#like damn i barely edited the colors and brightness

[pastafossa]

“And The Holly Cookies Too” (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic)

Right I had to go out to shovel the furnace pipes again so while I’m waiting to warm up and go back to bed, I figured I’d finish editing and drop this little bit of TRT Christmas fluff, too, as a bonus! Summary: Matt is determined to support you in your experimental Christmas cookie bake-a-thon, even if it kills him. Warnings: none really, just Matt and his senses and cookies and humor. Wordcount: 1,481 Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader. This is technically TRT’s reader again, but TRT is not required reading. 

“Right.” You put your hands on your hips, narrowing your eyes at the messy sea of ingredients on the counter and the containers stacked high on the kitchen table. “So we’ve done… cranberry shortbread—”

“Mhm,” Matt said behind you, his voice muffled.

“Gingerbread. Italian rainbow cookies. Ciro’s Christmas pizzelles. Your dad’s seven-layer cookies.”

“Mhm.”

“Christmas fudge. Snowball cookies.” You glanced back, then did a double take. “Matt.”

“Mmm?” he said, dusting his fingers off on his shirt.

 “Stop eating the snowballs.”

 “I wasn’t,” he said around a mouthful of snowball, blinking innocently at you.

“Then why is there powdered sugar on your face?”

“I can’t see them,” he said mournfully, abruptly shifting his argument. He tipped his head, licking the powdered sugar off his lips, and only Matt Murdock could manage a look so tragic after he’d just been caught red-handed… or sugar-handed, rather, with the evidence literally written across his face. “How was I supposed to know these were the snowballs?”

You snatched another snowball out of his hand, and he pulled a sad face until you leaned in and smacked a kiss against his lips. “Don’t eat them until after I pick the ones that we can give away. I want to make sure we have enough.”

 At that, he chuckled, leaning in to touch his forehead to yours. “Sweetheart, we’ve been baking all day. We’ve got hundreds of cookies.”

 “Some might be bad. I want to make sure I have good ones to give away,” you fretted, turning back around to stare at your latest project: a tray of sticky, marshmallow-y holly cookies. It had amazed you how much food coloring you’d needed to dump in to achieve the bright-green color, but damned if it hadn’t worked. Each little clump of cornflakes, held together by a sticky green mass of melted marshmallow, looked just like a holly leaf, complete with bright red cinnamon candies set in like berries. Or… or did they look like holly leaves? Were they too crooked? “Everyone else has gotten way more practice than me. I’m behind. I don’t want to be…”

“Be what?” He set his head over your shoulder as you morosely nudged at one of the holly cookies.

“Bad at Christmas,” you admitted.

“You can’t be bad at Christmas,” he told you gently. “That’s not how it works, sweetheart.”

“But what if I am!?” you howled, throwing your sticky hands up in the air. “Jesus—”

“Close,” Matt said with a straight face. “He’s on Christmas eve.”

“You know what I mean!” You turned, pulling away to pace wildly in the kitchen, baring your teeth at the holly cookies as if they were an enemy that needed defeating. “They look crooked.”

Matt closed his mouth, turning his head with a furrowed brow to consider the cookies.

“What are you doing?” you asked him curiously.

“They don’t…” He narrowed his eyes in focus. “They don’t… sound crooked? And even if they were, isn’t nature crooked? I’m sure they’re fine.”

You let out a huff, abruptly circling around, soothed a little by the sheer determination Matt had aimed towards your holly cookies. You let out a sigh as you stepped back up beside him, staring down at the cookies silently.

Maybe… maybe they didn’t look… all that bad.

“You think they’re ok?” you asked him nervously.

“I think they sound and feel amazing.” He leaned over to kiss your temple, and—you had a feeling—left some powdered sugar in your hair from the snowballs he’d been stealing. “For obvious reasons, I’m a poor judge of looks, and there’s a lot of sugar and cinnamon in the air from the last batch so I can’t quite separate the taste, but I’m sure they’re perfect.”

“I guess they look alright,” you mumbled, reaching forward to nudge one with another sigh. “Besides, it’s half taste anyway.”

“Let me try one, then.”

You threw him a baffled look. “What, these?”

“Yeah.”

“You hate green.”

He made a noise of protest. “I don’t hate green.”

“The last time you had something with green food coloring, you pulled a level ten stinky cat face. These have way more green food coloring than that.”

“It’s different when it’s a cookie,” he said stubbornly.

“Are you lying?”

“No,” he lied, licking his lips just once.

You narrowed your eyes. “You are lying! Matt—”

But it was too late. Before you could blink he’d snatched up one of the holly cookies and darted out of the kitchen. “They’re fine,” he told you, backing away. “I can smell the green. There’s not too much.”

You quickly came around the corner, pointing a finger as Matt boldly lifted the cookie. “Matt, don’t you dare.”

He got that look in his eye—the one that spelled trouble, the one that ended in gunshot wounds and legal cases best avoided, the one that meant he was about to do something absolutely ridiculous.

He took a confident, massive bite.

And froze.

Silence.

His lips and nose twitched, and you swore you could see the momentary flash of regret sweep through his eyes.

“You’re trying not to make the face, aren’t you?” You stepped in closer, mildly amused now. “The stinky cat face.”

“No,” he said, very, very carefully, his voice hoarse behind a mouthful of green food coloring and processed marshmallow. His nose and mouth wrinkled briefly before he forced it down, struggling with himself as he tried to chew. You swore his eye twitched. “These are… delicious.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said fondly, your lips curling up into a grin at just how determined he was to carry on the lie for your sake. “Please stop suffering for me.”

“I’m just… enjoying it,” he said roughly, and oh, this time his eyes did twitch as he swallowed with great reluctance. It looked like it went down like acid, his body shivering as if to punish him for what he’d just knowingly ingested. Even so, he twisted his face into an approximation of contentment. “That… was one of the best cookies you’ve ever made. I didn’t… taste the green at all. People will love it.”

You held out a hand for the rest of the cookie. “I appreciate your attempts to lie to me about my terrible holly cookies, but—”

He shot you a look, something like absolute fire in his dark eyes.

Shit.

You shouldn’t have said that.

“Matt, give me the cookie,” you said quickly. He tipped his head and took one slow step back.

“Matt—”

“...No,” he said hotly, clenching his jaw. “I want to eat it. It’s mine.”

You darted after him, and he took off, vaulting over the couch with one hand, your holly cookie in his other. You, unfortunately, had to go around and by the time you circled the couch, he’d already hit the first landing on the stairs, and goddamit, normally you loved his level of athleticism, but not when you were trying to take something back from him like he was a dog who’d run off with the remote.

 “Matt!” you shouted from the bottom of the stairs as he spun, now on the second level. “Don’t fucking eat that, I appreciate it, but you don’t—”

Which was when Matt—somehow managing the appearance of direct, aggressive eye contact—promptly shoved the entire goddamn cookie into his mouth.

“Are you serious?” you barked. “Matt—”

Matt stubbornly closed his mouth and chewed, once.

Then abruptly spun around, his back to you.

There was a choked noise, and you snorted as you came up the stairs. “Matt, spit it out.”

Another, more stubborn choked noise, and this time he shuddered. You were pretty sure he was just trying to get it down as fast as possible at this point, and you didn’t blame him.

“You goddamn masochist,” you said affectionately as you reached him, rubbing your hand softly down his shuddering back. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I love you,” he said hoarsely, fervent determination lying beneath, and you managed to spin him just in time to watch him work his throat, forcing down the rest of the holly cookie. He groaned as he did, though he tried to make it sound more like a moan of delight. “It… was amazing, sweetheart.”

And now that you got a better look at him, you slapped a hand over your mouth, holding back your laughter. “Oh God, Matt.”

His lips and tongue were now a bright, vibrant shade of emerald green.

Something he seemed to notice the second you did.

He lurched, his mouth falling open, his hand rising for just a moment as if in instinct to scratch at his tongue. He made a strange, ragged noise, then, one somehow full of both regret and apology.

You caught his chin, leaning in to kiss his cheek in sympathy. “I love you. Thank you for trying. It was a wonderful Christmas gift.”

“I’m sorry,” he grit out, groaning and leaning in to bury his face against your neck, his words garbled as if he hated the taste of his own tongue. “I-I tried. God, I hate green.”

“I know you did.” You kissed his hair beneath the glow of the Christmas tree, and somehow the Christmas lights were even less green than his mouth. And, well, even if your cookies didn’t ever turn out perfect, you’d still come out ahead as long as you had Matt here to try them with you. The reminder made you... a lot less nervous about the whole thing, even if you were hoping to prevent something like this from happening again. “No more holly cookies for either of us.”

“No more holly cookies.”

[sweetestofchaos]

Blackthorn Ch 14 | M.YG

Pairing: Crown Prince Dragon!Yoongi x Crown Princess Impundulu!Keena  Genre: Soulmate AU | Arranged Marriage AU | Fantasy AU | Fluff | Angst  Word Count: 10.6K  Warnings: Mentions of Terminal Illness | Kidnapping | Attempted Rape | Physical Violence | Shifting | Murder | Blood | Prince Yoongi Gets His Scar Rating: 21+

My Gift To You Part 2 - The young royals sneak out of the palace and go to the night market.

a/n: Like before I will put a warning where the violence/ar starts and ends with ⚠⚠⚠. The fighting and Yoongi's eye injury will be described but I will not go into too much detail about the attempted rape.

a/n 2: As always thanks to @sailoryooons for making the banner. Thanks to @theharrowing for being the beta this chapter.

Harrow and Hali both took time out of their lives to listen to me rant and overthink about different parts of this. I made things 10x harder for myself and they both just said "stop. take a minute and rethink this. do you need shit to be this complicated? can you simplify it?" and guess what? I damn sure could and I did. So thank you so fucking much to the both of them!

a/n 3: @minisugakoobies, my darling Sunny is heaven sent! She helped me with the fight scene. So huge shout out to her!!

a/n 4: The awesome scar free Yoongi edit in the banner is made by @colormepurplex2. Character asks and the taglist for Blackthorn are always open!

Taglist: @thickemadame ​​@loisje123

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Prince Yoongi held out his hand and Hoseok placed something in his palm. He walked to the Princess and took her outstretched hand in his own before he kissed her knuckles. She still wore his rings on her left hand and he grinned since her right hand was bare. Silently, he raised his hand and slipped a gold ring onto the Princess’ ring finger. Her eyes widened and Prince Yoongi winked as he released her hand. She looked at the ring in awe, it was a plain gold band that split into tiny branches that held an emerald-cut smoky quartz gem the size of a lima bean.

“Shall we, my gem?”

Hidden from the eyes of the crowd, Prince Yoongi stood with Princess Keena at the base of the steps leading towards the arena. Aga and Hoseok were on high alert as the cheers from the townspeople reached the high heavens. Music played loudly, and the Princess could feel the beat in her bones. The Prince squeezed her hand lightly, brought her fingers to his lips, and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“We will part for only a moment, Princess. Two blinks and you will be back by my side where you belong.” The Prince explained with a soft smile on his face as his thumb brushed over the rings on the Princess’ fingers. 

“You have nothing to fear.”

Princess Keena nodded her head and allowed for Yoongi’s hand to pull away from her own. Their fingertips bent to catch each other’s and the Prince smiled reassuringly. As his hand dropped away from the Princess, Aga and the other guards crowded around her, barricading the space with their bodies. Yoongi held his head high as he ascended the steps, his face void of emotion as the crowd's sounds and chatter became louder. 

The music switched, signaling the entrance of the Prince and once more the crowd fell silent as the eunuch spoke loudly.

“His Imperial Highness, the Crown Prince Yoongi!”

The sun above caressed the Prince’s face as he emerged from the shadows, the bold colors warmed his skin as they absorbed the heat from the rays and the scales on his jaw caught in the light. A vision of raw power and perfection, just as a Prince should be. A few bodies in the crowd leaned in and whispered to each other in the stands about the Prince’s attire. It was bright and unfamiliar, a style that many (if not all) had never seen before.

The Prince stood before his parents and bowed to show his respect. The Empress’ eyes flashed gold and Prince Yoongi stood in front of his throne with his back facing it. Emperor Min motioned for his son to take his seat and cleared his throat before he stood to address the people.

“The sun shows us favor by shining us with its light! It is a most joyous day in the Min Empire, my dear subjects!” Empire Min clapped his hands together once before he folded them within his robes and smiled. “Today marks a new era for the Min Empire!”

All around everyone started to cheer, a new era meant an increase in imported goods and money. A new era was good health and longevity to all. A new era was something none of the commoners in attendance were expecting. Emperor Min sat back down and nodded his head to the eunuch to continue on.  Standing tall, the eunuch unrolled the scroll in his hand a little more and held it out in front of himself, making sure not to block his face as he read the written words.

“His Imperial Highness, the Crown Prince Yoongi is to be wed in the seventh month as in accordance with the unification to the land to the east, the Escistan Kingdom. As peacetime reigns over our lands, war rides the coattails with an unrelenting force.”

The news of the Prince’s engagement was cause to celebrate. There would be a Princess in the palace, the likes of which no one has ever seen before. She was from the Escistan Kingdom, a land unknown to most of the common folk. However, at the mere mention of war the crowd started to grow uneasy. News of the West’s plight against the Escistan Kingdom was common knowledge. The foreign land had many sought-after resources, magical and null alike. An alliance with the Escistan Kingdom would open up a new trading route and bring in more wealth for the people of the Min Empire. 

“Standing beside our allies of the Escistan Kingdom to show a united front in the face of an impending war-” the eunuch paused for dramatic effect and Empress Min laughed to herself. 

“To show those in the West that we stand strong, Her Royal Highness Princess Keena has accepted His Imperial Highness’ hand in marriage!”

Upon hearing her name, Princess Keena took a deep breath in and gathered her skirts in her hands. The wind picked up and flower blossoms rode the breeze by the entrance from which the Prince first came. The Princess rolled her shoulders back and held her head high as she took the steps one at a time to reach the balcony of the pavilion where the royal family all sat. Dogwood petals danced around her as she stepped into the light and the eyes of every person burned deep in her heart. If the Prince was a vision of power then the Princess was that same vision wrapped in beauty and elegance.

The Princess squeezed her skirts and relaxed her hands before she allowed the material to fall loose. The sun greeted her with open arms while a cool breeze pushed her towards the waiting royal family in a spotted blanket of petals. In front of the Emperor and Empress, Princess Keena crossed her arms over her chest and bowed. Empress Min smiled softly at the show of respect from the Escistan Kingdom. She is proud that Keena is willing to incorporate her nation’s practices into what she has been taught during her stay in the Min Empire. 

Emperor Min bowed his head and the Princess turned on her heels to face the crowd. Prince Yoongi rose to his feet and strode over to stand by the Princess’ side while the eunuch continued his speech. He listed off the Princess' credentials, the status of her homeland, her role within her nation, her achievements, and much more. By the end of the speech, the crowd was impressed.

The Princess of the foreign nation was a woman for the people and within the Min Empire that attitude would take her far. As the young royals stood side by side, everyone took in their appearance. The Prince’s attire complemented the Princess’ in style and color. The unknown style of some of the garb was contributed to the Princess’ homeland of Escistan. A few of the women in the crowd wondered to themselves if the fabrics and styles would be something they would see sold at stalls in town at some point. Maybe not as bold in color but the style was in favor, the skirt of the Princess’ outfit looked easy to walk in.

“I give you, His Imperial Highness Crown Prince Yoongi and Her Imperial Highness Crown Princess Keena!”

Princess Keena did not miss the change of her title, the new power suddenly granted to her as the arena ruptured into loud cheers and claps. People shouted their joy and excitement as they watched the royal family all sit together. Dancers and musicians went back into the center of the area and put on a show. The Princess was surprised to see Ellarian and Kwangseon in the mix of bodies. Ellarian took the lead as she leapt and twirled with the other women while Kwangseon kept the tempo on his Janggo. Princess Keena tapped her fingers to the beat and when the Prince noticed, a smile pulled at his lips.

He leaned over and whispered in the Princess’ ear, “Are you enjoying yourself, my gem?” 

The way the sun kissed the scales on the Prince’s jaw, a mini rainbow appeared on the Princess’ neck and the Prince smiled as he nuzzled his nose underneath her ear. So close to the gland at her neck, the Prince inhaled deeply and smirked as goosebumps rose on the skin underneath him. The sweetened tang of citrus doused in honey blanketed the Prince’s mind and he purred, his inky eyes swirling with gold as he tried to pull himself away. Princess Keena rested her hand on top of the Prince’s and laced their fingers together.

“Behave, my Prince.”

The Prince growled as the Princess squeezed his hand lightly and she turned her head to face him. His nose skimmed her cheek and pressed into the corner of her mouth, she was thankful that no one was truly focused on them. Without a word, the Princess kissed the Prince’s nose and snuck a quick kiss to his lip. Ginger, spicy and warm, surged around the Princess and Hoseok coughed from somewhere in the distance.

“Focus, young ones.” Empress Min’s voice was as firm as it was teasing, just enough to pull the Prince from his muddled headspace.

“Apologies, mother.” Prince Yoongi muttered and pulled away from the Princess but he refused to let go of her hand.

The announcement celebration came to its end soon after. The royals took their leave, the Emperor and Empress arm in arm while Prince Yoongi offered his hand to the Princess. Hoseok resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his friend's display of affection while Namjoon and Seokjin giggled with each other. Aga shared a knowing look with Hoseok as the two followed the family downward. At the bottom of the steps, out of the people’s sight the Emperor and Empress embraced the young royals.

“Welcome to the family my dear,” Empress Min cooed as she cupped the Princess’ face lovingly. “You will bring a new chapter to this world and I am eager to watch it unfold.”

“Easy, deartheart.” Emperor Min placed a hand on his wife’s lower back as he stood by her side. “They still have much to learn. Let us not rush the process and-” A sudden cough interrupted the Emperor's words and he quickly covered his mouth as he fell into a fit. Empress Min rubbed his back and motioned for guards to step in.

Daehyun came forward and helped support the Emperor before Hoseok pulled a starstone from the jumeoni at his hip. He crushed the stone and blew the dust over the Emperor silently. Empress Min gave everyone a tight smile.

“Worry not, His Majesty is fine. The pollen in the air is heavy today.” 

Princess Keena nodded her head and squeezed the Prince’s hand when he didn’t respond to his mother’s words.

“Give His Majesty our regards and rest well,” Princess Keena bowed her head and the Empress smiled before she took off to her husband’s chambers with guards behind her. 

Prince Yoongi watched as his mother disappeared with a frown on his lip. A gentle pressure wrapped around his fingers and he glanced down to see that the Princess had placed her hand in his. Her fingers were so small compared to his own and he sighed as the frown melted from his face. Raising her hand to his lips, Prince Yoongi kissed the tips of the Princess’ fingers and smiled.

“Shall we walk in your garden, my gem?”

The Princess stared into the Prince’s dark eyes and squeezed his hand lightly before she tugged it down to their sides.

“It is as much mine as it is yours, my Prince.”

The grin widened on the Prince’s face and he nodded his head silently. Together, arm in arm, the young royals strolled the pebble paths, crossed the bridges over gurgling waters, and admired the colorful flowers as they walked from the palace front to the eastern wing. The place where the seventh garden, filled with Blackthorns from the Princess’ homeland, created the perfect picture of peace.

The sweet almond scent from the blackthorn blossoms filled the air and intermingled with the flowers scattered throughout. The faintest echoes of rushing water hid in the canopies of the trees and the Princess felt herself breathe for the first time today. 

All worry vanished from her body the moment she stepped foot on the lush green grass of the garden. She loved this place more than anything in the whole palace (excluding the Prince). This was a place of silent devotion, filled to the brim with a tenderness that only the young royals could truly appreciate together.

Hoseok and Aga spaced out the other guards in the garden, making sure to give the simulated couple their space. If the Prince sat on the ground with the Princess between his legs, arms wrapped around her waist as they shared whispered words, the guards turned a blind eye.

Aga gazed up into the sky and inhaled the scents of his homeland. His chest ached for a short moment before he closed his eyes and drank in the warmth of the sun. Once the Princess was wed to the Prince, Aga would go back to Escistan. He would leave the Princess to Hoseok, who in Aga’s eyes was more than capable of protecting her. He would leave Mingi as the head of the Princess’ guards and put Chan as his right hand. Together with the rest of the guards, the Princess would be safe. Standing by the Prince’s side, the Princess would be happy.

"Rete tann mwen, mon amour. Jis yon ti tan ankò." 

Aga opened his eyes at the sound of movement from his right and Hoseok was making his way over. Aga rolled his shoulders and glanced at the young lovers, lost in their own world, hidden from the many eyes of the palace.

“We must head back soon.”

Hoseok’s voice was soft and low as if he spoke any louder he would disturb the atmosphere that the Prince and Princess had created. Aga nodded his head in agreement. A luncheon was scheduled for members of the council to pay their respects to the young royals. It was within two hours and the couple parched under the tree needed to freshen up before they stood before the council members. 

Grunting, Aga made his way over to the young couple and offered the Princess his hand to help her up. The Prince stayed close by the Princess’ side as they traveled back to the palace arm in arm. They spoke in hushed whispers and the Princess’ suppressed giggles made those around them smile. How light the palace had become since the Princess’ arrival. A true breath of fresh air and eased the worry of most servants. 

Outside of the Princess’ chambers, Prince Yoongi lifted their clasped hands to his lip and whispered tender words that made a wide smile pull at the Princess’ lips. Heat warmed her face and she was quick to slip into her room, a hurried wave over her shoulder as her handmaid swarmed her. The door shut with a firm thud and the Prince sighed.

“Let’s get this over with, Hoseok.”

Prince Yoongi nodded to Aga and the other guards before he disappeared into his room beside the Princess’ two yards down. Once in his room, the Prince freed his hair from its bun and Hoseok pulled it into a low ponytail that rested against the Prince’s back. They sat on the settees and couches in silence, letting the events from earlier play in their minds.

In the Princess’ room, she was stripped of her clothing and led into the warm waters of her bathing room. Hyejin used a loofah to exfoliate the Princess’ skin before she washed away the light layer of sweat and makeup. Sweet almond and mint oils were mixed into the water creating a soothing aroma that made the Princess sink into a peaceful headspace. The Prince’s words from the garden played in her mind and she smiled to herself.

“Wait for my word. You will know when it’s time.”

For the next few hours, Princess Keena was pampered by her handmaids and dressed in a beautiful rosewater and lilac bazin brocade boubou. The sleeves were wide and flowing, creating a wing-like appearance as the Princess moved about her chambers. Her braids were piled into a high crown-like bun on the top of her head with two single braids framing her face at the sides. Butterfly and daisy-shaped meori-kkoji were played in her hair for added splendor before rouge was brushed onto her cheeks and lips. The Princess’ eyes were lined in black kohl, elegant wings drawn at the ends.

Prince Yoongi wore deep blue baji with a thick golden band at the bottom with a matching jeogori. Two four-toed dragons were stitched into the shoulders of the jeogori. The Prince’s long blonde hair wrapped and pinned at the top of his head in a black sangtugwan with his golden dragon donggot to bring attention to the two dragons that gleamed on his shoulders. Gold hoop earrings rested in the Prince’s ears and many chunky gold rings decorated his fingers. He was ready and with one final touch to her outfit, so was the Princess.

In the hall when the young royals stood before each other, the Prince smiled at the sight of his betrothed. She was a vision, pure and sweet in colors that pulled an angelic hue from her skin. The side of Prince Yoongi’s lips lifted as he noticed the familiar norigae that hung from the Princess’ hip. The white moonstone and golden tassels complemented the softer colors of the Princess’ garb and a low rumble crept from the Prince’s throat.

“Your beauty never ceases to amaze me, my gem.” 

Prince Yoongi spoke calmly as he offered his arm and Princess Keena rolled her eyes playful as she slipped her arm in the crook of the Prince’s elbow.

“I could say the same for you, my Prince. Blue is a handsome color on you.”

Hoseok cleared his throat and the Prince frowned at the interruption. Smiling, Hoseok motioned for the couple to move along.

“We need to go now, your Highness.” 

On the way to the luncheon General Daehyun informed Hoseok that the Prince’s parents would not attend the luncheon but gave their best wishes. As acting host, the Prince sat proudly in the Orlilurth Throne, and when Princess Keena moved to sit beside him in a beautiful hand-carved throne that was smaller but no less regal looking, a deep growl echoed in the hall.

The Princess stood unphased in front of the smaller throne and all eyes were on the young royals. Prince Yoongi’s eyes started to swirl with gold as he rose to his feet and took a few steps to stand in front of the Princess. Wordlessly, the Prince grabbed the Princess’ elbow lightly and guided her to the Orlilurth Throne. His hand slid down the length of her arm and their fingers linked together loosely. The command was silent, a deadly dare for those around to voice their concerns. No one moved and no one breathed as the Princess sat in the Orlilurth Throne and crossed her hands in her lap. 

Prince Yoongi huffed out a thick plume of smoke from his nose and motioned for someone to take the smaller throne away before he sat beside the Princess. After the show of dominance, official after official stood and bowed to show their respect. The vein in Hoseok’s temple was throbbing but he stayed quiet and watched as Prince Yoongi kept his face blank while Princess Keena sipped her tea. She smiled politely and listened to the spoken promises and superficial wishes of good health with tender eyes.

The people before her were not the ones who would sit in power once Prince Yoongi took the throne. Their sons, nephews, and cousins would take their place and pledge their loyalty to Prince Yoongi’s reign. For now, the young royals played their part and accepted the endless praise. Aga and Hoseok kept a close eye on everyone in the room, with so many new faces before the Princess, Aga felt on edge. His time spent in the palace consisted of training guards, war meetings, and watching over the Princess. There were many in this room that Aga had yet to meet and they could be a threat. 

Green-lentil jelly, pancakes, and sashimi were shared with the council members. Along with honey glazed duck, spiced jams, sweet breads, flan, pork dumplings, somen noodles in a tasty and creamy sesame miso soup, and much more. Dancers in elegant peony pink and baby blue hanbok performed a feather dance and kept the council entertained while musicians played music. The meeting hall soon filled with laughter and loud voices as the council members started to relax and enjoy themselves. 

Prince Yoongi paired a slice of beef with gat kimchi and cleared his throat softly, “My gem?”

The Princess pulled her eyes from the dancers and the smile that graced her face made the Prince’s neck heat as he stared at her. He held his chopstick in his hand, the end pitched a nice mouthful of food and he leaned closer to the Princess.

“Try this, I think you will like it.”

Princess Keena made sure that her sleeves were out of the way before she leaned forward and allowed for the Prince to feed to her. The meat was tender and melted on her tongue while the gat kimchi held a slight crunch before it slid down her throat. The Prince stared at her expectantly and she smiled.

“That was not the kimchi I’ve had before.”

The Prince grinned, pleased to see the Princess reach for more of the beef and gat kimchi. He informed her that it was the Emperor’s favorite type of kimchi and that his mother, the Empress, disliked it very much.

“And you, my Prince?” 

Prince Yoongi took a sip of his water and looked at the kimchi before he turned to the Princess to see that she had her own hand held out towards him. He licked his lips and leaned in, not once taking his eyes off her. As his lips wrapped around the beef and gat kimchi he winked with thin golden bands circled around his irises. Swallowing down the food, Prince Yoongi allowed for himself to move closer to the Princess, their thighs touched as his nose brushed against her temple and he purred low in his chest.

“I can think of something far superior.”

The side-eye from the Princess wasn’t missed by the Prince and he chuckled as he pulled away, his face pleased and smug as one side of his mouth turned upward. Princess Keena slowly turned to face the Prince and clicked her tongue before she spoke.

“There is a saying in my land,” Princess Keena lifted a cup to her mouth and sipped her tea. “Silans, tou, se yon lang.”

The Prince’s brows pulled together in confusion and the Princess smiled as she motioned for Aga to come to her side. “Silence, too, is a language.” 

As Aga reached the Princess’ side, she rose to her feet and bowed her head.

“I will retire for now, Your Highness. I must check on Cookie.”

The Prince watched as the Princess was led away and he laughed to himself. He could smell the Princess’ arousal the moment he invaded her space. Sitting upright, Prince Yoongi looked out at the council members and motioned for Hoseok. 

“Yes, Your Highness?” 

“Have Seokjin take over in my stead. I have prior engagements I must see to.”

Hoseok stared at the Prince for a while and sighed when his emotionless expression gave nothing away.

“As you wish.”

The Prince rose to his feet and everyone in the room quickly scrambled to their feet. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back as he looked out at the council members.

“Enjoy your meal and drink to your heart's content. This feast was a great honor to spend with all of you here today. As the great ones before me, I wish you all a good time. I must take my  leave for now.” Prince Yoongi spoke clearly and watched with dark eyes as everyone in the room bowed. He smirked in amusement and turned on his heels before he left the meeting space with Hoseok at his side. Seokjin sat at the bottom of the stairs where a chabudai table and chair was placed. The throne was left empty and as everyone took their seats, Seokjin smiled and raised his cup as a silent toast. 

Since the announcement in the morning and during the luncheon, the Princess’ maids and other attendants have moved most of her belongings into her room within the palace. The butterfly house was still the Princess’ cherished getaway but now that her title had changed, she was expected to stay in the palace with the other royals even with Agust’s recurring appearances.

At the butterfly house, the Princess sat outside and watched Cookie as he chased a butterfly. The boubou from earlier was replaced by a cream blouse with wide sleeves and a scoop neckline that had a soft geometric pattern. A peach wrapper sat on the Princess’ hips, an overall simple look compared to what she wore during the announcement ceremony. 

San and Kai are on guard. The pair shared a knowing look as they watched the Princess admire the flowers that Namjoon had planted.

San was nervous and excited for tonight. Together with Kai and Minho, the three made sure that everything would be perfect for the Princess’ first unofficial visit into the town. The night market was a major event in their town. Merchants and entertainers came from all over to share their goods and stories. There would not have been a better time than tonight to sneak the Princess out of the palace.

Footsteps crunched on the walkway and Princess Keena looked up, a smile spread wide on her face.

“Seokjin!”

Seokjin was dressed down from what he wore in the early morning like most of the palace staff that held positions of power. A white cross-collared shirt dropped into a white skirt with a thick pale grey silk belt wrapped around his waist. He wore a scalloped seashell-colored open cross-collared jacket over top that had pale grey and cream rumen flowers stitched along the wide sleeves. His dark bangs framed his face while the rest of his hair was pulled into a high half bun, half ponytail style that had a good portion of his hair cascading down behind his shoulders.

A wide smile took over Seokjin’s face as the Prince called his name and he continued his way to her. Once in front of the Princess, Seokjin bowed and clapped his hands.

“You looked stunning on that stage, Princess. You looked regal and elegant, a true blood born leader.”

“You flatter me, Seokjin.”

“Nonsense, Princess. You had everyone on their toes. The women of the court have yet to shut up about your attire. They are already requesting the style.”

Princess Keena felt her face warm at the news and shook her head softly. Seokjin jumped at the sudden weight on his foot and when he looked down, Cookie was sitting on his toes. Bending down, Seokjin scooped the tiger cub up with a huff. 

“He has gotten bigger since I last saw him.” Seokjin spoke as Cookie head butted his chin. “Soon none of us will be able to carry him.”

“I’m sure my guards will be able to handle Cookie. He’s just a big baby.”

The Princess reached out and scratched behind Cookie’s ears as she spoke and smiled at Seokjin.

“What brings you to the butterfly house?” 

Seokjin set Cookie down and offered his arm to the Princess, “Since His Highness is busy with his own tasks, I thought I would offer to keep you company.” Seokjin explained as the Princess slipped her arm into the crook of Seokjin’s elbow. “I really must apologize for not taking the time to visit more often.”

“You are a busy man, Seokjin. Why should I fault you for doing your job?”

Seokjin’s cheeks flushed at the Princess’ words and he started to walk along the path through the garden.

“You are too kind Princess. Your gentle candor is refreshing.” Seokjin watched his steps as Cookie ran around them in circles. “His Highness was blessed by the ones before us to have you intertwined into his life. Together, with you by his side-” Seokjin grins and chuckles, “I see a long and beautiful union for all of us.”

Seokjin had spent a few hours with Princess Keena. At some point Kai left his post by the Princess’ side; he felt unwell. Minho took his place and San knew that it would soon be time for the night’s operation to begin. 

Conversation between the Princess and Seokjin was easy. As the sun started to sink in the sky, the Princess voiced that she had felt unwell and when Seokjin offered to escort her to her chambers, Minho and San took over. They reassured him that the Princess would be okay and that he need not worry about her care. Seokjin watched as the trio walked back to the palace and he chewed on his bottom lip in worry.

In the palace, Hoseok and Aga were informed of a sudden council meeting to discuss the ongoing war and strategies to ensure an overall victory. When Hoseok left his post, Kai slipped into the Prince’s room with a small bag hidden within the belt of his outfit. Prince Yoongi sat alone in his chambers behind his desk with a scroll in front of him. Upon Kai’s arrival, the Prince rose from his seat and motioned for the guard to follow him into his bed chambers. 

In the room, Kai removed the bag from his belt and laid the contents out on the Prince’s vanity. Charcoal and commoner clothing were bundled together neatly and the Prince was impressed. Kai helped the Prince strip out of his regal clothing and carefully dressed him in the simple hanbok before he removed all the jewelry. He sat in front of the mirror and watched as Kai came up behind him. In his hands was a small cup of water and he set it on top of the vanity before he grabbed a brush and detangled the Prince’s hair. 

Once the Prince’s hair was knot free, carefully Kai pressed the charcoal stick to the blonde hair. Again and again, Kai repeated the process before he ran a fine toothed comb through the Prince’s hair to fully cover the hair. Gone were the blond strands, now replaced with flat ink black. Prince Yoongi was fascinated as he turned his head from side to side to get a better view of his dark hair. Kai pulled it into a high bun that sat on top of the Prince’s head with a simple black cloth tied around to keep it in place.

As he stood from his seat, the Prince smoothed out his hanbok and gave Namjoon a tight-lipped smile. 

“How do I look?”

Kai eyed the sand-colored jeogori that hung from the Prince’s shoulders. The matching baeja was simple enough with a white trim along the hem. The beige baji paired well with the straw jipsin shoes. The dark strands of hair really made all the difference and Kai nodded his head, pleased with the Prince’s disguise.

“I would give you a few coins if you asked.”

A smile stretched across the Prince’s face at Kai’s words and he laughed. 

“Everything else is ready for tonight?” 

“Yes, Your Highness. I recruited the help of Byulyi to assist the Princess in dressing.”

The Prince narrowed his eyes as he frowned, unimpressed with the news of Byulyi now knowing about his plan. He didn’t want more people to know about his whereabouts, but it couldn’t be helped. The Princess did indeed need help to get ready and that was a fact that the Prince had not accounted for.

In the Princess’ chambers, Byulyi helped her into the hanbok that the Prince had gifted to her a few nights ago. The other handmaids were dismissed by the Princess in fear that she would get them sick as well. Byulyi had been the first to speak up about staying behind and passed a note to the Princess while she clasped her hands tightly. The Princess agreed with little to no argument and the others left with low bows.

The sand-colored jeogori with its thick beige cuffing fitted the Princess loosely and the beige pleated chima swayed around her feet. The cognac colored norigae was carefully attached to the Princess’ skirt by Byulyi before she was led over to the vanity. Byulyi pulled the Princess’ braid to the back of her head and twisted them into a single plait that rested against her back. The cream silk ribbon with gold larch and lupine flowers embroidered at the ends was tied to the bottom of the plait to complete the look.

