#no but seriously this tiredness is ridiculous

[gottagobuycheese]

was doing SO GREAT for the last few days and now all of a sudden it’s like all the accumulated sleep debt of my entire life piled into a gigantic frying pan and smashed me in the face. incredible. 0/10. would not recommend.

[luveline]

hi queen 😙

could you please do one where the BAU are staying in another state for a case so they have to stay in a hotel and for some reason hotch has to come see reader in the morning or before bed or something so he knocks on the door of her room and she opens and she’s just standing there with like her hair in two braids and like matching pink pyjamas and hotch just has a little laugh because he’s never seen that side of her before?? 💕💕

this would be like season 1 or 2 hotch :D

cw reader has hair that can be put into two braids

He texts you first but you don't answer. Hotch isn't happy to encroach on your space so early but he can't remember what you said last night about the killer's motivations and he needs to know, desperately, in case this missing piece of the puzzle can stop another young man from being murdered. 

"L/N?" he asks, knocking on the door quickly. "Y/N, are you awake?" 

There's a definite sleeping groan. Hotch winces at the sound but what else can he do? You'll have to wake up in an hour anyway. 

"Y/N? I'm sorry to wake you, but I need to ask you about Cory, last night's victim? You said it seemed more like an arsonist than a murderer, what did you mean by–" 

The door swings open. "...that." Hotch stares at you. 

You have your hair braided away from your face, strands rocked free and frizzy. More amusing is the baby pink pyjamas you're wearing; adorable little slips of fabric, pants that stop mid-calf and a camisole with soft lace at the chest. Hotch immediately looks back to your face as he realises his once over, but he can't hold back a laugh. A small chuckle, harmless. 

"Are you laughing at me?" you ask tiredly, voice croaky but threaded with amusement. "You woke me up, okay? This is your fault. Did you bring me coffee, at least?" 

Hotch puts his empty hands up in defeat. 

"Come in, then, before someone else sees me." 

Hotch follows you inside. He doesn't feel any pressure or awkwardness, but he needs to make sure you aren't either, and so he takes a cross-armed position against the wall. You run your hand down a braid and pull out the elastic, absentminded as you shake out your hair. 

"I said it was more like arson because of the mess. Arsons like to ruin things. And I just don't see how it could be solely pleasure based after such a massacre," —you move to the second braid and repeat the process— "the adrenaline runs out eventually, but the blood was– it was everywhere. It would've taken effort. There are photos on my phone if you want to see." 

You gibe him your phone, open to photographs you took last night. Hotch clicks through them in disgust. Like you said, it takes a lot of effort to make a crime scene look like this. 

"We could be looking for someone with an impulse control disorder," Horch guesses. "Our pool of suspects would completely change. We've been looking for people who have untoward desires centred around teenage boys–" 

"But if we're searching for someone who can't control their impulses we could easily be looking at a teenage boy. He'd have reason to be with his victims that wouldn't cause concern." 

Hotch finds it very difficult to take you seriously in your pinks. He laughs again, and you know exactly what it is he's laughing at, waving him away as you bend down by your suitcase under the desk. "Go sharpen up, Hotchner. And get me a coffee, please." You glance at him from over your shoulder. "I'd like to see you in your pyjamas." 

"I'm sure you would, agent." 

Hotch thinks more than he should about you in your thin pyjamas, the way they hugged your thighs and the naked lengths of your arms, your ankles, he's ridiculous, but it's stuff he's not used to seeing. He's usually so focused. 

He brings you a coffee and an apology croissant, which you eat in pleased silence beside him, fully dressed, hair tamed. He can't not see you as you were that morning, eyes puffy with tiredness but a hundred times the professional he'd been. 

"I can feel you looking at me," you murmur. "Laugh again and I'm telling Gideon." 

"Ah, and he'd reprimand me."  

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" you ask, almost monotone as you drink your coffee. "Do you have the case file for Patrick Gorden? I wanna compare the blood splatter on the walls." 

[youngsadlesbian]

BREAK UP — wanda maximoff.

pairing: wanda maximoff x reader

summary: wanda arrives home after a tiring mission and finds you looking miserable. it turns out it's just your hormones during pms making you convinced that your girlfriend is going to break up with you.

a/n: i'm feeling sensitive today and decided to write this little nonsense that would probably happen to me today if I had a girlfriend lol

word count: 1k

warnings: just the reader being really sensitive and this kinda of thing.

Wanda entered the apartment with a weary sigh, the weight of her latest mission still hanging heavy on her shoulders. She was exhausted, her body craving rest, but as she closed the door behind her, she was met with the sight of you sitting on the couch, eyes glued to the television. The soft glow of the screen illuminated your face, but something in your expression seemed off.

She walked over, her tiredness momentarily forgotten as she sat down beside you. "Hey, detka," she said softly, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. "What are you watching?"

You glanced at her briefly, your eyes glassy with unshed tears. "Just some random show," you mumbled, trying to brush it off, but Wanda knew you too well to be fooled.

"Are you okay?" she asked, concern lacing her voice as she turned to face you fully.

You shrugged, sniffling a little. "I don't know, Wanda. I just feel… weird."

Wanda furrowed her brows, gently reaching out to take your hand in hers. "Weird how? Did something happen today?"

You shook your head, biting your lip as you tried to hold back the flood of emotions that had been threatening to spill over all day. "No, nothing happened… I just… I feel like everything is wrong."

Wanda frowned, trying to understand. "What do you mean? What's wrong?"

You hesitated for a moment before the words burst out of you, seemingly out of nowhere. "I think you’re going to break up with me!"

Wanda blinked, completely taken aback. "What? Where is this coming from? I would never—"

But you cut her off, your voice trembling as you continued. "You're always out on missions, and you're probably getting tired of coming home to me. I'm just… I'm just a burden, Wanda! One day you're going to realize that you can do so much better, and you'll leave me!"

Wanda's heart broke at the sight of your tears, but there was also a small, amused smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She could tell this was your emotions getting the best of you—something that happened every now and then, especially during that time of the month.

"Detka, that's not true at all," she said gently, reaching out to cup your face in her hands. "I'm not going anywhere. I love you more than anything."

But you were far from convinced. "You’re just saying that because you feel sorry for me," you whimpered, tears spilling over now as you buried your face in your hands. "I know I’m too much to handle sometimes."

Wanda couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped her, despite the seriousness of your distress. She pulled you into her arms, hugging you tightly as she whispered into your ear, "You’re not too much, Y/N/N. You’re just the right amount of everything I love."

But your sobs only grew louder. "You don’t mean that! You’re going to get tired of me one day!"

Wanda sighed, but there was still that loving smile on her face. She rocked you gently, brushing her fingers through your hair. "I’m never going to get tired of you. But I think I know what’s going on here."

You pulled back slightly, your tear-streaked face full of confusion. "What do you mean?"

Wanda wiped away your tears with her thumbs, her tone playful now. "I think this might have something to do with a certain time of the month. You know, when you get a little extra sensitive?"

You stared at her for a moment, your mind trying to catch up. Then, realization dawned, and you groaned, covering your face again. "Oh god, I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?"

Wanda chuckled, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. "No, you’re just being you, and I love you just the way you are."

You peeked at her from between your fingers, your tears finally starting to subside. "You’re really not going to break up with me?"

Wanda shook her head, her expression earnest. "Never. You’re stuck with me, okay?"

You let out a shaky laugh, feeling the tension in your chest begin to ease. "Okay."

Wanda smiled, then stood up and walked over to the kitchen. "Stay right there," she called back. A moment later, she returned with a bar of your favorite chocolate in hand.

"Here," she said, holding it out to you. "Chocolate always helps, right?"

You took the chocolate, a small smile finally breaking through your earlier sadness. "Yeah, it does. Thank you, Wanda."

Wanda sat back down beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. "How about we watch some musicals tonight? You love those, and I think we could both use something light and fun."

You nodded, leaning your head on her shoulder. "That sounds perfect."

As the opening credits of the first musical began to play, Wanda reached for the remote and turned the volume up. The two of you sat there, snuggled together on the couch, the earlier worries already fading into the background.

Wanda glanced down at you, smiling softly as she saw the relaxed expression on your face. She knew that your emotions would be all over the place for a few more days, but she didn’t mind. She loved every part of you, even the parts that were a little more sensitive or dramatic.

"Hey," she whispered, pressing another kiss to your temple. "I love you. Remember that, okay?"

You looked up at her, your eyes filled with gratitude. "I love you too, Wanda."

And with that, the two of you settled into the comforting familiarity of each other’s presence, the sounds of the musical filling the room as you both let go of the day’s stresses. Wanda held you close, her heart full of love and contentment, knowing that no matter what, the two of you would always be there for each other.

And as the night went on, you drifted off to sleep in her arms, your fears finally quieted, secure in the knowledge that Wanda was right there beside you, where she always would be.

[jaysgirlx]

Hey! First things first, I absolutely adore your writing. I though about something for Jason. Well, that request only makes sense if you've read Batam: Wayne Family Adventures on Webtoon (if you haven't, read it! It's awesome). In chapter 5, the Batboys have a push-up competition during the day and by dinnertime everyone is almost dead from tiredness and pain in their arms, they can't even eat, I thought of the reader feeding Jason while the others laugh or beg for it help too.

awww thank you for the compliment and I have read the Batfam comic!

❥ pairing: jason todd x batfam f!reader au

❥ warnings: just jason begging for help and attention (we need more of these)

❥ wc: 474

"Sweetheart pleaseeee"

"Jason Peter Todd, you are a grown man, figure it out"

"C'mon just feed me, it won't kill ya"

"Would you like for me to kill you?"

"No ma'am?" He said looking back at his dinner ate full of food. You then looked over at the rest of the brothers struggling to even move their arms and sighed. You looked around the room, reminding yourself how ridiculous all of this was. Then looked at who was shoving his face at his food like a toddler.

"Fine, I'll feed you"

The room went silent quickly and all eyes fell on you for a brief moment. Tim dropped the spoon that he had been holding up with his food and Dick looked like he was about to burst into laughter.

I'll never live this down, will I?

"Awww you're the best-" before Jason could finish you shoved a spoonful of his food into his mouth and repeated that act. By now everyone at the table was laughing and not necessarily at you but at Jason who seemed to almost be choking on his food.

"Wait, wait-"

"You wanted to be fed so I'm feeding you Jay,

"But-" another spoonful of rice.

"Now stop talking while your mouth is full!"

No matter how annoying this man was, you loved him endlessly.

-

After quite an eventful dinner, you were now lying in Jason's arms though it was just less than an hour ago that you had been shoving food down his through like a mad woman.

"m'sorry baby for annoying you," Jason said holding you close to his chest. He stroked your back, gently massaging some rigid or tense areas. He loved playing around with you but never when it upsets you. "I didn't mean to make you mad"

You giggle and cup his face into your hands, "It's okay Jaybird, plus it was fun shoving all that food down your mouth" you say, pinching his cheeks softly, which were now probably sore from all the food you had shoved in his mouth. C'mon you know he deserved it, even though you could've been a bit nicer.

You could never truly be mad with Jsson even when he did things that annoyed you all day. The feelings you had for him cancelled out any other feeling you got. You hadn't even been mad when he enacted that stupid contest with his brothers. You knew it was ridiculous but you liked that about him, you liked that Jason still loved to have fun and be competitive. It gave you a reason not to worry about him, not that you really had to.

The way the two of you just lay there in each other's arms always made you feel warm and fuzzy, there was no way for you to be mad at him at this point. You just wanted to enjoy the time you got to spend with Jason even if he was annoying for the majority of it.

"It was fun for your babe, not me for me"

"Then next time feed yourself!"

"Whatever say, pretty girl"

"Jason-"

"You still like me right?" Jason asked half seriously, half joking. He hoped that he hadn't upset you but he couldn't tell, he was really bad when it came to reading you. "Cause I get it if you really are angry" he said quietly.

You sigh with a soft smile painting your lips, "I could never be mad at you Jay"

[shoot-the-oneshot]

SUGAR DADDY

MODERN WARFARE MASTERLIST

Simon Ghost Riley x reader I can’t explain it but he just screams sugar daddy vibes you just know he doesn’t spend his money on himself why not spend it on you? Warnings NSFW minors dni this is my first time writing smut so be warned.

Despite practically living his life on the battlefield Ghost was more up to date on things than the 141 would expect, but this however he had no idea about until he overheard two privates that were sharing a plane with them that he heard about sugar babies for the first time.

“It's great all I have to do is buy a little gift and take her to dinner to keep her happy she never asks where I’m going or when ill be back it's perfect, especially for this job.” That was exactly what he needed and he knew just where to look.

“It’s just to pay my rent, I know most girls expect big gifts and vacations, but I don’t.” You stressed your point to the man over the phone, being your first time being a sugar baby you didn't know if that was normal or not. But having heard about how busy most of the men are that do this kind of thing you didn't think twice about the arrangement.

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, we're both getting something out of this right, just be there when I call and we have a deal.” His deep voice soothed you as much as it excited you, that was one of his terms, you never call him just wait for him too, which you didn’t mind.

For months that’s how it went, he’d call and direct deposit your rent at the beginning of each month, it was easy money. Then slowly things changed he’d call late at night, voice straining as if he was in pain as he practically begged you to talk about anything to distract him from the war you didn’t know he was fighting.

It would span from a song you heard on the radio you liked to embarrassing stories from your youth.

“I don’t believe you.” His gruff voice sounded almost playful through the obvious tiredness you could hear.

Laying back against your pillows ignoring how unbothered you were at him interrupting your sleep. “No seriously I’ve never had a real boyfriend.”

“You’re too beautiful for a man to not even try to make you his.” He spoke as if he knew it as a fact. The compliment made your breath hitch hearing it come from him. Shaking your head at how ridiculous you sounded, you’ve never even seen him.

“How do you know I’m beautiful?” Your question made him speechless, he’d forgotten you weren’t supposed to know he’d seen you. Luckily for him, your sweet, innocent little laugh saved him from answering.

“But no, no flowers no one to open my door or make me my favorite meal after a rough day.”

“One day, one day you will princess.” His deep timber voice washed over you settling his spoken promise into your bones.

Over the next few months, you had almost daily calls when he was free with some weeks of radio silence with only the occasional flowers and takeout from your favorite restaurants to remember him by.

You’d even call him your friend if only you didn’t imagine how good his voice would sound calling you his good girl as you begged him to make you cum wishing it was his fingers inside your drenched pussy instead of yours.

Moaning out his name as you circled your clit, hips raising off the bed chasing the pleasure, biting your lip hard enough you tasted blood trying not to scream out as you came, your fingers not losing their rhythm as you pretended he was easing you through your release.

Your shivered coming down from your high, your phone ringing made you jump as you rushed to answer it not noticing the name through your haze until the same voice you had imagined only minutes before met your ears.

“Simon!”

“You alright love, sound out of breath?”

Slapping your hand over your mouth not realizing you were still panting you swallowed the sudden lump in your throat. “Yeah just went for a run.”

The next day there were flowers on your doorstep crystal vase sitting next to a new set of curtains.

“Oh my god are those all Vivian Westwoods?!?!” Your friend shouted as you sat down for the weekly girls' night. Grabbing your hands, she examined the gold rings that went from your fingertips up to your knuckles the metal bending with your movements.

“Yeah, Simon got them for me.” Was all the details you gave, taking a tentative sip of your drink. to them he was your super mysterious boyfriend who showered you in gifts which to be fair wasn’t that far off. Just the title and the fact you’ve never seen his face.

You were so oblivious you never noticed the man in the corner, face covered by a dark balaclava. Silently watching over you like he did when he had time off. Ghost smirked under his mask as the warm feeling of pride filled his chest watching them fawn over the rings he meticulously picked out after seeing a man get too close to you one night.

He knew you’d pack a harder punch with your knuckles covered in the metal. Not that you knew the reason behind the gift.

Not being able to help himself he pulled out his phone sending you a text. ‘Call me when you’re free’ -Simon.

He smirked again watching you slyly smile at your phone typing before setting your phone face down on the table.

‘Okay daddy’

you blame the alcohol for the newfound bravery. After his text, you couldn’t wait to get out of the bar and immediately dial his number the second you got to your car. Making small talk until his voice got serious.

“I want you to meet me.” He spoke spiking your heart rate. “You can’t see my face but I want you. I’ll text you the address call me when you get there.” Your phone was still pressed against your ear after he hung up. Was this it were you finally getting to live your fantasy?

You couldn’t help but laugh pulling up to the adult store windows all blacked out a part of you hoped he wasn’t just going to have you pick out a toy so he could listen to you fuck yourself with it. You don’t remember quite when it happened but the voice on the phone has dug his way into what felt like your soul making you listen to every word he said.

You paused as your phone rang. “I’m here” “I know listen carefully.” You felt the excitement build in your stomach at the thought of him telling you what to do. “Go inside and go to the back room second door on the left and get comfortable.” You wordlessly nodded forgetting he couldn’t see you. “Can you do that for me love?”

“Yes.” “Good girl now go.”

Pushing your way inside you realize the windows weren’t blacked out, the store was just closed the only light came from the back lighting up the hallway he mentioned. You swallowed your nerves noting that this was how every horror movie started but for some unknown reason you felt safe.

Opening the second door you see a table backed up to a hole in the wall momentarily confused until you hear his voice from the other side of the wall.

“Don’t be shy love get on the table.”

“Fuck” you breathed out already feeling your pulse in your pussy. You listened to him and climbed on the table nearly moaning as you saw his hands through the hole wrapping around your ankles rubbing the thin skin with his thumbs.

