hurt.”

“Jing Yuan!”

“Alright, alright,” he says. “But it’s okay. I’m here to listen if you want.” 

“I don’t,” you say, refusing to look at him as he reaches over you to tuck the blanket back in around you. “Just forget I said anything.”

Silence falls, broken only by the steady trot of the mare and the soft jingling of the bells you hadn’t noticed on her bridle. 

“That’s part of why I retired, you know.”

You glance at Jing Yuan out of the corner of your eye. He’s staring off into the snowy treeline, his golden eyes hazed over, the sun under morning mist. “I wanted to be good at something other than work. And I wasn’t.” 

“That’s not true,” you say softly. “You and your friends—”

“Fell apart,” he says, and you subside. You know just as much about the group of company heads deemed The Quintet as anyone does, which is to say that you only know of their end. Their exploits, their dreams, all overshadowed. Companies—people—that rose into the sky and then fell, burning up in the atmosphere until they were meteors, destined to crash. 

Jing Yuan, barely out of his twenties, was the only one left standing.

“I put in years of work to try and get everything right again,” he says. “To acquire their companies and do right by them. I did it, too. And then I stayed. Because I was good at it. Because I didn’t know what else to do.” 

You chew on your lip before throwing caution to the wind. You rest your hand on his forearm and don’t move when he jolts. His eyes cut towards you, burnished amber, and the sharp edges of him soften. 

“You’re more than just work,” he says. “I can promise you that.” 

“Okay,” you say softly, because what else is there to say? “Okay.”

The both of you are quiet for a few minutes. You chew on everything that’s been said, careful not to sink your teeth into the meat of it. You’ll leave that for later, preferably in the dark of your own apartment. Next to you, Jing Yuan seems perfectly at ease, and not for the first time, you’re jealous of his composure. 

“Look,” he says suddenly, nudging you gently. He points to where the park meets true forest, where the saplings grow teeth. “Rabbits.”

“Where?” you say, leaning around him to try and see it. “I don’t see anything.” 

“Here,” he says, and suddenly you’re encased in warmth, his arms wrapped around you as he points. You peer down the line of one bulky arm and finally see a family of hares in the underbrush, their downy fur as white as the snow that surrounds them. 

“How did you even see them?” you breathe, watching as one of them noses at another, who shifts back into the brush. “They’re beautiful.” 

“They are,” he says.

The horse nickers and the hares freeze before darting off deeper into the underbrush. You watch until you can’t see them anymore. You settle back before realizing you’re almost in Jing Yuan’s lap, his strong arms still wrapped around you. He’s warm against you, his chest firm despite the slight softness around his middle, and you can feel his voice rumble through you as he asks the driver a question, one you can’t quite make out through the static in your ears. 

You push away quickly, settling on the far side of the sleigh. It doesn’t do much, considering his size, but at least you’re further away from him. Hopefully without alerting him to anything.

From the puckish curl of his lips, that hope is dashed. Still, he says nothing, continuing to talk with the driver as you stare out the side of the sleigh, huddling under the blanket now that you’re bereft of his warmth.

After he’s spoken to the driver, he turns back to you, that same little smile blooming on his lips, an unfurling flower. You brace yourself. 

“If you’re cold, the ride’s almost over,” he says. “And then I assume you need to go back to work?”

You almost say yes. You almost take the out he’s given you, but you look at him instead, at the way his expression crinkles his eyes and the way his aureate gaze has softened. You look at Jing Yuan and something behind your ribcage writhes, battering against the bones.

“No,” you say quietly. “I think I still have more time.”

He smiles.

***

The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon in the park, meandering through the expanse of it and chatting the whole time. You only turn back towards the inn when it starts snowing, a light fall of fat, fluffy flakes. They catch in Jing Yuan’s lashes when he turns his face up to the sky, his white hair cascading behind him, a river of starlight. 

He’s beautiful. You’d known that before, of course—the man was a staple on magazine covers for a reason—but like this, it’s a different type of beauty. You wish you had words for it. Instead, you content yourself with watching him.

He cracks open an eye and sees you looking. “You’re staring,” he says, a small, sly smile blooming on his lips. “Something on my face?”

“Snow,” you say dryly. “You’re going to catch a cold.” 

“Ah, so you do care.”

“Maybe,” you say, and relish the fleeting look of surprise that he can’t quite hide. It’s gone as soon as it came, replaced by his usual small smile, but you think there’s a pleased edge to it. “Now hurry up, it’s cold.” 

He lifts his face to the sky for a moment more, letting a few more flakes drift down onto him. You wait for him. You’re cold even with the hat and scarf, but he looks so content that you can’t bear to drag him away. 

Finally, he strides to your side. The two of you head back into town, taking a route that extends the walk. You chat quietly for a majority of the time, though sometimes you lapse into a comfortable silence, simply watching the snow fall. 

He insists on accompanying you all the way to the inn’s doorstep, citing the icy path. You roll your eyes but don’t argue; his smile makes something in your chest twist. 

“Thanks,” you say at the doorstep. 

“For?”

“Everything,” you say, a little bit helpless.

He smiles again, gentle like the spring sun, and then says: “I’d like to take you to the house tomorrow.”

“The house? Whose?” 

“Mine.”

“Oh,” you say.

“Only if you’re okay with it.” 

“You haven’t murdered me yet.” 

“True,” he says, that same little smile unfurling on his lips. “There’s still time, though.”

“Jing Yuan!”

He laughs, low and rich, more a vibration than a sound, as close together as you are. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Yeah,” you say. “See you then.”

“Goodnight,” he says. But he stays until you give him a tiny shove. 

You go to sleep with a smile lingering sweet on your lips.

***

It’s still snowing the next morning. The flakes fall delicately, dusting over the trees like icing sugar, coating the inn like a soft blanket. You watch it as you sip your coffee. It’s slow and steady, like a snowglobe settling after a flurry. 

You can tell when Jing Yuan pulls up; your phone vibrates on top of your closed laptop. You gulp down the rest of your coffee before throwing on your coat. The walk from the inn to his car is short but cold. You shiver as you slip into the warmth of the car; he reaches over and tugs your hat down a little more firmly.

“Thanks,” you say. “Definitely couldn’t have done that myself.”

“You’re welcome,” he says cheerfully. “Let’s go.” 

The drive to his house is longer than you thought. It’s on the far outskirts of town, set back into a grove of pine trees, not at all the modern manor you’d thought it would be. It’s still large, but there’s a modesty to it that fits him.

He pulls into the garage and leads you inside, where you immediately hear running footsteps. Jing Yuan smiles as Yanqing rounds the corner, all but throwing himself at his uncle.

“You took forever,” he complains.

“I had to go pick up my friend here,” Jing Yuan says, patting the boy on the head. “We can get started now, though.”

Yanqing peers at you. “Are they helping?”

“Helping with what?” you ask, shrugging out of your jacket at Jing Yuan’s gesture. 

“Gingerbread, duh.” 

“Oh, um—”

“They’re helping,” Jing Yuan says smoothly, ushering you forward into what you quickly realize is the biggest kitchen you’ve ever seen, filled to the brim with sleek kitchenware. There’s already ingredients laid out on the kitchen counter, perfectly arranged.

“I’m afraid to touch anything in your kitchen,” you say. 

He laughs, rolling up the sleeves of his dark red sweater. You watch his forearms flex, the muscle rippling beneath his skin, the tendons in his hands cording. 

“Don’t be,” he says. “Now let’s get started before Yanqing eats all the chocolate chips.”

Yanqing pauses with another handful of chocolate chips almost to his mouth. He gazes at his uncle for a moment and then defiantly pops it into his mouth. Jing Yuan sighs, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

The boy chatters at the two of you as you measure out the ingredients for gingerbread, though he mostly speaks to Jing Yuan. For his part, Jing Yuan listens intently, paying as much attention to Yanqing as he would to any adult. He nods seriously when Yanqing complains about something that happened at school.

“And then they took away my sword—”

“Wait,” you say, stopping in the middle of mixing. “Sword?”

Yanqing stares at you. “Yeah. My sword.”

You look at Jing Yuan, who laughs. “He’s a fencing champion,” he explains.

“I’m the best in the region,” Yanqing informs you, his chest puffed up. “But one day I’ll beat Uncle.” 

You start mixing again. Jing Yuan is a former champion—that has been detailed in almost every magazine he’s ever interviewed with. With good reason, too. You’ve seen the photos of him in his fencing gear, his face mask by his side, his strong thighs outlined by the uniform. He’d been sweaty and smiling broadly, his senior Jingliu at his side, her lips pressed together sternly but her eyes gleaming. 

“Ah, this old man can’t keep up with you anymore,” Jing Yuan says, ruffling Yanqing’s hair. 

“Liar,” the boy grumbles. 

Jing Yuan laughs again. “That looks ready,” he says to you. “Yanqing, do you want to roll it out?”

“Nope.” He’s already sorting through the candy that’s on the other counter, unwrapping various ones. “I’m picking decorations.” 

“It’s up to you, then,” Jing Yuan says to you with a little smile.

“I don’t see you doing very much work,” you say. He’s leaning against the counter, looking half-asleep. 

“I’m supervising.”

You point your spatula at him. “You dragged me here. Come help.”

“Of course,” he says, pushing off the countertop. He pauses to stretch, reaching high, just enough for his sweater to reveal a slice of his belly and the tiniest hint of silvery hair. You almost drop the spatula. He grabs it before you can, a smug little smirk playing across his lips. 

But he doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to lightly flour the countertop and dump the gingerbread dough onto it. He flours the rolling pin as well, his big hand easily reaching around the fullest part of the thick pin. When he starts to roll it out, his hands and forearms flex with each motion, the veins protruding slightly from beneath his skin. 

You decide it’s better for you to look at something else. You focus on Yanqing, who is humming happily to himself as he picks out varying decorations. 

“Those would make good pine trees,” you say, pointing to the waffle cones. 

He eyes you. “How?”

“Like this,” you say, flipping them over so the mouth of the cone is against the counter. “And then you pipe on icing to make it look like a tree.”

He deliberates for a moment. “We can try it,” he allows.

“Okay.” 

He slips away to another counter that’s got piping bags and tips laid out all over it, along with several different colors of icing. You glance at Jing Yuan. “You really have everything, don’t you?”

He smiles, cutting out a few shapes from the rolled out dough. “Not everything,” he says. “But I do try to stay stocked for gingerbread house day.” 

“Do you do it every year?”

“Yup,” Yanqing says, sliding in next to you. “Since I was little.” He concentrates on the piping bag for a moment, pressing the tip down until it’s at the bottom of the bag and then grabbing a glass and pulling the edges of the bag over the edges of the glass. It holds it nicely and he starts to pile icing in.

“I can tell,” you say, watching his careful precision. He doesn’t reply, too busy piping on the first bit of icing. 