As the Princess walked over to the tri-view mirrors, she smiled at her overall appearance. Her makeup had been removed and replaced with a simple neutral smokey eye and a rose tinted balm to her lips. The only jewelry that she wore were the two rings with thin gold bands and three white scolecite gems on each that the Prince had gifted to her. The engagement ring was tucked away with the rest of the jewelry for safe keeping. Princess Keena had been reluctant to remove the precious gift but Byulyi had reassured her that it would be safer to leave it behind.

Out in the hall, Wonho and Jooheon stood guard. They were determined to make sure that the Princess wasn’t disturbed while she rested and recovered from her sickness. Inside the Princess’ chambers, Byulyi lit a candle and walked over to the closed window. As she opened it quickly and stood with her back facing the Princess. Silently, Byulyi covered and uncovered the flame six times before she blew out the candle and walked away from the window. The Princess was confused but Byulyi gave her a knowing smile.

“Be safe tonight Princess and have a wonderful time.”

Byulyi draped a dark cloak around the Princess’ shoulders and carefully lifted the hood over her head.

“Where am I going, Byulyi? His Highness didn’t tell me anything.”

“You will learn in due time, Princess.”

A soft knock at the window made the two women turn around and Princess Keena was surprised to see San standing in the window; his calcite eyes glowed in the darkness. 

“Time to go, Princess.”

Byulyi and San helped the Princess climb out the window and Byulyi wished them luck once more before she closed the window and covered all the sunstones for the night. Princess Keena stayed close to San’s side as he led her through a series of twists and turns until they reached a small cluster of trees. It was dark and grew darker still. As they approached, shadows started to move and the Princess’ steps faltered.

One of the shadows stepped out of the darkness and as it was bathed in silver moonlight, the Princess’ mouth dropped open in awe. There stood the Prince dressed in clothing that did not befit his status and his blond hair was gone. Dark inky locks gleamed in the moonlight, and the Prince’s lips were turned upward as he extended his hand outward towards the Princess.

"Ann ale."

Colors. So many colors, sounds, and scents surrounded the Princess as she walked beside the Prince in the busy streets of the town’s night market. The main market was lit up with sunstones that were strung up high from stall to stall. A web of lights encased in handcrafted lanterns of different colors. Hand-carved and painted signs with the names of products and pricing covered all the stalls while some had no signage. Minho and San kept ten paces from the young royals as they explored the wonders of the night market.

“Ddeokbokki! Fresh ddeokbokki!”

“Bindaetteok! Nice hot, bindaetteok!”

“Samgyupsal! We have samgyupsal!”

In the distance, a pansori told the story of how the Min Empire came to be while another one sang about the war in the West. People moved to and fro, stall to stall with baskets filled with goods. It was exciting and the Princess took it all in. The Min Empire at night was beyond her wildest dreams. Intoxicating scents of perfumes and oils danced in the air and mingled with the sweet aromas of the food. The floral and spicy scent led lonely and stressed women and men alike to the middle of town where The Vine, a prosperous inn known for its more carnal pleasures, resided.  

The building was three stories high with thick wooden posts painted a deep blue out front to hold up the impressive nameplate. The whole building was a mix of blues, creams, and golds. Splashes of brighter colors were hidden away in the rooms reserved for private use. A group of four, two women and two men, stood outside of The Vine to entice those who passed by. Their grabs were soft muted tones of pinks, reds, purples, and blues. Their necks were exposed and if their robes slipped from their shoulders, a helpful hand would fix it.

The Prince had spoken with San and Kai about The Vine, he knew to avoid that area and the walkways were wide enough to do so. Princess Keena pulled at the Prince’s hand and he allowed himself to be dragged to a vendor that sold norigae. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back as the Princess asked the merchant questions and silently inhaled the sweet tang of honey-dipped tangerines. The satgat on top of his head hid his face from those around him, only showing his mouth when he lifted his face enough to speak to different vendors. 

Prince Yoongi felt himself cross his eyes for a moment as a norigae was suddenly shoved in his face. He blinked a few times and carefully took the knotted silk in his hands. The craftsmanship was impressive and the colors were complementary to a few of his darker outfits in the palace. Red and gold silk rope was woven together in an intricately knotted design with three hanging tassels at the bottom, red on one side and gold on the other.

“The little lady has an eye for the best!” The merchant praised and Yoongi raised an eyebrow as he turned his attention to the Princess.

“My wife finished that one this afternoon, it took all month to make.”

The Prince reached into the waist of his hanbok and wrapped his fingers around his jumeoni that held his money. He asked the price and paid for it without blinking an eye. Princess Keena leaned into his side and the Prince swallowed down a pleased rumble in his chest. The merchant placed the norigae into a small wooden box and wrapped it in a tan cloth. Before he could hand it off, Prince Yoongi gave the merchant a nameplate and asked to keep it on hold. Anything that was purchased in the night would be picked up later on in the week to avoid any suspension. 

Princess Keena slipped her hand into the Prince’s and together they walked to a stall that made the Price smirk. He recognized the name of the stall, it was the vendor that sold the sweet treats. He had a few tables set up for people to sit down and enjoy their food to which Prince Yoongi pulled the Princess in that direction. They sat across from each other at a table and the Princess looked around excitedly. Her eyes were wide as they bounced from place to place. The light of the sunstones reflected in her eyes and the Prince found himself reaching his arm out across the table. 

Princess Keena grinned down at his hand and cupped the back of his hand in hers. Using her other hand, she traced invisible shapes into the Prince’s palm with the tips of her blunt nails. A pleasant shiver crawled down the Prince’s back and he carefully removed his hat, placing it on the seat beside him. He made sure to choose a table that wasn’t in the direct light of the sunstones so that he could enjoy this moment.

“Are you enjoying yourself, my gem?”

“There are no words to express my gratitude...Yoongi.”

The Prince’s fingers wrapped tightly around the Princess’ fingers and he purred. He brought the Princess’ hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips one by one. He never took his eyes off hers and smirked as silver started to quiver to life in the darkness.

A waiter came over to take their order and the Prince rattled off a few different treats. Everything was picked with the knowledge that he had gained over the time spent with the Princess. Hotteok, danpatjuk, yakgwa and manju with a pot of tieguanyin tea on the side.

In the palace, Hyungwon and his assistant Yunho, a dwarf cyclops, tended to the Emperor as he laid in bed. Empress Eunkyung sat at his bedside, eyes bloodshot and puffy from her endless crying. The Emperor was ill and his sickness incurable. From Hyungwon’s examinations and tests, Emperor Chungho had three months to live; six at the most. It was a sickness of his lungs and from what Hyungwon saw, they were slowly withering away bit by bit. The blood that the Emperor coughed up was proof of his lungs' degenerative state.

The news was swiftly delivered to Hoseok and Aga as they exited the war meeting together. They decided to tell the young royals together in hopes that they would be able to comfort each other. Prince Yoongi wasn’t in his chambers, the guards at his door informed Hoseok that the Princess had fallen ill, so His Highness had gone to stay by her side. Aga bristled at the news but kept his thoughts to himself. They made their way to the Princess’ chambers where Chan and Jooheon stood guard.

“Why was I not informed of the Princess’ state?” Aga glared at the two guards and Chan stood his ground.

“Byulyi said that she sent word to you already. Had she not?” 

Aga and Hoseok shared a look before they pushed open the doors of the Princess’ chambers. Byulyi scrambled to her feet and bowed to both Aga and Hoseok.

“It seems to be some miscommunication, Byulyi.” Hoseok didn’t take his eyes off the maid as he spoke. “Word of the Princess’ illness had not reached us and yet the Prince is here with her?” Hoseok clicked his tongue and took a step towards the bed chambers.

Byulyi stepped in his way and crossed her arms over her chest. “I was giving strict orders from His Highness to not allow anyone to disturb his and the Princess’ slumber.” 

“Oh?” Hoseok raised an eyebrow and took one step forward to crowd Byulyi’s space. “And will you take responsibility for my important notice being ignored for the sake of beauty sleep?”

Byulyi’s gaze wavered. What news did Hsoeok speak of? Could she risk it? It had only been a few hours, two at the most since the young royals left the palace. She wanted them to enjoy their freedom a little longer. Squaring her shoulders, Byulyi narrowed her eyes.

“I will.” 

Hoseok huffed, annoyed but impressed. He licked his lips and glanced over his shoulder to Aga who stood by and watched the whole encounter. He nodded his head with a sigh and turned his attention back to Byulyi.

“Forgive me, my dear.”

Before Byulyi could react to Hoseok’s words, he had dug his fingers into a pressure point and caught Byulyi’s limp body in his arms. Scooping her up, he carried her over to the couch and placed her down gently. Aga opened the door to the Princess’ sleeping chambers and the squawk that left his mouth made Hoseok cringe. Aga stepped out of the room and charged to the front of the room. He ripped open the doors and grabbed Chan by his shoulders. Chan hissed in pain as he was slammed into the stone wall.

“Where are they?!” Aga’s voice was an airy mix of whistles,  a song of death that only came from the lips of a citron crane.

Jooheon moved to pull Aga off of Chan when Hoseok held him back. The heat that seeped through his robes and singed his skin was uncomfortable. Flames danced in Hoseok’s amber eyes as he glared at Jooheon.

“Answer the question, kid. Where are the Prince and Princess?” 

The beat of the drums rang throughout the night. Armed guards filled the streets of the night market and stopped anyone who had their face covered. The Prince and Princess were missing from the palace. Any other time, Hoseok would have searched for the young couple without a fuss but with the news of the Emperor’s impending demise, he had no time for subtlety. Minho and San were easily recognized by the other guards and led back to the palace. They both thought to put up a fight but feared the young royal’s cover would be blown. 

In all the commotion, Prince Yoongi pulled the Princess away from the main street and ran between buildings, back towards the palace. The backways were dark and some smelled of waste and spoiled food but the Prince paid no mind to it once he heard additional footsteps echo around him. Someone, maybe three people from the missteps, were following them and Agust coiled himself tightly around Yoongi’s heart. Slowly a gold ring brightened around Yoongi’s iris and his hold on the Princess’ hand tightened. 

A body suddenly dropped from the rooftop followed by two more and Yoongi growled in warning. Footfalls from behind made his back stiffen and he shoved the Princess closer to the wall beside them. His satgat had fallen off his head and hung at his back thanks to the beaded gatkkeun that was attached to it. Prince Yoongi narrowed his eyes and bared his elongated fangs as the footsteps behind him came to a stop. They were surrounded and the Prince wondered where Minho and San were.

“Hand over the girl and we’ll let you live, boy.”

From the accent that the words were spoken in, the Prince knew that these bandits were not from town. As he took in their garb, he noticed that they were dressed in darker colors and wore black leather trousers but what stood out was the scabbard on their waist. The hilt was an ivy white while the sheath was black with golden metal plating. The craftsmanship reminded the Prince of a dagger that he once saw in a book about the West. He narrowed his eyes and positioned himself between the men, ten he counted, and the Princess.

“If you want to leave with your pathetic lives, leave now!”

The men all laughed and drew their swords and daggers all at once. Prince Yoongi cursed for not arming himself with any weapons for the night. Princess Keena pressed herself closer to the wall to shield her back and watched as the men all readied themselves to attack. 

One man lunged and the Prince sent him flying into the building across from them with a single kick to the man’s stomach. His skull hit the wall with a loud crack before he slumped to the ground. Another charged at the Prince and threw a punch that the Prince caught. He pulled the man in closer and sent his knee into the man’s chest three times before he shoved him away.

Prince Yoongi settled into a fighting stance and two men charged at once with their swords. He  shifted their attention to him as he moved out of the way so that the Princess wouldn’t be hurt. He blocked their attacks with his forearms before he kicked them away and smirked. Three out of the four men were groaning on the ground and slowly picked themselves up. A taller man, the leader, if they had to guess, narrowed his eyes and spit on the ground.

“Kill ‘im.”

⚠⚠⚠

Four of the men rushed in and the Prince was caught off guard for a moment. He thrusted his arm out to catch the wrist of the closet man, twisting the man's arm at an awkward angle for the sword to drop. The sickening crack of bone breaking made the Princess wince and cover her mouth as the food from earlier threatened to come back up. The man staggered back, holding his injured arm while the Prince fended off the other three men with the stolen sword. Another man snuck against the wall and kept to the darkness as he crept towards the Princess. 

The clinking of swords echoed in the night and Hoseok’s ears were ringing. The market was a mess with thugs and lowlifes attacking vendors for their goods. It was chaos and Hoseok was worried for his friends. He had not seen any trace of the Prince nor the Princess and something deep in his gut felt wrong. The sky above came to life, stars snuffed out by thick wafts of clouds. The air smelt of petrichor, dense and electric as thunder rolled about. 

A sudden squall of wind, chilling for the warmer night sent a shiver down Hoseok’s spin. A storm was coming and it wasn’t natural. Hoseok gathered the Princess’ guards, even though he felt like everything was their fault and motioned for them to follow him.

“Circle back to the palace! Split up and check the backways!”

The Prince was panting as he punched another man in his face. His fist hurt but he ignored the pain as someone came at him with two swords. Prince Yoongi grunted as he blocked the double blades and fought to keep his balance. The man before he was larger but the Prince remembered his training with Aga.

He let the man gain the upper hand by letting his arms give out before he kicked out his leg and swept the man’s feet out from underneath him. Using that same momentum, the Prince thrusted the blade forward right down into the man’s stomach and yanked it upward, like he had gutted a fish.

“Yoon-!”

The Princess’ voice caught Yoongi’s attention and he saw that she was now surrounded by three men. He hadn’t realized that the men he had fought had put such a distance between himself and the Princess. He took a step in the Princess’ direction and two more men attacked him. As he fought, one pulled a dragger from his hip and lunged. Yoongi was able to block the sword but the dagger was longer than normal and gave the other man the chance to get too close. The blade striked the Prince and his vision blurred, scarlet red. A sudden warmth with a stinging undertone, radiated along the right side of his face.

The Prince gripped his face with one hand. Blood seeped through his fingers and trickled down his wrist as he swung his sword blindly in the other, staggering backwards. He tripped over one of the fallen men and before he could catch himself one of the men grabbed his head from behind and smashed it into the closest wall. 

What little vision he had blurred even more and the Princess’ scream echoed in his ears. He struggled to stay upright and the man behind him slammed his head once more into the wall. Black spots entered the Prince’s vision and as he crumbled to the ground, he felt Agust’s claws as they sank deep into his heart.

Worry not, Princeling

Three men were left behind to check on the well-being of the others that were injured by Prince Yoongi. They paid no mind to the broken body that laid battered and bruised, bleeding out onto the dirt. If they had known who he was, they would have run long before they dared attack. Now? Now it was too late. Obsidian was flooded with pure gold, inky black iridescent scales covered more and more pale skin in larger patches and the pink tongue was now indigo and forked.

One man passed over the Prince’s body and spit at the ground in front of him. He noticed that the Prince was still breathing and glowered at the younger man. He squatted down before the Prince and pulled a dagger from his hip. He moved the satgat out of the way and grabbed the topknot that kept the Prince’s hair out of his face with a sneer.

“Enjoy living in disgrace,” the man sniggered and chopped the Prince’s topknot off without a second thought. 

The bun was clutched in the man’s fist and he laughed loudly, pleased with himself. However, the victorious joy was short-lived once he noticed the black scales on the Prince’s neck and face. With the satgat no longer blocking the Prince’s features, the man saw small black horns, almost like thorns that framed the Prince’s eyebrows and two thick black horns that weren’t there before. He swallowed thickly and dropped the topknot on the ground before he scrambled to his feet.

An iron-like vice gripped his ankle and he froze. Long, pointed nails seemingly dipped in tar pierced the skin and the man groaned in pain as he felt his muscle and bone rub together. The bone snapped and the man cried as he fell to the ground. The other men, now four in total, rushed over. They watched uncertain, swords raised in defense as the Prince picked himself up off the ground. His black hair hung around his ears unevenly and stuck to the bloody mud on his face. 

This was not the same man they had tried to kill. This, this was a monster.

Agust grinned at the men before him; his pointed teeth gleamed a wicked red from the flood that trickled into his mouth. He licked his lips and spit the bloody dirt on the ground. He rolled his shoulders and flexed his fingers a few times, his pointed nails glossy and soaked in blood. 

He blinked once and he was in front of the men, nearly nose to nose. He growled as he grabbed one man by the throat and threw him through the wall of the building nearby. The other men dropped to their knees and begged for their lives. Agust squatted down in front of them, setting his elbow on his knee before he rested his chin in his palm.

“And why sssshould I ssspare your livessss?” His words were strung together with a hissed lisp that encased the men’s heart in pure dread.

“T-The girl!” One blurted out to save himself. “I-I know where they took the girl!”

Agust’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits and he lashed out without a word. The man’s whole body went rigid and he looked down slowly as he started to shake. Agust’s arm, up until his elbow was in the man’s chest. His heart beat dully in Agust’s bloodied hand that stuck out his back. 

The other two men watched in horror as Agust ripped his hand out and squished the man’s heart right before his very eyes before he died. He turned his gaze to the other men left and they begged for their lives. Agust enjoyed ripping them limb from limb. The only other survivor was the man who had the crushed ankle and Agust dragged him by the front of his shirt.

“Ssshow me where they took my treasssure!”

A downpour drowned out the muffled shouting that came from inside a storage room behind The Vine. The building was surrounded by lilac and clematis flowers with a cluster of yew trees that casted eerie shadows against the walls. 

Inside the tree men from the alleyway argued with each other about what to do with Princess Keena. They had tied her hands together at the wrists, behind her back and had her knelt on the cold hanji paper-covered floor. Water dripped from her hair and dripped onto the floor. A puddle had started to form where she knelt in silence.

They had not expected the man she was with to put up such a fight and cut their numbers down so quickly. The leader of the group was sure that the man was dead by now but he required a greater sum of money for the inconvenience of having to replace two of his men.

Money was heavy on his mind but as he looked at the Princess, unknowing of her true value, he licked his lips. The hanbok she wore was soaked through. The light beige color had darkened to a brown and clung to her body. The Princess kept her head down, her eyes closed as she willed Ceyeh to slowly come to the surface.

Princess Keena knew a bit more than the very basics of fighting. She could hold her own well enough against one person, but not three. Ceyeh had been a warrior in her time and knew how to protect the Princess at the cost of someone else’s life. It was a price she was willing to pay if need be. 

Behind closed eyes, silver curled and spread through the irises of the Princess. Ceyeh pushed the Princess’ conscious state of mind behind her. Warm brown and soft grey feathers wrapped around the Princess’ subconscious and held her tightly. 

“Not gonna scream for help, girl?” 

Ceyeh ignored the voice that spoke to her as she controlled her presence. No feathers sprouted from her skin and she focused on the shift of her nails. The nail bed turned a deep grey and the rounded tips grew into pointed talons. 

The leader of the group grabbed a fist full of Ceyeh’s hair and jerked her head up. The watery blue silver of her eyes caught him off guard and he grinned wickedly.

“A shifter? Never had a taste of one before.”

The man’s breath was rancid, teeth rotted and many missing. He gripped Ceyeh’s face in his hand harshly and turned her head every which way. He examined her and watched as goosebumps rose on the exposed skin of her shoulder.

“A nice consolation for the death of my men. It has been some time since I’ve last touched someone so-” 

As thunder roared overhead the trees outside hit against the building. Lightning lit up the sky and casted their shadows against the wall. Ceyeh glared up at the man and he looked over his shoulder at the other two men in the room.

“Did you hear that?” 

The men looked at each other confused.

“The thunder?” 

The man in front of Ceyeh spit on the ground and threw her body to the floor. He had heard something in the thunder.

“I think our men are back. Shall we give them a show?”

Ceyeh silently sliced through the rope that bound her hands as the man above her talked. If it was a show they wanted, it was a show they would get. Ceyeh caught the rope in her hands and dropped them on the ground before she made her move. The leader moved faster, he had her pushed onto her stomach and straddled her waist. He leant down and chuckled in her ear as he held her head down against the floor.

“Nice try girlie.”

He licked the side of her face, the warmth of his saliva cooled quickly as he pulled away with a pleased hum. 

“Hold her down!” He ordered his men and they moved quickly. Both men grabbed one of Ceyeh’s arms and pinned them down while the leader pulled his dagger from his hip and cut into the fabric of her hanbok. Ceyeh struggled as she tried to pull herself free but the men were surprisingly much stronger. It had been a long time since she last had to defend herself like this.

“Oh ho!” The man sneered as he looked at the markings on Ceyeh’s back. “What filth is this?” His rough fingers touched the raised marking on Ceyeh’s back and Ceyeh fought harder to get free. “Such a pretty face for a disfigured body.”

A hand pushed the skirts of her hanbok up and Ceyeh clenched her teeth. Feathers started to sprout along her ears and corners of her eyes. Her leg shifted as she dug her talons into the floor and readied herself for the pain she was about to inflict on herself. Brown feathers started to grow from her shoulders.

As they hardened, a crash filled the air as a body dressed in the men’s garb went soaring through the only door of the storage room. The body smacked into the wall, a single hole held the limp body in place by its smashed head. Blood dripped down the wall and splashed onto the floor in crimson pearls.

Through the petrichor, as Agust encroached on the storage house, he smelt the fermented and sour scent of the Princess. She was in danger and Agust growled as he heard a man’s voice over the rain. He dragged the man from the alleyway through the mud, not once caring that his broken ankle was jostled about. He broke the man’s jaw to keep him quiet and once the storage house was pointed out, Agust snapped his neck without a moment's hesitation.

⚠⚠⚠

As the scent of tangerines turned sharper and grew more bitter, Agust had enough. With no warning, he chucked the man in his hands through the doors of the storage room with such force that he became one with the wall. A grand improvement in Agust’s eyes, though before he could voice his musings he took in the sight before him. Princess Keena was pinned to the floor, her skirt was pulled up past her thighs and a man was straddling her from behind. As the man jumped to his feet, Agust caught sight of the off-colored markings on the Princess’ back and thick black smoke spilled from his mouth as fire burned in his chest.

Screams echoed in the night, suffocated by the howling winds and cherry-sized raindrops. Blood dripped from the ceiling and pooled onto the floor under torn limbs. Agust blinked once, twice, thrice before the sweltering heat in his chest settled into a dull flame. Golden eyes shimmered in the night, reflective as light flashed outside. His hair was plastered to his face, wet from the rain and blood that had started to clot. 

Agust cracked his knuckles and wiped his hands on his blood soaked trouser before he ran a semi-clean hand through his hair.  The choppy strands irritated the cut on his eye. The sound of shuffling caught his attention and he turned on his heels sharply with a growl in his throat. 

Silver and gold, two colors that had not existed in the same space in eons, meat silently. Agust’s body was frozen as glistening tears spilled from those all too familiar silver pools. A single drop of blood plopped down from the ceiling and splashed on the Ceyeh’s cheek. A small river of tinted red streamed down her face, yet she made no move to wipe it away. 

Agust stepped forward with a hand raised and Ceyeh’s arm shot out with a startled gasp as she took a quick step backwards. The distance wasn’t much, a handful of footsteps yet Agust felt that there were whole continents between them.

“My moon?”

[ishouldbedoinghw]

You Can't Erase Me

One Piece fanfic, part 6

Previous parts are in my pinned masterlist.

A woman enslaved by the celestial dragons is found by a man with red hair. Angst and comedy ensues.

A/N: This story will follow the canon loosely; some events will stay the same, others will be edited for the plot. The timing of events will also be slightly edited from canon so that certain characters are included. The main character is an OC of mine and in her mid-20s. Yes this is important. Character design will likely come soon.

TW: slavery, human trafficking, discussion of trauma, general angst, mention of nudity but it isn't sexual, alcohol consumption, Shanks

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

I'm not sure what color hair I have. At first I think it's pink, then red, then a purple. I can't help but feel as if I've seen the color somewhere, but I couldn't remember what it's called.

I lean in closer to the mirror, my nose almost brushing the cold surface. My skin is a dull shade of chestnut, and freckles are spattered over the bridge of my nose, which seemed a little too big for my face. My eyes are wide and sunken into my skull, the skin around them a dark purple. I couldn't decide whether or not I liked the color of my irises, the bright yellow-green reminding me of bugs.

I trace my fingers around my neck. It's paler than the rest of my skin, and rough to the touch. Every direction I twisted my head, it puckered and wrinkled, as if it was protesting against being stretched.

Seeing myself and knowing my name made me feel alive.

I was Jett. I was real.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Girlie, you done?" Hongo called.

I hurredly tugged on the blue shirt and baggy shorts Shanks had given me before pulling open the door. Hongo stood there with an older man with long gray hair pulled into a ponytail. Somehow he seemed taller than even Shanks, and he barely fit in the bathroom doorway.

"This is Benn Beckman, he'll bring you onto the deck if you want. Some jackass got himself stabbed in a bar, I'll change your bandage later." Hongo disappeared down the hallway, leaving me to hold onto Benn's outstretched arm.

"I'm assuming Shanks gave you that to wear," Benn remarked as he led me down the hall opposite the direction Hongo went.

"Um- yeah."

He chuckled. "I'll apologize for him, lass, because he probably won't."

I really hadn't thought about how the clothing looked, but when I peered down to study my shorts I grimaced - they were heinous.

"Don't sweat it, lass, we won't make you look like a Shanks clone for too long."

He paused in front of a door, turning to look down at me with his hand on the latch.

"Just a fair warning, some of the crew's back, and-"

The door was snatched open, and Benn moved his hand to grip the one I had curled around the crook of his elbow.

What was it with this crew and just barging in places?

A blonde, dark-skinned man wearing a headband that said 'YASOPP' was leaning against the now-open door. He didn't do much to block the sunlight pouring in, and I had to massage my temples and blink away the white spots dancing in my vision before I could even look outside.

"Damn, Benn got to the lovely gal first," the man, who presumably was the Yasopp Hongo often complained about, drawled. I almost laughed in his face, knowing damn well I looked like hell and not a touch "lovely."

"Don't be a nuisance, Yasopp," said Benn.

Yasopp clutched his chest dramatically and pretended to weep, throwing an arm over his face. "You wound me, Bennjamin. I'm nothing but kind and compassionate to you-"

"Shove that horseshit up someone else's ass," Benn grunted, "Preferably your own."

I couldn't help but giggle, catching the two men's attention. Benn sighed, rummaging for something in his coat pocket before leading me out the door.

The sea had to be the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

Benn led me over to the railing along the side of the ship, careful to keep me steady over any damp spots. Letting go of his arm, I leaned over the railing as far as my nerves would let me.

Light danced over the little chopping waves that pattered against the ship, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that almost hurt my eyes to look at. Bright turquoise faded into a deep sapphire as it stretched into the horizon. My vision blurred off into the distance, but the vast nothingness that laid before me was almost haunting. I wondered what it would be like to soar on wings above it, to feel lost in the sky surrounded by nothing but blue.

The gentle flick of a lighter drew my attention, and I turned to see Benn taking a long drag from a cigarette, the end burning a bright amber. He let out a heavy breath, smoke spilling from his lips. My eyes watered, a bit, and I struggled not to cough as I tried scooching away.

"Shit, sorry, lass," he says, his face turned in the opposite direction.

I faced the water again, squinting to see how far my vision could reach.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Benn grunts, a slight smile on his face. "It never seems to end."

"Has anyone seen all of it?"

If he's surprised by my question, he doesn't show it. "One man has, but that's a story Shanks knows more about than I do." He grimaces, then mutters, "Maybe you shouldn't ask him, he might gab on about the damn clown-"

"Benn, if you don't shut the fuck up right now, I'm going to shoot your kneecaps." Yasopp's voice was chilling compared to the easy tone he had earlier, and his expression was downright murderous.

"I guess Shanks is on his way back, then," said Benn, undisturbed. "Please never mention clowns or bugs around him, lass, you'd be signing us up for torture."

"A sick and unusual punishment, indeed," said Yasopp somberly.

Benn, having finished his cigarette, steps toward me. "Guess we'd better introduce you to some of the crew."

"Although I'm afraid you've already met the most handsome and awesome member," Yasopp cuts in, dramatically flexing his arms.

"Don't you have other shit to do?"

"Such a dirty mouth around a lady, Benn! I would never-" and he faded off, still babbling as he disappeared below deck.

Benn let out a sigh, rummaged in his pocket again, then paused before thinking better of it. "Alright, lass, in case no one's told you yet, welcome to the Red Force, ship of the Red-Haired pirates."

I almost pointed out that Shanks was the only one with red hair that I'd seen, but decided to keep my mouth shut.

More of the crew started appearing here and there, carrying various crates and bags of things, though I couldn't make my vision focus enough to see. I had to squint to make out some of the various crew members Benn started pointing out, but most of them seemed so happy to be introduced to me that I couldn't bring myself to say I couldn't see most of them from where we were.

What I was able to notice, however, was how odd some of their names were. Rockstar? Limejuice? Bonk Punch? Building Snake? What in the actual hell? Benn gave no indication that these were just nicknames, either, and didn't acknowledge how strange they sounded.

Another thing I noticed was how big everyone was. I thought Benn would be the tallest man I'd ever seen, but Building Snake - damn, it felt stupid to refer to anyone like that - was basically a giant. Despite everyone's daunting appearance, however, everyone seemed good-natured and cheerful - with the exception of Limejuice, who seemed more quiet and serious, though still polite.

Gab won me over almost immediately, with his sweet and bashful demeanor contrasting his fearsome appearance. As one of the few members I actually saw up close, I was able to see just how much he looked like a lion with his long, wild hair and sharp teeth. He didn't say much, but he did give me a timid smile before scurrying off, evidently not for conversation with strangers. I couldn't blame him. I was leaned over the railing again, watching the water as the sun started to dip when Hongo shouted for me.

"Jett! Let me change up your bandage before we eat." I didn't think I'd ever get tired of hearing other people say my name. It made me feel less like some poor, weak stray that had turned up and more like a person.

As soon as I was wrapped back up, my back stinging slightly, Hongo was pushing a cane in my hands, telling me I needed to start walking longer distances on my own. While it was exhausting, I had to admit it was liberating to be able to move around independently, with no grumpy pirate to lead me around.

I'd just made my way back out onto the deck when i heard a loud, sharp whoop. The men seemed unfazed by it, continuing to load up- whatever pirates loaded up. Food? Water? Weapons, maybe?

It wasn't until Shanks made it up onto the deck that I figured out who it was. I was right - Shanks was the only crew member with red hair, and I was able to decipher him from much farther away than the others. He was carrying something large and round on his shoulder, and as he drew closer, I could see the wide grin on his face.

"We're celebratin' tonight, boys, I got my hands on the good stuff!" he shouted, all but slamming down what looked to be a barrel from his shoulder to the floor.

"We've got a new crewmate to welcome!"

-------

It was the first time since arriving that I had eaten with the crew. We were all out on the deck stuffing ourselves, and I was still buzzing from what Shanks had said earlier.

Crewmate.

Did they like me that much? Everyone seemed so happy that I was here, it was unreal. They didn't even know who the hell I was- although I didn't exactly know that either.

All night, I'd received choruses of "Oi, lass," or "Aye, miss," or the occasional "Need more food, little lady?"

The last one tended to come from the ship's cook, Lucky Roux, who was about as wide as he was tall. He always seemed to be knawing on a meat rack, a wide smile across his face. Out of all the crewmates I'd met, he was the sweetest; though if he was a little more outgoing, Gab could certainly give him a run for his money. Roux also seemed hellbent on making my stomach explode; any time I finished something on my plate, we was shoveling me more.

Benn sat beside me, his manners probably as proper as any pirate's could be. Shanks sat opposite him, having finished eating a while ago and was continuously chugging a foul-smelling liquid that Hongo had forbidden from me. He'd said that it would react badly with the medicine I was on; he also looked like he'd murder everyone on the ship if I didn't listen to him.

It seemed like everyone was drinking the stuff - liquor, I thought, after watching Shanks's cheeks flush and and most of the crew get a little less precise with their movements. Benn and Hongo were the only ones aside from me staying sober, and I was grateful for it. Hongo was in and out, making sure I was eating the right things then disappearing back into the cabin.

"He's cleaning," Benn grunted, fiddling with an unlit cigarette.

"Honey?" Shanks piped in, "the man's obsessed, I swear."

"Someone's got to be clean on this ship, and I know it won't be you, Captain," Benn snapped.

"What's up your ass, Benn, you've been a dick all night," Shanks giggled, "oh my god, maybe it's dic-"

"He hasn't had his smokes today," Yasopp interrupted, swaying slightly with an arm around Lucky Roux's shoulders.

Benn just grunted, his hand twitching.

I thought back to earlier that day, when he'd looked so guilty at making me cough. Did he stop because of me?

"Um- Benn- if it's because of me," I hesitated before continuing, "I don't mind if you smoke."

Shanks gasped dramatically, saying, "She does speak-"

"Shut it, you arse. Don't be rude," Benn snapped. He turned to me, and in a gentler tone he said, "I'll be fine, lass, don't want to spoil your lungs."

"I'm not a child, Benn, I'll be fine if you go somewhere else to smoke," I blurted out before I could stop myself.

If I'd pissed him off, he didn't show it; he just squeezed my shoulder, muttered an "alright then," and walked off.

Shanks absolutely cackled at this interaction, having no shame in teasing his first mate. "Spooky, I wish you could see well enough to look at his face right now." Genuine tears rolled down his cheeks, and he sloppily wiped them away.

With the absence of Benn, Yasopp and Lucky Roux had fixed themselves around me, snickering at each other.

"So, Jett," Yasopp started, "how old are you, if you aren't a kid."

I had to think for a moment. In truth, I had no idea how I knew I wasn't a kid. How young did I think I kid was, anyway? Eighteen? Twenty? Was I older than that?

"I- I'm not sure," I admitted, and Yasopp stiffened a bit.

"Amnesia that bad, huh?" he jokes lamely.

"I WISH THAT I COULD WAKE UP WITH AMNESIA-" Shanks's singing was awful, and the crew seemed to share that opinion, Yasopp grimacing and Lucky Roux's smile faltering.

"Shanks-" someone started to say before I interrupted.

"You're going to make me more deaf than I already am." It was quiet, but Shanks caught it, and he guffawed before his face settled into a pout.

"I'll have you know I'm a terrific singer, Spooky, you lot just have no taste."

Yasopp scoffed, before covering it with a cough that made Roux chuckle.

"The lady's got a bit of a mouth on 'er, even if she is quiet," Yasopp slung an arm around me, his blonde dreads brushing my shoulder.

-------

The night wore on, and although I was exhausted, and Benn had suggested more than once that I should probably be asleep, I found myself captivated by how the crew interacted with each other. They laughed and joked around each other, and everyone was happy to be there. A few of them seemed to have partied to hard - Shanks being one of them - and were either vomiting into the ocean or passed out.

Somehow, Shanks's head had ended up in my lap, and Yasopp and Roux were sitting across from us. Benn was constantly smoking a small ways from us, something that worried me until Yasopp assured me it was completely normal "Benn behavior".

"Ssssshhhpooookyyyyyy," Shanks slurred from my lap, and I awkwardly patted his head.

"Hm?" I'd gotten more confident in my voice as the night had worn on, saying a few more words at a time, and responding more often.

"Benn said - hic - Benn said the shorts I gave you were uglyyyy," he whined.

"Well- I- yeah," I said, looking at the bright purple stripes that adorned said shorts. "But thanks for letting me wear them."

The redhead shifted to face me, grinning. "Don' worry Shpook, we'll get you some woman clothes sometime."