“Remember we can stop anytime just say the word soap and I’ll stop.” Despite the haze in the air you couldn’t help but ask why soap. He huffed rolling his eyes on his side of the wall. “It will remind me of something annoying and make me stop.” He growls out yanking your legs through the hole up to your waist. You yelped in shock as he paused letting you get relaxed in your new position.

“Please.” You begged feeling his hands running over your thighs, squeezing and you hoped he’d leave bruises so you’d know this really happened and wasn’t some fever dream. “Please fuck me.” arousal fogging your brain. You don’t even care that you’ve technically never met you felt more secure and protected by him than you ever have before.

You recalled him telling you that no one has seen his face and that you couldn’t either but you wanted nothing more than to run your hands through his hair. Your thoughts distracted you enough that you didn’t notice he had stripped your pants off and cuffed your ankles to the wall spreading you wide open for him.

“Simon.” You moaned feeling his hot breath against your lacy underwear, breathing you in he groaned wrapping the flimsy material around his fist.

“Can I?” He asked between clenched teeth holding himself back with little restraint. “Yes please yes!” With your approval he ripped your underwear apart lifting the shredded lace to his nose moaning, stuffing them in his cargo pants pocket for later.

Your legs jerked against the cuffs as his hot tongue softly slid through your slit flicking your clit. Looking down seeing the top of his head dirty blonde almost brown short hair and thick arms wrapped in muscle and tattoos dug into your thighs and hips, pulling you closer and digging his face into your pussy as his licks got more confident the louder you moaned and preened.

Your head fell back against the table as you felt a thick finger rub around your entrance. Your mumbles of pleasure made him smirk against you, slowly pushing his finger inside you. The sloppy sound of your spletching coming from your wet hole as he pulled his finger in and out almost made him cum in his pants.

“Come on my fingers love, then I’ll give you what you want.” He breathed out adding two more fingers making you whine at the stretch and doubling down on your clit sucking it between his lips and flicking it with his tongue.

“Come for me, come for me.” The vibration of his voice rolling up your spine from your pussy making you explode in pleasure grinding your hips into his face the best you could. “Good girl just like that.” He spoke against you. “Yes Yes YES!” You screamed.

Just like you imagined he didn’t let up as you came, his fingers still moving riding out your high, as he stood up if you were paying attention you would’ve heard the zipper and shuffling of clothes.

“Tell me you want this.” He demanded slapping the heavy head of his cock against your sensitive lips. “Please Simon.” You whine, being ready to slide through the hole in the wall and beg on your knees if he wanted.

Choking on air as he pushes into you, his groan loud enough it felt like it was right next to your ear. His thumbs rubbed your waist helping you relax around him. Pulling out so just the tip was left then snapping back in with all the strength he possessed, pushing your body up the table.

Your moaning was making it hard for him not to rip through the wall separating you and pull you into his arms fucking your mouth with his tongue like he was your pussy. Pressing his forehead against the was he picked up his pace the sounds of his cock filling you over and over and skin slapping was pornographic.

“Give me one more love, now.” He growled. Your body obed practically coming on command you screamed clenching down on his cock milking him and making his hips stutter as he shook with his release. Slamming one of his hands against the wall.

After some time his hands softly ran up and down your legs almost massaging them from their stiff position as he caught his breath. “You okay love?” Kissing each of your ankles he uncuffs them. “I’m perfect.”

When you got home there was a gift box filled with the most luxurious bath salts and bath bombs and a still warm box from your favorite pizza place.

A few weeks later the 141 was at their go-to bar, sitting in the corner ghost was keeping a sharp eye on his pretty little bartender. As his teammates go shot for shot.

“Ghost help me with this round.” Glaring at soap he follows across the bar standing next to Soap as he tries to flag down the other bartender. Simon tunes them out keeping a subtle eye on you while you mixed drinks a wide smile on your face as you made jokes with your customers. He glared harshly at his teammate when he felt a rough hit against his arm.

“If you stare at her anymore you’ll freak her out.” Soap spoke patiently waiting for the tables shots and beers. “Wasn’t staring.” Was his retort. Making Soap laugh. “Sure LT…”

The conversation ended when your coworker set down the drinks, ghost grabbing his half while soap struck up another conversation with the bartender.

“So my big friend over here hasn’t quit staring at your coworker any chance you can tell me her name.” He asked making ghost tense “Soap!” He barked but quickly deflated as your coworker yelled to get your attention. ‘Shit’

Ghost was used to making himself look as big and as scary as possible to the enemy, but that all went out the window the closer you got he shrunk in on himself trying to appear less menacing.

“Y/n they were asking about you.” The bartender said patting your arm as she moves to the other side to take more orders. You looked between the two men with a small smile completely ignoring the balaclava covering his face.

“hello beautiful, I’m soap. excuse my friend here he’s not as much of a talker as I am but he’s been staring at you all night and this seemed less creepy than you catching him doing it so ghost, there you go.” Soap nodded toward you while ghost glared at him like he was imagining every way he wanted to kill him. To be fair that was probably exactly what he was thinking.

Your eyes shot to his making him swallow. He’d never seen you up close before, well not your face anyways your eyes sparkled in the low light of the bar making his cold heart skip a beat. Ghost lifted a single hand and shook it resembling a wave, Making you smile.

“I’m sure you’re a great guy but I have a fiancé.” Your words snapped him back to reality ‘a what now’ glancing down at your fingers finding a small diamond ring replaced the jointed metal ones he got you. his eyes hardened, grip on the bar top nearly breaking as he holds himself back from finding the man and breaking his neck. Does your fiance know you’re sleeping with him? How do you talk so late into the night for hours with a fiance?

“Of course, we will leave you be.” Soap nodded grabbing the drinks ghost abandoned and dragging him along back to the table. “I get she has a fiancé but a wave was the best move you had? No baby ghost running around soon huh?”

His words made Ghost snap, grabbing Soap by the collar and pulling him up to his face. “Leave it!” He growled, pushing soap back to the table where the 141 were now standing from watching their Lieutenant and sergeant toe to toe. Not that they would get between them price would be the only one ballsy enough to pull ghost off.

Pushing Soap back, beer sloshing out of the glasses onto the floor and his shirt. ghost stormed off to the other side of the bar finding a dark corner to brood in.

Words of “Was all of it a lie, did she play me, how did I not see it coming, I knew it was too good to be true.” All went through his head as he stared holes through the phone in his hands. The first photo you sent him staring back at him the same wide smile that was on your face on the other side of the room at that very moment.

How could she be smiling when she hurt me like this? ‘She doesn’t know it’s you dumbass’ his inner monologue spoke making his eyes roll to the back of his head in frustration. Deciding to completely ignore your presence lasted all of five minutes before his eyes darted up at a loud slap, finding you right in the middle of it.

He watches your shoulder raise and fall with a large breath, shaking your head you went to take a step away from the table full of rowdy college frat boys.

“Hey!” You yelped when the one that smacked your ass grabs a hold of your arm when you walked away, dragging you back.

“Where’s the fire sweetheart why don’t you take a seat.” The leader leaned back patting his thigh with a lazy smile across his face.

“I really need to get back to work.” Nervously laughing you tug at your hand trying to pull it out of his grip, only pissing him off. His smile dropped and he leaned closer yanking you into him causing you to stumble and fall onto his lap.

“I think you’re right where you need to be, right boys?” The table erupted in laughs as you struggle to get away grabbing the fork on the table and jabbing it as hard as you could into his arm. Making him exclaim and push you off.

Snarling he looked between you on the floor and the fork in his arm. “Fucking bitch!” You scrambled backward as he lunged for you. Closing your eyes you braced for impact.

Your eyes shot open with a gasp as shouting erupted throughout the bar. Only seeing a broad back standing between you and the table.

Simon didn’t know what came over him but the second you were manhandled into the man’s lap he saw red. His eyes scanned you on the floor for injuries as he moved between you and the men.

“Shouldn’uv done that” he gruffed out, nearly laughing as two of them stood to take him on grabbing them both by the collars he rag-dolled them to the side throwing them to the floor. Frat kids against a trained pissed-off soldier, it was too easy. Out of the corner of his eye Ghost saw his team move in to take the rest brave enough to stand up.

Ignoring the chaos around him ghost zeroed in on the one that shoved you. Wrapping his gloved hands around his neck pulling him close enough ghost could smell the fear rolling off the man in waves as he was face to face with ghost.

“You’re coming with me.” Dragging the struggling man screaming to be let go outside. This was exactly what ghost needed to let out his frustration.

Meanwhile, your view of the two men headed outside became obstructed by the man that called himself Soap earlier crouched down beside you.

“You alright lass?” He asked helping you off the floor as your eyes slowly met his and nodded. Soap led you to the bar and sat you gently on a barstool. Checking you over. As he looked you up and down you did the same.

His eyes shot back to yours as you laughed softly, “what’s so funny?” He asked, scrunching his eyebrows. By now the bar had cleared out and was quiet once again. “A Mohawk really?”

“A fork really?” He relates his accent sounding thicker with his deadpan tone. His question snapped you back to reality making you scan across the wreckage of the bar. Shattered glass all over, the floor covered in alcohol you’re sure you even saw a broken chair.

“Where’s your friend?” You gasped looking back to Soap and grabbing his arm. “Which one?”

“The one in the mask.” Soaps lips made an O shape before laughing to himself. “He’s fine I promise bastard has handled a lot worse than a few jackasses in a bar.”

For some unknown you were filled with panic at his words nearly toppling off the stool in your haste, rushing across the bar and out the door a small huff escape your lungs as you run into the masked man’s chest.

His arms wrapped around you catching you before you fell. “Easy.” Your breath caught as you locked eyes, dark swirls behind the balaclava stared back at you.

Ghosts arms slowly released you like he was clinging to the feeling of having you in his arms, with a sigh he dragged himself away from you and leaned back against the cold brick wall of the building.

“Um thank you for that in there.” You stammered fiddling with your fingers as he stares ahead at nothing. The only recognition that he heard you was a nod of his head as silence hung between you both. “What did you do to him?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Was his curt response after a few moments he sighed not being able to help himself. “Are you alright?”

Your brows raised in shock at his question. “No, I’m ok.” He looked unimpressed “He handled you pretty rough for a soft thing like you.”

“I had it handled.” You barked feeling the need to defend yourself even if you definitely didn’t have it handled. To your surprise, he chucked the deep rumble sent shivers down your back.

“I saw, doubt he will ever be able to look at a fork again.”

You smiled rubbing your arms up and down trying to warm up. “No, I’m not cold.” You lied watching him start to unzip his jacket and take it off. He didn’t utter a word just shook the jacket dangling from his hand until you took it.

The rich smell of whiskey and gunpowder and something just pure man filled your lungs wrapping around you so tightly you didn’t think you’d ever smell anything else again. You missed the way his eyes softened and filled with possessiveness simultaneously, seeing you in his clothes.

Then the bitter reminder bubbles up seeing your left ring finger. Speaking through a clenched jaw. “Your fiancé should’ve been here to protect you.” The silent ‘like I would’ hung in the air.

You laughed shaking your head as you moved to lean your back against the wall next to him. “I’m not engaged, Simon. It’s a fake to keep creeps off”

“Then why-wait what.” He stammered for the first time shock filling his body as you called him by name. Shyly looking up at his towering figure you nodded your head to the unasked question. “Your voice.”

Falling back heavily against the wall he pondered his thoughts the way you were gazing at him made it difficult. “What now?” He asked for once not feeling in control. “Well, I’d really like it if you took me home.” By the time you finished your sentence, he was already moving to lead you to his truck with a large hand warming the small of your back.

“You’ve got it, love.”

“Wait what about your friends?” You asked pointing behind you as he held the passenger door open. “Fuck them.”

Hii!! Hope you liked it let me know in the comments I wanted to write more of this but it was getting long so who wants part 2

If you liked this check out my other ghost works here

cod taglist request open

@sandinthemachine

[jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue]

i had forgotten about bleeding butterflies part 14!!!! omw to read it right now.

but girl… i was thinking about a drabble 👀 for the ceo fic, namjoon or someone eating y/n out in the kitchen before they leave to an important meeting

DON'T FORGET TO TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF IT! I'm a needy writer atm.

So you wanted a drabble and I ended up writing a mini chapter 🤦🏽‍♀️ although I tweaked it a little, I hope you don't mind.

Warnings: smut, jealousy, oral (female receiving), maknaes causing their usual shit.

Namjoon’s head hangs low, his back hunched as he looks at his hands sadly.

“Did someone die?” You ask the room, half seriously half trying to lighten the mood.

The other CEOs look away from you, trying to hide their expressions from the lead CEO but inadvertently from you too.

“Babe what’s wrong?” You ask Namjoon, dropping your things at the door and kneeling beside him so you could see his solemn expression. Worry drummed through your veins as you take it in, you can’t breathe.

“The copying machine died,” he says completely heart broken

You inhale deeply in shock… what? The copying machine you wanted to throw down the stairs on your first day working with them? Finally, it died? Hallelujah! You glance at the other CEOs, finally noticing the amusement in their eyes that they were hiding so as not to offend Namjoon.

Soon you find yourself struggling to hide the same expression, bowing your head to the floor in an attempt to conceal it. You felt terrible for him, you did, he had some sort of weird affection for the bane of everyone’s existence at the company, but honestly you were slightly tempted to work for them again now you knew it was dead. 

“Should we hold a funeral?” Taehyung mutters under his breath to Jimin, audible enough for you all to hear along with the shorter CEO’s snicker. 

Jin gives them a half hearted glare of warning, expecting them to be considerate when Namjoon looked like his whole world came crashing down. 

“It may not mean anything to anyone else,” he sighs. “But it was the first thing I bought for that company.”

“Aww Joonie,” you rub his knee in comfort, pouting up at him with all the sympathy you could muster. It was cute, the way your ex boss and now boyfriend who could command a room with a breath looked so distraught over something so trivial. 

“It’s the sentimental value,” he further explains as if trying to justify his sadness, eyes imploring for you to understand him when the others were ridiculing him. 

“I know Joonbug,” you rise from your crouching position, arms around his neck as you embrace your soft hearted boyfriend as you sit beside him. 

“You know Kitten, I was really sad about it too,” Yoongi says emphatically, drowning his tone in pity. You look at him amused, arms still encircled around Namjoon who decides to bury his head in your neck, shaking your head at his attempts to gain your attention. 

“I bet,” you say, knowing exactly what he was up to. 

“I was really sad about it too,” Jimin tries to play the same game. 

“You just laughed at Hyung’s pain,” Jungkook calls him out, earning an elbow to his side for the comment. 

“Did you have a good day at work, Sunshine?” Hobi asks as Jin sighs at the youngest three, now bickering amongst themselves.

“Mmmm,” you say before yawning, tiredness setting into your bones as you play with Namjoon’s hair. “Had a lot of stuff to catch up with.”

Your eyes narrow at the troublesome trio, it was your first day back at work from the holiday and your managers were not sympathetic to your sick leave at all. All three of them grin back at you with no remorse, slight guilt of course, but no regrets whatsoever. 

“Why is it when you three play your games the rest of us have to deal with the aftermath?” Yoongi grumbles in thought, hating that you were probably overworked today. 

“As if you don’t play any games yourself hyung,” Jimin retorts, personally offended, glaring at him. 

“Games, I might point out, we’ve kept secret for you,” Taehyung’s deep timbre is uncharacteristically serious, annoyance spiking at the accusation. “Despite the fact you rat us out at every opportunity.”

Yoongi looks sheepishly away, unable to defend himself as the others look between the squabbling sides. 

“What secret?” Namjoon suddenly straightens, his interest piqued while both Yoongi and yourself give the 95 line warning glances. 

“Should we all have dinner?” You suddenly suggest while your palms start to sweat. “I’m starving.”

Namjoon looks at you suspiciously while Jin and Hoseok try not to burst out laughing at the unintended innuendo relating to the inside secret the rest of them barring the lead CEO were privy to. You, on the other hand, were trying to act innocent as if your life depended on it. You try to stand but a firm hold on your wrist pulls you back to the sofa. 

“What don’t I know?” Namjoon asks, creases appearing above his brows as he frowns. 

“You guys are dead,” Yoongi mutters seethingly to the duo who look all too proud of themselves, standing with their arms crossed as they watch the aftermath of their revelation pan out. 

Seokjin sighs at the childishness of it all, although he has to admit it is entertaining watching you and Yoongi squirm. 

“Do you remember how we made the rule not to rush anything with Sunshine?” Hoseok says with a toothy grin, earning himself a look of betrayal from his closest friend. 

“And the rule about not messing about at work?” Jin adds, “Well when beautiful was working with us anyway.”

“You mean the rule to be professional that baby girl set herself?” Namjoon’s one eyebrow shoots through the roof as he stares a hole into the side of your face, you however have your eyes to the ceiling trying to find that lost eye brow of his. Maybe it left the room, you should go look for it…

“That exact one, yes,” the oldest confirms with a smirk. 

Was it suddenly getting hot in here? Someone should open a window, you would but there was a serious CEO currently attached to your wrist like a handcuff. 

“What did you both do?” Namjoon asks when neither you or Yoongi elaborate voluntarily. 

“What you always wanted to do,” Jin sympathetically pats Namjoon’s shoulder while the rest of them lose it with laughter. 

“Do you remember the day you went into Yoongi hyung’s office looking for Sunshine but she wasn’t there?” Hoseok looks too pleased with himself as Namjoon nods after a moment of recollection. “She was there…”

Your ears are on fire, how do you always find yourself in this position? Why was it always you!