There’s a blast of heat at your back as Jing Yuan opens the oven to put the gingerbread pieces in. The pan clinks against the rack and then the heat at your back is softer, a gentle warmth instead. Jing Yuan leans over you to see what Yanqing is doing, his long white hair draping over your shoulder, a waterfall of moonlight.

“Clever,” he says. 

“Pretty sure I read it in a magazine.”

He hums. “Still clever.” 

“I guess.”

“Look!” Yanqing says. “It looks good, doesn’t it?”

“Very good,” Jing Yuan says, and he’s not lying. Yanqing has an eye for details, swirling the piping to achieve a needle-like texture in the deep green icing. “Now you can put ornaments on it.” 

“Yeah!”

You watch him fish through the varying candies to find a handful of circular red and gold ones, which he starts pushing into place in the icing. He works diligently, setting them into patterns, but you’re distracted by the heat of Jing Yuan against your back. He shifts behind you and your fingers flex.

The timer saves you. Jing Yuan pulls away as it dings; you hear the oven open and close again as he sets the gingerbread on racks to cool.

“Make one,” Yanqing says suddenly, shoving a waffle cone into your hands. “We need more for the forest.” 

“Is there going to be a forest?” Jing Yuan asks mildly. “I thought we were making a house.” 

“We can do both!”

 “I see.” 

The three of you work on trees as the gingerbread cools. Yanqing chatters away, telling you all about his most recent bout and what he asked for for Christmas. It’s cute, really, watching him and Jing Yuan interact, his hero worship obvious even from such a short amount of time.

You’ve just put the finishing touch—a silver gummy star—on top of a tree when the doorbell rings. Jing Yuan pushes to his feet with a groan and goes to answer it.

When you look up from your tree, Yanqing is staring at you.

“Uncle doesn’t usually bring corporate people to the house,” Yanqing says. “So how come you’re here?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “You’ll have to ask him.”

Yanqing’s gaze isn’t quite as knowing as his uncle’s, but it’s gutting in its own way. “I think it’s because you’re sad,” he tells you. 

“I’m not sad!”

“Okay,” he says in the way that pre-teens do. “Lonely, then.”

He grins in triumph when you can’t refute that. Then his brow furrows. “I think he’s lonely too,” he confesses. “He doesn’t want to say it, though. But he is.” 

Your stomach twists.

“Yanqing—”

He glares at you. “He is!”

“I’m not saying he isn’t,” you say softly. “I just don’t think you should be talking about it with me.” 

“But you understand!”

You sigh. “Yanqing,” you say. “If Jing Yuan wants me to know something, he’ll tell me himself, okay?”

“No he won’t,” he mutters.

“That’s his choice.”

His brow furrows; his lips twist, a sour lemon kiss. “Fine,” he says.

You bite at your lip but he doesn’t say anything else. “Let’s build the house?” you offer. 

“We have to wait for Uncle.” 

“What’s he doing?”

“Delivery, probably.” 

That certainly explains the scuffing noises that have been coming from the hallway. Before you can go investigate, though, Jing Yuan reappears.

“Did I miss much?” he asks, before looking at the still dismantled house. “Oh, you didn’t start.”

“We were waiting for you,” Yanqing says.

“Oh? So considerate.” 

“Let’s build already!” Yanqing says, practically bouncing in place. “Uncle, c’mon!”

Jing Yuan laughs and joins the two of you at the counter, looking down at the pieces of the gingerbread house. “Yes sir,” he says. “Where do you want to start?”

“Here!” 

It takes several tries to even get two of the walls to stick together. Yanqing makes you and Jing Yuan hold them together as he pipes in royal icing to be the glue; the two of you crowd together on one side of the counter to try and keep them upright. This close, you can feel how thick Jing Yuan’s bicep is as his arm presses against yours, courtesy of his broad shoulders. 

Finally, the icing sets. When you and Jing Yuan pull away, the walls stay standing, earning a cheer from Yanqing. He immediately picks up the next wall, gesturing for Jing Yuan to hold it in place. You take advantage of your moment of respite to pull up one of the kitchen stools, nestling into the plush of it. 

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Jing Yuan warns. “We’ll be putting you right back to work.” 

“Yeah,” Yanqing says. “You’ve gotta hold the next wall while the other one sets.” 

“Okay, okay,” you say, reaching for the next piece of gingerbread. You set it in place, holding it carefully, bracing the corner of it with your fingertips and the side of it with your other hand. Yanqing ices it quickly, and you wince as he manages to get a good amount of icing onto your fingertips. 

“Oops,” he says, looking abashed but not sounding particularly sorry.

“It’s fine,” you say, lifting your fingers away from the join of the walls, still bracing the wall itself with your other hand. You pop your fingertips into your mouth one-by-one without thinking, the sweetness spreading across your tongue rapidly, the sheer amount of sugar enough to make your teeth ache. 

Jing Yuan coughs. 

When you look at him, he’s already gazing at you, his eyes darkened to topaz, a deep, rich golden brown. For a second, his lazy smile goes knife-edged, something hungry tucked up into the corner of his mouth, but it’s gone when you blink, only a faint amusement remaining. 

“There’s a sink if you would find that more useful,” he says, nodding towards the farmhouse sink just behind you. “Though far be it from me to stop you.”

Your cheeks heat. You wait a moment, letting Yanqing take the brunt of the gingerbread wall before you pull away. You wash your hands as the two of them chat behind you, the water burning hot as you try to compose yourself. 

The little smirk Jing Yuan sends you when you turn around doesn’t help. 

You take in a deep breath before rejoining them, taking the final wall and putting it into place. The three of you continue building, chatting the whole time. Yanqing’s delight is infectious and you find yourself laughing with every mishap and quietly cheering each time a wall stays up. The roof is the most precarious part; it takes the three of you several tries to get it situated. 

“Now it just has to fully dry,” Yanqing announces. “Then we can decorate.”

“And in the meantime?” you ask. 

“I’m going to my room!” he says, taking off down the hallway. You blink and glance at Jing Yuan.

“He means he’s going to snoop under the Christmas tree,” he says. 

“Oh.” 

“He thinks he’s sneakier than he is.”

“Don’t all kids? Besides, didn’t you peek under the tree when you were a kid?” 

“I would never,” he says, eyes sparkling. “Who do you think I am?”

“The type to sneak under the tree. I bet you shook boxes and everything.”

He chuckles. “I stopped after I accidentally broke one of the presents doing that.” 

“You didn’t!”

“I’m afraid so.” 

You laugh, the sound bubbling from you like a spill of champagne. “Oh my god.” 

Jing Yuan smiles, his eyes crinkling with it. “Don’t tell me you never shook the presents.”

“Of course I did. I just never broke anything.”

He hums. “Of course not.”

“Why do you sound like you don’t believe me?”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“You’re so annoying.”

He smiles, popping a candy into his mouth. You watch the way he licks the residue of it off of his lips. “Now, now, be nice.” 

You pick up a candy too. It’s watermelon, the taste bursting over your tongue, stickily artificial. “Are we spending all day on a gingerbread house?” you ask. 

“There’s a Christmas market that I’d intended to go to.” 

You hum. “Alright.”

“No need to sound so excited about it.” 

“Excited about what?” Yanqing says, flouncing into the room. He’s pink-cheeked and looking pleased with himself. You assume the present shaking went well. 

“The Christmas fair.”

The boy’s face lights up. “We’re going, right? Right?”

“Yes,” Jing Yuan says. “After we finish decorating.” 

“Is the icing dry yet?”

You test the gingerbread house carefully, seeing how well the walls and roof hold up. They don’t move under your gentle prodding nor when you apply a bit more pressure.

“I think so,” you say. “Let’s decorate.”

The three of you set to work. You and Jing Yuan mostly follow Yanqing’s direction; you build a chimney out of non-pareils, the uneven sides like trendy stone work. The fir trees are sprinkled around the yard, each one more decorated than the last; the shingles to the roof are made of gingerbread too, carefully cut into a scalloped edge. The very top of the roof is lined with gumdrops, the rainbow of them like Christmas lights. Chocolate stones make the pathway to the house; the path is lined with little licorice lamps. 

Altogether, it’s probably the fanciest gingerbread house you’ve seen. Granted, Jing Yuan had clearly gone all out on different types of candy—so many types that you barely use half of them—but Yanqing’s eye for detail makes it all come together. 

“Wow,” you say, putting a final star-shaped sprinkle in place over one of the windows, where it joins a line of others, a draping of fake Christmas lights. “This is really good, Yanqing.”

The boy puffs up. “I’ve won my school’s decorating contest before,” he says.

“I can see why.” 

He beams and then turns to Jing Yuan. “When are we going to the market?” he asks.

“After we clean up.” 

A pout creases his face for a moment, his lips turning down in an admittedly endearing way. “Fine,” he sighs, looking at the messy counter. You’d tried to keep the mess to a minimum, but between icing and sugar-dusted candies, you hadn’t quite succeeded. As Jing Yuan and Yanqing start to sort the candies and put them away, you start scraping up the dried-on icing. 

For a moment, you think Jing Yuan is going to protest, but when you flash him a little stare that dares him too, he subsides without saying a word. You grin triumphantly and he smiles, soft and sweet. Something in you twinges. 

You push the little flutter aside, wetting a paper towel to scrub off the worst of the icing. The three of you work away, chatting lightly, until the kitchen is almost as pristine as when you got there.

“That’s good enough for now,” Jing Yuan says, taking in the kitchen with a critical eye. “We’ll get the candy in the pantry later.” 

Yanqing perks up. “Christmas market?” he asks.

Jing Yuan nods, a fond little smile unfurling across his lips. “Go change your shirt.” 

Yanqing looks down at his shirt, which is spattered with icing from when he got a little overenthusiastic with the piping bag. “Okay!” he says, running off. 

You head to the sink to wash your hands again; they’re sticky with leftover icing. Jing Yuan meets you there with a dish towel to dry your hands. His fingertips linger over your palm as he hands it to you. You take in a soft breath, but the touch is gone as soon as it comes.

Yanqing returns and the three of you bundle up—apparently the market is an outdoor one. Jing Yuan fixes Yanqing’s hat despite the boy batting his hands away. Then he turns to you and tugs at the end of your scarf. 

“Ready?” 

You nod. The three of you pile into one of Jing Yuan’s cars. The ride is mostly quiet, with Yanqing and Jing Yuan chatting here and there, but you’re busy looking out the window at the rolling countryside. It’s picturesque in a way no painting could ever capture, the trees lit golden by the setting sun, the snow glittering like stars as it sits heavy on their branches. The firs bend under its weight while the bare oaks soar into the sky, as if they’re painted in long, sweet strokes. 

You pull into a stuffed parking lot. You shiver as you get out of the warm car, burying your chin into the scarf as your breath puffs out in a gentle mist. 

