#like... four people are in the trenches here

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Wiki pet project is nearly done btw. I've ended up doing more than I ever intended to do here whoops

[crossbackpoke-check]

nosy anon again making a return because i think what my brain did was read that i helped find some kind of writing and then did not fully process what the writing was?? but upon rereading i am very intrigued if you ever get the urge to share i will be all eyes/ears/senses required to enjoy things!!

I GET TO DO WIP WEDNESDAYYYYYY!!! the writing exists mostly in the form of a tag (fantastic! 'verse) and also a thirty-two page doc of snippets and planning, so the sense you will be using most is imagination:

don't think i have ever actually formally written out anything about fantastic! 'verse but! the tl;dr of it is that it's a semi-college au: joel is still a hockey player for the lv phantoms, but morgan is a college student-athlete. it's incredibly relevant to the plot that joel falls in love with morgan in the check-out line of a wegman's, lies a little bit, and ends up going back to get his degree.

most of it is just good fun about college kids growing up, but i think there's a lot of parallels between making your way through a development system where traditional "success" isn't always guaranteed (ahl -> nhl, completion of higher education -> pursuit of a career) because that development system isn't always designed for you to "succeed" or have opportunities. heavy quotation marks around success because part of that struggle is learning what you want in life and how you define success. are your dreams achievable? are they still the same dreams you always used to have? it's infinite branching universes of would you still love me if i was a worm (ahl player forever) (a college dropout) (a college graduate) (older) (realizing the fallibility of your body) (uncertain of the future) (human).

silly little snippet:

[drugsorgasmsandcheese]

to kiss and to die | l. howlett

old man!logan howlett x fem!grim reaper!reader

description: in which death has never been so peaceful

warnings: logan’s death, angst, fluff, not beta read, pics used are not mine and were found on pinterest, the use of one latin word so if it’s badly translated i do apologise.

word count: 2084

he was used to people on the richer side of town booking his limousine service. it was a limousine service, after all. so logan didn't think much of anything when he pulls up outside of a penthouse building and a young woman steps into the car, giving her name to confirm she ordered the service.

when logan confirms, she smiles and closes the door behind her. she screams money, but old money. there's class about her and the way she holds herself. back straight as she sits, one leg crossed over the other and her head held up high. he can't help but take her in. he's never been one to care about the likeness of a lady a woman could be, but there is beauty that radiates off her, that is her, that logan can't seem to shake.

her head is turned to look out to the window, gazing upon the lights of the city that never sleeps. she seems observant in the way she looks, like not a single detail could be missed by her and she wouldn't allow it if it slipped by. logan's eyes slip down to the outfit she wears: a short black dress with a slit in its side, a pair of sheer black tights, black leather heeled boots that hugged her calves, and a black leather trench coat. she's slick, she's elegant, she holds herself high and with might.

as he drives, he approaches a red light. the woman takes the time to pull out a compact mirror, reapplying her lip liner followed by a clear gloss. when she's done, she smacks her lips and places the items away. "you're a hard man to find, logan howlett."

logan's eyes snap up into the rear-view mirror as he starts the limousine up again. his name on her lips is like honeyed venom, he can't quite decipher the emotion that lingers in him when she speaks of him like she knows him. his hands clench on the wheel as he drove, keeping the ride smooth as he turns a corner.

"who are you?" he asks, his voice gravelly and gruff just like his appearance, eyes flicking between hers and the road.

the woman smiles softly, an odd reassurance about it as she does so. "a mutant, just like you." she speaks, honeyed tone never dropping.

teeth snarl at her response. "that's not an answer." he's lived what feels like a thousand lifetimes, and he knows that even people like him aren't to be trusted.

"'the reaper.'" there's a knowing look on her face as she, the reaper, confirms her identity.

mutants knew her, the stories and legends that were a tale as old as time itself. a mutant that dealt the card of death, one who escorted mutants into the afterlife, who resurrected those she believed were not quite done with living. she was all four horsemen of the apocalypse, a woman that wielded so much power the world was her sandbox. nothing more to play with. to see her was like to see a ghost - blink and she's gone.

his jaw clenches tightly. "and what do you want from me?" logan all but growls out.

"you seek me out. why?" she questions with such poise in her character that it's hard for logan to differentiate between talking to death and indulging in his own delusions.

her questions hangs in the air for a moment or two, it's not like either one are keeping count. he can't find the words, he's never been good with them. he's harsh, he's a brute, a killing machine. when is there time to talk when you're killing yourself by killing another?

but there's a security in her presence. she's reassuring, it's peculiar. he's face to face with death and logan's never felt so settled. "i'm old, and i'm tired. there's nothing left for me here."

the way she smiles at him was a comfort in his own as he pulls up to her destination, the limousine coming to a stop. "there's plenty left for you, logan." she sits forward, and logan only notices how she never wore her seatbelt. he supposed she didn't have to. "just because you are at war, doesn't mean you can't find peace."

there's always the discussion of god being all-knowing, but what of death? what of the reaper who knows your story, who escorts you to the place you shall forever remain. death knows, she knows.

the woman pulls out a slick, black business card that's tucked between her pointer and middle finger, handing it to logan. he takes it so gently that he scares himself. he's a brute and yet he's gentle when the time comes. it appears to just be a simple black card, but even with his weakened vision, he can feel the indents in it. 'THE REAPER.'

"no one understands pain better than death." she says and logan's eyes are still fixated on the card.

death, such a simple term given the complexity and intensity of the situation. of him, of her. the words ring out in his head, no one understands pain better than death.

his gaze snaps up, his expression stoic but calm, like he's accepting whatever fate she'll grant him. he watches as she leans forward and places her hand on his cheek. he never expected death to be so warm.

"don't be what they made you." she whispers, and he lets out a sigh in content, in relief. the weight of his regrets and his lost humanity have hung on him heavily, his shoulders finally being lifted.

it's been a long time since logan's been touched. he doesn't even know if he's ever been held like this, cradled almost. to be looked at in such understanding. solitude and loneliness have kept him a shell. he chased it out, leaning into her touch, and it's like she can see him. the guilt, the regret, the pain.

"that's all i am. that's all i know." logan replies. his voice is strained, like the battle he's fought against himself, in his mind, has finally come to light.

her thumb runs across his cheek slowly, brushing against his grey beard. "if death is what you wish, logan, don't let it be a slow one. you've been tortured long enough." her eyes lock onto his. "good men don't deserve to be tortured, and you are a good man. you are a man, not the soldier, or the monster, or the weapon they forced you into being."

logan's expressions softens at her words. and, for the first time in his life, he's being given a choice. the choice to die. not as a weapon, a monster, a soldier, but as a man.

his hand reaches up, brushing over her own cheek. death is warm. there's an intimacy behind it that he's craved for so long that logan feels like he's falling apart from the inside out, and it's different from how he's felt before.

"you have my card, use it. death is everywhere, logan, and so am i."

the feeling of human connection. he craves it. being secluded and a shell of himself has made him overwhelmed as their skin touches. "death," he murmurs, his voice hoarse and gruff like it always is "and you."

she nods, her lips twitching. "take care of yourself, superstes, it's not your time just yet." she finishes and pulls away, stepping out of the limousine and leaving logan entrapped within his mind. not at war, but at peace.

—

the next time logan sees the reaper is at the funeral. it’s expected, mutant reaper or not she’s bound to turn up when one dies. but he also knows it’s because his fingers had subconsciously stroked the sleek business card in his pocket.

she lingers by his side and he feels himself reaching out, grasping onto her hand and she returns to the touch. death is warm. their fingers interlock, and it’s a reassurance that she gives him like she did last time. like she can read his thoughts.

it’s not your time just yet.

the thought makes him reach into his pocket, fingers itching to grace the adamantium bullet he’s carried like his guilt for years but he can’t find it. it’s then that he realises the weight that settles in between their hands and he looks at her.

she still wears that leather trench coat, and a part of logan wonders if that’s her very own black cloak. it suits her, if it is. the air of sophistication, of elegance still surrounds the reaper, and another part of logan wonders if she’s always been like this, or if there was a time when she succumbed to her powers and became a beast like he had.

the reaper’s gaze meets logan’s, that same soft smile gracing her lips. “not just yet.” she speaks and logan nods, hand squeezing hers. human connection.

she stays with logan when gabriela lopez approaches him, and a part of her seems to physically soften at the sight of the woman. when he questions her about it later, she only responds with a question of her own. “what did i tell you?”

it takes a few seconds to recall. he can’t tell if it’s from the old age so his brain has wore down, or if he was so focused on being touched and looked at like he was understood that he forgot her words, until it clicks. “death is everywhere, and so are you.”

and all the reaper does is nod, not another word spoken. but she was the one who pushed for logan to accept the job of escorting laura, and he didn’t know why. but there is something so alluring about death that he couldn’t say no.

the reaper stays by logan’s side awhile longer, her scythe hanging over him like a thread. there’s a time when her fingers trace the scars over his skin that his weakened healing has failed to take care of of, and the word is uttered from her lips again: “superstes.”

he’s not quite sure what it means, what language it is, but she looks into his eyes as she says it. not at the scars, but at him. and it touches his soul.

there’s another time in the kitchen. the couple who had graced them into their homes after the accident, where it’s just them. there’s the slow music in the kitchen, and if his old self remembers correctly, it’s ‘dream a little dream of me.’

logan’s leant against the counter as the reaper approaches, taking his hand in hers; an offer. he’s reluctant at first, he’s not really one for dancing, but death is so tempting. the weight of the adamantium bullet in his pocket, the way she follows him everywhere.

his calloused hand slips into hers, and it’s not really dancing. they sway on their feet, her clutched close to his chest and his chin rests on top of her head. death is warm, and this is the human connection he has longed for for so long. he wants it to linger, to last longer, he needs it like a beggar, and logan is willing to get on his knees if he has to.

but when x-24 arrives, she’s as good as gone.

—

he meets the reaper again, and it’s like a setback in time the way her hand is outstretched in front of her, and the words escape from her lips in a promised whisper: “it’s your time, superstes.”

logan looks down at her hand and he smiles. it’s genuine, just like the one in his final moments, and he takes the reaper’s hand without a single moment of hesitation.

even in death, she is a warm embrace.

he holds her close to his chest, and logan can’t help but sway like the lyrics are behind them, and the reaper chuckles, following his movements. his head dips down, nose brushing against hers and logan lets out a sob. peace, all he’s ever wanted, has finally settled down upon him. in his death as he held laura’s hand, he knew what it felt like. to be at peace, to be loved, to die.

now, as he places a gentle kiss on the reaper’s lips, he knew what it was like to be loved by death, to find peace with death, to be kissed by death.

death is warm. death is beautiful. death is peace. death is…all a man like logan has ever wanted.

[sugawhaaa]

MINGI X READER🏁

💧Going fast isn't always physical💧

{{Chapter one}}

Warnings::suggestive, mentions of smoking/drinking/murder/violent acts under the influence(mingi and reader do not take part in any of these)

Pairing:: Racer!Mingi x referee!fem!reader

Genre:: street racing AU, lots of illegal stuff ex: street racing, trespassing, vandalism, driving under the influence, etc. Mingi is flirty asf, reader is mentioned to have social anxiety a few times

Word count:: 3 744

A/N:: surprise! It's a street racer AU 💀 ik it sounds weird but I promise if you read it makes sense

Special note‼️ spoilers for the story BTW - near the middle of the story reader confronts Russell about seeking attention and Russell is written to be overacting which may seem over dramatic but a fun fact I learned from a psychology university professor 2 years ago, when people are called out on their bullshit they overreact and act out of line, trying to excuse themselves. It is a natural reaction for people to act dramatically. This is even more so when the person has been hiding this lie or trait for a long time. The more you know :)

🎧::

You sat at your desk chair as the library halls started slimming down. You check back at the clock to see it was 9:00 pm. You yawn and stretch in your chair. You get up and stride over to the entryway and flip the sign to “closed” and lock the door. You go back to your desk and check a few things on your computer before signing out. You take a basket of a few books and travel around the library putting the books back in their respective places while also checking for any stragglers around the library that didn't notice the time or the darkness outside. You put the second last book on the shelf before something catches your attention from the corner of your eye.

Something bright yellow. You turn to see a man asleep on one of the desks of the library, his book next to his head. You walk over to him but surprisingly he doesn't wake or budge. He snores ever so softly as he lies there. He has bright yellow hair that fades into a bright red almost orange. He has circular glasses that are pushed off his face due to him resting on the table. He has a long brown trench coat on with a gray turtleneck underneath. He has a pair of earbuds in with the strings dangling down around to the desk, near where his book rests.

You stand there puzzled. You've never had to wake up someone like this. Sure you've woken up friends, or your mother in the middle of the night but this was a man you've never seen before. You lean down and extend a hand out to tap him but hesitate. You look at his face as he rests, at complete peace, his lips slightly parted as he breathes heavily. He has long lashes and a freckle underneath his eye. You take a deep breath and tap his back lightly but he doesn't budge.

“Sir,” you tap him a little more forcibly with the palm of your hand. You see his eyebrows twitch and his eyes peer open. He lulls his head up with a groan. His voice is much deeper than you expected and it takes you aback. You take your hand off his back and smile slightly. “Sir, the library is closing,” you say softly and he rubs his eyes groaning again. He runs a hand through his hair, slicking it out of his face as he tries to wake himself up.

“What time is it?” He groans again as he attempts to get himself organized. Closing his book, putting his glasses on and taking out his earbuds that played lofi music.

“It's nine thirty,” you reply and he looks surprised.

“I've been sleeping for four hours!” He panics and grabs his things. You chuckle softly and follow after him as he rushes to the door.

“Did you check that book out or…” you ask softly as he rushes down the stairs.

“Oh sorry, no, here,” he hands you the book as you make it to the main lobby. He heads for the door. “Sorry for the trouble! Thank you for waking me!” He waves as he scurries out the door. You wave back before heading to the desk. You set the book on the counter and notice something in one of the pages, probably a bookmark. You open it up and a driver's license slips down the page. You're taken aback by the license, expecting to see some dollar store cat bookmark or something. Who uses a driver's license as a bookmark anyways? Apparently a man named Song Mingi. Age 24, height 6, 0, blood type B, date of birth 8/9/99. All the information was there. In his photo he had blonde hair and a suit on. The license has expired though, strange for a man who looks so professional. You look out the main windows to see if he's near enough for you to catch him and give it to him but he's nowhere to be seen. You frown, trying to decide how to handle the situation. For now you put it in your wallet and set the book in a basket. Most people who come to this library tend to come back multiple times.

For now your concern was to close up and get home, you do just that. Your apartment is only a short walk away from the library so you grabbed your things and took a short walk by yourself. You get home and grab yourself a snack before resting, setting an alarm for 1am. You laid down in your bed, drifting off to sleep.

You awoke to the sound of your alarm and rolled yourself out of bed. You stretched and got your outfit on that you always wear to events like these. You throw on a tight black mini skirt, a crop top that barely covers anything but to make up for the lack of coverage you throw on a leather jacket. It's mainly black but it has checkered accents on it that really tie it together. You throw on your platform boots with black stripes going up the side. You grab a purse that contains your phone, keys, and your wallet. Just in case.

You take one last look in the mirror and conclude that you're ready to go out. You grab your checkered flag and swing it over your shoulder. You walk to the below city streets with bridges over top of them, tunnels around the roads. People surround the sides of the streets and sidewalks. You walk up to where the race is supposed to start and see there's only one car up on the road currently but there are many people here to watch so you must be in the right place.

That's the problem with being a street racing referee, sometimes you don't know if you're in the right place. Most of the time you're correct but it'd be really embarrassing if you got the racing date wrong. You strut out in front of the starting line waiting for competeros to show up. The car in front of you was sleek and red with lots of drawings and stickers on it. You hold your flag on your shoulder and check the time. 2:21 am. You sigh before seeing another car roll up. It's bright green with deep blue accents. It looks much faster but the win depends on the driver. You put your hand on your hip, the other hand holding the flag low to the ground as people start handing around money, placing their bets on which racer will win this race. Drinks start spiraling as well, smoke drifts off into the air from a few different directions as people start getting hyped up. You nod your head and people start paying attention.

You shout out your usual speel to the drivers basically explaining no cheating, no killing people, and no sore losers. You start your countdown as the drivers grip their wheels and Rev up. “3, 2, 1,” you pause and raise the flag. “Go!” You slam the flag down and the car's speed off. The wind from their speed whining through your hair. You walk off to the side and watch the cars go up the street. People continue their bets and pull out their cameras. Chatter fills the tunnel. People on the other side of the race start shouting as the cars rush past them.

As the cars come up from their circle to the tunnel again you raise your flag and as each car passes by the finish line someone chalked on the road you whip the flag down. So far, you were correct. The green car is in the lead and people start shouting out to the racers, cheering. You put your hand on your hip again as you watch the race go on. After 2 more laps the winner has been decided. The green car crosses the line first and drifts across the street, blocking the road to prove his victory. Smoke blows from his drift as the car screeches.

Cheers envelop the tunnel as money gets thrown around. The door to the green car opens to a tall man with firey hair. Yellow to red. You look up surprised, it was the man from the library! He even had a freckle under his right eye just like the one at the library. He looked very different now though. A tight white and red sport shirt hugged his muscular body as he strutted out of the car. Goggles strapped to his head and think cargo pants extenuating his thin waist and wide hips. He went up to the man standing by the red car, arms crossed as he leaned on the side of his car.

Mingi extended his hand out to the racer and he scoffed, turning his head. Mingi turned to you with a smirk. “What happened to no sore losers. Right hottie?” He put a hand on his hip as he cocked his head up. You feel blush dust on your cheeks as Mingi looks at you. Did he call you hottie? Should you be offended or flustered? You nodded as you held the flag on your shoulder. Mingi turned back to the opponent with a smirk and he complied, shaking his hand. “Good game,” Mingi smiled as he grabbed the money hidden in his opponent's hand. Mingi went back over to his car, chatting to friends with dyed hair. You grabbed your purse and found your wallet pulling out the license Mingi had left at the library. You looked up at him, people surrounding him and laughing. You wanted to give it to him but there were too many people, it'd be embarrassing.

You might be able to look hot and confident but nothing could hide the fact that on the inside your social anxiety was persistent. You waited until the crowd died off and other drivers left, leaving Mingi open. You walked up to him.

“Mingi,” you call out and he turns to face you.

“Oh hey, you're the referee right?” He smiles at you and you feel your face heat up. His smile is so gentle, pure, and genuine. Despite looking like an absolute delinquent he seems genuinely nice.

“Yeah…” you speak softly and Mingi looks a little confused. “You left this,” you hold up his license and he looks confused.

“You're the girl from the library?!” He looks surprised as he takes the card from you. “Or wait, are you? You look just as pretty as she did,” he frowns as he looks at you, analyzing your features.

“Yes,” you blush. “And thank you, but I just wanted to give you this,” you nod to the card and begin to head off but he grabs your wrist.

“Wait, you can't tell anybody about this alright?” He looks at you with puppy eyes and you raise a brow.

“About what?” You ask as he lets go of your hand. He leans in and begins to speak softly.

“That I go to the library,” he explains and you look at him confused.

“Why?” You ask, taken aback by his statement. You straighten your posture but Mingi pulls you back down, huddling you in as if you were gossiping in high-school.

“Because! If people found out I go to the library and actually do productive things like reading and work it'll ruin my reputation! I'll look like a nerd, weird kid,” he explains and you hold back your laugh.

“You kind of already are a weird kid,” you explain and he pouts. “Fine, I won't tell anyone,” you roll your eyes and straighten your posture again.

“Thank you~” Mingi smiles as he shoves his license into his back pocket. The crowd around has died off a bit but still a good chunk of people remain. As you go to say goodbye to Mingi the opponent racer comes up to the two of you shouting. Mingi frowns and rolls his eyes before turning to him.

“You cheated!” The man shouts and Mingi raises a brow.

“I did?” He smirks with a laugh and the opponent does not approve of his cocky behavior.

“Yes, dumbass!” He towers over Mingi trying to intimidate him. “I never lost to you in my life! We've been in so many races and somehow this one time when you just happen to be friends with the referee you win!” He shouts and the crowd starts getting drawn into the drama but now you, we're more than getting drawn in, you were part of it.

“Listen, Russell, I don't even know this chick's name,” Mingi reassured the opponent and the name that rolled off of Mingis tongue struck a memory buried in your head.

The name Russell Cardiac wasn't unheard of among most street racers or street racing fans. He had been arrested for crashing into another racer a few years back. Fortunately, the driver wasn't murdered in the process but he did suffer from some moderate injuries. It was a big discussion for a few years mainly because Russell was already known for being a dirty player but that one time he happened to take it too far. Mingi was lucky Russell didn't pull some shit.

“Oh, so you don't know the name of…” Russell paused as he glanced over at you. “The girl you're sleeping with?” Russell retorted and Mingi laughed. The crowd started going crazy, whispering and gasping.

“Whoa, whoa, I met this girl last night bro,” Mingi raises his hands to chest level as if submitting to Russell. You sigh and shake your head. It was obvious Russell just wanted attention, like always, but you didn't want to be a part of it. He was known to be violent and fierce, quite popular even, but after the accident, he lost his reputation and people stopped talking about him. Now he was constantly fishing for the attention he once used to get without begging for it.

“Even worse! Sleeping with a woman you just met!” Russell dramatized and you scoffed.

“Listen, attention whore!” You bark out at him and he's taken aback by your aggressive behavior. Usually, the women at these events don't really give a fuck about anything going on and just roll with the ball. “I met this man last night on a whim, he treated me nicely, we parted ways, and that was it!” You put your hands on your hips and Mingi nods. “Being a piss baby isn't gonna make you win more races. Try and actually get better at racing before trying to cry for attention,” you spell it out for him in front of everyone and the crowd starts mumbling to each other. Russell blushes, realizing he's been called out in front of everyone. Russell scoffs and storms off, muttering under his breath. People hummed and walked away as the dramatic flare fizzled away, their attention drawn elsewhere. You nod successfully at not creating a whole scene.

You collect your things to get ready to head back home to sleep in until probably noon when you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder.

“Hey,” Mingi says softly. His voice is deep and rough but his words are light and tender. “Thanks for being so relaxed and taking that maturely,” he smiles and you give him a reassuring nod.

“No problem,” you hike your purse over your shoulder. “Maybe I'll see you around,” you wave to him and begin to walk off but he calls out your name as he runs up to you.

“Wait! I didn't catch your name,” he rushes up to you and you giggle.

“Y/N,” you reply and extend a hand for him to shake. He shakes your hand through his thick gloves.

“Y/N, are you walking home?” He asks softly and you nod.

“I always do,” you reassure him and begin to walk away again.

“Wait, what if I gave you a ride?” Mingis comment made you stop in your tracks. You turn to look at him and he's looking back at you with puppy eyes. “It's dangerous for such a pretty girl to be walking home by herself at this hour,” he explains and you sigh, agreeing with him.

“Alright,” you agreed and started walking with him to his car. “But how do I know I'm safe with you?” You ask even though you've already agreed to go with him. Mingi chuckles as he opens the passenger door for you.

“Ladies first,” he cooes. He holds the door open and leans down to your level, his upper arm pressed against the top of the door. The other hand is on the outside rim of the opening to the car. “And if you didn't trust me, why would you get in? Sitting right in your little princess throne,” he smiles before closing the door. You blush at his comment. Thinking to yourself about his words as he comes around to the other side of the car, opening the car door he hauls himself into it. “Besides, you saved my neck back there why would I do anything but repay you?” He smirks before twisting the key in its respective place. His ungloved hand flexing all the veins and rings on it as he turns the car on. He pulls off his goggles and he hands them to you. “Can you put these in the dash for me princess?”

You take the goggles and pop open the dash, sticking them in. You close it up again and watch as he takes off the other glove, tossing it in the little compartment between your two seats. You look around the fancy car, looking at all the illuminated buttons. He chuckles to himself as he watches you admire his treasure. “You ever been in a race car?” He tilts his head before putting his foot on the gas.

“Well any car can be a race car if you go fast enough,” you chuckle and he laughs at your comment. “But no, I haven't,” you continue to look around as he drives. You then realize he's going the opposite way from your house. “Mingi, m-my house is that way,” you point your thumb behind you and Mingi hums.

“I know,” he replies and you side eye him, looking him up and down. “I'm buying you a treat. Do you like ice cream? McDonald's?”

You're taken aback by his question.

“I guess, ice cream?” You look confused and he nods. He then runs a red light and you turn around, watching the street light pass. “You just ran a red light,” you frown at him.

“Oops,” he shrugs.

“There were people there, you know?” You cross your arms and Mingi just shrugs again.

“And they were driving slow. It would've taken a hundred years for them to get close to me,” he says before pulling into a gas station. He parks his car by the main part of the gas station, near the windows. He takes out the keys and rushes over to open the door for you. You giggle at his chivalry.