The man beside you is all too quiet for a moment, and you can feel your throat start to seize at his silence. 

“Where exactly was she?” his voice is gruff, already knowing the answer but asking for confirmation anyway. 

“Under hyung’s desk,” Jimin states bluntly, looking at Yoongi as if he won the war between them. “But what were you doing there angel?” 

You curse him loudly in your head, if looks could kill he’d be dead by both yours and Yoongi’s eyes. 

“Not being a good girl that's for sure,” Taehyung says smiling before the duo start laughing so hard Jimin almost falls to the floor. 

“That’s enough,” Jungkook takes pity on you both, albeit the secret was something he had been a little jealous over for a while. They all put it out of their minds, otherwise it would cause an insecurity in them. 

Yoongi was the only one you broke the rule for, it was a bit hard for them to accept and digest without falling into a rabbit hole.

“And I was the only one who didn’t know?” Namjoon says quietly, making that guilty feeling suddenly fill you to the brim. This was great, first his printer dies and now he finds out he was betrayed by the love of his life and his best friend. All this just after your recent betrayal with the maknaes. 

“Joonie it wasn’t on purpose,” you whine slightly, voice small as you finally look at him.

“Nothing’s on purpose with you,” he mutters, that was always the excuse when one of them dragged you into something. 

“Joon, that's not fair,” Hobi remarks, knowing he was only lashing out because he was hurt. “You know how irresistible we are to sunshine.”

He winks at you, hoping to lighten the atmosphere now that the consequences of their pandoras box was coming to fruit. 

—

He’s not dressed for work yet when he goes down to the kitchen for a morning coffee, halting at the door when he sees you already there and dressed to leave early. His gaze hardens, sleep leaving him completely as he takes you in. 

He strides towards you, power in every step, making your figure press against the kitchen counter at his demeanour. After yesterday's altercation he hid himself in his room and locked the door to clear his thoughts, but he couldn’t, they were plagued by the thought that Min Yoongi got to touch you first, have you first when he thought he was the first one. It was stupid and he knew it but it still caused that vein in his temple to pulse threateningly. 

“Are you still mad at me?” you ask, looking at him timidly as he stood in front of you breaking him out of his tumultuous thoughts. 

He shook his head, eyes penetrating yours with such intensity you were struggling not to squirm. No, if he was honest he wasn’t angry at you at all, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want payback.

“No baby girl,” his voice is gruff, a dangerous smirk playing on his face, “I’m hungry.”

You swallow at the sound of his sexy timbre that never failed to make your knees weak. 

“Oh, umm,” you forget how to breathe, trying to remember as you find your words again. “I could make you some pancakes, or there’s cereal?”

He chuckles under his breath, the aura around him not dampening at all. 

“We’re both going to be late for work today,” he states as matter of fact, the decision already made, looking at you amused before he kneels in front of you, not breaking his stare for a second. Your jaw drops at the sight of him, your body reacting to his position while your brain lags behind. 

That dimple of his was going to be the death of you. 

He pulls the waistband of your work trousers down, kissing the skin just above your hip as he does leaving your panties in place. He’s pleasantly surprised you don’t put up a fight when he removes the trousers completely.

“Any important meetings today?” he asks, his voice low you almost fail to catch it with the way your blood is pumping in your ears at the anticipation of where his lips were going to fall next. To your dismay it's just an inch above where you need him, so close but too far away for you to handle. You shake your head desperately in answer, fuck meetings, who the hell cared when Kim Namjoon was kneeling in front of you like you were something to worship. 

He chuckles again, causing you to whine, fidgeting as you feel your underwear dampen. He finally breaks eye contact with you, looking directly at your heat and that cute little wet patch forming.

“That’s good,” is all he says before the next kiss is placed right where you need him. You’d be embarrassed by how you brace yourself against the counter behind you if the build up didn’t feel so damn good. His hands stroke the sides of your thighs, knowing you were going to struggle to hold yourself up once he started. 

He grins before diving in, sucking you through the fabric, his tongue licking you like he was making out with your lips. 

“Joonie,” you call for him deliciously, whining in complaint at the remaining barrier between you both. It's all too much and nowhere near enough, and yet this dulled sensation made your legs wobble, you were only just managing to hold yourself up with your arms locked on the counter tops. You want to grab his hair, you want to pull the damn underwear off yourself but you know if you move you’ll fall. 

It’s like he can hear your thoughts, or he’s taking pity on you, you don’t know or care. He hoists one leg up onto his broad shoulder, the other hand shifting the fabric to the side as his tongue touches you freely. Your head falls back, eyes shut at the sensation as a moan slips from your open lips, your hips thrusting into him as if you were trying to ride his face.

Namjoon could feel you throb against his mouth, groaning against you at your taste, grinning when he heard you whimper at the sensation. All those fucking rules, for what? When he could’ve had this earlier? He would never forgive himself, or you. He pulls you impossibly closer at the thought, eyes closed in focus as he makes out with your pussy harder, as if he was punishing you for keeping this away from him for so long. 

You can barely hold yourself up, on the brink of crying with how good he was making you feel, you can’t reign in your voice, always more pent up and sensitive in the mornings, your high within reach so quickly, he can tell. 

“Close baby girl?” he says condescendingly without breaking contact from your mound, if he could he’d stay here all day, he wouldn’t move an inch from this position of heaven he was in. 

“Joo-nm p-plea-se don’t stop,” you begged unashamed, gyrating your hips faster against him as if it would get you there quicker before he could take it all away. You knew him, if he really wanted to punish you he would stop you on the edge and you couldn’t let him, you had to cum, your body was screaming for release. The second he pauses you cry out in protest, he pins you in place with his stare, holding your hips from forcing him back on you. 

“As if you wouldn’t run upstairs and ask Yoongi hyung to finish you off,” he scoffs, challenging you to prove him wrong, prove to him that he was just as important, just as good at getting you off. He almost gives in to you at the sight of those tears escaping the corners of your eyes, the groan from your lips as the high you were chasing fades against your wishes. You had to grasp it back, it was so close. 

“Daddy please,” you almost sob in desperation, making all his thoughts go blank at the word. His dick throbbed at the sound, reminding him of the situation in his pants that he was trying hard to ignore for the semblance of control. Gone, out the fucking window, just with one word, the hold you had over him scared him out of his wits. He doesn’t even realise he’s given in until you moan out for him again, lapping at your folds like a starved man, trying to get you there whether you deserved it or not. 

“Ah please, Jooni-” You cry out unbashful, words turning more incoherent the closer you got, almost tasting it. “So good, so close.”

He hums against you as if giving you permission to let go, and you didn’t it was what you were waiting for, tensing as you drown him in your release, his tongue working you as you come down. The slow stroke of his hands on your skin reminds you to breathe, not realising you held it for so long at how hard your orgasm hit you. You pant, trying to force air into your lungs as your brain goes fuzzy. 

He didn’t want to stop, his lips still attached to you although softer than before, the overstimulation so early in the morning was overwhelming, but you couldn’t push him away, not when you were still holding yourself up like your life depended on it. 

“Joon we’re already going to be late,” you huff out as if you were annoyed. “Can you just fuck me already?”

He chuckles at that, finally detaching from you to grin up at you. He was covered in you, and the sight was all it took for you to lose your senses and lean down to kiss him, tasting yourself on him, making a mess but not caring at all. 

“Fuck me please,” you say inbetween kisses.

He’s about to give in, about to speak when you’re both interrupted.

“Not in the kitchen!” Seokjin’s voice yells as he passes by, leaving for the office, the others also on their way out. 

You both look at each other, laughing quietly at being reprimanded. He stands up from being on his knees for so long, no ache visible on his face as his dimples stand out at you. He leans in, arms encasing you where you stood, pressing himself against you so you feel how hard he is. The length of him makes you salivate, all previous humour at the situation gone as you look up at him in hunger. 

His lips encompass yours, no move to leave the room at Jin’s request. He was going to kill you both, but Namjoon was embracing his new philosophy as he rutted against you, tongue shoving though your parted lips like a preview of how he was going to fuck you. He had a new lease on life, fuck the rules.

[slytherinshua]

i'm really exhausted just need minghao to comfort me pls anything soft about hao i'm begging :((((

i'm gonna put this in with soft hours cause i have some soft bf minghao thoughts anyway skjskd

it's still early in the morning and minghao feels his own tiredness seep into every bone in his body, the intense dance practices yesterday making their presence known. he sinks his head into his pillow a bit deeper, sighing at the warmth the soft blankets provide him and just how comfortable it was.

"you'll be late for work, hao." he hears your voice, a small mumble close to his ear. he smiles a little, humming out a reply but still not opening his eyes. he was just so content laying where he was, that the intention of getting up and out of bed was a distant idea.

"baby." you say again, dragging out the petname, urgency starting to pull at your voice. "you said you had to be at the building by 8 am."

this time, instead of just humming, minghao chooses a different strategy to get you to stop pestering him. finding your wrist with his eyes still closed, he gently clasps his hand around it and tugs slightly, enough for you to fall forward a bit right into his chest. from then, he wraps his arms around you to trap you and make sure you couldn't go anywhere.

you whine out a complaint and minghao finally decides that he wants to look at you, so he slowly blinks open his eyes, squinting at the sunlight that seeped through the window. once his eyes were adjusted, however, the sunlight proved to be very welcome. the way it hit your skin made it look glowy and warm.

"pretty." minghao mumbled, a smile playing at his lips as he continued to admire your face without shame. you sat up a bit, evading minghao's hug easily now that his focus was directed somewhere else.

"baby," you said again, making eye contact with your boyfriend. his smile widened as he met your eyes, a soft giggle escaping his lips. he knew he was being a little ridiculous, refusing to leave bed, but he didn't particularly care. if it was possible, he would happily stay like this for hours, or maybe even the whole day.

"you'll seriously be late." the conclusion came with your hand cupping his cheek. he pouted with a sigh, knowing you were absolutely right. it was already almost 7:30am, and his time to get up and eat breakfast was passing by quickly.

"just 5 minutes?" he proposed, hands circling your waist, pulling you a little closer again. you sighed, knowing you could hardly ever say no, especially to a request like that.

"only 5, okay?"

"mhm... just 5." he hummed, hugging you as close as he could, feeling warm butterflies spread in his stomach once again at the fact that you were his. you were the one cuddling with him in the morning, looking as radiant as ever, keeping him company. he hoped days like this would continue for a very, very long time.

↳ send in your soft thoughts!!

[mors-venus]

part iii! thank you for all your support so far and hopefully you’re enjoying the series! stay tuned for the final part :)

part i. part ii. part iv. masterlist

leviathan x idol!reader: part iii

everything had changed within a few weeks.

during breakfast, you were less talkative and cheerful than usual, but that was overshadowed by levi’s incessant rambling about — you guessed it — the upcoming galaxea concert. asmodeus surprisingly took interest and kept him entertained enough to the point where your quiet demeanor was barely noticeable, easily being written off as tiredness.

throughout the school day, you paid no mind to your professors despite your upcoming exams and final projects as you zoned out, worrying about what you’d have to sacrifice and how you’d possibly make the devildom concerts work without risking your friendship with levi :(

and at dinner, despite beel’s best efforts, you barely touched any food at all and were the first to leave the table, usually saying something along the lines of “need to study.”

your hang-outs with levi slowly stopped as you began to spend every weekday isolated, either practicing in your studio or pulling all-nighters to make up for what you missed in class. levi was sad, of course, but he knew how seriously you took your grades, so he left you be… but he was starting to have his doubts.

it wasn’t so bad at first, but one day, when you didn’t show up to eat at all, the boys just about had it.

“okay, what‘s happening? where the hell are they? this is ridiculous,” mammon said, his eyebrows raising slightly in disbelief.

satan brought his hand to rest on his chin as he thought for a moment. “did anything happen recently to make them withdraw? mammon’s right, for once—“

“hey!”

“—this is unprecedented.”

mammon leaned his chair back, crossing his arms. “i’ll have ya know, i’m a certified y/n behavior expert. usually—”

“no, you’re not. that’s me. who do you think you are?” levi grumbled from across the table.

“oh, then why don’t you—“

“i don’t know! i’m just as surprised as you are!”

“okay, okay, let’s calm down a bit everyone,” asmo exclaimed. “i’m sure it’s just stress from the upcoming exams, and we all know y/n takes their grades very seriously. plus, with the semester break coming up, they may be thinking about going back home for a few weeks, and i can imagine that’d take awhile to plan out, as well.”

levi paled. you? leaving?

i mean, it made perfect sense… earth was definitely more pleasant than the devildom, and it was your home. but…

levi had started to hope that you now considered the devildom your home, too :(

however, if that was the case, levi had just the thing, and he cleared his throat as he excused himself from the table. “i’m gonna go talk to them,” he called as he went to go find you.

as levi’s footsteps echoed throughout the halls of the house of lamentation, he allowed his thoughts to wander, feeling slightly giddy.

while he missed your presence, maybe it was for the better that you had distanced yourself… since he knew he would’ve spoiled his surprise otherwise.

a month had passed since he found out about the surprise galaxea tour, and putting his otaku powers to use, all his sleepless nights had paid off when he managed to get two VIP tickets to the final day of their tour — D2 of their devildom concerts. these tickets included sound check, front row barricade, and backstage… no, he wasn’t going to think about how much they cost. this was the opportunity of a lifetime, and if these weren’t reason enough to make you stay or come back early for break, he didn’t know what was.

that, and it was going to be the perfect moment to tell you about his feelings for you. as one of the first things you bonded over, he was sure of it— he was going to make sure it all was perfect, the whole thing.

quickly reaching your bedroom door, he knocked on it gently, his voice soft as he called your name. “y/n? i know you haven’t been feeling the best lately, so i have a little something for you…”

he waited a few moments, but received no response. he tried again.

“y/n? you okay in there?”

silence.

his eyebrows furrowed as he sighed, turning away. if you weren’t in your room, where were you?

he trudged back to his room, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he tried to figure out any possible explanation for your behavior. what if you didn’t like the tickets? he knew it was silly, but now that the idea was in his head he was starting to feel anxious…

his head started to pound, but it was then levi realized that it wasn’t from a headache, but rather from the room to his left… your studio. even with the door shut, he could immediately recognize the song that was playing, and the floor shook every so slightly from the bass.

usually you didn’t let anyone in while you were practicing, but he was your best friend (and had given him exceptions on multiple occasions) and he had a good reason to interrupt. you’d understand, he knew you would.

levi quickly input the four-digit code and felt the tension in the door disappear, quickly swinging it open and entering the room to see you dancing to vega’s solo from galaxea’s latest album… which didn’t have an official choreography yet. were you creating your own? perfect. it was like the stars were aligning.

“y/n, you’re never gonna believe this, but…”

upon realizing his entry, you froze in place and stared at his reflection in the mirror in front of you.

the lyrics of your song echoed throughout the room, a stark contrast to the sweet melody: baby, life is painful sometimes, but your love doesn’t even come close

your breath hitched as you quickly turned to face him, cheeks flushed from the physical activity and from the fact that he caught you.

he grinned, eyes shining as he pulled out his phone to show you the tickets, walking closer… until he noticed the tablet on the ground, recording you.

or… was it a call?

sure enough, the face of a smiling young man, your choreographer, appeared on screen, but he stopped when he noticed the intruder.

“ummm… y/n, who’s that?”

it wasn’t a secret who galaxea’s choreographer was, and you didn’t want to give levi enough time to recognize him. you had to come up with an excuse to make him leave, quick!

“levi… this is my boyfriend.”

that was literally the worst excuse you could’ve made.

you wanted to throw yourself off a cliff for that one

you’d apologize to your choreographer later, as you could hear him snickering in the background, but the important part was that levi actually believed it…

and he did.

in the background, your voice sang: baby, your words are like a knife, why do the best things hurt the most?

levi’s world felt as if it had shattered, raining around him and cutting his skin as it pooled by his feet.

he had to come up with a reply so he could get out of there.

“oh… cool. i’mgonnaleaveyoubenowi’msorrygoodbye,” was what slipped past his lips as he bolted for the door, gone as quickly as he had came.

the minute the door shut you were sinking to the floor, your head in your hands as you let out a groan.

your choreographer erupted into laughter, the audio occasionally breaking here and there.

“i’m sorry, boyfriend? that was the best you could think of?”

“don’t.”

“okay, okay, fine. but you should know i already texted the others about this so come saturday, you will not be living this down.”

there was a brief moment of silence, then:

“you need to be more careful. look, i’m not going to tell you how to live your life, but i’ve worked with a lot of people, and unfortunately, i’ve seen some of them get hurt by who they trusted the most, especially regarding…” he gestured vaguely, “… this.”

you nodded, biting your lip.

“i’ll cut practice short since he’s your friend and i know you wanna go after him, so… from the top. one last time.”

your song restarted, and as you twirled to the rhythm, levi was doing a dance of his own.

“boyfriend ???” he screeched as he mashed the buttons on his controller, mouth open in shock.

“henry, can you believe this? i bet that’s what they were doing every saturday…”

he blanked.

“wait, no, not doing that guy— well, maybe— no, i meant, hanging out with— whatever! what difference does it make?”

he huffed as his body tensed, eyebrows furrowing in concentration.

“no, i’m not upset. i’m reacting reasonably, don’t you think?”

henry stared at him, deadpan, and levi rolled his eyes.

“shut up.”

his character on screen got knocked over by a series of blows, and he growled in frustration.