The fair is stunning, little stalls lining the closed-off street, each decorated in its own way. Each of them is festooned with lights and garlands, with little stockings hung carefully from the tables. There’s a baker with bread shaped like wreaths, the crust of them perfectly golden-brown, tucked into star-patterned cloth; a weaver with stunning blankets with complex designs; a blacksmith with all sorts of metalwork, each more beautiful than the last. And those are just the first few stalls.

“Wow,” you breathe.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Jing Yuan asks. “I hear it’s grown through the years. It seems to get bigger every year.”

“I’m surprised this place isn’t known as a Christmas destination.”

“It is,” he says. “If you know the right people to ask.”

“How did you find it?”

“A friend,” he says, and there’s something in the set of his mouth that keeps you from asking more. “Come on, let’s go take a look.”

“I want to go to the blacksmith!” Yanqing pipes up.

“Go ahead,” Jing Yuan says. “Don’t go far, please.”

“Okay!”

The two of you watch him take off into the crowd, his golden crown of hair bobbing along, dodging adults and other children alike. Jing Yuan sighs, shaking his head, but gestures you along to the first stall. 

You linger over some textiles, including a beautiful tablecloth embroidered heavily with holly, each sprig carefully woven to look as real as possible. You can tell that love was stitched into it, and going by the stall owner’s gnarled fingers, she’s been doing it for a long time. 

“It’s beautiful,” you tell her, stroking your finger over a holly leaf. She smiles and starts to tell you about her process; you listen intently, Jing Yuan lingering patiently at your side. 

When you finally move to the next stall, someone calls Jing Yuan’s name. He smiles as they approach. They chat amiably for a few minutes before he excuses himself. 

As you wander through the market, you notice that it’s a pattern. Multiple people come up to Jing Yuan, all full of smiles and good cheer, talking to him like he’s an old friend. Some of them eye you curiously, but just nod your way when you’re introduced, going back to catching up with some news they’ve heard or thanking Jing Yuan for a favor he’s done.

“You’re popular,” you tell him as you both step into another stall, this one filled with ornaments. They shine brightly under the twinkling fairy lights strung over the stall’s top. 

“Am I?”

“Mhm.” 

He hums, picking up a snowglobe ornament and giving it a little shake. You watch the fake snow settle at the bottom, revealing the little girl building a snowman, her figure exquisitely made. “They’ve been very welcoming since I’ve moved here,” he says. “I’ve been lucky.” 

“I think it’s more than luck,” you say quietly. “I think you give as much as you get.”

He flashes you a little smile. “Maybe so.” 

The two of you continue on before someone stops Jing Yuan again, this time near a stall that’s too full for the three of you to step into. You do your best to shift out of the way of the people making their way through the market, but it’s hard to do so with so little room. 

You’ve just been knocked into when Jing Yuan loops an arm around your waist and tugs you into his side. It pulls you out of the line of fire for the crowds filtering by. He’s a line of heat against you and you feel it when he chuckles, the sound rumbling through you. 

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod, cheeks hot. 

“Good,” he says, and leaves his big hand high on your hip, keeping you close. He goes back to amiably talking to the other person as if he hasn’t noticed. If you lean into him, just slightly, no one but you needs to know. You peer at him from the corner of your eye. You take him in, from the moonlight spill of his hair to his sunrise eyes, to the little smile on his lips as he chats away.

He belongs, you realize, watching him slot back into his conversation with ease. He’s a part of the town, and based on how many people have come up to him, an important one. You think of the way the locals had eyed you when you’d been asking about him. It makes sense now. The town protects him as one of their own because he is one. And he’s happy, a subtle glow to him, a type you’ve rarely seen and likely never achieved yourself. 

Something in your chest squirms, fluttering against the bones of your ribcage, trying to slip through the gaps. You resist the urge to press a hand to your chest. 

He pulls away from the conversation a few minutes later, the hand on your hip dropping to the small of your back as he guides you forward. He stops to talk to a few more people, his eyes crinkling with his smile each time as they come up to him. It’s mesmerizing to watch. 

And you’re asking him to give it all up.

Not all of it, you remind yourself. It’s a project, not a job, but something in you winces nonetheless. Your chest tightens, like a ribbon wrapped around it is cinching in. 

Jing Yuan glances at you as you step away from his warmth, his hand falling from where it’s been resting on the small of your back. His brow furrows, but it passes quickly, a guttering candle. 

You keep your distance for the rest of the fair. You’re still close enough to almost touch despite the thinning crowds, but the gap feels like a gulf between you, as if you’re oceans away. 

“Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” you say, but from the way Jing Yuan eyes you, he doesn’t quite believe you. He opens his mouth, but you’re saved by Yanqing, who runs up with sparkling eyes.

“Uncle!” he says. “The blacksmith says we can go to the forge and watch him!”

Jing Yuan chuckles. “Did you badger him into it?”

“No!”

“Alright, alright. We’ll set up a time with him later, okay?”

Yanqing pouts but nods. You hide your smile behind your scarf. 

“Let’s go home,” Jing Yuan says. Night has fallen, the sky velvety and dotted with stars. He glances at you. “Would you like me to drop you at the inn?”

You nod. He hums. “Alright.”

The three of you pile back into the car. The inn isn’t far—you probably could have walked, but the cold night has only gotten more frigid. Jing Yuan comes up to the inn’s doorstep with you, catching you by the wrist when you’re halfway up the stairs. You turn around and he looks up at you, his golden eyes shining under the moonlight. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, and it takes a moment to gather yourself, too focused on the way his thumb is rubbing small circles on the delicate skin of your inner wrist. You realize you’re leaning towards him, a flower to the sun. He smiles at you, eyes crinkling, and you see it again, that soft glow to him. 

Something clicks into place. 

“Nothing will make you come on board the project, will it?” you ask, sounding too calm even to your own ears. You shake off his hand. “There’s never even been the slightest chance.” 

Jing Yuan lets out a low, slow breath. “No,” he says. “There hasn’t been.” 

“Right,” you say. “Okay. Thank you for everything.”

“What?”

“My job is done,” you say. “If I can’t convince you, there’s no point in me being here.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” you say. Your chest hurts. Something sinks its teeth into your ribs, chipping away at the bone. “I came here to get you on board.”

“That’s not what the last day or two has been,” he says softly. “Right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He reaches for you, brushing his gloved fingers against your cheek. “Yes, you do.” 

You pull away. “I’ve been here to get you on board, Jing Yuan. To do my job. That’s all.” 

“You—”

“I’ll catch a flight tomorrow,” you say. “It shouldn’t be hard, since it’s Christmas Eve.” 

He lets out a low, slow breath. He gazes up at you, his golden eyes flickering with something you don’t dare name. 

“Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?”

“It’s time for me to go,” you say. “It’s been time for me to go since I got here, apparently.” 

He says your name softly. It rolls over you like morning mist, blocks out the world. You take in a shuddering breath.

“Goodbye, Jing Yuan.”

He sighs. “If you change your mind, I’m having a Christmas party tomorrow. You’ll always be welcome.” 

You nod sharply, turning on your heel to go inside. Jing Yuan says your name again. You glance over your shoulder. He opens his mouth. Closes it again. And then—

“Travel safe,” he says.

“Thanks,” you say, and then you’re inside the inn, leaving Jing Yuan standing out in the cold behind you. You don’t wait to see if he lingers, ignoring Lee’s cheerful greeting to make your way back up to your room. 

You book the first flight you find. It’s late in the day, but that’s fine—you can catch up with your emails and calls. You’ve barely checked your phone today. You can’t quite bring yourself to do it now.

After your flight is booked, you close your laptop and fold your arms, resting your head on them. The fangs sunk into your rib bones dig deeper, hitting marrow. 

“Fuck,” you say, sitting up and scrubbing your hands over your face. “Fuck.” 

You stare out the window, into the deep bruise of the night. The woods rise beyond the hill, the trees skeletal as they reach for the sky, barely visible in the dark. Stars glitter coldly high above; the moon shines like a lonely mirror. It all feels distant, like a world you’re not part of.

You let out a deep, slow breath. It does nothing to loosen the string wound tight around your chest; if anything, it tightens. 

You get ready for bed slowly, that fanged thing still biting deep, leaving teeth marks that ache deeply. 

When you fall asleep, the last thing you see is Jing Yuan’s eyes.

***

The next day dawns too early. You once again wake with the sunlight, having forgotten to close the curtains as you drifted around the room last night. The watery light pools on the floor, sweetly golden. The wooden floor is warm under your feet as you cross through the puddles of sunlight. 

You get ready for the day quickly. You pack up carefully, rolling your clothes up so they fit better before you tuck your toiletries in. You keep your laptop out to answer emails as they come in. The sun stretches along the floor as you work, barely coming up for air.

You don’t dare give yourself time to think.

You check out in the early afternoon. The receptionist is the one who checked you in. She’s quick and efficient, and you find yourself on the doorstep of the inn waiting for a cab in just a few minutes. 

The taxi driver is quiet;  you find yourself wishing for the same talkative driver as before. At least it would fill the air, give you something to concentrate on beside the noise in your head. 

It’s all mixed together, a slush puddle that you keep stamping through, expecting to not get splashed this time. Jing Yuan, the project, your work, the promotion—it runs through your head non-stop, circling over and over again. Your work, all for nothing. Your possible promotion, just beyond the tips of your fingers. Jing Yuan with his golden eyes and his lips with a smile tucked up secret in the corner of his mouth. Jing Yuan with his laughter and his dedication to the town. 

You check your email but it doesn’t help.

You’ve already told Qingzu that you’ve failed. She had taken it in stride; she made sure you knew that no one was going to blame you. The project is going to go forward with or without Jing Yuan. You knew that, but the failure stings anyway. Fu Xuan had asked for you specifically; she must have believed you could do it. 

You should have been able to. 

Except—you think of the quiet glow that Jing Yuan had yesterday. The way he’d slipped seamlessly into the town’s community, how they treat him as one of their own. He’s happy in a rare way, deeply content with his lot. How you’d felt at his side in the last few days, even as he dragged you around. What it felt like to not be so focused on work all the time; how it felt to live life again. 

Something in your chest warms. It rises through you like sparkling champagne bubbles, fizzing across your nerves.

You think of the way Jing Yuan’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. 

“Sir,” you call out to the taxi driver. “Can you please turn around?”

***

The party is in full swing by the time you arrive. There are people coming and going; laughter drifts out the door every time it opens. The path is brightly lit, with Christmas lights lining the side and elegant wreaths hanging from posts, each big red bow perfectly tied. They’re glittering with tinsel, woven expertly in through the pine boughs.