I hummed a minute, looking away from him.

"Shanks," I finally said, gazing out over the dark where the ocean should be.

"Hrrngh," he grunted.

"Why are you letting me stay here?"

----------

Shanks POV

I looked at her, but she wouldn't meet my eyes. I'd seen the look on her face countless times on countless faces. I tried moving to sit up, but glaring white spots danced over my vision, and my head spun. Fuck.

I was way too drunk for this.

The truth was that in the time she'd already been with us, no one had been able to find any record of her existence. No missing person reports, no recent kidnappings - nothing that suggested someone was looking for her. It was Benn that suggested she might've been gone long enough that people had stopped looking for her; and I had a terrible suspicion he was right. It wasn't uncommon for all records of a person who'd been sold as a slave to "mysteriously" disappear, but usually someone would get by with reporting them in the News Coo. Some of the crew, including myself and Benn, had looked through almost a year's worth of any news, reports, or even wanted posters.

Our girl was nowhere to be found. To make things worse, Hongo shared his fear that the amnesia she had could be permanent, even if her vision and hearing improve. So, she couldn't tell us herself.

Maybe I could get Mihawk to look at some Marine record or something.

I shoved those thoughts away. We'd keep looking, but at some point, we'd have to tell her. But for now, I'd do my best to keep her happy.

"Finder's keepers, Spooks," I said finally, pushing myself up and groaning.

She watched as I raised my bottle, and I could've sworn I saw her smile a little when I shouted, "A toast! To our newest crewmate and friend!"

Nothing but cheers erupted from the crew.

[aggressivenesswhilecrying]

The meaning of red

Summery:

Grian had fallen, and after the months of near death, he gets better, but sadly, scar wasn't home fast enough. And this is just the monologing of a ghost.

TRIGGER WARNING, UH, DEATH, THIS IS VERY DEAD, LIKE, THE MAIN PLOT POINT IS DEATH, ANGST, BLOOD, YOU GET THE POINT, I THOUGHT "WHATS THE SCARIEST THING NATURAL TO HUMANS" ITS DEATH

Not proof read or edited

(This is another fic for the @mcyt-halloween event!! I might be a little crazy, cuz I read the message about possibly writing this one not even 12 hours ago, and this is for @skydoesthings my wifffeee<<<3333)

(If you could please tell me your ao3 username, I would love to gift this to you on there<3333)

The air was cool, like a comforting blanket, the desert nights are always cool, wrapping around you with a chill to your very bones. Grian knows it well. Griam has lived here his entire life. That the truth, he was born, raised, and killed, in this desert. it was almost stupid. Standing above his still young body. Which laid wrapped in blankets, skin still red with fever, he knows the color will be gone soon. 

He knows that there was no light.

He knows that there has still been no reaper to take his soul.

His last moments had been spent coughing, and coughing, then, he felt it rise. He had no idea it was well, possible to vomit so God damn hard that it was red. Straight pure red. But. He knew, the second he saw it, the red. The *blood*. That this was the end. He tried to reach for his phone, he really did.

Maybe tell his mom he's sorry she has to go to his funeral instead of the other way around. Or call his sister, tell pearl he's sorry he never got to go to her wedding. He heard her and cleo are engaged now. Tell mumbo that he hopes his next Redstone machine will win at that competition. Maybe call Scott and tell him he won't be there for the next mcc.

No. He reached for the hpone to tell scar. Just One more time. That he loves him. that the cacti farm idea wasn't that stupid. That he's been feeding jellie more treats then scar wanted. That his monical his in grains underwear drawer, he didn't lose it, grian just hid it. That he loves scar, but gods did he hate those cookies.

He wanted to tell him a lot. He really did. But he started to cough again. He was light headed. And then he couldnt breath. every gasping breath barely last long enough. His world got fuzzy around the sides. Then it was red. Everything was red. 

Standing back, grian doesn't know how to feel. Looking at his corpse. It's. Well. It's red. His sweater and pajam pants were already red, he wanted to wear something matching. His skin bright red with sickness. Then of course, the blood. His dripped down his chin. It covered his blankets. He was red. A violent color. A loving color. A bold color. He really was red.

Scar is at work. If he didn't go in, he would have gotten fired. And they financially couldn't afford for scar to lose his job. Grian already lost his a few weeks in. 

He has been getting better when scar left. His temp was going down, he hadn't thrown up. But then, he'd taken a nap. And it just...grian didn't have the time. He's glad scar didn't have to see it happen, but still, he knows the man will feel beyond guilty. 

He didn't know what to do. He's a ghost in a living house. 

The house felt beyond alive, everything around him felt to be breathing. But him. But, that might be the remains of sick hallucinating. He isn't sure.

He refuses to look in a mirror, he doesn't think he'd be able to see himself. And even if he did,, he doesn't want to see the same, pale, red, sick face. Red. Red. Red. 

The door to home open, and stuck in place, grian watches scar. 

"Hey gri!! I'm b…..back….." the cheerful scar opened the door, his work clothes for the bank on, skin tight, and he had a large grin on his face as he rolled in. That was untill he caught sight of grian.

Grian didn't want to watch anymore. Grian didn't want to watch as scar hurried over, checking his pulse before tears started to pour heavily when there was nothing there. Grian didn't want to watch as scar pulled the dead body off the the couch and sobbed. Grian didn't want to see scar covered in red. He didn't half to watch, he could hear it all.

Scar was green. Scar will always be green. His 3yes are green, his nails are painted green. Scar is green. Green is alive. Green is growth. Green means go, go fourth, red won't stop you anymore. Green means the red fire is gone, green means it can grow from the ashes red left. Green is calm, green is good. Green is the color of when scar throws up his lunch.  Scar is green. And now grians dirty, dirty red, is getting all over him.

He heard scar call the cops, a blabbering mess. Grain decided to float off. Curling up into his bed knees to his chest. He could see his through his knees. He doesn't remember the last time he had been in his room. it had been far too long ago.

Old mirror and clocks, and paintings hung the walls. Silly radios and casset recorders and VHS tapes and type writers, and books, and jusr, so much, surrounded him, drowning h8m in memories and joy. Scar had gotten him a TV with a VHS player in it. Big and bulky, but he loved it. Pearl didn't know what to get him for his birthday, but she had gotten him an old falling apart coocoo clock. He had fixed it up and hung it right by his door and cried. So many stupid memories. He guesses he's apart of those memories now.

Around his the room exhoed and singed of memories that arent his. Everything whispered of joy of having been loved again. Everything, once again. Was alive but him.

A poor, helpless ghost, in a house so alive. He heard some people leave the rooms of loved ones as they are when they pass. He wonders if scar will do that. Or if scar wont be able to handle it here, won't be able to imagine living here any longer, and move out. He almost hopes scar leaves. Maybe then scars green won't be dirtied with his red. 

STOP.

STOP.

RED MEANS STOP.

Months had passed. 7 months, 2 weeks, and 6 days to be exact. Grian was pronounced dead at 6:42pm on the 26th of June. The house was at 68 Fahrenheit becuase of the cooling temp outside. Jellie had gotten out through a window. And grian was already dead. With his sickly state. He looked almost like he died days ago. They say he died only an hour or less before scar had gotten there. scar had gotten home at 6:25pm, it took ambulance 15 minutes to get there. Grian was dead long ago. 

Scar is infront of grians door. His wheelchair at a full stop. He bit his lip as his body seemed to shake with an empty feeling in his chest. He opened the door for the first time in a year. 

A red, sickly ghost sits on grians bed. Blonde hair having grown out, looking shaggy. Empty, red, beautiful eyes look at him. Scars breath stops right in its fast and uneven place. 

Red is a sad color. And green is for mouring what's still there. Apparently.

Grian and scar are brown now aparently. A sick. Gross brown. Red and green mixed. 

[salemssimblr]

Sims - get to know me

I was tagged by @druidberries & @m0n0lithical! Thank yall for the tags!

I rarely actually play the game so take my answers with a grain of salt but this should be fun!

1. What’s your favourite sims death? Cowplant, hands down

2. Alpha CC or Maxis Match? For the longest time I was strictly Maxis Match but recently I've been way more Maxis Mix and I'm loving it

3. Do you cheat when your sims gain weight? Nah I let it happen!

4. Do you use move objects? Religiously, I cannot build without it. Routing be damned!

5. Favorite mod? BBB, I cannot play this game without it. I also get ornery if I don't have UI cheats extension and more CAS columns.

6. First expansion/game/stuff pack you got? I was on the Sims 4 bandwagon from day 1, so Outdoor Retreat.

7. Do you pronounce “live mode” like aLIVE or LIVing? Living. You've got build, buy, and live, at least that's how my brain rationalizes it.

8. Who’s your favorite sim that you’ve made? I'm obsessed with all of my rpg oc sims (Ariss, Katya, Nat, Kai, Calista, etc), but probably my favorite sim-sim, well that's hard too. I really love my Simeon Silversweater makeover, and Rhiannon Reinhardt is prob my fave original sim.

9. Have you made a simself? I have! I've made myself, my husband and our dog (: One day I'll have to render them and post pics, I'm sure they all need an update now.

10. What sim traits do you give yourself? Clumsy, creative, & paranoid lmao

11. Which is your favorite EA hair color? Idk prob black or dark brown, so many of the other swatches look unnatural to me. I like the fun colors though, esp the lighter blue/cyan-y swatch.

12. Favorite EA hair? In terms of design, I really liked the braids that came with RoM and the really cool swatches, but I rarely ever use that hair.

13. Favorite life stage? YA cause it's the only one with adequate gameplay oops lmfao

14. Are you a builder or are you in it for the gameplay? BUILDER I rarely play the game at all but if I am I'm probably building. It seems every time I actually get into gameplay (which is rare in itself) something (a patch) comes along and breaks everything to the point where I can't anymore and I lose love for it all over again.

15. Are you a CC creator? I am! But only barely haha. I've made a few recolors and some art, but nothing from scratch YET. Soon hopefully

16. Do you have any simblr friends/a sim squad? I do! I'm a moderator of @cozyacres's Cozy Cave discord server and I LOVE out little community there! I've also got so many wonderful mutuals here I love you all so much.

17. What’s your favorite game? Sims 3 was fantastic and if I remembered more of it I'd probably say 3, but I got really invested in the community for 4 and it does hold a special place in my heart even if it's deeply flawed. So, 4.

18. Do you have any sims merch? I do not.

19. Do you have a YouTube for sims? I have an account but I haven't posted anything yet! I'd like to one day post speed builds and speed renders, I just need to figure out my recording process (I tab out of what I'm doing so often that I feel like the editing would take a million years for me to remove all of my discord chats lmfao)

20. How has your “sim style” changed throughout your years of playing? I feel like my actual sims style hasn't changed too much, except that I've incorporated a lot more maxis mix/alpha into my style, but that's mostly for rendering and not actual gameplay.

21. What’s your Origin ID? SalemsSims! I have a few CC-free builds on the gallery (:

22. Who’s your favorite CC creator? This is an impossible question to answer. I love so many for gameplay vs render resources.

23. How long have you had a simblr? I just legit checked cause I wasn't sure and it turns out I've been shitposting since 2019! Who knew!? lmao

24. How do you edit your pictures? I'm lucky enough to mooch off my dad's photoshop license. For renders and screenshots alike, I'll edit the brightness, contrast, levels and curves and then use a collection of PS actions/tweaking/blur/vignettes etc as necessary to get the effect I want.

25. What expansion/game/stuff pack is your favorite so far? It's really hard to say... I've been excited for each one of them then disappointed in each one of them lmfao what a mood. I gotta say I was really pleasantly surprised by Werewolves, and HSY exceeded my expectations, even though both had their fair share of disappointments. I don't think I really have a favorite overall though (which is def a side effect of... not actually playing the game, lmao). But those two actually got me playing the game and that's saying something.

26. What expansion/game/stuff pack do you want next? Oops I own them all so, whatever comes next that strikes my fancy. Idk how I feel about the horse rumors though... we'll see if it's actually good or just another disappointment.

Tagging @chaoticsimlish, @reality-refuge, @raiiny-bay, @glammoose, @buttertrait, @crsentfairy, @glittermutt, @crazy-lazy-elder-sims & anyone else who wants to do this! My brain turns into a goldfish whenever it's time to tag so pls don't be offended if I didn't tag you!

[theoriginalladya]