“i just don’t know why they never told me.”

his fingers flurried across the buttons, eyes locked on to the screen as his character resumed the fight, and after a few minutes of quiet, he muttered, “i’m so stupid.”

louder, “of course they’d choose that guy over me.”

louder still, “why would i be worthy of them? have you seen me?”

and when his character emerged victorious, the level complete, he shouted, “okay, fine, i’m upset, are you happy?”

and when he turned to face henry, his friend only looked at him sadly as hot tears rolled down his cheeks, splashing onto his thumb and the plastic of his controller. he didn’t even realize he’d been crying.

“i’m so pathetic, aren’t i? i’m a coward. i never had the guts to actually ask them out and look what happened,” he laughed dryly.

“yeah, maybe i overreacted a little, but i was just… hoping…” his voice broke.

“fuck,” he sobbed before trying to turn it into a laugh. “maybe it’s better this way. they’re human. of course they’d have a human boyfriend. since when has the whole human-demon thing ever…”

and then he thought of your pact, his mark resting on the back of your neck…

and as his eyes flared up in envy, his body trembling, he knew one thing:

vega was right. love hurts.

[lemmilemura]

can you write about sneaking into simons house? like ur coming over for the first time and you’re climbing through his window, i think it would be cute.

also, imagine him hiding you under his covers and you’re both giggling trying to be quiet and hide from his parents

Oh my god that is so cute fuck yeah! Imma do my best to make this into a one-shot/imagine

All keot gender-neutral Based on the show

Was this ridiculous? Yes.

Was I still about to climb through Simon's window? Also yes.

How this even came to happen was weird in and of itself. Simon just randomly messaged me and told me to come over. Did he give a reason? Nope. Did I still get in my car at literally 1am to drive over? Well I'm here, so go figure.

I parked a bit away from his house, as to not raise any suspicions because Simon specifically told me to make sure his parents don't find out. All the lights were out, so they were probably asleep. He also told me to climb through his fucking window. Yeah. Window. The fuck?

I do my best to sneakily walk to the side his window is on. I can see he has a small light on. Now I could have just texted him to let him know I was there, but since I was already pretty tired and wanted to be just a liiiiiiittle bit annoying, I did the movie thing- throwing a rock at the window.

I didn't pick any big ones, or any that would crack or break the glass. Looking up at his window, I asked myself how the fuck I was supposed to get up there in the first place. It was basically double my height and a little more upwards.

I aimed as best I could and threw a small rock. It hit the window and fell back down. Yet there was nothing. So I threw again. Nothing again. "He'll survive and horror movie with that tactic" I whispered to myself. The third throw got a reaction. A second light in his room turned on. I then got a text. Are you seriously throwing rocks at my window?

I just threw another. By the time I was ready to throw the fifth stone, he opened his window and looked down. "Why the fuck are you throwing rocks?" He whisper yelled. "Better question, how the fuck am I supposed to get up there?" I whisper yelled back. It was evident on his face that he had not thought this far.

"You don't have enough hair for the Rapunzel thing, and I am NOT climbing up there with a blanket or whatever." "Yeah, I know. I'm thinking..." He responded. It was now almost 2am. I was getting really tired and it was really cold outside. "Well can you hurry up? I'm freezing!"

Simon seemed to go into overdrive. He closed the window and was gone. After a minute, the door a few feet next to me opened and Simon looked out. "Come on!" We then slowly snuck into his room. "To be honest I didn't think you'd actually come over." He said when he closed the door.

"Eh, didn't have anything better to do. Why'd you call me over, anyway?" I took off my shoes and sat down on his bed, letting myself fall onto my back. The bed shifted beside me and I looked over to se Simon also laying besides me. He's looking up at the ceiling.

He then looked at me too. "You're really pretty, you know that?" I told him. He froze up and his face flushed, then he looked back up at the ceiling. "Oh shut up." "I mean it. Really."

I yawned, the tiredness really getting to me. Simon looked back to me, then pulled the covers over both of us and turned the lights off. I always felt so comfortable in his bed, way more than my own. I was asleep in basically 10 minutes, don't really know when. The last thing I heard before falling asleep, atleast I think I heard, was "I just really missed you."

I woke up a few hours later, don't really know when. By the look and feel of it, I even had the blanket pulled over my head. Turning around, I saw Simon also under the blanket with me. "Hi" He said. "Good morning." I said back, then stretched a little. I was about to get out from under the blanket, but Simon pulled me back. "Careful. My parents always come in by this time of the day. They don't know you're here."

As if by design, we heard his door open. "Simon, time to wake up." His mom then walked around the room, probably picking upsome clothes or something. For some reason, probably the tired, this situation seemed HILARIOUS to both of us. We were trying our best to not laugh too much, giggling like children.

"And good morning (Y/N)." We heard her say. We both poked our heads out from under the blanket. His mom laughed at us. "How did you know I was here?" I asked. "I saw your shoes at the door. Also we weren't asleep. There's breakfast downstairs if you want some." And she just walked out.

I know this wasn't that gerat, but for some reason I kept getting distracted qwq

[dr4kenlvr]

sweet love

featuring. draken, baji, mitsuya, hanma x gn!reader (happy birthday to my love, draken iloveusomuch)

genre/wc: fluff (0.6k+)

nana's note: i paired up tokyo revengers characters with sentence starters from this post! all credit for the prompts goes to op. please enjoy my loves <3

DRAKEN + "is that my shirt?"

draken makes his way through the halls of the brothel, a hand rubbing his nape as he sluggishly lifts each foot up and forward. the day felt long, and all he craved was a good night's sleep with you in his arms. smiling softly at the thought, draken pushes his way into his room with a soft "m'back," you, who's sitting on his bed patiently, beam at him from the doorway. his smiles widens. he closes the door before approaching you with a kiss on your forehead. "hi baby you ready—" he pauses, and gives you a look over, before an expression of familiarity and snark clouds his features. "—is that my shirt?" you glance down, then back up at him and nod. "is there a problem?" you tease with a tilt of your head. he chuckles, before leaning down to hold your face between his big, warm palms. "not at all," he whispers into a kiss.

BAJI + "you got me flowers?"

baji's chest heaves greatly with pants, jogging his way over to your house. he curses the flower shop for its ridiculously long line up on a tuesday evening. seriously, how many people need flowers on a weekday night? thanks to that predicament, baji was now late for your date night. he turns the corner and makes a dash straight to your door, where he spots you waiting. your eyes light up when he comes into sight, and baji's hearts pangs achingly. "hey keis—" "i'm so so fucking sorry, i promise i didn't forget about you. i just wanted to get you these." he shoves the small bouquet of strawberry pink peonies into your hands, then wipes his palms dry on his hoodie. you gape at him, "you got me flowers kei?" grinning at baji, you step forward to place a kiss on his cheek. giggling, you tell him: "your face is turning the same colour as them." "oh, s-shut it! c'mon, lets go." he pouts, linking an arms around yours hastily.

MITSUYA + "do you think the moon is jealous of how pretty you are?"

your fingers clasp tighter around mitsuya's, an instinct your body had when the wind picked up its drift. sitting perched on top a lonely building, you and mitsuya had been listening to music for the past hour or so in tranquility. mitsuya taps his foot to the beat, while you drum your fingers across your thigh. he looks over, and scans your features for any sign of tiredness. he told himself he would, of course, take you home tonight. feeling his stare on you, you glance at him for a brief moment. then it's silent again—calm, serene, and perfect. suddenly, you mumble out loud: "do you think the moon is jealous of how pretty you are?" mitsuya halts the tapping of his foot, "huh?" you chuckle, taking out the earbud. "you're so pretty taka, i should tell you more often." mitsuya's mouth parts in awe, and he's at a lost for words. the only thing he does—is squeeze your hand tighter, before leaning into your side. "but darling, i think it'd be jealous of you."

HANMA + "let's go somewhere, just you and me."

the familiar roar of his engine comes from outside your window. your eyebrows furrow in confusion, before you peek through your curtain to confirm your suspisions. hanma was indeed on his motorcycle outside your house, you can see him wave you down from below. quietly pacing from your room to the front door, you open the door to see him leaning against the frame. "shu' what are you doing here? it's late." "hi baby, let's go somewhere, just you and me." his grin displays his canines, and his golden eyes glimmer with excitement at the thought. but you stare at him, as if trying to decipher how serious he was. you, him, go somewhere, now? he notices your hesitation, "c'mon, just for a bit? i've got your favourite snacks, drinks, and an extra sweater for you." you can't help but smile at hanma's consideration. sighing, you grab your shoes without another word and step outside next to him. hanma's eyes widen, but they quickly shut when you tip toe to kiss him on the lips. "alright then lover boy, take me on a ride hm?"

your interactions are very appreciated <3

[thedevillionaire]

Best Served Cold

≈ 3,000 words of Underworldian shenanigans - Cerberus and Kia and some guest appearances; any and all questions, please do ask! And as always, thank you so much for taking the time to enter in; my ridiculous little heart loves you all. ---

Seriously?

He’s somehow managed to resemble an outtake from a baroque portrait, an array of plush blankets slung over the chair and side table in what certainly wasn’t artful arrangement but has fallen that way all the same, much like his own position, like he’s been purposefully styled to be all long, sculpted limbs, curtain of silken ebony hair falling just so, shirt semi-unbuttoned as if for an intentional, dramatically splendid unconsciousness. The grandeur of the room itself brings its own measure of import, and a claret-stained wineglass and tissue box, both notably empty, lending further subtle touches to the vista – of indulgence, of necessity. An almost bacchanalian, luxuriantly rich chaos of classic beauty gone vaguely awry, a haphazardness in paradox, perfectly disordered.

And he’s got no right to be this beautiful, not under third-day ravages of a heavy headcold, asleep in the fireside chair that he swore to her he wouldn’t fall asleep in, he’s just going to review some papers, it’s no problem, darkling, and it needs to be done.

He’s a little flushed; could be the wine, could be a touch of fever.

Kia sighs. He may indeed be an unfair triumph of aesthetic debauchery, but right now the stunning Demon king is also just her sick husband, his formidable dominance quieted under blanket pile and sleepthick congested breaths, domestic everyday mundane, which is somehow the most surreal and incredible part of all of it.

Picking up one of several scrolls strewn across the table, she glances over a complex and bloodthirsty looking collection of daemonological whatnots she mostly doesn’t comprehend. Okay, pretty sure that’s ‘evisceration’…

Alrighty, then.

She takes a brief detour to the kitchen, collecting the tissue box from the countertop there, and returns.

“Hey, hon,” she says as he blearily wakes to her soft stroking of his hair, the contours of his face. Her briefly reproachful expression is entirely a work of fiction, though, and she tilts his head towards her for a loving kiss.

:You’re the worst self-medicator I have ever met.:

Cerberus murmurs a congested, hoarse and not quite awake yet Mm, hello, love with a sniffle and nose rub against an itch that wastes no time in reasserting itself; with an urgent gasp he collapses into crooked elbow and a couplet of heavy sneezes he doesn’t even consider fighting. “Ah-TSSCHH-uu! Huh-hhAHTSSCHhuu!” He excuses himself breathlessly a moment before an immediate third, powerful and possessing. “HHAAHTSSCCHU! Ugh, pardon me. *SNFF!*”

“Bless you, sweetheart. Here,” Kia says, passing him a couple of tissues from the new box, which briefly confuses Cerberus before he gathers enough wherewithal through coldhazy tiredness to work it out. He presses his hand to his temples, the bridge of his nose, a series of ineffectual, wet sniffles in the wake, pushes his hair back from his face and makes a halfhearted attempt at rearranging both himself and the blankets into a slightly more put-together fashion.

Another sniffle. “Thanks, love. Sorry.”

She touches a kiss to the top of his head,running her fingers through his hair even as she gently pushes it aside, her hand resting a moment on his brow, noting with slight concern a heat beyond his norm. Another kiss as she drapes her arms around him. “How’s the cold?”

“Flourishing.” He sniffles again, particularly emphatically, and groans as he notices that he’s not, in fact, completed the work he meant to do – work that he thought he had done. “And apparently I’ve had—” he says, as much to himself as to Kia while running through a rapid double check of several scrolls, definitely incomplete, “—the world’s most tedious dream.”

He looks up at his bonded as if she’s going to know the answer, though he’s asking himself more than asking her. “How have I not finished this?”

“Well… You did finish the wine, so...” She gives him a good-natured, gently teasing smile.

“Ah, no, that was shared with Lilith during a delightful impromptu argument earlier,” he says, examining a particular scroll for a third time, “and… *snf* Oh, I…” He frowns, breath sharpcatching, and raises an index finger in urgent necessity of pause, turning from Kia with haste. “Hhh-AHTSSCH-uu! Hh...hh-HH… Ah-HEHTSHhuu! Ah, gods.”

A tired exhalation follows and he sniffles thickly in the wake of it, grumbles something about barely know what I’m doing thanks to this pestilential nonsense and excuses himself to claim a fresh sequence of tissues. He blows his nose, which does little more than reignite the itch with extra heat, burning insistent relentless, and he sneezes again immediately. “Huh-AHSSCHuu! Honestly, this has been… hpt-XCH! all damn… hhH! *snf* All damn day. Excu… hh-ah…AAHTSCHUU!! Gods, excuse me.” 

“Aw, bless you, babe.” Kia gives him a moment of recovery – such as it is, his breathing still somewhat erratic – and runs her hands through her bonded’s hair with one hand, passes him some more tissues with the other. “So, want my news of the day? Yeah, you do,” she says with a kiss to his cheek and no pause for an answer. “You know how I had my crash course in Mortal Studies instructing? Okay, well, oh my god it’s a whole lot harder than I expected. Like, some of the stuff you have to explain is just really…really weird. Ash has been super helpful, though. Except he did give me all the assignments to mark, which is definitely less cool, but fine, I guess. At least it’s a small group.”

She stops to regard Cerberus a moment in a sudden, slightly delayed curiosity. “So what were you arguing with Lilith about?”

Cerberus scoffs as he vaporises the used tissues. “Gods know. Haven’t a clue. I’ve willfully forgotten, or today’s medication came with some creative side effects notably more effective than its purported effects.” He clears his throat and sniffles again, rubbing his nose with a determined firmness, and subdues the most recent of the recurrent itches – almost. “She came around here and said some things at me. *snf!* I’ve no idea what.”

“So what did you say, then? You must have said something.”

“Probably did more sneezing than talking,” Cerberus mutters with clear touch of bitterness, more to himself than to Kia, though she offers a nod of agreement and wry chuckle all the same. “Be that as it may, though, I really have very little idea of what the problem actually was. Something about the damned Nuit and Arcadia issue.” He frowns in thought, pressing a hand to his forehead, and sighs. “I could have sworn we started out holding much the same opinion on the matter. Though I’m sure she’d be more than willing to let me know exactly where, why and in which way I was completely wrong about everything.”

“If you don’t remember what you said,” Kia says with a playful wicked grin, “you really can’t be sure that you weren’t wrong about everything, yeah?”

“Honestly, darkling. Are you actively trying to make my day worse than it already is?” Cerberus raises an eyebrow at her and shifts his position to rest his head against hers, murmuring, “I couldn’t have been wrong about everything. I never am.” He turns slightly to give a fleeting, knowing smile at her resultant incredulous laugh, coughs in reflex and groans quietly. “Ugh, I feel appalling.”

“Aw, honey.” Kia touches an affectionate kiss to his temple. “I know.” She glances over her shoulder as a knock sounds at the door. “Huh. Are you expecting anyone?” she asks, already moving to answer it.

“Dear gods, no. Although Lilith didn’t let that stop her from turning up earlier.”

Kia opens the door.

“Guilty co-worker reporting for duty.” Ashtaroth smiles in apology and hugs her in greeting. “Also here’s some bribery so now you have to forgive me,” he adds, proffering a particularly decadent-looking box of dark chocolates.

“Oh, I am totally bribed!” Kia laughs, accepts the box, and closes the door behind him. “I didn’t think you did guilt,” she comments with a grin.

Ashtaroth gives her a sultry look from underneath velvet eyelashes. “I do everything,” he purrdrawls, exaggerated and playful, following her along the hallway, and waves cheerily to Cerberus in an affable greeting which isn’t acknowledged further than a cursory nod.

:Huh. His Majesty not playing the friend game today?:

“Be nice to him. He’s sick.” Kia picks up the stack of assignments from atop the side table she’d left them on and hands roughly half to Ashtaroth.

“I’m always nice to him, Kiki, he’s lethal.” Flicking through the papers, he picks one out of the pile and flaps it at Kia with a groan. “Can you take Jezebel’s? Please please please. Her handwriting’s a nightmare and I may actually die of mental anguish.”

Kia laughs. “Okay, but what about if I swap you with Auror…” A second knock sounds, startling her, and she fumbles the assignments she’s holding, nearly dropping them. “Oh my god, why is it rush hour all of a sudden?” Her hurried attempts to neaten the stack result in not a lot of effective neatening at all, two papers falling to the floor, one of them now looking particularly unprofessionally rumpled.

Aera, impatient, becomes very quickly tired of waiting and lets herself in.

“Hey. Sorry,” she says, not sounding especially so. “I’m not staying, it’s just a fly-by visit to pick up my coat. Pretty sure I left it here last week. I’ve looked everywhere else, so…”

“I really should rescind your threshold entry permissions,” Cerberus remarks, vaguely regretting doing so as his voice cracks with the effort.

“Wow, you sick, Cerbie? You sound like ten buckets of shit.”