You slip inside quietly. It’s completely different from just yesterday: there are tables set up inside, piled high with an entire array of hors d'oeuvres, from tiny little tarts to a bacchanalian cheeseboard, overflowing with plump, glistening figs, wine-red grapes, and fine cheeses. The decorations have multiplied. There are fairy lights everywhere, twinkling merrily. They’re tucked into vast, lush garlands that drape along the tables; there are candles flickering in their ornate holders, little wisps of smoke dancing from the flames. 

It's easy to find Jing Yuan; he’s holding court by the Christmas tree, perfectly visible from the doorway. He’s chatting away with the small group that’s gathered around him, but there’s something different about him. Something you can’t quite name. 

He looks wilted, almost, like the flowers in the last days of summer, still thriving but sensing their end. He smiles at someone and there’s nothing tucked up secret in the corner of his lips. Your chest aches, something howling between the gaps of your ribs. 

He glances up and your eyes meet. He goes still, and then there’s a brilliant smile spreading across his lips, the sun come down to earth. He excuses himself from his group and makes his way over to you. 

“Hi,” you say as he draws near, a little bit breathless.

“Hi,” he says.  

“I’m sorry,” you say, the words rushing from you like water. “The last few days haven’t been nothing. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s alright,” he says. “I’m sorry that I led you astray.”

“Why did you do it?”

He sighs. “I remember what it was like to work like that. To give up everything for the job. No one should live like that. And you seemed so lonely.” 

You wince.

“Sorry,” he says. “But it’s what I saw.”

You shake your head. “It’s not like you were wrong. And you made me less lonely, Jing Yuan.”

He reaches out and sweeps his thumb over the apple of your cheek. You sway into the touch, turning until your cheek is cradled in his palm. “I’m glad,” he says softly. “All I want is for you to be happy.” 

Someone whistles. You balk, starting to step back; Jing Yuan catches you before you can go far, pulling you in close.

“You’re under the mistletoe,” someone calls. 

You look up, and sure enough, there’s mistletoe hanging innocently above you, the tiny flowers white as snow. It’s tied off with a perfect red ribbon.

“We don’t have to—”

“It’s tradition,” you say, and then you’re surging up to kiss him. He meets you halfway and as his lips brush yours, warmth blooms inside your chest, embers stoked to flame. He cups the back of your head to pull you closer. You make a little noise; he swallows it down. 

There’s a certain greed to the kiss; a longing, too. He steals the breath from you; takes in your air and makes it his own. You kiss him harder, as if he might disappear. 

When you break apart, he leans down to press his forehead against yours. You close your eyes. You can hear people murmuring, but they seem far away. Only Jing Yuan feels real. You open your eyes and glance up at him. He smiles at you, his golden eyes crinkling at the edges. Your heart flutters behind your ribs, beating against the cage of them like a bird’s wings.

“Merry Christmas,” you breathe. 

“Merry Christmas,” he says softly.

He kisses you again and this time, it feels like coming home. 

[vixstarria]

Another gift

This is a continuation of my headcanon of Astarion’s romance with bard Tav. I can’t remember the actual chronology of cutscenes, but let’s assume this takes place after you’ve started a sexual relationship with Astarion and are beginning to grow closer. I was going to take it in a different direction initially, but these things have a mind of their own once they get going. 

If you like it, check out my first fic. I do plan on writing more! 

P.S. I may have taken some liberties with the game background story and DnD lore and magic system here – if it doesn’t really match up or make sense – sorry! Also I’m still only on Act 2. 

Tav tries to comfort or distract a brooding Astarion. 

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Bard Tav  

Comfort, fluff, budding love, humour, angst, banter, no spoilers, non-explicit 

Approximately 2,000 words. 

 

Astarion was standing outside his tent with his back to the camp, staring into a silver mirror. The man had either lost his vampiric condition, lost his mind, or was simply brooding.  

“Looking at something?” he asked absent-mindedly, as you approached. 

Brooding. Definitely brooding.  

“Looking for something.” 

“Oh?” He turned towards you. “Just my company, or is there something else I can offer you?” 

“I'm the one making an offering, actually. I thought I’d bring you a little snack” 

Astarion grinned and beckoned you inside his tent.  

Inside, aside from his bedroll, was a trunk with a large mirror opposite, a lit lantern and a scattering of weapons, equipment and books. You assumed your usual position, cross-legged on the bedroll, and offered him your wrist. This didn’t take long. Just a little pick me up.  

He finished, planting a light kiss on your wrist, reached for his amulet and whispered an incantation to heal the wound. He kept hold of your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.  

“Do you have any idea how much I appreciate that you don’t sexualise this?”  

“I haven’t thought about it... Really?” 

“Well imagine that any time you went to, say, take a bite of a turkey leg, there was someone staring, groping themselves and wagging their tongue at you. When you’re just trying to perform basic functions to stay alive.” 

“Sweetheart, that’s an average evening at the pub for me, when I perform. With or without me biting on anything. ...But I see what you mean”. You contemplated what he just said in a brief silence. “I can't believe you just compared me to a turkey leg.” 

“You’re more of a ripe, juicy peach” he said. You found yourself oddly pleased to be compared to fruit rather than poultry. 

You glanced at the large mirror standing on the floor of the tent.  

“You own an awful lot of mirrors for a vampire. Why do you even keep this here?” 

“That? Oh, it reflects light... makes the tent appear more spacious... prevents anyone from sneaking up on me. ...Unless they’re another vampire.” Astarion said contemplatively. “And I figured, I woke up once with a tadpole in my brain that let me walk in the sun again – who's to say I won’t catch another parasite tomorrow that might cure my vampirism entirely?” 

“Do you miss it? Seeing your own face?” 

“Preening in the looking glass? Petty vanity? Of course I miss it. I’ve never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red. My face is just some dark shape in my past. Another thing I’ve lost. I wouldn’t even recognise myself anymore. It’s been two hundred years.” 

“But...” you fumbled, trying to wrap your mind around that. “You could have found a street artist to sketch you since then.” 

“In the middle of the night?” 

“Or commissioned a portraitist, those artistic types would accommodate you any time of day or night” 

“Commissioned a - …I’m sorry, at what point did I give you the impression that Cazador paid us an allowance..?” Astarion was growing agitated. “And before you say I could have stolen – remember, everything I had, anything I acquired by any means, the clothes on my back, my body, my will – it all belonged to the master.” He paused, regaining control of his demeanour. “There was no point in having any possessions, it would all be the bastard’s in the end. I didn’t want to give him any more than I absolutely had to.” 

You kicked yourself in the ass mentally.  

“Well how’s this... We get to Baldur’s Gale. We exterminate Cazador and take over his palace. Then we rip out whatever he’s got as décor, commission all the best artists, and hang paintings of you on every wall. There will be nothing but portraits of Astarion everywhere.” Astarion’s eyes softened as he watched you gesticulating and getting carried away by your own imagination. “Astarion in shining armour. Astarion on a horse. Astarion on silk bedsheets, half-covered in rose petals. Pirate Astarion. Astarion stroking a cat. Historic events, but every single person depicted is Astarion. Oh! And in the main banquet hall, there will be an enormous mural of you, fully naked, lounging on a divan and being fed grapes by a cadre of nymphs.” 

“With a fig leaf covering my unmentionables?” 

“A comically large fig leaf. Or better yet, no fig leaf, just your full unmentionable glory looming over the dining table” You paused, as if sobering up after being lost in your grand vision, and added in a more serious tone: “We can commission busts and statues, too. Get a mold of your face for a hyper-realistic one.” 

“We” he whispered, as if to himself, with a scornful chuckle.  

“Oh? Do you have someone else in Baldur’s Gate you’d rather spend time with?” You realised how callous that might have come across as soon as the words were out, and cringed inwardly. 

“...No, I don’t” he said absently. 

“Elves live long lives... Do you still have real family there? Friends from... before? ...A spouse? Children?” You'd wondered about this before, and figured you may as well lie in the hole you’d dug for yourself.  

“Gods, no!” Astarion blinked in surprise. “I wasn’t even considered a full adult by elven society then. No, mercifully I didn’t leave any little Astarions behind. All my friends from my youth are either dead or have blissfully forgotten me. And I don’t even know where my family is.” 

You gave him a sympathetic and questioning look, waiting for him to go on. He sighed and continued. 

“As you might expect, Cazador placed a restriction on me, preventing me from telling anyone about my affliction. I couldn’t approach my old acquaintances and go ‘Surprise! I’m actually alive! ...Sort of. I’m just someone’s vampire spawn slave now!’. No. I was to turn around and walk the other way if I ever came upon anyone who might recognise me. I was supposed to be devoted only to my new ‘family’.” he scowled. “I feared that Cazador would use anyone he thought might be important to me against me - for fun, or to teach me a ‘lesson’. And he would have, too: the mental torture he unleashed on his spawn was far worse than physical.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I couldn’t go and see my family, but as soon as I had my wits about me, I managed to arrange for one of the mercenary guilds to quickly escort my relatives out of the city. They were to be told that I made some powerful enemies who had me murdered, and that these enemies would come for them next. That they had to leave, change their names, and never return. I don’t know where they went. I can’t know, if I want them to be safe.” He looked away. “I can’t imagine how much they hated and cursed me. I ruined their lives.” he whispered. 

“You saved them!” you objected, taking his hand. He shrugged but squeezed your hand back. 

“I suppose I might have. Cazador would’ve left their heads on spikes in my crypt by now, otherwise.” He met your eyes again. “So yes, if anyone is going to be helping me decorate a palace, it’s you.” he added with a false cheer, clearly finished with the topic of Cazador.  

You thought he might want to be alone then and were about to leave, but he gently pulled you towards himself. He was sitting on the ground with his back against a trunk. You settled between his legs, your back against his chest, his lips right at your ear, one arm across your shoulders and chest, the other playing with your hair. The large mirror was on the ground right in front of you. He studied your reflection over your shoulder. You appeared to be lounging suspended at an odd angle.  

“How does it even work, anyway... It’s not just your body that disappears, it’s your clothing, too”. You grabbed a hat from the top of the trunk, holding it by its crown, and held it over Astarion’s head, moving it in circles against his hair. “Now you see it...” You let go and watched it disappear in the reflection. “Now you don’t.” 

“I’m actually not sure, darling. Maybe it needs to be supported solely by me. Or it’s got to do with movement” He threw the hat back onto the trunk, where it reappeared in the reflection. 

“Say...” threw your head back to look up into his eyes “Do you think my reflection would disappear... if a part of you was inside?” you bit your lip and grinned mischievously.  

“I don’t think so, but I love how that dirty mind of yours works” he purred in your ear. “Let’s check and find out” His hand slid towards the clasp of your pants, but you swatted it away. 

“Later.” Suddenly you were on a mission. “I have an idea.” 

The rest of your group were gathered around the fire as you made a dash for your tent and grabbed your kit of stage paints and powders.

“Chk, are you doing each other’s makeup in there?” came a scoff from Lae’zel, as you rushed past. 