“Chivalry never dies. Even in delinquents,” you chuckle and Mingi laughs.

“I'm not a delinquent,” he comments as he holds the gas station door open for you.

“Meh, you're close,” you say as you walk into the gas station, your hair brushing past Mingi, leaving your scent lingering near him. The smell brings butterflies to his stomach.

“I disagree,” he retorts as he catches up to you looking at the freezer of ice creams. “What are you thinking,” he goes to bring his hand up to your back but he hesitates. He bites his lip as he thinks hard, his brows furrowing. He puts his hand down with a quiet sigh and you turn to him with a Creamsicle in hand. You see his frown and wavering eyes.

“You okay?” You turn your head slightly and he snaps out of his thoughts.

“Oh yeah, all good,” he nods and looks at your icy treat. “You want this?” He asks and you nod. He nods back and opens the freezer going to search for what he wants. An ice cream dipped in chocolate. He guides you over to the cash where a tired middle aged man rings you up.

“Is that everything,” he speaks lifelessly as the other cashier peers over the corner.

“Yup,” Mingi nods and you inch closer to him. The other cashier winks at you with an encouraging thumbs up. You smile softly and gently wrap your hand around Mingis. Mingi looks surprised but brushes it off, acting like nothing happened. As he tapped his card in the machine his face turned a soft pink. He gave you your ice cream treat and the two of you walked back out of the gas station, fingers loosely intertwined. You were in front of him so you opened the door for yourself, holding it open for Mingi this time.

He laughed at your action before walking over to his car. He unlocked it and it beeped softly, but it wasn't the usual car sound, it was fancier.

“Whoa, cool,” you murmur and Mingi chuckles. The two of you hop into his car and he opens his ice cream, using one hand to drive off afterwards. As he drives he tells you what certain buttons do and lets you press them, experimenting with his car. He loves seeing your curiosity as you press the buttons. He then pulls up to a parking lot near a park, a river in the view. He sits with you as you eat your ice cream. He looks over at you, seeing the way your lips hug around the ice cream, his mind traveling. His face reddens and he turns to look out the window, shifting in his position. “Everything alright?” You ask softly as you notice Mingis body tense up.

“Yup!” He turned to you with a smile and you chuckled.

“So why did you bring me out here?” You ask softly and he looks down, feeling almost ashamed.

“I just…” he bites his lip. “I wanted to get to know you. Just hang out a bit, until you finish your ice cream then I promise I'll bring you home,” he looks at you with guilty eyes. You knew why he was doing this now, he needed you but couldn't say it.

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Spencer Blurb!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 500

A/N: I am in the trenches with finals rn so I needed something positive to think about as well as a distraction from what I should be doing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m starting to realize why people commit murder.” You grumbled to yourself. 

Honestly, you were a sight to see. You had claimed the living room of your apartment with Spencer and books were everywhere. Your laptop was front and center and papers were scattered about as if a storm had come through. 

Spencer peeked his head out of your bedroom, eyebrows furrowed. “I’m sorry, what.” 

The frustrated sigh that left your lips almost knocked the curiosity right out of him. 

“It’s just…” 

Spencer had met you in the Boston Public Library, where you had been writing a paper for one of your classes, and you couldn’t find the statistics you needed. Enter Lover Boy with all your answers. He was only nineteen, completing his third Bachelors over at MIT and you were a sophomore over at Harvard, studying psychology. You were slated to graduate a whole year early, but it wasn’t your intellect that drew Spencer to you, it was your charm, the way you spoke your mind. 

You said anything and everything to him, and he wanted to listen to every single thing you said. You started dating six months later. You ended up following him down to DC a little while after that, and supported him while he completed his first Doctorate. You loved living with him, even when his life got hectic, even when he decided he wanted to go fight crime for a living. 

So when six years later, you’re working on your Ph.D at Georgetown, and you said you understood why people murdered others, Spencer wasn’t sure he wanted to keep listening. 

“Just what.” He walked over and sat down next to you, taking into account the four cups of coffee, three mugs of tea, a banana, two empty Panera bags, and a myriad of gum wrappers. “When’s the last time you left the apartment?” 

“Like a week ago, when I wasn’t trying to finish my fucking draft of my dissertation. I don’t know how the fuck you did this Spence.” 

Spencer kissed your head and took your hand. “Why don’t you go to the library or something. Get out of here for a bit. Go on a walk.” 

“I’d go to the library if you came with me.” You smirked a little bit as you fixed his tie, causing his cheeks to blush at the memories you were reminding him off. 

“Thats–that’s not what I meant.” 

“That’s why I suggested it.” You kissed his cheek, and looked back at your laptop, the moment of joy on your face disappearing. “Can’t you take the day off Spence?” 

He started to shake his head, but then saw just how exhausted and overworked you were. “I—give me a minute.” 

Spencer kissed your head and went into the bedroom, where you heard him make a call to Hotch, claiming he needed the sick day. 

You smiled and started to clean up your space, excited to spend the day away from your work, and with your favorite person.

[whateveriwant]

Happy Sunday! Whatever you do, definitely don't imagine Simon stuck in a time loop, forced to relive the worst day of his life over and over again 😀

The worst day of Simon's life? you might wonder. What would that be? Good question!

How about the day that Simon, at the tender age of four, came face-to-face with the boogeyman himself? His mother had warned him of the ghoulish entity, the one who lurked in shadows, inflicting pain on those who would seek to misbehave. What she didn't tell him, and what Simon would discover for himself that night as he awoke to the sounds of screaming, was that the boogeyman was no mere specter. She didn't tell him how he punished indiscriminately, uncaring if you were a woman or child. She didn't tell him how he wielded his fist like a hammer, his breath stinking of booze and cigarettes. And she didn't tell him (because how could a mother begin to explain to her young son?) that the boogeyman would wear the face of his own father.

Or how about the day that Simon realized he made the biggest mistake of his life? When he first joined the army, he had lofty ideas of honor and glory; action and duty; responsibility and yes, if it came to it, even sacrifice. Call him naive, but what else could you expect of a boy who's been fed nothing but a trough of propaganda his whole life? Simon surely didn't realize, not as he signed his soul over for a pair of dog tags. He didn't realize, not as he queued up with other lost boys for his chance to play soldier. He didn't realize even as he was shipped out with less than two months of basic training under his belt. No, Simon didn't realize until it was already too late, until it was staring at him across the blood-soaked trench with glossy, unblinking eyes. It was only then, looking into what remained of the face of a friend, that Simon realized there is decidedly very little that is ‘dolce et decorum’ about dying in war.

Or there's the day Simon discovered hell exists right here on Earth, and it's ruled over by a devil called Roba. Simon had thought that living a life already full of pain and horror would have thickened his skin like the rings of a tree, making an impenetrable armor even a mortar couldn't dent. But all it took was the careful orchestration of one wicked man to prove that even the toughest of trees can be felled. Day in and day out, he endured a steady stream of beatings, tortures, and assaults. Day in and day out, he was forced to the brink of his sanity, tipping over it once or twice. Day in and day out, the once unbreakable soldier entered a new circle of hell, and as he descended, finding each pit worse than the last, he wondered if he would ever make it out alive.

Or there's the any number of days (and there are a dreadful many) that Simon lost the only things in his life that ever truly mattered to him. The day he came home, the taste of betrayal acrid on his tongue, to find four mangled corpses had replaced the people he called family. The day he failed, the target vanishing like smoke from a gun barrel, his hands wet with the blood of the sergeant he had come to consider a brother. The day he never saw coming, the day that smashed what was left of his heart into pieces, the day he lost the best thing to ever happen to his miserable excuse of a life; the day he lost you.

It was years later, long after he'd hung up his masks and tags, that they came for you in the dead of night. Payback, they'd said, for something he'd done when he was still in the service. Though you had no affiliation with that period of his life, they knew that by taking you – by hurting you – it was the perfect eye for an eye. All Simon could do as they bound and beat you was watch from across the room, his own chains rattling desperately. He watched as your fingers bent at odd angles, your clothes adhered to your skin with blood, the bones in your face shattered and swelled until you were unrecognizable. You were strong – stronger than Simon ever wanted you to have to be – but that didn't stop his heart from breaking with every abuse your body received. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, he tried to get through to you, even as the sickening crack of your femur threatened to drown him out.

It was hours (it felt more like decades) that you were both dragged through this misery. Simon watched the whole time, hot tears obscuring his vision, his voice keeping you awake between the syringes of adrenaline pumped into you. But eventually there came a point in which you slumped, a sort of finality to the way your limbs sagged, and Simon couldn't help how his own heart stopped pumping. The room was loud in his ears, louder than it had ever been thus far, and yet, not a single sound was made. He shook his chains to rouse you. Get up, he ordered. Get up, my love. Get up! he begged, screamed until his vocal chords shred. His pleas were met by only silence, a slowing trickle of blood leaking from your mouth, and when the ones that did this to you declared that revenge was now claimed, Simon knew the last thread that wove any sort of meaning into his life had finally been cut.

Any one of these days could be a contender for the worst day of Simon's life, an eternity of torment looped within a 24 hour cycle. And no matter what he does, no matter how hard he tries to change things, it's never enough. He is never enough.

[severinapina]

TOXIC (and I love what you do) PART ONE

July, 2009

Satoru knew that some of the Japanese earthquakes, most of them and the strongest ones, were caused by the movement of the Pacific plates. But he also knew that others, generally those under six on the Richter scale, were the fault of Namazu, the giant catfish that lives even deeper than the deepest trench of the Japanese archipelago. A few days ago, Kashima, the god in charge of controlling this immense fish, had escaped. He wasn't very powerful, really, but they couldn't let him abandon his guardian duties. Namazu had been very restless lately, and the people didn’t need to keep reliving that over and over.

That's why, when the academy received the request for help from the Sendai municipality and despite any second-rate sorcerer being able to handle it, Gojo didn’t think twice. He liked the city and something inside him said that the sea air would do him good. Plus, they sold his favorite sweets there.

For Satoru, exorcizing it was a piece of cake. The hard part was finding it. On the first day, he searched almost the entire coast, without success. It shook three times. On the second day, in the residential neighborhoods. Six small tremors, but no trace of the god. On the third day, he decided to leave the city, heading more towards the countryside. There, at the entrance of one of the forests, he found an old man around 70 years old who emanated enough cursed energy to be a Window.

He wasn’t wrong. The old man recognized him immediately.

“Gojo Satoru?!” the old man shouted from afar. “They did well to send you! Come closer, please!”

Gojo huffed and approached as slowly as his long legs would allow. He hated interactions with locals who acted like fans. Almost two meters from the old man, it shook. Satoru stopped and waited for it to stop. He walked again. Another tremor. And so on, until he got close enough to have a conversation.

“What’s going on, old man? How’s the cursed energy around here?”

The old man, shocked by Satoru’s lack of respect, could only point towards the forest.

“Is it there?”

The man nodded.

“Oki doki, old man. Thanks a lot,” the albino said, smiling cheerfully. However, the smile vanished once he set foot in the forest; he felt a cursed energy that was, to say the least, familiar.

That cursed energy. That damn cursed energy.

“No, impossible,” he thought, waving his hands to dispel the images that had come to his mind. He ventured into the forest and, even though he stopped feeling it, the nervousness didn’t leave him.

After walking about four kilometers, he found an abandoned house and, like a lightning bolt, a terribly familiar smell hit him. “Oh, shit. It’s his trail. No doubt about it.” He turned his head in all directions, his face contorting into an almost terrified grimace. “No. It’s not just the trail. It’s…”

He looked at the roof of the house and saw him. Suguru dressed completely in black, hands in his pockets, and hair fully tied up. He watched him, cold, almost impassive, and handsome. As handsome as the last time.

Satoru swallowed hard.

“What are you doing here, Geto?”

Three days ago, Suguru had captured the god in charge of the mischievous underwater fish with the sole purpose of extorting the Sendai municipality. However, when his contacts warned him that someone from Jujutsu Tech had been sent, Geto thought it would be fun to stick around. Nanami? Shoko? Which of his old colleagues would be the lucky one to have a session with him?

Never in his damn life did he imagine it would be Satoru. This was beneath his level. And no, it couldn't be just for that reason. Could it? He found himself smiling as he felt his cursed energy, the moment Satoru entered the forest. Yep, it was definitely for the sweets.

“I was waiting for you, Gojo,” he lied with a wicked smile.

Satoru felt like throwing up. “What is this? How could I be so stupid?” he thought, distressed. He looked at Suguru, who was still smiling at him, and felt a rage he couldn't remember ever feeling. He clenched his fists, trying to stay cool. “No, I won't react. I have to look calm. It has to look like I don't give a damn.”

Suguru jumped down to his level.

“Long time no see!” he said, waving.

He looked at him more closely and, realizing his eyes were covered, stopped smiling. He didn't like it when he covered his eyes. In his opinion, it made him look weak. And he hated seeing Satoru weak.

“You've changed. I see you went with the bandages.”

“You look the same,” the albino said apathetically. He was trying his best not to breathe heavily, but the rage kept building. Of course Suguru looked the same. Just like all the times Gojo had caught him spying, at the same station as always. Did he really think he didn't notice?

Geto, on the other hand, was expecting a different reaction from the albino. He knew he had seen him those times. He did it on purpose. “I guess this is the game he chose today,” the curse manipulator thought.

He smiled at him again, this time sweetly.

“Ha, maybe freedom suits me. Doesn’t it suit you, Gojo?” Suguru had started circling him slowly, scrutinizing every detail of his long body. “Hmm… Maybe not.”

Gojo breathed slowly. Who was this idiot? His gaze, his movements, even his voice seemed like they belonged to someone else. “Obviously. This isn’t him. It’s Geto Sama. A cruel murderer. A son of a bitch.”

“Enough with the nonsense,” said the albino, moving away from Suguru. “What do you want? Or are you going to tell me it’s a coincidence finding you here, old friend?”

Suguru started walking towards him again. “Old friend, Satoru? Would that have been better for you?” he thought, amused.

“A bit of this, a bit of that. Come on, aren’t you going to try to kill me right away? Maybe I woke up wanting to die,” he said, putting his right hand to his forehead in a dramatic gesture.

“Don’t give me that shit.”

“Wow, Gojo. Why so violent? Wasn’t I the monster, the beast?” he asked sarcastically, getting closer and closer to Satoru.

Gojo didn’t know why he wasn’t smashing his face in at that moment. What was he up to? He didn’t believe for a second that he was there ready to die. From what he knew, Geto Sama was everything but a suicidal. He scoffed, remembering the teenage and depressive version of Suguru.

“Or are you still mad at me for that day?” Geto continued, now so close that their noses were almost touching. “When was it? September 2007?” He stretched out his right palm and counted on his fingers, out loud. “Come on, it’s been almost two years! Don’t you think that’s a bit much?”

He said this while still smiling, but now with cruelty. The accumulated rage he felt towards the albino was getting the better of him, and contrary to what his disciplined personality dictated, Suguru gave in to the impulse to torment him, even though he knew that with just one gesture, one small gesture, he’d be turned to dust. And Geto didn’t want to die, especially not at the hands of that idiot Satoru.

Or so he thought. Having him so close, after all that time, was stirring up feelings he thought he’d forgotten and god, what rage. He fixed his purple eyes on him and tried to hit him with his chest, but Gojo activated his technique.

The albino was fed up and confused. Why did his six eyes still think he could trust him? No, it was impossible. He didn’t even know the man standing in front of him.

He remembered that day. The cold, the wind, and the feeling of not knowing his own life. The first time he dissociated and the first time he realized that he was, truly, fragile. Arrogant. Weak. A puppet. All those things had been told to him, between the lines, by the person who was once his entire world, a world that now was leaving and abandoning him.

“Almost two years, yeah. That’s what you stole from me with your madness, you son of a bitch,” he thought, clenching his fist even tighter. He felt a small trickle of blood coming from his hand. He breathed very slowly again and, in a very calm voice, said:

“Don’t flatter yourself, Geto. You were nothing but a whim.”

“God, I’m disgusting,” he thought immediately.

Suguru looked at him indifferently, even though he could visualize, and feel, a silver knife piercing his dark heart. The albino was lying. Obviously. But that didn’t explain how betrayed he felt hearing those words.

“A whim? Wow… makes sense. Is that why you weren’t there when I needed you, Gojo?” he said with his most charming smile. “A year of loneliness, where ironically, I slept with you every night. In theory and to everyone else: the perfect couple. In practice: it was all about you and your path to perfection. In the end, it was all empty words. Do you remember the promises you made? Pff. A whim, of course. A whim of privileged people. Maybe it was my fault for expecting anything, anything at all, from you.”

Gojo knew he couldn’t continue in this dynamic, or he’d lose. Suguru’s words made him realize that he always loved him more than he did. What an unfair mess. Why didn’t he just kill him? Maybe just to see if he could hurt him the same way.

He lowered his bandage and locked his eyes onto his.

"We both said a lot of things that weren’t real, Geto. Probably just because of our age and who knows what else. I thought you were sexy. I wanted to sleep with you. So yeah, I played along with all that stuff you’re talking about. Can you blame me? You obviously know how hot you were, though not so much now."

Geto frowned. He wasn’t expecting that. But Satoru wouldn’t get under his skin. No, Suguru wasn’t as shallow as him. Still, he used all his meditation techniques to breathe calmly because his heart was racing.

"Oh, poor me! The great Gojo Satoru used me as his sex toy! And I... well, I..." He looked him up and down, piercingly. "I know I said I loved you, but it was never really like that, so we’re even."

He smiled mischievously. He knew Gojo had loved him with all his being. Probably still did. But what about him?

"Me? Did I stop loving him? No, that doesn’t matter now", he thought.

Satoru tried to breathe as calmly as possible. His heart had shattered with every word. He could feel there were no pieces left.

"I’m lying, Suguru. But it seems like you’re not", thought.

"So neither of us fell in love, blah, blah. How boring. Whatever. The truth is, you’re here, and I have to kill you. Are you really the suicidal type, Geto? No... you think too highly of yourself. Oh! Actually, you think you can beat me!" he said while covering his eyes again. He smiled. "That’s it! HAHA. You never could. You never will, Geto Suguru," he added mockingly.

Suguru felt humiliated. Defeated. "Touché. Weak spot, Satoru. You’ll see."

"Ha."

“Shit, he got here before me,” Satoru thought, realizing Geto had the spirit of Kashima; a rumble came from the depths of the earth, and a magnitude five quake shook the place.

Suguru looked at him, impassive, while Satoru thought quickly. He couldn’t leave Suguru with a curse of such power, but what could he offer him? Apparently, he didn’t just resent him; he hated him. He opened his mouth to ask him to stop, but didn’t get the chance: a blade passed by his head and cut a bit of his hair. Gojo looked at Suguru, alarmed. “He’s really strong, he won’t beat me, but...”

Suddenly, Suguru called Kashima, and he emerged from the ground with a beautiful and ethereal katana. The tremor stopped.

"Come on, Gojo Satoru. You’re right. We both know I won’t beat you. Not like this, at least. I just wanted to show you that I’m stronger than before. Do you really want to keep wasting time?"

Suguru was still annoyed, not really understanding why he had attacked him. “The bastard managed to get under my skin. All this time and he still does it. I hate him.”

Satoru was really confused. “What the hell is wrong with him? What’s the point of all this?”, he thought.

"So, what’s all this fuss for?" Satoru asked. "I thought maybe you’d want to make me sweat a bit before your end."

Hearing those words, Geto couldn’t help but think of Satoru sweating.

He remembered being on top of him during those hot summer nights when sweat would run down his white hair, and with every thrust, it would wet his face. Suguru would fake disgust, and Satoru would smile at him, lick his face, and then kiss him as tenderly as the heat of the moment allowed. Then he’d go back to thrusting, until the sweat mixed with everything else.

As those moments came to mind, Suguru automatically blushed; Gojo did too when he noticed. Their minds were filled with the same images that had invaded the black-haired guy’s. They stared at each other for a while, both with blank minds. They seemed like teenagers again. Suddenly, Satoru said:

"Uh…when I said sweating, I meant physical exercise, like with your hands—" The albino felt embarrassed. When did the situation take that turn? "Ah, I mean a fight to the death," he added nervously, thinking he was being a complete idiot.

Suguru, on the other hand, felt very irritated, but with himself. Seeing Satoru hesitate like that reminded him of his teenage years, when he had just met him and his clumsy flirting. That feeling of nostalgia not only made him feel unexpectedly tender but also made something stir in his pants. "No. No. NOT NOW, STUPID."

"That’s what you’d like..." Suguru grumbled.

"That stupid thing I said by accident... got you turned on, Suguru. Is that why you’re here?" Gojo thought. He had noticed what was happening to Geto. After all, it had been countless nights and days together. It was about a month after their first time that Satoru’s six eyes could even detect the change in Suguru’s blood pressure when it came to sexual desire.

The albino took a breath and teleported next to Suguru so he could whisper in his ear:

"Well, well. Don’t you remember how well I know you... Suguru?"

Without thinking and intuitively, Gojo moved his hand toward Suguru’s crotch. Geto felt his erection grow even more. However, he grabbed Satoru’s wrist tightly.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he said, pushing him away with disdain.

Gojo’s eyes were wide open and he felt even more confused. "Why did I do that? Ugh, no, I can’t go back to…", thought.

Suguru’s view of summoning the kami again interrupted his thoughts and made him get on guard. However, he noticed that his ex-boyfriend’s expression, besides being angry, seemed strangely melancholic. Satoru waited. He didn’t want to be the first to attack.

However, Suguru put the curse away again. He felt awful. The memory of his teenage years not only brought him that excitement from their passionate days together but also the bitter taste of the time following Riko Amanai’s murder.

"It's ironic that you bring up how well you know me. You perfected your senses to notice when I was turned on. Congrats. You’re right. Thinking about you sweating turned me on. You still turn me on," Suguru said, staring at the ground. "But why couldn’t your eyes see that I needed you? Why didn’t they tell you to come find me? Why didn’t you come looking for me? Five days. I waited for you for five days, in our spot."

"Or maybe you always knew who I really was," Suguru thought. "Can I blame you? Not really. No one knows me like you do. Ugh. I don’t understand what I’m feeling. What a messed-up situation; I need to do something about it. I need to know if it’s real."

Satoru lowered his hands slowly. He didn’t know how to react. He felt sadness, but it was fleeting. Looking at his former lover, he saw cold eyes. Not the ones he loved. Not the ones that really excited him. "He’s playing with you. Stay strong, Satoru. You’re strong", he thought.

"I already told you. It was just sex. I played with you. For a moment, I thought about playing again. But why bother if…"

He stopped when he felt Suguru’s right hand touch him. Suguru had walked over while he was speaking, and the Infinite had automatically deactivated.

Suguru smiled genuinely. Apparently, the albino was also lying.

"Can I touch you just like that? Wow…."

Following his intuition and desire, Suguru gently slid his index finger into the waistband of Gojo’s pants. The albino tried with all his might to fight against what was coming, but it was useless. His mind was blank. He only knew he was rock hard.

"Does your instinct still trust me?" Suguru continued, bringing his face closer to the albino’s. "Or is it…" he whispered, sliding his entire hand into the pants, "…something purely carnal?"

"Suguru…no."

"Shh. Didn’t you want this a minute ago?"

He started masturbating him. Moving closer to his ear, he whispered:

"Don’t you remember how you used to play with me… Satoru?"

He said his name with a moan, just the way he knew he liked. He stopped thinking about the consequences of what he was doing, and like Satoru, only knew he needed to feel that body inside his again and again. He slipped his other hand into the pants and started to caress Satoru’s anus. Gojo was shocked, but he didn’t care. He was frozen. He wanted to fight Geto but couldn’t. He had called him by his name. It was something insignificant, maybe even ridiculous, but it worked like a curse for him. No one else called him that. Not like that. Not as if they cared.

Even so, in that intoxication, Satoru knew there was a chance he was just being used. He tried to think, to ground himself, but damn, it felt so good. It felt like coming home.

"Suguru…" He dug his nails into his shoulder. "…stop."

"Years ago, it was the same," Geto whispered, ignoring Satoru’s plea. "A tiny hint and… just feel me," he added, pressing against him.

Suguru rubbed his erection against Satoru’s and started moving slowly. Yes, just like when he was a fifteen-year-old with hormones raging, he had fallen prey to the innate charms of the Six Eyes bearer. He still couldn’t make himself immune. No, apparently, for Suguru, reaching nirvana was much easier than resisting. "I can’t stay still; it’s been too long; nothing compares to this smell. Oh, Satoru. I’ve missed you," he thought, resting his chin on his shoulder. He touched his chest, and even through the clothes, he could feel his nipples hardening. Slowly, he started to open his mouth near his neck. He stuck out his tongue and ran the tip close to Satoru’s ear. Gently, with his left hand, he pulled up the blindfold.

"Let me look at you, Satoru."