WIP Wednesday

Needed a bit of a break from my MEBB the other day while trying to work out a scene, so I started noodling around in Caleb and Kaidan's honeymoon story (mostly just some editing, but I like how it turned out). Post war, post Post War Story #1. Caleb and Kaidan head to Santorini for their honeymoon/well-deserved vacation and encounter a little more than they expect.

~~~

“Still up for exploring the ruins this afternoon?”

“Mmm.  I’d better be.”  A sheepish grin slides across Caleb’s face as he winks at Kaidan.  “A certain friend of ours is wanting a ‘full report’ later on.”

Kaidan snorts softly in amusement.  “A ‘full report,’ is it?  Guess we’d better get some pictures for her, too.”

Caleb’s smile is as bright as the sun and sends a flutter through Kaidan’s chest at the sight.  “Aye, that too.”  He snags one of Kaidan’s hands in his, squeezing as he tugs him closer.  Kaidan moves willingly.  “But first, how about we just enjoy the beach for a while?”

Kaidan arches a brow.  “Lie around and sun ourselves in an extraordinarily lazy manner?” he asks, affecting a scandalous tone to tease him.  When the color returns to Caleb’s cheeks, Kaidan squeezes his hand back and adds, “I highly approve.  We’re on our honeymoon, mo shearc, we’re allowed to relax.  Add in you’re the Savior of the Galaxy, so…”

For a man still in recovery mode from nearly fatal injuries, Caleb moves quickly.  His arm shoots out and wraps around Kaidan, pulling him close until their bare chests touch.  “Please don’t,” Caleb murmurs as he kisses Kaidan again.  “We’re incognito while we’re here.”

Kaidan hums appreciatively and drops the teasing.  His husband has always been uneasy with the titles given to him by survivors of such events, and though with some of them there are the occasional benefits that he doesn’t mind, this particular epithet is one Caleb very much doesn’t want.  We lost too damned many good people during the fight for me to be considered the Savior.  Kaidan doesn’t necessarily agree with that, but he does respect his decision.  Still, light teasing every once in a while, isn’t a bad thing.  “Incognito?”  Kaidan leans over to their things resting nearby and scoops up a pair of sunglasses which he carefully sets on Caleb’s face, pushing them up onto his nose.  “Maybe now…”

“You’re a menace,” Caleb mutters, but he doesn’t remove the dark lensed glasses and his smile shines brighter than Kaidan has seen since they arrived in Santorini. 

Leaning towards him, Kaidan laughs and brushes his lips over Caleb’s while murmuring, “Your menace now.”  Lifting his hand, he lets the sun flash off the band of silver and gold on his left hand. He can’t see Caleb’s eyes to know if they’ve tracked the movement, but his husband’s wide smile is a sure sign that he has.  “Aye, and glad I am of that.”

[ashestoshadows]

Back at it again with me calling out ugly pokemon and ones that make no logical sense in anyway- this is part two, so lets go!

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

No 1. Shiinotic

(Shiny is on right while normal is on left)

I don't like mushrooms. There, I said it, I think they're weird but everyone's entitled to whatever. Shiinotic is a sentient mushroom, and I hate it. Like how people hated Chandalure when they came out for being a sentient light fixture.

To make matters worse it looks like it has shit on it. And honestly I chuckled as I wrote, or even thought that but it's true. It look's like it grew in the sewers and climbed out like TMNT except it was a complete disappointment.

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

No 2. Lickilicky

(Normal's on the left and shiny is on the right)

Lickilicky is the pinnacle of disappointment as a pokemon and as a whole, sometimes shiny versions win some people around to liking them. This one is winning nobody.

It's movement all throughout are uncomfortable to watch and make me want to cringe myself into a black hole caused by one of my Gardevoirs.

Stop it for the love of life

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

No 3. Igglybuff

(Normal is on the left and shiny is on the right)

If I didn't tell you or told what this list was about you'd more than likely say this is just a normal pokemon. But nope that's a shiny, and that's the normal. I think I'm colorblind.

Actually, I think we likely all are if there is a difference here besides the subtle pink added to its body. No one will, or would be, any wiser if there was no chime or animation saying it's a shiny.

MAKE IT MAKE SENSE

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

No 4. Regice

(shiny is on the right and normal's on the left)

You're hunting for a shiny Regice, and no animation plays because it bugged out. would you think THIS is the shiny you were hunting for?

I'm editing on a bloody computer with my brightness up and I cannot if at all barely see a difference if any as apparently I'm colorblind here. And I wear glasses.

Confirmed I'm colorblind also last thing: WHY?

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

No 5. Venusaur

(normal on left and shiny on right)

Venusaur looks sick, like it hasn't seen any light or water in days and looks like it might die if not watered or something... I dislike this with a burning dumpster fire passion and I never want to see one ever again.

Water your damn plant

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

No 5. Ursaring

(Normal on left and shiny on right)

Green is never a flattering color unless its like a deep emerald color but anything more lighter than that and we might think you are radioactive. Ursaring looks like it fell into bright green highlighter liquid and it cannot come off.

Sometimes they can pull it off, but Ursaring and a few other unwilling Pokemon cannot and shouldn't yet they are. And I want their designer yeeted.

Get away ffs

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

No 6. Groudon

(Normal on left and shiny on right)

Groudon is cool, it's shiny on the other hand? No thanks, I'd need to pass on that. Shiny designers are really out here doing cool pokemon dirty in the worst possible ways.

There's nothing cool or pleasing about this- stop giving them the damned shiny Lucario treatment.

STOP IT. PLEASE. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

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

No 7. Moltres (not the galarian form)

(Normal on left and shiny on right)

Moltres looks like uncooked chiekn. (Yes i know its typed "chicken," but I'm keeping it that way to spite anyone who cares)

Pink for a pokemon that is already on fire makes it looks like they came from a burning house or something and it doesn't look good especially considering they also look like salmonella

Someone call KFC cause I see one of their uncooked chickens flying about who is on fire

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

No 8. Zapdos (no galarian form)

(Normal on left and shiny on right)

Can you see a real difference at first glance? Cause I wouldn't if I didn't know what to look for. Moltres and Zapdos put Articuno's shiny to absolute shame which actually look's the prettiest and more distinguishable out of the trio which is annoying to say the least.

Did they get lazy halfway through most of the pokemon so they decided to make me think i'm colorblind???

Try harder with distinguishable color schemes

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

No 9. Kommo-o

(shiny is on the right while normal's on the left)

Kommo-o is a meh pokemon to me at least, I prefer its baby form where it has a heart-shaped scale and that instantly wooed me but its fully evolved form is... meh.

It's shiny looks horrendous. It hurts my eyes and i'm sorry to everyone who hates bright pink and yellow together, cause i'm one of them, especially like this. Maybe pastel pink and yellow would've worked at least a little but this isn't winning this dragon any favors here besides being put in a box.

I need my eyes scrubbed. VERY HARD.

[xiapxls]

You know what I really love? Aesthetic swaps. Feat. my fave lesbians Sunset & Dawn by @simmeronnie

[hoe-doroki]

steel and lace

minors do not interact

warnings: 18+, anal play, sex toys, voyeuristic fantasy, scratching, creampie

pairing: bakugou x fem!reader

wc: 3.8k

summary: The only one who manages to get Bakugou’s birthday right is you.

a/n: This is my addition to the Bakugou Birthday Bash collab (masterlist). Many thanks to @lady-bakuhoe​ for helping me flesh out the ideas with this story!! You were integral to this idea, love! And additional thanks to @whats-her-quirk​ and @therealvalkyrie​ for beta reading <333

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

Bakugou never took work off on his birthday.

Never. Why would he? Villains didn’t give a shit that this was the day the old hag had unceremoniously had him evacuated into a hospital room however many years ago. They didn’t give a shit that his friends—who were also heroes who should be fucking working, by the way—wanna come over to his house and surprise him. As though his reconnaissance-trained ears weren’t as fucking fine tuned at hearing idiots on the other side of the door as theirs.

What villains should care about was that he was a year older, wiser, and fucking stronger, and he was going to kick all their asses. That was what he told all his idiot friends every year when they asked him if he was going to take off work.

Every year he regretted it.

The idiots he works with really must not care about hero work, because every year they want to send him out on a field post sugar crash from some store-bought cake with his name on it. Or buy him gifts that he’ll probably toss in the trash on the way home. He’s not being rude; he just doesn’t need junk that he never would have bought himself in the first place.

Everyone is always grinning at him, wishing him a happy birthday—as though he’s any goddamn happier to see their ugly mugs flapping their lips at him—and trying to start stupid-ass conversations. If he doesn’t like small talk normally, why would he want it on his birthday?

And the singing.

If people really wanted to wish him a happy birthday, they’d find a way to do it silently while doing some respectable fucking hero work. Make his day easier.

But no, none of that was what happened. So he should have just stayed home. Let the villains have a fucking field day on April 20th, and he could have his real gift killing them all tomorrow on the 21st.

But, unfortunately, he was a dumbass and had gone to work anyway, like he’d learned nothing from the last many years of antics. And the continued antics had got him a little pissy. And when he was pissed off, his heart rate increased, his breathing grew heavier, and, of course, he sweat.

Well. Guess what happened?

“Bakugou, I am currently paying to treat burns and fractures on three villains. Care to explain?”

Best Jeanist was sitting in his office chair, blinding sunlight streaming in behind him. Late afternoon sun—darker in color but way more resentful towards human eyes, apparently. It was reflecting off of all of the neighboring glass corporate buildings, making Bakugou squint behind his mask.

Bakugou shrugged, petulant as he stood behind his chair instead of sitting in it. “Overkill.”

Best Jeanist nodded. “Did you…lose control?”

“Tch,” Bakugou scoffed. As if he ever lost control. “Villains were weaker than I thought.”

Bakugou felt the stare of that one fucking eye and stood firm. He knew he was looking at a suspension, hopefully just for a day or two. It wasn’t like he’d done anything terrible. Villains got hurt sometimes, just like pros did, and they got their care and then they got their justice. It’s not like Bakugou was violent on purpose. Anymore. And Jeanist sure as hell knew that, so it wouldn’t take Bakugou off the field for more than a slap on the wrist. He probably wouldn’t even be technically suspended. Just chained by the fucking dick to his desk with some paperwork.

“Just…” Bakugou braced for it, narrowing his eyes but keeping his snarl to a minimum. “Just be more careful next time. Shower and go home—see you tomorrow.”

Bakugou’s jaw dropped. He closed it quickly, trying not to look like Dunce Face in front of his boss, but in all that was real and true what? He was just about to say something—he didn’t know what, probably something insubordinate—when Best Jeanist took out his own paperwork and waved him away.

“Happy birthday, Bakugou.”

Oh. So that was it.

Bakugou grit his teeth. Happy fucking birthday indeed.

It was nothing. His brain told him over and over again that it was fucking nothing. He hadn’t been punished, he hadn’t even really done anything wrong; he just hadn’t been squeaky clean up to fucking code. He could still show up for work tomorrow, business as usual. He should be tickled fucking pink.

But he wasn’t. Special treatment for being the birthday boy? What was he? Five years old and given a pass after stealing the chicken nuggets off Deku’s plate? Jesus Christ.

And if he was honest, he was mostly pissed at himself. Sure, he could blame how the weather always seemed to sprint from spring to summer around his birthday every year, strengthening his quirk. He could blame the villains for being weak enough that they had no business even stepping foot in his neighborhood. But losing control of his quirk even a little—and it had been a little—was fucking amateur and he’d have to pencil in some extra time at the gym. Maybe snatch Shitty Hair for some sparring, and, unfortunately, probably nab an extra therapy session and talk about this anger thing again.

At least walking instead of sitting on that stifling, crowded train car was doing him some good. Let him cool off a bit before he got home and you saw that something was wrong. He was nearly entirely relaxed by the time he got to his building’s lobby, even having the grace to nod at the concierge—who didn’t know it was his birthday, thank God—before heading up the elevator.

When he got off on his floor, it suddenly occurred to him that you might have done something truly repulsive, like inviting his friends over. He could imagine Shitty Hair’s shitty fucking hair sticking up from behind your sofa as he tried to hide before leaping up and yelling surprise.

Well, if that was the case, then the surprise was going to be him kicking all his dumb friends out of the apartment with one foot. Ain’t no way he was going to host a party on his birthday.

It turned out his worry was for nothing, though, because when he turned the knob—fully braced to punch out some teeth with his other hand—he was greeted with a totally bare apartment.

Like barren.

For starters, it was perfectly clean. Bakugou kept a tidy house normally, but this was certainly cleaner than he’d left it this morning. But more than that, there was nothing extra lying around. No stupid friends. No presents. No cake or even the smell of one. It was almost disconcerting.

No, it was a relief. A relief because he didn’t want any of that stuff. He’d had the slice of cake at work—and was slightly hangry now to show for it—and wasn’t interested in having another. And even though you’d choose better gifts than the extras at work would, it was nothing he couldn’t buy himself. So no, this was perfect. He was absolutely not disappointed. Maybe a bit confused. But not disappointed.

He took his shoes off and set his things on the small table by the door. Then he wandered into the kitchen, downed some water, and thought about what he might make for dinner. He might have expected that you and he would make dinner together or maybe even that you would have surprised him with something, but he didn’t mind doing it alone. It wasn’t like he’d learned to cook just to find a housewife someday to con into doing it all for him.

He decided to go to the bedroom first to plug in his phone. He was just sliding it out of his pocket when he opened the door, saw you, and stopped short.

You were on the bed—not in bed, but on it—wearing a black zip up with his signature orange x over the chest. You were on your knees with your legs spread wide, looking him dead in the eye with a deadly smirk on your face, painted in bright lipstick.

“New prototype. You like?”

The two of you had met when you were scouted from his parents’ business to design the clothing for his first merchandise line. He’d sworn off dating you from the beginning, because the last thing he wanted was to give the old hag anything to say about, firstly, her being at all responsible for finding  him a girlfriend or secondly, the fact that dating a fashion designer would mean he was dating his parents. He’d said fuck that to anyone who would listen.

But you’d gotten his brain from the beginning. Your designs were all sick from the sketch to mock up to the prototypes you always wore for him. Maybe he was a simple man for falling for a girl dressed in his colors, aiming to please him, but fuck it. You were talented, too smart for your own good, and pretty as hell.

So what? Now he had a dream girlfriend and one more reason to fight with his mom. Net positive for sure.

Still, that jacket wasn’t a prototype. That was from his first official line, no doubt, and he’d seen you wear it hundreds of times. He knew from here how much it would smell like detergent and how much like you.

You caught his eyes, raised your brows once, and then pulled the zip on the sweatshirt.

Underneath was nothing but lace and ribbon, contrasting the black and orange of the sweatshirt with moss green outlining your silhouette. The moss green from his gauntlets and his belt was caged around you in the thinnest strips of fabric, scraps of floral barely covering your breasts and pussy. The lingerie was an all-in-one, with the tiny bra connected to the panties by a few ribbons crossing over your belly. Not hiding a damn thing, but showing it off for all its worth.

“Fuck,” Bakugou groaned when the sweatshirt hit the bed, your arms still in the sleeves, but the look underneath now fully revealed to him. He could feel the blood going to his dick, just seeing you on display like that getting him up to half mast in seconds.

“Not a lot of coverage on this version,” you mused, sticking your thumb under a bra strap. “Maybe an edit for the second try?”

Bakugou growled, taking a step forward, but you weren’t done just yet.

“I was also thinking maybe full panties next time,” you said, turning around, sitting on your heels. The sweatshirt hung just below your ass, framing round cheeks that were caged by thin elastic crosses, and that was it. Not so much as a triangle of fabric to speak of. “Maybe write: Property of Dynamight on them? Or is that too much text?”

That was all it took for Bakugou to pounce. One arc of his fist had his shirt thrown with a smack to the floor and then his hands were on your shoulders, spinning you face up as he pushed you flat on the bed.

“You know I don’t like unnecessary words,” he growled.

And then he was kissing you, a hand running up the falke stockings pinned on your thighs as you pulled your arms out of the sweatshirt. One leg came up automatically to wrap around his hip, and Bakugou began rutting against your center, fully hard already. On his second grinding thrust, his pants snagged on the scrap of lace you were wearing. Wetness was already glistening on his trousers and he moved his thumb down to your core, groaning at what he felt.

“Crotchless panties?” he mumbled against your mouth. “You’re making this too easy, sweetheart.”

“Shouldn’t have to work so hard on your birthday,” you mewled.

There was a rumble in Bakugou’s throat, half scoff, half chuckle. “Yeah, remind me of that next year, will you?”

You were soaked already—the swipe of his thumb told you that much. Either you’d gotten really excited when he’d texted you that he was coming home early, or you’d…gotten yourself excited at some point after. Either way, it meant that foreplay could wait for round two.

He pulled his thumb away from your core and pressed it against your lip, smudging what lipstick had survived the kisses down your chin. You were half ruined already. You stuck your tongue out and licked at essence on his thumb before sucking it into your mouth, eyes wide as you looked up at him. Fuck, he could feel himself straining against his pants, grinding circles against your half-bare cunt for a spot of relief.

After you licked him clean, he took his hand back, leaving your mouth open and wanting as he began to fuss with the front of his pants. He caught your smudged lips again, holding your jaw with one hand as he pushed his pants down with the other. He pulled his lower half away from you, kicking off the pants—hadn’t bothered with boxers for the commute home—and let them slide off the edge of the bed.

“Ready?” he asked.

Your smile was big and you bit the tip of your tongue, nodding your head twice. That was all he needed. He grabbed his cock in his fist and slid it through your wetness just once, and then he pushed himself in.

Immediately, he felt the drag of something hard and angled against your lower wall right along his cock, pressing from tip to base as he slid home inside of you.

“Woah,” he groaned. “What the fuck?”

You giggled, the action making your walls flutter against him.

“Got myself a new toy,” you said coyly, wrapping your legs around his hips. “Promise you can get yourself something pretty on my birthday too.”

Bakugou reach a hand around your thigh, feeling the elastic garter pulled taut against the stockings that were rubbing so deliciously against his back and his hips. He grabbed a handful of your ass, and the tips of his fingers felt a rounded edge of warm metal slid just between your ass cheeks.

“You fucking naughty minx.” Bakugou grinned, showing all his teeth, rearing back out of you before thrusting back in, feeling the novel pressure of the toy on the way out and back.

No wonder you had been so wet to begin with. You must have lubed yourself up before putting in that butt plug—which wasn’t small, from what he could feel of it. He could imagine you, one leg up on the sink, ass sticking out as you fingered yourself, mouth dropping open when you inserted the toy. How cold it would have been when it first touched your pert little hole and how you’d gotten it all warm for him as you waited with your little secret for him to get home.

“It’s curved to hit prostates,” you gasped as Bakugou rocked hard, steady thrusts into you. “In case you’re interested.”

The thought, much to Bakugou’s surprise, sent a thrill right through his belly down to his dick. He couldn’t help but slam rapidly into you, making your eyes roll back. Fuck, was that something he wanted? It wasn’t something he’d ever thought about, and he didn’t have the mind right now to ponder it.

“God you feel so big.”

“You feel so tight, sweetheart,” Bakugou grunted, refusing to acknowledge the fresh heat that was on his cheeks after your previous comment. “Squeezing me from all sides.”

The butt plug left it so there was barely enough room in your pussy for his cock to pump in and out. The pressure was hard on one side, making him fucking twitch every time the head of his cock caught against it, leading him to opt for long, deep thrusts in and out of you. It was so good that he didn’t even care if the only present he got for his birthday was a little hunk of stainless steel halfway up your ass. He’d gotten home five minutes ago and already he could feel his balls tightening, threatening to bust a nut.

“Just think of it, Katsuki,” you said, your voice dreamy as he fucked you raw. “All the women wearing this set, thinking of you when they show it off for their partners. All wishing that you were the one fucking them. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby? But they’ll never have anything but their husband’s sad cock that they pretend is yours.”

“Fuck,” Bakugou growled, putting a hand on the headboard and nearly splintering it in his grip. You were riling him up and it made him want to press his palm flat against the burnished oak and let off his quirk, send shards flying. His hand was already drenched with more sweat than it should have been, just like with those villains earlier. Goddamn this time of year. He couldn’t help it; his quirk begged for it. He was in dire need of release of some kind, and it wasn’t like he could cum yet. He had to know how your pussy felt when it convulsed around him, ass cheeks tensing and squeezing that toy hard against his cock until he was spurting into you.

Bakugou let off a few crackling pops from his palm, moaning as relief filled him, the tension lessened for a moment. A faint smell of wood smoke spread through the room, slightly embittered by the resin blackening around his hand. One more scorch mark on the bed frame. You groaned underneath him, taken by the sight of Bakugou’s ever-tight control slipping for you. You knew he’d fuck you through the bed until the rest of the frame gave way if he wanted. You’d both be flat on a busted mattress and he’d keep going until he felt you clench around him.

“How’s that sound, Katsu?” you continued, your voice growing higher as Bakugou took his hand off the headboard and pressed four fingers, still sweaty and heated from his quirk, against the lace covering your clit. It was soaked through. “A-Ah, you’d like the idea of a woman home alone, dressed up just for you, fucking herself on the dildo she hides in the back of your closet, screaming out your name and hoping to God that her neighbors don’t hear?”

Bakugou couldn’t do the long, slow thrusts anymore. Your legs had grown tighter around his waist, your calves soft and silken against his ass as he kept his thrusts deep. The butt plug was rubbing against the base of his cock as he pounded into you, his fingers swiping over your clit with little finesse, but speed and steady pressure making up for it.

“But no matter…” you continued, the words coming out in little huffs as you panted with your head thrown back. Bakugou couldn’t resist leaning down and licking a line up the length of your neck, biting your earlobe when he got to the top, “no dildo, no matter how expensive, no matter how long and fat, will be good enough. The whole time…they’ll know they’re missing out. Oh, fuck.”

All of a sudden, your thighs were squeezing tight against his hip bones, arms thrown over his back and finger scratching hot lines that would mark him even more as yours tomorrow. Then you were gasping, walls squeezing and Bakugou fought against your grip to pull out just enough so that the metal toy was rubbing just over the cleft of his head with every convulsion.

He didn’t stand a chance. There was hardly any warning before he was cumming into you, streaks of his seed dribbling out of you. He couldn’t even pump himself through it; you were gripping him so tightly and, more than that, he didn’t want to move. Everything was white hot, so he just waited it out, barely moving save for where his hand was still rubbing over your clit.

Eventually you stopped him, grabbing his wrist just as the grip of your cunt loosened around him. Then you brought his hand, glistening with moisture, up to your mouth, and broadly laved your tongue from the base of his fingers to the tips, looking him dead in the eye. You then brought his hand down to your neck, and allowed him to streak the combined fluids across and down your décolletage.

Fuck—there was no way he was going to work on his birthday next year. He’d let villains overtake the city first.

“They’ll know they’re missing out,” you breathed, and it took Bakugou a second to figure out that you were continuing your voyeuristic fantasy from before, playing it out to the end, “They might even think they understand. But the only one who will truly know, is me.���

You smiled, your eyes and grin both heavy, sleepy, sated.

“Got that fucking right,” Bakugou said, pulling out of you, his cum already dripping down your ass. He eyed it, only catching a glimpse of the glinting metal plug before your legs fell to the bed, spread and limp. He smacked your hip lightly with one hand. “Roll over.”

In no mood to argue, you flipped willingly, ass up, plug still hidden from view. The lingerie was damp in some spots from where your wetness had spilled from your pussy. He leaned his mouth towards one of the strips of elastic stretching against the swell of your ass and bit. You gasped, back arching, and Katsuki smirked as he pulled away.

“A fucking lingerie line?”

A chuckle escaped your throat. “It was supposed to be a joke, but now…”

Katsuki pinched the elastic with his fingers and snapped it, watching the slight jiggle of your cheeks as you jolted. “No.”

“But Katsuki,” you whined.

“Mm,” he amended, as close to ‘maybe’ as you were going to get. You both could always talk about the idea—truly ridiculous idea—later. Katsuki put a hand on one cheek under the strips of lingerie and spread it.

There was the plug, a stainless steel handle. It was thin and shaped like an oblong donut, not like one of those cheap bejeweled things. This one, even just what he could see of it, screamed quality, and, for a moment, Bakugou wondered again what it would be like to wear. If you’d gotten it in, he sure as fuck could. And he did hold a certain anatomical advantage in using it.

He put his thumb and forefinger to the phalange and gave the toy a twist, pressing it just slightly deeper into your hole. You groaned, your voice low and deep in the pillow like when he gave you a back massage. He smirked and kept at it. Seemed this was a birthday gift for him after all.

“Katsu, don’t tease,” you moaned. “Sensitive.”

Bakugou, however, had no mercy. He flipped you over again, pulling a little yelp from you, and then picked you up bridal style, carrying you off the bed.

“Where are we going?” you asked, your voice suddenly much more awake.

“Shower,” he answered simply. He squeezed the meat of your upper thigh. Not quite your ass but close enough for the point to be made. “I’m not done with my present yet.”

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

Nothing Dulls Your Foolish Shine

Summary: After a long night of celebrating VJ Day, Reader has a hard time keeping her hands to herself and Lip is having a hard time being the bigger person.

Warnings: SMUT!, sloppy writing that I will edit later, Reader a drunk and sloppy minx, drinking, mixing of alcohols w/vv little water (hydrate or die-drate, my loves), Carwood takes consent very seriously and I find that incredibly sexy of him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Laying back on the bed you’d claimed as your own a few weeks ago, you were nothing short of a vision in the dim light of the hotel room. Clean, warm, and well-fed, Lip decided that this was how you should always look- arms thrown above your head carelessly and a satisfied smile on your lips. The fact that he would be able to see it whenever he wanted from now on only added to the fire warming his chest, the relief of Winters’ announcement earlier still burning bright twelve hours later.

 Eyes closed and lips still colored with the lipstick you’d bought in France all those months ago, he would’ve been hard-pressed to think of any other sight that compared to the one before him. A soft ‘ please’ slipped past your lips, and when your eyes opened he saw the glimmer of mischief that had been tempting him throughout the day. You were beautiful, you were desirable, you were sin and salvation all in one.

  “If y’don’t put that fat fuggin’ cock in me r’now, I’mma kick y’ass, Lippikins.”

You were also incredibly, endearingly, hilariously drunk.

 Biting back a chuckle, Lip knelt beside the bed and began unlacing your boots, his own fingers slightly uncoordinated due to the alcohol running in his veins. If he didn’t know how pissed you would be if he’d allowed you to wear your boots to bed and soil the bedsheets, he wouldn’t have bothered. Frankly, it would’ve been disappointing for him as well- they were really cozy and he did not feel like taking his chances finding another clean set that was anywhere near as nice as these. It had been so long since either of you had been able to sleep in any state of undress, and there was something so comforting in having the luxury to do so.

  Japan surrendered. The war was over. You were safe.

 He could barely believe it even now.

 You mumble something unintelligible from above him, and this time he openly laughs at the way you make grabby hands towards him when he looks up. He’d never imagined you as a horny drunk, not when you were so stoic, witty, and professional while sober. Learning this about you amused him to no end, but he’d be damned if he actually allowed you to convince him to do anything sexual right now.

 Because while you’d given yourself to him (and he’d given himself to you) many times before, it didn’t feel right to do anything with you while you were this out of it- not without having had the chance to discuss it while sober beforehand.

 “C’mon, handsome,” you whined, gracelessly scrunching your body up into a slumped sitting position so you could finally run your fingers through his hair. “Fuckin’ need that sweet, sweet schlange—”

“ Schlange?” Lip asks, raising an eyebrow up at you when you start to giggle. Pulling off your final boot, he heaves himself up to stand and grins down at you.

 “Means ‘snake’ in Guhr -man, hot stuff!” your head lolls back as you wiggle your eyebrows at him. “Y’know, like hosenschlange - that means—”

 “—I can figure that one out, thanks, Honey.”

 Rolling your lips together as you smile, you raise your arms and grab onto the front of his pants. “Okay, get over here. Come to Mama… .”

 He wrinkles his nose at the choice of nickname, but you don’t seem to notice as you fumble with his belt and curse under your breath. Watching as your eyes narrow in concentration, he sighs your name admonishingly, but just as he gets ahold of your wrists you surge forward and start mouthing at him through the fabric, traces of your lipstick leaving pink marks on the khaki green material. Lip jolts at the contact, and his mental resolve to wait until you’re sober doesn’t seem to stop his cock from starting to get hard.

 “Sugar, wait - that’s enough….”

 As gently as he could, he coaxed you into laying back onto the bed, hating the pout on your face but holding steadfast to his decision. Your hair is messy around your head, and your eyes lazily travel across his face with a flicker of genuine upset.

 “ LiIIIIIIIiiiIIIIIiippp!” you whine with a huff, but before you can continue your thought he shakes his head.

 “Not like this, Y/N. C’mon, let's get you ready for bed.”

 Planting a knee beside your hip, he rucks up your shirt from the waist of your pants and thanks God that you’d taken off your outer layers and changed into a clean undershirt earlier. He couldn’t imagine how much more difficult this would’ve been if he’d needed to strip you naked- especially when you were in the mood you were in. 

 And, in all honesty, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to resist your beguiling if he had to be that hands-on with you. It was hard enough telling you no for little things, especially when you ask so very little of him in the first place. Frankly, he was amazed that he was able to deny you this. He may be noble , but he’s still a man - a man who worshipped the ground you walked on and would happily say as much to anyone who asked, sure- but a man nonetheless.

 About an hour ago, you’d chided him for respecting you too much between sips of a green liquor that Liebgott had given you. Maybe you were right about that. 

 Not that that changed anything, of course. He was sure you’d see his logic once he explained it to you in the morning.

Assuming that you remembered any of this, that is.

  You’d smirked wickedly at him as his fingers had found the button at the front of your trousers.

 “Now that’s more like it.”

 Carwood rolled his eyes, ducking a quick kiss to the sliver of exposed skin between your shirt and pants. “You’re something else, Sweetheart.”

 Humming, you allowed him to work your pants down your hips and thighs, a hand reaching up again and sweetly scratching over his bicep. “Y’handsome, Carwood. What’d I do t’be loved b’someone so handsome?”

 You got like this sometimes, questioning the why and the how and the what of him and you. As if he didn’t ask himself the same questions. There was something amusing about how you behaved as if you were the lucky one in the relationship. 

 You were unpredictable at the best of times, and being drunk only made you moreso.

 “ Carrrr ,” you wine, drawing out the r of the pet name from somewhere deep in your throat. “We just found out we don’ gotta go fling ourselves out’a ‘nother plane ever again and y’not even letting me blow you t’celebrate !”

 Lip cannot help but bark a laugh at that, the sound of genuine disappointment in your voice too endearing to frustrate him.

 “You’re drunk , Baby—”

 Your pretty face twists into a scowl. “ You’re drunk, ya fuckin’ killjoy…”

 Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, he ducks a quick kiss to your bent knee and shakes his head.

 “All the more reason why we should both keep our hands to ourselves and hit the hay.”

 You raise an eyebrow, eyes following him as he gets to work undressing himself. He can feel your gaze on him, making the finer hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention the way his cock would if he didn’t have a better sense of self-control. 

 “Well, fine then. If y’gonna be that way…”

 Doing his best to ignore you, Lip thinks nothing of it when you shuffle on the bed and bring your legs up on the covers, thinking (foolishly) that you’d finally given up on your carnal pursuits for the night. You huff loudly, something he successfully manages to disregard until about the third or fourth time you do so. At that point, he’s gotten himself down to his briefs and undershirt, so he figures he can indulge you a bit longer.

 However, when he opens his mouth to ask you what the problem was, he finds himself frozen in time- the blood in his veins simmering and turning to ice simultaneously. 

 He should have known better than to assume you would behave, that you’d give up so easily.

You wouldn't have made it this far if you had the potential to be so easily swayed.

 With more intentionality than he thought you could muster, you’ve slipped your nimble fingers beneath the band of your underpants and begun to touch yourself, legs spread invitingly and a whimper curling through your parted lips. He can see the bend and curl of each finger as you touch your sex, your movements fast and unyielding in their rhythm.

 Your next whine pulls him out of his stupor enough to remind him that he hadn’t taken a breath in far too long, his limbs still feeling like lead as he stood by his side of the bed. 

 “W-What are you doing?” he asks, his mouth going suddenly bone-dry.

 Eyes closed and smiling, you make an amused sound low in your throat. “ Me ? I’m doing what y’suggested, Car -”

 When you open your eyes, they have a lost look to them- and if it weren’t for the quirk of your brow he’d think you’d truly forgotten that you were trying to torture him.

 “ I’m keeping my hands to m’self. ”

 With a curse, he lowers his hand to his clothed cock, squeezing in some desperate attempt to temper the electric current of arousal you are currently creating in his bloodstream. Lip had to physically shake his head in order to clear it of the heady fog that had settled there, desperately searching for the voice from earlier that had encouraged him to stay strong and wait until morning, because right now it was nowhere to be found.

 As if you knew just how much influence you had over him, you bit the inside of your bottom lip and hummed . 

 “Does it ache ?” you ask as he groans, your eyes hazy with pleasure and whiskey as he sinks to his knees by his bedside and hisses at how cold his fingers feel when they finally make contact with the sensitive skin of his dick. You’ve moved yourself enough that you’re laying against the pillows at the head of the bed, your body angled in such a way that he can see each and every crook of your fingers while still having the ability to see the entire length of your undulating form. “Does it hurt , m’love? I wanna know… .”

 “ Fuck ,” he snaps, bending his neck so he can press his face into the comforter in some desperate attempt to regain control of his arousal. It doesn’t work- because now he can hear just how wet you’ve become, the sound of it creamy and sweet in his ears. “Baby, y’know it does—”

  “I can’t hear you , Lip—”

 With a heavy inhale, Lip forces his head up from the blankets so his words aren’t muffled. “I said you know it does!”

 He expects you to mock him- to belittle him and pressure him to get over himself and just fuck you already- but when he looks at you all he can see is his own lust looking back at him. Your breath comes in gasps, your nipples hard and prominent through your shirt as you writhe under your own touch. You look perfect- so fucking perfect that it nearly breaks his heart.

  I’d do it again, he thinks as you arch your neck and roll your hips into your own touch, the hand not playing with your clit slipping up your body to grab your breast through your shirt. Toccoa, Sobel, Normandy, Bastogne, Haganeau- I’d do it all again just to have the chance to be with you like this. To see you like this...

 Lip isn’t sure how long the two of you remain like this- suspended outside of time in this beautiful tension that is so heavy and thick he swears he could suffocate in it. What he does know is that your shirt now lays discarded by your side and he’s got one hand braced on the mattress while he jerks himself off like a degenerate to the sight of your naked body.

 “ ‘M close ,” you mewl from behind clenched teeth. “God damn it, Car- I wanna cum so bad— ”

 There's a question in your tone, a plea for permission that only makes his already impending orgasm tremble more violently in his bloodstream. You’re acting so docile now, the contrast between this version of you and the more demanding petulance of before so extreme that he wonders if he’s somehow imagined your earlier conversation in some arousal-soaked mirage.

 But he pushes that thought to the side, your imploring expression much more important than any sort of behavioral analysis. 

 “ Okay ,” he nods frantically, his words breathy and his whole body hot with anticipation. “Do it, Honey- cum .”

 Licking your lips, you grit back a choked moan. “But I want you t’ touch me, though. I wanna have you inside meeeee….”

 Ignoring your request, Lip takes a deep breath. “I know, Sweetheart. I know you do. Just cum .” 

 The way your face scrunches should be unattractive, the look nearly one of pain as you suddenly hold your breath and the muscles of your stomach bunch up. But to Carwood , your expression tells a tale of bliss, of absolute and uncontrollable surrender to a feeling as it darkens your veins like a drop of ink in water. As pleasure shoots through your body, you chant his name like a prayer and shake so deeply that he can feel the tremor of it through the mattress.

 It’s too much for him- it’s too much yet not nearly enough at the same time and even as he cums into his fist with a bitten-back shout he knows that he isn't truly going to be satisfied until does bury himself inside of you. 

  In the morning, in the morning. I can’t tonight. If you want me tonight, you’ll still want me in the morning.

 Sweat already beginning to cool his skin, Carwood finally manages to open his eyes ( when had he shut them ?), he catches you looking at him dreamily. Chest heaving, legs limp and spread, Carwood is overcome with affection. Feeling a smile pull at his mouth, he wipes his hand on one of his dirty shirts by the bed before pulling his heavy limbs across the bed so he can brush your hair off of your forehead.

 Your eyes are still unfocused as you reach your hand up to touch him, and when he realizes that it’s the same hand that just brought you pleasure he catches your wrist and angles your hand so he can suck your fingers into his mouth. The musky salt of you is heaven on his tongue, and when you chuckle at the brush of his tongue across your fingertips he laughs, too.

 “That was’so hot ,” you grin, exhaustion shining in your eyes as you playfully hook your fingers behind his teeth and pull his face down towards yours. Lip shakes his head at you and pulls your fingers from his mouth so he can kiss you. You hum contentedly, and when he releases your lips you roll gracelessly to your stomach and rest your weight on your elbows. “Woah.... Wow… .”

 In the entire three years that he’s known you, he’s never known you to be this carefree. It’s wonderful, it looks good on you. You look your age like this- and he wonders if you see the change in him as well. God knows that he feels years younger.

 Leaning over so he can prop himself up on his side beside you, he runs his palm down the bare length of your back.

 “I love y—”

“— M’gonna throw up. ”

 Everything screeched to a halt, the romantic haze he’d felt himself slipping into being ripped away like a rug beneath his feet.

 “Uh, like now!?”

 With all the coordination of a newborn giraffe, you launch yourself from the bed and scramble for the en suite bathroom, leaving a gust of wind in your wake that all but smacks him in the face.

 Blinking stupidly after you, Lip opens his mouth to call out after you only burst into maniacal laughter. His initial bark of laughter is so loud that it scares him, which only serves to make him laugh harder . 

 Maybe that was an inappropriate reaction, because he hears you calling for him to "go fug himself" from the bathroom.

Although, he could swear that he heard you laugh as well just before retching again.

 “Sorry, Sweetheart,” he calls back, wiping the tears from his eyes and pushing himself up off the bed, grabbing your canteen. “I’m coming- hold on, Baby.”

 ~

 Lip can feel the goosebumps washing over your skin in the wake of his touch, the slope of your bicep easily holding the curve of his palm. Having helped you braid your hair, brush your teeth, and get into a clean shirt, Carwood finally allows himself to settle into the unnaturally comfortable mattress. You’ve tangled your legs with his beneath the blankets, and he feels the tickle of your soft exhales at the base of his throat. 

 COme morning, Lip knew that you’d be the proud owner of one of the worst hangovers known to man- and if he had to guess, Liebgott, Tab, Nixon, and Welsh would be wrestling with their own versions of hell as well. It was strange, Lip thought, to not have to worry about covering for any of them when they failed to perform or attend tomorrow morning’s PT. It was even stranger to realize that there would be no PT tomorrow morning, or any of the mornings after.

 He didn’t have to train for anything now. It was over. It was done.

 You were both free, now.

 And while he imagined that you probably had other ideas for how you wanted to spend your first night of freedom, Lip looked forward to accomplishing those ideas with you tomorrow night. And the night afterward.

 “Hey, Car?” you ask quietly, your voice rough with exhaustion and thick with sleep.

 “Yeah, Honey?”

 He can hear you swallow some of the dryness from your mouth, and he startles slightly when one of your hands suddenly touches the side of his face and inches its way up so your fingers are covering his eyes.

 “I can hear y’thinkin. Go t’bed. ”

 With a sigh of amusement, he takes your hand away from his eyes and lowers it to his chest. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He whispers, closing his eyes and turning his head to press a quick to your forehead.

 Sleep welcomes him like an old friend.

 He welcomes it back.

~ ~ ~

IT’S A LIL SHITTY BUT SO AM I AND I’M SORRY FOR THAT