“Don’t be jealous, Lae. We’ll have a girls night and braid each other’s hair tomorrow” you retorted, making Shadowheart choke on her drink.  

Back in Astarion’s tent, you reached for one of your loose facial powders. 

“You really don’t need to do anything, I’m used to it and nothing will work anyway” protested a confused and weary Astarion. 

“Astarion!” you said gravely, “This isn’t for you. This is for science”, and you blew the powder hard into his face. Sure enough, an outline of his features appeared briefly in the mirror, as the powder flew all around him. “It worked!” 

“Fan-tastic! Too bad you had to blind me to achieve that split second of a silhouette!” he coughed and rubbed at his eyes. 

“It should work with water, too, if you want me to pour some over your head. You need to wash all that powder off anyway, you look ridiculous.”  

He glared at you through the still flying powder particles and pointed a finger at your face.  

“No.” 

“Actually, hang on, I have a better idea.” You heard him groan into his hands behind you, as you ran back to your tent, to return with an amulet.  

“So, the good news is, I am really, really bad at this.” 

“If this involves setting me on fire again...” 

“That was an accident. Anyway... No, this lets me create a fog cloud. Or so it should. I can just barely manage some fog tendrils. Now if I just aim them at your face...” You concentrated on the spell. Whisps of fog appeared around Astarion. “Look...” As the fog tendrils twisted in the air, you could just make out a form that they floated around, in the reflection, one unmistakably of a face.  

“Well...” breathed Astarion, transfixed by the reflection, trying to make motions with his head to make the fog recoil. “It’s not much, but it’s more than I’ve seen in centuries” 

“Come on” you grasped his hand. “Let’s go outside, it needs a different light and a slight breeze” 

Astarion snatched his handheld mirror and followed you. He was actually eager.  

Outside, Astarion spun in the whispy fog, gazing at the mirror in disbelief, as you continued to concentrate on the spell. It was actually working. Your conjuration magic was just bad enough to make the thinnest layer of fog, framing his face like a delicate mask and reflecting in the mirror. What would have been considered incredibly precise work by a wizard, was made possible entirely thanks to you borderline failing.  

“That’s better... I’ll channel the fog right, you turn left against it. No, your other left! No, don’t go into the fire, you idiot, it won’t be my fault this time” 

You grabbed Astarion by the hand and tried to guide him away from fire and anything he could trip over – he was paying exactly zero mind to anything around him, as he semi-stumbled in circles, looking in the mirror. Scratch ran around you, barking, excited for a new game, and eventually tripped you both. 

“Another gift...” Astarion smiled at you, as Scratch did his utmost to lick his face.  

Meanwhile, the group watched the two of you from a distance, dumbfounded. Lae'zel broke the silence: 

“Your people have the strangest mating rituals.”  

“Should I... should I tell them I can probably just cast mirror image on him? I’ve only done it on myself, but it should follow the same principle” added Gale. 