Suguru was about to kiss him, and Gojo knew that as soon as he felt the touch of his lips, he would explode.

“No, no. No. If I come, he’ll have me in his hands. More than I already am,” Satoru thought, confused. The curse user’s words still echoed in his soul. He didn’t believe that the excitement he was showing was real.

As a result, he pulled away violently. Geto looked at him as if he had been told the worst insult in the world.

“STOP, SUGURU! We can’t… No—” He moved away, fixing his pants and blindfold. “Let’s stop this crap. Tell me what you want. Quick. And before anything else, no. I can’t spare your life. It’s not up to me and…”

“Neither do you want to.”

Despite wanting nothing more than to let him live and fuck him every day, away from the sorcerers and their mundane problems, Satoru lied shamelessly:

“Yeah. I don’t want to either.”

Few things had hit Suguru’s ego like those words. His first reaction, like a wounded wild animal, was to kick him in the stomach. Instead of casting a spell, Satoru went straight into hand-to-hand combat with Geto.

They fought intensely. Kicks, punches, and pushes came and went relentlessly. The sound of their blows was all that could be heard, as they didn’t speak a word. Both had their minds blank.

Suddenly, Suguru’s superiority in martial arts became evident. He pinned Gojo to the ground with a hold. Geto saw only red and began to choke him.

Tears started running down the face of the one who had once been his lover. “Come on, move. Ugh, I shouldn’t even have to try. One flash and it’s over for him. But… okay. Maybe it’s time to let go,” the albino thought. “In his hands? Tsk. It’s… whatever. Better him than anyone else.”

Struggling to speak due to the pressure on his vocal cords, he said:

“Okay, do it. I won’t resist you anymore, Suguru.”

As soon as he heard his voice, Geto realized what he was doing. At that moment, he could end the Six Eyes bearer and easily pave the way to his new world. At that moment, all his cult leader's dreams would come true. But at that moment, Gojo Satoru would cease to exist, and with that, any chance of seeing him, touching him, or hearing him say his name.

The question was: Did he really want to live in a world without Satoru?

Surprised to be back to those thoughts, he let go. Satoru gasped for air, recovering and coughing. He was on his knees, looking at the ground, with his back to Suguru.

Geto was also breathing heavily. “Has it really been that long? It feels like it was yesterday. Why the hell can’t I let him go?” he thought. He straightened up and walked over to Gojo. He watched him for a moment. “He doesn’t want to let me go either. I can feel it in my bones.”

He offered his hand to help him up, which Gojo didn’t accept. The albino’s crystal blue eyes fixed on him, still gasping. He was realizing what had just happened. He had handed his life to him, the worst of all sorcerers. To Geto Sama. To Suguru. The love of his life. And he hadn’t taken it. For some reason, he felt offended. He wanted to spit at him. He wanted to hit him. He wanted to grab his silky hair and show him that Gojo Satoru’s life wasn’t a gift someone could afford to disregard like that. He wanted to tear him apart.

Suguru sighed deeply. He had squandered the chance to be the killer of the great Gojo Satoru, and why? Just because he had remembered the corner of his mouth when he smiled? The sparkle in his eyes when he greeted him in the mornings? His unmistakable purple scent? God, how he hated the albino. Maybe he did want to kill him. Maybe. But not before getting tangled up between his legs. He was already there, in a place he knew he couldn’t escape from. No turning back now.

“Damn it. I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t try”, Suguru thought.

“Unless you tell me otherwise right now, I’ll go to your hotel tonight, Satoru.”

Gojo’s expression hardened. “Is this really happening? DID HE REALLY SAY THAT? After what just happened, after the words earlier… he still wants us to fuck? Wow. This guy…” the albino thought, furious. He opened his mouth to tell him off and fill him with insults, but no sound came out.

Suguru waited a few seconds. Not getting a response, he walked away. “Oh well. At least I’ll have material to deal with the others.”

Suddenly, he heard Gojo’s voice:

“Suguru…”

Geto froze. “Wow, I got nervous. Am I a complete idiot?” He nodded, indicating he was listening.

“Room 603.”

Suguru, without turning around, gave him the peace sign. He couldn’t help but smile, a smile that came from the bottom of his soul. “I’m a complete idiot,” he thought as he left.

As Satoru adjusted his blindfold, he also reflected. “Suguru is a complete idiot. But I’m worse.”

—————-

Part two on: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57588175/chapters/146534281

Image by https://x.com/lxzemathena?s=21

[supernaturalscribe67]

Denial

Words: 5,703

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Castiel x Male!Winchester!Reader

Warning(s): Language, Winchesters being Winchesters, implied sexual content, awkward 'flirting', Dean feeling the same way about Cas x Reader as Sam feels about Destiel, Fluff, Humor

Summary: The reader does NOT have a crush on Castiel. At least, that's what he keeps saying. Sam and Dean, however, aren't convinced in the slightest. What happens when the classic Winchester shenanigans take it too far? Will the reader's true feelings be revealed?

Request:

hi. i love your work very much. I humbly request a Castiel x Winchester!reader, where the reader is the oldest brother and Cas and the reader fall for each other. Cas and Dean are best friends I feel like so Dean might tease and be like "what are your intentions with my big brother" and Cas is like "...wdym........." bc he doesn't wanna admit he has feelings and meanwhile the reader and Sam are on a minor hunt together or something and Sam is like "so when are you gonna make your move" and the reader is like "!!! i do not have feelings for this baby in a trench coat!!! wdym!!!!!" and so Sam and Dean come together and take matters into their own hands and come up with some shenanigans that make Cas and the reader come together and admit how they feel for each other. just something nice and fluffy and sweet. thank you very much 💕

Anonymous

A/N: Happy Monday! I had a lot of fun writing this and I'm glad to finally be getting it out! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

~ Much Love!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Dean’s laughter erupted down the hallway as (Y/N) left his room. He couldn’t help but shake his head as he slung his large duffel bag over his shoulder. Just as he closed his door, Sam’s door opened. He came out, clad in his usual flannel and jean combination, his duffel resting at his side. When he caught sight of (Y/N), he smiled. 

“You got everything?” (Y/N) asked.

“Yeah,” Sam nodded. “Let’s head out.”

The two of them made their way down the hall towards the bunker entrance. Dean’s laugh could be heard getting louder as they walked near the library. Upon closer inspection, they could see Dean and Castiel sitting together at one of the tables, Dean’s laptop between them. A bowl of popcorn sat in Dean’s lap, his cheeks slightly puffed from the handful he had just eaten. Castiel’s head was tilted slightly to the side, eyes squinted as he studied the screen. The sound of Bill Murray’s voice echoed through the speakers.

“The Hell are you two watching?” (Y/N) asked.

“Groundhog Day,” Dean answered, words slightly muffled by the popcorn. “Cas hasn’t seen it before.”

(Y/N) furrowed his brows. “Out of all the movies you could pick from, you pick Groundhog Day?”

“Hey, don’t knock Bill Murray.”

“I’ll knock whoever the Hell I wanna knock. Anyways, you got the keys to Baby?”

For the first time since they approached the archway, Dean turned to look at them. He took in their attire and eyed their bags. 

“Where’re you two going?” He asked as he began to dig the keys out of his pant pocket.

“Buddy of mind in Colorado says they have a Wendigo problem that needs fixing. They can’t seem to track it down, so they need some extra hands.”

“Well, why does Sam get to go but I gotta stay here?”

“It’s a Wendigo, Dean. Bringing more people will make things complicated. Four against one is plenty. Consider this your little vacation.”

Dean sighed. “Fine. I bet it’s Bradley Knox who called anyway,” he said as he tossed the keys.

(Y/N) swiftly caught them with his left hand and pointed at his brother. “For your information, it was, in fact, Bradley Knox.”

Sam’s eyes widened and he frowned. “Oh, what? That jackass? Come on, you never said we would be helping him.”

“Because I knew you were going to bitch about it.”

“Who is Bradley Knox?” Castiel asked, his attention turned away from the computer screen.

Dean reached over and paused the movie. “He’s this dick (Y/N) met when he tried hunting solo. A real piece of work. We helped him out a couple of times, and he just shit-talked us the whole time.” He answered.

“He acts like he’s still in middle school. He smells bad, dresses like a pig, and he talks like one, too. Plus, he wouldn’t stop calling me Sasquatch last time.” Sam added. 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. “Look, I know he sucks, but he has a hunt, and we need to stop this Wendigo. It’s already killed five people. We just have to get in and get out. That’s it.”

Sam’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Alright, but if he calls me Sasquatch again-”

“Then I’ll make sure to stop him from hurting little Sammy’s feelings,” (Y/N) reached up and pinched Sam’s cheek.

Sam smacked his hand away. “Get off me.”

“Oh, get the stick out of your ass. We’ll be near Denver, so I’ll take you to that new fancy vegan place that opened recently.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah, whatever will get you to not bitch and moan the whole trip.” He flipped the keys in his hand. “Alright, we’re heading out. Don’t get into any trouble while we’re gone, Dean.”

Dean scoffed. “I’m not five.” He grumbled. 

“You act like it,” (Y/N) mumbled before he looked over at Castiel. Their eyes met. “Keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, okay?”

Castiel nodded. “I will watch over him.”

“I don’t need a babysitter!” Dean exclaimed.

“I beg to differ. Then, Cas, when Sam and I get back, I’ll show you a good movie that isn’t poorly acted.”

Slowly, a smile formed on Castiel’s lips. “Okay,” 

(Y/N) returned the smile. “We’ll see you later,” he took a couple of steps backward before he turned his back on them.

Sam gave a small wave before he followed his brother up the stairs and out the front door.

*~*

Dean leaned back in his seat when the heavy metal door slammed shut. The movie on the computer was still paused, so he took a moment to glance over at Castiel. He noted how the corners of his lips were still curled upward, his crow's feet and laugh lines prominent. At the sight, he smirked and shifted his body so he was facing him.

“So…” Dean trailed as he sat the bowl of popcorn on the table. “(Y/N), huh?”

Castiel looked over at him, the smile vanishing, and replaced with an expression of confusion. “What about (Y/N)?”

Dean shrugged his shoulders. “He’s a good guy, right?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“A really good guy?”

“Yes?”

“Would you say you like being around him?”

“I do.”

“Really like being around him?”

Castiel shifted in his seat. “I’m not understanding this line of questioning, Dean.”

“Do you like my brother?”

“I do, yes, he’s my friend. Did I do something that made you assume I didn’t?”

“No, it’s just-” Dean sighed. “You know what? Nevermind. Let’s just watch the movie.” Without waiting for a response, he reached over and resumed the film.

Castiel stared at him for a moment with furrowed brows. After a couple of seconds, he shook his head and returned his attention to the computer.

*~*

The Impala drove smoothly down the nearly deserted highway. Instead of the loud classic rock that normally played through the speakers, Celine Dion’s smooth voice filled the car. (Y/N) sat in the driver’s seat, one arm resting on the window sill while the other held the wheel. Sam took his usual spot in the passenger’s seat.

“So, what info do we have so far?” Sam asked.

“Well, so far, the only thing we know is that the victims were tourists. Some of those people decided to search for a good hiking trail and then, all of a sudden, they were snatched. At least, that’s what’s assumed.”

“Did the victims know each other?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do we know when they got snatched?”

“Kind of.”

“Where they got snatched?”

“Kind of.”

“Does Bradley even know what he’s doing?”

“Probably not.”

Sam sighed and slouched in his seat, running his fingers through his hair. (Y/N)’s shoulders dropped. 

“Look,” he began. “I know it’s not the best scenario, but any start is better than a blank slate. We know a great deal more about Wendigos than Bradley does, so I’m sure we can knock this out of the park, alright? I say we just talk about something else, get our mind off of it for a while, then we-”

“Do you like Cas?”

“What!?” (Y/N) exclaimed, eyes wide, both hands tightly clenched onto the wheel. “No! I, no, what, why would you ask me that?”

“What?” Sam asked innocently, although he couldn’t hold back the smirk that curled on his lips. “I just asked if you liked him, that’s all. You said you wanted to talk about something else.”

“I didn’t mean that!”

“Come on, I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

“Well, I think your hallucinations are back because you’re seeing shit.”

“So…you don’t like Cas?”

“I don’t like Cas! Now drop it!”

(Y/N)’s eyes were glued to the road ahead, which allowed Sam to get a good look at his profile. At the top of his cheekbones, next to his nose, sat a red tinge. It was barely noticeable, but it was there. He pressed his lips together and looked away, holding his hands up briefly in mock surrender. 

“Fine, I’ll drop it.” He said, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Good. Now shut up, Whitney Houston’s playing.” (Y/N) grumbled, reached over, and turned up the music.

I Wanna Dance With Somebody thumped through the metal frame, the brothers silent as they continued their lengthy trek from Lebanon, Kansas to Denver, Colorado.

*~*

Vacation? What could Dean do on vacation? Stuck in the bunker, no less. He could catch up on some television series that he started, but he knew he would get tired of that soon enough. The Impala had been hijacked, so giving her the fine tune he had been desperate to give was out of the question. Bar hopping wasn’t an option, as he trusted no other car than Baby. What kind of hobbies did people his age get into? Crochet? Cross Stitch? Sudoku? Over his dead body.

In the end, Dean sat on his bed, pieces of his handgun scattered across the blanket as he meticulously cleansed each part until they glimmered in the dim lamplight. It was a task he had been meaning to do for a while. He guessed his ‘vacation’ could be used to catch up on all the chores he had held off.

Smoke on the Water rang out through the otherwise quiet room. Dean stopped his action to look at the screen. Sammy Calling… Dean sat the pieces down, grabbed his phone, and accepted the call.

“Hey, Sam. You guys doing okay?” He asked as he settled on the edge of his bed.

“Yeah, we’re about halfway there. Listen, I don’t have much time to talk, (Y/N) just walked into the gas station for a minute. Did you talk to Cas?”

“Yeah,”

“And?”

“He didn’t get it.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I asked him if he liked (Y/N), he said ‘Of course I do, he’s my friend’,” Dean explained with a slightly mocking tone.

“Or, he could have understood what you were asking and just played dumb.”

“I give Cas credit for a lot of things, but this is not one of those times. What about you? Did you ask him yet?”

“I did, and, of course, he denied it.”

“Of course, he did,” Dean rolled his eyes as he laid back against his pillows.

“Get this, though. He was blushing.”

“No way.”

“Yes!”

“And you’re sure it was a blush?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Oh, this is just too perfect. Sam, we have to get those two together.”

“How? Neither of them will admit their feelings for one another. They’re in denial.”

Dean hummed and pursed his lips in thought. “We might just have to get creative. I’m on vacation. I’ve got plenty of time on my hands to think.”

“Yeah, yeah, lucky you.” Sam deadpanned. “Oh, I gotta go. (Y/N)’s coming out.”

“I’ll send you my ideas,” Dean spoke quickly before he ended the call and tossed his phone onto the bed.

Many thoughts formed in his head. Mischievous, Winchester thoughts. If he thought his pranks were good, the ideas that he had to get (Y/N) and Castiel together were to die for.

It had been a personal goal of his for well over a year. He wasn’t ignorant to the passing glances that the two of them gave one another, it was rather gross if he had anything to say about it. He could tell, though, that Castiel’s presence made his brother genuinely happy. If anyone deserved that happiness, it was him. If they got together, perhaps then they could keep their bedroom eyes away from him. If he had to witness it anymore, he was sure to go insane.

As he went to stand from his bed, the familiar clink of metal filled his ears. He glanced down at the scattered handgun parts that littered his bed. With a sigh, he sat back against the pillows and began to reassemble his gun, not caring that the quality of his cleaning wasn’t perfect. Brainstorming could wait until he was finished. He was on vacation, after all.

*~*

“Stupid rich people and their stupid, worthless suits,” (Y/N)’s deep grumble echoed throughout the small motel bathroom.

His brothers snorted in amusement. None of them wanted to dress up for the charity ball they had to attend - as it was necessary to gain intel for their case - so a three-way game of rock-paper-scissors was done to determine which would be unlucky enough to wear the rental suit. For the first time in months, (Y/N) lost. The title of ‘loser’ normally went to Dean, rarely Sam, but the younger Winchesters didn’t want to risk having to put on the constrictive outfit. They seldom rigged the game to get what they wanted, but desperate times call for desperate measures. 

Castiel sat at the end of one of the beds, eyes fixated on the bathroom door, brows knitted together. “(Y/N) doesn’t seem too happy,” he commented.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be happy either if I got stuck wearing a suit around old people.” Dean chuckled. 

“What’s wrong with wearing a suit?”

“They’re just uncomfortable.”

Castiel glanced down at himself before his eyes settled on the brothers. “I’m not uncomfortable in my attire.”

“You’re used to it, Cas,” Sam said. “We wear jeans and flannel every day. It’s more practical for hunting. Hell, even getting around in our FEDs costumes is a pain. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Who the HELL thought cuff links were a good idea!?” (Y/N)’s loud voice boomed.

Dean covered his mouth to stop himself from spitting up his coffee. Oh, how the simple struggles of his siblings made him smile. Castiel’s head whipped back around as he stared at the door with a look of worry. Sam and Dean took note of it immediately and shared a knowing look. Dean gestured with his head over to his friend, and that was when Sam turned in his chair.

“You know what I think could cheer him up, Cas?” He asked.

Castiel peered over at him and Sam swore he saw those baby blues light up. “What?” He asked, head tilted to the side.

“Compliments.”

“Compliments?”

“When he comes out, tell him he looks nice.”

“Tell him he looks hot,” Dean interjected.

“Yeah! Tell him he looks hot.” Sam nodded in agreement.

“Hot?” Castiel frowned.

“Trust me, Cas, people love compliments, and saying that someone’s hot is a huge one. It’ll make him feel better almost immediately.” Dean explained.

Castiel considered the advice before he nodded. “Okay, I will tell him he looks…hot.”

Dean beamed and reached across the table to give Sam a fistbump. Sam furrowed his brows and shook his head. Dean’s smile faded before he cleared his throat and placed his hands back down on the table.

It didn’t take long before the bathroom door opened and out came a rather irritated (Y/N). The suit looked and felt foreign on him, a massive step from his usual hunting wear. He adjusted the collar of the jacket before he smoothed out the front. Finally, he let out a sigh and gestured out with his arms in a grandiose fashion.

“How do I look?” He asked, voice monotone. 

Sam and Dean pursed their lips, looked him over, and gave supportive head nods before their eyes shifted to Castiel. (Y/N)’s gaze moved from Sam to Dean to Castiel. Their eyes locked and Castiel immediately looked away, seeming to find his hands easier to look at. 

“You look…hot,” Castiel said.

(Y/N)’s brows shot up and his eyes widened. “I, um, I do?”

“Yes,” Castiel gave a small, sweet smile.

(Y/N)’s lips opened and shut rapidly, as if he were a fish out of water. He let out a breathy chuckle as he reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Uh, thanks, Cas,”

“Of course,”

A soft smile graced (Y/N)’s lips as their eyes connected for a brief moment. It didn’t take long before his eyes wandered back over to his brothers, who were both sporting wide smirks. He wiped the smile off of his face and straightened up as if he had seemingly forgotten they were in the same room. 

“Let’s get this over with, shall we?” He swiftly made his way out of the motel room.

Sam and Dean shared a look before they stood from their spots at the table. Castiel followed suit. When (Y/N) was out of earshot, Castiel spoke.

“He seems better,” he said with a bright, proud smile. 

Dean returned the smile. “He sure does, buddy,” He patted him twice on the back before he wrapped his arm around his shoulders and led him out of the motel room. “He sure does.”

*~*

God bless the Men of Letters and God bless good water pressure.

There were countless amenities the bunker had that (Y/N) loved. The stainless steel kitchen appliances, the massive garage, the memory foam mattress, each of them held a special place in his heart. However, the showers take the cake. Who knew water could get so hot? And who knew water could relax your muscles so well? If there was one thing he loved to do after a long day, it was spend a good chunk of his evening in the shower to unwind. 

All good things must come to an end, though, as he had earned his fair share of lectures from his brothers about conserving the hot water. While he understood their point, he felt like he deserved the comfort after years of abuse in the hands of rusty, weak motel showerheads. And, dammit, he was going to get his compensation. 

As he turned off the water, the bathroom fell into silence. Steam warped around his naked form and covered him like a blanket as he stepped onto the bath mat. He absentmindedly reached for the towel rack, but only came in contact with the cheap metal bar. He furrowed his brows and glanced at his hand to find that the rack was barren. He swore he had placed a towel there before. Above the towel rack, a light pink post-it note hung limply on the wall. (Y/N) frowned deeply, reached up, and grabbed the note. He held it close to his face to be able to see the sloppily written words.

This is for putting Nair in my body wash. ~ Sam

“That little bastard,” (Y/N) grumbled and crumbled up the note in his hand.

When had Sam been able to sneak into the bathroom to take his stuff? True, he had been known to mentally doze off in the shower, and lose all sense of himself in the middle of his wash, which had ultimately landed him victim to countless other pranks, but he would certainly be able to hear if anyone were to enter the bathroom and take his towel not two feet away, right? Regardless, at least he was within the safety of the bunker to do so. Having him space out in a motel bathroom could mean the difference between life and death. In the bunker, all he had was his pain in the ass little brothers to worry about.

With a new wave of irritation and not a care in the world, (Y/N) walked to the bathroom door and opened it. He was stopped dead in his tracks, mouth slightly open as he made to call out for his brother when he noticed Castiel standing directly in front of him, hand raised as if to knock. (Y/N)’s eyes widened and he felt a tightness appear in his chest. His mouth went dry and his heart raced. He was frozen.

“Hello, (Y/N),” Castiel said.

“Uh, hey,” (Y/N) replied slowly.

Castiel glanced down at the object in his arms before he held it out. “Sam and Dean asked me to bring you this. It was freshly washed.”

It took every ounce of willpower for (Y/N) to look down at the towel in Castiel’s possession.

“Thanks,” his voice was small as he accepted and brought it to his chest.

“You’re welcome.” Castiel smiled widely, and it was as if time itself had stopped.

(Y/N) returned the gesture as he found himself lost in Castiel’s gaze, a rather common occurrence as of late. He couldn’t help it. It was as if he were a deer in headlights, or a child staring directly into the deadlights of Pennywise’s true form. However, instead of an impending sense of doom, all he felt was peace, like a world of tranquility lived behind his eyes. A world that he wanted to go to.

“(Y/N)?” Castiel’s voice broke him out of his trance.

“Yeah?”

“Are you alright?”

It was impossible to miss the flicker of Castiel’s stare as he looked over (Y/N)’s body before retreating to his face. One good glance at himself made realization dawn on him. He never covered up. His face turned an undeniably dark shade of crimson as he was quick to unravel the towel he was given to preserve what little modesty he had left.

“Uh, yeah, I’m, um, I mean, yes, I’m okay,” he stumbled over his words. “I’m just gonna,” he slowly edged his way past Castiel awkwardly.

As he walked past, he tripped over his own feet and barely caught the towel before he could be revealed again. He chuckled, but it was more forced than anything.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright, (Y/N)?” Castiel pushed, a hint of concern in his words.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine! Fine and dandy! A-okay!” He continued to answer as he walked backward down the hallway. It didn’t take long before his back came in contact with the cold, stone wall. He jumped and sheepishly fumbled to the conjoining hall. “There’s a wall there,” he muttered with an inelegant chuckle before he turned and made a mad dash down the hallway and away from the bathroom.

His face was on fire, he was sure of it. He knew Sam and Dean did that on purpose, those idiots. A part of him was thankful none of them were around to witness the interaction. Another part wanted them to be near so he could clobber them. Regardless, he knew he would have to get back at them, and he was going to make it his best revenge yet.

*~*

Itching powder? Too basic. Computer virus? Too complex. Hair dye in the showerhead? Possibly. All of the pranks he could think of were either too childish or had been used before over the years. He couldn’t believe he was forced to sit on his bed and scroll through the terrible articles that included titles such as “15 Awesome Pranks Your Sibling Will NEVER See Coming!” and “50 Best And Funny Pranks To Do On Friends”. None of them were helpful. They just seemed to spit the same suggestions of salt in their coffee, fake bugs on their pillow, and post-it notes over their rooms, all of which seemed bland for the level of revenge he sought.

The bedroom door flung open and bounced off the wall. (Y/N) jumped, eyes wide. Dean came into the room, all but dragging a confused Castiel to the bed. Sam followed closely.

“What the Hell is going on?” (Y/N) asked with a look of bewilderment.

“An intervention,” Dean responded as he sat Castiel down on the edge of the bed.

Without a moment of hesitation, Sam and Dean began to retreat to the exit.

“An intervention? Cas, what’re they- what’re you talking about?” (Y/N) stammered as he stood and began to follow them to the door.

He was too slow, though, as the door was shut seconds before he could reach it. He grabbed the door handle in a futile attempt to open the door but found it to be locked.