“Astutely observed. *snf!* Thank you for your concern.”

Aera rolls her eyes at his expected prickliness about it but he really does sound terrible, his usual satin cadence and crisp enunciation ruthlessly blunted by congestion, and she can’t help but soften a little, offering a somewhat more empathic pat to his shoulder as she walks past him to meet Kia, retrieving one of the stray papers from the floor as she does so. She hands it over. “Mortal Studies, huh? Well, once you’ve done a few of them, it definitely gets more dull than difficult. My coat is here, right? The purple one?”

Kia thinks on it for a moment. “Uh…well, it’s not in the loungeroom... Oh!” she exclaims in a sudden flash of memory. “I put that in the study, I think. Ohh…it’s probably locked, though.” She turns to Cerberus. “Babe, is the top study open?”

“No.”

“Any chance you could open it, then? I’d like my coat,” Aera says, adding with a smirk, “You’ll get rid of me, think of it like that.”

True enough. And not inclined to argue – or engage further at all, come to that – Cerberus pushes the blankets aside with resignation and a thick sniffle, stands and leaves the loungeroom in favour of the staircase.

He makes it up a grand total of three stairs before another knock comes at the door.

Cerberus stops in situ, and the heaviness of his sigh speaks of an exasperation verging on the very, very last straw. “Do we have a ‘vacancy’ sign up that I’m unaware of?” he says tersely.

“I guess it could be Levi, although I doubt he’d just turn up unannounced,” Ashtaroth muses, sidestepping Aera neatly in a lithe move back towards the entry foyer. With a quick glance at Cerberus, who is leaning on the banister looking thoroughly unimpressed, he adds, “I’ll get rid of him if it is," opening the door as he does so.

Therion, his expression gravely serious, looks straight past Ashtaroth to make immediate eye contact with the Demonics Leader.

“It’s for you,” Ashtaroth quips, leaving the foyer forthwith to rejoin Kia and Aera.

Cerberus wipes his nose and returns Therion’s gaze warily, raises an eyebrow in inquiry.

“Your archives have been destroyed.”

Quietly. “What?” Cerberus, stunned, releases his grip on the banister and sits, slowly, on the stairs. He covers his mouth with his hand, a cacophony of thoughts and questions insistent, only one of which is clear at this stage. And neither blunted consonants nor congestion can detract from the barely restrained fury, the certain, darkest finality unmissable in his tone. “So…who gets to die?”

“Um, well, I…” Therion starts hesitantly – rather too hesitantly, as it turns out, and he abruptly breaks off at the immediate rampant fireball Cerberus produces, taking a reflexive step backwards and raising his hands in surrender. “Fuck, man, not me! Shit.” He exhales shakily.

Cerberus murmurs an apology, Fire dissolving. “I have had…quite an exceptionally bad day.” He sniffles again, and looks at Therion again in expectation. “You might want to reconsider your phrasing.”

Therion half-smiles, just briefly, in wry accession. “Thing is, you might want to reconsider the death threat.”

“Why would I conceivably…” Cerberus doesn’t need to complete his sentence, nor confirmation, as the realisation strikes him in an icy flash of betrayal. “Nuit.” He bows his head, ebony hair curtaining his face momentarily, before returning his gaze to Therion, pure storm and inferno reflecting vivid in emerald. “Does she know that you saw her?”

Therion shakes his head.

“Good. Find her. Now.” He stands, gives Aera a cursory glance. “Your coat can wait.”

Aera doesn’t argue, doesn’t question; it was a spur of the moment thing anyway,and she nods in agreement; she knows just how calculated, how targeted Nuit’s treachery actually is. And she knows how deeply this will cut. :Look after yourself, you idiot: she Mindsends Cerberus, lacing it with as much gentle affection as she can manage, and vanishes.

As she does so, Ashtaroth takes Kia’s pile of assignments and adds them to his own. “Okay then, plans have clearly been changed. My karmic debt, I suppose.” He kisses her cheek. “Take care, darling. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, and vanishes also.

“Find her?” checks Therion. “How am I…”

“Mindsend override.” Selecting a jacket from the hallway coatrack, Cerberus caresses Kia’s hair as he passes her, touching a kiss to the top of her head.“Make something up. I don’t care what. But you don’t know that she did anything and neither do I.” He sniffles again and wipes his nose, excusing himself with more than a touch of irritation, clears his throat. “Incidentally, who the hell is running Fire?”

“Till I get back? Shadow.”

“Shadow?” With a brief shake of his head, Cerberus moves to the front door, opens it. “Find her, please.”

Therion nods. :Nuit, where are you? I’ve got you listed for an instructional lesson with level 3 in ten minutes.:

Kia, not entirely sure what’s going on, nevertheless knows one thing as certainty: there is no way she’s not letting her beloved leave the house tonight. Hopefully. Shit. She hurries down the hallway to takes his hand. “Babe, don’t you want to, you know, maybe just, like, think about this a bit more?”

“Darkling—” Cerberus cups her face in his hands and kisses her on the forehead. “—the only reason she chose to incinerate my archives instead of you is that she knows I’d find over six generations of research more difficult to bring back.”

Kia’s expression is briefly pained as she recognises the truth in this, that this destruction was geared not just to do damage but to hurt. She’s not going to be swayed from her goal, though. Not this easily, at least. “Honey, please. I just really think this isn’t a good id…”

“She’s at home,” Therion reports, “and will be leaving for a completely fake lesson in about five minutes. Your choice where you meet up with her.”

“Thank you,” Cerberus manages just moments before the state of his health takes precedence again, and he turns to rapidly cover with tightly bent elbow against the needful, demanding tickle, recognising the cause as lost, and with deep inhalation doesn’t fight it. “Huhh-hhAHTSCHH-uu!” He sniffles sharply and shakes his head in irritation, flicks some disarrayed hair from his face. “Goddamn it. *snf* Pardon me. *SNFF!* Go and relieve Shadow, mm?” He excuses himself and blows his nose, for all the little good it does.

The moment Therion accedes and vanishes, Kia steps in front of Cerberus, her back against the door as she closes it, and resumes her entreaty, this time with no maybes about it.

“Sorry, but you need to be home, babe, you need to be by the fire under a blanket with a bowl of soup or something and…and chamomile tea and honey and...” She trails off as all focus falls from her bonded’s expression and he capitulates to insistent need again, again.

“Ah-TSSCH-uu! Hh-HH... Ahh-TSSCH-uu!”

“Sweetheart, you are not going on a vengeance mission tonight, you’re just… You’re just not.”

:Bless you, by the way.:

And he’s touched by her passion, and he knows she’s probably right, he feels truly wretched, but the fact of it is not negotiable. “I cannot let this stand, love,” he says, and blows his nose again, Mindsending a thank you and an apology as he does so.

“No, no, you don’t have to! You can totally do the deliver justice thing, you can, you will, just not now.Just wait a day. One day.” Or two, Kia thinks, and…probably three, really. “Please, babe. Please look after yourself. You’re running on adrenaline and…and honestly not a whole lot else right now. You’re not well.”

“Darkling, I could have the plague and she wouldn’t be able to match me.”

“You do have the plague. Well, you have a plague. You literally called it pestilential,” Kia reminds him.  A thought strikes her then, and she gasps with deliberate melodrama. “Oh-ho-ho, hang on, now. You’re not about to tell me it’s just a cold, are you? No way.” She can’t help but grin, just a little wicked. “This is not the time you actually say those words.”

She waits for him; she knows he won’t. It’s never “just” a cold, after all.

They hold one another’s gaze for some loaded moments; she knows she’s right. And she knows she’s won.

So does he.

:Therion.: Cerberus looks again to Kia as he Mindsends both his Understudy and his bonded simultaneously, her hopeful hint of a smile, the depth of concern apparent there solidifying his decision. Not to mention the fact that if he tried to leave, she’d follow him and get as much in the way as she could; he chuckles slightly at the image, despite himself. And it’s almost relieving to step away. For now, at least. What with the focused rush of initial purpose dissipating, malaise and lack of energy returning with force, his head feeling full fathom five and this ridiculous, endless itch still refusing to be sated – he presses a firm hand against irritated nostrils as it rises anew, sniffling just as uselessly against incessant drip that seems counterintuitive to the cloying congestion but somehow isn’t – the picture of roaring fire and enveloping blankets, hot tea and his beautiful bonded by his side is sounding…immensely appealing, truth be told.

:Tell Nuit…that her lesson has been postponed.:

Kia’s delight is tangible as she Sends him a heartfelt Thank you, sweetheart, souldeep and sincere, before adding a much more notably salacious, “I will absolutely make it worthwhile, you know.”

“Darkling, I’m not sure whether I’m…”

She interrupts, first with a gently placed finger to his lips to silence him, then wrapping her arm around his waist she stands on tiptoe to purrwhisper in his ear, “If you had enough energy to go do the whole Demon lord retribution thing, you have more than enough energy to lie on the bed and get magnificently sucked off.”

His eyes widen, briefly stunned into blankness. “Wh…”

“See?” Her smile is sweetest victory as she slips a hand inside his shirt, her touch covetous, descending.. :I’ve taken your mind off it already.:

---

[ohlovxr]

moonlight | marc spector x fem!reader

i don’t have an actual description because the c.w. is basically it but let’s pretend i wrote something really sentimental and deep here <33

words: 2.1k

c.w. fem!reader, p in v sex, kinda angsty? it’s marc and the constant violence he’s exposed to taking effect on him - soft sex tho fr like super mushy me thinks

masterlist

this was inspired by this ask!! literally all the credit for the idea and concept goes to them!! it’s so wowowow (also not me getting soft for this fic alsjdkj who am i ???)

It was like this sometimes.

Laying in bed, night after night, waiting for them to come home - to finish whatever deed was tasked to them - until they finally did.

None of them liked the way you chose to sleep next to an open window when they were gone, your face pressed against the soft pillow that carried their scent and your arms tucked under it as if bringing the pillow impossibly closer to you would make it suffice as a temporary replacement for the comfort that their body pressed against yours provided.

You claimed you like being showered in the moonlight; that it soothes you. While it could be true - you’ve never really dwelled too hard on the idea to really know - you knew you could never actually admit the real reason. You couldn’t bare yourself to start a stupid fight between them and the God that used their body over confessing something as ridiculous as your silly little belief that if you stared hard enough at the moon - prayed to it like Khonshu could hear you and would bother to take you seriously - that your boys would come back to you soon, and well.

It’s been the usual week now, and you can only be grateful that you hear the squeak of the apartment door opening and the small click that echoes through the place when its handler shuts it carefully.

You laid still, relaxed, as you listened to the old floorboards shift and creak under the weight of his steps. The bed dipped under his weight as he sat and kicked off his shoes, and it wasn’t long before a large hand found its home over your lower back.

He didn’t shuffle around any other part of the room trying to occupy a busy mind.

He didn’t bother changing into his sleep clothes and rushing underneath the covers to pull your body flush against his.

He sat still atop the covers - so still, you weren’t sure it was possible to breathe - as the only part of him that moved was rubbing soft circles into your skin, exposed by the large shirt you wore having ridden up.

“Marc?”

A hum vibrated through the chest of the man beside you and warmth bloomed through yours.

You turned to lay on your side that faces him, his hand dragging over the skin of your waist as he refused to lose your touch. You watched with tired eyes as his lips set into a thin line, his brows furrowing worryingly, and you smiled softly, reaching one hand up to cup his face. “Y’know, I’m the last thing you should be worrying about.”

He frowned. “You need to sleep.”

“So do you.” You ran your thumb over the dark circle under his eye. “C’mere.”

Peeling the covers off your body, you pulled his body over yours by the arm, and despite his words, Marc melted into your touch.

“Baby…” His call for you came out as a breathy whisper against your cheek when your arms wrapped around his shoulders and your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him close. You felt his body fill with want - cock hardening in his pants as his crotch met yours - and you whispered back, “Take whatever you need.”

Ignoring your fatigued limbs - a product of what was the tiredness that came with the night - your hands still roamed his body carefully searching for new injury despite the fact that your heart knew there would be none to find. It was to no avail because of the suit, and part of you wished that wasn’t the case - wished that you had proof of what Marc held from you for what he thought was your own sake only so that you could be the comfort he needed, no matter how much the scars on his body would serve as a painful reminder to you all.

Your hands came around to tuck themselves underneath his shirt and run over his back, tracing your fingers over his lower spine lightly, and if you hadn’t been all consumed by his presence, you might’ve almost missed the small shiver that wracked his body.

Careful hands cradled your face and his lips hovered over yours. Your legs tightened around his waist and his dark eyes bore into you longingly. “You can let go, Marc.”

He didn’t need the permission - none of them did - but it was Marc that always needed the reassurance. To know that after the week he’s had, he doesn’t need to worry that the hands that trailed his body were looking for some kind of weakness - that he doesn’t need to keep his mind alert enough to take note of how the person underneath him was in a position so vulnerable and deadly to her, and that it gives him the greatest advantage.

When he gently pushed you away and sat back on his haunches, still letting your legs rest loosely around him, you knew your words had finally reached him.

The sound of a zipper opening echoed through the room. Laid back, you could only listen for the rustling of fabric as he pulled himself out, your eyes pointed downwards in an effortless attempt to follow his movements.

You could, though, watch him lean back further and slide the shorts you wore off your body with ease. Your chest rose and fell a little harder than before, and the feel of his eyes watching you carefully brought yours back up.

Fingers ran through your folds, jumping slightly when a thumb brushed over your clit, and he laughed quietly - fondly, you could confidently say. “Ready?”

“For you?” You smiled up at him softly, bringing your hand down to guide his cock to glide through your wet folds. His body draped over yours once more. Your lips met his halfway in a kiss that could only be described as passionate and cut off your response. There was no fighting when your tongues glided against each other. There wasn’t a single moment where you thought about pulling away to do something as trivial as to breath, gripping at his biceps to wordlessly ask him to Stay, stay, please don’t pull away now - the hands that cradled your neck and held you close made you sure he felt the same way.

The head of his cock caught against your entrance through his slow grinding and you swallowed each other’s moans. You pulled your lips from Marc’s - reluctantly, so very reluctantly - to get your answer across. “Always.”

A low moan escaped his lips and a soft gasp from yours when he finally pushed into you, your cunt fluttering around his cock as he filled you up inch after inch.

“Fuck,” his voice was low and breathy when he spoke against your neck, leaving wet kisses that made you sigh with content in his wake. His thrusts started small, but deep. It was like you could feel every bit of him, the way his cock throbbed with need inside of you with every stroke through your quivering walls. His lips found yours again, and he mumbled against you, “Missed this so much, baby. I missed you.”

A whine fell from your lips and onto his.

He had said such a thing as if it wouldn’t make the shirt you wore itch and burn against your skin.

For as much as you wanted to be close to him, your heart swelled at what you knew the clothes between your bodies meant. It wasn’t distance - it was desperation. He missed your touch - feeling nothing but your skin against his. He yearned for it, that much you knew for so many reasons, but his need to be close to something safe - to be wrapped up in the one person who’s touch never made him flinch - took precedence.

He slowly rose, cock stilling inside you as his hands found the creases of your knees and held you open for himself, your thighs half the way to touching your chest. His thrusts came harder with his knees planted and the leverage that was your body in his palms.

“Go ahead and touch yourself for me, baby, c’mon,” his voice wasn’t firm; it wasn’t the usual. It was soft - adoring, if the look in his eyes were any indicator. As if seeing you fall apart underneath him would fix everything. “Let me see you.”

Nonetheless, one hand pushed your shirt up to squeezing your breast before rolling the already stiffened peak through your thumb and index finger and the other snuck down your body to play with your clit, rubbing circles into the sensitive nub that made a groan escape Marc when your pussy tightened around him.

His fingers flexed over where they held your legs. “Good girl.” His voice was soft when he praised you.

Another whine, this time with a breathy call of his name attached to it, escaped your lips as you felt slick dripping your pussy onto the bed sheets, the wet sound of his cock fucking into you echoing through the room crudely.

You watched as his eyes slid down from your breasts to where you were stretched open on his cock. You couldn’t spend too long admiring how beautiful he looked - some dark, messy curls clinging loosely to his forehead and lips parted slightly as he panted - with the stream of moonlight that fell over him, seemingly brighter than it had been ten minutes ago, because the sound of his voice cut through your haze.

“Fuck, you take me so well.” His strokes picked up in pace and strength, his hands pushing your legs closer to you - there was no minding the way your thighs strained with the new position, legs almost pressed to your chest, when it was what let him pound so deep into you. It was a struggle to keep your eyes from fluttering close; all you wanted to do was watch him but he made it so damn hard to focus. A grunt cut through the room and Marc’s eyes trailed back up to meet yours, glassy and filled with love. “So fucking perfect, baby.”

It wasn’t sudden or blinding when you came. You could feel the build of it bubbling up - Marc fucking you through your high when it finally came. He followed you not long after, warm heat spreading inside you as he filled you with his release.

His body lowered onto yours, his arms wrapping all around your body to hold you to him, and you laughed breathlessly when you went to do the same only for your hands to meet the back of a damp shirt clinging to his skin.

Beginning to roll up the shirt, you softly pushed at him, trying to get him up long enough to take it off, but only received a grunt in return.

You huffed, a small smile gracing your lips. “C’mon.” You pushed at him again, hoping he’d finally untangle. “You’ll regret it later.”

He muttered semi-jokingly into your neck, “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

Well, he had before.

The hissing sound that was air being sucked through your gritted teeth broke through the room when he slipped from you, leaving you uncomfortably empty.