“Maybe tomorrow” said Shadowheart. “Just let them enjoy this tonight.” 

~~~~~

Next in series

AO3

[fastlikealambo]

Connubium.|| Coriolanus Snow x Black Fem Reader

Chapter One

table of contents.

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Summary: Stealing from The Capitol is a deadly offense, yet you’ve done it more times than you can count but when you do something you should not have done, Volumnia Gaul decides a fate for you that might just be worse than death.

Notes: This takes place post The Ballad of Songbirds And Snakes and Coryo is in his last year at The University, studying under Dr. Gaul. This might not follow canon, I’m not an expert on all the lore so I apologize if I get things wrong.

Disclaimer: You know Coriolanus is a POS, I know Coriolanus is a POS, please don’t yell at me because this is just a fun little story, something for thee hotties, and  if you feel that strongly against President Snow, please let me know if you’d like me to sign you up for tessarae.

This is a quick sample chapter to test the waters and see what people think! If you’d like to see more, please comment, reblog, or like!

The streets of The Capitol looked different during the day. 

You were used to the shadows, two feet in the dark at all times kept you secret, kept you safe, hiding was not cowardly, it was instinctual.

But you weren’t hiding now, a coward in high heels and stockings dark enough to hide the  purpling bruises that kissed the back of your legs, a high collar dress and coat the color of fresh blood concealed the rest that served as a reminder of how you got there in the first place.

Somewhere, a clock struck noon and as if on a timer of his own, Coriolanus Snow emerged from the university doors, chiseled face even more sculpted in person and  you took your place on the opposite side of the road.

You stepped off the curb, turning your face ever so slightly towards a camera and a tucked curl behind your ear signaled the car Gaul had waiting to come barreling around the corner and down the street.

A few capitol citizens jumped back onto the sidewalk but not you, you had your nose in a book, seemingly oblivious to the car that would surely end your miserable little life if this plan did not work.

You did not know Coriolanus Snow, but you did know men. 

Peacekeepers who’d do anything to relax after a hard day, Capitol boys who wanted to know if district lips tasted like treason or honey wine, they were all the same when the lights were off and pockets went unattended.

You tripped and dropped the books, loud enough for Snow to look up and see the car mere feet from you now as you bent down to retrieve the books,  silently cursing everything and everyone that had led you to this moment.

It occurred to you now that perhaps the madwoman in the lab had no designs on Snow that required you and this was an opportunity for her to kill someone in a fun, if not slightly convoluted, way.

You were going to die.

And then, you weren’t.

The lean body of Panem’s golden boy crashed into yours before the car did, strong arms around your middle and sent you both tumbling out of harm’s way. That pretty face of his blocked out the sun and the whole world went still, freezing the pair of you in a tableau of heaving chests and scraped hands.

Beauty made men blind and you had made a blind man of Coriolanus Snow.

And now, the games begin.

[philsrosesweatshirt]

hello (one of the) resident phannie data analyst(s) here with some parasocial stats on dnp’s movie tastes! following: distribution of dan and phil's ratings overall, movies they each rated 5 stars, their lowest-rated movies, and the similarities + differences in their tastes

(lore moment: yes i am a data analyst in my real job. yes i surprised myself with wanting to do this in my spare time. but then i remembered when we read dracula in college (yes i was an english major) and i graphed like, how many times dracula was referred to as vampire versus monster or something. so i shouldn’t be surprised.

first up, their overall rating patterns and by ~special status~ (i.e., wall-e, kill bill, avatar, lmao, plus big hero 6 for the fun of it)

dan’s rated 304 movies and phil’s rated 305. both of them have mean and median ratings of 4 with min 1 and max 5.

both rated kill bill vols. 1 and 2 a 5. wall-e got a 4.5 from dan and a 4 from phil (phake phans). both gave avatar a 3.5. and big hero 6 3.5 (dan) and 4.5 (phil)

rating distribution:

i did analyses here by genre but i need to fix the output (i’m writing all of these based on the markdown document from my phone on the subway, but i need to fix the outputs and i don’t have my computer. so those are pending but there are other genre analyses that i could do & haven’t yet!)

while i was sorting through the data i got the impression that dan overall rated movies higher than phil. so, among movies that they've both rated, here's some information

number of movies dan rated higher than phil: 65

Empire Strikes Back, Blade Runner, Return of the Jedi, My Neighbor Totoro, Back to the Future II, Nightmare Before Christmas, Toy Story, Phantom Mence, Donnie Darko, Attack of the Clones, Finding Nemo, Oldboy, The Notebook, Batman Begins, Brokeback Mountain, WALL-E, (500) Days of Summer, Up, The Hangover, Drive, The Cabin in the Woods, The Avengers, The Dark Knight Rises, Life of Pi, Skyfall, The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, Whiplash, The Amazing Spider-Man 2, Room, The Hateful Eight, The Force Awakens, Manchester by the Sea, Deadpool, La La Land, Moonlight, Rogue One, Call Me By Your Name, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2., Wonder Woman, Spider-Man: Homecoming, I, Tonya, Thor: Ragnorak, Phantom Thread, Roma, The Favourite, The Lighthouse, Toy Story 4, Midsommar, Ad Astra, Knives Out, Soul, The Green Knight, No Time to Die, Don't Look Up, Spider-Man: No Way Home, Turning Red, Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, Thor: Love and Thunder, The Banshees of Inisherin, The Fabelmans, Glass Onion, Beau is Afraid, Barbie, Oppenheimer, Poor Things

number of movies phil rated higher than dan: 55

Star Wars (New Hope), Blair Witch Project, Requiem for a Dream, Memento, Ocean's Eleven, Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, Iron Man 2, Thor, Captain America: The First Avenger, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Moonrise Kingdom, Iron Man 3, Gravity, Prisoners, The Wolf of Wall Street, The Grand Budapest Hotel, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, The Imitation Game, Nightcrawler, John Wick, Gone Girl, Big Hero 6, Jurassic World, The Martian, The Revenant, Nocturnal Animals, Split, Get Out, Baby Driver, The Disaster Artist, Dunkirk, The Shape of Water, The Greatest Showman, The Last Jedi, Ready Player One, Crazy Rich Asians, A Star is Born, Rocketman, Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood, Joker, The Rise of Skywalker, The Invisible Man, A Quiet Place Part II, Greenland, Tenet, Malignant, Eternals, The Matrix Resurrections, Scream (2022), Nope, Prey, Talk to Me, Avatar: The Way of the Water, The Super Mario Bros. Movie, Mission Impossible - Dead Reckoning Part One

number of movies they rated the same: 99!

Alien, ET, Gremlins, Back to the Future, Top Gun, Aliens, Home Alone, Silence of the Lambs, Jurassic Park, Pulp Fiction, The Lion King, Se7en, Scream, The Fifth Element, Titanic, The Truman Show, The Matrix, Magnolia, Spirited Away, Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, Spider-Man, Lost in Translation, Kill Bill, Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, Kill Bill Vol. 2, Mean Girls, Howl's Moving Castle, Children of Men, The Dark Knight, Pontypool, Inglourious Basterds, Avatar, Toy Story 3, Inception, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, Black Swan, The Social Network, 21 Jump Street, The Hunger Games, Silver Linings Playbook, The Conjuring, Snowpiercer, Her, Thor: The Dark World, The Hunger Games: Catching Fire, Boyhood, It Follows, Guardians of the Galaxy, Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance), Interstellar, Ex Machina, The Witch, Avengers: The Age of Ultron, Mad Max: Fury Road, Inside Out, Ant-Man, Captain America: Civil War, Your Name., Arrival, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, mother!, It, Blade Runner 2049, Hereditary, Black Panther, Annihilation, A Quiet Place, Avengers: Infinity War, Captain Marvel, Us, Avengers: Endgame, Parasite, It Chapter Two, Marriage Story, Uncut Gems, 1917, Black Widow, The Suicide Squad, Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings, Dune, Last Night in Soho, The Batman (2022), Everything Everywhere All at Once, X, The Northman, Top Gun: Maverick, Bullet Train, Barbarian, Pearl, M3GAN, Dungeons and Dragongs: Honor Among Thieves, Evil Dead Rise, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 3., No Hard Feelings, Saltburn, Priscilla, Society of the Snow, Saw X, Leave the World Behind

i didn't analyse this by genre or anything, but i could -- so if you're interested lmk!

the 5 movies with the most different ratings between dan and phil

- Iron Man 2 (dan: 2, phil 3.5)

- The Greatest Showman (d: 2.5, p: 4)

- Malignant (d: 3, p: 4.5)

- Scream (2022) (d: 2.5, p: 4)

- Beau is Afraid (d: 3, p: 1.5)

Interesting that even though dan has more higher rated movies, 4/5 of these ones phil rated higher.

next, their 5-star movies

dan's five stars: 80

Alien, Empire Strikes Back, ET, Blade Runner, Gremlins, Back to the Future, Top Gun, Aliens, Stand by Me, The Grave of the Fireflies, My Neighbor Totoro, Back to the Future II, Home Alone, Silence of the Lambs, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, Jurassic Park, Nightmare Before Christmas, Schindler's List, Pulp Fiction, The Lion King, Toy Story, Fargo, Scream, The Fifth Element, Hercules, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Titanic, The Truman Show, The Matrix, Fight Club, Magnolia, The Emperor's New Groove, Donnie Darko, Moulin Rouge, Shrek, Spirited Away, Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, Finding Nemo, Kill Bill, Oldboy, Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, Shaun of the Dead, Kill Bill Vol. 2, Howl's Moving Castle, Revenge of the Sith, Brokeback Mountain, No Country for Old Men, The Dark Knight, Inception, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, The Tree of Life, 21 Jump Street, The Avengers, Life of Pi, Skyfall, Under the Skin, Whiplash, Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, Interstellar, Mad Max: Fury Road, Sicario, The Hateful Eight, La La Land, Arrival, mother!, Blade Runner 2049, Avengers: Infinity War, First Man, The Favourite, The Lighthouse, Parasite, Midsommar, Uncut Gems, 1917, Dune, Everything Everywhere All at Once, Top Gun: Maverick, Oppenheimer, Poor Things

phil's five stars:

Star Wars (New Hope), Alien, ET, Gremlins, Back to the Future, Top Gun, Aliens, Home Alone, Silence of the Lambs, Jurassic Park, Pulp Fiction, The Lion King, Scream, The Fifth Element, Titanic, The Truman Show, The Matrix, Magnolia, Requiem for a Dream, Memento, Spirited Away, Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, Kill Bill, Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, Kill Bill Vol. 2, Howl's Moving Castle, The Dark Knight, Inception, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, 21 Jump Street, Interstellar, Mad Max: Fury Road, The Revenant, Arrival, Dunkirk, mother!, Blade Runner 2049, Avengers: Infinity War, Parasite, Uncut Gems, 1917, Dune, Everything Everywhere All at Once, Top Gun: Maverick, Terminator 2: Judgment Day, The Shawshank Redemption, Gladiator, Little Miss Sunshine

overlap: 39

Alien, ET, Gremlins, Back to the Future, Top Gun, Aliens, Home Alone, Silence of the Lambs, Jurassic Park, Pulp Fiction, The Lion King, Scream, The Fifth Element, Titanic, The Truman Show, The Matrix, Magnolia, Spirited Away, Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, Kill Bill, Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, Kill Bill Vol. 2, Howl's Moving Castle, The Dark Knight, Inception, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, 21 Jump Street, Interstellar, Mad Max: Fury Road, Arrival, mother!, Blade Runner 2049, Avengers: Infinity War, Parasite, Uncut Gems, 1917, Dune, Everything Everywhere All at Once, Top Gun: Maverick

& their lowest rated movies...

dan: matrix resurrections (1) , thor: the dark world (1.5), the rise of skywalker (1.5)

phil: crimes of the future (1), attack of the clones (1.5), thor: the dark world (1.5), don’t look up (1.5), the matrix resurrections (1.5), doctor strange in the multiverse of madness (1.5), beau is afraid (1.5), black bear (1.5)

not even chris hemsworth could save thor the dark world, i guess (kat dennings, though…)

movies they logged on the same date:

note that this is like, non-exhaustive, because this is only based on their diaries that list the date. i think in reality they've watched most of these movies together. frequently dan logged a couple days after phil which aren’t shown here. procrastination queen

Pontypool, Eternals, The Northman, Nope, Barbarian, The Banshees of Inisherin, Glass Onion, The Super Mario Bros. Movie, Beau is Afraid, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 3., Mission Impossible - Dead Reckoning Part One, Saltburn, Poor Things, Priscilla, Saw X, Leave the World Behind

movies that one logged and not the other:

dan but not phil: 85

The Exorcist, Stand by Me, The Grave of the Fireflies, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, Home Alone 2, Schindler's List, Fargo, Romeo & Juliet, Hercules, Men in Black, Neon Genesis Evangelion, The Mummy, The 13th Warrior, Fight Club, The Emperor's New Groove, Moulin Rouge, Shrek, Legally Blonde, Monsters, Inc, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, Scooby-Doo, 28 Days Later, Matrix Reloaded, Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl, School of Rock, Matrix Revolutions, Saw, Shaun of the Dead, Shrek 2, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Revenge of the Sith, The Devil Wears Prada, Borat, Casino Royale, No Country for Old Men, Death Proof, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, There Will Be Blood, Tropic Thunder, Slumdog Millionaire, Moon, District 9, Fantastic Mr. Fox, The King's Speech, We Need to Talk About Kevin, The Tree of Life, X-Men: First Class, Prometheus, Argo, Les Miserables, Django Unchained, World War Z, Pacific Rim, Under the Skin, 12 Years a Slave, American Hustle, The Babadook, The Lego Movie, x-Men: Days of Future Past, 22 Jump Street, Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, The Theory of Everything, Green Room, Sicario, Spotlight, The Big Short, 10 Cloverfield Lane, The Conjuring 2, Train to Busan, Hacksaw Ridge, Doctor Strange, Hidden Figures, Logan, You Were Never Really Here, Game Night, Isle of Dogs, First Man, The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, Suspiria, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse, Glass, Hustlers, Pig, Violent Night