“What the Hell? Open the damned door!” He shouted and began to pound on the door with his fist.

“Nope!” Dean’s muffled voice came through the thick wood. “Not until you tell Cas how you feel.”

“What are you talking about!?”

“Oh, come on (Y/N)!” Sam exclaimed. “We both see how you look at him! Just tell him!” 

(Y/N) pressed his lips together, nostrils flared. “Open the door!”

“No.” They said in unison.

(Y/N) growled and slammed his fists into the door, causing it to shake on the hinges.

“(Y/N),” Sam’s voice was quieter. “We know how hard it is for you to say how you feel, but we see how happy you are around him.”

“Yeah, and I’m tired of seeing you guys staring at each other all of the time. If I have to see you guys make bedroom eyes one more time I’m going to blow my brains out.” Dean scoffed.

(Y/N)’s jaw tightened as he leaned his forehead against the door. “If you don’t open this door right now, you both are going to feel my wrath.” He growled and venom dripped from his words.

“Ooo, I’m so scared,” Dean spoke in a childish tone.

“Dean,” Sam hissed. “Just, talk to him, okay? We’ll be back in an hour. If you guys have talked it out, we’ll unlock the door.”

With that, two pairs of footsteps could be heard retreating down the hall.

“An hour!? Sam! Dean! Open the door!” (Y/N)’s shouts echoed in the room.

Once more, (Y/N) grabbed the doorknob to try and pry it open, but quickly found his efforts to be fruitless. After a couple of attempts, and the logical side of him begging to not rip the door off the hinges, he pulled back. He ran his fingers through his hair stressfully and turned back to the bed. Castiel sat in the same spot Dean had put him in, hands folded in his lap. (Y/N) sighed.

“I’m sorry you got roped into their bullshit, Cas,” he said with a soft, sympathetic tone as he walked over and sat beside him. “Whenever those two idiots get something in their heads, they won’t rest until they are proven right, even if they aren’t.”

“Are they wrong?” Castiel asked.

“What?”

“Sam and Dean told me you have romantic feelings for me. Are they wrong?” He tilted his head to the side.

(Y/N) opened his mouth to speak, to deny anything and everything his brothers said. However, as he looked over at Castiel and stared into his eyes, he found the words were lost on him. He looked away, hoisted himself off the bed, and made his way over to the dresser. He leaned against it with his elbow, his opposite hand placed on his hip, back to Castiel. A moment of silence weighed heavy on them before Castiel, too, stood from the bed. 

“(Y/N)?” 

“No, they’re not wrong,” (Y/N) said, his voice quiet, almost mute. “I…I like you.” He snorted. “That’s the first time I’ve admitted it.”

“You like me?”

(Y/N) turned back to Castiel. Their eyes met once again, but, that time, neither felt the urge to shy away. Instead, they kept their gaze, as if to read the other’s expression, as words seemed too complex for either one to be masters in. Slowly, (Y/N) took a couple of steps closer to Castiel.

“Yes. More than a friend. More than family. I mean, I don’t even know how to describe it. I get…nervous whenever I’m around you, but I’m the happiest when I am. No matter how terrible of a day I have, you always seem to make it better just by being near. I don’t know if this is what love feels like, but if it is, it’s strong when you’re around, and I never want it to stop.” His voice got quiet, words spoken barely above a whisper.

Again, they stared in silence, eyes searching for words yet spoken. Although only one had the capability of hearing them while the other was left in the dark. Eventually, (Y/N)’s gaze shifted to silent begging, wanting Castiel to say something, anything.

“I feel the same, and I have for a while,” Castiel finally spoke, never breaking eye contact. “I admit, I was scared to share how I felt. I understand the Winchester’s long history with the loss of loved ones, and I feared you would have your reservations about entering a relationship with me. I, too, have some reservations.”

(Y/N) nodded. The Winchesters had a lengthy list of enemies, most of whom would gain immense pleasure from causing as much pain to them as possible, even if it meant they took the lives of the ones they loved most. Being the lover of a Winchester wasn’t for the faint of heart. It was a death sentence. 

“I understand. But, Cas,” (Y/N) reached up and caressed his cheek, thumb brushing gently against his stubble. “I hate to admit it, but I think it took my brothers locking us up in my room to finally realize that I would rather live a short life with you than any life without you.”

Castiel leaned against his touch. His hand reached up to brush his fingertips.

“May I kiss you?” His voice flowed smoothly, like a river.

(Y/N) smiled. “I would be offended if you didn’t.”

Their lips met and, at first, it felt as if they began to float. Then, the spark. The same spark one only seemed to read out in romance novels or those trashy films Dean claimed to hate. A spark of love, adoration, passion, and lust. It was as if all the words left behind spoke loudly in that kiss. Everything they wanted to say, everything they wanted to hear, was translated into the movements of their lips.

When they broke away, they were breathless, faces flushed, pupils blown. Their mouths moved like they wanted to say something more, but it was lost in their need for one another. They had a silent understanding of what they desired. They kissed again feverishly and fell back onto the bed. 

*~*

“Think they’ve been in there long enough?” Dean asked as he chewed on a mouthful of popcorn.

Sam tore his eyes away from the movie for a second to look at his watch. He shrugged. “It’s been almost an hour and a half. We can go see what happened.”

Dean nodded and used the sleeve of his flannel to wipe the butter from his lips. He paused the movie and both brothers stood.

“You remember the rules of the bet?” Dean asked as they made their way down the hallway.

“If (Y/N) confessed first, you owe me twenty, and if Cas confessed first, I owe you twenty.”

“And if they haven’t confessed yet, the bet is off until they do.”

“Do you really think they’ll do it if they’re forced to?”

“Do you have any other ideas?” Dean asked with raised brows. “The last two things we tried got us nowhere. We know they love each other, they just have to admit it. I think having some time alone together should do the trick.”

“Yeah, but we forced them into that situation. I don’t know about you, but that wouldn’t really put me in the romantic mood.”

“You just know I’m going to win the bet.”

“You’re delusional if you think Cas is going to confess first.”

“Come on, have you seen (Y/N) try and talk about his feelings? He can’t do it!”

“Neither can Cas! If anything, Cas is worse about feelings.”

“Look, all I’m saying is-”

“Oh, Cas!”

The brothers froze as their wide eyes shot towards the end of the hallway where (Y/N)’s door sat. It was silent as they waited to see if anything else would happen. When they heard nothing, they began to make their way to the door, slower that time. As they got closer, a rhythmic thump resounded inside the concrete walls, growing louder as they neared. When they were a couple of feet from the room, they stopped. 

“Fuck, Cas! Harder, please!” The unmistakable moans rang out in the wall. Sam and Dean’s eyes grew wider.

“Say my name,” their friend’s voice was practically unrecognizable by the way it growled out the words.

“Castiel!”

(Y/N)’s loud cry was enough to break Sam and Dean out of their daze. Without a second thought, they turned and scurried down the hallway and out of range from the sounds that were sure to scar them for years to come.

*~*

As the sound of rapid footsteps resonated down the hallway and slowly vanished, a sly smirk fell upon (Y/N)’s lips. He glanced over at Castiel, who sat perched on some of the pillows, fully clothed. Once the footsteps were gone, (Y/N) seized the shaking of the headboard and took his spot next to Castiel on the bed. Castiel lifted his arm and (Y/N) was quick to snuggle against him. 

“That should keep them away for a while,” (Y/N) hummed.

“Why was it necessary for them to believe we were having intercourse?” Castiel asked.

“Not only so they would leave us alone, but it’s the first part of the revenge plan I have in store for them for locking us in here.”

“You know, if they hadn’t locked us in here, then we would have never told each other how we felt.”

“Stop trying to justify their actions,” he grumbled.

Castiel smiled and pressed a soft kiss to (Y/N)’s temple. “I, for one, am thankful for their decision.”

“Don’t let them hear you say that, or you’ll never hear the end of it.”

“So I’ve come to notice.” Castiel chuckled.

(Y/N) copied his laugh as he wrapped an arm around Castiel’s torso and one leg around his to nuzzle closer. Castiel rested his cheek atop (Y/N)’s head.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” (Y/N) said with a content sigh.

Castiel reached down and softly pressed a kiss on his cheek. “The moments I spend with you make it seem like forever isn’t enough.”

[majycka]

Megumi stans....we won, I guess? maybe just for now..

JJK 266 THOUGHTS AND SPOILERS AHEAD!

Aight megumi enjoyers, at least one of us has been in the trenches when Megumi was getting SHOVELED PILES OF SHIT ON for losing his will to live when he's a traumatized 15 years old boy having a valid reaction to a death of a loved one (aka who may I repeat, HEAVILY REITERATED in the manga is someone whose his entire desire to live hinges on). As of from the currents chap, I'm considering Yuuji's acknowledgement/understanding to Megumi's actions a W for us or idk maybe that's just me because he gives Megumi the empathy and understanding he needs in his crazy ass suicidal life, and it raises the question of whether this is gonna fully push Megumi for his comeback moment?

More yapping under the cut

In order to explain why the magnitude of this chapter is such an important development for Megumi, his trauma needs to be discuss first and, there's four people we need to go through to reflect his stages of life. Toji, Tsumiki, Gojo, aaaannd Yuuji! :D

TOJI, the dad who left for milk.

Although we barely see any interaction with these two (only one fight scene from them), Toji no doubt kickstarted the trauma of Megumi the moment he decided to left for milk and never return again. He's traumatized by the Zenin's which explains why he acted out in that way and abandoned his child. All he's life he's treated as the outsider for being the odd one out. He lashed out from it as he got stronger, calmed down when meet Meg's mom who then died, and went back to lashing out again, forgetting that he has a tiny son waiting for him at home. Big L for Toji.

I know that Gege reiterated in his interview that he wants to craft a story where there's no right and wrong people, but I'm gonna proceed to be harsher towards Toji here because he's the ADULT situation. Yes, a traumatized adult who's fucked up and not perfect, but I still hold him accountable in perpetuating Megumi's trauma because Toji proceeded to repeat the cycle of trauma that moment he decided to leave, thinking that turning over Megumi to the Zenin is the best option cuz he got The Ten Shadows Technique. From Toji's perspective, it seemed the better option because he was raised knowing his no cursed energy made him an outcast in his family. It's drilled to him that cursed technique was everything for Zenins, so of course, he thought that his son with a valued technique will make the Zenins, olympic gold medal holder of abuse, treat him better. But, heck no! Just look what happened to that Naoya, who despite being raised differently as Toji or Maki and Mai, ended up as a piece of shit. In the end though, I gotta give him the bareeeessst minimum because he kinda pushed Gojo to interfere with Megumi being sold off to the Zenins(which has another set of problems discussed for the later part of discussion).

I try to stay true in including Gege's intention in writing here, and also other nuanced perspective cuz that's the type of series JJK is that yes, Toji DID care for his son in the barest minimum and in his most emotionally stunted way.

However, the damage is done, and Megumi is left with no prime adult caretaker to protect/guide him with only an older sis to have any resemblance of it .

2. TSUMIKI, the manic pixie dream girl sister.

To define the term (as I've stolen from Google) , manic pixie dream girl (MPDG) means "a type of female character depicted as vivacious and appealingly quirky, whose main purpose within the narrative is to inspire a greater appreciation for life in a male protagonist." They are often associated as love interest in movies, BUT I AM NO WAY SHAPE IN FORM ENDORSING MEGUMI SEES HER THAT WAY. Instead, I am using MPDG as a loose term to describe Tsumiki because like most MPDG, we barely know ANYTHING about her actually and we only saw her through the eyes of Megumi which is being pretty and dead.

Not essentially dead and not essentially just pretty because Megumi described her to be the model of a kind person and someone that Megumi wishes to protect, aka his greater purpose of life, which is yah, great, but we are stuck with this perception of Tsumiki. We don't know her, and I think the closest thing we got an unbiased perception of her is when she chucked a cartoon of milk to Megumi (she will call out his BS). This connects back with Megumi's trauma because who else are you gonna hinge your will to live on when the prime adults in your life failed you? He sees her in a brighter light in order to survive. A way of coping mechanism even.

AND YET, despite all his talk appreciating her kind traits and killing people in the culling game to get back to her, you would be surprised that instead of apologizing to her that he was all emo about, he was a dick to her when they reunited. 💀💀

And in fact, the narrative punishes him for this flaw.

To the point that when Sukuna took over his body, he "killed: Tsumiki in his hands which didn't just left Megumi the guilt and shame of being a dick to his sister before she dies but also the impression that Megumi was the one who "killed her." This makes Megumi an active participant to his own tragedy, and it serves a big slap on his face that he's also at fault here.

3. GOJO, the traumatized bro who tried his best.

This is definitely the raging hot debate of the fandom which is their dynamic, and my take breaks this perception of the uwufied Gojo a lot of the fandom seems to like. Yes, I do see Gojo as another perpetrator to Megumi’s trauma, another adult that failed him but not in such of a black and white way thinking of Gojo’s the wholly bad guy here. Believe it or not, he’s still a part of the chain of generational trauma, being a "chain" as in he's a victim AND perpetrator of the system. I called him the traumatized bro who tried his best here because as much as Gojo knows how cruel the jujutsu system is for the kids, he still unintentionally passes over the core mindset of such cruel system to Megumi since Gojo still did grew up in this system normalized in his eyes.

"Jujutsu Sorcerer is an individual sport."

I say "unintentionally passes" because no, Gojo doesn't have the same intention as Zenins/majority of the system who drills "strength is everything" in the most fucked up way possible. Yes, he enjoys Megumi’s company and treats him nicely. Yes, he sticks his neck out for him. Yes, he wants them to be strong so they can change the system. But this isn't about Gojo. It's about Megumi who still undeniably suffered from the accumulation of the few adults in his life failing him which includes Gojo. Gojo offers protection to Megumi. KEYWORD: Offers. It’s in exchange for Megumi working under Gojo as a jujutsu sorcerer. Now, for smol Megumi here, who truly going through the horror show of abandonment from his dad, agrees to it because apparently, according to Gojo, it’s the only way to protect his sister.

"I'll take care of things! But you're gonna have to work extra hard. I'm countin' on ya."

Annnd thus the cycle repeats! Although it wasn’t as bad as Zenin’s abusive environment Toji was raised, Megumi is still pushed in the same cutthroat environment of the jjk world that Gojo believed he can survive just because Megs has a valued powerful technique if only he himself fullfills his potential, like Gojo’s Six Eyes. BUT Gojo, who delights in his power, forgets a crucial part that…..Megumi isn’t like him!

Check out what Megumi has to say. (aka bud doesn't want any of that sorcerers shit and just wants a domestic life)

So the thing is, was Megumi ever asked his input in choosing to be a jujutsu sorcerer? Well, yah….and all it circles back to just protecting his sister and people like her. There’s a set of problems that comes with this mindset though that Gojo was valid to point out and that is Megumi doesn’t think about himself enough. “It’s ok to be selfish!” Gojo said in the context of being a stronger sorcerer.

But at the same time, he also gave Megumi the idea to that if he doesn’t work as sorcerer, then he won’t be able to protect his sister when he was a mere 6-7y/o boy.

You know that circulating meme of Megumi pulling Mahogora for minor inconvenience? Well, guess what that tells his suicidal tendencies in protecting anyone but himself. Kid got no sense of self-preservation because his self esteemed has completely tanked itself due to his abandonment issues, and now that he’s expressing how it emotionally and physically paralyzes him, he has every valid reason to do so.

Why, yes, Gojo was 19/20 at the time he first met Megs, still a kid, doesn't know shit, and has unaddressed issues being treated as The Strongest Weapon(here’s a dedicated gojo-centric meta I wrote previously about Gojo and his issues cuz he's one complicated fool). I describe this whole situation as an unaware traumatized kid taking in another traumatized kid which is not a fun mix to have, and I understand that Gojo ain’t exactly prepared for that kind of job.

HOWEVER, I’m way harsher to point out Gojo’s failure as an adult in Megumi in the later part of the series because at this point, Gojo's a grown adult, he waxes poetry in being responsible for the next gen , and we get to see his priorities throughout the series especially with the Sukuna’s fight, like seriously he had one legitimate fun fighting someone on par with him.

Gojo DELIGHTS in power no doubt, he chooses kids with most potential, he gets excited finding those kids, and this is the type of the closest dependable adult Megumi has in his life.

Yes, financially supported but Gojo isn't around much when he's working and on demand sorcerer almost 24/7. That's why growing up sure do sucked ass for Megumi especially when no one’s really there to guide and to keep an eye on your development AS A PERSON AND NOT JUST A SORCERER which the latter part is what unfortunately Gojo’s more eager to do.

4. YUUJI, the guy who just wants Megumi to know he matters to him as a person.

Yuuji and Megumi were definitely the highlight of this chapter because in the bleak world of JJK where everyone seemed to be succumbing to the repeated fuck ups of the previous gen (like that Yuta-Gojo situation), this chapter actually offers that THERE IS HOPE that the new gen can do better like what Yuuji just did that the adults in Megumi's life are too emotionally stunted to do. Yuuji take the time to listen to Megumi's emotional thoughts, what he feels as a person, and not just listen, but to understand and empathize. It even took lots of attempts for Yuuji to make Megumi open up.

He responds to Megumi's vulnerability with care and love, and Yuuji understands the pain Megumi is going through from losing his sister. With someone in pain like that, Yuuji knows he can't just go around saying "just live" to someone who's practically suicidal.

The treat of this all is when this scene comes next. Yuuji also shows his vulnerability and expresses that Megumi matters to him!

"It's lonely without you..Fushiguro."

This scene clearly parallels Gojo and Megumi's first meeting, so I'm gonna try to throw my two cents here and explain why Gege choose this direction. Remember what I said about Yuuji giving us the hope of the new gen escaping from the shackles of generational trauma? Well, I think this parallel is a way in saying that what Megumi needed when he was so young was someone to see him and his pain who's just a kid abandoned and forced to fend for themselves because the prime adults decided to to dip out. This is Megumi we are talking about here who's unaddressed issues stays hidden beneath all the pressure of him being The Ten Shadows Technique. He's valued for his technique. That's why Gojo showed up to meet him in the first place. That's also what the jujutsu system looked after for their child soldiers. Yuuji tries to break this chain of trauma their mentor unknowingly repeats. He'll show up for Megumi again and again because he's his dear friend even if Megumi's being difficult to be pulled out of Sukuna. And the beautiful thing is Yuuji didn't had some grand inspiring speech or grand offer to convince Megumi, he wasn't even sure Megumi will be up for it. Yuuji simply want to say that he matters to him. That understands him. That he's important to him so much he'll be sad when he dies, and it mattered.

"This is...Fushiguro Megumi's...!!"

And now that Megumi is showing signs in taking his body back, it's now his turn to save himself. Yuuji did his part, and for someone whose future has been controlled by everyone but himself, this time Megumi gets to decide what comes next.

[almondmilktargaryen]

The Girl Who's Got Agoraphobia (Part Four)

*pictures not mine. layout made via canva

Summary: You're the girl with agoraphobia Michael told Oliver about. You're known for not leaving your room much (obviously). But that doesn't stop Michael from checking on you.

Couple: Fem!Reader/Michael Gavey

Category: Flangst, friends to lovers

Content warnings: Fic begins with a panic attack

Word count: 2.3k

Also on my Ao3

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four

Fucking Losers

You were having a fit. A moment. An episode. Whatever it’s called. It didn’t matter as your body shook in the dark.

Of course, you were thinking about Michael. How could you not? He was one of the few people who saw you in this state before, apart from your mother. He quickly learned how to help, often asking you from the foot of your bed if certain parts were accurate as he read from the academic journals he pulled from the library. You would be at the head, hunched over homework or your book as you give him a simple yes or no.

But Michael’s not here. You haven’t seen him since the end of finals. Then you both went home for winter break and didn’t check in on one another for two weeks; the longest either of you have gone without speaking since you met. It was unheard of, terrifying. Despite how things were left, you did not want things to stay that way. You weren’t the one who needed to mend this with an apology, but leaving the wound open isn’t helping anymore. Perhaps calling time of death is the only answer.

Rising slowly from the floor, you took your time and your breaths. To avoid exacerbating the situation, you made an effort not to gasp for air. You press your back against a blank wall while steadying your knees as they shake. You mentally map out the pathway from Fleming to Haygood. It’s nighttime, but there’s plenty of lights on the paths, surely. The ones you can see from your window are.

You made up your mind. You picked up your coat and scarf from your chair. While following the same light from your peephole, you observe the dust looping around itself in the stream before vanishing back into the dark. You don’t even think to look out of it before opening the door.

And Michael was there. He stood in the yellow-lit hallway in his trench coat, barely hiding the d20 graphic tee he bought at the last Comic-Con. His glasses were fogged, and he was out of breath. “Hey,” he says like his lungs aren’t burning.

“Michael.” You held your door. You dare not sniffle.

“Figured you’d be here.”

Your face turned to stone. “Did you?”

“No-no, not like that,” he coughs on his own words. “I only meant—that I—I was hoping you were here.”

That hits you, but you don’t want to show it. “You’ve been running,” you say.

“I have.”

“You never run.”

“Painfully true.”

You look him up and down. His runners (irony) are soaked as well as his khakis from the calves down. Not only did he run, but he ran through the snow. Your eyes dart to his, which are slowly being revealed as his glasses adjust to the indoor temperature. It gets harder to look at him; slanted brows and Cheshire Cat lips turned downward. They’re parted slightly to let in more air. Unlike you, he doesn’t look away. Because he doesn’t know what you were about to do, but you know why he’s here. Michael never runs. So why else would he be here? In the most delightful way possible, he surprised you. Not a high bar to meet after last time, but you might as well get to the point. You clear your throat. “Michael, I—”

“I’m sorry.”

You meet his eyes, still fogged, but you don’t speak a word. Not because you want him to grovel (entirely), but because you don’t know what to say.

“What I said was wrong. But you knew that already. I shouldn’t have said it. And I shouldn’t have taken this long to say it.”

You lean on your door, blotting your snot on your sleeve. “Why did you?”

Michael shrugged, then his eyes turned away from you, trailing to the wooden floor beneath your feet. “Stubbornness. Geniuses don’t like being told they’re wrong. Even when they are absolutely wrong. And… uh…”

Your brows quirk.

“I’m afraid of saying it aloud. Because it sounds so bad, but I don’t mean it to be because it’s not—oh my God, you’ve been crying!” His glasses finally defogged. He comes closer and you don’t stop him when his hands take a gentle hold of your arms, the only thing adjacent to a hug at this moment. It’s all the rift between you will allow, even in the midst of mending. “What happened?”

It was your turn for your eyes, dry and irritated, to fall toward the floor as you finally cave and sniffle to spare your sleeves. “Panic attack.” There it is. That’s what it was. The description came to you when you needed it. “I’m fine now.”

“You should sit down.” His breath is a mix of beer and mint gum. “They always take the energy out of you.”

“Yeah.” You step back, still holding the door. It has a habit of leaning forward and closing on its own. You wait for Michael to step in. He eventually inches forward until he’s under the doorway, keeping eye contact with you and his hands in his pockets. Then he’s in.

You take off your coat and scarf, then Michael’s, setting them all on the arm of your big chair. With your silent permission, you both take refuge in your designated spots on your bed after slipping off your shoes. You take a pillow each to hold, then you turn on your bedside lamp. Instead of an old yellow light, the room glows with a soft orange instead. Michael nestles up to the wall next to your astronomy posters, his skinny legs stretched out straight in front of him and away from you. The lines of his eyes are redder than usual. You noticed them in the hallway, but you still didn’t say a word about it.

“What’d you want to say?” You eventually asked.

“Promise you won’t get upset?”

“Yes.”

“Even if it comes out bad?”

“As long as you explain yourself. I promise.”

Michael sighed. His head bumped against the wall as yours did with the headboard. Your post-attack exhaustion is already taking over. “Oliver ditched me. At the pub.”

“He did?” It explained the beer.

Michael nodded. “For Felix Catton and his vultures.”

“Oh, Michael.” It sounds bad. A typical primary school reaction of retreating to the closest person to avoid being alone, and possibly even a target. It sounds absolutely selfish. But you kept yourself composed because you couldn’t help but feel for him still. He knows that pain too. You’ve joked in the past about how hopeless you both are at making friends, but it doesn’t hurt less when you’re proven right. “I’m sorry he did that.”

“I went to grab us some pints. When I came back, he was at their table. Barely spared me a glance.”

“Guess he wasn’t meant to be your friend.” You say it like you turned into your mother. She always said it when you found yourself in the same grief time and time again.

Michael shrugged. “He was boring. He barely spoke at all. And that’s why I came straight here. Because I knew you would never do that to me.”

You sniffled again. It thickened in your nose. “You’re a prick sometimes, Charles. Even when you’re an absolute arse to me, I like you too much to do that to you.”

“Even when you call me Charles?”