With his body off of yours, you watched as he peeled his shirt off his body, exposing sweat-sheened skin. His pants were the next to go before he fell onto the bed next to you and, despite how sticky with perspiration you both were, you let him pull you in close once more.

It was like this sometimes.

Laying in bed, on a hopeful night, staring up at the wearied face of the men you love when they finally come home.

None of them liked the way you chose to stay awake when the night of their return should be one where you finally find rest.

You claimed it took you longer to come down when any of them made you feel the things you do when they touched you. While the fact is true, it wasn’t the reason - you knew you could never actually admit the real reason. Once more, you couldn’t bare yourself to start a stupid fight between them and the God that used their body over confessing something as ridiculous as the fact that watching their eyes flutter closed under the moonlight that bathed their face with its comforting glow is the only time you don’t see lines grace their face and a frown of any emotion set itself so deep into their expression that you worry it could be permanent; the only time you see them at peace.

[jingyismom]

Thanks everyone for the prompts! I decided to try and knock these all out in one go:

@thegirlwhotrashcans: remember, you asked for it. au, nobody dies, wwx and yanli bodyswap. they're married to lwj and jzx. 100% crack. bonus points if jin zixuan completely loses his shit and lwj looks very calm but loses his sh*t after everything is back to normal

@alightbuthappypen: Competency kink! One or both of them (when I say 'them' I mean wangxian obvs, I know what I'm about) getting hot and bothered about the other being amazing. On a nighthunt maybe? Or anywhere else that strikes your fancy!

@hearteyeswangji: WRITE MORE P*RN

I think I can manage that. With a few tweaks, accidental seriousness, and broad, ridiculous fix-its tacked on. I have no idea how long this might be. Let’s try it in installments? I’ll reblog and add on as I go. Maybe it’ll be fun. We’ll find out.

Disclaimer that this is just gonna go for it with no revising and no beta readers, so pls do not hold me to any conceivable standard of coherency thx

--

WILL INCLUDE: wangxian, xuanli, let jyl and lwj be friends agenda, canon divergence, fix-it, everybody lives, arranged marriage, bodyswap, light angst, getting together, Attempts at Comedy, eventual (light?) wangxian smut

The Sunshot Campaign has just been won. Everyone goes over to Jin Guangshan’s house after the Nightless City banquet, to Negotiate Stuff, and some hasty political marriages happen resulting in Xuanli Wedded Bliss and Wangxian Un-confessed Wedded Tension. Then, suddenly...a curse befalls our brave heroes.

--

Wei Wuxian wakes suddenly, feeling odd. He’s sleeping on his stomach for one thing, which is not his usual, but he feels warm and comfortable enough that he doesn’t think it strange. But then there is the scent of peonies and gardenias, which is both familiar and alien, somehow. It makes him open his eyes. 

Which is when he sees the hand before him on the bolster. It is slender and elegant. Small. Pale. Familiar? Wearing a jade bangle. He pushes himself up a bit, startled, only to see the hand move when he does. 

The hand. Is his hand. He stares at it. The shock of it, coupled with the early hour, leave his mind working very slowly.

At length, he becomes aware of an odd weight across his back, which then shifts. Wei Wuxian turns.

He is met with the sleepy, moon-eyed stare of one Jin Zixuan, still cradling him in his arms.

“What the fuck,” says Wei Wuxian. His voice is. Soft. And high.

He would think this was all some messed-up dream if not for the fact that his dreams of late have all been messed up in an entirely different way. He’s also certain, in an odd, detached way, that he never would have imagined the battle scars that mar Jin Zixuan’s distressingly visible skin.

Jin Zixuan’s brow furrows, and he blinks. “A-Li?”