phil but not dan: 86

Jaws, The Terminator, Beetlejuice, Die Hard, Terminator 2: Judgment Day, Groundhog Day, The Shawshank Redemption, Leon: The Professional, The Usual Suspects, The Frighteners, The Sixth Sense, Being John Malkovich, American Beauty, The Green Mile, Gladiator, Catch Me if You Can, Elf, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Little Miss Sunshine, Pan's Labyrinth, The Prestige, Zodiac, Spider-Man 3, Iron Man, Juno, Lake Mungo, Twilight, Zombieland, Kick-Ass, Brave, Evil Dead, The Great Gatsby, Now You See Me, Monsters University, Man of Steel, About Time, Dallas Buyers Club, Edge of Tomorrow, The Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part 1, The Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part 2, The Boy, Raw, Finding Dory, Suicide Squad, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, John Wick: Chapter 2, Lady Bird, The Ritual, Happy Death Day, Deadpool 2, Ocean's 8, Ant-Man and The Wasp, Bird Box, Booksmart, Crawl, Spider-Man: Far From Home, The Platform, Black Bear, Palm Springs, The Empty Man, The Innocents, Titane, Old, Free Guy, The Black Phone, Fresh, Watcher, Bodies Bodies Bodies, Ambulance, Aftersun, Crimes of the Future, Fall, Bones and All, The Menu, Sanctuary, Do Revenge, Smile, Hellraiser (2022), Mr. Harrigan's Phone, Plane, Missing, Infinity Pool, Past Lives, Knock at the Cabin, Scream VI

i’m interested to see how this varies by genre!

miscellaneous non-statistical things that made me parasocially emotional and/or laugh during this process:

they watched nope together on christmas eve 2022 <3

dan rated moulin rouge a 5 <3 nature boy <3

he also rated shrek a 5. of course. (valid).

4.5 from dan and 4 from phil from the notebook

5 from danny for brokeback mountain <3 and a 4.5 from philly

cmbyn, yes, has its issues, but dan rated 4.5 and phil 4

the shape of water got a 4.5 from monsterfucker phil lester (dan gave it a 4)

surprisingly phil rated rocketman higher than dan! surprising because dan liked so many musicals

dan gave hustlers a 3.5. i don't know why i think this is funny, but i do. phil doesn't have it logged or rated, lmao.

a 4 (d) and a 3.5 (p) for barbie!

phil gave twilight a 3. lol.

phil also gave do revenge only a 3.5. tragique.

phil watched a LOT of horror alone in october 2022 (aka while dan was on tour). anyway he's just like me <3

[rafecameronsslxt]

Undeniable

Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: Jealousy and fluff

Synopsis: After watching your boyfriends newest movie with Odessa you become a little jealous.

Masterlist

You and Drew lay in bed, cuddling while starting to watch Hellraiser, his movie that had just come out. You’d also been on set with him a few times after your break from outer banks, where you met your boyfriend. Being on set with Drew and his co-stars had been so fun as they had become good friends of your own, but Odessa. 

   Don’t get it wrong, you loved Dessa, but she kept getting touchier with Drew as time passed. It didn’t bother you until you saw the comments, and she kissed his cheek. This isn’t coming out right. You, even to yourself, sounded clingy, really clingy. 

   After the intro, it turned into moans, and there they were. Their chemistry was palpable, even through a screen that crushed your heart. It’s just a movie, you told yourself over and over. “I didn’t know you could fuck like that.” I turned my head to Drew, grinning. He gives me a playful offended look. Drew pulls me closer to him. “I think you should watch the movie and not focus on me,” Drew whispers in your ear and kisses your cheek softly. 

   After two hours, the movie is over. You weren’t exactly experienced in the Hellraiser lore, so understanding some of it had been confusing, but it’d been quite an impressive movie, despite the aching in your heart. 

   You woke up and went into the kitchen to make coffee. While waiting for the coffee to pour out of the machine, you checked your phone, searching up Hellraiser. 

   Tabloids and Articles say they had undeniable chemistry. Every word felt intravenous, running through your body. No one had ever said that about Drew and you. Doubting his love wasn’t ideal, but he and Odessa did match. You and Drew were entirely different compared to Odessa and Drew's relationship. 

   A pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist. Drew put his head into your neck, looking down at your phone. “Are you ok?” Drew asked, seeming confused as he sighed. He also knew things were off with you during the filming of this movie, but you didn’t want to ruin anything.

   You turned around to face him. “Drew, do you like Odessa?” I question and feel absolutely pathetic. He arches a brow, his face perplexed by your question. “If I liked Odessa would I be with you?” You shook your head slowly. “But-” I get cut off. “I love you, baby. You’ve kissed Austin on the cheek, and I didn’t question it.” Drew is always so calm, even sometimes in arguments which makes you feel stupid when you’re yelling. 

   “I should feel foolish, hm?” You question, embarrassed as red flares up on your cheeks. He nods his head laughing. 

   Drew kisses you softly, and you smile into the kiss.

[doctorprofessorsong]

Destiel fic recs

Another round of brainrot. I hope they never fix what's wrong with me.

Beggars Would Ride by Tiamatv (Explicit, 118k)

You had me at Aladdin AU. When Dean Winchester is caught stealing, he's given one chance for freedom. Go into the Cave of Wonders, grab the amulet, and get out. Things don't go as planned. Now he's got a moody ancient genie to contend with. But maybe he can use up two of his wishes and then grant the genie his wish: to be free. What could go wrong?

This fic is an absolutely delight. I laughed so hard, especially at the fun ways Tiamatv played with the SPN canon and the Disney movies. But beyond the humor is some really fantastic world building and a beautiful story about finding your way when you feel trapped by life.

Genie Cas is very cute and grumpy and sassy, and it's fun to watch him start to care. And Dean has so much heart it will make you ache. Sam and Jess are disgustingly cute but both are also whip smart and fun. And Jo (Jess’ sister in this) is the knife girl of my dreams.

This one is hard to put down.

Tourbillon Dreams by kayliemalinza @kayliemalinza (Mature, 40k)

Dean uses Bobby's life insurance proceeds to buy a hoarders house stuffed to the brim with cursed and haunted objects. But when he finds a clock that also happens to be an angel, things take an unexpected turn.

It sounds cracky and there is some delightful humor, but this fic packs a beautiful emotional punch. Dean is in his peak caretaking, competency mode and Clockstiel is adorable and entranced with Dean in a way that is just immensely readable.

There is something starkly gorgeous about the way Dean and Cas are physically so different and yet they find each other in meaningful and beautiful ways.

Love Is a Meat Loaf Song by followyourenergy @followyourenergy (Explicit, 68k)

A reimagining of canon where Dean is never saved and becomes a demon. He's bored waiting for the apocalypse when he happens upon a certain blue eyed seraph and they decide to work together.

This fic has all the delightful sassiness you expect of Demon!Dean and especially when he spends time with his frenemy, Meg. It also has just absolutely amazing angel lore and a deep dive into Cas and his trauma. All of this is wrapped up in a soft love story about two beings finding each other and seeing each other and breaking down each other's walls.

It's the entire package of funny, sincere and romantic.

Where there is Darkness by quiettewandering @wanderingcas (Explicit, 91k)

I may have popped this on at some point when it was a WIP but I have to renew my recommendation if so. Dean and Sam are lighthouse keepers, but Dean keeps driving off the third member of their team until Cas shows up. But will they be able to overcome their past to carve out happiness?

This Dean and Cas are so delicious. I am deeply fond of them both. They are fighting against so much baggage and yet they find in each other something so special. Sammy is also perfectly oblivious in the best way. It's hard to explain what makes this fic special except that it is so engrossing, you will be slamming next chapter

Valley of God by ValleyDean @valleydean (Mature, 145k)

I know. I KNOW. The MCD tag is daunting in a fic like this but I promise that while it is accurate, then ending is softer than you think and it's really the way it should end.

So there are a few things about this fic that make it absolutely delicious. First, it really delves into Cas’ trauma in a really gorgeous way. We don’t have enough fics that look at his angel trauma (we can't for me tbh) and this one uses a religious cult situation to delve into it. Second, Dean and Cas in this fic are just so messy and delightful. Dean wants to believe that Cas is good so badly. Cas wants to protect Dean the same way. It's crunchy. Finally, the atmosphere is amazing. It's creepy. It gets under your skin.

Is it dark? Absolutely. But it's also amazing.

The Darkest Sunshine by StarlightOfFandoms @starlightoffandoms (Explicit, 35k)

If murder husbands is your thing, this one is a delight of a fic. Dean Winchester is the Righteous Man serial killer, a notorious murderer who goes after monsters (in human form). People who are guilty of abhorrent crimes. But when he goes after Cas, a professor believed to have murdered several students, he discovers an innocent man being framed. Together with Cas and his team, Dean decides to find the real killer. He just has to pretend to be Cas’ boyfriend until they succeed.

The fake dating trope in a murder husbands fic was a total delight. So was the fact that Dean doesn't work alone and has a full support system to go after the worst of the worst. It's an intriguing concept done really well. Dean in this fic is an interesting blend of sociopathic tendencies, a strong sense of justice, and a willingness to do anything for those he is loyal to. Cas is intrigued by Dean and accepts him as he is. It's a really great combination.

A Weed In Any Other Place by VioletHaze @scones-and-texting-and-murder (Explicit, 63k)

On the other end of the spectrum is this fluffy rom com. There is some angst, but most of it is soft, sweet falling in love along with supportive friends and family.

Cas is a writer. Well, Cas had a book published and now he's desperately trying to write his second while convincing himself the first was probably just a fluke. Writers block is a bitch. That is until his car breaks down and he ends up at a little shop called Winchester and Son. By some weird trick of fate, it's exactly what he needs. He has the most productive day in years sitting in their waiting room. So he comes back, and keeps coming back. The extremely cute mechanic with green eyes doesn't hurt.

Cas is a disaster at social situations in a relatable way. Dean is struggling to put away some bad lessons from his dad so that he can find what he wants instead of what his father pushed on him. Both have a lovely support system. Charlie, in particular, makes me deeply fond in this fic.

i like your shoelaces (thanks! i stole them from the president) by you-cant-spell-subtext-without (ayreisha) @you-cant-spell-subtext-without (Explicit, WIP, 33k so far)

My lovely Tumblr wife is back at it, writing the most delightfully chaotic fic based on Misha's prompt awhile back for President Cas and Fast Food Janitorial Staff Dean Winchester. It's a Cinderella story and in equal parts hilarious and adorable. Also it is a Dean-saster/Cas-tastrophe pairing which is always fun plus there's a 2 person love triangle situation.

Dean's stuck in a miserable job with his only escape being his love of How I Met Your Mother and the Tumblr blog he devotes to the fandom. But when a handsome man walks in one night after hours, things heat up. Too bad the man in question is actually the President.

It's a romp and a love letter to fandom.

[elliespassagerprincess]

write something abt gamer!Abby pls!!

Headcannons: gamer!abby anderson x reader

live footage of Abby, after dying in Valorant:

☆ Gamer Abby who worked two jobs at one point to be able to afford all the new games and set up.

☆ Gamer Abby who spent over 3000 dollars just to upgrade her pc.

☆ Gamer Abby who had everything in room because she wants to feel close to her games.

☆ Gamer Abby who felt embarrassed when you came over for the first time.

☆ Gamer Abby who apologizes for all the posters and stacks of games that littered her room.

“Why are you saying sorry?” you asked her, confused as you sat on her bed.

“This isn’t very sexy” she comments looking down at the floor.

“It is” you shrugged "everything you do is sexy Abs"

☆ Gamer Abby who memorizes all the lore to different games, and she tells you all about it, even though it sounds like gibberish to you.

“Wait what?”

“baby focus” Abby said with an annoyed tone.

“So Ellie is Joel’s daughter?”

“Oh my god don’t you listen?” Abby says dramatically.

“She isn’t his biological daughter babe” “oh.. so who’s Sarah then?”

All Abby could do was sigh.

☆ Gamer Abby who spends hours playing, but pauses her game when you send her a text.

☆ Gamer Abby who face times you while she’s playing, because she just wants to be with you.

☆ Gamer Abby who feels self-conscious when you are in her room when she plays.

☆ Gamer Abby who gets teased by her friends when they are all on a call.

“why are you so quiet Anderson?” she heard Mel ask through the headphones.

“Her girl is there, she doesn’t wanna scare her away” Nora says witch a chuckle.

☆ Gamer Abby who always feels like she talks too much about games, but falls in love with you all over again when you say: “its ok Abby, tell me about it”

☆ Gamer Abby who moves her gaming set up and posters into another room when you move in.

You walked into the room, the room that was once so colorful with games, was now empty. Naked.

“What the fuck Anderson?”

“I moved it all”

“yeah no shit… why would you do that?”

“this is our space now and I thought you know- we could… I don’t know decorate it together?” ☆ Gamer Abby who is wayyyyyy to good with her fingers, and she gets all shy when you mention something about it.

“What are you looking at?” Abby asked without taking her eyes off the screen you hummed before you simply answered “you”

You watched as Abby shook her head with a chuckle.

“I now see why you’re so good with your hands, these games are definitely teaching you something” you said with a wink and Abby almost pissed herself.

☆ Gamer Abby who uses cheesy game related pickup lines

“You must be as good as Yoshi with that tongue of yours” “Did you just cast aeroga on me? Because you swept me off my feet”