“Of course.” You pull your lips into a half smile because you don’t have the energy for much more. “So why’d it take you so long to realize that?”

“We’re hopeless at making friends. You left so quickly. I thought I fucked it all up from the start.”

You pursed your lips as his words settle in. The exhaustion only creeps in as you sink into your bed. “We’re both terrible at making friends, aren’t we?” You try to lighten the mood with a chuckle, even though it’s terribly depressing.

“But it’s easy with you.” He holds the pillow close to his chest, looking you in the eyes as he says, “I don’t want to lose that.”

You push your leg out to nudge him on the nose. He thins out his lips as he takes it, even though you took off your socks. Once you’re successful, your leg drops to his side. “Well, you won’t lose it.”

And the silence in the room stretches as you watch the wound heal between you in the lamp’s soft glow. The vulnerability in Michael’s eyes mirrors yours.

“You know,” your voice breaks the silence as you sit back up and put your pillow back in place. “What Oliver did to you was awful, but we can still take advantage of the night. Let’s go to the pub.”

Michael raises an eyebrow. “It’s Saturday night. It was so crowded down there.”

You shrug. “You said you wouldn’t let anything happen to me, right?”

The corners of his mouth quirked up. “I did say that.”

“So, let’s go.” You stand up, turn on your bare heels, and extend your hand to him. “Maybe it’ll be good for us. Better than being around those fucking losers.” It’s uncharacteristic as the last words fall out of your mouth, but it certainly felt appropriate.

“You sure you’re not tired?”

“I’ll let you know when I’m tired.”

“I’ll take it then.” And Michael takes your hand When he lands on his feet, though, it’s closer than expected. He’s so close to falling into you, which would make you both collapse on the hard floor. But he balances himself by taking a hold of your hip with his other hand.

It would be normal to step back and let go of his hand to give him space. It certainly would make sense. But you can’t explain the sudden surge of boldness that hits you. And without thinking something through for the first time in your life, you push yourself up on your toes and kiss him. It was quick, and spontaneous, much like the whole decision.

You open your eyes to see Michael’s face illuminated by the lamp, part of its shade reflected in his glasses. The weight of what you just did started stacking on your shoulders, brick by brick. But before you can pull away and apologize, Michael’s lips meet yours again. His kiss is different—frantic and eager, filled with the desperate need to connect again (or proof he’s never kissed someone. You’ve never talked about it). It’s sloppy as both his hands move to your waist and grip at the fabric of your sweater. Your hands meet his chest as you try pushing him away. Your lips are drenched by the time you finally separate.

“Michael, slow down.” You wipe your mouth.

“Sorry,” he whispers. Beer still lingers in his breath.

“It’s okay. Just… do it like this.” You urge him to loosen his hold on your sweater as your hands find their way to his face. You show him how to kiss with tenderness.

And he responds accordingly, his kisses becoming softer and more deliberate. His hands rest on your waist now. No force in them. The urgency fades, and his skin is warm as your hands lace around his neck. He pulls back this time, though, and the look in his eyes shows you how dazed he is. “Maybe we should stay in,” he suggests softly.

“Well, I—”

“Not anything like that. I’m not ready for… that. I just know you’ll be exhausted soon.”

You couldn’t lie. You were already there. “But you said you—”

“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. But that’s a simple thing to prove in a pub at any time. We’ll go soon.” He pecks you on the lips. “But for now, you should rest.”

You don’t argue further. Instead, you pull away from Michael completely and make way for your wardrobe. Luckily, this isn’t the first time Michael’s spent the night in your dorm, so you pull out some of the spare pajamas he’s left behind during late movie nights. You both turn away as you change, but meet again in an attempt to make room in your single bed. Michael wraps an arm around your waist as you both get comfortable and squeezes in close, keeping you from the edge. He props himself up on his elbow.

“Are you going to fall asleep?” You ask him.

Michael leans over to put his glasses on the end table. “Shouldn’t be too hard. And it’s already more comfortable than your couch. If I can’t, your bookcase is easy to reach. I can always grab a memoir.”

Your knuckles brush against his sweatshirt, a weak attempt at a smack as you giggle. Michael takes that hand and turns it in his hold like he is examining it. He kisses your fingers and cradles them against his chest. He knows you feel his still rapid heartbeat.

“This is all… a lot for me.”

“Me too.”

“What made you do it?”

“Did you wish I didn’t?”

“God no. I’d been wanting to for a while.”

“So did I.” You trace the Oxford logo on his chest. “So I did it. Just in a brief moment where I stopped overthinking.”

The air blown out of Michael’s nose is cool against your face. “You actually stopped thinking?” His lips find your forehead as he still keeps hold of your hand—an assurance that he is joking. “Had to say it.”

“It’s difficult. But it’s easier with you.”

The smartass grin leaves his face at that. Instead, he lets his head meet your pillow as his eyes refuse to stray from yours. He brushes your hair back, his short nails just scratching your scalp. It’s soothing, and it encourages you to close your eyes in bliss as your mind is blank.

Taglist: @anukulee

[arealphrooblem]

Hi!! First off I just want to say that this is my new favorite writing blog on tumblr!! I'm so grateful for whatever strings the universe pulled that led me here. I'm literally addicted to every single thing you've written here. I swear I've read Mutually Assured Destruction like ten times within the past 24 hours.

I was wondering, if you find the free time and the inspiration, if you could write a villain x medic/civilian snippet? Maybe Medic accidentally witnessed villain's crime so villain can't let them just wander around freely since medic works for the hero agency, but also doesn't want to kill medic since medic is useful?

Thank you so much! I've always loved the idea of Villain x Medic so here you go!

CW: Kidnapping

“You know my face.”

The medic knew this day would come. Still, they froze in the doorway of the living room, keys dangling in their hands, blood frosting over in sheer dread. The villain sat with their legs crossed in the medic’s favorite armchair, the fire place unlit. The room in semi-darkness, the only light a glow from a street-lamp.

They didn’t ask how the villain knew their address. They should have taken Hero’s offer to leave under witness protection, but their whole life was built here. They couldn’t just leave and start over.

“I haven’t revealed it,” the medic said.

“Yet,” the villain amended. “I’m sure you would for the right price. Or under the right pressure.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t. But I am not going to risk it.”

The lamp beside the couch switched on. The medic flinched away from the sight, eyes trained on the coat rack by the door. As if mattered anymore if they saw the villain’s face again. As if they hadn’t doomed themselves the first time.

Footsteps creaked over the old wood floors. The medic took slow deep breaths, holding it for four counts and releasing it. A trick they had taught people afraid of IV needles to calm their racing heart.

The time to run had long since passed. And even if it hadn’t, the villain most definitely had people outside lying in wait for such an escape.

Hands that tipped the medic’s chin to meet that dangerous gaze.

“You’re going to kill me,” the medic said. It was not a question.

An eyebrow raised. “You sound very calm about that.”

“My career has taught me how to recognize and accept things that aren’t in my control. Right now there is nothing I can do to stop you.”

“This is true.”

The villain studied them, thumb brushing absently against the curve of their bottom lip.  The darkness of their eyes felt unfathomable, like the Marianas Trench. Like the deepest part of the ocean, full of wonder and terror.

“I am not going to kill you,” the villain said finally. “I owe you my life. And I always repay my debts. But you know my face.”

The medic swallowed thickly against the barrage of options that opened up. The villain could blind them, torture them into insanity, cut out their tongue. All of the above. The villain’s hand slips across their cheek to cup the back of the medic’s head. A possessive gesture, they noted with a shiver.

“You are coming with me. Whether it be conscious or unconscious, I leave up to your . . . control.”

Relief warred with new fear. “Where are you taking me?” they asked.  “What happens to me when we get there?”

“Questions I will happily answer in the car,” said the villain, their hand sliding down the medic’s 

neck before retreating. “Hand me your phone and your keys and then go pack your things. You have ten minutes.”

The medic stood rooted to the spot. This was real, this was happening. And it yet it still felt like a bad dream. Ten minutes to pack their life up? Ten minutes?

“Tick tock, darling,” crooned the villain, holding their hand out.

Numbly, the medic dropped their phone and keys into the villain's hand and took robotic steps towards their bedroom. Clothes were easy to grab and stuff into the suitcase. As were their birth certificate and other identity papers. Personal items, less so. Medic spent precious minutes at their bookshelf, picking a well thumbed classic from their childhood, their most referenced medical texts, and a novel they hadn’t started yet.

The pressure of time throbbed in the back of their head, making it difficult to think rationally about what they needed. They ducked into the bathroom, grabbing their contact case and solution, their toothbrush. Then they stood in the middle of their bedroom, frantically trying to think of what they couldn’t live without.

“Times up.”

The villain’s voice came from behind, causing the medic to jump out of their skin.

“Zip it up and let’s go.”

The villain’s car lay hidden in the shadows of the back alley. A dangerous looking driver waiting for them, their cigarette glow the only light. The villain opened the backseat of the car for Medic with a mocking flourish.

It was their last opportunity to run, but the medic knew a shot in the back waited for them if they tried it. So, dread sitting heavy in their stomach, they climbed in. The villain took the seat next to them, giving out curt orders to the driver in a language the medic didn’t recognize.

 The nagging horror that the medic forgot something important haunted them. They leaned their head against the window, mentally walking through their house, trying to remember. But the fear churning in their blood made it so difficult.

“I’m taking you to my compound,” said the villain, almost conversationally. As if detailing the itinerary for a date. “I have a room set up for you, as well as a med bay. You can resume your work taking care of my mercenaries.”

The medic listened with half an ear, watching the wave of street lamps pass them by. What were they missing?

“No objections to that?” the villain asked, bemused.

They passed a park, one the medic had many birthday parties in as a child, and the sudden zing of memory made them gasp.

“Stop! We have to go back!” they cried.

The driver didn’t so much as flinch.

“Go back?" The villain laughed. "Too late for that, doctor. You should have protested before you climbed into this car."

"I forgot something!"

"Whatever it is can be replaced," the villain said with a dismissive wave of their hand. 

"It's not replaceable. Please."

Desperation clawed at their throat but the villain remained unmoved.

"If it were so important, one would think it would be the first thing you packed, not the first thing you forgot. You will have to learn to live without it."

The medic closed their eyes the rest of the journey. They couldn't bear to look at Villain's face.

"Do you regret it?"

The villain sat upon the examination bed, looking almost innocent.

It had been a week since the medic was taken. Their life had changed so drastically that the normality of the med bay, of the tools they had spent years around, clanged like a discordant note. They threw themselves into their work, demanding physicals for the Villain's mercenaries to establish a baseline of health. These people, so used to sewing their own wounds, grew awkward around the medic’s soft and attentive care. Some refused to come. 

The villain showed up last, a new laceration on their ribs. They sat, spine straight and unflinching as medic carefully cleaned the wound and bandaged it. 

"Regret what?" the medic asked. 

" . . .Saving my life."

Their hands stilled for a moment, hovering over the wound. It was a tricky question and the medic wasn't sure how to answer it honestly. 

"I would have regretted the person that I'd become if I had let you die," they said finally. 

"Oh? Most people would consider it a net positive, preventing all my future damage."

"It's not up to me to decide who deserves to live and who doesn't."

"I beg to differ. You hold people's lives in your hands every day. Who else, if not you?"

The medic glanced up at the villain, who stared at them with open-faced fascination, rather than the usual dispassion. 

"I don't think any one person should have that power," they said pointedly. 

The villain smiled, a slow curving movement. "A pity. You could be terrifying indeed."

The medic swallowed something strange dancing in their gut. "You're lucky I'm not." 

"Indeed I am."

They finished the examination without further conversation. The villain watched with quiet fascination as the medic sterilized their tools, folded unused bandages away, updated the Villain's medical records. 

"What did you leave behind?" they asked softly. 

"My life," the medic said, tersely, as they tapped on the keyboard. 

The villain was undeterred. "What did you remember in the car?"

The medic paused at that, unsure if they should answer. They didn't want the villain's mockery over it. But lies rarely went over well with the villain -- the medic had cleaned up the wounds left behind from that. 

"A box under my bed," they replied, keeping their eyes locked on the computer. "It had my keepsakes in it. Family photos, birthday cards, that sort of thing."

"Sentiment," the villain said skeptically. "That's what got you so worked up?"

"I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand," they snapped, standing up. 

The villain watched them leave and the medic felt their gaze like a laser all the way down the hall. 

Two days later a painfully familiar box sat on the examination table. Scribbled in sharpie on the cardboard was a message: 

I do understand. 

[a1sh1teruu]

don’t blame me ; p.sh

— synopsis:: he had one job as an angel sent to earth. and that was to purify the souls of sinners. for a millennia seonghwa was successful at his job, leading the sinners to the light—to the right path. as an angel, he had a resolve—unfortunately, the path of sinners isn't limited to human beings.

— contains:: profanities, smut (tipsy sex, penetrative sex (f), fingering (f), protected sex, praise, pet names, marking), toxic behaviors, toxic relationships, mentions of alcohol consumption, religious themes, making out

— wc:: 10.5k

— note:: first chapter out of four (?) let's go! hope you like it <3

— 01 -> 02 -> masterlist

"Ugly, disgusting creatures.” They say, “Sinners.” The angels look at them with resentment in their eyes. “Humans will never be worthy of heaven.”

Seonghwa, an angel, lived among them. Among those sinful creatures he resented, looked upon with disgust. It has been hundreds of years since he had been sent down to earth, and every second of it felt like a punishment. But he had to get a job done, lead humans into the right path, into the path of God. He was given the attire of a human being, concealing the true beauty he was gifted with as an angel, but still a sight for sore eyes. 

On sleepless nights, which aren’t a rarity for him, he would sit outside on the balcony of his apartment in the middle of the night. Tea in hand and eyes roaming the cities below. Ears picking up the occasional giggles and cackles of the mortals, drunk with the earthly sins they commit. Suddenly the balcony door of his neighbor flew open, pulling his attention, side-eyeing the couple that just got out. The sounds of lips clashing together sent a sickening shiver through him. Seonghwa scoffed, walking back into his apartment. He sat down onto the couch, placing his mug on the small coffee table that was placed on the gray rug, matching the color of the couch. After a while of sitting in complete silence, Seonghwa stood up to get ready and go for a walk. 

He left the apartment and started walking down the street with his hands shoved into his brown trench coat, no destination in mind. The air was cool, the wind biting at his soft cheeks, painting them in a rosy color. As Seonghwa kept mindlessly walking through the poorly lit streets he found himself somewhere pretty secluded and quite loud. Music blaring through clubs and drunk people laughing and giggling. Even hearing an obnoxious moan here and there. An exasperated sigh left his lips as he shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat and turned around to walk back to where he came from.

“Don’t touch me,” he heard a woman slur. Not even sparing a glance, he kept walking. Until he heard the same voice again. “I said don’t touch me!” she spoke louder, nearly yelling. Seonghwa kept walking, someone suddenly falling down in front of his feet, almost causing him to trip. His gaze fell to his feet, seeing the woman, clad in awfully revealing attire, struggle to stand up. 

“(Y/N),” Seonghwa looked up to see a man approaching, stumbling over his own feet. He was drunk, the stench of liquor filling Seonghwa’s nose, making his face twist in disgust. "(Y/N), stand up. Let’s go.” The man grabbed you by your arm, trying to lift you up but miserably failing to do so.

As Seonghwa tried to step away from the scene, he felt a vice grip on his ankle. “No!” the angel didn’t know what to do. He looked at the man in front of him with wide eyes as he tried to pull his foot away. “Leave me alone,” you slurred against Seonghwa’s calf, wrapping yourself around his leg. Seonghwa was confused and didn’t know what to do except stand there and stare. When the man grabbed for you again, Seonghwa stumbled and fell backwards, landing on his butt. He looked down at his feet to see you still sticking to him, crawling upwards to cling to his torso, arms now wrapped around his waist. He desperately tried to push you away, but in return, your arms tightened around him.

The stranger got a hold of your arms and pulled you off Seonghwa, your shouts of complaint echoing around the dark streets.

Seonghwa quickly stood up and dusted himself off. “Leave her alone,” Seonghwa croaked out. He hated it. He hated mortals, he hated their dumb nature, he hated the way they freely lived and had no care in the world. He despised them. But nonetheless, they were still creations of God. “Let her go.” He said more sternly and confidently, pulling the man’s attention to himself. “She obviously doesn’t want to go with you, leave her alone.”

Seonghwa gulped as he looked at the man. He didn’t know how to handle these situations. “Mind your business.” Seonghwa was taken aback by the way the man talked to him. As he was about to pull you back with him, Seonghwa grabbed your hand, pulling you away. A protective hand on the back of your head.

“Leave,” Seonghwa seethed, an intimidating look in his eyes. When the man didn’t move, Seonghwa urged him to leave one more time. And with a huff he left Seonghwa with you in his arms. Seonghwa looked at you with a slight frown on his lips. “Hey,” he tried to pull away, but he felt you fall limp against him, passed out. “Ma’am,” still no response. Seonghwa sighed as he shook you, trying to wake you up. After a few moments he gave up and lifted you up with one arm under your back and one under your knees.

Seonghwa finally managed to get home and lay you down onto his couch, not knowing what to do with you. The only thing that came to his mind was to drape a thin blanket onto your form and leave the living room.

“Why did you bring a mortal home?” A sharp voice broke Seonghwa out of his thoughts. He turned around to face none other than his brother. “They are disgusting–” but before the younger could continue, Seonghwa cut him off with a glare.

Seonghwa ran a hand through his dark hair, a sigh leaving his lips as he turned around to face the sink. “I don’t know, Jongho. She needed help and no one was there.” He said with a tinge of distress. How could he bring a mortal, a sinner, into his own home? “There was this guy who wanted to take her with himself, and now she’s here.” Seonghwa shrugged, still not facing Jongho.

“Lead them into the right path, not onto your couch, brother.”

Seonghwa turned his head to glare at his brother from the corner of his eyes as the room fell silent. Only the sound of dishes clashing with one another resounded through the kitchen. “She’ll leave in the morning. I’ll make sure of it.” 

The blaring sound of your alarm woke you up with a pounding headache. You groaned as you covered your ears. When the alarm didn’t stop, you flung a hand at your bag to shut it. When silence enveloped you, you let out a relieved sigh as you laid your head back down onto the fluffiest pillow you’ve ever laid your head on. But something was off. This didn’t feel like your bed, nor your blanket. You slowly opened your eyes to see thin, long legs, clad in beige dress pants, right in front of your nose. Your eyes trailed upward from beautifully toned thighs, to a flat torso, covered by a pure white silk shirt, broad shoulders, and finally, a gorgeous face that had you speechless. Your eyes lost every ounce of sleep as you gaped at the beautiful man above you. 

“Good morning.” His voice pulled you out of your trance, blinking up at him as you hastily sat up. Your dress had ridden up your thighs, exposing more of the skin you were hardly trying to hide. Before Seonghwa could look away, he had already caught a glimpse of the soft skin. 

You quickly gathered your stuff that had fallen out of your purse when you fished out your phone, standing up and pulling the end of your dress down to cover the exposed skin. “Thank you,” you exhaled in a whisper, loud enough for the angel to hear you. “For last night I mean.”

Seonghwa cleared his throat before he turned his head to meet your eyes, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes painted on his lips. “You’re welcome,” he responded. “Do you want me to drop you off at your home?” he asked after a breath of silence, his question making you chuckle. 

“Want me gone already?” your voice had a teasing lilt to it, raspy with the exhaustion that is cursing you. When you noticed the man’s eyes widening you laughed and dismissed your comment as a joke, making him sigh out in relief. “The name’s (Y/N).” 

“Seonghwa.”

“Nice to meet you, Seonghwa!” Even through the pounding headache, the wide smile never left your lips. “I wish I could get to know you a bit more, but I really have to go. I hope I’ll see you around. I could buy you a coffee as payback.” Your sweet smile was contagious, Seonghwa wearing a small smile himself. “I mean it,” your eager tone made the black-haired man tilt his head slightly. “You really helped me a lot by saving me from the dude last night. I really don’t know what he would’ve done if you weren’t there. I want to thank you properly.” Seonghwa stood there, a dumbfounded expression on his features, as you were rummaging through your tiny purse for something. After a breath of silence, you handed him a piece of paper that had a number and your name written next to it. “I knew keeping these with me could be helpful.” You walked through the short corridor to the front door, Seonghwa walking behind you. Before you could open the door, he had already beat you to it and held it open like a gentleman. “You do want me gone, huh?” You joked again, pulling a chuckle out of him. 

Stepping out of the apartment, you started your way back to your own home. With one last wave in the man’s direction, you walked away. When you were gone, Seonghwa closed the door and heavily exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Are you going to call her?”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak into this apartment, Jongho?”

Almost two weeks had passed since the incident, having lost all the hope that Seonghwa was going to call you for the coffee you promised him. 

“What do you mean?” Soonyoung, asked in disbelief. “He still hasn’t called you?” He might have not noticed, but his voice was so loud that he pulled almost everybody’s attention in the small café you were in. You quickly hushed him, sending the old pair next to you an apologetic gaze. “He still hasn’t called you?” the blonde repeated, a lot quieter this time. As a response you just lightly shook your head and shrugged. A devastated gasp left your friend’s lips, one of his hands against his chest to seem more dramatic. “That’s a low blow. It’s not every day you get someone hot to sleep in their apartment.” Soonyoung’s comment made you laugh wholeheartedly, a hand clasped on your mouth to muffle the sound. 

“I mean, my outfit was–” you trailed off at the sound of the bell chiming, eyes landing onto the entrance, smile falling from your features. Soonyoung must’ve noticed the sudden halt of your sentence and turned around to look behind him. “That’s him,” you whispered, pulling at Soonyoung’s sleeve to gain his attention. Said man turned back to you with his mouth gaped open. A giggle pushed its way out of your throat, “I told you he’s attractive.” 

Your eyes landed back on Seonghwa, doing a once-over. His hair was pushed out of his face, a single strand swaying side to side with each movement, and the clean undercut exposed. He wore a brown trench coat with a beige knit sweater underneath and a pair of black jeans. After he placed his order, he moved to the side for the people behind him to place their order, and while he was waiting, his eyes met yours. A smile graced your face as you waved with enthusiasm. The black-haired man timidly returned the gesture, lips pulled into a tight smile. His gaze fell from you as the barista called out his order, handing it to him. With one last wave, he walked out of the café. 

Your eyes followed his form until he was out of sight. “Damn,” you mumbled, “He didn’t even come to me.” A loud snort reached your ears. “Hey!”

“I’m sorry! Ow!”

After walking home with Soonyoung, you showered and then got ready to make dinner when your phone rang, pulling your attention. You left the meat on the hot pan as you reached for your phone, tilting your head as you saw an unknown number. “Hello?” your voice questioning, brows furrowed. 

“Hey, it’s me Seonghwa.” Relief washed over you, softly smiling to yourself as you walked back to the stove, tongs in hand to turn the meat over.

“Hi, Seonghwa,” you greeted, voice cheery and light. “I thought you’d never call.” Your smile stretched as you heard the man chuckle on the other end. As if in a trance, your hand made contact with the hot pan, causing you to hiss loudly. “Shit, I burned myself,” you chuckled. After a moment of thick silence you broke it, “I am cooking dinner right now. If you have the time right now, come over and join me. You know, because of the repaying you thing. It’s okay if you don’t want to.” 

Seonghwa, on the other side, was fiddling with the end of his shirt, considering taking up on your offer. He did want to, but it wasn’t as easy as you would think. 

“Every human, you have to lead every human you get involved with into the right path. You have to lead them to me, Son.”

He remembered his fathers words, the sole reason he was sitting on this very couch, phone in shaky hands and a slight frown painted on his face. Before he could think about it further, he blurted, “Yes, I can come over.” Seonghwa was struggling to hold the exasperated sigh that was threatening to crawl out of his throat.

“Sweet, I’ll send you my address. See ya!” the angel felt himself sink further into his couch, hands gripping his thighs and eyes fixed on the ceiling. 

What did he get himself into? This was nothing like him, Seonghwa would never get himself involved with mortals like you. Your case has officially started, there is no turning back now, and Seonghwa knew that. With a small grunt, he lifted himself off the couch to get ready, stopping his movements when he heard his phone go off. 

xxx.xxx.xxx: [address] 

xxx.xxx.xxx: can’t wait to see you! :)

As soon as you had gotten the confirmation that Seonghwa was indeed on his way to your place, you ran into your room to change from your pajamas to some clothes that would make you more presentable. You pulled on a pair of biker shorts and a long black shirt that reached your mid-thighs. The shorts reached a few inches above your knees and complimented your thighs. Your wet hair fell around your face, framing it in a deliciously innocent way. 

Just as you put the finishing touch on the dinner table the doorbell rang. Quickly looking over your work, you ran to the door and opened it to a waiting Seonghwa. “Hi, Seonghwa!” You greeted with a blinding smile on your features. Side-stepping, you let the waiting man into your apartment without a question.