taglist: @sunsetmando @televisionboy @now-im-a-belieber @tvserie-s-world @holdingforgeneralhugs @cagzzz107​ @mrseasycompany​ @itswormtrain @mrsalwayswrite​ @happyveday​ 

[waywardrose13]

Touch of Betrayal

Masterlist

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: 18+ Angst, smut, smidge of fluff, graphic abuse, graphic depictions of injuries, fucked up coven, language, all the angst, not enough editing to satisfy me

Word Count: 20,538

Summary: As the oldest sibling, Y/n was supposed to be sacrificed for the betterment of her coven. After her escape, she meets Bobby Singer, who takes her under his wing. It is no secret Dean Winchester hates witches, but Y/n is different, and Dean begins to question his feelings. When Sam is threatened and Dean is given an ultimatum, the trust and feelings that have grown between Y/n and Dean is jeopardized. The touch of betrayal stings.

Commissioned by anonymous:)

A/N- To the lovely soul who commissioned this fic, I hope you enjoy!

Y/N

You could feel the blood from the shackles trickling down your fingers, dripping onto the backs of your bare knees. Shivering, the autumnal air bit at your skin and seeped into your bones. The cold wasn’t the only thing making you shiver, however. You couldn’t seem to take your eyes off the gold blade laying on the stone pedestal in front of you. Soon, that blade would slice through not only your throat, but four other eldest children of the founding families; Freya, age twenty-four; Marxicus, age twenty-two; Sera, age twenty; Gunthias, age twenty-two; and finally, you, the youngest at twenty-one.

The thin slip hanging from your body did nothing against the cold, your bare limbs exposed to the night air, droplets of blood dotting the backs of your legs. Those damn shackles had cut into your wrists for three days. You could feel how raw your skin was beneath the cool metal. However, it didn’t really matter seeing how you would be dead once the moon reached its apex.

Sera was sobbing loudly to your left. Some of the coven, maybe a handful, looked on empathetically. The majority stared with disgust at her emotional state. Your mother’s words rang in your head from the night before. “This is an honor. Do not embarrass me tomorrow.”

You scanned the gathering. Many people were drinking goblets of harvest mead, others were conversing lowly in small packs. Many people were simply watching you and the other sacrifices, taking in every inch, as if staring so intently would siphon even more power.

No one caught your eye in particular. Not until you spotted him.

His dark eyes were trained on you intently. Biting your lip to keep it from wobbling, you took a deep, steadying breath. Don’t embarrass me, don’t embarrass me, don���t embarrass me.

As the world faded away, you and Jasper locked in a silent pining, you wondered what it would have been like if you had been able to go through with the wedding. As a female within the coven, you were obligated to have children unless you absolutely couldn’t, so maybe the two of you would have had a few kids, settled in a cabin on the outskirts of the compound. The marriage may have been arranged, but you were friends before lovers. You were lucky when it came to that. Most people were strangers up until their wedding night. You had the privilege of at least knowing Jasper, even if you weren’t friends until after the arrangement had been made. You would have been happy.

Instead, your heart ached at the thought of never seeing him again, the thought of him marrying someone else and fathering someone else’s children. You weren’t sure if you loved him like that. Yes, you loved him. He was your best friend. You loved him with everything you had. However, you weren’t sure if you were in love with him. It was rare that the marriages in the coven had any love. You could see yourself falling for him, though. If given the opportunity, he would be easy to fall in love with.

Of all those secret meetings and passionate embraces, you wondered what it would have been like to be together in the public eye. Sneaking off was fun and thrilling, the secrecy and forbidden joinings exhilarating and they certainly helped you fuel the rebellion against your parents and the coven. You two weren’t supposed to be together in any way, even in a friendly manner, until after the wedding. But those meetings? After finding out about your arrangement, you two decided to get to know each other on your terms, not your parents’. Those friendly meetings had turned into so much more, and they were fun. Fun was a rarity in the coven. You and Jasper always had fun. He was a fantastic lover, much more experienced than you were, seeing as he had been your first. You two never spoke about it. It just sort of happened one night. There was no true romance, no heart skipping love. Just two friends having some fun before they were married. 

Then your older brother Danny had died, and suddenly your world had crashed down around you. You were suddenly the oldest child. You were going to be sacrificed, the power transferring to you the moment Danny took his last breath. Not only had you lost your best friend, but your future had been rewritten; the arrangement made for you and Jasper had withered, and you were going to be murdered in a blood sacrifice in three years. 

You and Jasper no longer were to be married, but that didn’t stop the meetings. That didn’t stop the passion. After Danny, you needed the distraction. You spent more nights with Jasper than you did alone. Not that he complained.

Your last night of freedom was different. Typically, the nights spent together were fast, primal, and more often than not, rough. Three nights ago, your final night spent free, or as free as you could get inside the coven, was spent with your family. Then after they had gone to bed, your mother excited for your honorable sacrifice, your siblings looking forward to furthering their power, and your father despondent and sullen- the thought of losing another child weighing on him- you had snuck out to meet with Jasper for the final time. And like he had been your first time, he was slow and tender. Emotion poured from him and it had frightened you. You knew he felt more for you than you did for him. You also knew you couldn’t let yourself feel that way, not knowing your fate. You couldn’t give into your own temptation, or let him taste the sweet tang of the promise of forever, not when you were being ripped from the world by a cruel hand. You two had spent the whole night together, words a rarity, speaking with your bodies, saying goodbye. He was your best friend, your confidant and solace. The person you wished you had the time to love.

He stepped closer to the circle of stones, face still shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by the flickering orange lanterns hung by iron wroughts. Ever so slowly, he lifted a hand, a deep yellow spark igniting at the tips of his fingers. They settled there for a moment, glowing bright in the dark, but no one seemed to notice. No. This was for you and you only. Jasper loved art, and that’s what his magic was. The light danced in his palm and glided around in swirls in the air above his outstretched arm. 

He was distracting you. Keeping your mind elsewhere as the elders, cloaked in the charcoal gray robes of their ancestors, stepped up onto the dais. Grisha, the High Priestess of your coven, chanted in latin. If you paid more attention, you could know what she was saying. But you stayed focused on Jasper, even as his figure trembled in the light, face pinched to keep emotion from showing. Your heart ached at the sight and you so desperately longed to run your fingers through his chocolate curls one last time. Wanted to feel his strong hand in yours. Wanted to run away from here with him.

But if there was something Jasper was, it was loyal. And his family came before you. He would never leave them, never leave the compound or abandon the coven. Not even for you.

As a founding family, your father was amongst the robed figures. It was by the hand of the creator who committed the sacrifice. For generations, parents held the golden blade to their children’s throat to spill their blood upon the stones. You glanced down at your bare knees, noting the stone’s color; black and a deep gray. The stones were once as pale gray as the standing stones that formed the circle. But each sacrificial slab had held so much death, the color was no longer so.

It made you shiver.

The light flickered brighter across the circle and you raised your eyes to Jasper again. His own dark eyes were pleading with you across the grass, begging you to keep your gaze on him. Begging you to stay locked with him for as long as you could.

So you obliged.

Sera was first. The volume of her sobs increased. She screamed and pleaded with her mother, blubbering and crying until suddenly, she gurgled, and a thud echoed ominously across the circle. You shook violently and you were afraid of collapsing. Jasper brightened his tendrils of light, forming small animal shapes; rabbits hopping, birds flying, butterflies flitting. His distractions only went so far.

Marxicus was next. He had been stone still and completely silent. As his father raised the blade to his throat, all he said was, “sancti libera me.”

Saints liberate me.

The blade smoothly sliced open his throat, and he slumped to the stone heavily.

Freya cursed at her father, both in English and in Italian, snapping and snarling and fighting until the end. She didn’t die immediately. She had fought hard enough that the blade hadn’t sliced through her artery. Her father gripped a fist full of her hair and yanked her head back before pressing harder and deeper into her throat until blood sprayed across his face and her body fell.

You thought you might vomit. Or faint. Or both.

Gunthias pleaded without tears, but begged nonetheless. You saw the blade slice his throat from the corner of your eye, watching as his body fell and slipped half-way off the stone slab.

Finally, as the youngest, you were up. You were shaking so hard, you thought you might fall if it wasn’t for your father’s hand landing on your shoulder. Jasper’s light flickered slightly, dulling into small swirls of yellow dust around his palm. He was too frightened to conjure enough power. He half turned, as if he was going to run, but thought better of it. His eyes never left yours.

Yours left his, however. You scanned the crowd one last time for your family. It didn’t take you long. Your siblings were hugging each other, the twins- Margot and Matthias, both clinging onto each other as if their lives depended on it. Your mother stood over them, hands clasped beneath her chin, lips murmuring a prayer to the Gods as she watched with eyes full of elation. She smirked lightly at you as she caught your gaze, giving you a deep nod.

You looked away quickly, finding Jasper one last time. He was still there, as he said he would be. Always. 

The blade was wet and sticky with blood against your throat. You trembled and murmured a prayer to your Gods, wishing for a quick death, hoping the afterlife was as glorious as promised, hoping this was fucking worth it-

The blade swiped through the air, missing you by mere inches, before it lodged itself into Grisha’s chest.

Gasps and screams erupted from the crowd as the High Priestess shrieked and keeled over, clutching at her chest as she began to spasm. You met Jasper’s eyes one more time, his face stunned and eyes impossibly wide. Your father gripped you under your arms and lifted you from the slab. 

Then you two were running.

Your father raised his shields as the coven went wild. Many people cowered in fear. Your father had just killed the High Priestess. If he did that, what was stopping him from killing them?

Others were sending out powerful blasts of energy to slow you two down. But your father simply gripped your arm tighter and sprinted from the circle and into the field, the tall grass whipping at your bare legs, your feet slicing from thorns, but you didn’t care. You were escaping. You could do this.

“Faster, Y/n/n!”

You pumped your legs until they burned as the two of you ran. Shouts and battle cries erupted from behind you and you knew the two of you were being chased. Of course you would be. They couldn’t finish the sacrifice. The power would not be fully replenished. 

You had to die.

But you didn’t want to. You spent your whole life confined inside the damn coven, in the damn compound. You wished to see the world, wanted to experience life outside. You wanted to live- for you and for Danny.

“Faster. Please, run faster!”

Your father pulled you along until you were nearly stumbling. He noticed and sent a quick surge of purple light, the shackles bound to your wrists bursting apart. You winced as the air hit your raw skin but you were now able to run with more balance.

Finally, you broke through the trees. The confinement within the branches helped shield you from the onslaught of power surges being sent your way. If you were caught, not only would you be killed, but your father would be too. He would be deemed a traitor to the coven, and treason was the highest offense you could commit.

“Where are we going?” You panted between breaths. Your lungs burned and you tried your best to ignore it, but you had never been one for running or for sports. Not to mention, you had been locked away in the Harvest Rite cabin for three days, shackled to a “room” that was really a cell, locked from the sunlight for three days so the harvest moon would touch your spirit better or some shit. Honestly, you had no idea, not interested in the faux explanation the coven founders had spouted centuries ago. 

“Anywhere but here,” your father said breathlessly. “We need to get you somewhere safe. Then we can-”

Red light collided with your father’s back, sending him sprawling. You yelled in surprise and skidded to a halt, falling to your knees beside him. The magic seeped into his back and erupted through his chest in bloody bursts, clawing its way free. 

“Daddy!”

“Go! Y/n, please! Go!”

You shook your head and sobbed, covering his chest with your hands, his blood warm against your chilled skin. 

“No, no I can’t leave you!” You said. The shouting grew louder and you knew the ones chasing you were close. But how were you to leave him? Especially when he risked himself for you.

“You must. Please, Y/n/n. Please.” His eyes, ones matching yours, pleaded with you behind light lashes. He retched, blood dribbling from his lips. He gripped your hands with his. “I would die a thousand deaths before I would let them kill you. I… I can’t lose… another one.”

You knew he was talking about Danny, about that fateful day that your older brother had drowned in the lake. How the grief had radiated from your father so potently, it physically pained you. It was the worst day of your life. Now you had to watch another person you loved die.

“Don’t go,” you whispered. “Please don’t go.” You laid your forehead to his, the metallic scent of blood surrounding you. 

“I… I love you… I… want you to… live… for me… and for… D-Danny… Please… run.”

“I love you, too,” you said. You pressed a kiss to his forehead and pushed yourself up, giving him one more glance, torn between running and fighting the bastards who did this.

“Go. Please. I love you. Go,” he said weakly. His body went limp and you knew that was it.

Letting a scream of outrage bubble in your chest, you vowed to personally kill every single last one of the fuckers who did this. You vowed to avenge your father. Freya. Marxicus. Gunthias. Sera.

Yourself.

Letting your shields surround you and your glamour conceal you, you turned and sprinted deep into the woods, trying to keep your anger and sorrow at bay long enough to prepare yourself to step foot into the outside world for the first time in your twenty-one years of life.

DEAN

“Screw you.”

Dean laughed and reached forward to scoop up Sam’s cards, shuffling them with the larger stack of cards in the center of the table. He had won three games in a row now, and he was pushing for a fourth. 

“Admit it, Sammy,” he said, leaning back into his chair. “You just suck.”

“Shut up, jerk. Deal the damn cards.” Sam sat forward and shook out his hands. Dean snickered and dealt cards to himself and his brother.

“Quit while you can, bitch,” Dean said. “Losing four times in a row? Pathetic.”

“Will you two shut the hell up?” The brothers looked up at the doorway, Bobby trudging in from the hallway with a beer in one hand and a leather bound book in the other. “Some of us need to research.”

Dean sipped his own beer and threw a handful of salted peanuts into his mouth. “How much more research could you possibly have to do? Don’t you ever just… chill?”

Sam furrowed his brows, mouthing the word “chill?” to his brother. Since when had they known Bobby to “chill?”

Bobby grumbled something under his breath and sat down at his desk. “Maybe if you researched more, you wouldn’t have to ask me for help all the time.”

Sam spit out his beer, doubling over in laughter. Dean wasn’t as amused and he threw his next handful of peanuts at his brother. 

“Children,” Bobby muttered. 

The rest of the night went by in a similar manner. Dean won the fourth round, and the fifth, and then Sam finally gave up before suggesting a new game in which he promptly beat Dean’s ass. Bobby silently read and scribbled notes, answering a phone call around nine.

“You boys up for a hunt?”

Dean rubbed his hands together and lifted his brows. “When aren’t we?”

“Dean, we just finished one yesterday,” Sam said, putting the stack of cards back into the worn box. Dean shrugged and got up from his seat.

“Sounds simple, probably a vengeful spirit,” Bobby said, handing Dean his notes. Dean read over them to himself before silently handing them to Sam who did the same thing. “Should be a one and done thing.”

“Yeah, why not?” Sam sighed.

Bobby waved the brother’s off, Dean speeding from the long, dirt driveway with AC/DC blasting from the stereo. Sam chewed lightly on the tip of his pen as he made some of his own marks to Bobby’s notes.

“So what, you're gonna find another hunt right after this one again? Maybe it’ll take you twelve hours instead of a full day next time.”

Dean’s hands curled tightly around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He liked hunting, so what? Was he throwing himself into hunts more often than not recently? Sure. But they helped. They helped with the rage that simmered beneath his hands. They helped with the itching feeling he got whenever he thought of hell.

Fucking hell.

Literally.

It hadn’t even been three months since he returned to the land of the living. Sam was still in the dark and Dean planned on keeping it that way. He wouldn’t subject his younger brother to the horrors of hell, what he experienced or what he did. He shared everything with Sam. He wanted to keep this to himself.

Hunting helped relieve some of that pent up aggression and fear that burned beneath his bones like fire. Saving people, hunting things. That was his motto, right? Saving people now when he couldn’t in hell, when he caused people pain. Hunting things and killing them to let out some of that burning rage.

If Sam suspected anything, he didn’t say so. Dean thought he might have a few times, but he would quickly change the subject or cut him off. 

No chick-flick moments. Another motto he planned to live by.

So he pressed a little harder on the gas pedal, Baby revving beneath him, trees a blur outside his window. He simply let himself drive and listen to his music, thankful he even got to do this, that he could hunt and be with his brother and live.

Even if he wasn’t truly free from the confinement of his own mind, or the burdens of his guilt.

Y/N

It had been nearly a week since you escaped.

A week of hiding and traveling.

You had no money, no way of knowing where you were, no knowledge of anything besides your coven.

Luckily, it seemed you were in the middle of nowhere. You had come across a rundown building with broken windows and shutters that hung from their hinges. Taking a peek inside, you realized it must have been abandoned ages ago. Branches, leaves, and cobwebs littered the inside. You had carefully maneuvered around the broken glass and into a small room. A moth-eaten couch sat cockeyed in the old living room, drapes pooled on the floor beneath the dirt covered windows, dusty books and picture frames laid forgotten on the floor underneath wall to wall shelves.

You still shivered in your shift, but there were a pair of boots by the front door. A quick inspection found the inside to be worn but wearable. After plucking out leaves and a small spider in one of them, you slipped them onto your feet. They were a bit big on you, but they would have to do until you could figure out your next course of action.

You raided the house, finding a small backpack to take with you. You couldn’t stay in a place like this. The only furniture was that god-awful couch and a table in one of the upstairs rooms. But you found a pocket knife, a flashlight (with no batteries), and you had taken a few of the books from the floor, stuffing the items in the backpack before continuing with your journey.

For the rest of the week, you would find small places to settle for the night within the woods. Cover beneath large rocks, crannies between cliffs, in the low branches of trees. You didn’t dare risk making a fire, not with your coven on the lookout for you. Instead, you would summon a warm ball of light to keep you from freezing to death. You would nestle the light and smaller droplets of light around your body as you slept, one hand on the pocket knife, the other cradling your head as a pillow.

You thought of your father every waking hour.

You missed him so much. It seemed as if he was the only one in your family who actually cared about you. Your siblings were too young to really understand anything about the coven, and they saw you more as a prized possession than an older sister. Your mother was devoted to the coven and its members. She loved you. In her own way. But not like your siblings. You were a possession. A thing full of intense power that would eventually return that power to the coven to fuel and replenish it.

You hated it.

You hated that damn coven and its traditional ways. You heard of covens that were modernized and didn’t sacrifice, covens that lived in the modern world. You didn’t know if they were real or not.

You wished your father was with you. He loved you and cherished you as a daughter, not a weapon. You two had always been close. And it was because of you that he was dead.

A week went by, and you were walking along a dark road. The road was made of black stone, white dotted lines painted down the center. You weren’t completely ignorant of the outside world. You knew what roads were, had heard about cars and telephones.

That amongst other little things was all you knew.

Being alone was terrifying. 

You allowed yourself to cry. Your mother always told you crying was a sign of weakness, but she wasn’t here. You were alone. For the first time, you were alone in a world that was foreign to you. But you were free.

A low rumbling sounded from behind you. Turning, you caught sight of a large machine barreling towards you. Wheels spun quickly and two lights flashed in your face from the front of it.

A car.

You watched in awe as it sped past you and then stopped a little distance ahead. A man in jeans and a flannel pushed open a door and slipped from the raised seat. A hat with a brim shading his eyes sat on his head, a gray beard covering the bottom of his face. He took a few steps towards you which made you step back.

“You alright, girl?”

His voice was gruff and slightly accented. It reminded you of your father’s voice. You subconsciously took a step towards him, desperate to hang on to that feeling of familiarity that had to do with your father’s memory.

“Miss?”

You stopped when you realized he was taking steps towards you. What was the worst that could happen? If the man tried to hurt you, you would be able to stop him with a single thought. You were a witch, and a damn powerful one. He doesn’t even know witches exist.

“Can I drive you anywhere?”

“No,” you answered honestly. Where could you go? You had nowhere. You left your only home behind and you didn’t have any money. Fuck, you really had nothing. Panic began to creep up your throat.

“Okay,” the man said slowly. “Do you need help?”

Yes, yes, yes. You wanted to let him help you. But what would you say? Oh yeah, my family comes from a closed off coven and my father saved me from having my throat sliced open in a traditional sacrifice, then he was killed while we ran. I have no money, no clothes, and absolutely no where to go.

“I…”

“You look freezing. Let me help you out. I’ll get you something to eat and we’ll figure it out.”

Right to business he was. You glanced down at yourself, skin prickled in gooseflesh from the cold, your slip dirty and ripped in some places. Your feet ached in those too-big boots and your stomach growled in hunger. The berries and bark you had eaten for the past week left you starving for more.

Going against your better judgement, you gave in. He helped you up into the truck. You hugged your backpack to your chest, body ready to bolt if he tried anything. He gave you one last look before the car started moving. You started, gasping a little. The man flinched.

“What is it?” He asked. 

“Nothing,” you responded quickly. He grumbled something and the truck went faster.

It was an odd feeling, but one you became accustomed to quickly. You felt his eyes on you again, as if he was sizing you up, and it made you a bit uncomfortable. You shifted in your seat. He seemed to notice and promptly looked away.

Not too long later, he was pulling the truck onto a dirt road. Various crushed and mangled pieces of metal were scattered along the yard. It didn’t take you long to realize they seemed to be old cars, scraps of such that the man must use for something. Tools lay forgotten all around, random bits of chain flung here and there.

Water suddenly splashed over your face.

Jumping, you spun to face him with a bewildered look. He looked you up and down again before reaching into his pocket, revealing a knife. 

You reached for the door handle, trying to push open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. This was it. You were dead. 

“Calm down, girl,” he said. He reached forward to grab your arm and you whined. You didn’t want to resort to using your powers, but you would if you absolutely had to. “I’m just testing you.”

“What?” You asked. He pressed the tip of the knife into your forearm. It pinched for a moment and was gone almost instantly, a tiny droplet of blood forming where it had knicked you. “What the hell was that for?”

“Precaution,” was all he said as he clicked a button and opened his door. He walked around the truck before he opened your door and offered you a hand. You looked at it suspiciously. You needed to leave. You should leave. You were also incredibly confused. The man rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to hurt ‘ya. Well, not anymore. That was more for my safety than anything.”

“How?” You asked. 

“I thought you were… nevermind. Just, get out of the car, will ‘ya?”

You narrowed your eyes and let your power inch into his head. It slithered inside and easily found his thoughts. You were a telepath, rare in the witch world, and you weren’t very practiced with it, but it came in handy for situations like this, you supposed. Your mother hated that you were a telepath. Danny was a telepath, and anything that reminded her of him was strictly forbidden. And ever since he died, you were forbidden to use your telepathy, and that led to you being incredibly out of practice.

...Didn’t mean to hurt her… she could have been a shifter… I could have sworn she was something…. She looks scared… probably just a runaway… she doesn’t look very old… why is she staring at me like that...

You pulled your power back and took his hand. The thoughts were quiet and breaking up, but you could make out most of what he was thinking. A shifter? As in shapeshifter? As a witch, you knew about some of the other supernatural creatures. But how would a human know about them?

Leading you into the house, the man kept sparing you odd glances, and you hugged your backpack even tighter to your chest. The inside of the house was dark and dingy, cluttered with old books and boxes. The man gestured to a small round sitting table in the kitchen. You sat down slowly, watching as he pulled out bread and some meat from the refrigerator. 

“What’s your name?” He asked. He set the plate down in front of you as well as a glass of water. You tentatively reached forward for the sandwich, made up of some meat and cheese and lettuce, the bread spongier than the homemade kind your mother made at home. You picked it up, sniffing it. “It’s just a sandwich. It won’t kill you.”

Thinking back to the knife in the truck, and the scabbed droplet of blood on your arm, you scowled, but took a bite anyway.

The man pushed over his own sandwich not a minute later, seeing how hungry you were.

“Y/n,” you said after finishing the first sandwich, picking up the second one. You wiped the crumbs with the back of your hand and drank the glass of water deeply, gulping down every last drop. The man pushed his water over as well. You drank that, too.

“Okay, Y/n,” he said. He watched you carefully. “Why were you out on the road like that, dressed in a nightgown when it’s forty degrees out, at almost ten at night?”

You paused and chewed your bite of sandwich slowly. You wouldn’t tell him everything. But he seemed to be kind. And he reminded you so much of your father…

“I ran away.”

The man sighed and nodded. “I figured. You an adult?”

“I just celebrated my twenty-first year.”

He blinked at you, mouth opening to say something, closing it only a moment after. He furrowed his brows. “Odd way of saying it, but okay.” He scratched his chin. “Why did you run away?”

You blanched. You weren’t expecting that question, although you should have. You swallowed the food in your mouth. “Um…”

“I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me,” he said gruffly, making you frown. 

“Um… well… It’s hard to explain,” you said truthfully. How were you supposed to explain your situation to him?

The man leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temple. “I guess if you don’t want to tell me right away, you don’t have to.” He looked you over, noting the still bruised wrists from the shackles and the cuts and various other small wounds from your coven and from spending a week in the woods. He swallowed hard at the sight of them. He reached a hand out for yours, and you obliged. He gently touched the wounds on your wrist, getting up to reach for a box in a cabinet over the sink. 

Restraints?... I wonder… 

That was all you could get from his head. You wished you were more practiced in your telepathy. Life would be much easier for you.

As he cleaned, applied salve, and dressed your wrists, his face was pulled into a pondering pout the whole time. His silent conversation with himself prompted a quick shake of his head to clear his mind before he was patting your forearm.

“Look, I know you don’t know me. I don’t know you. I don’t know what you have gone through and you don’t have to tell me. But I won’t hurt you, and I sure as hell won’t let anyone hurt you any more. I don’t know what caused these wounds but… I have an imagination. Just… you can stay as long as you want to, or need to. I have a spare room upstairs. I won’t bother you or nothing, but it’ll give you time to heal and get your shit together.” He thought for a moment before adding, “That is- if you want to.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. Without thinking, you had wrapped your arms around the man’s neck, hugging him tightly. He grunted and hesitated before patting your back stiffly.

“Okay,” was all he said. You pulled back and grinned shyly. 

“Thank you, sir,” you said. 

“Call me Bobby.”

DEAN

“Piece of cake.”

Sam scoffed and limped after Dean, who was cradling his arm against his chest. They took out the vengeful spirit, but not without it getting the upper hand on them at one point. Nonetheless, Dean turned to his brother and grinned.

“Aw, come on, Sammy. That was fun!” Dean opened the trunk of his precious car and threw in his salt-filled shotgun. Sam shook his head and opened the passenger side door.

“Your definition of fun is startling,” was all he said as he ducked into the car, closing the door behind him. Dean laughed and slipped behind the steering wheel.

“Please. Your definition of fun is watching Harry Potter.”

Sam scoffed and turned to Dean. “Yours is watching cartoon porn.”

“It’s anime!” Dean snapped. Sam cackled in his seat and rubbed his sore knee.

“Okay, Dean. Whatever you say.”

***

By the time they got to Bobby’s, it was well past midnight, but a light was on in the windows. The air had cooled even more, the light wind nipping at their noses as they hurried to the door. 

“Fucking locked-” Dean banged on it. “Bobby! Open up!”

“Dean, he could be sleeping,” Sam said. 

“The light is on,” Dean pointed out. He raised his fist to bang on the door again but it swung open. Bobby knocked Dean’s hand out of the way.

“Would you quit it?” Bobby said. He moved out of the way to let the shivering brothers inside. “You’ll wake up-” Bobby snapped his mouth shut. 

Dean smirked and let out a wheezing laugh. “Bobby, you sly dog!” He clapped his father figure on the shoulder. 

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone,” Sam said simply. Dean was still making sexual jabs. Bobby rolled his eyes.

“I’m not seeing anyone, you idjits,” he said. “I took in a runaway. I don’t know the story so don’t ask, but she was hurt. I honestly thought she was… something at first.”

“Why?” Sam asked. He cocked his head. “Did she do anything weird?”

Bobby shrugged. “Call it a hunch. She’s clean, though.”

“So what, you’re just letting her stay here?” Dean made his way to the fridge to grab a beer. “Why would you-”

A scream tore through the upstairs of the house. A bloodcurdling scream that made the hair on Dean’s neck stand up.

Bobby spun and sprinted up the stairs in the blink of an eye, the brothers close on his heels, however when they reached the door to one of the spare bedrooms, Bobby slammed it in their face.

“What the hell?”

The screams broke off suddenly, and Dean could vaguely hear Bobby speaking softly through the door. A woman's voice sounded back, one that was melodic but had a rougher edge to it. 

A few minutes passed before Bobby slipped out of the room and pulled the door closed. “Nightmare.”

The brothers stared at him incredulously.

“What?” Bobby raised his shoulders. 

“What the hell, Bobby?” Dean asked. “Why’re you getting involved with something like this? I mean, do you even know her?”

“We help people, it’s what we do. I don’t know her but so what? Call it… a hunch,” Bobby said again. He shrugged for a third time and shouldered past the boys to head towards the stairs. “You two need to leave.”

“Excuse me?” Dean followed him, raising a brow. 

“She barely trusts me. She’s skittish, is all. I don’t want three men freaking her out, especially two of them as big as you guys.” Bobby opened the door to the house and jerked his head. “You can come back when she settles.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Dean deadpanned. He couldn’t believe it! All of this over some girl? Some runaway girl who Bobby had just met? “There has got to be more to the story.”

“There isn’t. Now beat it,” Bobby said. 

Y/N

Bobby was kind.

The first three days were a struggle. You weren’t sure what to do or what to tell him. He seemed harmless, but you easily spotted the guns and the knives and the sigils around the house. You knew what they were and what they meant. The Devil’s trap was something you had learned to create at a young age.

“Are you a hunter?” Bobby had asked. 

“A… what?” You figured he didn’t mean a hunter in the sense of killing animals. 

“A hunter. You know about demons and the sigils,” Bobby trailed off when he realized you didn’t know what hunters were. “What are you then?”

“Well, I had to learn about them growing up. Where I’m from, we were taught about demons in school and their protective sigils.” You had chuckled a bit. “My mother told me many people believed we are devil worshipers but we aren’t!”

Bobby simply stared at you. 

“You’re a satanist?” He asked. That had you laughing again.

“Like I said, we don’t worship the devil.”

“Who is ‘we?’” 

You hesitated, but you figured you could trust him. He had been kind and understanding with you. He knew you must have grown up pretty sheltered. You hadn’t known how to use the telephone and you didn’t know how to drive a car. You had never used a television.

Yes, you could trust him. 

“My coven!”

Bobby moved so fast the table shook as his knees hit it, your glass of water toppling over. “Bobby, what?-”

“Your what?”

You cocked your head at his reaction. “My… my coven?”

“You’re a witch?” He was mad. Really mad. So mad, his face turned red and he fisted his hands at his sides.

“Well… yes,” you said slowly. 

“We hunt you,” Bobby growled. That had you standing up slowly, hands raised in innocence.

“I don’t understand,” you said. You swallowed thickly. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Ever?” He snapped. 

“What do you mean?”

“Have you ever hurt anyone?” 

You froze. Hurt anyone? “Of course not! What are you talking about?”

“Witches kill and maim and bring harm to people,” Bobby hissed. “I knew you were something.”

“I’ve never done any of that! How dare you think I have?” You said. “Up until a week and a half ago, I had never left my compound. I was going to be sacrificed for fucks sake! My coven is traditionalistic. We live a simple life. We have no communication with the outside world. You were the first person I had ever met outside my coven!”

He stared at you dumbly, blinking a few times to process your words. “Are you… are you serious?”

“Yes,” you breathed. You kept your hands up but you shrugged lamely. “If it wasn’t for my father, I’d be dead.”

“Where’s your father?” He asked. Your heart sunk at the thought and suddenly your knees felt weak.

“He died,” you spoke softly. “He freed me and they… they killed him in the process.”

Bobby’s fists unclenched. “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head. “He died trying to save me and I won’t let him die in vain. I’ll leave if you want me to but… I haven’t done anything for you to kill me. You have my word.”

He looked at you for a while, really looked at you. His eyes softened as a tear slipped down your cheek. You desperately wanted to enter his mind but you knew you shouldn’t, especially not now. Finally, he relaxed his position. 

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay?”

“You don’t have to leave,” he said. “But if you start… I don’t know, killing things or doing any of that evil devil shit, I’ll kill ‘ya.”

You scoffed. “What would evil devil shit entail?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Watch it, you idjit.”

In the next few weeks, Bobby had taken you under his wing. He began to teach you how to shoot, which you weren’t terrible at. He gave you books to read on lore (much of which you already knew) and even brought you out on outings with him. He was a bit of a hermit, but the few times he did go out, he’d take you with him.

Needless to say, it was… overwhelming.

There were so many people. So much technology. But it was exhilarating. You had never been shopping before, never been to a restaurant. The diner Bobby brought you to was one he said wasn’t very good, but it was fun. The waitress had looked at you like you had grown a third head as your eyes took in all of your surroundings, gazing incredulously at the picture covered walls and the jukebox- that’s what Bobby called it- against the wall. 

Then there was the music. You grew up with your mother’s fiddle and that was nothing compared to what you listened to now. You had chosen so many songs from the jukebox, Bobby had to pull you away from it before you drove everyone insane. 

It was amazing and you wished you could experience it all with your father. You wished he could see the new sights and hear the wonderful music. The food was a bit more artificial tasting but there was a whole new world of foods to explore. You especially liked the cheeseburgers Bobby introduced you to.

Three weeks into your stay, Bobby had taken you on a hunt with him. He told you there would be people out there who would want to kill you and wouldn’t listen like he had. You had to keep your witchcraft and religion a secret, or else hunters like him would come for you.

That didn’t help the nightmares that plagued you at night.

Your father’s death haunted you. The screams and pleads of the other oldest children haunted you. Danny’s blue lips and waterlogged skin haunted you. 

You couldn’t escape it. 

“Here’s some money,” Bobby said. “Go to the bar next door. Get yourself a drink, dance a little. I’ll meet you back in the room when I’m done, okay?”

He brought you along but didn’t want you hunting quite yet.

You did as he said. You drank some new drinks, danced with a man you had met, conversed with the pretty red headed bartender. You let loose and had fun, something you never would have done with the coven.

When you stumbled back into the motel room that night, Bobby had grinned at you, watching as you fell back onto your bed.

“Fun night?” He asked, helping your boots off when you struggled with the laces.

“Screw my coven,” you slurred. You smiled toothily up at him. “That was fun!” You reached into your pocket, holding out the remainder of the money he had given you.

“Keep it,” he said. You smiled and shucked off your jacket.

You were asleep by the time your head hit the pillow.

DEAN

“You think the girl is still there?”

Dean sighed and shook his head. “Doubt it. It’s been almost two months.”

Sam stretched his legs as he and Dean walked up the steps to Bobby’s house. Dean knocked twice, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Autumn had faded into winter, the leaves long fallen and the flurries of snow drifting around their feet as they walked. The sun was hidden behind a blanket of clouds, making it even colder than it was.

The door opened, but instead of Bobby, a woman peered up at them. Dean’s breath hitched in his throat.

She was beautiful. Her eyes were e/c and held a sort of wisdom in them that startled him, but a glint of innocence were beheld in them, too. Her face was framed by long stray locks of h/c hair, half of it braided, the rest loose. She was tall for a woman, but the brothers still towered over her, and her simple t-shirt and jeans showed off her curves nicely. Dean looked her up and down, giving her a lopsided smile.

“Hey there,” he drawled. He touched the tip of his tongue to his top lip before giving her a nod. “What’s your name?”

The woman looked between them both, seemingly unfazed by Dean’s advances. “Bobby! There are two guys out here!”

“Let them in,” Dean heard Bobby call. “It’s the Winchester boys I was telling you about.”

“Oh,” was all she said as she stepped out of the way. She held the screen door open for them as they ducked inside. Dean sent her a wink as he passed.

“Sam, Dean,” Bobby greeted. He gestured to the woman who had now gravitated to the corner of the room. She simply watched them, her hands curled into fists at her sides. Dean noticed faint scars around her wrists. When she caught Dean’s eyes, she held them behind her back. “This is Y/n.”

“Hi,” Sam said, giving her a friendly smile.

“Hey.” Dean grinned lazily at her.

“Hello.”

Her voice was soft and Dean’s heart leaped in his chest at the sound. 

“Is this the same girl from a few months ago?” Sam asked. Bobby nodded.

“Yep, that’s her,” he said. “I’ve been showing her the ropes.”

“What- like hunting?” Dean furrowed his brows. “Bobby, since when have we brought civilians into this shit?”

“I’m not a civilian,” Y/n spoke up. 

“Sure, sweetheart,” Dean said. 

“I’m a witch.”

“Dammit to hell, Y/n!” Bobby threw his arms out to his sides.

“A witch?” Dean snarled. He pulled his gun without a second thought, but before he could shoot, Y/n’s eyes shined purple and the gun was flung from his hand. “Bitch!”

“Watch your mouth, boy!” Bobby hissed. “She’s a witch, but she has lived her whole life in a secluded coven. She’s never hurt anyone.”

“She will!” It was Sam’s turn to pipe up. “Bobby, how can you trust a witch?”

“If you knew her, you’d understand,” Bobby answered. He gestured to her. “She won’t hurt anyone, and you won’t hurt her. Because if you do, I’ll hurt you. Do you understand?”

“Bobby-”

“I said, do you understand?” Bobby repeated himself. The brothers looked at him, noticing how his lips were screwed into a silent growl, his body moving into a defensive position half in front of the woman. Sam swallowed hard.

“Fine.”

“Sam!” Dean protested.

“If Bobby trusts her… then I do, too,” Sam muttered. Dean scoffed.

“She’s a witch!”

“And you’re a dick!” Y/n snapped. 

Dean’s eyes widened. He lifted a finger to point at her. “You shut it.” 

“Make me,” Y/n mocked. She folded her arms over her chest.

Dean took a step forward. “Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

“Enough!” Bobby roared. He turned to the woman. “What did I say about Dean?”

She sighed deeply. “Not to rile him up.”

“And what are you doing?”

“... Riling him up.”

“Exactly,” Bobby said. “Stop it.”

“Sorry.”

Bobby turned to Dean next. “You quit taunting her, would you? She’s turning into a decent hunter, and an even better consultant, and she’s a kind woman. If you would get your head out of your ass, you two actually have a lot in common.”

“I don’t care,” Dean said. Which was a bit of a lie, but not really. She was attractive, and he liked her spirit, but she was a witch. How was he ever going to trust the likes of her?

“A consultant?” Sam asked.

“She grew up learning about monsters,” Bobby clarified. “Not only that, but she has the knowledge for spells and herbal magic. She’s given me a lot of great information on healing spells and on some research type stuff.”

“Oh great, she could be poisoning you, Bobby,” Dean said. 

“I could poison you.” Y/n narrowed her eyes at the green eyed hunter.

“Bobby, she literally just threatened me,” Dean pointed out. Bobby just shook his head and rubbed his temple.

“Y/n?”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Thank you.” Bobby gestured to the brothers. “If you two ever need any help, she’s your girl. Dean, you may not like her, but she’s smart and her herb mixes really do work.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” Sam said gently. He grinned at Y/n. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too, Sam,” she said, enunciating his name more prominently. Dean scowled. “I’ll see you two later.”

“Where are you going?” Bobby asked as Y/n made her way to the stairs.

“On a date!”

Bobby started and gaped at her. “A date?”

“Yeah! Remember Ben?”

Bobby thought for a moment. “The EMT from the wraith hunt?”

“Uh-huh! We went out that night afterwards and he called me yesterday for a second date.”

“Why didn’t I know about this?” Bobby asked. 

Y/n rolled her eyes. “I am an adult, Bobby. Besides, the only relationship I had ever been in was an arranged one. I’d like to have my own.”

Dean sputtered. “I’m sorry- arranged?”

“Her coven was a little… old school,” Bobby said.

“To say the least,” Y/n chimed in. “Anyway, I have to get ready. Bye, boys!”

She disappeared up the stairs, the soft click of her door closing echoing down from the hallway. Bobby still looked like he was going to explode.

“How did I not know about this?”

Sam chuckled. “Don’t ask us, Bobby,” he said. “But I like her.”