“You don't have to turn on a game to play with me”

“Nice pants! Mind if I loot them?” You never got the references but it always made you blush.

☆ Gamer Abby who almost cried when you gave her plushies from the games she was obsessed with at the time.

☆ Gamer Abby who tries teaching you how to play.

“C’mon baby it’s not that hard”

“Abby I keep dying”

“you’re dying because you aren’t focusing”

“Abby I don’t want to play anymore”

“please baby, for me?”

☆ Gamer Abby who almost combusts when you understood one of her references.

“What did you just say?”

“you said just look for the light that’s a the last of us reference, isn’t it?”

“Marry me” ☆ Gamer Abby who finds out you’ve been practicing her favorite games, and you learned the lore to surprise her.

☆ Gamer Abby who wakes you up at 3am because she was yelling at Nora for making her lose.

☆ Gamer Abby who begs you to play with her because she thinks it’s hot.

☆ Gamer Abby who was scared of being herself before she met you.

☆ Gamer Abby who wants to dress up as Mario and princess peach for Halloween.

☆ Gamer Abby who knew that you were the perfect girl when you let her decorate your shared room with a few posters.

☆ Gamer Abby who is really happy, being with you.

☆ Gamer Abby who could see the two of you getting old together. And she hoped when you were 73 one day, that you’d still be playing together

[laurentdirosetti]

"Support character" [part 2]

{Idia Shroud x gn/MC}

Tags: playing videogames together, competitive, bet, smut...

Idia’s room was just like you imagined it would be, an otaku’s room —books scattered on the floor, open boxes in every corner, merchandising from different animes and games, posters on the walls… Also, the air in the room is really heavy, why is it so hot in here? Is it because of the computer or- 

MC: ARE YOU ALRIGHT? 

His hair was bright red, redder than when we were in the storage room, and not only the color was hot red, but the temperature too. 

Idia: so-sorry, this is the first time a girl has entered my room (anyone other than Ortho or me for that matter).

That was the issue, haha… now I’m nervous too. I should do something to break the ice in this situation, or rather cooler the temperature. I think I recognised one of his figurines on that shelf… 

MC: Isn’t that Ruri-chan from “The Magical Ruri Hana: Demon Girl”?

I was staring right at Ruri-chan when I asked him, so it was a surprise when I turned around to look at his face and saw his expression. For a few seconds the time stopped and he gave me a death stare. Why is he so scary all of a sudden? Did I mispronounce her name? Impossible, I’ve been watching that series since I came to this world, mostly because it was the only serotonin I could find after nearly dying over a kid’s tantrum. 

Idia: you know Ruri-chan?

Maybe because you were nearly as introverted as Idia or because you were nervous, the only answer you could find to his suddenly cold attitude was that this was the beginning of the typical “man interrogation over a common interest to prove your authenticity as a fan”. So before he could start making you questions about the show, you blow out all the lore of the series. 

Idia’s face was as rigid as a rock until you finished your monologue on Ruri-chan’s journey. You stopped talking to catch a breath when he grabbed you by the shoulders and suddenly snapped.

Idia:  ARE YOU TELLING ME THERE WAS ANOTHER OTAKU IN THE ACADEMY AND I DISCOVER IT NOW? Why did it take you so long to talk to me? How is it possible that I didn’t know about this before? I mean, I have control over all the technology and internet connection here. I should’ve been notified if a student was watching anime, how is it possible I didn’t know about you till now? What did you do? What kind of firewall did you use?

MC: I just watched it on Ramshackle’s TV…

Idia: ah… that explains everything, that TV probably doesn’t even have an HDMI port, let alone Internet… 

MC: Idia… my shoulders are starting to hurt.

He sure is strong, it's hard to tell by those baggy clothes he's always wearing. He instantly opened his hands to let me go as soon as he heard me. He looked troubled he might have hurted me. 

MC: don’t worry, I may not have “mana”, but my HP is full.

He couldn’t help but smile at my dumb -almost cringe- comparison. I think my “break the ice” mission was successful. Idia is very expressive, he snapped from nervous, to surprised, to confused, to happy in the the blink of an eye. I wish he stopped using that floating tablet of his to attend classes so I could see more of his expressions. 

As soon as he released me he went to pick something from his wardrobe, a pair of controls apparently. The controls in my world were less complex than this ones. Idia handed me one of them and I began to study the buttons. It would be a lie to tell I knew how to grab it, clown music is playing inside my head. I wanted to play videogames with him, but truth be told I don’t have money to fix Rammshackle’s sink let alone buy a videogame or a console. 

Idia saw my troubled grin and step towards me, shadowing my entire persona. 

Idia: Is there a problem? You don’t like the color or something? Is it the brand?

MC: well, you see, the thing is… 

This is gonna be so embarassing. First, I ran into problems trying to defend him against nothing, cause he wasn’t even hearing those jerks. Second, I made him hide with me in the storage room and now I have to tell him I wanted to play videogames with him but didn’t even think about the possibility of the controls being different from my world. Defeated, I lower my head to evade his soon to be inquisitive gaze. 

MC: …I don’t know how to use these controls, they are different from the ones in my world.

Silence was so loud I couldn’t take it anymore and looked up. He was trying so hard not to burst out laughing at me his cheeks were red and his jaw was so tense I could see his neck muscles contracting. Finally, he let out a little pfft and grabbed his mouth and chin with his hand, pressing his cheek with his index.

Idia: I’m sorry but, you went through all that trouble to play together and you don’t even know how? Cute.

Lucky for me I don’t have magical hair that turns red when I'm flustered, but I’m sure it’s not hard to guess just by looking at my face. 

Idia: don’t worry, guess I’ll have to teach you as I did with my little brother, come here.

He sat on a visible comfortable plush sofa, big enough for him to open his leg and ask me to sit between them. Funny, when we were in the storage room he was so nervous and now he openly asks me to sit on top of him, hasn’t he noticed?

Dumbfounded, I did as he requested and sat on the gap between his thighs, creating a space between us as a way to surpass the embarrassment. Unfazed, he glued his chest to my back and slipped his hands around my body. As if I was walking on thin ice, I slowly rested my arms on top of his. Then he moved his hands on top of mine on the controller, guiding my fingers on top of the buttons. My ears were bright red as I could feel his breathing chilling my neck, whispering a slow pace explanation on how to use the controller. His fingers moved mine slowly over the buttons, his hair fell as a cascade over my shoulders sliding between my legs. I don’t know what is happening and I would swear neither does he. He’s so focused on explaining the lore of the game and controls he hasn’t realized the hot mess he got cuddled beneath him.

Idia: Did you get that?

He asked, suddenly making me snap out of my cloud. Even though it was difficult, for many reasons, I caught a glimpse of his monologue while trying to survive my ocean of hormones. 

MC: Well… It seems quite complicated to be honest. Maybe I can understand it better once I play the game. 

Idia: Great, let’s play. I’ll connect the other controller so we can multi-play this. 

The controller was right next to us, already plunged, so he didn’t move an inch and his arm were still surrounding me. The soundtrack of the game started playing and far too late I realized he meant to play in this position, basically cuddling each other, with our arms tangled, his body temperature on me and his breathing on my neck. We haven’t even started, but I can tell I already lost. 

Unfortunately for him, after playing for nearly an hour, I tried my best to give him a hard time beating me. I lost all the matches anyway, but at least I could hear his groans all along, echoing in my ears. 

Idia: SO much for being a snob, you are tougher than you look. But rest assured, I would never let a newbie beat me at my favorite game. Ortho has tried many times and I should give him a pass -you know the whole “Idia let your little brother win once”- but as a weeb I have a reputation yk. 

That smirk on his face… he’s sure full of himself. I have almost grasped the dynamics of this game, maybe I could beat him. I’m a pretty competitive person and that arrogance only ignites something dark in me, something stupid. 

MC: I bet I can ruin that reputation of yours in our next round.

Idia: Are YOU implying YOU can win? LMFAO, if delulu was a sport you'd have a gold medal. If you beat me on this round I’ll be your chair or whatever -not that it’s even a possibility.

MC: Do you mean I can ask you anything if I win? It’s this one of those anime situations in which the winner can order the loser around the whole day? 

Idia: Yeah, that kind of shoujo stuff. Afraid?

MC: Mmn… Well, you’re already quite the comfortable chair.

That came out of nowhere, but I decided to keep my cool and rested my weight on his chest even more, looking up at his melted honey eyes now widening from sudden embarrassment. His peachy cheeks are so cute. Plan complete: this may be considered cheating but the only way to win is to distract him and by the discontrolled beating of his heart reverberating on my back I can tell it already worked. 

We began playing, in the game we were two characters fighting each other in a 2D horizontal landscape. I didn’t learn all the combos, but I mastered the parries and evasions, so it was nearly impossible for him to even scratch me. He was focused on attacking while I was determined on defending, a never ending match it seemed.  In real life it was the other way around, I continued non-stop “attacking” him while he tried his best to “defend” himself. Each time I evaded one of his attacks my butt moved against his lower body. From the corner of my eye I enjoyed his leg contraction at every “unintended” pound I gave him. After almost an hour of playing him, and the game, his breath was a mess, he was trembling all over and his dick was rock hard between my ass cheeks. My intention was to win the game, but I’m not quite disappointed with the actual development of the situation. I could take this as a win already.

Then I felt a thrust, his body rested on top of mine and I swear I can almost tell his longitude just by the pressure on my lower back. He snapped, his fingers were moving so fast on the buttons I had to make an effort to see them, he left me no chance to defend myself neither in the game or reality. As my character fell to the ground completely defeated, my head stumped on the floor as his hands pressed my shoulders to the ground.

Face to face, among the darkness of his room I could only differentiate two golden orbs and his face lightly illuminated by the gentle blue of his hair. 

Idia: I won.

My whole belly was on the palm of his hand as he slowly lifted my shirt all the way up, until he grabbed my neck under the clothes. 

MC: Wh-what are you doing?

Idia: I won, so the loser must do whatever the winner demands, right?

MC: Bu-but you haven’t say anything yet.

Idia: Oh, then I want the loser to fix my joystick. 

What? Oh…

As I stupidly tried to understand that I noticed his hard-on pressuring my lower belly, near to my intimacy. 

Idia: you see, a certain snob player broke it mid-play. Any idea on how to fix it?

He completely snapped, I almost can’t recognize him. Where is the shy boy I was messing with? The situation has escalated more than I would have imagined, but this doesn’t put me off in the slightest. Seeing Idia all hot and bothered surely is rare enough and I want to push that dominant side of him a bit more.

MC: maybe… It just needs some cleaning?

I questioned opening my mouth and letting out my tongue. His sigh was filled with excitement and anticipation, I could catch him bitting his lips for a moment.

He moved his knees to the sides of my head and lowered his zip and trousers. My eyes, now more used to the low illumination of the room, enjoyed the view of his thighs, pale as porcelain. He looks so fragile and slim, or that was my line of thinking until he uncovered his dick. Hard, veiny and leaking precum on top of my forehead; the length was the size of my face. This was going to hurt.

I accepted my destiny and kept my mouth open for him to enter mercilessly. But, that wasn’t the case. At a slow pace he started going down on my mouth, he filled my cavity with just the tip and almost the middle of his length. Then, he took my chin in his hand and caressed my cheek, pressing it on his dick and slowly massaging it from outside. I didn’t know what to do with my tongue so I tried to lick his dick and press it more against my cheek. His eyes glittered from a moment and he let out a soft chuckle. 

Idia: seems you’re really eager to clean it, babe. But this much won’t do I’m afraid, you need to get it all wet enough.

Instantly, he continued letting down his hips  until all his dick was in my mouth and throat. He was so deep in me my lower lip was touching his balls. Strange enough, this wasn’t as painful as I imagined it to be, I wonder how can my throat be twitching around him and I’m so calm? Maybe, his sweet expressions are keeping me from gagging. His mouth is a little open, from this angle I can only see his tongue moving above his pointy teeth. His eyes are locked in my throat, probably a bulge has formed, his fault after all. He’s been so long in this position I could possibly draw his dick by having it inside me. 

When I thought he would start moving, his balls twitched against my lip and his cum flooded my mouth non-stop. When he released everything in me he fastly got up, letting me catch a breath. He cumed so much there were lines of cum running down my cheeks to the ground. I coughed a little after drinking all.

When I sat on the floor and looked up I could feel his gaze contemplating my whole display, heavy breathing and a surprised expression.

MC: that was fast. 

Idia: I endured playing in hard mode, literally, a few minutes ago. Thank me I didn't finish by just seeing your ahegao face. Also …you didn’t need to drink that.

MC: I told you I would clean it. 

Idia: quite the awful job, It's all sticky and twitching, maybe you can clean it better down here…

To be continued...

Part 1