Seonghwa returned the gesture and walked in, taking his shoes off and putting them to the side. His eyes started roaming the walls and floors as he walked to your living room right behind you. Your apartment was pretty small but enough for someone who lived alone. “It’s pretty,” Seonghwa mumbled, not knowing that you heard his comment.

“Yes, it really is,” you said, looking over your shoulder to Seonghwa. “You can sit down; I’ll get the drinks.” You walked to the kitchen, which was connected to the living room. Seonghwa was a bit shocked at how much effort you put in. The plates were shining, and the cutlery was so shiny, he could use the spoons as small mirrors. “Seonghwa,” you called, pulling the angel out of his awe-like trance.

“Yeah,” he had a slight stutter in his voice as he responded, quickly standing up from his seat, walking into the kitchen.

“What would you like to drink?” You asked, opening the fridge to show him the drinks you had, mostly alcoholic. You saw Seonghwa eyeing the alcoholic drinks a bit skeptically, “You don’t drink alcohol?” All you got as a response was a hesitant shake of his head. “Okay, okay,” you mumbled, grabbing for the non-alcoholic drinks. “This cherry juice is really nice; you have to try it.” With a smile, you walked to the dinner table, putting the cool drinks onto it and sitting down. You signaled for Seonghwa to sit, which he gladly did.

It was uncomfortably silent as Seonghwa just sat there, watching you plate the food and put it in front of him. “Don’t worry,” you started, catching Seonghwa’s gaze, looking him intensely in the eyes. “I didn’t put anything suspicious in it. Unless you have allergies?” Seonghwa didn’t know what to say. It felt like you were locking him in place with your gaze still on him.

His jaw stuttered as he tried to come up with something, eyes not daring to leave yours. “I, uhm, I don’t have any allergies,” he stuttered, face and neck flushing with color.

“I’m glad,” you smiled relieved, putting his plate down and plating your own. “I hope you like it.” The confused angel just nodded and took the spoon next to his plate in his hand, pushing the food on it. It looked delicious; he wasn’t going to lie. That piece of meat that looked extra juicy due to the sauce poured over it and the cooked vegetables. You watched intently as Seonghwa guided his fork into his mouth, tasting the savory food, eyes lighting up at the rich taste. “Do you like it?” You asked immediately, catching Seonghwa’s expression.

He quickly swallowed, nodding. “It’s really good. Do you like cooking?” He asked, mesmerized by the taste of the food.

His question made you chuckle, as you nodded. “Yeah, I do like cooking. I mean, I used to work in the kitchen in the diner a few streets down. But now I’m a server there.” Seonghwa nodded along your words, eyes wide and round. “I’d be happy to cook for you again.” You ended the sentence with a smirk painting your lips. Seonghwa softly shook his head as he caught himself looking at your lips a bit too much. Thankfully, you were occupied with the food on your plate to pay Seonghwa any mind.

“Thank you,” you said softly, “for what happened a few weeks ago, and that you came over. I really appreciate it.” 

Seonghwa smiled and softly shook his head, “You don’t have to thank me.” He took another bite of his food before talking again, “And I mean, I never have any visitors over, so, it was kind of a change, you know.” You chuckled at that, your ears heating up.

You two sat in silence as you ate. The urge to say something was big, Seonghwa’s tongue practically itching. But before he could blurt anything out, you broke the silence. “So, how about you tell me something about yourself?” Your smile was blinding, lips stretched across your cheeks. “Oh,” you chuckled softly, “Sorry, that sounded like some interview.” Your lightheartedness set a calm feeling into Seonghwa’s gut.

With a soft chuckle he answered your question. 

When you both finished dinner, you were already standing at your front door, waving Seonghwa goodbye. “It was really nice today. I hope we can do this again sometime.” Seonghwa nodded with a smile on his lips. 

“Goodnight, (Y/N).” With one last wave of his hand, he walked out of the apartment complex, the cold air hitting him. He let out a deep sigh as he started walking down the street to get to his apartment.

A few days have passed since he had dinner with you, and since then he has been avoiding you as much as he could. Meaning, he hasn’t texted you one time since you two had dinner at your place. He kind of felt bad because he genuinely thought you were a nice person, but he didn’t like your type of people. Even seeing all those alcoholic drinks in your fridge sent a shiver down his spine. He just hoped that you would find the right path on your own. 

It was pretty late when Seonghwa had left work. He worked in a small library, it was a pretty quiet place, not many people went there. 

He bid his goodbyes to his co-workers as he left the library, walking through the dark streets, the wind biting at his cheeks. Winter was close, and he didn’t like it one bit. Shoving his hands into his pockets, his pace quickened. He didn’t want to take the bus for a ten minute walk to his apartment, which he came to regret a few times in weathers like this one. 

“Seonghwa?” 

No, no, no. Please don’t let it be you. 

The angel turned around with furrowed brows, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he met your eyes. He couldn’t get out of your way somehow. 

A large smile crawled onto your face as your eyes met. “Hi!” Seonghwa softly sighed, defeated by your sweetness. “How are you?” you asked, eyes wide and curious. Seonghwa wouldn’t even guess that you were a sinner with the way you were innocently looking up at him.

A smile of his own curved on his features as he answered, “I’m fine, a bit cold, though, but I'm doing good. How about you?” His eyes caught the way you rocked from side to side, shoulders tense. He let his gaze fall down to see your legs exposed to the cool air. With wide eyes, Seonghwa moved his eyes back up, a strained smile on his chapped lips. He didn’t hear one word you were saying, mind caught up with the way your skin looked so soft, and the short, tight skirt you wore complimenting the curve of your hips. 

“Hwa?” his breath hitched slightly as he heard the nickname. “Is everything okay?”

Why did you have such an effect on him?

“Y–yeah, I’m fine. Just cold,” he stuttered, jaw clenching in realization. You nodded with a soft smile on your face. “Uhm, where were you going anyway?” he asked curiously. 

A soft breath left your lips before you answered, “A friend of mine wanted to go out and drink, but then he canceled right when I left my apartment and now I’m here walking home.” You ended the sentence with a sarcastic thumbs up, lips pulled into a strained smile. Seonghwa let a soft chuckle slip  as he slowly turned around, his hand gesturing the way in front of himself. Was he really going to do this right now?

“Would you like to come over to mine for dinner?” A smile stretched onto your lips as you nodded, matching his pace. “It’s not long from here, just a few minutes,” he reassured when he noticed you shivering, the only thing giving you the slightest warmth was your short jacket. You looked up at him with a smile as you hugged yourself to block out the biting cold. 

You’ve been walking for about five minutes until Seonghwa stopped in front of a fancy looking complex, pulling out a pair of keys. Your eyes switched between Seonghwa’s side profile and the apartment complex, never having thought that he lived in such a rich neighborhood. Well, he did look expensive. “Why the surprised face? You’ve been to my place once, yeah?” Seonghwa’s soft voice pulled you out of your thoughts, a smile tugging on his plump lips that were flushed due to the cold surrounding you both. “Come on, let’s go inside before you freeze,” he said, the click of the lock resounding as Seonghwa pulled the heavy door open for you to enter. You did so with a grateful smile on your slightly chapped lips and a nod of gratitude. 

“A gentleman are we?” you said as you waited for Seonghwa in the middle of the big lobby as he checked his mail. With a gentle hand, he guided you to the elevator that brought you to your destined floor. As you stepped out of the elevator, your heel got caught in the gap of the elevator, causing you to stumble forward. As you braced yourself to fall face first onto the floor, Seonghwa’s strong arm caught you by your waist and hips, pulling you back into his chest. You took in a sharp breath as you stood with your back flush against Seonghwa’s chest, his breath in your ear as you tried to get your mind back together. Turning your head, you smiled up at the man, who was also looking down at you, his eyes wider than yours and his brows knit together. “Thank you,” you said, slowly pulling away from him. Seonghwa let his arms fall to his sides as his lips pulled into a slightly strained smile. A soft, red hue crawled onto his ears but they could be easily excused as the temperature-change from outside. 

Seonghwa led the short way to his apartment, unlocking the door and letting you inside. A sigh left your chest as the warmth of his apartment hit you, cheeks warming and nose freeing of its stuffiness. “So warm,” you mumbled as you rubbed your cold hands together, trying to get them warm again. Slipping off your white boots, you let your short, also white, jacket fall from your shoulders, exposing the pretty white silk shirt you wore, top buttons undone. Seonghwa’s back was turned to you as he took off his jacket and shoes, quickly putting them into their assigned places. “Uhm, where do I put these, Seonghwa?” you asked from behind the tall man, your jacket and shoes in your hands.

Seonghwa turned around and saw what you were implying. “Oh, let me take these.” He took your stuff and hung your jacket next to his, your shoes right underneath. “Let’s go inside, shall we?” his hand pointed down the narrow hallway into his living room. 

As you were walking into the living room you were looking around in awe. Seonghwa’s apartment was really pretty, that much you could say. Weren’t you already here one time? Yes, you were, but you didn’t pay enough attention to notice how beautiful his apartment actually was. “Your apartment is really,” you trailed off, not knowing what to say. “Pretty,” you breathed as you looked over your shoulder to see a beautiful, white cat sitting on one of the bar stools that faced the kitchen, a long counter stretched in front of them as some type of space for people to sit there. “Hi, pretty,” you greeted the cat with a soft hand, slowly letting it sniff the palm of your hand. The animal let its fluffy head fall into the palm of your hand and you could feel the strong vibrations of its purring, a soft pout crawling onto your features. “It’s so cute,” you cooed, scratching its chin.

Seonghwa just stood by the side with furrowed brows as he watched you interact with his cat. You turned to Seonghwa, a bright smile stretching on your face but falling as you saw his expression. “She normally doesn’t like strangers,” Seonghwa mumbled, scratching the back of the cat’s ear. As the angel’s hand wandered lower on the animal’s face, his finger brushed over your hand. He inhaled sharply, slowly pulling his hand away. “Her name’s Ayah.” 

“Pretty,” you mumbled, voice as soft as the thickest clouds Seonghwa has ever touched. His dark eyes were fixed onto your side profile, studying every curve and edge of your face, starting from the rounds of your cheeks that were still flushed from the cold they were exposed to, to your jaw, and lastly to your lips. 

He never understood why so many of his brother’s got expelled from heaven for falling in love with the daughters of Eve. But now, he might have an inkling about why these beautiful creatures were cherished that much. 

“Seonghwa?”

“Y–yeah?” he was too deep in his thoughts again. “Why don’t you go sit down and wait for me while I get us something to drink?” You nodded and walked to the couch, the couch you once woke up on. Seonghwa opened his fridge, letting the cool air hit face as he looked for something to drink. His eyes fell onto the bottle of soda and he remembered that he still had cherries in his freezer. Quickly taking the bottle of soda and putting it on the counter next to the fridge, he bent down to open the freezer, taking the cherries. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any drinks that you would like in particular,” Seongwha said as he walked over with two tall cups in his hands, the condensation running over Seonghwa’s lithe fingers. 

Your eyes slightly widened as you took the glass from Seonghwa’s hand, your hands brushing over his wet one’s. There it was again, his heart skipped a beat. “No, oh my god, don’t apologize! I know that you don’t drink, and I do think it’s for the better because I’ve been trying to tone it down.” You chuckled as you scootched to the side, making more space for Seonghwa. Your exposed knees were pressed together, directed into Seonghwa’s direction, almost touching his knees. “Soda and frozen cherries,” you mumbled before taking a sip, “isn’t that a bit too summery for november, don’t you think?” A soft smirk curled on your lips as you put the glass onto the coffee table. “So,” you started, throwing one leg over the other, leaning into Seongwha’s space a little bit, “let’s get to know each other a bit more, yeah?” 

“Where should I start?” Seonghwa asked, head tilted to the side. 

“Hm, don’t know,” you put a well manicured finger on your chin, rubbing the skin there. “Let’s do it like that, I ask you a question, you answer and I have to answer too and then it’s your turn to ask.” A smile crept its way onto your lips as Seonghwa nodded. “Great, then I’ll start. How old are you?” Seonghwa chuckled and leaned back a bit, shoulder pressing against the backrest of his couch.

“I am twenty-seven.” He answered, not truthfully, though. Seonghwa was around five-hundred years old, which he would obviously not tell you. “And you?” 

“Twenty-four,” you answered, taking another sip from your drink, “your turn.” 

Seonghwa thought for a second, “What are you doing currently, like, work related or something?” 

“I work in a restaurant, it’s a few streets down from here, I think I told you that already.” Seonghwa nodded, a few strands of his hair moving in front of his eyes, but he didn’t move to push them away. “And I already know where you work,” you said sheepishly, “at the library around the corner. It’s my favorite one in this area. I’m surprised I never saw you there.”

The evening went smoothly. You and Seonghwa talked about anything you could, hobbies, likes, dislikes, friends. But what Seonghwa noticed was that you didn’t start anything that had to do with family. You only listened when he talked about his brothers and friends, but nothing came from your side. 

“It’s getting pretty late,” your eyes fell onto your phone, 8:54pm. Standing up, you bowed slightly, thanking Seonghwa. “Thank you for everything today, I really had fun.” The man quickly stood up, following you to the hallway. 

Taking your jacket and shoes, you put them on, turning to the man one last time. “I really had fun too, we could do this more often.” With a smile, you let your arms fall around Seonghwa’s shoulders, pulling him into a hug. Seonghwa’s eyes widened as he got squeezed by your arms. With great reluctance he let his arms wrap around your midriff, your jacket slightly lifting up and making him touch the soft material of your blouse. You were so warm and soft, he shivered slightly. A strange warmth filled his stomach as your sweet scent met his nose, making him take in a deep breath. 

He felt coldness wash over him as you pulled away from him bid him a goodnight, but not before bending down, also to bid a good night to Ayah.

Your way home consisted of you walking down the street with a smile on your face that almost hurt your cheeks. 

Seonghwa was restless for the remainder of the night. Tossing and turning in his king sized bed, mind reeling with you. Just you. He couldn’t understand what was going on, how something like a simple human girl could have him question his whole being. Was he doing something wrong? Was his father not happy with him? Seonghwa was never one to let himself be pulled in by a simple human. 

Turning on his back, he watched the ceiling as if answers would appear on the white surface. A soft groan left his lips as he pushed one of his cashmere pillows onto his face, muffling the desperate sounds. He couldn’t take it anymore. Standing up, Seonghwa put on the thick sweater that laid on his single couch that sat next to the balcony door, and stepped out onto the balcony, letting the cold night air touch his reddened cheeks. He let his forearms lean on the railing as he gazed at the city below him. The wind blew against his face, his already messy hair flying around. 

A deep sigh left his lips as he let his head fall onto his forearms. “A daughter of Eve, huh?” Seonghwa felt his eyes roll into the back of his skull as he heard the familiar, cocky voice of one of his brothers. “Harder than the men,” he said, letting out a quiet grunt as he sat down on one of the garden chairs, “most of your success came from men, am I right?” 

Seonghwa straightened and looked at his brother, noticing the edges of his lips pulled into a cheshire smirk. “San,” Seonghwa said in a warning tone, “don’t make me throw you out. And how many times do I have to tell you and the others to not just show up in my home.” With a puff through his cold nose, Seonghwa turned around to go inside again, his brother hot on his heels. He heard his brother laugh behind him, loud and boisterous. 

“Good luck, brother.” San patted Seonghwa on the back before disappearing into thin air, only leaving a puff of smoke and dust in his wake. 

“I’ll need that,” Seonghwa sighed, walking back into his room. 

Sleeping was unusual for celestial creatures, let alone having dreams. Seonghwa was tossing and turning in his bed as beads of sweat were running down his forehead and temple.

“Seonghwa,” he heard a soft voice echo through his mind, his head turning in all directions, looking for the owner of the voice. “I’m here, Seonghwa.” He heard it again, but much closer, clearer. The voice belonged to a woman, a woman he knew. “Seonghwa,” the angel felt himself melt as he felt her hot breath on his ear, turning his head so he could see her. You stood with a bright smile in front of him, clad in a white dress that looked like it was made out of the most expensive sheer. You looked so beautiful, so innocent. Seonghwa felt himself walking closer to you, a hand outstretched to touch your soft cheeks. 

The angel’s lips fell open as his fingertips came into contact with your skin, the seering burn of something he can’t describe running through him. His breath hitched, swallowing the thick lump in his throat as your own hand rested on his cheek. You pulled yourself closer to him, pressing your soft chest against his torso, your mouth only inches away from his hot skin. “Seonghwa,” you whispered, breath fanning against the skin of his neck. A shuddering breath left Seonghwa’s trembling lips, eyes not daring to leave yours. A tear slipped from his eyes as he felt your hand slide up from his hip up to his shoulder, where it then rested on his neck, fingers teasing his hairline. 

You softly lifted your chin up, ghosting your lips over Seonghwa’s, pulling a desperate whine out of him. “Seonghwa,” he just hummed in response, eyes unfocused and glassy. “You need to wake up, Seonghwa.” The words didn’t register in his head as your hands were roaming all over his body, leaving a burning sensation on his skin. “Angel, you need to wake up.” You stepped away looking at Seonghwa with a soft smile. “Wake up.”

A loud gasp ripped itself from Seonghwa’s lungs as he woke up. He sat up, eyes roaming the dark bedroom, his bedroom. A sigh of relief left his lips as he realized where he was. With a trembling hand he swiped his forehead, the sweat sticking to his skin. A shaky groan left his lips as he shivered, body burning up. 

He stood up, grabbing a clean towel, and walked into the bathroom. Seonghwa let the cold water run down his body, calming his erratic thoughts. The cold water cooled him down a bit, the flush from his skin dissipating in a few seconds. After a while he turned the water off and stepped out of the shower, wrapping himself up in the towel he had grabbed and walked back into his room. Water droplets were running down his temple and neck, his hair falling in front of his eyes, casting a shadow over his face. 

Seonghwa let his head fall, his chin touching his chest. After a while, he stood up and got dressed again. Some comfortable sweatpants and a flimsy T-shirt that was slightly see through. The wet towel got thrown into the laundry basket when he finished drying his hair, combing a hand through it to get it out of his face. He laid down and adjusted his head so he was comfortable, a sigh leaving his parted lips. After a while his eyelids fell shut, darkness enveloping Seonghwa. It didn’t take long for Seonghwa to fall asleep again, his breath slowing down and evening out. 

He just hoped that he could avoid you at all costs. 

A groan tumbled from your lips as you put your apron on, exhaustion coating your features. You pulled your hair back and put the cap with the restaurant mascot on before you went to put the first batches of bread into the oven. “Good morning!” Soonyoung’s cheery voice made you look up from your task, sending him a glare. “Ah, (Y/N), woke up on the wrong foot today? Because I feel so good!” You didn’t say anything as you started sweeping the floors, preparing the restaurant for opening, a few customers already waiting outside. 

“You know what gets on my nerves, Soon? The people that are ready to stand in front of the doors at 8am,” you grumbled, taking the seats off the tables as you passed them with the mop. You heard an approving hum from Soonyoung. 

You two quickly prepared the restaurant and unlocked the door, letting the few customers in that already stood outside. “Hello, what can I get for you?” you asked politely, a smile painted onto your features. Quickly noting down everything, you walked to the kitchen, requesting the ordered dishes. As you turned around you bumped into someone, causing you to stumble backwards a little bit. “Ah, I’m sorry.” You apologized, recognizing the face of the man, but didn’t say anything. 

Suddenly, he grabbed you by your shoulder, shoving you in front of him. “Watch where you’re going, (Y/N).” Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked at him with a disbelieved look on your face. It seemed like he wanted some type of apology– a more heartfelt apology.

“I… I already said, I’m sorry, Yeosang,” you mumbled, trying to side-step the blonde man. You didn’t get far as Yeosang grabbed you by your shoulder, again, and pulled you with him to the back. “Yeosang, I swear to God if this is one of your pathetic apologies again, I don’t want to hear it. I already told you, I’m done.” You said, voice sharp and direct. “Now, if you’ll let me go, I have to work.”

“(Y/N), you can’t do this.”

“Yes, I fucking can, Yeosang.” You turned around, holding an accusing finger to his hard chest. “You already treated me like shit and then I had to see you fucking around with one of my friends, Yeosang.” The muscles of the blonde’s jaw twitched as his gaze darkened. 

He took your hand that was pointing at his chest in a firm grip and pulled you closer, his warm breath fanning over your lips. “I told you I was drunk,” he seethed against your lips. 

“Fuck you,” you spat, eyes wide in anger. Suddenly Yeosang had shoved you into the closest janitor’s closet, his lips crashing on yours, swallowing your yelp of surprise. He kissed you so fiercely that it was impossible to deny him, your hands roaming around his built back, pushing and pulling at his shirt. “Fuck you, Kang Yeosang– ah!” A soft moan fell from your lips as the blonde started kissing and sucking on the soft skin of your neck. You gasped, grabbing his hair and pulling him away from your neck, he resisted, though, lips not even daring to leave your skin for a second. “You can’t leave marks, Yeosang.” Said man just chuckled, sending goosebumps across your skin. 

He pulled away, but only for a short time as he pulled your shirt over your head, his hands finding your breasts as soon as your shirt touched the ground. Yeosang’s lips attached to the skin right above your breasts, sucking and biting– leaving marks. You felt your stomach tighten at his ministrations, soft gasps and whimpers falling from your bitten lips. A low moan from Yeosang echoed through the small room as you tried grinding your hips against his. “Yeosang,” you breathed, letting your head fall against the wall you were pinned against. His hands grabbed the underside of each of your thighs and hoisted you up against the wall. You took this as a sign and wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling them flush against yourself. Just as you grabbed Yeosang’s face a loud knock pulled you two out of your haze. You opened your eyes to look at the man, his face warm against your hands. 

“(Y/N), are you in there?” It was Soonyoung. “Why is the door locked?” 

Softly pushing Yeosang away, you stood on your feet again. You looked around the room for your shirt Yeosang had pulled off you not too long ago. “I’m coming,” you said, smoothing out the material of your pants and letting your hands run through your hair a few times. Before you opened the door you turned back to Yeosang, “stay here until I come and get you.” With that, you exited the small room, meeting a very agitated Soonyoung. His frown said more than words could describe.

“Soonyoung, please–” 

“You are such a dumbass, you know that?” With a clenched jaw you looked down at your fumbling hands. “(Y/N), look at me.” You did as told, looking at him through your lashes, teeth gnawing at your sore lips. “Yeosang is no good to you,” Soonyoung paused, a hand of his falling onto your shoulder, “you remember how he treated you.” 

Just as you were about to answer your friend, the door behind you opened. Yeosang stepped out of the cramped room and immediately met eyes with Soonyoung. Both men had a frown painted on their faces as they stared each other down. You decided to break the tense silence between the three of you, a strained smile on your lips as you waved your hands in front of you. “Yeah, Soonyoung,” you looked at said man with raised brows, “why were you looking for me?” Your friend smiled as he stepped aside, revealing Seonghwa. 

Seonghwa’s lips pulled into a thin line as he looked at you, noticing your slightly disheveled look and swollen lips. “Hi, (Y/N),” he greeted sheepishly, a soft blush rising to his cheeks, almost going unnoticed by you, almost.

“I wasn’t expecting you here,” you said as you walked to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulder to pull him into a hug. “How are you?” you asked with a wide smile, 

Seonghwa slowly wrapped his own arms around your midriff as he answered your question, “I’m good. Just a bit tired.” As you pulled away, he felt himself hesitate before letting you go. “I just wanted to ask,” he trailed off as he met Yeosang’s bored gaze, the blonde’s eyes boring through the angel’s skull. “I just wanted to ask if you had time after work, you know, to go out on a walk?” You felt your cheeks heat up as you smiled at Seonghwa. 

Just as you were about to answer, Yeosang pushed you to the side, eyeing Seonghwa up and down. “No, she doesn’t have time after work.” Seonghwa’s eyes moved from your face to Yeosang’s, noticing the twitch of the muscles in your jaw. “So, if you would be nice enough and let (Y/N) do her job, that would make me very happy.” Yeosang’s heavy hand fell onto Seonghwa’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. “Go,” Yeosang mumbled as he slightly pushed you forward. With one last apologetic look over your shoulder, you waved Seonghwa goodbye. 

Seonghwa sighed as he turned to Soonyoung, a soft smile on his lips. He noticed the glare Soonyoung sent to Yeosang before he turned to Seonghwa. “I guess I’ll see you around.” Seonghwa waved as he walked to the entry of the restaurant.

“I’m sorry, dude. Didn’t know she had any last minute plans.”  Soonyoung waved back at Seonghwa, feeling bad that he had to experience this. “He fuckin’ likes her,” he mumbled as Seonghwa left the restaurant. 