“She’s great,” Bobby agreed. “Dean, if you don’t lighten up, I swear to God.”

Dean rolled his eyes, putting his whole body into it. “Okay, fine, whatever. I won’t kill her.”

“How generous of you, Dean,” Sam said, patting his brother on the shoulder. Dean pushed him away, giving him a dirty look.

“Shut up.”

Y/N

Ben was sweet, and handsome, and decent in bed, but he didn’t send that spark to your core like Dean did.

By your fifth date, you decided to break it off. It had been a month since you last saw the Winchester brothers, and three months since you had met them. You occupied your time with research and exploring the outside world. Ben had been fun, and he was so nice, but by God, Dean lit a fire in you that burned so brightly, all you could think about was him.

So after Ben, there was Derek. He was a bit more rugged than the soft spoken EMT, and if Ben had been fun, Derek was a fucking rollercoaster. He wasn’t more than a month long fling as he rolled through town, but fuck was it great. You liked this new freedom. You liked experimenting and having the choice. Sure, you and Jasper had a good time, and it was the escape you needed, but you two were arranged by your parents and the elders. Ben and Derek were your choices. 

You loved having the fucking choice.

And if given the chance, you’d like to choose Dean.

He was an arrogant dick, but you remembered that smirk and the dark look in his eye and that filled you with an excitement you wanted to chase. You knew you shouldn’t chase. That you couldn’t chase.

Because no matter how civil he acted with you, you also knew he wanted to kill you. 

But you also thought he wanted to fuck you. He was incredibly confusing.

Your phone calls were always short, and they either ended up with insults thrown at each other, or flirtatious innuendos from the hunter that always left you questioning whether or not he actually hated you. You provided them with copious amounts of information for their hunts, and Sam always took you up on your offer for spells and herbal concoctions. You thought Dean may have been coming around, but you wouldn’t know until tonight when they came to visit Bobby. 

It was clear Dean didn’t trust you, and his cocky attitude made it so much worse. But he was a damn good hunter and a great brother to Sam, and he was Bobby’s family. So you’d try to be civil.

You’d try.

***

“Goodnight. Try not to kill each other, please.”

You waved Bobby off. Sam had long gone to bed, and with Bobby leaving, you and Dean were left alone. 

And fuck was that awkward.

You looked anywhere but him. You didn’t want to just get up and leave. But you also didn’t want to sit here in silence. Dean seemed to have the same idea.

“So how’s it been-”

“How do you like-”

You spoke at the same time and heat rose in your cheeks. “Go ahead.”

He cleared his throat. “How do you like it outside the coven?”

Right, Bobby had told you he told the brothers a bit about your past. Not everything, but enough to help them understand you weren’t evil like Dean thought you were.

“It’s different. A good different,” you said. “It’s… amazing, really. There are so many things I never knew existed.”

“Like what?” Dean asked. True curiosity shined in his eyes and it made you smile.

“Like music. The music is amazing. I have more freedom. There is so much to explore. Television is pretty neat. There are a lot of books, too.”

“You sound like Sam in that sense,” Dean mused. You shrugged.

“It’s just better, you know?” You thought back to your father and Danny, how you wished for the thousandth time they could see this. You wondered about Margot and Matthias, how they would like it. “I wish my family could see it.”

“I heard about your dad. I’m sorry,” he said honestly. His eyes were earnest and full of something you couldn’t understand. You desperately wanted to read his mind, itched to. But he already didn’t trust you.

“Thanks,” was all you said. You fiddled with your hands in your lap. “We were supposed to do this together, you know? He was supposed to be with me.” You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat. You couldn’t cry. Not in front of him. “But then I met Bobby and… he reminds me so much of my dad. It was like the goddess gave him back to me.”

Dean’s breath hitched. “I lost my dad, too.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes when you looked up at him. “Bobby was always like a father to me. More than my own was. He’s good like that.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “He is.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, but the awkwardness had faded. 

“So. You were going to be sacrificed, huh?”

You burst out laughing. 

Dean stared at you in bewilderment as you laughed so hard your stomach hurt. You covered your mouth with your hands, not wanting to wake up Sam and Bobby, but you couldn’t help the laughs that came from deep in your chest. 

“How is that funny?” He asked. He must have thought you were going crazy.

“We… we just had this… heartfelt conversation… and that’s what… what you follow up with?” You said between fits of laughter. You wiped a tear from your eye. “I’m sorry. That was so fucking funny.”

Dean’s lip quirked. “You’re very odd.”

That made you laugh again, and this time, he joined.

Maybe he wasn’t so bad afterall.

DEAN

“You like her.”

Dean’s head snapped up at the sound of Sam’s voice. He had just gotten off the phone with Y/n and he hadn’t realized he’d been smiling until Sam raised a brow with a knowing look.

“Winchester.”

“Hi, Y/n,” Dean had said. He smirked at her greeting. “How’re you doing?”

“Do you need something?” She asked. Dean’s grin widened.

“You.”

Y/n scoffed and Dean heard some shuffling. “Course you do. Without me, you’d crash and burn.”

“Real funny,” Dean said. “Do you have information on basilisks?”

“Of course I do,” Y/n said and Dean could practically hear her eyes rolling. “Is that what you’re hunting?

“We think so,” Dean replied. He waited for her to speak but the other end was silent for a few moments. “Sweetheart?”

“Oh- sorry. I forgot,” she said. Her voice sounded distant, like she had left the phone across the room. He raised a brow.

“What are you doing?”

“Hm? Nothing.”

Dean chuckled and leaned back in his seat amused. “Y/n.”

“Yes?”

“Please don’t tell me you’re sacrificing kittens or something fucked up like that.”

“Damn. You caught me.” A pause. “I’m actually trying to cook for Bobby.”

Dean’s smile faded from one of amusement to one of wonder. “Really?”

“Yeah and this cookbook is so confusing.” He heard a smack-presumably her palm hitting the book in frustration- and a groan. “I just want to do something nice for him.”

Dean’s heart warmed at her words and he closed his eyes. It was hard to hate her. Or in his case, act like it. Sometimes. To be honest, he found it difficult to see her as anything other than good, even if she was a witch. But she still was one, and he knew someday she would turn.

Why did she have to make it so difficult to hate her?

“It’s the thought that counts,” he said softly. 

“Well. I’m still trying,” she said. “My mother stopped teaching me to cook once Danny died and the marriage to Jasper was called off. Why know how to cook when I’m supposed to be dead?”

Dean flinched at her words. “What, they don’t teach you how to magically create dinner at Hogwarts?”

She didn’t say anything for a while and Dean thought he had gone too far before she said, “Only how to sacrifice kittens.”

He laughed so hard, it made Sam jump. 

Then he heard that bell-like laugh of hers through the phone and he found himself unable to stop smiling. 

“Dude, stop flirting and get the information,” Sam said. He narrowed his eyes at his older brother. “We’re wasting time.”

Dean sighed deeply. “Alright, Mr. Stick-in-the-ass needs the basilisk information or else he might spontaneously combust. Sorry to interrupt your cooking, sweetheart, but whaddya got?”

They had met her four months ago. She had been with Bobby for six. Somehow, she had weasled her way into their lives, and at first, Dean hated it. But ever since that conversation with her, watching as the haunting memories of her past swam behind her eyes, how she laughed at something so morbid, how she tried so hard to be good, something had changed.

Dean wasn’t sure what to think anymore. The thought of her warmed his chest. He no longer twitched with annoyance when she spoke or frowned at the mention of her name. He eagerly picked up the phone to hear her voice, wanted to talk to her, to hear her theories.

She was weird but he liked it.

Dean knew she had a rough past. He also knew that she told Bobby some of it, but not all. She was private when it came to her life in the coven. But he knew some of what she had gone through. He knew she was arranged to be married, she knew her older brother had died and that she took his place for the ritualistic sacrifice, he knew her father died saving her. He knew she had to learn all about the world when she escaped.

And she was so smart. She had picked up on the world quickly and it surprised Dean. He knew if he was in her shoes, he wouldn’t do that well. Hell, when he came back to the life of the living after only four earth months, it took him ages to learn about all that had happened.

“I do not,” Dean said. He brushed off Sam’s comment. Liked her? Please…

Did he? He was incredibly attracted to her. Who wouldn’t be? And sure, he liked to talk to her, liked to watch her face light up when he turned on the radio, or when Bobby brought home mac and cheese. He liked to watch her dance in the kitchen and could watch her read for hours without getting bored.

Did he like her?

He shrugged off the feeling, not wanting to get involved. She couldn’t possibly feel the same way. And even if she did, she deserved better. Her gentle heart was no match for his own hell-blackened soul.

“Right,” Sam rolled his eyes. He stood from his seat and picked up his jacket from the table. “I’m going to get some food.”

“Bring me some pie,” Dean muttered. As much as he tried to get her off his mind, he couldn’t. Sam rolled his eyes again and left Dean to his thoughts.

***

At one hour, Dean called Sam, but it went straight to voicemail.

Ten minutes later, he called again. Still voicemail.

At an hour and a half, Dean was dressed and ready to go on a man hunt when his phone rang.

Sam.

He answered it with a low growl. “Dammit, Sam. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Hello, Dean Winchester.”

Not Sam.

Dean’s face went slack and his body stiffened at the cool voice that spoke from the other end of the phone. He swallowed down his anger. This wasn’t the basilisk, it couldn’t fucking talk. And it didn’t sound like anyone he knew.

Fuck.

“Who the hell is this?”

The man on the other end of the phone chuckled darkly. “I’m Zacharias.”

“I have no clue who the fuck you are but if you have done anything to my brother, I swear-”

“Yet. I haven’t touched him yet,” Zacharias said smoothly. “Although, a Winchester? I can imagine a hundred different things I’d like to do to him.”

“You sick son of a bitch.”

“I won’t touch him, though,” Zacharias told Dean. “I will, if you don’t get me what I want.”

“Why don’t I just find you and rip out your lungs?” Dean spit. His body shook with anger. “And how do I know you’re not lying?”

“Should I put old Sammy boy on the phone?” Shuffling. Grunting. Then finally-

“Dean?”

Dean sighed with relief. “Sam? Are you okay?”

Sam groaned a bit. “Define okay.”

“I’ll kill them all,” Dean snarled. 

“Don’t listen to them Dean. Don’t give her to them. These people, they’re-”

“That’s enough.”

The phone was pulled away as Zacharias interrupted Sam. The man cleared his throat.

“I’m sure you don’t know who I am. We keep to ourselves, but I know who you are, and I know you have access to something I want.”

“Which is?”

“Deliver it to me, alive, and you get Sam back in one piece, not a hair on his pretty little head touched, and we will leave you be forever. We will go back into solitude. You won’t ever have to deal with us again.”

“Who is ‘us?’” Dean was growing agitated. Why was this fucker so vague? “Just get to the fucking point!”

Zacharias laughed. “So impatient, hunter.” 

“Listen, Zach- can I call you Zach?”

“No.”

“Okay, Zach. If you don’t get to the fucking point, I will-”

“What? You’ll do what?” Zach sneered. “The way I see it, I have the one thing in the world you care about most. You have something I need, and I have something you need. Besides, I thought you liked causing harm.”

Dean’s blood ran cold.

“Feel free to rough her up a bit. I won’t mind. Lord knows she won’t get it once she gets home.”

She. Home. 

Who was he talking about?

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, but I think you do,” Zach’s voice lowered an octave. “I’ve heard the whispers, Dean Winchester. I’ve heard about the part you played in hell, how you were acting a little too well. Don’t worry. Your secret's safe with me.”

“What do you want?”

Zach’s breath hitched a bit. “I want the girl.”

Y/N

“Thank you for dinner, Y/n,” Bobby said. He patted your cheek and kissed your temple as he went to rinse his dish in the sink.

“I know it wasn’t great but-”

“I don’t get very many home cooked meals. This was fantastic,” Bobby said. Your chest swelled with pride at his words and you grinned.

“I’m glad. I just wanted to do something to say thank you. It’s not much but… I don’t know. You’ve been very kind to me,” you told him. He gave you an odd look.

“This sounds like a goodbye,” he said apprehensively. Your eyes widened.

“Oh, God no! No, this isn’t a goodbye!”

Bobby’s shoulders sagged in relief. “I’ve gotten used to another person being here. I’ve gotten used to you being here. I know I said take all the time you need, but I selfishly hope for more time.”

“Bobby, I like it here. I like it here with you. You remind me a lot of my father,” you said. You swallowed hard. “You’ve done a lot for me. You’re a good friend.”

Bobby blushed and went bashful. He shrugged and murmured some words you couldn’t hear before shuffling into the study, throwing a “thank you” over his shoulder. You didn’t take any offense. You knew he wasn’t very good at deep conversations.

You cleaned the kitchen and were about to head to bed when the phone Bobby had given you rang. You smiled smally when you saw Dean’s name flash on the screen. 

“Two phone calls in one day? I must be special,” you said snarkily as you answered the phone.

“I need your help,” he said. 

“What, no ‘hi, sweetheart’ this time?” You mused. 

“I’m serious, Y/n,” he said. You frowned at his tone. He was usually playful with you. If he was grumpy, he was usually doing it to mess with you. 

“Is everything okay?”

“No. I’ll send you the location. Get here as fast as you can.”

Your knees wobbled a bit as nerves lit a fire in your belly. “Wait, Dean, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Just get here. I’ll explain everything when you do,” he said. “Please?”

You sighed and rubbed the bridge of your nose. You were tired after researching all night, but you couldn’t just say no. If Dean was asking for your physical help, he must really need it.

“Okay. Fine. Send me the address.”

***

You knew something was wrong when you pulled the car Bobby loaned you into a small patch of trees down a dirt path off the highway.

Bobby had taught you how to drive not long after you started staying with him. You didn’t drive much, but it was cool when you did. The drive to the location only took a few hours, and within that time, you tried to think of the different reasons he would have called you. Surely he wouldn’t be asking for your help unless he really needed it. Sure, he was a lot more civil with you, even nice sometimes, but he still wasn’t a huge fan of yours. He hated witches and that hatred didn’t stop with you.

The thought made your heart fall in your chest, but you pushed the feeling away. You couldn’t feel those sort of things for him. It was a dangerous game to play.

He was leaning against the Impala when you parked the car. Slipping out of the driver’s seat, you approached him warily.

The first thing you noticed was Sam’s absence.

“Where’s Sam?”

Sam was always with him. You and Dean never met up alone. The few times you had met up with the brothers when they weren’t hunting, whether it be for some healing spell lessons, research sessions, or just lunch, it was always Sam and Dean. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

You looked Dean up and down, noticing the way his fists were clenched and tucked tightly into his sides. His eyes were wide and nervous, as if you were some cruel seductress here to kidnap him, but his mouth was screwed into a hard line. You watched him swallow hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.

“He’s going to uh… meet us there,” Dean stammered. He gestured to his car. “Get in?”

“Tell me what’s going on,” you demanded. “You’re acting weird.”

His chest rose and fell as he took a deep, settling breath. Energy crackled between the two of you as anger rolled from him in waves. You could sense his worry. His anger. You prodded your power at his mind, running a smooth finger down the inseam as you stepped into his thoughts.

She just needs to get in the car… fucking hell… I need to get Sam… quit acting so weird, Dean, you’ll put her off… get in the car!

That was all you could muster before a sharp pain stung your temples. Damn you needed practice. His thoughts made you more uneasy and you took a step back towards your car.

“Dean, tell me what’s going on!”

“Get in the car, Y/n,” he said darkly. You made a move to run but he lunged, gripping your wrist. You yanked free of his grip and pushed him away. “Just get in the car!”

You turned to face him, but your eyes met the barrel of a gun.

You couldn’t breathe. This was it. He was going to kill you. You had no doubts that he had witch killing bullets in that gun, and you just fucking knew he wouldn’t hesitate. 

“This was your plan all along?” You whispered. You tried to keep the emotion off your face, but couldn’t keep it from your voice. “To get me to trust you, then you’d kill me? Really?”

“Get. In. The. Car.” He jerked his head towards the Impala. “I won’t say it again.”

You made a run for it.

You turned and made for the trees. This was the second time you would flee into the woods in your life and you really hoped there wouldn't be a third.

You heard Dean curse behind you and you sprinted. With his long legs, you didn’t get very far, and his arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you up in the air. You swung your head back to collide with his face. He yelped as you felt his nose crunch beneath the back of your skull. 

That only made him angrier. 

He threw you to the ground roughly, pinning you down with one knee to the center of your back. You thrashed and raised your hand, a purple glow emanating from it, ready to strike.

He quickly latched a handcuff to your wrist and your power fizzled.

“What?”

“They’re warded,” he said simply. He cuffed your other hand and gripped a fistful of your hair. “This wouldn’t have happened if you just got into the car.”

Your body ached and your scalp screamed but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you in pain. “Would you have gotten into the car if you were in my shoes?”

“I’d never be in your shoes,” he snarled, hauling you to your feet. “I’m not a filthy fucking witch.”

Ouch.

“You’re still not over that? Really, Dean?” He dragged you to the car, all the while you kicked and thrashed, but he was much stronger than you and the wards were weakening you significantly. “I’m not evil! I thought we were friends!”

His hand gripped your chin harshly, forcing you to look at him. His fingers were rough and heavy against your skin as he dug into you, making you wince. Up close like this, you could see the beautiful green of his eyes, even in the dark, and his freckles stood out against his cheeks. You wished this was happening in a different circumstance. You wished you could have been close like this in another way.

His mouth curled into a ferocious snarl as he said, “I’m not friends with monsters.”

He shoved a gag into your mouth, opened the trunk of his car, and shoved you inside before closing you in, concealing you in a darkness that swallowed you whole and muffled your sobs.

DEAN

The compound was deep in the forest. 

Dean stood by the driver's side door, waiting. Three cloaked figures walked towards him, Sam hauled behind them, dragged by a crimson energy around his wrists and ankles. His face was a bit bruised and his clothes were dirty, but he was unscathed.

That didn’t relieve the guilt he felt.

“The girl.”

Dean recognized the voice as Zach’s. He gave a long look to Sam before he walked around to the trunk. 

He betrayed her. He betrayed her in the worst way possible and now she was going to die because of it. She told him she trusted him. She had learned to trust him after he wanted to kill her.

And now?

Now, he had taken that trust and destroyed it. Bobby would kill him surely. His father figure had started looking at her like a surrogate daughter. Y/n had come into his life and brightened it in the best way possible. Bobby had been so excited when he talked about how well she was doing. How the nightmares had begun to fade. How her scars were barely noticeable. How she didn’t flinch as much. 

How she trusted Bobby so wholeheartedly, and how she trusted Sam and Dean.

That was ruined now, and Dean had to face it. He had to face it like he had to face what happened in hell. But he wouldn’t do that. No. He was saving Sam again. 

He would always save Sam.

He opened the truck and nearly broke at the sight of her tear stained cheeks. Regardless of the tears, however, she gave him a look that was pure death. It sent shivers to his core as her eyes lit purple. A warning. 

A promise.

He yanked her from the trunk and half carried her to Zach.

The new High Priest of Y/n’s coven.

“Who?” Dean asked.

“Y/n. I know you know where she is.”

“Why do you want her?” Dean’s stomach curled.

“We have some… unfinished business.”

It didn’t take Dean long to realize it was her old coven, the one she had run from. The ritual wasn’t complete, and it wouldn’t be complete until Y/n was dead. So there was to be an exchange. Y/n for Sam.

“Let Sam go.”

Zach, a tall and plump man with gray hair and a bulbous nose, nodded at the two cloaked figures at his sides. They yanked Sam to Dean. Y/n writhed in Dean’s grip, desperate to escape, desperate not to return to the coven.

“The girl,” Zach said again. Dean looked down at Y/n, whose eyes were so wide with fear, he was afraid they’d pop right from her head. She looked at him then, pleading, begging for him to take her.

Instead, he took the gag off, pressed a chaste kiss to her mouth, and pushed her away.

Y/n was so surprised, she barely flinched when the cloaked figures gripped the tops of her arms.

“Dean!” She said his name with yearning as the two figures dragged her away, still chained, still terrified. “Dean, please don’t do this! You know what they’ll do! You know! Please! Sam, Dean, please!”

With an evil grin, Zach sent the brothers a wink. “Thank you, boys. We’ll take good care of her.”

Then in a blast of crimson, the four witches were gone.

Y/N

“You traitorous bitch!”

Your mother hit you again, the whip stinging across your back with the scorching pain of the sun. You keened, tears long fallen, your eyes dry and crusty from how much you’ve cried.

Dean had betrayed you. This was worse than him killing you. Worse because not only were you going to die, but your freedom had been ripped from you, stolen out from underneath you. Worse because your father’s death would mean nothing. Worse because you still loved Dean.

Shit, you loved him. You hated that you did. You hated him while you loved him.

You realized you were in love with him when you were locked in that trunk. You wondered why it hurt so much. Why although he had put you there, you wanted him to comfort you. It was fucked up and twisted, but you were in love with him.

And he had royally, utterly betrayed you.

“I’m sorry, mother,” you said for the thousandth time. The whip cracked against your back again, tearing another ribbon. It wasn’t the first time you had been whipped. It was a typical form of punishment within your coven. Your wrists were bound to the top of a pole, your shirt stolen off your body to display your previously marred back. It wasn’t bad, the scars having long faded to dull lines. But now? Now they were re-opened, new ribbons sliced into your back by your own mother’s hand.

There were some spectators still. Many had gathered around to watch the pariah be punished for committing treason. Usually, treason was instant death in the coven. But you were to die in three days under the summer solstice, the moon at its peak for the season. It wasn’t as powerful as the harvest moon, but the solstice was still great for harvesting energy, and the coven couldn’t wait until autumn to refuel their power.

So they resorted to public punishment, letting you be an example to the children of the founding families who would grow up to have kids of their own to be sacrificed. This was what would happen if you or your child tried to escape. If they did escape.

Thirty lashes later, you were slumped against the pole, your body in so much pain, you were on the brink of unconsciousness. Hands moved to untie you and you slumped to the ground once you were unbound. You cried out in agony as you hit the dirt, screaming when someone lifted you up into their arms.

“I’m sorry.”

Jasper.

You didn’t turn into his chest like you would have a year ago. But you did like the comfort his touch brought you. Your best friend.

That comfort disintegrated when he laid you on your stomach on a moth-eaten cot in one of the cells of the dungeons below the founder’s hall.

“I’m sorry,” was all he said again as he left you, someone else closing the cell door, locking you inside.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t think you could physically cry anymore.

Instead, you wallowed. You wallowed in the pain, your own self pity, your anger and sadness. 

You gave up.

You were done running. You were done fighting. Nothing was going to come of it. Nothing was going to change. The man you loved had shoved you back into the cruel clutches of your coven, and you were going to die in three days time, just as you should have died under the harvest moon with the others all those months ago.

DEAN

“Dean.”

Sam and Bobby watched as Dean paced in front of them. The older Winchester brother’s shoulders were hunched, brows pinched, mouth pulled into a sour frown as he paced and thought, thought and paced.

“Dean.”

He ignored his brother again. What was the point? What was the point in talking? He had done it. He had given her up. He had traded her life for his brother’s, just like he had done his whole life.

Sam was everything to him, and although she had weaseled herself into his life, into his heart, that wouldn’t change.

The guilt ate at him. He felt uncomfortable in his own skin, an itching fury burning beneath his flesh that left him twitchy. This felt… wrong. This felt more wrong than he thought. What he did was awful. But it felt different. It felt…

No. He couldn’t feel those things. He wouldn’t. If he felt those things for her, there would be no going back, and he would just be hurt again. He would be hurt beyond comparison if he felt those things for her. If his heart raced at the sight of her, if he itched to reach out and touch her whenever she was close, if his mind thought of her when he woke up in the morning and right before he slept at night.

If he felt those things, he’d be a goner. If he felt those things, this situation would be so much worse.

“Dean, goddammit!”

He stopped, turning slowly, finally letting himself look at his brother and Bobby, the former who was the epitome of worry, the latter looking like he was mourning a daughter.

Which, Dean thought, he probably was.

Dean knew how much Bobby cared for Y/n. He could see it in the way his father figure would gently touch her cheek in passing, or press a kiss to her forehead whenever she went to bed. How he went out of his way to keep her comfortable, how he helped her heal. Bobby was never like that with the boys. Sure, he loved them and Dean knew he and Sam were like Bobby’s sons, but Bobby also grew to have a daughter figure in his life, and she had been ripped away from him by Dean’s doing. 

“You’re going to get her back,” Bobby said smoothly. His voice was still and unwavering. Emotionless. 

“Don’t you think I want to?” Dean asked. “I can’t leave her there. I can’t… It was part of the plan to go back and get her. But what if... what if she’s already dead?”

Bobby was suddenly in Dean’s face, gripping the collar of his shirt, slamming him against the wall. His face was contorted in a rage Dean had never seen pointed towards him and it made him gulp.

“Don’t say that.” Bobby tightened his grip on Dean’s shirt. “We’re getting her back.”

“Bobby, even if she is still alive, how would we get past an entire coven?” Sam spoke from behind them. He didn’t move to pry Bobby off of Dean. 

Even Sam knew Dean made a bad call.

“We’ll figure it out,” Bobby said. He finally let go of Dean and backed up a few paces. “It’s not the right time for the ritual. She’ll be alive until late tonight if I have the moon cycle right.”

“Wha- Bobby! We’re barely going to have time!” Dean said. Alive? God, he hoped so. 

“We need to go. Now.” Bobby was rushing around the study like a madman, collecting guns and knives and a flask of holy water. Dean knew the holy water would do nothing, but watching as Bobby also stuffed a bag full of salt filled rounds, he knew the man was just desperate to get her back, using anything and everything to do so.

“We’ve wasted too much time,” Bobby said. He stalked towards the door and turned back to look Dean in the eye. “You better hope she’s alive, boy.”

He slipped out the front door without another word, the brothers giving each other a long look before following after him, hoping they weren’t too late.

Y/N

As night fell, the moon peeking up from behind the trees, you prayed to your gods quietly. Your mother and siblings hadn’t come to see you since the punishment in the square the day before. You were left alone, back oozing blood throughout the night and into the morning. It still leaked, but much of the blood had begun to crust and clot. You didn’t want to know what your back looked like. It had finally healed enough from the last time you were punished six years ago that you could start looking at your back in the mirror. 

You supposed you didn’t have to worry about it now, seeing as you’d be dead by morning.

The cuffs from Dean had been swapped for similar cuffs as the ones your dad melted when you two made your escape the last time. They dug into your wrists painfully, chafing them raw and bloody. 

A loud bang sounded from somewhere above the cellar. Your mouth went dry. This was it. 

The door to the cellar opened, revealing Jasper. He looked at you solemnly and reached down to grip the tops of your arms. You cried out as your back was jarred, and he ignored it, dragging you up the stairs and into the main hall where someone else gripped your other arm. Together, they carried you outside into the warm night. The hot air hit your back painfully and it took all your strength not to cry in pain. Instead, you bit your lip so hard you tasted blood and tried to push the pain away, not giving them the satisfaction of seeing you hurt.

They carried you to the waiting cell, which was really just a shed, and pushed you inside. You landed on your side, agony ripping through you, and you groaned. They closed the door and locked you inside as everyone prepped for the ritual. 

As you laid there, having flipped onto your stomach, you tried to count the minutes in your head, counting the seconds. If you let yourself think of what was coming, you would surely go insane. This was the second time you were experiencing this and thinking about it made you queasy. Thinking about Dean left you conflicted. Thinking of Bobby and your father left you dejected.

So you just counted.

And counted.

And counted.

Until a thud echoed outside the shed. Shuffling. Another thud. A squelching sound.

“Keep an eye out.”

“No, I was just going to stand here with my thumb up my ass.”

“Real mature, Dean.”

“Thank you.

“Shut up.”

“Hurry up, Sam.”

“I’m trying! It’s spelled or something.”

“You know what? Move.”

Holy shit. Was that-

There was a loud bang on the door and suddenly it creaked open. It was too dark to see, but you could make out the shadowed silhouettes of two very familiar bodies.

“Shit.”

Dean dropped beside you so fast it made your head spin. How had they found you? How did they even get to you?

His hand lifted to your head and he brushed your hair from your eyes. Your cheek was pressed against the cool stone floor of the shed, violent shivers racking your body.

“God, Dean- look at her back.”

“We’re gonna get you out of here, okay? Sweetheart, can you hear me?” Dean made to lift you but you snarled at him, reaching your hand out to slap him away from you.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you hissed. You glanced back at Sam, relief flooding you as he looked unharmed. There was some blood spattered on him, but he looked fine. You didn’t think the blood was his.

“Y/n-”

“Shut up, dick,” you said. “Sam can carry me.”

“Y/n, I don’t know how I’m going to. It’s… it’s bad. I don’t want to hurt you,” Sam said softly. He bent down beside you as well. 

“I don’t think I can walk. It’s going to hurt like a fucking bitch but just do it,” you said. “How did you guys get to me?”

“A lot of fighting and a lot of bullets,” Dean said morbidly. “Bobby’s our getaway driver. He’s picking off a lot one by one.”

“He’s… what?” Your eyes widened. “Dean, there are children here!”

“He’s not killing them all, Y/n,” Dean said. “Just the ones who are fighting to kill you and trying to kill him.”

You let that sink in. They were killing your coven. They were killing the community you grew up with.

“Okay,” was all you said. Sam made a pained sound and reached for you.

Your body was lit with an excruciating fire.

Sam apologized so much, it all blurred together. You gasped and cried and whined as he carried you. Dean had laid his flannel over your bare chest, his face pained as Sam carried you out into the woods. Bodies laid scattered all around, fires licked towards the sky. The compound was devastated, but you could vaguely make out the shapes of some people fleeing into the trees across the field.

You could also see Jasper’s lifeless eyes staring at you from where his body was leaning against the shed, a single bullet hole in the center of his forehead. How you had not heard any of this, you weren’t sure. Perhaps you were too delirious with pain.

Your heart was in your throat now. Jasper. He was dead. Your best friend. Your confidant. Your lover. Dead amongst the ones who wanted to kill you.

He was going to stand by and watch you die.

You bit your lip and tried to push away the urge to vomit. Jasper was dead, you didn’t know about your mother, or Margot and Matthias. Your mother… you couldn’t bring yourself to worry about her too much. A sliver of yourself worried for her… but she didn’t care for you. Not really. The coven was the most important thing to her. Margot and Matthias however, you hoped they were alright. As long as you were alive, they couldn’t touch them.

“We’re almost there,” Sam spoke suddenly, bringing you from your thoughts. You were almost to the car, where you would be taken from this place once again.

“Hurry,” you rasped. You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on. You were gasping for air at this point, the pain constricting even your breathing. 

“Bobby, start it!”

“Holy mother of-”

“Just do it! She won’t last much longer,” Sam ordered. Bobby reluctantly turned from where he started forward towards you, getting into the driver’s seat of the Impala. Sam sat you in the back seat and started to get in with you but was pulled back. He grunted as he landed on his ass, Dean taking his place.

“Not you!” You didn’t want him anywhere near you.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’m not leaving you again.” You laid on your stomach across the back seat, your cheek resting against his thigh as he gently laid your head down onto him. The fire across your back faded ever so slightly, but it had been reawoken when Sam touched it. You wished unconsciousness would claim you but it didn’t. Tears slipped from your cheeks.

“How could you?” You whispered. You found yourself repeating it again and again, Dean’s hand stroking your hair as he shushed you.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Finally, as if the gods had heard your prayer, the edges of your vision began to darken, and sleep claimed you at last.

DEAN

Dean’s back was to the wall. In one hand, he held a beer, and in the other he held a small bouquet of flowers. It was a useless sentiment, he knew that, especially when it was his doing that caused this.

Another yelp of pain from the room behind him and he flinched. Bobby and Sam had been hard at work for the past two hours on Y/n’s wounds. She had kicked Dean out promptly as soon as she regained consciousness. She was furious with him and she should be.

Dean didn’t blame her. 

The door opened and Sam stepped out. His shirt was covered in blood, hands stained pink. His face, ashen and pinched, turned to look at Dean.

“Well?” Dean asked.

“She needs rest. She’s… she’s going to scar pretty badly.” Sam sighed and shook his head. “How could they do that?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “Is she alright?”

Sam scoffed. “No. No, she’s not alright, Dean. She was given up by someone she thought she could trust, whipped to ribbons by her own mother, and then was thrown in a cell to wait for her slaughter. So no, she’s not alright.”

Dean stiffened. “Her mother did that?”

“As punishment,” Sam seethed. “Apparently it wasn’t the first time.”

Dean thought he was going to be sick. He took a deep breath and stood up, hesitating. “I want to see her.”

“She doesn’t want to see you,” Sam said.

“I know. But I at least want to apologize, even if she doesn’t believe me,” Dean murmured. He glanced down at the flowers in his hand, a futile attempt of an “I’m sorry” and he knew it. “I…”

“I know,” Sam said softly when Dean couldn’t finish his thought. He couldn’t quite say the words yet. He didn’t even have half a mind to think them. Sam reached over to squeeze his brother’s shoulder gently. “I know.”

Dean gave a low nod and stepped around Sam, ducking into the study. 

It had been turned into a makeshift infirmary. The desk had been cleared of items, a sheet thrown over it, a pillow supporting Y/n’s head where she laid upon it. Everything had been pushed away against the wall, making room for bags of gauze, salves, and other medical tools that Dean cringed away from. It smelled strongly of antiseptic and blood, making Dean woozy as he stepped inside.

Y/n’s eyes were half open and glazed over. She stared unfocused at a spot on the wall beside Dean, and didn’t flinch as he stepped right beside her line of sight. She just simply stared.

Bobby sat beside the desk, one hand in hers- which once again had bandages wrapped around her wrists- as he watched her closely. Her back had been heavily bandaged, blood staining the sheets below her body, tears long drying on her face, leaving streaks on her cell-dusted skin.

“How are you feeling?”

Her eyes lifted to him finally. They were cold and hard and so void of emotion it made Dean shiver.

“What do you think?” 

Dean swallowed hard and placed the flowers on a nearby shelf. He wrung his hands together as he thought of what to say next.

“Bobby, would you mind-”

“Don’t even ask, boy.” Bobby didn’t even move when he said it. He just stayed in his position, gaze locked on the broken girl on the table, face pulled into a deep frown.

“Sorry,” Dean murmured. “Y/n, I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“How sweet of you,” she said. “Now get out.”

“Please.” Dean said.

“I trusted you.”

Dean’s breath hitched. Her voice had turned soft and pained. So unlike her and so full of anguish. 

“I trusted you and you betrayed me,” she said. “I don’t trust people easily, Dean. But I trusted you. I trusted you and Sam and Bobby. That’s it.”

“I know.”

“Ever since I met you, you have wanted to kill me. You never trusted me. I’m a witch, just another monster for you to kill. That night? I thought you were going to do it yourself. What you did was worse. You gave me back to the people who I ran from. Who killed my father. You took away my freedom again. You took away my choice again. You took it all away when you gave me back.”

She was crying now, tears silently dripping to the pillow beneath her cheek. 

“I’m not the untrustworthy one, Dean Winchester. You are. You call yourself a hunter. You tell yourself you save people. Apparently the bar falls short as soon as you are something different, regardless of what kind of soul you are.” She pushed herself up onto her elbows to get a better look at him. Dean would never, not until the day he died, forget the look she gave him in that moment; malicious and hurt, her eyes dark and narrowed. 

“Go back to hell, Dean.”

Dean thought his chest had been ripped open. He touched the skin over his heart as her words sunk in.

Go back to hell, Dean.

“Y/n, I need you to listen to me-”

“I don’t need to do shit,” she snarled. Dean winced at her tone, so dark and vicious. “I need you to leave.”

“Y/n-”

“That’s your cue, boy,” Bobby said. Dean’s shoulders slumped. He gave one last longing look to her, taking note of her eyes and how they left him again, staring unfocused at that damn spot on the wall, before turning and ducking back out of the room, finishing off his beer in the hallway and making his way to the kitchen for another.

Y/N

“Please be careful.”

Bobby loaded the last of your bags into the back of the truck. He had given you the same truck he picked you up in a year ago. 

Your back was finally healed enough thanks to your spells, scars now the only reminder. You didn’t look in the mirror, not anymore, knowing how it would look. You felt them whenever you accidently touched your skin as you changed or when you showered. You could feel the raised, soft flames that licked up to your shoulders, forever imprinted into your back. The ones you had before were small. But these? These were long and large in number, the spite and anger of the one who created them clear in their abundance.

It had been a week since Dean had given you back to your coven. In that time, you hadn’t seen him again, not since he tried to apologize the night they rescued you. 

Of course, you wouldn’t have needed rescuing if he hadn’t given you up.

The boys were due back soon and you wanted to be long gone once they arrived. You were going to start hunting. Really hunting. You were fine, your healing salves and spells doing their job perfectly. The scars would be the only reminder.

“I will,” you promised. You were ready for this. You needed this.

Bobby hugged you tightly, mindful of the pressure on your back, before he pushed you lightly towards the truck.

“Alright, off you go, ya’ idjit.” You grinned and got up into the truck. “You sure you don’t want to see them?”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “I never want to see Dean again. Not in this lifetime.”

Which was half true. He had hurt you beyond words. He had taken your trust and destroyed it. He had given you back to the people who killed your father and planned on killing you. But at the same time, you understood. Dean’s world revolved around Sam. He would put his life on the line, and has, for his brother. A part of you understood why he did what he did. You went crazy when Danny died, knowing the one person besides your father who loved you just as much as you loved them was dead. You had tried everything, even resorting to dabbling in necromancy, but your mother had caught you, and your last hope of bringing your brother back was gone. 

So yes, you understood Dean to a point. You just couldn’t get over the pain it caused you.

Bobby nodded at your words and kicked a rock in the dirt. “I hope you change your mind someday. Maybe not anytime soon. But someday.”

You blinked a few times and processed his words. You were going to answer, but thought better of it, instead going with, “I’ll call you when I know where I’m going.”

Bobby sighed. “You better,” he said. He gave you a wave. “Kick some ass.”

***

Two months later

“Another?”

The bartender tapped the bar beside your empty beer.

“Please.” He nodded and turned to pour you another. You sighed and rested your chin in your hand, your other hand lazily scrolling through your laptop in search of cases. You had just finished a ghoul case that morning and were already itching for another one. 

The bartender set the beer down in front of you and raised a brow. “Hard at work?”

You shrugged and sipped your beer. “Something like that.”

He cocked his head, eyes trained on you as he cleaned a glass. “Are you busy tonight?” He shifted nervously. 

You looked up at him. He was very attractive, with warm brown skin, hair black as night, and a crooked smile that would make anyone weak in the knees. You had frequented this bar the last few nights and your conversations were always nice. He was sweet and handsome and if this was before your tangle with the coven, you would have taken him up on his offer.

But the scars hadn’t faded.

“Yeah, I’ll be working all night,” you said. He frowned a bit. “And if I wasn’t leaving town tomorrow, I would take you up on that.”

He grinned a bit. “Thanks. Can I get you anything else?”

“I’m okay.” You drank your beer deeply and reached into your bag, pulling out more than enough money for the beers. “Keep the change, okay?”

“Thank you,” he said. You finished your beer and gathered up your things.

Many of your nights went like this. How were you supposed to explain the scars to someone? They were gnarly and would immediately spark fear and confusion and that was something you didn’t want to deal with.

Your phone rang and you grumbled to yourself. Unlocking the truck, you hauled yourself inside, setting your laptop down before you answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Y/n?”

“Sam?” You smiled. You and Sam had stayed in touch. Just because Dean was an ass didn’t mean you couldn’t still talk to your friend. “What’s up?”

Sam loosed a breath. Uh oh. “Look, I wouldn’t call you if this wasn’t important.”

“No.”

“Y/n, come on.”

“No, Sam.”

“Please?” Sam said. “We really need help and no one else is stepping up to bat.”

“What about Bobby?”

He paused. “He actually told us to call you.”

Damn him! You groaned. “Why do you two need help? Aren’t you like the best hunters in the world?”

Sam scoffed. “I know you and Dean have your differences-”

“-Differences!-”

“But we could really use your skill. Please?” 

You clicked your tongue and rolled your eyes. “You know, I can feel your puppy dog eyes through the phone.”

“Are they working?”

“... Maybe.”

“Come on. You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to,” Sam said.

You pressed your knuckles into your forehead. “Jesus- fine.”

“Thank you!” Sam said. “I’ll send you the address to our motel.”

“Whatever.”

DEAN

“Is she coming?”

Sam turned at the sound of his brother’s voice. Dean’s heart thumped heavily in his chest.

“Yes,” Sam replied. Dean grinned. “But don’t chase her away, Dean. I mean it.”

“I won’t,” Dean said quickly. “But this could be my last chance to make things right with her.”

“Dean, she doesn’t want to talk to you.” 