“...What the fuck.”

~~~

When Lan Wangji wakes at his customary hour, he is just slightly more tired than usual. The coverlet over him is oddly heavy, but he does not give it any thought until light from the rising sun slips over an unfamiliar sill and into his eyes. His entire body goes tense as he remembers. 

Jinlintai. The long hours of debate, of negotiation. The hasty marriages. 

He sits up in his strange bed and turns. There, in the bed opposite, is Wei Ying’s sleeping form. Close, yet still distant. Safe, at least.

Lan Wangji relaxes, and takes a breath. It was a near thing, keeping the sects from demanding more and more from Wei Ying, from treating him like a criminal instead of the hero he is. But somehow, Jiang Wanyin and Xiongzhang ended up on the same page, defending him, working tirelessly toward a compromise with the more critical parties. And now Lan Wangji has the dubious honor of ‘keeping Wei Ying in check,’ as Yao-zongzhu so inelegantly put it, through marriage. 

A strictly political marriage. A convenient solution. To bind them together, to keep Wei Ying tied under the umbrella of Lan Wangji’s rigid honor. 

It is unclear, as of yet, if Wei Ying resents this arrangement. He has not been himself since Nightless City, and the destruction of Wen Ruohan’s forces. First his long coma, then a lingering tiredness that he has not seemed able to shake, which dampens his normally-vivid expressions of feeling.

Lan Wangji is worried. But this, at least, Wei Ying has made clear is unwelcome. He seems to want to pretend that nothing has changed. Not about himself, and not between the two of them. Lan Wangji has done his best to honor his wishes, despite everything.

Now, he rises and dresses before sinking into his morning meditation. It is still strange to do so fully dressed, weighed down by the propriety required for the public, but it has felt necessary, now that Wei Ying shares chambers with him. A physical manifestation of the barrier between them, more important than ever now that they are, bizarrely, married. 

Before his meditation is finished, he hears Wei Ying stir. It is unusual for him to wake so early. Lan Wangji’s eyes snap open, immediately searching him for signs of pain.

Wei Wuxian turns over, then goes very still. He sits bolt upright, searching the bed with wild eyes, then turns them on the room at large. When they land on Lan Wangji, he curls in on himself, the fingers of one hand tightening at the collars of his sleeping robe, clutching it closed.

“La—Lan-er-gongzi?” 

His voice is oddly breathy, and his eyes...they are wide with confusion, with just the slightest tinge of fear. Lan Wangji is struck nearly senseless by the term of address, aberrant in Wei Ying’s mouth.

“What is wrong?”

Searching the room again, Wei Wuxian moves toward the edge of the bed with a strangely graceful modesty. It looks alien on his long limbs. “My...my husband. Where…?”

The word jolts through Lan Wangji’s entire body. He has never heard Wei Ying say it before. He has...wanted to hear it. Dearly, he realizes suddenly. But it sounds wrong. Distressed. Everything Wei Ying says sounds wrong.

“Wei Ying,” he says. 

Wei Ying’s eyes snap to his. “A-Xian? Where is he? Is he with A-Xuan? Are they alright?”

Lan Wangji blinks at him, uncomprehending, for several seconds. Then he begins to understand.

“You are not—”

The doors to their chambers burst open, and Jiang Yanli rushes in. The tasteful purple and gold robes she has adopted in the few days since the weddings are loose, uncharacteristically askew—not impreprietous, but verging on it. She spots Lan Wangji and her stormy expression clears.

“Lan Zhan,” she says, and her shoulders droop. 

Lan Wangji blinks at her, thrown by her use of this name, then glances at Wei Ying, who has gone completely still, his mouth open in a small, shocked ‘o.’ Jiang Yanli follows his gaze and freezes.

Just then, Jin Zixuan comes barreling into the room, significantly more unkempt than his wife. He has not even tied back his hair. 

“A-Li,” he implores, “what’s happened? We can’t just go barging into our guests’,” he pauses, and bows awkwardly, hastily, to Lan Wangji and Wei Ying in turn, “rooms like this. Please,” he takes her arm, but she shakes him off. 

She’s still staring at Wei Ying. “Sh...Shijie?”

Wei Ying startles, and looks down at himself. He holds out his arms, his hands, and looks at those too. Then he looks up at Jiang Yanli. “A-Xian?”

“Shijie,” Jiang Yanli says, and slumps over to the bed, embracing Wei Ying.

“A-Li,” hisses Jin Zixuan, scandalized. 

Lan Wangji glances at Jin Zixuan’s wife embracing his own husband on the bed, and rises. He walks briskly past them all to shut the door. Then he returns. 

“Wei Ying,” he says again. Jiang Yanli looks up at him.

It is obvious, now that he has realized it. Her face, animated by his personality. The soft warmth of her eyes sharpened just so. The deliberately graceless way she threw herself—himself—into Wei Ying’s—no, Jiang Yanli’s—arms.

Lan Wangji takes a deep breath. “Is this a curse?”

“Yes,” Wei Ying says with Jiang Yanli’s face, but his own certainty.

“How can we break it?” Lan Wangji asks.

“I”m not sure, not yet. I need to try a few things—or—having the original curse would be safer.” He looks at his sister in his own body. “I...don’t really want to experiment with this.”

Jiang Yanli tsks and bumps his shoulder a little too forcefully, jostling Wei Ying in her currently slight form. “Vain,” she says, teasing.

“Shijieee,” he whines. It sounds bizarre in Jiang Yanli’s voice. “I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”

“I know,” Jiang Yanli says, soothing. 

“Do you feel alright?” Wei Ying goes on, urgent.

“Perfectly alright, now that you’re both here,” she says, smiling at the newcomers in turn.

Something sharply acidic surges in Lan Wangji’s stomach at such a look on Wei Ying’s face, directed at...Jin Zixuan.

“Really, though,” Wei Ying presses, “any nausea? Dizziness? Pain? You’re not worried?”

“Not at all. Our A-Xian will figure it out.”

Lan Wangji watches as the appearance of Wei Ying’s knuckle affectionately brushes Jiang Yanli’s nose. 

Strange. It is all...so strange.

“If—”

“What is happening?” Jin Zixuan interrupts.

All three of them look at him. He stares between them, wild-eyed and desperately askew. Lan Wangji has never considered him to be particularly slow on the uptake, but he supposes allowances must be made for the stress of waking up with a stranger in one’s bed.

He does not care to investigate the perverse pang of jealousy he feels at the thought.

“A-Xuan, it’s me,” Jiang Yanli says. Jin Zixuan stares at her in Wei Ying’s body, uncomprehending. She goes on slowly, but not unkindly. “A-Xian and I have been cursed into each other’s bodies. He’s in there, and I’m in here.”

Her husband blinks several times, very quickly. Lan Wangji recognizes the moment it sinks in by the deep flush that rises across his entire face, and is certain he does not wish to know what precisely inspired it. 

Jin Zixuan takes an involuntary half-step back, then forward again, as he speaks with renewed urgency. “Why has this happened? Can it be undone?”

“Great questions,” Wei Ying says, falsely encouraging. Lan Wangji exchanges a glance with him, and it almost feels natural, to share such a thing with either Wei Ying or Jiang Yanli. “Someone was clearly either targeting me—that’s Wei Wuxian, that’s me, in here—or you...whom you know to be Jin Zixuan. I hope.”

Jin Zixuan turns a deeper shade of red. “Obviously,” he bites out. “But why?”

Wei Ying rolls his eyes dramatically. It is not something Lan Wangji ever imagined Jiang Yanli doing.

“We don’t know yet, but we will once we find and question the person responsible,” Wei Ying says. Jiang Yanli grips his arm suddenly. Wei Ying looks at her. “And yes, it can be undone. Of course it can. I’ll figure it out.”

“Cast a rebound,” Lan Wangji says, brisk. The more quickly they are done with this, the better.

Wei Ying’s face falls. “Ah,” he says, “well, we…”

“My cultivation is too weak for him to reliably use,” Jiang Yanli says suddenly. “And I’m not very good at the method, I’m afraid.”

Lan Wangji nods. Steps forward. Then hesitates. “If the curse was cast in such a way, one of you may end up in the caster’s body. And they in yours.”

They all look at Jiang Yanli. Her expression grows grim. “Alright,” she says, then looks to Lan Wangji. There is something steely in her expression that is familiar on Wei Ying’s face. “Thank you for the warning. Go ahead.”

Lan Wangji hesitates only a moment longer, expecting protests from the other two. But Wei Ying is wearing a small, knowing smile, and Jin Zixuan merely nods at her, reassuring. Lan Wangji senses his esteem for the Jin heir rising at such solid trust in his wife. 

He steps forward and casts the rebound. They all hold their breath. 

Wei Ying glances around, his wry expression entirely foreign on Jiang Yanli’s face. “Anything?”

“No,” says Jiang Yanli.

Wei Ying sighs. “More work for us, then.”

“A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli says, taking gentle hold of his wrist. “You know what this means.”

“Ah?”

“You’ll have to be me.”

“Ah. No, I—”

“A-Xian.”

Wei Ying scratches his head, a not-at-all ladylike gesture. “Or we could just stay in here and let these two investigate?”

The smile Jiang Yanli turns on him is tender, and knowing, and indulgent. “I’d like to see you try to sit still when there’s a puzzle to solve.”

He sighs. “Alright. But you have to be me, too.”

She nods, and theatrically slouches into a sprawling, sloppy posture. Wei Ying laughs, his head thrown back, a hand on his stomach. Jin Zixuan turns around, looking almost ill. 

Lan Wangji understands, and he doesn’t. It is dizzying, and distinctly wrong-looking, to see both of them this way. Yet there is also something endearing about it. About the parts of them that do overlap, and fit into each other better than one would expect. 

“A-Xuan,” Jiang Yanli calls softly, noticing her husband’s distress.

Lan Wangji gets the distinct impression that that tone in Wei Ying’s voice is not helping the situation.

“Jin-gongzi,” he says. “It would be best for all of us to go about our days as normal, and not to arouse suspicion. Wei Ying sleeps late, and will not be missed for the morning. Jin-shao-furen may claim mild illness until the afternoon. But you and I must behave as normal. There are still the other sects to host.”

“Yes,” Jin Zixuan says absently. He runs a hand over his face. “Yes. You’re right. A-Li—” he turns and looks at the pair of them on the bed, and pauses. He shakes his head as if to clear it. “I’ll go back and dress. Join me when—or—Wei—” he stops. “I will be attending my duties. Please let me know what else I can do.”

“Remember to act natural,” Jiang Yanli says. “When A-Xian joins you later, try to look less like a roasted tomato, hmm?”

Jin Zixuan’s mouth twists into a wry smile, and he nods at the floor, then flees the room. Jiang Yanli and Wei Ying turn their eyes to Lan Wangji.

“I shall also depart,” he says. He circles his arms to bow to Jiang Yanli, but Wei Ying stands and pulls him over toward the door. Lan Wangji lets him, and tries not to pull away from the improprietous touch from a married lady. 

“Lan Zhan,” he says, hushed and urgent. “I’m not...you don’t think I’m hurting her, am I? Just by being in here? Can you sense any resentment?”

Lan Wangji feels something tighten in his chest. Wei Ying has not let Lan Wangji so much as examine his pulse since he roused from his coma, but the idea that he is so constantly steeped in resentment as to cause worry that his very soul may be harmful...is distressing. He takes hold of his slender wrist carefully. It is still Jiang Yanli’s body, and he will treat it with the respect it is owed. 

“I cannot,” he says. The only energy in Jiang Yanli’s body is generated by her own small but steady golden core. “I sense nothing that may be harmful.”

Wei Ying lets out a relieved breath. “Alright. But, um. What about the other way? Is her...is my body harming her?”

Lan Wangji turns to go back and perform the same examination, but Wei Ying stops him. “No, that’s alright. I’ll. We’ll just get this over with, and we can. Between the two of us, we can fix whatever...whatever damage I do.”

Lan Wangji stares at him, but Wei Ying refuses to meet his eyes. At length, he nods. “We can.”

“Alright. Ah, thanks. You should go.”

Lan Wangji goes.

[dreamsclock]

parallel lines

dereality, angst, emotional distress / spoilers for c!wilbur ending lore

“what’s it like where you’re from, wil?” tommy asks him earnestly one day, and wilbur pauses.

“where i’m from?” he repeats, standing up from where he’d hunched himself over his desk. “like— before the server?”

tommy prances into the office, slouches into a chair, and nods. he looks ridiculously out of place, a grubby teenager slumped amongst presidential papers and campaign leaflets, but wilbur feels a rush of warmth flood his chest for his pseudo-brother.

“i don’t really remember,” he lies, adding his signature with a flourish and pushing the document away from him, “it was— pfft, it was a long time ago, tommy.” he snorts, seeing that dusty old desert in his mind. “a very long time ago.”

“don’t be like that,” tommy complains, “you’re always being all old and shit. what was it called? the server?”

wilbur pauses. “the server,” he repeats after the younger, blanking, “that i was brought up on.”

“the server you were born.” tommy pulls a face of disgust. “i don’t wanna think about how you were born. that’s weird. baby wilbur. you’d be a shit baby, wil.”

“how so?”

“well, you’re old.” ever restless, tommy bounces to his feet, saunters over to wilbur, who wonders at his brother’s energy and grin. “and you’re balding.”

“i am not balding, tommy.”

“are too.” quick as lightning, tommy pushes his fringe back and guffaws. “look at that forehead.”

tommy is infectious. despite his exhaustion and his tension, wilbur feels a smile push its way onto his face. “you’re so annoying today.”

“most people find me annoying at first,” tommy quips, “and then they love me and my incredible good looks and charm.”

the two of them share a look, and then burst into giggles, tommy hauling himself onto wilbur’s desk and sitting there cross-legged. for a moment, it’s just them and the blue sky above them, and the papers and stress and wars fade away, leaving just brothers and laughter.

“seriously, though,” the younger insists, when they’ve lapsed into companionable silence, “where are you from? before smp earth? what came before that?”

wilbur’s amusement disappears as quickly as it had appeared. “same place we all do,” he shrugs, “just a random server.”

“that’s not it.” tommy rolls his eyes. “you’re lying to me.”

“am not.”

“are too.”

“am not.” with a groan, wilbur stands from his seat, back cracking unpleasantly. “leave me alone for a bit, tommy. i’m busy. it’s the election next week, and i need to finish this.”

obedient as ever, tommy drops back from the desk, disappointed and grumbling, but willing to listen. “you used to be fucking great at telling stories, wil,” he accuses, “‘a random server’ is such a shit answer. you’ve fallen off.”

stories. tommy’s facing away from him, so wilbur lets his expression pull into a half smile, nostalgic, sad. he could tell hundreds of stories about his boring little life before the servers. stories about sand and sickness, about sinking, sickly, boredom. about the inability to be anything, anyone, out in the desert of his youth. about a dull ache in his mind, about a dull job, about dull people and a dull state and a dull world, so different from this vibrant, vivacious one he lives in now.

he could tell tommy that this world doesn’t belong to him. or more accurately, that he doesn’t belong to this world. that unlike his pseudo-brother, he isn’t from another server or another SMP. that he’s from the real world, cast here by a fateful storm that had swept him away. that one day he would return home and he’d leave tommy behind, because tommy can’t travel back with him, because earth is a world tommy can never see. that the life he’s built for himself here is a lie. that wilbur soot is a lie. that everything he stands for is a lie.

everything except tommy. and, when tommy turns back round at his long silence, wilbur has long since wiped the sadness from his face, and lets tiredness sink in instead.

“you’ll tell me about it one day,” tommy says, “won’t you?”

wilbur closes his eyes. “i will.”

(“utah,” tommy half-laughs, half-sobs, hair plastered to his face in the rain, “fuckin’— utah.”

it comes out strangled. tommy is old enough now that wilbur knows he understands.

he wishes, for the first time, he could go back in time and keep tommy oblivious. keep him soft.

it’s an impossibility, but grief claws at his throat anyway, because tommy is tommy and he can’t come with him and wilbur is going to hurt, living at home without him.

“utah,” wilbur says with a miserable little chuckle, “yeah.”

it’s not an apology. and that’s the worst part. it’s not an apology, and it should be. it should be ‘sorry for everything i’ve done to you. sorry for the things i never could.’ it should be ‘sorry for coming to your world and pretending we could ever be brothers.’ it should be ‘sorry this is goodbye. sorry for hurting you.’

but tommy throws his arms around him, small, diminished, and wilbur holds him tight, presses his nose to tommy’s wet hair, breathing in sharply. it doesn’t smell of anything. it’s a kick in the stomach, another reminder that tommy isn’t real.

another reminder that wilbur is.

“please don’t forget about me,” tommy mumbles, “you better come visit.”

a promise sticks like mud in wilbur’s throat. lightning strikes the ocean, the same spot he’d appeared in all those years ago.

and just for a moment, his hug tightens, before he lets go of him entirely.

“goodbye, tommy,” he tells his brother, and the boat is cold and damp but oh so real that it takes his breath away, “see you.”

and tommy is sobbing as he watches wilbur row away, but he’s smiling, a brave stubborn little thing that people have tried and failed to destroy.

the portal back home opens in the eye of the storm, a wide gaping mouth that sucks him inside, but wilbur’s last view of the server is of tommy.

his first view had been the same.

and he sees that smile. that stubborn smile.

and he knows tommy will be okay.

they both will be.)

[whelvenwings]

Castiel's grace is missing, and Dean's frustrated - instead of looking for it, all Castiel wants to do is grow his flowers. Eventually, the two of them have to talk about it.

Read it below or here on AO3! Tags: Canon Divergent, Gardener!Cas, Cas' Grace

This fic was inspired by this wonderful art by saminzat, and written as part of the @spnreverse-promptchallenge!

It’s not Heaven. It’s not even close. It’s just a garden, where Castiel is growing things.

If it were Heaven, Castiel thinks, then Dean would be looking a lot happier, those wrinkles around his eyes all eased away. If it were Heaven, there would have been a break in the clouds overhead when Dean arrived.

If it were Heaven, the peach rose would be in bloom, not straggling all green and leggy and ungainly through the picket fence that Castiel had put up to help it grow.

Castiel puts down the secateurs he’s been using to prune the forsythia, and takes off his gardening gloves. He walks over to Dean, acutely aware of the fact that he’s wearing enough sunscreen to make his skin shine, the worn-thin, oversized blue t-shirt he found at a Goodwill that says Thyme to Garden, and a very large sunhat to protect the back of his neck.

Sunburn, he reminds himself, is more uncomfortable than the growing look of mixed amusement and judgement in Dean’s eyes. Even on a cloudy day, his skin will burn if he’s outside for a long time. Something he learned the hard way after becoming human.

“I thought you were researching a case,” Castiel says to Dean as he approaches.

“Done. Thought I’d come say hi.” Dean raises an eyebrow and a half-smile at him in greeting. “So, hi.”

Castiel stops a few feet from him and tips his hat a little further back on his head, so that Dean can clearly see his face.

“Hello,” he says. Dean takes in the hat, the t-shirt, the full gardening ensemble, with one sweeping gaze.

“Looking good,” Dean says.

Castiel looks down at himself, and then solemnly back to Dean.

“Thank you,” he says, with just enough irony in his tone to get Dean to smile. Or it would have been, usually, but today Dean’s expression is sinking back into hard lines. The greyish, muted light seems to lie heavy on him, putting a coldness in his eyes.

Castiel searches his face. Just as he’s about to say something more, Dean breaks their stare, glancing around at the plants nearest him as a light breeze ruffles at them.

“They’ve grown since last time you showed me,” Dean says. He’s holding himself strangely, his fists clenched. Castiel tilts his head to one side, and then looks around with Dean at the garden.

He feels the familiar spark of happiness as he surveys his handiwork. Once, the place had been a sad little patch of chalky, lump-filled earth. Now the flowers drip off their stems like dewdrops, and the soil smells rich, and the leaves tremble their creaky little paths to follow the sun each day. Even the blossomless peach rose has strong roots.

Castiel glances back to Dean, and feels the warmth in his chest sputter out. Dean’s eyeing the plantlife with an expression that doesn’t seem impressed.

“It’s been a while since last time,” Castiel says.

“Yeah. Well, you know.” Dean looks distracted, frowning down at a squat little succulent plant. There’s something bothering him, obviously, and Castiel isn’t sure whether Dean wants to be asked about it or have it be left alone.

“You’re always welcome,” Castiel tries quietly. Dean seems to catch himself, shifting his expression to something more neutral as he turns back to Castiel.

“Yeah,” he says, not as though he particularly believes it, and – in a way that almost manages to seem genuine – not as though he particularly cares.

“You can stay,” Castiel says. “If you want. There’s plenty to do. If you’re not busy.”

Dean puts his hands into his pockets and looks around the garden again, this time with his eyes a little less sharp.

“Nah,” he says. “Nah, I don’t wanna spoil the fun.”

Spoil the fun? Castiel gives Dean a look that he hopes is eloquent, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“I dunno, man,” he says. “Anyway, it’s not really me, is it.”

He looks tired, Castiel thinks.

“Didn’t think it was you, either,” Dean adds after a half-beat. He reaches up unselfconsciously, and then seems to realise what he’s doing at the last moment, and awkwardly flicks the brim of Castiel’s hat with the back of one finger before taking a step away. “Didn’t think you’d ever go in for… you know. Whatever this is.”

Castiel can easily read that expression on Dean’s face. He’s seen it before, in other times, other places. The mixture of bravado and hurt and confusion had made sense when lives had been at stake and grand lies had been unfolding, but this – here, today, in among his roses and sunflowers, Castiel hadn’t expected it. Dean looks betrayed.

And Castiel doesn’t know what to say. He reaches up to his hat, just brushing the brim with the tips of his fingers in the same place Dean touched it.

“I need the hat,” he says. “To keep the sun off my neck.”

“Right,” Dean says. “Yeah.” He looks up at the sky, which is still an overcast grey.

“Even through clouds,” Castiel offers.

“Uh huh. Okay.”

Castiel squints at him.

“You seem angry,” he says. No more dancing around it. Predictably, Dean makes a face, as though the suggestion were ridiculous.

“Nah.”

“Dean.” Castiel fixes him with a look, and Dean shrugs.

“Whatever, man.”

“If something is wrong…” Castiel says.

“Listen, if coming out here and growing your little flowers and everything helps, then that’s fine,” he says. “It’s fine.”

There’s a but coming, and Castiel knows enough to wait for it. Dean looks aimlessly around at the burgeoning plants. His eyes trace the tangle of a buddleia, until he glances back to Castiel, who raises an eyebrow.

Dean’s front drops, the stiffness going out of his shoulders, his hands unclenching.

“But your grace, man,” he says. Castiel looks down at the ground. He should have expected this, he knew. But somehow hearing the words still takes him by surprise.

“What about it,” he says, in a tone that doesn’t really want an answer, but knows it’s going to get one.

Dean’s hands come up, palms facing out, asking a question without words at first.

“Seriously,” he manages after a moment. “What about it? It’s your grace, Cas.”

“I know,” Castiel says.

“It’s gone,” Dean says.

“I know.”

“It’s been months.”

“I…” Castiel sighs. “Yes.”

“You told me it was just gone,” Dean says, ducking his chin slightly to catch Castiel’s eyes. “Like it was no big deal. And now all you do is spend time up here, planting flowers. Not even trying to look for it. I don’t get it, man. And whenever I try to bring it up, you just say –”

“It’s taken care of,” Castiel says, at the same time as Dean mouths the words along with him, his expression exasperated with a spiderweb of hurt threaded through.

“It’s your grace.”

“I know,” Castiel says. “I know it is. But it’s taken care of, Dean. I don’t want…”

He cuts himself off before he says too much, pressing his lips together.

Dean shakes his head. Castiel can see him battling with himself, trying to decide whether he wants to push harder. Castiel keeps his face neutral, hoping Dean will drop it.

“Don’t want what?” Dean says, though, and Castiel feels his heart sink. “You’re human, now. And you’re stuck that way until you get your grace back, but you won’t even…” Dean seems to run out of words. Castiel tries to think of something to say to divert the conversation, take them down a different track.

“I’m doing better at shaving,” he says. “And I’ve learned not to brush my teeth before drinking orange juice.”

Castiel can see the slight smile on Dean’s face, but it’s almost completely buried under the worry and the anger.

“Right,” Dean says.

“Dean…”

“I just don’t get it. The grace… if it’s lost, I can help with that. If it’s destroyed, I can try to help too, or… we’ll figure something out. Or if it’s safe, why won’t you tell me what happened with it?” The strain in Dean’s voice tells Castiel that they’re at the heart of it now, at the reason for the tight shoulders and the clipped answers and the judgemental eyes on his catmint and cosmos. “Why won’t you just tell me?”

Castiel stares at him helplessly. The answers are in the back of his throat, ready to be said, but he can’t open his mouth – can’t get them out. He feels his heart thudding, his human heart. He doesn’t know if he likes that feeling, if he wants it – perhaps not, no more than he wants sunburn, or the taste of orange juice after toothpaste, or blood on his palms when he catches himself on that peach rose’s thorns.