Seonghwa’s gaze never left the ground as he walked back into his apartment. What was I thinking? He felt his eyes sting a little, causing him to rub them furiously. A sigh fell from his lips as he felt his heart skip a few beats. What’s happening? Not even a few seconds later, he felt something warm run down his cold cheek. The tips of his fingers came up to swipe at his cheek, seeing nothing but a clear liquid staining his fingers. Tears? Since when could Seonghwa cry? And why was he crying? With a deep breath, Seonghwa rubbed all of the wetness away from his face and straightened again, taking long strides to his apartment.

Taking off his jacket and shoes, he walked into his living room, not even acknowledging the pink-haired angel sitting on his couch, Ayah in his lap. “Brother, finally home.” His brother greeted him, a smile stretched on San’s features. “How was it?” he asked, trailing off. “You know, asking (Y/N) out?” San’s smile widened as his brother turned around to face him, lips pulled into a tight line. 

“She can’t go,” Seonghwa answered, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. Turning around, he filled water into his kettle, preparing tea for San and himself. “This guy there, I think it was her boyfriend or something, told me that she can’t, so I didn’t question it further.” He said, hearing the water boil in the kettle, a scoff leaving his lips.

“Humans are complicated creatures,” San said, standing up to walk over to his brother, jumping onto the counter and letting his legs dangle. “Brother,” San’s voice turned firm, almost even stern. “Be careful of her. The daughters of Eve are the majority in hell.” His hand fell onto Seonghwa’s shoulder, squeezing tightly.

“But the majority in heaven too, San. Don’t forget that.” A loud boisterous laugh echoed through the kitchen as San looked at his brother with a blinding smile. 

It was already late. The sun had gone down and the sky was littered with stars, the moon shining upon the city. Seonghwa was sitting on his balcony, letting the cold wind blow through his hair. He let his head rest on the back of his chair with his eyes closed, enjoying the silence. Just as sleep was about to take him away from the moment, his phone went off. Quickly fishing it out of his hoodie’s pocket, he checked the caller ID. You. Seonghwa felt himself frown as he silenced your call, not wanting to talk to you right now. He didn't know if it was the right thing to do so, though. He kept eyeing his phone as you called. One missed call from (Y/N). Just as his phone turned off, it went off again. This time, though, it was a text message from you. 

(y/n): i’m so sorry about today :( 

(y/n): yeosang can be an asshole and i am really sorry if he was rude to you today. i would have loved to hang out with you but i don’t even think you want it because of that dumbass. and you even came to my workplace to ask :( and then this happened.

(y/n): again. i am so sorry and i hope we can hang out another time when you are free :) 

Seonghwa let his phone fall back into his pocket, now wide awake. His heart was pounding against his ribcage as he thought about your texts. The way you went out of your way to apologize for something someone else did, feeling as if you were at fault. No, he could never blame you for what that guy did. As he thought about today’s events, your face flashed in front of his eyes. Your flushed face, swollen, and bitten lips. Staring at him with those innocent eyes. Truly an angel, he thought. 

With a bolt, Seonghwa sat up, eyes wide. No, no, no, he couldn’t think of a human girl like that. None of Eve’s daughters were angels. The thought immediately left his mind as he let his head rest in his warm palm, elbows digging into his knee. 

After a while, he stood up and went to his bedroom, letting himself sink into his bed. As soon as Seonghwa closed his eyes, darkness enveloped him and sleep overtook his consciousness. 

“Seonghwa,” somebody called, her voice soft and smooth. “Seonghwa,” it sounded like she was near. “Seonghwa.” Said man turned around and saw a face he could recognize from miles away. “Hi,” you smiled sweetly at him, your arms finding his neck, pulling him into a hug. 

Warm. You were warm against Seonghwa’s torso. Soft. Seonghwa felt your skin from underneath the flimsy shirt as he hugged you, his arms wrapping around your midriff. Sweet. You smelled sweet, like the flowers that bloomed in the gardens of heaven. 

His eyes fluttered shut as he burrowed his nose into your neck, taking a deep breath of your sweet scent. Sighing into your neck, he tightened his hold on you, pulling you flush against him. Suddenly, he couldn’t feel the thin piece of cloth you had on anymore, his fingers touching your bare skin. 

“Seonghwa,” you breathed, your warm breath fanning across the skin of his neck. A shiver ran through his body as he pressed himself closer to you, feeling every curve and dip of your torso. “Seonghwa,” you gasped, fingers tangling into his hair, pulling slightly. This pushed a soft groan out of Seonghwa’s lungs. “Wake up, Seonghwa.” He felt warmth engulfing him, making him breathe heavily into your neck. “You need to wake up.” With a hazy mind, he pulled away to look at you, your hands finding each side of his flushed face. He didn't dare look down, scared of what he might see. You softly pulled his face closer to yours, so close that he could feel your warm breath on his lips. “You need to wake up, Seonghwa.” 

A spark went through his body as you ghosted your lips over his.

A gasp ripped itself out of Seonghwa’s lungs as his eyes hot open. Sweat trickling down his forehead, skin sticky and wet. He threw his blanket off of himself and sat up. His chest moved up and down as he breathed heavily, eyes wide. What did he just see?

He stood up on shaky legs, a soft groan leaving his lips as he felt an unfamiliar burn in his lower stomach, his hand touching the area. Finally stable, he walked to his bathroom, turning on the light just to see his disheveled reflection. His black hair was sticking to his forehead, wet strands falling in front of his eyes, skin flushed and hot. Walking to the faucet, he turned on the cold water. Slowly, he washed his face, arms, hands, and neck with the cold water, cooling down a bit.

He calmed down a bit, heart slowing down and breath evening out. With a deep sigh, he let himself slide onto the bathroom floor, elbows braced on each of his knees and face in his hands. Seonghwa closed his eyes, but not for long. The longer he had his eyes closed, the more pictures of your face flashed in front of his eyes. 

A dry sob fell from Seonghwa’s plump lips, eyes fixed on that one spot on the ceiling. He felt warm tears run down his face as he sat there and sobbed into the quiet bathroom. 

After a few minutes– which felt like hours to Seonghwa, he calmed down. Sobs turning into soft sniffles and hiccups. His eyelids felt heavy, hard to keep them open any longer. Without the intention, Seonghwa’s eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion engulfing him and pulling him into unconsciousness. 

Seonghwa woke up to the blaring ringtone of his phone that was in his bedroom, a soft groan leaving his lips as he straightened his back. He felt like he couldn’t hold his head up because of how heavy it felt. One of his hands was rubbing the back of his sore neck as the other braced itself on the edge of the bathtub so he could stand up. With wobbly steps, he walked into his bedroom and looked at his ringing phone. Without checking who the person was that was calling, he picked up. “Hello?” he asked, voice groggy and laced with sleep. 

“Seonghwa?” Oh no. No, no, no. Seonghwa felt his heart skip a beat as he sat down on his bed, a soft sigh leaving his lips at the feeling of his soft mattress. “Hi, I hope I’m not bothering.” Seonghwa’s breath hitched as he heard your worried tone, eyebrows pulling together. 

“No, you aren’t. Don't worry.”

“Oh,” He blinked a few times, gaze fixed on his hand that was sitting on his thigh. “You don’t  sound well,” you whispered as if your voice would disturb the man. “Is everything alright?” 

Seonghwa felt his eyes sting again, tears pressing against the back of his eyes. “Yes, everything’s alright, I just didn’t sleep well.” Seonghwa’s lips curled into a soft smile as a single tear ran down his cheek. 

“Ah, okay, then I won’t bother you anymore. Go to sleep,” he could basically hear the smile, “rest well.” With that you had hung up, leaving Seonghwa in the suffocating silence of his own four walls. He let his gaze fall onto the digital clock next to his bed. With a sigh, he let himself drop into his bed, pulling his heavy legs to his torso and closing his eyes. 

Moans and groans flew through your apartment, clothes scattered across your floors as you and Yeosang pushed yourselves into your bedroom. A soft yelp fell from your lips as Yeosang pushed you onto your bed, crawling on top of you, his lips ghosting over the skin of your neck. You gulped as your hands found his hair, pulling him closer to your warm body, feeling his skin against yours. The alcohol running through your system isn’t making this any better. Every touch the blonde man laid on your skin ignited a desire in you nobody could describe. You both smelled like a mixture of expensive perfume and cologne, expensive whiskey, sweat,and weed, intoxicating your senses. 

A moan left your bitten lips as Yeosang softly bit your shoulder, letting his hot tongue caress the sore spot, the marks he had left on your cleavage the other day still not gone. Heavy hands grabbed your hips and pushed you further into the bed, spreading your legs so he could situate him between them. One of his hands moved up to your neck, grabbing it, but not squeezing it, and pulled you up to slot his lips against yours, swallowing each moan and whimper he pulled out of you. 

He breathed against your lips, letting his hand fall from your neck to one of your breasts, kneading and teasing your pierced nipple. “Love your piercings,” he whispered, pulling at your pierced nipple for good measure. His non-occupied hand fell to your cunt, fingers tracing your lips and weeping hole. “Fuck,” Yeosang chuckled as his finger prodded at your hole, “so wet already.” He felt you clench as his finger pushed inside, the familiar warm walls engulfing it. 

Your arms wrapped around his shoulder as you breathed heavily against his neck, hips squirming to gain some type of simulation. “Yeosang,” you whined, “don’t tease.” You heard him chuckle when he started moving his finger, thrusting in and out of you, curling it perfectly to hit your sweet spot. Your eyes fell shut as you let yourself get consumed by the burning pleasure he was giving you. At a particular sharp thrust of the man’s hand, you choked on your own moans, whining lowly into his neck. 

Yeosang sped up his movements as he was aiming for that spot again and again, making you see stars. A choked sob left your lips as he added another finger, his thumb falling onto your swollen clit. 

“Are you gonna cum, baby? Hm,” he asked, breathless, “I know you’re close, princess. Come on, cum on my fingers. Show me how good you can be.” His deep voice mixed with his filthy words made you moan loudly as your thighs started trembling, the knot in your stomach pulling tight before it finally snapped. “Just like that,” he mumbled, laying soft kiss on your neck and shoulders, finger-fucking you through your orgasm. After you came down from your high, Yeosang flipped both of you over so you were straddling his hips and he was leaning against your headboard. A smirk was evident on his features as he was looking at the marks he had left, warm fingers slowly tracing them. His free hand went to your bedside drawer and pulled it open, revealing the condoms you had stored. Ripping the foil open, he quickly rolled the condom over and pulled you into a heated kiss as you adjusted your hips so you were positioned right on top of his dick. You shuddered as you slowly inched down on his cock, a soft sigh escaping your lips. Yeosang let his head fall back and hit the headboard. 

You leaned back, bracing your hands on Yeosang’s knees as you had your way with him. Moving your hips against his to your heart's contents. 

Yeosang’s hands were occupied with your bouncing breasts, fondling and kneading them as he watched you fuck yourself on him. He loved it when you rode him, especially when you were both tipsy. His dark eyes followed your hand as you took one of his and moved it towards your cunt. Taking the hint, Yeosang started rubbing your clit, pulling moans and whimpers out of you. “Fuck, Yeosang, don’t stop.”

“I won’t stop, princess,” he said breathlessly, stomach tightening as he felt his orgasm nearing. “(Y/N), I’m gonna cum. Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he whined, his own hips bucking to fuck into you. A loud whine echoed through the room as you sped up your movements, chasing your own high. Yeosang puts more pressure onto your clit, causing you to lurch forward and fall onto his chest. The blonde took this as an opportunity and wrapped his arms around you, fucking up into you. 

You moaned into Yeosang’s neck as you came, shivering as hot pleasure overtook your senses. Yeosang wasn’t far behind, after a few thrusts into your warm cunt, he came into the condom, still softly rutting into you. As you try to regain your breath, you let your arms fall to your sides, exhaustion slowly eating away at you. “Come on, let’s get cleaned up.”

No matter how much you hated Yeosang, you would still risk it for him, which wasn’t exactly the best idea someone would have. 

A little over a week has passed since you last heard from Seonghwa, and fucked Yeosang. 

“What is it with that long face?” Soonyoung nudged your shoulder as he walked past you, giving the order he just wrote down to the cook. “Is it Yeosang? Did he do something?” You heard Soonyoung’s tone get sharper when he mentioned your ex. Pursing your lips, you slowly shook your head. Your friend’s shoulders dropped as his gaze softened, draping an arm over your shoulder. “C’mon, you can tell me, you know that.” 

With a deep sigh, you turned to Soonyoung, eyes anywhere but his. “I don’t know. Since that Yeosang incident a few days ago Seonghwa hasn’t called me or even opened the chat when I texted him a few days ago. I fucked up.” You let your head hang as you sighed again. 

Soonyoung’s hands fell onto your shoulders, making you look up at him. “Don’t say that,” he said sternly, slightly squeezing your shoulders. “None of this was your fault.” A soft chuckle left your lips as you hugged your friend, arms wrapped around his neck as he pulled you deeper into his embrace. A loud exhale left your lungs as you entered your apartment, letting the heavy bag on your shoulder slide down and hit the ground in a loud thud. Locking the door behind you, you walked into the living room, putting the plastic bag that had your dinner in it on the small coffee table. You sat down and grabbed the remote, switching multiple channels until one slightly caught your attention. While you were watching TV as you ate your food, most of your attention was on the food rather than the TV and the door. The door? You quickly turned the TV off and sat in silence, the bite you had in your mouth sitting there, unchewed, as you tried to listen to the door. Ring! You quickly swallowed the food, hitting against your chest as it refused to go down, and walked to the front door. Looking through the peep-hole you saw a very familiar face.

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[earthtooz]

fluff! rin kisses u, it's kinda like making out but also not, unedited so bad writing, ooc rin??? maybe??? i've said it once and i'll say it again, rin has the personality of an apple.

somehow, you find yourself sharing a ferris wheel cart with itoshi rin.

you cannot recall how you got here, having been talking with bachira and isagi mere moments ago whilst waiting in line for the ferris wheel, you don't know how you ended up alone with itoshi rin.

no- wait, you know exactly how. where you were supposed to be in a group of four, isagi and bachira immediately closed the door on you, blocking you out. as you curse them out, they just made silly faces in retaliation.

it's not like you hated the idea of being alone with him, it's just you had kind of a massive crush on the striker and if you were left alone with him for more than two minutes, you might combust. from embarrassment or from how fast your heart and thoughts race around him, you're not too sure.

either way, the thought of being in such an intimate space with him was really anxiety-inducing.

the worst part of it all was that rin remained his stoic, deadpanned self, unaware of the frenzy that was occurring within your soul. he looked so good in his casual-wear too, dressed in his trench coat and turtleneck- how are you going to function near him?

"thank you," you mutter with a grateful smile when the ferris wheel operator opens the door to the cart.

rin holds it open for you to step in first and you comply with his command. the cart dips when he steps in and where you thought he would take the seat opposing yours, the athlete catches you off guard once again by settling beside you.

you can feel the warmth of his leg pressed against yours.

"enjoy the ride!" the attendant calls out, disrupting your brief meltdown as you wave to her.

oh you were definitely going to enjoy the ride, or maybe come out of it half-alive, who knows.

"so, do you like ferris wheels?" you ask, fidgeting with your hands when you look over to him.

he shrugs. you feel the movement right against you. "i'm impartial. i don't go on them often."

you were surprised he even agreed to go on one in the first place.

"there's some aspect of fun to them," you voice, fully leaning back into your seat to try and relax and act cool.

he huffs. "like what?"

"heights are cool."

"i guess they can be."

"what's your idea of cool then?"

"rollercoasters. haunted houses."

"really? we literally went on so many rollercoasters today and you were straight faced for all of them."

if you looked closer, you would notice the small smile playing along his lips. "doesn’t mean i didn't have fun."

you bump his shoulder. "just admit that you like your friends."

not a single noise escapes him. bastard.

"okay, it be like that-"

"-i like you?” his confession catches you off guard. confusion is etched into his tone, almost as if he was suggesting his tolerance for you.

when you look in his eyes, it's hard to breathe, mostly because you don't know how to take this information. surely it's just platonic, right?

"i like you too," you respond, voice no louder than a whisper. you're not too entirely sure of what to think of your words but he doesn't press upon it.

a part of you feels disappointed that the conversation ends there.

suddenly, you realise just how far the cart has ascended into the air. the ground below you and its people has been minimised to small dots and you get a beautiful view of the water and the city horizon, illuminated by skyscrapers and the lights of people's apartments.

"the view is so pretty! rin, look-"

just as you look at the soccer player, he leans forward and the next thing you know, his lips are on yours.

it's messy, it's unreal, it's exhilarating. his hand comes up to hold your head against his, keeping you in his embrace as you inevitably relax into it, welcoming his warmth. a warmth that you miss immediately when he pulls away, leaving the kiss too short for either of your liking.

rin's looking at you expectantly. you blink once, twice, three times before coming to your senses; senses that yell to kiss him silly again.

so you bring him back in, cupping his cheeks to continue where he left off. this time, it’s less rushed and you can taste relief on his tongue, especially evident in the way that he relaxes against you and wraps his arm around your waist.

even as you pull away, rin chases after you for a second before recovering, leaving you both to bask in the afterglow of returned intimacy.

"i like you," he tries again.

you smile with smeared lip balm. "i like you too."

[bullet-prooflove]

The Study!Series Part Seven: Cutting - Dean Archer x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @helsinkibaby @hufflepuffgirl @mimi-8793

The Study:

Part One: Courting Disaster - Dean realises Jack is courting you.

Part Two: Distance - Dean tries to discuss the distance between the two of you.

Part Three: Deserving - Jack tries to show you, you deserve better.

Part Four: Navy Shirt - You and Dean don’t have secrets.

Part Five: A Punch in the Face - Dean responds badly to the news of Jack's kiss.

Part Six: Blow After Blow - Dean doesn't know how much more you can take.

Dean doesn’t expect Jack Dayton to turn up at his apartment. He’s sitting on the couch, scrolling through his contacts when he hears a knock at the door. He’s spent the past few hours on the phone, trying to get one of the other hospitals take on the study and all he gets is the same answer.

You have to take it higher.

The problem is Dean doesn’t know anyone higher. All of his friends are like him, they’re the kinda of guys that like being in the trenches, they don’t exist in boardrooms, they don’t play the politics.

When he opens the door and sees Jack standing there it feels like the perfect end to a perfect day. You’re working a double at the hospital because you’re not ready to come home and deal with the ramifications of the study being cancelled. The only way you can cope right now is to bury yourself in your work.

“For Christ’s sake.” Dean erupts as he starts to slam the door in Jack’s face, but the other man reaches out, holding it open with his palm.

“Just give me five minutes.” Jack requests and there’s something in his voice that makes Dean pause.

“I can’t imagine what the two of us have left to say to each other.” He relents. “But by all means come inside.”

It’s strange for Jack, seeing the life you and Dean have built together. The picture frames on the book case tell the story of a happy marriage, one based on smiles and laugher. You bring out a lighter side to the Head of the E.D, one that Jack’s never seen before. There are touches of you throughout the apartment, pops of colour that brighten the living room, the fresh flowers on the kitchen table, lush house plants that radiate life.

Your office is the same, he remembers thinking how odd it was that the Medical Examiner’s office seemed more soothing in its dark basement than the rest of the damn hospital.

“The lip’s healing nicely.” Dean remarks and Jack can’t help but rise his fingers to touch it.

“Look.” Jack says as he tucks his hands back into his pockets of his overcoat. “I’m not here to rehash what happened with me and Isobel.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, Jack sees it the instant the words leave his mouth. Something ignites in Dean’s eyes as he fixes Jack with a furious stare, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Nothing did happen between you and Isobel.” Dean says forcefully. “You kissed her and I punched you in the face. That’s the summary of it.”

“Again that’s not why I’m here.” Jack reiterates and Dean snorts his response.

“I know why you’re here.” Dean says resolutely. “You were hoping Isobel was home, that she was alone, vulnerable…”

“Is that what you think of me? That I’m some sort of monster that preys on unsuspecting women?” Jack snaps back at the other man. “That is not what it was, I had feelings for Isobel, genuine ones and I thought…”

Dean knows exactly what he thought. He knows what it’s like to be loved by you, how it feels like the stepping into the sun. You have no idea how you touch the lives of the people around you, how kind you are, how compassionate. To you it’s just natural but to men like him and Jack, it’s everything.

“She loves you.” Jack says, his gaze meeting Dean’s. “She will always love you.”

“Is that why you took her off the study?” Dean asks him as he leans back against the counter. “Is that why you killed it?”

“I didn’t kill the study, the investors did. I tried to advocate for it but they’re more interested in prolonging the lives of those that can fund the hospital than they are in what happens after.” Jack tells him as he looks away, his gaze lands on a picture of you when you were younger, you’re standing alongside your brother on his highschool graduation day, your father on the opposite side. “I know how much it means to her, I made some calls, got the study over moved to Northwestern, Anita’s going to handle the change over.”

“Congratulations.” Dean says bitterly. “You get to ride in with your money and connections and be the white knight.”

“Dean…” Jack says quietly. “That’s not what this is about and you know it. That programme stopped Isobel from hurting herself back then, it’ll help others too.”

It feels like a gut punch because those things, the ones that Jack’s alluding to they’re private, something shared between just the two of you.

“She told you about that?” He says, his voice a little rough.

Jack draws up the sleeve of his coat before he undoes the cuff of his shirt and pulls up the fabric.

Dean takes it in, the white scars that line his forearm, they crisscross over each other transecting his flesh. Some of them are faded, older but others they’re much newer, probably the past few months.

The cutting was something you used to do to manage your grief. Always on the inner thighs, somewhere no one else could see it. It’s the reason you hadn’t taken a lover in such a long time before Dean, you were ashamed of agony you wore on your skin, deeply so.

“I’m more patchwork than man these days.” Jack tells him as he rolls down his sleeve. “Isobel, she saw these, she knew what they were…”

He trails off then because he remembers the tenderness in your touch as you cleaned his wounds, how careful you were, how empathetic.

“I’ve been there,” You’d told him as you’d withdrawn another antiseptic wipe from his cutting kit. You’d had one too once upon a time, tucked neatly away inside your make up bag. “I can’t imagine the immense pressure you must be under every day.”

“It feels like I can’t breathe sometimes.” He had whispered as you applied the wound closure strips. “Cuttings the only way to vent the pressure, it’s the only way I feel in control.”

“How bad is it?” You ask and he begins to unbutton his shirt. You don’t look away when the material slips from his body, he thinks you’re the first woman who hasn’t. His shoulders, his chest, his stomach, all of it is portrait of slender white scars. He favours a razor, you acknowledge, he has several in his cutting kit.

“Let me help you.” You request, your hand clasping his. “I know someone, someone who you can talk to, someone who helps me when things get a little too much.”

He’d started seeing Elle Abrams after that, finding healthier ways to deal with the stress.

“Isobel didn’t see it as a weakness, she understood what it was, a way of coping…” He swallows hard against the well of emotion in his chest. “She saw the real me and I think that’s why…”

He doesn’t say the next part but Dean knows.

That’s why Jack fell in love with you.

“Will you tell her about the study?” Jack requests and Dean suddenly understands the reason other man ended up on his doorstep tonight. It hurts Jack too much knowing that the woman he loves, doesn’t love him. He can’t face her again after that rejection.

“Yea.” Dean says finally, his palm rubbing over the back of  his neck. “Yea I will.”

When Jack leaves your apartment he has one more stop to make before he heads home for the night. He asks his driver to detour by Oaktree Rehab Centre, where Sean Archer works.

He’s overheard the discussions about Dean’s son, their fraught past relationship, how they’ve started to mend fences. It one of the reasons Dean won’t tell his son just how sick he is, he doesn’t want the kid to bear the burden of that responsibility.

He knows how much you love Dean, that losing the other man will destroy you. He can’t stand the idea of you going through that again, of trying to survive that grief so Jack, he’s going to do the thing you can’t. He’s going to save Dean Archer so that you get the happy ending you deserve.

 When he meets Sean he can see the elements of Dean in his features, they’re subtle but it's in the eyes and face shape. The  body language though, it’s different. Dean is always reserved but Sean he’s open, genial. Jack supposes he has to be when it comes to the people he’s dealing with.

“How can I help you?��� Sean asks as he comes to stand alongside the reception desk.

“It’s about your dad.” Jack tells the younger man. “I'm afraid he's not doing too great.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[girlgroupshots]

The Producer - PART TWO

pairing: arin x male reader/oc rating: M for Mature word count: 2685 summary: You learn more about your potential job while also having a run in with someone in need. 

As you stood before your uncle's building you couldn't help but feel a sense of deja vu.

Just yesterday you had been standing in this very position but with much less information than you currently held. Ironically, you felt more confused now then when you knew nothing. The day you had spent with your Uncle did nothing to help you make a decision. If anything it only confirmed that he was a terrific salesman. And then there was the night you had spent with Jessica. You assumed it meant nothing but that was one hell of a way to get to know each other. The end result of all of this was that you had gotten little to no sleep after you made it back to your motel room. You briefly contemplated merely catching the train back home but fortunately, or unfortunately, your conscious wouldn't let you do it.