“I need to, Sam.” Dean looked down at his hands. “I need to make things right. It sucks not talking to her. It sucks not seeing her.”

“Because you lo-”

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean snapped. Sam grinned wickedly and flopped down onto his bed.

“Well don’t you?” Sam asked. He folded his arms under his head, propping himself up to look at Dean.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Dean rolled his eyes and went back to cleaning his guns. Sam had no idea what he was talking about. Dean wasn’t sure what he felt for Y/n, but he knew it was friendly. He hoped she had once felt the same way, and maybe if she knew what he felt, she could learn to forgive him.

Or this whole plan could crash and burn and chase her even further away.

Regardless, Dean was going to try.

***

Three hours later, someone knocked on the motel room door.

Sam got up to answer it but Dean shoved him back, resulting in a smack on the head, but he was able to reach the door first.

Opening it, Dean’s eyes landed on Y/n. Her eyes met his, a scowl painted on her lovely face as she zeroed in on him. She looked him up and down and hoisted her backpack over her shoulder. It was ratty and worn, but Dean noticed she took it on all her trips. He wondered what its significance was.

“Well. Aren’t you going to let me in?” She asked. Dean, startled by her voice, lurched out of the way, nearly knocking over a small table. 

“Nice,” Sam mouthed, rolling his eyes. He smiled at Y/n who stepped inside, brushing past Dean quickly to give Sam a hug. “Thanks again.”

“Anything for you, Sam.” She gave Dean a dirty look. “So. What are we hunting?”

Y/N

The hunt went by smoothly.

It was a vamp nest, and a large one, definitely too difficult for two people but just easy enough with three. You had worked in tandem with boys as if you did it all your life. By the end, they both turned to you impressed.

“Wow. You’ve really trained hard, haven’t you?” Sam asked, bumping his hip with yours as you walked to the car. You wiped blood from your forehead.

“I kinda have to if I want to hunt alone.”

Dean spun to face you, blocking your path. You halted and glared up at him. God, he looked like shit. You noticed it when you arrived at the motel. His face was gaunt, eyes slightly sunken with dark circles beneath them. A permanent frown seemed etched on his lips and he looked like he lost some weight. He looked as if he was being eaten away by something.

He looked as if he was being eaten away by guilt.

A part of you took pride in that, but another part, a larger part, was sad. Sad that he had gotten this way. Sad that the man you loved was in so much despair, all you wanted to do was comfort him.

Of course, that despair was caused by himself, but you pushed that thought away.

“You’re doing what?”

“Hunting? Didn’t Bobby tell you?” You stepped around him.

“I thought he meant hunting with him, not alone,” he said. He hurried after you. “You could get hurt!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have thought you cared, Dean,” you said. You shrugged and gave him a pointed look. “Seeing as you’ve hurt me before.”

“I said I was sorry!”

“And I said go back to hell!”

“Okay!” Sam stepped between you and Dean, lightly pushing on your chest. He glared at his brother, but turned to you with a more gentle expression. “Let’s just calm down, okay? We’ll take you back to the motel.”

“Yeah. Okay.” You lightly pushed his hand away and threw open the back door, slamming it shut. You smirked when you saw Dean start forward in anger at how you treated his car, Sam stopping him with a hand on his chest again. They spoke lowly to each other before Dean slumped and got into the car, Sam close behind him.

Yeah, you absolutely regretted agreeing to help.

***

Later that night, you were lounging in your motel room, watching trash television, when there was a knock on your door.

There was a good possibility it was Dean. You knew that. Yet you still got up to open it. To be honest, maybe you’d like to hear him apologize again. It wouldn’t hurt. 

You’d do it for Bobby. Not for yourself. For Bobby.

Opening the door, unsurprisingly, Dean stood there. His head was ducked slightly, face pulled into a nervous pout.

“Hey.”

You leaned against the door frame. “Hey.”

“Can I come in?” He asked. “Please?”

You bit your lip and moved out of the way, gesturing him inside. He muttered a thank you and stepped past you. You closed the door softly and turned to lean against it. He stood in the center of the room, looking down at a spot on the ground instead of at you.

“Y/n, I know you hate me. I know that.”

You felt as if you were going to be sick. “I… I don’t, you know, hate you.” 

He furrowed his brow but didn’t look up at you. “You don’t?”

“I don’t particularly like you right now.” His lip quirked slightly. “But I don’t hate you.”

He rubbed his chin and turned to sit on the edge of your bed, resting his hands on his knees. One knee bounced and he rolled his shoulders a bit. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t answer but didn’t look away either. He continued. “What I did… I know it wasn’t okay. I won’t excuse myself for what I did. I just knew I had to save Sam and I went about it very, very poorly.”

You continued to stare at him silently.

“I should have figured something out. I was just so afraid. I do very… stupid things… to save him. I sold my soul and went to hell for crying out loud.” He smiled without humor. “Giving you to them will forever be something I will regret. Seeing you in that cell, bloody and broken, it’s an image I will never get out of my head.” His eyes turned misty and he swallowed thickly. “I will never forgive myself and I will live the rest of my life with that image. I will live the rest of my life knowing I hurt you and I’m sorry.”

You tentatively took a step towards him, and another, until you stood directly beside him. His green eyes finally lifted to yours, lined with tears, and you slowly sunk down to sit beside him. Biting your lip, you reached forward for one of his hands, resting it palm up in yours. 

“I’ve… I’ve liked you for a long time now, Y/n,” he whispers. Your heart began to rapidly thump in your chest. “More than like, I think. And it scares the hell out of me. I’m so sorry.”

You swallowed the growing lump in your throat. You didn’t know what to say. You knew about your own feelings for him. Even after what he did, they had been buried beneath anger, but not disintegrated. You traced a line on his palm.

“All I could think about when you gave me up was how much I had trusted you, and how betrayed I felt,” you began. He stilled beneath your touch. “After, I was just so angry. Angry at you for doing that to me. Angry at myself for letting myself become vulnerable.” You hesitated before continuing. “I was hurt. Really hurt. And conflicted. I wasn’t sure how I could love someone and hate them at the same time.”

Dean pulled back from you.

You hadn’t even realized you said it until his face morphed into one of shock. 

Oh, shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

You leaped to your feet, mouth open and closing, your brain racing to find something to say. But your thoughts were clouded with panic. “I don’t… I mean… I didn’t mean to say…”

You backed away from him but he stood and followed. His eyes were full of longing as he reached for your hands and brought them to his chest.

“Don’t turn away from me. Not after that.”

“I didn’t mean to say that.”

“I’m glad you did,” he told you. 

“Why?”

He grinned. “Because I didn’t want to be the only one with those feelings.”

“I’m supposed to be mad at you,” you murmured. He chuckled a bit.

“I’m supposed to hate you. But look at me.”

“Look at me,” you echoed. 

“A hunter and a witch, who would have thought?” He said amused. You smiled shyly. 

“I… I forgive you, Dean.” He sagged in relief. “But I won’t forget.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” He lifted his hand to brush his fingers down your cheek lovingly. “Can I kiss you?”

You blinked at him, letting his words sink in. Once they did, your grin widened, and you reached up on your tip-toes to plant a soft kiss to his lips. 

When you pulled back after a moment, he searched your eyes, waiting for you to push him away, to tell him to stop. 

But you didn’t.

He leaned down to press his lips to yours, harder this time, wrapping his arms around your waist to lift you to gain better access. His lips were soft against yours, moving in fever, his body warm against you. 

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, voice thick with lust. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

“I can’t. Because I do.” You kissed him roughly, bringing your hands up to curl in his hair. He growled against your lips and moved you to the bed, pressing you down beneath him gently. He rolled his body over yours and you widened your legs to let him fit between them. “I’ve wanted this for a long time, Dean.”

He moved to suck and kiss your pulse point, making you moan. “God, me too.”

You cupped his face and dragged his mouth back to yours. His hands lowered to the button on your jeans, popping them open before he pulled away from your mouth again. You whined at the loss and he chuckled.

“Patience, baby.”

You raised your hips as he pulled down your jeans. He kissed down your legs as he pulled off your socks and looked up at you with hooded eyes. He grinned against your skin before he kissed his way back up, landing a kiss to the top of your pelvis. He thumbed your panties.

“Are you sure?”

“God, yes.” You ran a hand through his hair, tugging lightly, and that was all he needed.

He pulled your panties down your legs, kissing the area above your pubic bone as he gently coaxed your legs further apart. You peered down at him, but his eyes were trained on your sex, his pupils dilated wide, lips slightly swollen from your kissing. Jesus, the man was like sex on legs.

He leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to the hood of your clit. You groaned and jerked at his touch, keening when his tongue ran through your folds.

“Jesus, Dean!”

He ate you out slowly at first, teasingly licking and sucking, before he moved faster, feasting on you like a starved man. His tongue prodded at your entrance before he licked inside, his thumb strumming your clit it time with his ministrations. Your hips raised off the bed, pleasure jolting through you, but he splayed his free hand over your abdomen, keeping you down, making you take everything he was giving.

“Dean!”

He smirked against you, dragging his tongue up through your folds again, sending a deep shudder over you. He hummed, flicking his tongue over your clit a few times, a moan eliciting itself from your throat. He slowly pushed a finger inside you, your back arching slightly as he curled it, pumping a few times before adding another. He suddenly sucked down roughly, a cry pushing itself from your lungs to bounce off the walls, his fingers scissoring in and out at a rapid pace. Your chest was heaving as he curled his fingers again, curling so deep, pads brushing against your g-spot with every move.

You came, falling over the edge violently as he suddenly and harshly sucked your clit into his mouth again. He continued to give kitten licks to your clit as you came down from your high. As you caught your breath, you peeked an eye open to spot him grinning like a cat.

“Don’t ruin it, Winchester.”

He laughed and pushed himself up to kiss your cheek. “But that’s so much fun!”

You smirked and reached for his belt. You unbuckled it and took it off him before throwing it aside. He kicked off his shoes and you unbuttoned his jeans. He pushed himself up to stand and shimmy out of them, peeling off his socks as he went, before he pulled his shirt up and over his head. His boxers strained against his dick, and you went to reach for them, but he stopped you.

“Take off your shirt.”

You froze. If you did, he’d see the scars on your back. They were so gloriously unsexy and you knew he’d look at you in disgust if he saw them.

“No, I don’t want to.”

You were still sitting up, but Dean bent to crawl over you. Your faces were only inches apart, his breath fanning over your face. You shivered.

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen your back before it was healed. Don’t hide from me. You don’t have to hide from me.”

“They’re ugly,” you whispered. He shook his head and lifted one of your hands to kiss your knuckles.

“Nothing about you is ugly, Y/n,” he said softly. “Don’t be ashamed of them. Please.”

You swallowed hard and closed your eyes for a moment. Once you gathered enough courage, you lifted your shirt up and over your head, knowing your scars were on full display for him if he just looked over your shoulder. You sighed and he lifted his hand to run over your shoulder, down your back, and to the clasp of your bra.

“Look at me,” he said. You complied, keeping your eyes on him as he unclasped your bra and gently pulled the straps down your arms. He tossed it behind him, leaving you naked beneath him. He leaned down to press a kiss to your shoulder. “I love every inch of you, Y/n.”

You shuddered as he kissed your neck again.

“I want you,” you whispered into his ear. You ran a hand over his back and up to scratch lightly at the nape of his neck.

He kissed you quickly and pushed his boxers down and off. His cock sprang free, and you reached down, gripping it. He groaned as you ran your thumb over his tip, spreading the pre-cum that beaded there, before stroking him a few more times.

“Do you want me?”

He cleared his throat and grunted as you squeezed him gently. “You know I do.”

You licked the shell of his ear, feeling him tremble beneath you. “Then show me.”

He snapped.

He growled low in his throat as he pushed you down gently, hovering over you, one hand gripping one of yours, the other batting your other hand away from his cock. You giggled and he gave you a pointed look before positioning himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock running up and down your slit a few times, lathering himself in your wetness. He pressed himself gently into you, only the tip of him nestled in your warmth.

He entwined your fingers together, eyes locked on yours as he slowly eased himself into you. You felt your walls stretch to accommodate him, a slight burn following, but it quickly eased as he bottomed out. 

“God, you feel good,” he said lowly into your ear. He gently pulled out until just the tip of his cock was inside you before pushing back in. He moved in long, deep strokes, and hell did it feel good. You slowly began to feel yourself moving with him, trying to match his thrusts and meet him there.

“Faster,” you pleaded, the coil once again beginning to wrap around itself. He bottomed out with each thrust, and his balls slapped against your ass with each plunge. He quickened his pace, but also lifted your leg to wrap around his waist. The angle allowed him to reach depths you didn’t even know you had. He brushed against your sweet spot with each stroke of his cock, and your eyes fell shut at the intense pleasure. 

“Dean, I need more,” you said breathlessly. He moved his hand down between you, his finger beginning to strum at your clit in small circles, the rhythm matching that of his thrusts. “I’m going to come.”

“You can do it, baby,” Dean said. “I’m right behind you.”

He began to rub your clit faster and harder, his hips stuttering into a sloppy pace as he neared his own end. With one more thrust of his cock against your sweet spot, you were coming, body spasming and inner walls clenching around his dick. He followed only moments after, his face buried in your neck as he moaned his relief, spilling himself deep inside you.

You stayed still for a moment, his cock still enveloped inside you as the two of you simply laid together in the afterglow. He kissed your neck and pulled out once his cock had softened inside you.

He left for a moment, disappearing into the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth. He swiped it between your legs, then his own, before he tossed it back into the bathroom. He climbed back into bed with you and pulled you against his chest. You winced as your scars rubbed up against his chest, but he simply pulled you tighter against him.

This was Dean. You shouldn’t be ashamed. Not around him. Not at all.

He kissed the back of your neck. “I will never, ever, hurt you again, Y/n.”

You grabbed hold of one of his hands, tugging it up to your chest over your heart, holding it there. You sighed happily and smiled.

“I know, Dean.”

He gently lifted a finger to tilt your chin back to look him in the eye. “No. You don’t. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” He kissed you softly. “I swear it.”

“I love you.”

He smiled, eyes crinkling as he looked at you. He kissed you again, gently, lovingly, and brushed a hand over the side of your face.

“I love you, too.”

[indulge-that-sin]

A Social Experience

Characters: GN!MC, Leviathan, Asmodeus, Mammon

Wordcount: 1700

Tags: Fluff, Domestic, Bonding Activities, Humor

(No spoilers for latter lessons, but takes place fairly late in the game.)

***

"--a gross, shut-in otaku like me!" Levi finished, on the all too familiar note.

Usually by this point you would already be launching into reassurances that he certainly wasn't gross, and shouldn't talk about himself like that, but this time there was nothing but a silence that bounced off the walls, damning and louder than any words.

You reached into your bag of chips, removed a single potato chip, and ate it as you tilted your head in thought. Levi took your silence like a slap in the face, and recoiled, his face already wavering. The sound of your chewing was distressingly loud in contrast.

You finished chewing and swallowed. "I mean, is that even true anymore?" you asked after a nerve-wracking length of time.

Levi's expression twisted more into confusion than hurt. "Huh?!" 

"Don't you kind of lose your hikikomori credentials if you become popular and people start coming to spend time with you all the time?"

"That's not-- I'm not-- You don't count!" Levi sputtered.

"Oh, I don't count, huh," you repeated, putting a hand to your chest and dramatically feigning heartbreak.

Levi looked abashed now. "Th-that's not what I meant," he rushed to add.

"I know what you meant," you said. "Give it an hour."

Now Levi tilted fully into confusion.

"Give what an hour?"

"My point to be made," you said, and placed your D.D.D. onto the lip of the bathtub, out of your own reach. It was also clearly visible to Levi as you both sat on beanbags in front of his TV, next to the bath tub. "An hour," you repeated in a portentous video game narrator voice.

Levi scowled and picked up his controller again, turning back to his game. But his reactions were off, now. His character moved jerkily around the screen, doubling back and taking wrong turns on the 8-bit map as Levi's mood roiled with the strangeness of the conversation.

You continued eating your chips slowly, savoring the taste of the limited edition novelty flavor that Levi had generously acquired for you. He'd tried to pass it as a coincidence, but he didn't really know anyone else who unironically enjoyed the taste of cream and devilradish chips.

Not even half an hour passed before there was a knock on the door. Levi asked for the password on reflex. Surprisingly, from the other side of the door came a sigh, and then Asmo's melodious voice reciting the string of nerd trivia that Levi had set as a password for him ever since they became unlikely allies for the Bloody Moon competition.

"Come in, I guess," Levi replied, giving you a long look. Your D.D.D. was still on the edge of the bathtub, untouched as you sat there elbow-deep in greasy chips. You couldn't have called anyone over. And yet, was this what you expected to happen?

"Give it forty more minutes now," you said low.

Asmo fluttered into the room, like a passing breeze bringing in the smell of perfume. 

"Oh, there you are, darling, I was wondering where you were," he said, face lit up as he saw you.

He sat uninvited next to you in the beanbag, and you scooted over to make space for him. Levi would have complained, except moving to make room for Asmo meant you shuffled closer to Levi instead, so he ended up biting his tongue.

"What do you want?" Levi grit out.

"Must I want something?" Asmo asked, "Is it not enough that I give my adorable brother the opportunity to entertain me?"

"He's bored," you translated.

"I'm soooo bored," Asmo whined, his shoulders rolling in a full-body sigh. But he perked up as he leaned forward to look at both you and Levi. "But what about all this? Mind if I join the fun~?"

"Let's find a game Asmo can play," you suggested. 

"If you'd like," Asmo acquiesced with a shrug, indicating he'd had some other kind of fun in mind.

Levi gave you another sidelong glance, full of suspicion, but his head was out of the game he was playing anyway, so he exited and pulled up his game library instead. Deciding which game to choose was the trickier part, because Asmo had terrible reflexes, and an attention span worse than Mammon's when it came to playing anything. This ruled out anything requiring twitch reflexes or understanding complicated rules. 

Asmo, meanwhile, scrunched his nose at your chips.

"All that grease and salt is going to be awful for your complexion, darling," he said, clearly disapproving.

"I'm not rubbing it on my face," you said, and defiantly sucked crumbs off your thumb. Levi nearly choked at the sound, which was borderline obscene. The little sound Asmo made in response did nothing to contradict this impression. Levi managed to swallow back the wave of envy before it came undammed by concentrating on the list of games on the screen. He still had to make a selection.

A farming sim seemed like a safe enough choice; something bright and frivolous. Just like Asmo.

Levi passed the controller as the title screen came up, and Asmo, to his credit, managed to choose the 'New Game' option without messing anything up. Yet. When the screen went dark as the game loaded, Asmo couldn't resist looking at his reflection and primping his hair a bit. Levi did resist snorting and rolling his eyes, but it was a close thing.

The character creation screen popped up with its myriad of options, and Asmo gasped in delight.

"Oh! This is a good start! Much better than getting shoved into some ugly gray metal suit at the beginning," Asmo remarked cheerfully. He cycled through the hair and clothing options with the speed and deftness of a veteran player. 

"Hey, beginner armor in RPGs can be colorful too," Levi protested.

"But not fashionable, apparently," Asmo sniffed.

Asmo had only just barely settled on a hairstyle and color combination he thought was adequately cute, and was scrunching his nose at the shirt options, when another knock came at the door.

"Come in," you called out, before Levi could demand a password.

Mammon's head popped through the door, and he pulled a face when he saw you there, just like he always did when you were in somebody else's company and not his.

"Eh? What're you doing here?" Mammon asked, closing the door behind him and sidling up to the three of you. 

He craned his neck and squinted at the screen, like he was verifying that whatever you were doing, it passed his requirements for propriety. Between knowing the kinds of games Levi had in his collection, and seeing Asmo there, maybe he was not completely unjustified in some suspicion, but it still made you want to roll your eyes.

"We're watching Asmo create his character," you explained.

Mammon guffawed. "Betcha been watching him do that for a while!"

"Fifteen minutes, more or less," you said. "But to be fair, Levi takes way longer to create characters."

"It's an important step!" Levi sputtered.

"Especially with the quality of the options," Asmo added. "Look at this. A purple T-shirt with a pink butt on it?"

"That's a peach!" Levi protested, his face turning red.

"I know what a butt looks like, Levi," Asmo replied tartly.

"Wait, wait, Asmo, that black one with the gold design ain't half bad! Go back an' pick that one." 

"That gaudy thing! Absolutely not!"

"Mammon, why are you even here?" Levi asked, now completely exasperated with his brothers.

"I was just seein' if we were still on for Devil Kart against those Purgatory Hall guys. We need ta win back our honor, ya know."

"Do we?" Levi asked suspiciously, "or are you running a betting pool again?"

Mammon made a good show of appearing indignant at the very suggestion, but he'd hit you up earlier today about whether you'd be willing to take a dive in the second half of Candy Mountain in exchange for a lump grimm sum, so you knew too much about the subject to defend Mammon without exposing him.

"Can't I be showin' an interest without ya gettin' all suspicious a' me? What makes me so weird, huh? Asmo here doesn't even play games, and I don't see ya hasslin' him!"

"I do too play games," Asmo protested.

"Really? 'Cause only thing I ever saw you play was that stupid matching thing with the gems, and I ain't seen much of even that lately."

You knew which game Mammon meant, because it was the only game app you'd ever seen on Asmo's phone. You'd watch him play in moments of boredom, swiping his screen with a completely blank look of concentration as he matched the colors of the gems in rows and columns, and they burst into sparkles. 

"Ugh, of course you haven't seen me play, I finished it. I have to wait until they add new levels."

"Didn't that game have like ten thousand levels already?" you asked. "You mean you passed all of them?"

"Eleven thousand and sixty five," Asmo corrected primly. "And yes, I did them all. I have to wait until they add more now. I asked."

The room fell into shocked silence at this. Even Levi looked mildly dyspeptic at the thought of completing eleven thousand levels of a match-3 game. You'd played it yourself for a while, and past the two hundredth level, the number of complicated mechanics the game introduced had completely broken you.

"Anyway," Mammon said after a few more beats of silence. He gestured to the screen, where Asmo was flicking between two shirt options. "This thing got co-op or somethin'?"

You finished your chips, and folded away the empty bag. When you picked up your D.D.D., fifty five minutes had passed.

"Still five minutes left," you muttered to Levi while Asmo and Mammon bickered over the choice of pants. "Wanna play the long odds and see if the twins show up too?"

"Okay, okay, you've made your point," Levi grumbled. "I let way too many people waltz in here. I'll have to tighten security."

But Levi's heart wasn't really in it, and when he turned to watch Mammon try to swipe Asmo's controller while the latter loudly protested, there was almost a smile threatening to spread over Levi's face.

[ddaenggtan]

say you want passion (i think you found it) | M

you’re a tease. he’s tired of it.

pairing | shownu x fem!reader

wc | 6.5k

genre/warning | Covid doesnt exist sorry, big dick shownu, sweetheart shownu, dom shownu, sub reader, shownu is called hyunwoo in this, he also likes to be called daddy dont judge, sloppy blowjobs, but still, blowjobs, Shownu eats pussy like a CHAMP, Strength Kink, praise, degradation, degrading praise, this is HIGHLY specialized, you've been warned, deepthroating, DEEP deepthroating at that, nsfw pictures, aka shownu likes to remember it when he does a good job so he takes a picture bc it lasts longer uwu, talking with your mouth full (ill let u guess), doggystyle, teasing, brief nipple play, hickeys, begging, dumbification, rough sex, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, coming inside, gspot shenanigans, this is genuinely so unrealistic please do not think sex is like this ever in real life, i mean literally ever if you ever fuck someone and it's like this then they aren't real they're a fae or a god or some shit okay, aftercare, shownu uses 3-in-1 because He Does, Barely Edited by the grace of @personawife​‘s beta that she fit in when she could ilu, 

a/n | first n last shownu smut specifically bc its leilas birthday (@honiboyyoon​). u better enjoy this. (side note for anyone who isn’t into shownu smut, but is curious: there’s a namjoon version on ao3 that i’ll link here), but this took entirely too much effort and i did my damndest to fit as many things that ur into in this one fic as i possibly could. i hope this makes up for u probably never getting the vampire maknae line foursome i kept promising you sdfkldjsfasdf

The front door opens as you step out of the car, and you grin as your boyfriend appears in the frame. He grins at you and your best friend and you search his expression for a sign of anything other than his usual sweetness, but find none. You resist the urge to pout - you won’t give him the satisfaction. 

“Good luck!” Your best friend teases. You roll your eyes at her - she knows precisely what you envisioned upon arriving back to the quaint little house you call home with Hyunwoo. It’s the reason you wore this outfit, and tried on the clothes you did whilst shopping, and sent him selfies in the poses you did. 

You’re on a mission, dammit. It’s been weeks - literal weeks, not even an exaggeration - since you were properly fucked, and you’re fairly tired of prancing around the house in your shortest shorts and deepest v-necks so that when you bend over just right to water your fern, he gets the perfect eyeful. It’s exhausting to try to send all these signals all day every day - but you know how flustered he gets when you ask him directly, so you tried a different tactic. You were being nice!

And it hasn’t worked. At all. He’s offered to help you water your plants, to let you borrow his flannel pajamas in case you’re cold, and even to buy you a sweater, at one point. 

In August. 

So suffice to say, you’re getting a little tired of him being oblivious. So you’d called up your best friend and invited her to go shopping with you, and yes, it was also very fun to hang out with her and get boba, but she’s also the master of hyping you up and making you feel sexy and desirable, so it was truly a win-win.

Plus, she color-coordinated her own houndstooth pantsuit with your pink houndstooth skirt/blazer combo, so really, you should send her a fruit basket or something. Maybe cookies. 

The point remains that your boyfriend hasn’t responded to any of your borderline pornographic selfies or the very pointed videos of you holding various sex toys and asking if it would fit. You’re at your wit’s end, and you were really hoping that it would truly get through to him this time that you want nothing more than to be railed against the mattress so hard that you cry. 

You’re a simple girl, after all. 

But no! He’s got that sweet smile on his face as you carry your shopping bags in one hand and your purse in the other, carefully sidestepping the cosmos he’d just planted the other day so you wouldn’t step all over his hard work. His smile widens when you reach the door, and he presses a sweet, gentle kiss against your forehead that has you on the verge of tears. 

He waves again to your best friend as she drives off, and as usual snags your shopping bags out of your hand so he can place them beside the door. You’ve already pulled your blazer off to hang in the entryway closet by the time he’s shut the door, and you gasp as you’re jerked back. His hands are on either side of your head, braced against the front door like it’s the only thing keeping him up, and you struggle to focus on anything that isn’t the way his muscles flex.

“Do you have any idea what today was like for me?” He growls. The sound of it brings heat between your thighs, and you resist the urge to cheer. 

“Sorry, should I not have sent you any selfies today?” You ask, keeping your voice as light and innocent as you can. He makes eye contact with you; there’s a fire in his eyes you haven’t seen in what feels like forever. “Did you not like them?”

“You know damn well what I thought of them,” he mutters, one hand coming down to rest on your hip. “I’ve tried so hard lately, y’know? The tiny shorts with your ass hanging out, the shirts that show everything when you bend over. God, the bending.”

“Really?” You breathe. It’s always exhilarating to know that you’re desired, but this is nearly heady. He fixes his gaze on you, eyes burning, and your smile softens slightly. 

“I was trying,” he says, clearly holding himself back, “To be a good boyfriend. To make sure that you know that I want more from you than just sex, and that I value you as more than just someone attractive. I was trying so hard to prove that you– that we have more between us than that. That I respect you more than that.”

“So don’t respect me.” You say it like it’s obvious, because it is. You’ve been laying down signals galore the past few weeks, and clearly he did not get the memo. 

“I’m always going to respect you,” he says instead, sighing slightly as he leans in to press his forehead against yours. “I don’t want to disrespect you, you’re worth more than that. But fuck, all I wanna do is fuck you stupid right now.”

“Please,” you whisper, biting your lip. It’s all you’ve wanted for weeks and now you might finally - finally - get it. “Disrespect me, daddy.”

The hand on your hip tightens, no doubt bruising the skin, and you gasp at the feeling. Hyunwoo makes eye contact - just long enough to make sure that you’re on board for whatever it is he’s about to do. 

He could probably suggest a number of things that you’ve never considered and you’d say yes, at this point - you’re not ashamed to admit that you’re desperate. 

The hand on your hips lowers - he traces all the way down your thigh and to the back of your knee before travelling back up, this time under your skirt. He kisses you as he does it - long, heated kisses that make your head spin so perfectly that you don’t know what he’s doing until he glides a finger across your clothed core. 

You gasp into the kiss, but it doesn’t deter him. He pulls down, kissing and biting down your jaw to your neck as his fingers trace over you once more. You can feel him smile against your skin. 

“You’re already soaked,” he tuts. “You’ve ruined this pair, princess. How naughty of you. Would you like daddy to take them off?”

“Yes!” You moan as his fingers ghost over your folds once more. 

“Yes what?” He asks, and you could cry with how much you want him. 

“Yes, daddy,” you tell him, and he smiles once more. It’s blinding, how bright he is when he smiles like that, and for a second you’re breathless. Then you feel them - his hands, burning a trail along your thigh to tug at the band of your underwear. It only takes him a few seconds to pull them down as he bends, and he kisses your thigh as he brings one of your legs up so he can slide them off completely. 

He was right - they are ruined, the evidence of your arousal immediately apparent by the large wet spot in the center. He doesn’t bother to slide them off your other leg, though - just lets them hang from your ankle, no doubt as a reminder of how strongly he affects you.

He presses kisses to every bit of skin he can as he stands fully upright once more, suckling a mark into your collarbone that you’ll absolutely cherish when you have to cover it up before work tomorrow. 

His hands don’t leave your thighs - warm and strong and utterly distracting, you can’t take your mind off them as he kisses you again, heady and intoxicating. You feel it as one hand travels back underneath your skirt again, gliding between your thighs. 

A moan sticks in your throat as his fingers slide in between your folds - the feeling of them teasing against your hole before they move to rub light circles into your clit is nearly too much to handle. 

“Hyunwoo, please–”

“Patience,” he interrupts. You can hear the smile in his voice as he slides over your hole once more, spreading your arousal across your lips before teasing your clit again. “Good girls have patience, right, princess?”

You whimper, hips arching off the door to try to guide his finger inside of you. It’s a futile attempt - he just returns to the slow, infuriating circles on your clit, and you would cry if it didn’t feel as good as it does. 

It could be hours or it could be seconds that he continues this pattern - slow, maddening circles on your clit, then the slightest bit of a tease at your hole, just enough to make you think that maybe he’ll fuck you with his fingers, before he returns to the circles. It’s enough to make a stronger woman cry, and you can’t help the whines that you let out when he once again deprives you of the fuck you so desperately want. 

“Please just fuck me,” you finally break, hands moving from where they’re wrapped around his neck to circle his waist and do your best to pull him in closer. You can feel him against your thigh, warm and thick and big, and you want him. 

He hisses when you grind against him, and the one hand that remains on your hip tightens ever so slightly. “You’re being very bad, princess,” he chastises, but you couldn’t care less. Your mind is focused on the memory of what he felt like inside you, and you’re ready to burst with need.

“I don’t care,” you tell him firmly, hands sliding up under his shirt to run your nails against his muscled torso. “I don’t care, I need you, please, I just want–”

“I know,” he cuts you off. His hands disappear from you entirely, but only for a moment - before you know it, two large hands wrap around your wrists, guiding yours out of his shirt. You can't stop whimpering, caught between the memory of the last time he was between your thighs and the reality of his lips against your skin.

Hyunwoo drops - he hits the wooden floor with a muffled thud, and before you can even react, his hands are underneath your skirt. He pushes it upwards, muttering something almost reverent about thighs as he does, and then he’s pressing soft kisses to the inside of your thighs. His hands don’t stop, though - they keep going, shoving your skirt up until it pools around your waist.

“H-Hyunwoo—”

“Ssh,” he whispers, giving your thigh a light bite. A heartbeat later and you can feel his warm breath against your folds. “You wanted to feel good, right?”

“Yes, please,” you breathe, hands instinctively tangling in his soft brown hair. 

“Then be a good slut for me, and stay still while I make you feel good." 

You stifle a whimper - he knows what his words do to you, and you jolt as his tongue gently nudges against your folds. There's no stopping the soft sigh that falls from your lips as he delves deeper, ghosting across your swollen clit to nudge against your hole. He's tentative, teasing with his movements - he likes to make you wait, tease you until you're grinding against his mouth.

You doubt this will be an exception.

A moan is thrust out of you as you feel your hole stretch slightly. Not much, not far - just enough to accommodate him as he fucks your hole with his tongue. It's just the right side of unsatisfying - you're aching, absolutely dripping for him, and this is just enough to whet your appetite and make you hungry for more.

You can feel his smile against you, and you already know what's coming - still, it's disappointing when he pulls his tongue out. You whine, unashamed of how you must sound or how loud you may be, and he chuckles.

"Patience, baby girl," he breathes. Warm air flows over you, and your hands move to tangle in his hair. His tongue shifts again, lapping at your clit for long enough that you think you may cum before he stops to draw mind-numbing circles around it instead.

Time bends around the two of you - it always does when he's between your thighs like this, when he's teasing and deliberate with every swipe of his tongue against you, every press of him against your hole. He edges you for so long; slow circles around your clit turn to quick thrusts inside of you that shift into laps against your hole that drag upward, just barely catching your clit before they stop.

You're sure there would be a puddle on the floor were it not for his dedication. The entire house is filled with the sounds of his mouth against you, only drowned out by the sound of your cries as he begins to suck on your clit.

Your knees quake on either side of his head, and he doesn't hesitate to bring his hands up behind your thighs. Without a second thought, he lifts - not even pausing in his mission, tongue still thrusting into you at an almost absurd rate - and then your thighs are resting atop his shoulders. You gasp, both in shock and in pleasure as he lets his teeth graze ever so lightly against that bundle of nerves.

This isn't the first time he's done this - put you on his shoulders and left you there while he eats you out within an inch of your life - but it's the first time in a long time, and it has you seeing stars as one of your hands stays tangled in his hair and the other is braced against the wall beside you.

"Hyunwoo, please–" You beg, but you can't catch your breath long enough between moans to say anything more. He sucks again, the flat of his tongue gliding over your clit as it's pulled into his mouth once more, and your vision goes white. Your knees quake, and you're sure that if you had been standing, you wouldn't be anymore.

"That's my girl," Hyunwoo praises after he's done cleaning up your cum. When you can see again, you realize he's set you down on the floor and is slowly massaging your thighs.

"Hyun, I....please....can you–"

"You want me to fuck you stupid, baby?" He asks. His tone is a little patronizing, but that's okay, because it only serves to turn you on more. "Does my sweet little whore need my cock in her?"

"Yes, please," you whimper, hips tilting upwards against nothing of their own accord.

Hyunwoo stands and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his grey sweats. A few moments later he's pulled them down just enough to free himself. Your mouth drops open slightly when you finally lay eyes on him - you know he's big. You know that he is big, you've had his entire length inside of you several times now and you've felt it for days after each time, but it still never fails to shock you.

Because he is big. Thick, so thick you can hardly wrap your entire fist around him, and long, with the perfect curve that hits that spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. His dick is nearly as perfect as he is, and that is a very high bar.

It's also so hard that you can see it throbbing, jumping every so often as his muscles tense.

"You want me to make you come with my cock, right, baby?" He asks, once again using that patronizing tone that makes heat creep across your cheeks.

You nod.

"Then you're going to have to ask nicely, aren't you?" He prods.

"Please, daddy," you say without hesitation, "Please fuck me, I want you to make me cum so hard that I cry, I want to be a good slut for you."

"Very good, baby," he praises. "Now I want you to prove that you mean it. Can you be a good little whore and suck my cock?"

You lean forward, not even bothering to use your hands because your bones still feel like jelly. You run your tongue across the tip of him, giving small kitten licks to the slit just how he likes. A groan rumbles through him, and he lets out a soft gasp as you slip your tongue down to wet the shaft as well. 

"Fuck, princess," he moans, "I think you've gotten even better at this."

Encouraged, you let your mouth hang open– just barely wide enough to get your lips around the shaft– and let your tongue rest on your spit-slick lips. You glance up long enough to see that Hyunwoo's eyes are blown wide with his desire before you mouth sloppily down his dick. It's messy and would probably be disgusting if it were anyone but the two of you and Hyunwoo didn't have that look in his eyes that promises you'll remember tonight for several weeks. 

His hands move, one adjusting his grip on the doorframe as you suck the head of his cock between your lips while the other comes down to grip one of the two buns you put your hair in that morning. He tugs - not hard, not yet, but firmly enough that it stings slightly and makes you keen.

"If you're going to make a mess, don't you think you should clean it up?" He asks. You lift a brow and he grins. "Clearly you're not that tired if you still have an attitude."

"No," you whine, "I am tired, my bones are basically nonexistent right now thanks to you."

The hand in your hair loosens slightly, and Hyunwoo tuts. "I have to do all the work, huh? Then get on your knees for me, baby girl, so I can use you like a good toy." 

You rush to comply, and only wince a bit at the feeling of the cold floor against your knees. His hand stays where it is the entire time you're moving, but he waits until you're sitting still, legs folded under you and giving you that extra bit of height you'll need. 

"Let me know if it's too much," Hyunwoo commands, and you nod. His eyes darken, slightly, and he runs his thumb along your jaw. "What's the signal?"

"Two taps on your thigh," You tell him, not for the first time. He's always so careful beforehand, and while you appreciate just how much he cares about you, you also are sick of just staring at his cock, and your mouth is beginning to water. 

Hyunwoo coos slightly, and the hand in your hair shifts to guide rather than just anchor. "You're always so good for me," he mutters as he slides the tip past your lips. "Always such a good little slut." 

You don't stop the whimper that escapes your throat – he loves them, and you know it. Your mouth is lax, nothing more than a hole for him to fill as he sees fit, and there's the slightest twinge of complaint as your jaw begins to stretch. 

You ignore it, determined to get as much of him as possible this time. You've practiced for this, nearly every day, since the last time and you're not stopping until you beat your record. 

Hyunwoo sighs as he hits the back of your throat. "God, you're perfect," he mutters as he begins to slide back out. You let your jaw relax a bit as he does, and when just the tip rests on your tongue, you give it a small kiss, just because you can. 

Hyunwoo smiles, gaze softening for a split second. "Hands in position, baby girl," he reminds you, and you do as he says – one hand on back of each of his thighs, so you can tap out if you need to. 

Also so you can feel those incredible muscles flex as he starts shallow thrusts, rippling and tensing under your fingers. If your mouth weren't otherwise occupied, you'd bite them. 

Hyunwoo continues carefully, testing just how much of himself can fit before you start to gag on his length….and just how long you can choke before you really start to need air. 

He pulls back before you even need to tap out, always careful to keep an eye on you for any warning signs. He slides back in and waits until he hits the back of your throat again, pushing slightly further, and just as he's about to begin pulling back out, you look up at him with wide eyes.

You know you look like a mess; drool gathering on your lips because your mouth is too full to hold it, tears streaming down your cheeks from your attempts to stop gagging. Hyunwoo loves it when you look ruined like this, adores taking your perfectly crafted image and crumbling it to pieces in his hands. 

So it's no surprise when he lets out a low moan, or when he lets himself slip a little further down your throat. This is as far as he's ever gotten and you want him to know how good you are, how hard you've been practicing  with the toys underneath your bed. He slides out, precum dripping onto your tongue as he does, and you bat your lashes at him.

"Use me," you tell him. "Use me like the toy that I am for you, Daddy." Something darkens in his eyes and he doesn't hesitate to thrust  back in.

Your eyes water with the force of it and you don't stop the moan that escapes you as he slides deeper down your throat than he's ever been before. There's still a couple inches left before he'd be fully sheathed, but Hyunwoo doesn't even seem to notice as he pulls out just to thrust back in.

Neither of you are quiet — you can barely hear the wet squelch of your mouth. It's drowned out by the moans he draws from you, which in turn pull moans from him between the words he growls out.

"God, you're so perfect," he mutters as he fucks your throat with abandon. "The perfect angel slut, so good at getting throatfucked, just made for my cock no matter where it goes, huh? You're such a good whore, you're probably fucking soaked just from my dick in your mouth, aren't you?"

You whimper around him and he speeds up, relentless; he's not wrong either — you are soaked, can feel it between your thighs as your hips rock fruitlessly against empty air.

"Oh, look at you," Hyunwoo coos, "So desperate to be fucked while sucking me off. Maybe one day I'll get one of your buddies over here to fuck your throat while you ride my cock, since you're so desperate to get used like a good slut. But I don't even think that'll be enough, will it? Because they won't be me." He thrusts a little deeper, a little rougher, and you aren't sure if the noises you're making are as loud as they seem to you but either way, they only serve to egg him on. 

"No," Hyunwoo continues, "They won't be Daddy, will they? They won't be able to get this deep in your throat, won't be able to fuck you like this. And you know why? Because this is my hole." He punctuates the sentence with a sharp thrust and you squeeze the backs of his thighs to show your agreement. "You're my perfect slut. My good little whore. Isn't that right, baby girl?"

You squeeze the backs of his thighs again, but it isn't enough. He stills, still buried nearly to the hilt inside you, and cocks a brow.

"Well? Aren't you my perfect whore?" Your face flames, heat burning in your cheeks. Your jaw aches from being stretched for so long, there spit and precum dripping down your chin  and you can feel him throbbing in your throat. 

And Hyunwoo looks expectant. He wants to hear you agree with him, wants you to remind yourself of this fact.

You don't even blink when he pulls his phone out of the pocket of his sweats. You can't see what he does, but based on how he angles it and the shallow thrusts he gives without looking away from the screen, you can guess. 

"Aw, is my baby girl getting shy now?" He teases as you make eye contact with the lens and feel your face heat up. "Don't even worry about it, baby. I just wanna remember how fucking perfect you look right now forever. My perfect cocksucking slut."

You whimper, pussy clenching around nothing and you're overcome with a sudden need to feel him inside you.

"Are you gonna be a good slut now?" Hyunwoo continues, still recording. "Are you daddy's good slut?" You nod and can't stop the reflexive swallow as he goes even deeper. Hyunwoo groans at the feeling and you can see his grip on his phone tighten for a moment.

"Say it," he commands when his eyes open once more. "I want to hear you say it."

" 'm 'a'y's 'er'ec' 'ore," you moan. It doesn't even sound like words, at this point, but when you look back up at him with wide eyes. Hyunwoo looks proud.

"You absolutely are," he whispers. He hits a button and then pockets his phone again. He slides carefully out of your mouth and casually strokes his cock with one hand as he wipes spit from your face with the other. "I think you've been a perfect angel, baby girl, so you've earned your reward. Where would you like it?"

"Bed, please, Daddy." Your voice is hoarse and scratchy, but you don't care, and Hyunwoo doesn't seem to either as he pulls his sweats up and then bends. The world spins for a moment and then steadies, and you realize he's got you in his arms. Hyunwoo carries you like a princess towards the room you share, and tosses you on the bed without hesitation.

Your eyes widen as he starts to strip out of his clothes, and you can't deny that you enjoy the show. The torso of muscles all rippling, the golden skin all shining, the desire in his eyes. Then the sweats — they hit the ground with a thud and you idly hope his phone is alright before you remember there are more important things right now.

He is, unsurprisingly, still hard — almost painfully so, a deep swollen pink at the head and jumping every so often. The vein running up the underside is throbbing, and you can actually feel yourself get wetter with anticipation.

One knee rests on the mattress, then the other, and Hyunwoo is crawling towards you on his hands and knees, and you can see every muscle as it shifts and fuck you love this man.

"I love you," you tell him, not for the first time. He breaks for a second, a bright smile taking over his face.

"I love you," he replies, pressing a kiss to your thigh. "Can we take those clothes off now, baby, because as great as you look, you're even better naked."

Breath catches in your throat and you nod. Hyunwoo is almost reverent as his hands glide up your thighs and is exceedingly gentle as he slides down the zipper and then the skirt itself. He smiles again, almost shy, and you can't help but marvel at the fact that this is the same man who bad you gagging on his dick not five minutes ago.

He leans in and gently nudges your nose with his, but when you lean forward to kiss him, he backs away with a playful grin. His warm hand rests on your waist and he leans in again only to dart back when you try to kiss him — not far, though. He's still close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath mix with yours, but it's still infuriating. 

You pout at him, and his smile just grows. "What is it?" He asks, teasing. "What do you want?" His lips ghost over yours as he speaks and it nearly breaks you.

"You," You whine. "I want you."

"You have me." He leans forward then, capturing your lips with an intensity you haven't seen in a long time. His mouth moves against yours and it's firm, commanding, and absolutely intoxicating as he pulls back just to lightly bite your lips. It's not rough, not really, but it's fiery and exciting and everything you've wanted. 

He presses closer, nimble fingers undoing the buttons of your blouse in what seems like an instant. Warm hands cross your spine and then your bra is gone, too. His skin seems to meld to yours, hands moving everywhere as he lays you back. 

Your breath hitches when you feel him against your entrance and he smiles into the bruise he's sucking into your throat. 

"You're so fucking wet, baby," he breathes as his tip teases against your entrance. "You're always so wet for me, so ready to be fucked. Just a perfect fucking whore, huh?" He slides in then, but only a bit. Just like before, it's just barely enough for you to feel him stretching you out. Just a tease of what's to come.

"Hyunwoo," you whine. You can see the amusement in his eyes as he chuckles.

"What is it? You want more?" He slides in further, but just a centimeter. You whine again, pushing your hips up against his to try to push him deeper. You can feel yourself throbbing, aching, for him, and you're tired of being teased. You want to be full. 

You tell him as much, watching his pupils dilate with every word until there's hardly any iris left to be seen. 

"Is that so?" He mutters, almost to himself. "Well, your wish is my command." He slides in, slowly, but this time he doesn't stop. He just keeps going and going and going, until you can feel him at your cervix. It stings – you're stretched so far, and he's so deep inside – but you relish it. 

"Beautiful," Hyunwoo mutters as he begins to slide back out, inch by agonizing inch. You whimper as the tip nearly slides out, too, and your hips lift of their own accord. Hyunwoo takes the hint and pushes back in; he creates a rhythm, one so slow, so maddening, that you're on the verge of tears as you whine and whimper underneath him. 

He notices your frustration, pulls himself away from lazily mouthing at your nipples, and hums. 

"What's wrong, baby? You aren't satisfied yet?" He gives you that Boy-Next-Door grin that you know hides a demon behind it. "Are you going to ask nicely again? Tell me no one fills you up like I do and beg me to fuck you the way you want? You look so pretty when you beg."

Any other time, you wouldn't. You would at least hesitate, make him work a little harder for your pleas. But you're desperate and frustrated and have no shame, so you don't hesitate. 

"Please, Daddy," you beg, letting your legs fall open and arching your back so his eyes drop lower and lower. "Please, Daddy, no one can fill this pussy like you do, no one can fuck my holes like you. Pl–please," you moan as he slides entirely inside once more, "Please fuck me right, make me come on your cock, I wan– wanna be fucked stupid, want you to– to fuck me stupid, please, wanna be Daddy's perfect slut, pl– Ah!"

You can't help your surprised gasp as Hyunwoo flips you onto your stomach with a low growl.

Warmth drapes along your back as you rise up, palms splayed across the sheets and elbows locked to keep you upright; his skin is sweat-slick and heated against your own, and a shiver runs down your spine when he pauses to runs his teeth along the lobe of your ear. 

"You are the best part of my life," he announces.

Butterflies explode in your belly a split second before he slides out of you.

"And I'm gonna make you cum so hard that you'll never forget that fact."

"Hyunwo— Oh!"

He thrusts into you with enough force to toss you into the headboard, had he not planted one hand firmly on your hip and had the other curled around your breast to tease your nipple. 

"You like that?" Hyunwoo asks with a smile in his voice. He repeats the movement and you clench around him as you gasp out a moan.  It's all you can do to nod and he flicks your nipple in response. "Good."

He lifts up, both hands now holding you steady by an iron grip on your hips, and readjusts his legs so yours are spread slightly wider. Your arms are trembling but you pay them no mind. 

Until Hyunwoo thrusts forward, pulling back just as quickly only to bury himself again, a heartbeat later. His pace is absolutely merciless; the sound of skin hitting skin fills the room, mixing beautifully with the wet slide as he shoves back in and the rough, throat moans that he pulls from you. Your vision swims, and you can't concentrate on anything else as he gives you the fucking that's been haunting your dreams every night. 

He adjusts his grip, one hand moving to sit firmly on the small of your back and press you down just a bit. The angle shifts – not much, but enough that the next time he pounds into you, he thrusts right up against that spot that makes your toes curl. 

You cry out, vision going white as he hits it again, and again, and again, absolutely ruthless in his mission. Your muscles go weak, biceps twitching as they give out, and then you're face down in the mattress. Hyunwoo doesn't hesitate, just ghosts his palm down to rest between your shoulders and keep you in place. 

He might be talking – you certainly think you hear the low tones of his voice as he speaks to you, but you can't make out words. It's too much work, too many syllables, too much effort to try to work past the haze that blankets your mind. You can still feel him, pumping in and out of your gushing pussy — the stretch barely stings anymore, and he throbs inside of you.  Each thrust is still perfectly angled to hit that mind-numbing place that keeps you from doing anything more than screeching his name. 

He slows, immediately switching from speed to power as he manages to put even more force behind his hips. The hand in your back moves, as does the one on your hip and then you're rising.

A warm palm across your throat – not choking,  just keeping you in place while the other traces along your spread thigh. 

There are words – something your brain is too fried to make out, and then a rumble that vibrates through you. A laugh. His thrusts get a little faster as he fucks up into you, and you're dimly aware of his fingers slipping between your folds. 

Someone screams — no, not someone. You. You scream, something so loud and provocative that it can't even be called a moan anymore, as he begins to rub circles around your clit. Orgasms rock through you,  every part of your body going boneless even as you shake from the force of it. It's impossible to tell when it stops, if it stops – the aftershocks are strong and he still hasn't stopped fucking you, though he's slower and gentler now, letting you ride it out on his cock. 

"……perfect for me, " you hear him whisper as you're senses come back. "Absolutely perfect, an amazing fucking— just divine, you are."

"Hyun," you manage, and it's no shock that you sound absolutely wrecked.  "D– Daddy."

"I'm here, baby girl," he mutters, "What do you need?"

"You," You respond instantly. "Want you, wanna fee– feel it, want you to fill me, please, in– ah, inside, want you dripping ou–" You're cut off once more as your body heaves with yet another aftershock, clenching around his hard length again. 

"Whatever you want, baby," he promises. "Can you come once more for me, baby girl? Just one more time so we can come together?"

"Mm…." You pause, taking the best inventory you can as your muscles jolt again. You consider lying to him, or just omitting this, because you know he'll never stop reminding you of it, but decide against it. Instead, you quietly admit,  "I don't think I ever stopped."

"Oh, fuck," he breathes. Within moments, you can feel his thrusts turn more erratic, more frenzied, and then you're impossibly fuller even as something warm drips down the inside of your thigh. 

He's gentle as he lays you down on the bedspread, exceedingly so as he pulls his softening cock out of you. His weight disappears from the bed for a few minutes that seem to stretch into hours, and then the mattress dips, and his soft smile appears once more. 

"Here sweetheart, drink this." He hands you a familiar cup and when you take a sip, the water is cool and refreshing. Wet warmth, surprising but pleasant, glides along your inner thigh and you look down to see him cleaning you up. 

"Mm, this is quite possibly the perfect view," you tease, wagging your brows as you make a show of checking out his muscular arms. It makes him laugh, the soft one that's just for when you're being ridiculous. 

"Drunk your water, you menace," he commands as he continues to wipe. "You're gonna need to replenish your fluids, after all that." He looks pointedly towards the bed and you follow his gaze, face heating when your eyes land on the rather sizable wet spot staining the sheets. 

"Whoops?" You offer. When you look back at him, he only looks fond. 

"Don't even start, it was hot. Besides, they needed to be put in the wash anyway.  I'll start them after you get into the bath." He gives over you, taking kisses along every piece of skin he can until he reaches your lips. You can't help the way your breath catches – even after all this time, he manages to make you breathless over the smallest things.

He peppers kisses along your cheeks, and nose, and everywhere else until you're giggling and trying to turn away from him. Unfortunately, with his arms on either side of you, you're fairly well trapped, so you settle for fucking your head into his neck instead. 

You pause. Sniff again. Back up. He looks sheepish, like he already knows what you're going to say. 

"We were out of the fancy stuff—" He tries, but you don't let him. 

"You used that 3-in-1 shit again?" You demand. "Actual body wash isn't even fancy, it's what normal people use! That's it, you're coming into the bath with me after you start the laundry so that I can make sure you didn't use it in your hair, too."

He smiles again, though you have a sneaking suspicion that he's just humoring you when he nods and says, "Whatever you want."

[crimsonrae]

Oh, I am excited then! May I please request a Captain Syverson or Clark Kent/Femme! Reader oneshot where it's the reader's birthday, but she doesn't tell Sy/Clark because she doesn't celebrate/forgets and they find out and do something for her? Maybe a surprise dinner or something? Thank you so much, darling!!

Hey Nonnie,

As requested a birthday fic with Mr. Kent. Fluff fic - I hope you like it.

Clark KentxReader

Falling, Flying

Happy Birthday!

You sighed wearily as you eyed the balloon decorated card from the florist. A beautifully arranged bouquet of sunflowers and chrysanthemums rested on your desk. Admittedly, the amber and wine tones were striking and brought a brightness to your office that was usually lacking, but it was also like having a bright neon sign to remind you of a day that you usually wanted to ignore.

This was the problem with having with life-long friends... they liked to torture you.

You chucked the card into your trash and moved the flowers to the window. You’d text Maria later to call her an asshole and thank her for the little gift.  

“Hey, nice flowers.”

Your butt had barely touched your desk chair. Biting back another sigh, you glanced up to see Lombard loitering in your doorway, “Thanks... Did you have that election article for me?”

“Y/N, it’s all work and no play with you.” Lombard complained loftily as he leaned against the threshold.

You shook your head, ignoring him as you logged into your computer. Your fingers clacked hard at the keyboard when he didn’t disappear nor answer your question. He stood like a creepy grotesque and it only took another minute of stunted silence before you broke.

“Lombard, what do you want?” He grinned victoriously while you threw a mocking scowl at him, “Article?”

He sauntered forward and dropped into the chair before your desk, “So, what are the flowers for? Did Smallville screw up? Apology flowers? Or an anniversary? Don’t let Lois see if it’s the second, cuzzz I don’t think it’s been quite a year since they’ve broken up.”

You rolled your eyes and grumbled under your breath about reporters. Never mind that you used to work as one, editing was more in your comfort zone anyway. You and Clark had only managed to date for two weeks before the office found out.  

Bloodhounds – every single one of them.  

Including your boy.

“You should work for a gossip rag, Steve. You’d really shine there.” You stated dryly, focusing back on the screen as a few new articles showed in your inbox. It was going to be a busy day of fact-checking and proofreading.

“Oh, don’t be mean. I’m just taking a healthy interest in my colleague’s life.” A smugly amused smirk crossed his lips before a pen came flying at his face, “Hey!”

Unapologetic, you pointed at the door “Get out of my office and get your article done.”  

He moved to protest or retort, you weren’t sure, as a new voice interrupted.

“Harassing my girl again, Lombard.”

A feeling of déjà vu fell over you as you and Lombard looked to your door to see Clark leaning in the threshold. You smiled faintly at him becoming amused as Lombard actually shifted to stand. As nice as Clark was, Lombard was well aware that his arms were the size of his head. He felt it better for his ego if he never stood to close to the other reporter...or pissed him off.

And yet...

“Nice choice of flowers, Smallville. So, what did you do?” The smaller man queried jovially.

You threw another pen at him as Clark zeroed in on your present and frowned. He tilted his head curiously and came over to have a better look, allowing Lombard a direct escape if he wanted, “Those aren’t from me.”

You could practically feel a whole new level of intrigue pour from Lombard at Clark’s words. You sent the nosy reported a pointed glare and lifted a pen threateningly. He finally took the hint and left as you spun your chair to face your boyfriend.

You couldn’t stop a cheeky smile as he arched a brow at you, “Yeah...I’ve been meaning to tell you – I've been seeing other guys. You’re gonna need to step up your game, farm boy.”

Clark snorted and slanted a mockingly stern gaze at you through his glasses. You still couldn’t decide if you liked him better with or without the frames, but the meandering thought flew from your head as he nudged your legs apart with his knee and leaned into you. You spared a quick glance towards your open door before meeting him halfway for a kiss.

A soft warmth enveloped you as he nipped your lip and gently coaxed your mouth to open. He stole your breath as he delved deeper and you tasted each other thoroughly. Somehow, you always forgot how good a kisser he was.... it was almost unfair. Especially when he pulled away with that knowing glint in his eye that made you want to smack him and climb him like a tree all at once.  

He smirked, “Somehow, I’m not worried.”

“You don’t play fair.” You grumbled though an affectionate smile pulled at the edges of your lips.

“Says the woman who’s receiving flowers from someone other than her boyfriend.” Clark drawled pointedly as he leaned against your desk.

Unwillingly, you glance at your flowery neon sign. You had no desire to share the real reason for the bouquet. Your birthday had never been a particularly good day for you and the only good ones that you had celebrated had been when you were alone.  

A cup of tea and a good book to read as you let the day pass you by and ignored the fact that you were another year older... that was your perfection.

You sighed and shrugged, “They’re from Maria, so no need to be jealous.”

His brow furrowed. He had only met Maria a few times and was still trying to wrap his head around the friendship you two shared. Insults, practical jokes, and a fair bit of clothes thievery made up the majority of your relationship.

“You guys aren’t in a prank war again, are you?” Clark asked leerily.

He had been the unintended victim of a couple of your pranks the last month and you couldn’t help, but smirk at the memory.  

You shook your head, a lie spilling from your lips before you could stop it, “No. I think I need to check my closet for those new Jimmy Choo's I bought. They’re probably gone now.”

Clark rolled his eyes, “I really don’t understand you two.”

“You don’t need to.” You replied calmly but made the mental note to check your closet anyway. You never knew with Maria.  

“Y/N! Stop canoodling your boyfriend! You’ve got papers on the printer.”

A low groan left your lips as a faint heat filled your cheeks at Lombard’s voice, but you moved to get up anyway. You had no desire to have him hover in your office again.  

Clark moved to follow before a colorful glint caught his eye. A quick check showed him that you were already out of the office as he reached down to pull the florist’s card from the trash. A deep frown marred his features as he took in the festive balloons and quickly scrawled birthday wish.

Why wouldn’t you tell him it was your birthday?

He quickly nabbed Maria’s number from your phone and disappeared from your office.

  ── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

Your eyes had begun to sting as you stared at your computer screen. A small headache forming at the base of your neck, as you continued to work. You hadn’t been wrong when you assessed that today was going to be busy.

Five more articles had appeared on your desk before lunch and about a dozen phone calls placed and taken before and after that – notes were scribbled into margins and glaring errors corrected. So far, you had only been able to toss back a couple pieces and it was well after six already. Tiredly, you rubbed at the bridge of your nose, more than ready to go home and collapse into bed...but there was still so much you needed to do.

“Hey, you about ready to go?”  

You started at the sound of Clark’s voice, nearly sending your keyboard skittering to the floor, “Christ! I swear you need a damn bell.”

He chuckled lowly, watching as you clutched at your chest and glared mildly at him. He came to stand next to your desk, noting that you hadn’t even begun to shut down for the night while his shoulder bag was already tucked under his arm, ready to call it quits, “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Grab your stuff, I’m taking you to dinner.”

A rueful smile quirked at your lips as you wave him off, “Raincheck, babe. I need to get this done or Perry’s gonna have a fit.”

He frowned glancing over the mess of papers on your desk. He hadn’t planned for you to still be working and almost wondered if you had taken on extra articles on purpose, “How much more do you have to do?”

“Don’t know. Maybe another hour – two tops.” You shrugged and smiled softly at him, “You’re free to roam the skies, Captain.

Clark raised an incredulous brow. Not because you had alluded to his alter-ego, you had known for a few months now and had slowly been coming to terms with the fact that your boyfriend was a superhero. It was a road that had not been easily traveled by any means. No, his disbelief came from now being certain that you had taken on extra articles.  

You didn’t often seek solitude, but when you did it was by diving into your work... he had learned that particular quirk relatively quickly and almost painfully. But not tonight – tonight you and he had plans and he wasn’t about to let you break them.

He reached over your shoulder and hit a couple buttons on your keyboard to send your computer into hibernation. You stared in shock at his gall, “Clark!”

He was already grabbing your coat, “Dinner, let’s go.”

Your gaze swiveled from the computer to him, your headache becoming full-blown as your expression creased into annoyance, “I told you, I have work. I’m sorry if that ruins your plans, but we’ll just -”

“You didn’t have lunch.” He cut you off and crossed his arms with a mild glare of his own, “You’ve been mainlining coffee like there’s about to be a tariff placed on it. I wouldn’t be surprised to find that all you ate today was a bagel from Guillermo’s. And I know for a fact that no one has a deadline that needs to be met today or tomorrow. Dinner. Now. Don’t think I won’t drag you out of here.”

You glare at each other in a silent standoff. It wasn’t until he stepped toward you that you gave in with a heavy scowl, “What are you? My mother?”  

“A concerned boyfriend.” He retorted as he held out your coat.

You accepted it grudgingly and grabbed your purse before stepping out of the office. Clark followed behind you, not wanting to give you a chance to close the door on him. You had done it before.  

He watched you from the corner of his cerulean eyes. Your annoyance didn’t last long, but a deep weariness seemed to fall over you as the two of you left the Planet. He slid a warm comforting hand across the small of your back to grip lightly at your hip. Relief flowing through him as you leaned into his side. You weren’t too annoyed with him, then.

You made it down an entire block before you realized you didn’t know where you were heading. Both of your apartments were in the other direction and any decent restaurant required calling for a cab to get to...

You blinked in confusion, “Clark...where?”

He smiled wondering when you would ask. Glancing around discreetly, he pulled you into an alley and firmly against his body. Your brow rose, a questioned poised on the tip of your tongue that turned into a startled scream as you suddenly found yourself in the air.

Your arms wrapped around his neck like a lock as you buried your face into his shoulder. Muffled curses and small whimpers spilled from your throat as the two of you flew. Even when he slowed, now safely away from prying eyes and telescopes, you refused to look up.  

“You can relax. I won’t drop you.” He murmured into your ear, feeling mildly guilty for scaring you. He could feel you trembling and knew it wasn’t from the cold air.

A muffled curse was his only response as you gripped tighter. You did not like this.

Luckily, you were soon on the ground again, though it took you a few minutes to remember how to unlock your frozen limbs. Your heart pounded in your chest as you swallowed against a noxious turn of your stomach. You couldn’t stop shaking...

Clark rubbed soothingly at your arms as you tried to find some semblance of control over your body. Your eyes slowly opened into a dark glare, your hand already moving to smack him in the chest. It was infuriating to know that it wouldn’t hurt him, “Don’t ever do that again, you jackass.”  

His eyes widen in a way that reminded you of a scolded puppy, but you refused to bend and stumbled back a step. You turned intending to see where exactly he had dropped you and figure out how to get home but froze at the sight you found.

Twinkle lights shimmered in the burgeoning night sky as they danced about the branches of an old willow tree. A small wooden table set for two was guarded by the fluttering leaves while being showcased by the light. It was startlingly quaint and romantic all in one.

Martha smiled as she placed a covered dish in the center of the table and waved at the two of you. You were on the farm...  

“Happy Birthday,” Clark murmured behind you.

Your mouth moved silently before you turned confused eyes on him, “...How?”

“I saw the card in your trash can. Called Maria... then I called mom.” Clark explained casually as if he were talking about the weather.

Stunned all you could do was blink, even as Martha came up to greet the two of you.  

She wrapped you in a quick hug, “Happy Birthday, dear.”

Then turned to place a kiss to her son’s cheek before shooing you towards the table, “Go, eat before it gets cold. I need to finish your cake.”

Cake. The word jolted you back to reality, “Oh Martha - you didn’t need to go through all this trouble.”

“Nonsense.” She called back, already halfway back to the house.  

Distracted, Clark slipped his hand into yours and gently tugged you towards the table. Smells of garlic and tomato and cheese wafted toward you and your mouth began to water. Sheer wonder filled you as Clark pulled your chair out for you and then moved to uncover the dish Martha had left. Steam rose into the air as he revealed a freshly baked lasagna. Salad and garlic bread next to it.

Your throat constricted as you took in the care that had gone into this... A home cook meal shouldn’t bring you to tears, but you felt the sting at the corners of your eyes.  

“Y/N?” Clark called quietly. Worried that he may have overstepped his bounds with this surprise.

Your heart felt too big for your chest as you met his gaze. It was with tremulous movements that you left your seat to place a grateful kiss to his lips, “Thank you...I didn’t...You didn’t need...”

You couldn’t find the words to express just how overwhelmed you were feeling as you fell back to your seat, but not letting go of his hand.

Clark watched you with a soft smile, “I think it's my right to spoil my girlfriend on her birthday, though it would help if I had known sooner.”  

A stray tear spilled down your cheek as you shook your head, knowing that you would have to explain your distaste for this day...but you also didn’t want to dwell on those thoughts, “I didn’t expect you to...Clark -”

He squeezed your hand as if he already knew, “Tell me later, I have more spoiling to do.”

You huffed a laugh and shyly smiled, “You know Clark Kent, you really know how to make a girl fall.”

He grinned widely, “And to think you hate flying.”

“You’re still not fully forgiven for that... but I think I’ll get over it.” You murmured, joy burning your veins as his expression turned relieved.

He pressed a kiss to your joined hands.

It was the first birthday you could say that you truly enjoyed. Over a plate of hot lasagna in the late summer night as crickets chirped and frogs sang and with a man... a man who looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. That was the only present you ever needed.

  ── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

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[kelieah]

fanny packs (peter parker x stark!reader)

summary: tony lets you and peter go out on a “little” shopping spree and immediately regrets it

warnings: fluff, sarcasm, language

edited: ngl i made myself laugh while writing this. just imagine the beginning of this i cant LMFAAOOOO also this is probably stupid but im bored so bare w me

a/n: ik i said im on hiatus but headcanons are quick and easy. plus i cant help but write so hereeee mwah i miss u guys

masterlist

-

“oh jesus.”

tony mentally imagines himself jumping out the window as he sees you and peter step out the car

the two of you proudly stand there, bright colored fanny packs sitting comfortably on your waists 

almost too comfortably 

for a moment

a 

m o m e n t

the both of you felt on top of the world

like there’s wind flowing through your hair, and fucking sparkles everywhere or something

if that makes sense

the fanny packs just have that kind of effect

“what?” you grin, placing your hands on your hips

“what the hell is this!” your father exclaims and motions his hands to you and peter

“what?” peter repeats you, a playful smirking growing on his lips

“i give you both enough money to buy a fucking tesla and you come back to the tower with this.”

“yes and?” you retort, crossing your arms

“it’s a fashion statement,” peter huffs

“yeah back in the 80s,” tony rolls his eyes

“well, it’s becoming a thing again!” you retort

“but people where it around their body like a sling bag, not like. whatever the hell you guys are doing. it’s not the 80s or 90s anymore!” tony argues

“but we can dream!” you and peter whine at the same time. you both look at each other and laugh at your unintentional synchronization 

“and you two are supposed to be eighteen, please,” tony scoffs and turns around, walking away

tony thought the last time he’d ever see those is when he was 20 something

but then you two just had to ruin that for him

and that was almost 30 years ago

no way i’m that old shut up, age doesn’t exist 

can’t imagine cap though lol 

#yikes

tony thinks to himself, shaking his head

he prayed he wouldn’t see the two of you walk around the tower with those or he’d literally vomit

literally

couple of days later, he’s in the lab with peter

making some new upgrades to peter’s suit or whatever

“kid pass me a little screw driver please,” tony asks, squinting his eyes at the tech 

“got you, mr. stark!”

tony feels actually chills

damn chills

run down his spine as he hears a loud

ZIP

he slowly turns towards peter and sees him pull out the tiny screwdriver out of his fannypack

peter looks up and smiles sheepishly, handing it to him

“get out.”

“but mr. stark-!”

“out.”

“your dad’s a big drama queen,” peter huffs walking over to your room

“what did he do now?” you look up from your phone

“he got mad because i handed him a screwdriver from my fanny pack,” he crosses his arms

“oh peter,” you giggle

couple of days later, you walk by your dad cooking

a very rare sight you might add

“look at this, he’s actually in the kitchen!” you compliment, clapping your hands slowly

“shut up, i’m hungry,” he grumbles and cuts his tomato

“hi hungry,” peter walks in, kissing your cheek causing you to smile

tony groans and rolls his eyes, letting out a hiss as he accidentally cuts his finger

“you okay?” you quickly look back at your dad

“yeah just cut myself because of how cringey that was,” he glares at peter playfully

peter pouts and holds up his hands in defense

“i got a bandaid,” you walk over

“really where-?” your dad looks up at you

you lift up your baggy hoodie to reveal your fanny pack, once again comfortably wrapped around your waist

you unzip it and pull out a cute hello kitty bandaid, “here!” you beam and hand it to him

your dad deadpans and sucks on his finger, walking away

“drama queen!” you yell

“he really does not like fanny packs huh,” peter snickers and wraps his arms around your waist, placing his chin on your shoulder

“guess not.”

“it’s- it’s driving me insane! it’s been almost two weeks and i’ve never seen them take it off! i bet they sleep with it or some shit!” tony paces around the lab, venting to bruce

“i don’t get why it’s bothering you that much, this is hilarious,” he stifles a laugh, sipping his coffee

tony glares at him and taps his foot, “i’d rather find out that she’s pregnant or something.”

“about that,” you step into the lab sheepishly

bruce immediately chokes on his coffee and your dad’s turns completely pale

“i take that back. I TAKE THAT BACK!” 

tagging some mutuals / followers who might be interested! @ariistotles​ @cosmicholland​ @fallinfortom​ @tonguetiedholland​ @petersholland​ @tombrina​ @theamazingtomholland​ @spideyyeet​ @beverlyparkerr​ @hermayone​ @dreamofaprilsblog​ @notasofti​ @elsie512​ @parkerpeter24​ @peterspideysstuff​ @chloecreatesfictions​ @hollandsrecs​ 

[blownbybakugou]

I Am The Game

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐(𝚜): 𝚃𝚘𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚊 𝚂𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚔𝚒 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕣𝕖: Slight angst, Fluff

𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: Shigaraki poisoned Toga, but you made a cure and saved her life. Toga snapped and praised you as her god, then lead you to the league of villains, where Tomura took an interest to your quirk...

Word Count: 2.7k

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Blood, attempted murder, mention of actual murder, cussing, mind break (non-sexual), Yandere properties, tooth rotting fluff, aged up/down reader (22), slightly Ooc Toga.

The sound of a steaming kettle is what woke Himiko, her body jerking up from its placement and her eyes flashing across the room. She was startled from her surroundings, to say the least. She was not able to recognize anything around her, then her eyes land on you, a young woman in her early 20s pouring a cup of herbal tea into a mug and treading towards the bed Toga was seated on.

“W-Who are you?” Toga asks, scooting back until she was against the wall behind her. “My name is Y/n. You were betrayed by your leader, and I saved you from your demise.” You spoke strongly. “But why?” Toga softens, her muscles relaxing the slightest bit. “I have a proposal. You being loyal, agile and brave, makes you a worthy companion. And therefore, I would like to ask you if you would join me, be my partner in crime, or whatever you wish to call it”

Your voice was silky and pristine while your expression contradicted what she heard. Your eyes were dull, but she couldn’t exactly tell what they looked like exactly, since they were settled on your lap, and had no emotion in them whatsoever and the rest of your face was soft and glowing with beauty. “You barely know me, how do you know if I am as loyal as you think I am?” Himiko questions, giving a quick grin to show off her sharp canines.

“I have watched you for quite awhile. I knew what was going to come of you, and I felt that I should recruit you as my own, since they didn’t see the potential in you.” You hand her the mug of tea you had poured and look her in the eyes for the first time. Toga was instantly entranced, the color of your eyes flourishing and dancing in her own. “Drink this. It’ll get rid of the headache you have.”

She hadn’t even noticed the pounding in her head until when you mentioned it, but she takes the herbal mix quickly, eager to please you. She gulps it down as fast as she can and sets down the mug with a bright smile. “That was good tea Y/n-Chan! Thank you.” You are taken aback by the sudden change of mood, but make no mistake to question it. Instead, you get up to put the mug in the sink of your apartment.

“So, do you accept my offer?” You query, glancing back at a very giddy Himiko. “Yes! You saved my life, how could I say no?” Her enthusiasm was confusing to you. She is a villain whom found out her own boss backstabbed her, yet she is being so trusting of you. As if you were her mother, or sister.

“Wonderful. We will be moving a lot, and before we start the murderous sprees, I believe a talk with your former boss, is in order.” You state, walking over to her with a smug smile. “Oh my god yes! This is going to be so fun!” Toga beams.

You kicked down the door with a small smirk, looking at all of the people inside and giving them a mock wave. Himiko giggles and leaps over the now broken door sending a deadly glare at Shigaraki, whom was leaned back in a chair nearby. “Hello everyone. This, is a warning. Dishonor has plagued you all, and we’ve come to rip it down. If you do not change your ways of betrayal, I shall send you all to a nightmarish hell, where you all will perish in ways unimaginable. But anyway, this is my partner, Himiko Toga. You may know her?” You send a teasing laugh in the way of Tomura.

“You are weak, especially without someone of her abilities, and you were a fool to try and kill her.” You say, moving up to his face, his scarred, oddly attractive face. He growls, and places his hand firmly on your cheek, waiting for the cries of mercy to begin. Only for you to punch him right in the nose. “What do you think you’re doing, you handsy bastard!” You yell, shaking your hand out.

Shigaraki takes a second to process the event that just played out. You didn’t decay. He touched you, with all 5 fingers, and you didn’t decay. “Who are you? And what the hell is your quirk?” His raspy voice sought out. “None of your damn business”

“Join us. You’re clearly very powerful, and we could use someone like you.” You snap you head to meet his daring orbs and glare him down. “You have nothing for me, therefore, I will not stay.” You try and shake free of his grasp, but his grip only tighten in determination to have you stay. You were the one he was meant to be with. The only one who he couldn’t kill with his deathly touch. He couldn’t lose you like this.

“Let go.” Himiko demands, clasping a knife closely behind her back. “What if I make you a deal? If the girl stays with you, you can both stay in the league. Sounds fair, right?” Shigaraki grins, pulling you into him. “That’s the boss’ choice, not mine. I follow her now.” Himiko snarls. “I shall not stay unless I hear an apology for Himiko.” You sneer, pushing yourself away from him and pulling your hand out of his.

His body jerked at the thought of admitting he was wrong. But you were worth it. You had to be worth it. “I’m sorry, Toga. I thought it would be better for the league, but I was wrong.” He grumbles begrudgingly. Your breath hitched, much like everyone else’s. You hadn’t expected him to actually apologize. You thought he would refuse you, and you and Toga could move on. But no, apparently this guy really didn’t want you to leave.

“Okay then, I suppose we can stay. Are you okay with that Himiko?” You question, looking back at your shocked friend. “Of course boss!” She cheers, giving you a loose hug around the waist. “I’m going to work on something. Toga, I need you with me.” You motion over to a booth with a table that was a bit dusty, but cleared off nonetheless.

The blonde female skipped over to the sitting area as you walked behind her, trying to ignore the scarlet eyes that followed your every movement.

You both sat on the red cushions of the booth seats, and you activate your quirk to begin the creating process. A cyber holographic screen projects out of your eyes and you let it float in the awaiting air as you reach into your backpack for your keyboard and controller.

You set them on the dust covered surface and watch as transparent green strings go to attach into each of the devices you had placed there. “Wow! Your quirk is so cool Y/n-Chan!” Himiko gushes, smiling widely and bouncing in her place.

“Thanks, I suppose. Stand and pose with your knives. Look frightening if you would.” You claim, fingers pressing against the hologram to move the surroundings inside.

Happily, Toga obliges. She puts on a face much like a yandere’s and hovers her knives with one behind her and one in front, seemingly about to strike. “Wonderful.” Your hand mindlessly reaches out to the side, scanning her body all while your other hand typed in code to enter her into your program.

Shigaraki’s vision trained intensely on your abilities, his gaze landing strictly on the translucent green display even when his eyes tried to wander further. What the fuck was your quirk? The question haunted him, he needed to know what power you held that stopped him from disintegrating your body, that let him touch you.

You could easily feel the many observations of the others around you, but you pay it no mind as you program Himiko into your game. Well, many have called it a game, but it is no game. It’s a nightmare no one would ever want to live in, let alone see. You were the one who made it into that, and you were also the one who trapped people inside of it.

You snap out of your thoughts of misery, and continue typing code while letting your scan sweep over every inch of Himiko’s form. She had done many poses for you, and you had implemented twice as many into your data base with only doing some slight editing and Himiko was evidently cheerful about it.

“You can sit back down. I have what I need now.” You say nonchalantly, your gaze not leaving your work. “Okay, got it boss!” She says, seating herself almost immediately. “Would you like to give it a try?” You ask, typing one last line of key into the system before starting and holding the controller out to Toga. “This is gonna be so fun!” She excites, throwing her arms in the air and squealing. If everyone wasn’t looking at you before, they definitely were now.

“Okay, there are 31 enemies in the area, all of which are horrendously terrifying. They plan to kill you in the most awful ways, and if you get trapped I’ll pull you out right away.” You speed through the explanation, trying to be vague about the outcomes and twists so that she could not easily defeat the monsters inside of your game. “Got it boss!” She beams, grabbing the controller and getting sucked into your algorithm.

Shiggy couldn’t believe his eyes. Did Toga just get sucked into a video game? This was his every dream, and he feels the itch to want to talk to you and claim you grow with every passing minute. “Stop being a pussy and go talk to her, Scarface.” He hears a deep voice scoff. “Whatever patchwork” Tomura retorts.

You watched Himiko pass each fictional horror character with flying colors, each one of her tactics more impressive than the last. You were implementing her fighting style into the game while also observing her movements to know when to pull her out of the fake environment.

You were snapped out of focus when you heard Shigaraki seat himself beside you and you lift your head lifting up to give him a daring glare, silently lettting him know to screw off. “I saw your quirk.” He says, pointing to the green panel before you.

“Yeah, And?” You snort, going back to typing away at your keyboard. “I want to play.” He deadpans. “Fuck no. Go away.” You retort, shooing him off. “Why the hell not?” He growls, clenching his fists tightly. “Because you’re a dick, and I don’t like you.” You exclaim.

“You sound like a fucking 5 year old! Just let me play damnit!” He demands, looking at your unaffected expression. “No.” You respond. With Tomura’s distractions, you had completely forgotten about Toga, who was finished with the main course of the levels, and was waiting to be let in.

You use your quirk to let the luscious blonde back into reality, and listen as she gushes over the details of your powerful quirk. Well, that didn’t last long due to her noticing her former boss’ presence. “What are you doing here Shigaraki?” She asks, suspicion lacing her voice.

“I want to play her game.” He states, voice raising ever so slightly. You laugh at his confidence in the matter. “Oh, honey,” You start. “I am the game. And you have to be really special if you want to play me.” You giggle, packing up your stuff and leaving him there with a heavy blush.

ᴀʟʟ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢs ᴛᴏ ʙʟᴏᴡɴʙʏʙᴀᴋᴜɢᴏᴜ ©