So here you were, running on fumes but punctiual nonetheless.

On cue you saw Jessica walking up to the doors from inside. She seemed just as you had saw her yesterday, well, early yesterday. The Jessica you witnessed in the afterhours was an entirely different beast.

"I almost didn't think you'd be on time" she greeted with a teasing smile.

"What can I say, you left a good impression. Besides something tells me you are a fan of punctuality."

"It doesn't hurt."

At first you had thought that Uncle Min and Jessica merely had a good repitoire but you were quickly realising that she could make conversation with anyone. A good talent to have if one was in the people management business. She walked into the building and you followed closely on her heels. Clearly she had a plan set for what was going to happen today and you were merely along for the ride.

"The girls should be on their way," Jessica spoke over her shoulder as we made our way towards the elevator, "We have a pretty wide range from our oldest trainee to the youngest but for the most part they're relatively close."

You merely gave a nod, absorbing the information that she was giving me.

"Before they get here I want to give you a brief rundown. Just enough so you know a little bit about them; I wouldn't want to scare you off before you even accept the job."

You laughed lightly at her words as we entered the elevator, "Don't worry, I'm too impressed to be scared so far. Honestly though, it seems like you're on top of everything, I'm still not sure if I'm even needed."

Jessica looked over at me for a moment as if trying to judge whether I was being sarcastic or not before letting out a small scoff, "Well, I appreciate you saying that. However, like I told you last night there’s a difference between the two positions. We've been at it for four years now and still haven't fully lifted off the ground. I think a new perspective could be just what we need."

She was simply being honest but I couldn't help thinking it was another reminder of the potential pressure you’d be under and how bad it would be if you failed to be the new ingridient that the company needed.

The elevator doors opened with a ding and you followed Jessica the short distance to her office, noting that it was across from where your Uncle had said yours would was. Or rather, where yours would be if you started working there. You took a seat, noting the small pile of folders she had on her desk.

"So how many trainees do you guys have exactly?" you questioned as she sat across from you.

"Fifteen."

"Fifteen?!" you tried to leave the incredulous tone out of your voice, "And the plan is to debut all of them?"

"Well, technically that would be up to you. That’s another reason why we need your perspective. If it were up to me I’d debut all of them in some form or another. When you're in a small company like ours everyone grows pretty close and attached. Especially when you've been through the trenches together."

You could sense the sentinmentality in her words. You were finally beginning to understand why she didn’t want to be in that position. They needed someone with a more objective look at things to make any changes that were needed. Even if that including cutting some of the trainees. That said, the thought of being the guy who comes in and starts cutting loose ends didn't make you feel great either. You decided to move forward rather than dwell on that thought.

"Of course, that's only natural. So you wanted to brief me on them right?"

"Just briefly,," Jessica nodded, seemingly eager to change the subject as well, "I'll start with the youngest."

"Noona!"

Before Jessica could begin, a voice rang out in the hallway. You looked over your shoulder then back to Jessica who simply let out a tired sigh.

"Noona, are you up here – " the owner of the voice stopped short when he entered the doorway and saw the two of you sitting there. It was hard to miss how his demeanor switched from carefree to embarrassed. "Er, uh, Ms. Jung."

“What is it Jinyoung?”

“When the other girls start arriving should I send them to practice room?”

"Yes, please. Thank you, Jinyoung" Jessica forced a smile on her lips, "By the way, this is potentially your future boss. He might be working with us in the near future."

The man's gaze looked back to you before promptly bowing in greeting. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. I look forward to working with you in the future."

Honestly, it was hard to bite back an amused expression. The whole situation was unfamiliar. You were used to being the one politely bowing to the higher ups in the company. Now here you were in the reverse situation and the man couldn't be that much younger than yourself Still, it'd be rude to simply laugh so you managed to nod my head in response.

"Likewise."

“If that’s all, I have to go over some things with our guest, Jinyoung."

“Right. Of course.” The man gave a curt nod before scurring on his way.

When you turned back to Jessica you could tell she was already reading what was going through your mind.

"Don't give me that look. He's a member of the staff and he's a good kid."

"Oh, I'm sure he is...Noona."

"Don't you start."

You were unable to hold back the amusement this time and despite her annoyed words you could see the hint of a smile on Jessica's lips. For all the teasing you could do though, you didn't doubt her words. After all, she did say they had a family-like vibe in the company. But that didn't mean you were going to let her live it down anytime soon.

“Alright, let’s get started,” Jessica said, pivoting the conversation.

At those words your amusement faded, feeling a sudden sense of anxiety in your gut. One might go as far as to call it nausea. It was all suddenly becoming very real. This wasn’t drinks at the bar or your Uncle casually telling you his grand designs. This was holding the future of strangers you had never met in your hands. One thought ran through your mind: Oh fuck.

Suddenly feeling nauses you needed to get out of there. "Before we begin I need to use the bathroom."

"Alright,” there was only a slight hint of annoyance in her voice, “it's right down the hall."

You quickly learned that you and Jessica had vastly different ideas of what right down the hall meant. Especially as right around the corner soon turned into you wandering the building. At least your nauseous feeling had subsided somewhat if nothing else. When you spotted a young woman you quickly approached her in hopes of gettimg some kind of direction.

"Hi, do you work here?"

Stupid question. This wasn't the grocery store. If she was in the building then she must work there. From looking at her she clearly looked like she could be another one of Jessica's interns. What you failed to miss among the startled expression was the flush that crept up her neck and colored her cheeks, or the way her thighs fidgeted together anxiously.

"O-oh, um, y-yes. Yes…" she fumbled out.

You assumed it was just a reaction suddenly having a stranger appear in front of her. "Great, can you show me where the bathroom is?"

"It's right down the hall," she pointed.

"Believe it or not that's thw second time I've been told that," you rubbed the back of your head. "Do you mind taking me there?"

The girl was silent for a moment, biting her bottom lip as she looked away from you. You raised your eyebrow in curiosity, wondering what was going on.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" she blurted out. "It's this way!"

The dark-haired girl abruptly turned on her heels and began to lead you to your destination. You silently followed, your mind drifting to everything Jessica had told you thus far. Soon you'd learn about the girls and then you'd have to make a definitive choice on whether you wanted to take on this project or not. Jessica clearly seemed to think she was capable onconvincing you. But you told yourself it'd take more than good sex to change your mind.

"Here we are," the girl's voice broke your thoughts.

"Thanks."

You intended to walk past her and then likely never see the girl again only to have her suddenly grab your shirt. Her breathing was heavy as she clutched at the fabric. For the first time you noticed the red flush to her cheeks. Did she have a fever?! Was she going to pass out? How was this happening on your first day already? You gripped her elbow to help her keep her balance, concern etched across her features.

“Hey, are you okay?” you asked

She looked up at her, wavy hair framing her pristine features. When she opened her mouth the sound you heard was not the response you were expecting. The sound she made was a moan. It was high-pitched and needy and undeniably a moan of pleasure. You looked bewildered for a moment, briefly wondering just what the hell was happening as the girl pressed her body close to yours. It was only then you noticed her nipples poking against the cotton fabric of her shirt.

“Can you touch me?”

“What?!”

In response, the dark-haired beauty let go of your shirt to grip one of your hands and moved it to her breast. You were able to palm it easily, feeling the stiffened nub beneath your hand. At the contact she let out another moan. For as confused as you were to have this girl begging for your touch and writhing against you, you couldn’t deny the natural reaction your body was having. Your cock was beginning to stir beneath your slacks and becoming painfully obvious. Especially when you were this close.

“I just need…” she trailed off, pressing her body against yours.

She found purchase on your knee, rubbing herself against it as if she was riding your cock. If it weren’t for your utter confusion at what was happening you might have pinned her against the wall and had your way with her. As it stood you didn’t even know her name. Settling for being her tool for getting off was going to have to be enough for now. Still, that didn’t mean you had to be a passive participant. You angled you thigh better, fitting it between her thighs and pressing more fully against her crotch.

“Are you getting off on this? Rubbing yourself up against a stranger at work?” you taunted her.

“Nngh ~ ” She swallowed another moan, panting heavily as she pressed herself harder against you.

“I bet that friction feels good doesn’t it? Did you soak through your panties already?”

“Mmm ~ “

She buried her face into your chest, a muffled approval confirming from her in response as she nodded her head. Despite her seeming embarrassment, her actions were no less desperate. She gripped your shirt tighter, leveraging herself against you as she continued to hump your thigh, a certain desperation in her movements. You weren’t exactly sure what had come over her. Hell, you didn’t know what had come over you! But the angelic whimper that fell from her lips was enough to not make you question it any further for now.

“Are you going to cum?” you teased, pinching her perky nipples. “Are you going to cum for me?”

“Mmphf!!”

When her orgasm finally hit, it was a silent orgasm. She bit her bottom lip, stuffing her face into your chest as her body shook. Somehow she made an inherently sexual act seem precious. When it was over you retracted your hand from her breast, holding her elbow until she wasable to stand straight. The snap back to reality was almost instant. Her face flushed a crimson red as she stepped back.

“I– I’m so sorry,” she blurted out.

Before you could even ask her name she was quickly gone from sight. Leaving you with a rather uncomfortable erection.

“...What the hell just happened?”

By the time you made it back to Jessica she had a tired expression on her face.

“Did you get lost?”

“You could say that.”

She gave you a curious look but didn’t say press the issue further. “Well, sit down. You took so long we have to go through this quickly. I’ll start with the youngest.“

Jessica began giving you a brief summary of each trainee from their name to their core strengths. It was informative and and for the first time in two days it felt like this was an actual job. She had clearly put in a lot of work but you’d get a better feel for the girls once you met them in person. After all, they all sounded great on paper but anyone could make a resume sound good on paper.

“Wait,” you suddenly snapped out of your thoughts. “Who is that?”

Jessica looked at the current file. “Yewon?”

“Yewon…She’s a trainee here?”

“Yes? She joined us shortly after we started auditions so she’s been with us a few years now.”

The lump in your throat grew larger as you stared at the picture on file. There was no denying it: that was the same face of the girl who had been riding your thigh some thirty minutes ago.

“Oh…”

Meanwhile…

Yewon stumbled into the practice room, closing the door behind her. She was panting and out of breath, her cheeks flushed with color. Partially because she was out of breath from practically sprinting away from the stranger and partially because of the toy that was still going off inside of her. Immediately she was accosted by one of her fellow trainees. Specifically a blonde named Yunjin.

“Oh my god!” Yunjin exclaimed, a smile of disbelief on her features. “Unnie, you actually did it.”

“Turn it off already!” she whined in response.

Ignorant to her fellow trainee’s despair, Yunjin pressed on, “Did you have an orgasm?”

“Yunjin, please!”

“Alright, alright!”

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this...” 

The blonde quickly reached into the pocket of her sweatpants, pulling out her phone to open the app that was currently causing the older girl torture. Meanwhile, a dark-haired, well-endowed trainee was getting everyone elses attention at the far end of the practice room.

“Everyone! If you missed the announcement, we are meeting the new CEO today,” Eunbi said to the girls gathered before her. “Let’s leave a good impression, alright?”

“I heard Jinyoung say he hasn’t accepted the offer yet,” another girl chimed in. When she looked up and realized she was getting a death stare from Eunbi she shrugged defensively. “What? I’m just saying what I heard.”

“Thank you, Jiwon, but either way we should do our best. Let’s make sure nothing goes wrong.”

After all, what could possibly go wrong.

authors note: part two done! part three is the last part of the ‘prologue’ of sorts and then it will start to be more episodic chapter updates. i finished this chapter a while ago so i thought i’d finally release it. i’m currently taking a break from writing but i hope you’re all doing well! i also might be moving things to a new blog as this is a side-blog which limits my ability to follow and such but tbd.

[thespiritssaidso]

The Psychic Went Down To Gravity Falls 

Chapter one: Gus, Don’t Be Our Flight That Got Delayed

Summary: One strong storm is all it takes to keep Shawn and Gus from leaving the airport in Prineville, Oregon. Thankfully, Shawn knows just the place they can visit while they wait for it to pass. 

Notes: it was only a matter of time before I wrote a crossover between Gravity Falls and Psych. especially with the recent surge in activity thanks to the Book of Bill. 

Also the title is a play on words from ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia’

And before you come at me about the airport, i haven’t been on a plane a couple years or so. I’m going off of memory right now. Please give me some slack. 

—————

Autumn of 1984, Gravity Falls, Oregon

The bell attached to the door of the diner jingled, signaling another patron entering. Outside was windy, a cool breeze blowing through the town. But inside was cozy and sparse. 

Henry leaned back just the booth across from Shawn. “Chocolate chip pancakes? Kid, you just devoured an entire plate of scrambled eggs and hash browns!” 

“But Dad! I’m still hungry!” He wasn’t actually. But the waitress — Susan. He’d seen her name tag when they came in — had walked by, carrying a plate full of steaming hot delicious pancakes. And suddenly all Shawn could think about was sinking his teeth into the soft sweet cake. 

Henry could only sigh. “Okay then. Close your eyes.” 

“Dad, seriously?”

“Do you want those pancakes or not?” 

Shawn groaned, and covered up his eyes. He hated this game. The first few times were fun, like a little challenge. But it immediately became boring after the fifth game when Henry docked points for calling a beanie a floppy hat. 

“Now, what was the waitress’s name?” 

That one was easy. “Susan.” 

“Good. What color is her eyeshadow?” 

“Her what?” 

“The colorful makeup on her eyelids.” 

It took him a bit of thinking, then- “Blue!” 

“Not bad. How many people are here?” 

This one was a little trickier. He pushed at his memory, pressing for a clearer picture of the diner just before he’d closed his eyes. A brunette with her hair in a side ponytail, an older couple wearing matching name tags labeled ‘Ma’ and ‘Pa’ (a little strange, but who was he to judge), some blond dude with a terrible mullet and sunglasses despite being indoors…

‘Come on, there’s one more guy, I know it!’ He kept pushing harder and harder until finally a crystal clear image of a man wearing a tan trench coat sitting at the bar who was turned halfway to listen in on Shawn and Henry’s conversation came up in his mind’s eye.

There. He had them all. So he began pointing them out to his dad, eyes still shut tight. “There’s a lady behind you with some weird side ponytail. That’s one. Mr. Pa and Mrs. Ma over there make three. Biker guy just went to the bathroom, so he’s number four.” He’d caught the sound of stomping biker boots walking by them and took a wild guess. “And then the weird guy sitting on the stool right next to us makes five.” 

Slow clapping came from his right. Not the demeaning kind of clap, the impressed kind. “That’s quite the trick you’ve got there.” 

Shawn looked to see who spoke and saw the man in the trench coat he’d mentioned just a few seconds ago. 

“Sure does, he’s got that eidetic memory from me. And one day he’s going to take my place and become a police officer and put those skills to good use.” 

The stranger raised his eyebrows and smiled, almost like he knew something they didn’t. “Sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Stanford Pines.” ‘Stanford’ held out a hand, which Henry took in his own and shook. 

“Henry Spencer, and this is my son Shawn.” 

Shawn looked at the hand shaking his father’s and couldn’t help but exclaim, “Woah! You’ve got six fingers!” 

“Shawn-” Henry began to berate his son. 

“No no, it’s okay. He’s curious, as most kids are. I’m just glad to see that this one isn’t ridiculing me for it.” He laughed to himself. “Well, I best be off. Research waits for no one.” And he was gone, just like that. 

Without hesitation, Shawn turned back to Henry. “Can I have those pancakes now?”

———

Present

“Gusssss.” 

“What, Shawn.” 

“I’m bored.” 

“That’s the fifth time you’ve said that!” 

“I’m still bored.”

“I gave you a coloring book, use that.” 

“All I have is a pencil. I can’t color in black and white, I need to use other colors! Like red, and green, and yellow.” 

“Oh my god…” 

Shawn twisted uncomfortably in his seat. Gus and him had been sitting at the gate for their plane approximately thirty minutes, but to Shawn it had felt like hours. He slowly slid down until his head was on the back of the shitty airport chair and his back was on the seat. 

Outside through the big glass windows, the afternoon sun illuminated the planes taking off and landing. Its rays bounced off the shiny metal and glared brightly directly into Shawn’s eyes as he looked out. He didn’t feel like moving his head. 

This had been their first layover of the trip, and hopefully the only one. Shawn didn’t know if he could take any more waiting.  

The whole vacation so far had been boring. Gus had taken Shawn on a trip to visit his uncle Burton — although Gus would argue that he’d originally tried to dissuade Shawn from coming before eventually giving in to his pleas to go with Gus. They, for once, didn’t witness a murder. So that meant the whole three days were spent doing grownup stuff. Touring the local art museum, watching some boring movie at the theatre Uncle Burton wanted to see. Shawn was regretting coming with Gus. 

Gus clicked his tongue at Shawn’s immaturity. “Sit up, you look ridiculous.” 

Shawn did so. Not because Gus told him to, but because his position was starting to strain his neck. He was also starting to gather a few stares from the other people waiting, not that that really mattered to him. 

Just when he thought he couldn’t wait any longer, a flight attendant grabbed a small intercom. As she spoke, her voice echoed through speakers just above their heads. “Attention all passengers of flight AA609 at gate B19: we’re sorry to inform that this flight has been permanently delayed due to severe weather occurring all over northern California. We apologize for this inconvenience and will be compensating anyone who missed this flight with a free overnight stay at our airport hotel while you wait for the next available flight tomorrow. We’ll also be offering maps of Prineville with popular tourist locations marked for you to visit during your extended stay.”

Shawn’s felt a small shock in his brain at the mention of the city name ‘Prineville’. He ignored the feeling and moaned in disappointment at the announcement — along with other passengers — and dramatically dragged his hands down his face as Gus stood up to grab the map the flight attendant had mentioned. Great. A whole nother day of not being at the psych office and solving murders.  

“This is dumb.” Shawn immediately began to complain the moment Gus sat back down beside him. “Why can’t the airplane just go around the storm?” 

Gus didn’t look up from the map. “That’s not how it works. And I know you know that.” 

“Mnh, yeah.” 

Gus tutted as he looked at the different areas marked on the map. “Doesn’t look like there’s much to do here in Prineville. Maybe we’d be better off just renting a car and risk driving back to Santa Barbara.”

There was that shock again. Like he knew the place or something. He could practically feel old memories resurfacing. As the cogs in his brain turned automatically, Shawn sat up. “Hold on, where’d you say we were?” 

“Prineville Oregon airport-”

“Gus let me see that map.” 

“Shawn- why do you need the map?” 

He didn’t answer, instead looking intently at the small map of the city they’d found themselves in. Prineville, why did he feel like he knew this place…

Shawn scanned the map, looking for details that stuck out to him. Finally, his eyes wandered to the edge of the page and saw- “Yes! That’s why Prineville sounded familiar!”

Gus leaned over to see what his friend was seeing. “What? What is it?” 

Shawn poked at a town just off the edge of the Prineville map, written in small italicized letters. “This is where I got my third job, after I got fired from my second job as a confectioner because I kept eating all the blue raspberry hard candy.” He missed that job. His tongue was stained blue for days after he’d left Prineville and moved on to the next town. 

He continued. “Some old conman hired me as the cashier for his tourist trap.” A conman that kept lots of secrets, to be more specific. For instance: a hidden lab behind the vending machine, not to mention the many fake IDs he’d found while snooping through the tiny room in the back where the security camera monitor was kept. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. He’d found all this in the first week there. Shawn was fired, of course, but he kept coming in to work anyway. Stan never stopped him. Something about ‘liking his gumption’ or some other old-person saying. 

Shawn remembered that town very well. He’d been poring over a larger map of the counties surrounding Prineville right after he’d been fired, trying to look for any cities that sounded fun. He didn’t have to look too long, as he almost immediately found a little town called Gravity Falls — a pretty goofy name, if Shawn was being honest — just next to Prineville. It was like destiny, at the moment. His eyes had been drawn to that fine print on the map like a magnet. 

When he’d eventually made it there, his first stop was Greasy’s Diner to see if there was an opening for a server, or a cook. But he was turned down, Lazy Susan informing him that they weren’t currently looking for any new hires. Thankfully, a familiar face had overheard his conversation and introduced himself as Stanford Pines. 

At least, he had only seemed familiar at first. He looked exactly like the man he’d met when he was six, except a lot older. The only difference was that the guy from all those years ago had six fingers, something that Shawn’s impeccable memory locked in on firmly. But this guy had the normal amount of five fingers. A twin, maybe? He had to be. But if that was true, then why was he going by the same name as his brother? 

Shawn didn’t ask, simply listening to the man’s offer to give him a job as a cashier at his tourist trap: The Mystery Shack. If he got the job, he could do a lot more digging in the place it all started. 

“Tourist trap?” 

“Yeah, he’d filled it with the weirdest stuff. I think there was a stuffed beaver with a duck head stapled to its neck at one point.” As well as other, generally stranger things. Most notably the jar of fake eyeballs sitting permanently on the cashier countertop that always seemed to be looking at him.

“I’m pretty sure that violates at least three animal conservation laws.” 

“Trust me, he had weirder stuff there.” Like a huge skull that probably belonged to a t-rex sitting dejectedly in the living room. “Anyways, we can go visit Gravity Falls while we wait! They might still have that arcade full of knockoff games. The old townspeople could still be there, or at least their kids.” 

“Nuh uh, Shawn. The last time we went to a small town in the middle of nowhere, we almost got killed in a burning building! Not to mention I was probably the only black dude there. And the people were just freaky.” 

“We also had delicious cinnamon pie, if memory serves me right.” 

“That’s not the point. There is no way you’re going to convince me to visit some old town you used to work at.” 

Shawn stayed silent for a second, then an idea popped into his head. He smiled mischievously at Gus. “What if I said Gravity Falls is best known for…” he paused dramatically. “…cryptids?” 

Gus’ eyebrows slowly rose up in interest. “What kind of cryptids?”

“All kinds of ‘em! They’re all fake, especially the ones Stan has in his shop, but there’s tons of local legends! Like the Gobblewonker-” 

Gus physically recoiled at the name. “The what?!” 

“It’s their version of the Loch Ness monster. But you get the point. That’s just one of the creatures they’ve got! We can go and get first-hand stories from the people living there. Whaddya say?”

Gus went quiet, thinking to himself for a moment as he stared at the map. “Why’d you leave if this place was so cool?” 

Shawn faltered. Why did he leave? Because he didn’t want to, is why. He came and stayed and didn’t feel like leaving. Ever. And that scared him. Shawn was always on his feet, moving around and traveling wherever the winds took him. This feeling, it wasn’t like anything he’d felt before. It was deep inside of him, keeping him there and making him feel safe. If he’d stayed any longer he’d probably have become rooted into that small town, never wanting to leave, never wanting to go home. 

That first night away from Gravity Falls was almost torture. It was as if he’d somehow become addictedto living in the small town and was experiencing withdrawal. It had taken everything in him to not go rushing back.

Now that he thought about it, maybe he’d just been paranoid the whole time. It was his first year away from California, of course everything new was going to seem a little scary or strange. And besides, it had been at least 16 years (Jesus, well over a decade already? Shawn was getting old) since he left Gravity Falls. Maybe he was remembering it wrong, maybe it had just been a really nice — albeit kooky — town that he’d gotten bored of. Small relapses in his memory did in fact happen to him, as surprising as it may be. It just didn’t happen often. His mind was practically a steel trap, but even Shawn could admit that some steel traps had a flaw in them here or there. He hated it when a memory managed to find one of those little flaws.

Shawn just smiled at Gus. “I got bored. And Stan tried to get me to wear some weird man-bull costume and sit on a pedestal for tourists to look at.”

Gus scrunched his face. “That’s messed up. You sure you want to go back there?”

Did he? Sure he had fun there. Those tourists were ridiculously easy to prank and mess around with. The Mystery Shack was a testament to that. But there was something about that town that made him feel… different. Not necessarily bad different, but not a good different either. 

He looked at the map once more and viewed the spots circled in red, then over to the edge where the name Gravity Falls was written. Shawn had made up his mind. “Yeah, it’ll be fun! Now that I’m not working there we could mess with the new employees. And I know the secret trick to getting free snacks from the vending machine.”

“You had me at free snacks.” Gus grabbed his phone from his pocket. “I’m calling us a cab to take us to the nearest car rental.” 

Shawn pumped his fist in excitement. After years away from it, he was going back to Gravity Falls. And this time, Gus would be with him. What could go wrong?

—————

Notes: Disclaimer: Gravity Falls isn’t actually near Prineville. It’s not near anything, because it’s fictional. I looked at the made-up map from the show and compared it to a real one of Oregon. And then I picked a city that was closest to where Gravity Falls was. Which was Prineville. 

ao3 link

Chapter 2