But there’s something he does want. And any chance at – at that – any chance at all, it’s worth the weight of being human. He made a choice and he knows he’d make it, the same one, over and over again.

He thinks it all, but he can’t say it. Dean watches him, angry and confused. Overhead, the clouds lumber their heavy bellies across the sky.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Dean says. Castiel looks away, and Dean takes a step closer. “Cas,” he says. “I swear to god.”

Castiel looks up at him, knowing his own tiredness is right there to be seen on his face – and his sadness, his hurt. Dean’s expression shifts, and he comes even closer.

“What did you do, man? Is it that bad?”

It’s easy to see Dean’s mind working, trying to piece everything together. He’s probably thinking demons, and deals, and treachery, all the things that they’ve been through before. Castiel doesn’t know how to explain to him that he’s wrong without telling him the whole truth. And he can’t tell the whole truth.

“Look,” Dean says, “we’ll figure it out. If you just tell me – tell me where it is, or what happened. Did someone do this? And what… what does all of this have to do with it…” He looks around again at the garden. Castiel closes his eyes for a second, lets the familiar feeling of being here fill him as much as he can let it – the warmth in his chest, the spark.

He knows he should try to talk about it, but he can’t. He can’t.

When he opens his eyes, Dean’s waiting, watching him. Castiel opens his mouth – but nothing comes out.

Dean’s face tightens again.

“Okay,” he says. “So it’s like that. Great, Cas.”

“Dean, it’s –”

“No, it’s fine,” Dean says, his tone taut with bitterness, but his face carefully unbothered. “That’s fine. Deal with it by yourself. That’s always gone so well. And meanwhile, me, I’ll just, what? Wait for you to give me the bad news, I guess. That’s great, Cas. Really. You know, you –”

“Stop,” Castiel asks.

And a little of the fight leaves Dean again. He looks as though he wants to say something else, but doesn’t know what. His face is half apology and half anger.

“It just…” he says. And then waves his hand, like it doesn’t matter anyway.

And it’s the simplicity of the hurt in that gesture that has Castiel throwing all his caution to the wind and saying,

“I don’t want it back.”

Dean stops moving. His eyes fix on Castiel.

“What?” Dean asks.

Castiel’s jaw is tight, but he manages to say again,

“I don’t want it back. My grace. I know where it is. But I don’t want it back.”

All of Dean’s carefully placed anger is gone, suddenly, in his shock. There’s no performance, no strategy, in the way that he steps closer and looks utterly bewildered.

“You don’t?” he says.

“No. I…” Castiel hesitates, and then says, “I took it out myself.”

“You what?”

Castiel lifts one shoulder, a little diffidently. It had been necessary, so he’d done it. As simple as that.

“Cas,” Dean says, and then seems to be at a loss. Castiel doesn’t say anything. There isn’t anything to say, so far as he can see.

He’s made his choice. And if he ever regrets it, if he ever wishes things could be different, all he has to do is look at Dean and it pales to nothing.

“Cas… why?” Dean manages eventually, and Castiel breathes out.

He looks at Dean.

Dean stares right back at him, not understanding.

“Did someone make you?” Dean demands. “We can go and look for them, we can –”

“No,” Castiel says. “No. I chose to do it.”

“But Cas…”

“It’s –” Castiel presses his lips together again, trying not to let the expression look pained, even though there’s a flash of hurt through his chest at the thought of trying to say any of it aloud. Saying it would push the two of them, Dean and Castiel, towards a tipping point. A no-takebacks, no room for misunderstanding point. Sharp as a thorn.

And it’s the last thing Castiel wants.

Until they talk about it, anything seems possible. It almost feels real enough. But if they talk, it’ll all be over. Dean will tell him to take back his grace, and Castiel will have to leave. It’ll be over.

“You took it out. What would you do that for,” Dean says. When Castiel doesn’t reply, he reaches out and puts a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Hey,” he says, the word harsh enough to compensate for the touch.

“It’s nothing,” Castiel says.

“Cas.”

“Really, it’s…” Castiel stops. The denial dies in his mouth. He swallows, his eyes on Dean, before he looked down. “I just want to be able to stay with you.”

The last two words are too much – all of it is too much – but they’re out his mouth before he can stop them. Castiel breathes out and waits to feel Dean’s hand loosen its grip, drop away in shock at the unwanted intensity. It’s too much. Castiel knows it’s too much.

But Dean’s hand is still on his shoulder.

“You want to be able to stay?” Dean says.

“Yes.” Castiel says it bluntly, to try to shave off the emotion, make it easier to talk about. Dean’s hand still doesn’t move. Castiel can feel each place Dean’s fingers are digging in slightly through the thin material of his t-shirt. His heart is pounding and he wants to be able to turn it off, quiet it down, hear Dean’s heart instead in the way he could when he had his grace. He wants it with a sudden acuteness, a pang of loss.

“But – you can,” Dean says. “Why would you think you needed to do this?”

Castiel can’t look back up at him.

“Cas,” Dean says.

There’s a band of pain squeezing tightly around Castiel’s chest. He can’t quite seem to get his breath, suddenly.

“I just thought I’d fit better this way,” he says.

“Fit better?” Now Dean moves his hand, pulls back, though he doesn’t go far. “What do you mean?”

“You’re human,” Castiel says. He looks up, meets Dean’s eyes. “Now I am too. I thought, maybe…”

He trails off. He can’t say more. He can’t talk about what he hopes for, what he wants. He can’t.

Dean’s hand is back on his shoulder and the touch is different, now, less insistent. Softer. Castiel can see the gentleness in Dean’s eyes, shy and uncertain, allowed to show just for a few moments.

“We don’t have to be the same,” Dean says.

Castiel doesn’t know how to answer.

“We’ve never been the same,” Dean says. “But we’re still good. Right?”

There are no words in Castiel’s mind, or none that make sense – or none that he can say aloud. He wishes he could give Dean the way that he feels, just drop it into Dean’s mind, show him without having to explain it. The feeling is yes, good, of course we’re good, but there’s more – there’s different things, things I want to be to you, ways I want to be with you. And not telling you feels more and more like lying with every passing day but I don’t know how to tell you without you being suddenly aware that I’ve been wanting you in a different way to how you want me for a very long time, and will you hate me for that? Will you think I’m a liar? Will you send me away? Could I bear that? Could I bear it? If you hated me, how could I bear it?

“I just,” Castiel says, “I just want to be able to stay.” It’s the only part of it that will come out of his mouth.

“You can,” Dean says. “You don’t need… damnit, Cas, you didn’t have to take your own grace out just to be able to stay.”

Castiel nods mutely. Dean’s hand squeezes Castiel’s shoulder.

“So you can put it back, right?” he says. “The grace. You can go get it and put it back?”

“I could.” It comes out more direct and harsh than Castiel intended, and Dean’s grip tightens.

“So…?” he says.

Castiel can’t meet his eyes. He looks to the side, around the garden that he’s created. The flowers that have unfurled for him, trusting, unfussy about what deep love and secrets he’s hiding. The leaves and shoots that grow steadily under the care of his hands, no matter who else those hands wish they could hold.

“Cas,” Dean says again, and gives another squeeze, and then lets go. “Your grace is you, man. All these months, it’s not like you’ve had a good time being human, is it?”

“It’s worth it.”

“Worth it?” Dean echoes.

“If it means we’re the same,” Castiel says. And his reasoning isn’t even clear to Castiel himself, now. It just feels as though if they’re both human, if they both are the same thing, there’s a chance they could both feel the same way, too – it makes no sense, and yet Castiel can’t imagine letting go of the thought.

“We don’t need to be the same,” Dean says, repeating himself with a look that’s crossed between confusion and concern.

“But I…”

Castiel stops talking, cuts himself off. Dean’s eyes search his face.

“You want to be?” Dean says, cautious, hazarding a guess. And when Castiel’s expression tells Dean he’s right, his face goes even more soft with surprise. “Why?”

There isn’t anything that Castiel can say in answer. No explanations he can give that will make sense outside his own mind. All he finds himself doing is looking at Dean – looking at him more openly than he has done in a long time, half tight-lipped and wanting the conversation to end, half hoping that Dean will finally piece it all together. He allows himself to stare, frankly and directly, pushing away the guilt and shame that push at him and tell him to look down, step away, move back, leave. He stares like he once used to all the time, letting down the walls.

There’s Dean, he thinks. There he is. Sometimes the feelings in Castiel grow so big and overwhelming that he forgets the shape of the man at the heart of them. The way Dean cares. The way Dean looks at him right back, matches him – when it comes down to it, never pretends it doesn’t matter to him when it does.

Dean’s mouth opens to form words, but he seems to stop himself. Castiel watches Dean swallow, and feels the familiar swoop and ache in his chest as all his crushing sky-sized love focuses into the smallness of the place on Dean’s throat that he wants to touch.

Dean goes to say something, and then stops.

Castiel looks down at Dean’s lips, and then back up again.

Is it wrong, how much he wants to kiss Dean? The feeling is pressing, immediate, alive. It’s in Castiel’s blood, in his bones. If Dean doesn’t want him too, in the same way, does that make the feeling wrong? Or would it just be acting on it, making Dean aware of it, that would be wrong? But the feeling is a background hum in everything Castiel does. He acts on it even when Dean isn’t with him. He acts on it all the time.

Every passing moment changes the gaze between them. Dean’s waiting for him to talk, not filling in the space with any words this time, but his face keeps sinking further into something that looks dangerously like realisation.

“I don’t know,” Castiel says. If how he feels, or what he’s doing, is wrong, then he should look away. He should go away, leave Dean alone, find somewhere else to be. But he couldn’t, he can’t, not until he knows for sure that Dean doesn’t feel even slightly the same way – and he can’t ask, because as soon as he knows Dean doesn’t feel the same way, he’ll have to leave. The thoughts chase their tails in Castiel’s head and he stares and he stares at Dean and he hurts so much that he wants to hit his own chest just for the distraction of a simpler pain.

“You don’t know what?”

“I just don’t know, Dean.”

Dean is watching him carefully, his mouth slightly open, as though trying to figure out how to phrase something he wants to say. There’s a slight tinge of colour to his cheeks, too, Castiel notices.

“Uh,” Dean says. His mouth shapes a ‘w’ like the start of a question, and then closes again, and he frowns – but he doesn’t look away.

He almost knows, Castiel thinks. He’s almost understood. And as soon as Dean understands, it’s over. Unless he feels the same way, which he doesn’t. He can’t. We’re not the same. No matter how hard I try and how much I change, we’re not ever the same.

He needs to cauterise this conversation like a wound, stop all this from happening, but he can’t find the words. Dean’s still watching him. Castiel’s heart is thunder in his head, drowning out his thoughts.

“You look like the whole world’s falling apart,” Dean says eventually. “Not an exaggeration. ‘Cause I’ve seen your face when the world was actually falling apart.” Dean points vaguely with one finger towards Castiel’s face. “And it looked like that.”

Castiel nods mutely, and Dean sighs and glances sharply away, and then back again.

“Come on, Cas, jesus. Something’s up, so whatever it is, just tell me.” He looks at Castiel for a long time, and then he says it again. In a different voice, quieter, with a little rise at the end as though of hope or something equally as stupid for Castiel to consider. “Tell me.”

It’s said in a way that makes Castiel want to believe he’s asking for all the things Castiel wants to give.

Dean’s eyes are wide, too. Like he can’t quite believe what he’s asking.

And Castiel’s human heart is pounding at that tone in his voice, that look on his face, because it feels as though – tentatively – they could be talking about the same thing. The longer Castiel watches Dean’s face, the more he sees it. There are the little flickers of denial, uncertainty, in the way Dean’s eyes narrow for a half-moment. And then there again is the rise of hope in the depth of Dean’s gaze, the openness.

It’s so small and barely-there that Castiel can’t trust it. He can’t know how this ends. It’s a rope thrown into down into his well, though, and with no idea what waits for him at the top, he still puts his hand on it and wonders if he’s strong enough to begin to climb.

“I, um.” He starts to speak, and his voice is low and rough. When he pauses almost immediately, Dean shifts his weight from one foot to the other, licks his lips. Castiel searches for the words. “I tried staking that peach rose. But it didn’t do any good.”

Dean looks confused. He doesn’t even bother to look down at the rose, just keeps his eyes on Castiel.

“What…” he says.

“It just grew that way,” Castiel says. He can feel a lump in his throat. “Naturally. It wanted to grow that way.”

“Okay,” Dean says, as though slightly concerned for Castiel’s sanity.

“I think sometimes it’s just like that,” Castiel says. He meets Dean’s eyes. “You can try planting them in the place you want them. Cut them back. Put a stake through them.” He resists the sudden, unexpected urge to reach up and touch the place on his chest where, years ago, Dean buried a knife in his heart. He swallows. “But sometimes there are things you can’t control. And even if it’s not… not healthy, or pretty, or the way it’s supposed to go… that’s how they’ll grow. Just towards the place they want to be.”

Dean’s listening intently, but his eyes are clouded with confusion. He looks like he wants to say something, and then stops himself. Castiel can’t blame him for not understanding, when half the point is that he’s talking without getting to the point. He doesn’t want to get to that sharp-split point when his life takes one of two courses, when Dean says one of two things.

“Dean, I…” Castiel says, and his hand reaches out. Unconsciously, awkwardly, the straggling limb of a plant that has never grown the way it should have done. And Castiel goes to catch himself, to stop letting his fingers trail through the air reaching for a place they can’t go – but then Dean takes his hand.

Dean takes his hand, and holds onto it. Not sweetly, not softly. Hard. Like they’re at the top of a cliff and Dean’s afraid of losing his grip and having to watch Castiel fall alone.

Castiel can barely breathe. Against the odds his hand is being held by Dean. Against the way that his words desert him, against the thousands of reasons that the two of them shouldn’t have ever even met, let alone be standing here together in a garden. Against all of it, Castiel’s hand is squeezed tight in Dean’s.

There’s a part of Castiel that’s trying to pinch itself, that’s shaking its head in denial, but Dean’s grip is warm and real.

“Cas,” Dean says. “Do you…”

The question has no ending, but it’s Dean, so the answer is yes. Castiel nods.

Dean’s expression seems, with just the smallest of looks in his eyes, to break apart. He holds onto Castiel’s hand and says nothing, doesn’t move.

“And…” Castiel says, but his throat goes dry. He can do this. He has to do this. If he doesn’t now, he never will. He tries again. “And… you?”

Dean looks momentarily bewildered.

“Yeah, Cas,” he says.

Castiel feels himself go light, so suddenly his stomach flips.

Yeah, Cas, he hears in his head. Yeah, Cas.

On another day, when Castiel hadn’t just told Dean how he feels through a series of oblique angles – when Castiel’s hand wasn’t still being held in the rough warmth of Dean’s – Castiel might have been indignant at that tone in Dean’s voice. As though it had been obvious, when yes, half the time Dean was staring at him like he actually mattered, was ready to die for him – but the rest of the time Dean couldn’t look at him, was ready to die for anything.

Their hands swing a little between them. Just their arm muscles getting a little tired, and their hands moving together. Such a very little thing to happen, Castiel thinks. So very small. After all this time it’s just one hand in another, and it means absolutely crushingly everything, in the way that he’d known it would.

It’s happening, he thinks. It’s happening. We’re the same. We’re the same.

A little clutch of fear that he might change, one day. Wake up and be something else, unexpectedly. Grow again, in a direction Dean doesn’t –

Castiel breathes. It’s alright. He’s torn out his grace for this. He can be the person Dean needs. He can change himself again. Over and over, if needs be.

He holds Dean’s hand. Tight. He can always change again. He can make them the same again. Whatever it takes. For this, for the feeling of Dean's hand in his, it would be worth it, anything would be worth it. But –

Dean’s grip goes slack in his own.

“Wait,” Dean says. “Wait. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Castiel says. He holds tighter. “Nothing.”

Dean’s hand drops Castiel’s. The loosening of his grip is a slow-motion whip crack across Castiel’s chest.

“No?” Dean says, looking at Castiel, asking with the single word whether Castiel doesn’t want anything that just happened. He puts his hands up just a little way, maybe a surrender, maybe just a gesture to show he isn’t touching.

“Wait,” Castiel says, his hand still in place, still reaching. It shows, then, he thinks to himself. That sickle-curve sharpness in his chest, the fear in him that he won’t always be able to fit himself to what Dean wants, it must show. Dean can see it. Castiel lifts his chin, tries to look as though he’s feeling incredibly happy, instead of just incredibly much. “Dean, why are you –”

“Cas…” Dean’s eyes are searching his face, looking for the place where something is wrong. Castiel wants to cut in, insist that nothing is wrong. Take Dean’s hand again, reach for more – he could reach for more, he thinks, and his heart twists, and his head feels light. He could reach for more. Dean might let him. Dean was holding his hand for a moment, there, by choice, as though it really meant something. Castiel’s mouth is dry.

“What’s wrong?” Castiel tries. But his stomach is sinking, even as he’s aching with the terrifying joy of the sudden opening of all the doors he’d always thought were closed for him.

Dean can see that he’s scared. Dean is going to figure it all out. And then those doors will close again.

“I mean…” Dean says. He blinks, shakes his head just slightly. Seems to remember where exactly he is, glancing around at Castiel’s garden. It’s all slipping out of Castiel’s grasp. They’re going to pretend as though the last two minutes never happened, Castiel can feel it.

It’s unbearable. It’s unbearable. The idea of having had it for barely a few seconds, and then losing it. Castiel reaches for words, for anything – something that will show Dean how much it all means to him, how far he’ll go to make it work.

“We’re both human,” he says, almost blurts. “I took out my grace. So we can be… so I can stay.”

Took out, he thinks to himself. What a clinical way to talk about the tearing, the self-destruction, the loss.

Dean just looks at him, mouth slightly open.

This is supposed to be the part where Dean argues, Castiel realises only when it doesn’t come. This is the part where Dean asks me what the hell I was thinking. Tells me to put the grace damn well back where it came from, and to stop making terrible decisions. And then I argue back, and tell him I’ll do what I want to do with my own grace, and I made this choice for him, and I’d do it again.

But Dean isn’t saying anything. He’s just staring. And Castiel stares, too. He can’t argue back when Dean hasn’t started the fight. He can’t push back if Dean never pushed forward. So they stand in silence. The clouds overhead roll on, oblivious to the hearts frantically pounding so far beneath them.

“Cas,” Dean says, and he says it differently to how he’s supposed to – quietly, carefully, handling the name like it’s made of something delicate. “I don’t know what you want me to say, man.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Castiel says.

“But you… you did that…”

Castiel watches him mutely.

“Why?” Dean asks.

So many answers. To be like you. To be near you. To show you I can change for you. Castiel opens his mouth and tries not to say too much.

“For – this,” Castiel says, managing to stop himself saying, for you.

“This?”

“This,” Castiel says, holding Dean’s gaze.

Dean holds his gaze.

“But it – ah. Jesus, Cas, this is hard to talk about.”

Castiel nods. He doesn’t want to let it go – feels sick at the idea of Dean just dropping the subject, and heading back inside, leaving the garden and forgetting all about what they’d said to each other. Chalking it up as somewhere he’d never go again. Too much baggage, too heavy, not worth it.

Dean puffs out his cheeks, though, and breathes out sharply, and says,

“It’s just that, hell, man, you never had to take the grace out to have… you know… anything you wanted out of me.” Dean looks uncertain as he says the last part, as though a little disbelieving that Castiel could want anything from him in particular. “You know that. Right?”

His voice is so different. So gentle in a way that Castiel only barely recognises from the most private of moments they’ve shared. Castiel is suddenly so intensely aware that they’re the only two in the garden, alone with each other. No one else to see them or hear them or judge what they say to each other. It’s a thought that gives him courage.

“I’ve changed for you since the beginning,” Castiel says. Dean opens his mouth, and then closes it, his eyes troubled. Castiel watches him, thinking. “Or –” he starts, as a new thought occurs to him. “Or, changed because of you, at least.”

Dean still looks confused, as though he doesn’t really see the difference. To Castiel, though, it feels clear as day. He changed because he met Dean – without that meeting, he would still be the angel he’d always been. But when he thought about it, the person he changed for was himself. Because it had felt right. Because it felt, period, and that was what he’d wanted.

It loops round and round perfectly in Castiel’s mind. Meeting Dean, the push Castiel needed to start running. And knowing Dean, now, the pull Castiel needs to keep changing, stay with him, stay together.

“I just thought,” Castiel says, when Dean stays silent, “if I could be human like you, then maybe you’d… maybe we could be the same. And stay that way.”

“And you want that,” Dean says.

“Yes.”

“Because…”

“Because,” Castiel says, a little taken aback, “I want… this.”

“But why’d we have to be the same for that? I mean – this?” Dean frowns, as though almost losing track of what he’s trying to say. They’re trying to talk all around it without using any words that are too big.

“Why…” Castiel trails off as he considers the question.

Dean shrugs, in a way that battles to look uncaring and ends up looking heartfelt.

“But… we need to be the same,” Castiel says. He wants them to be close like two leaves on a tree. Closer, two petals on a flower. No, closer still, not even two things. Just one, one plant, growing strong. He wants them that close, that inseparable, after so long being forced apart by fate and circumstance. No would-be gods or divine powers could set them apart if they were one thing. The same.

“But we aren’t the same, Cas,” Dean says, so quietly that Castiel only just hears it over the little burst of breeze that briefly ruffles over them.

Castiel feels his chest clench.

“I’m trying…” he says.

“No, I mean – I mean we can’t be,” Dean says. “I mean, we aren’t, ‘cause we’re… you know… two different people. There it is, you know? Different people. We can’t be exactly the same.”

“But…” Castiel starts, and the word comes out sounding almost angry, so he checks himself and looks down. “But,” he starts again, “if I can just…”

“C’mon,” Dean says, the smallest of smiles softening one side of his mouth. “You wouldn’t really want two of me running around the place, would you?”

“That’s not how I meant it,” Castiel answers, his voice serious, but with a lightness in his eyes to acknowledge Dean’s brush with humour.

“Come to think of it, though,” Dean says, “I’d get a lot more work done on the car if there were two of me. And we could harmonise on Zepp tracks. Maybe you are onto something.”

“Dean,” Castiel says, though he can feel his heart lifting just seeing Dean reaching out for him, trying to make him smile.

“I wouldn’t let you share my toothbrush, though, no way.” Dean looks around the garden. “And this would have to go. Hate to break it to you, but no way are you digging around in the dirt for hours if you’re me. Not unless there’s something to salt and burn at the end of it.”

“I know,” Castiel says, and the words sound little and obstinate, but his hands relax. Dean is looking at him like he gets it – like he sees that curling fear inside Castiel, the one that can’t let them be two different and separate things that just happen by the grace of luck to be next to each other. Because luck runs out, and they both know it. The only way to be sure of staying together, the fear says, is to be so much the same as to be one thing.

But it’s impossible. Castiel can’t be Dean. And Dean’s right, too, because Castiel doesn’t really want to be. He doesn’t want to give up gardening. He doesn’t want to work on Dean’s car. He doesn’t want to share a toothbrush.

He wants to spend time growing things. He wants his own hands in the dirt. He wants – he wants Dean, in the way that he has done since meeting Dean. And he wants to keep wanting.

Even if he didn’t want it, it’s what is. They’re two plants next to each other. Hoping not to be uprooted, hoping for sun, hoping for kind hands that stake them upright and water them even when they won’t flower. Always at the mercy of whatever storms might come, however hard Castiel tries to tangle himself together with Dean, camouflage with him, become just the same.

There are plants that do that, Castiel remembers. Plants that tangle and blend with other plants. They’re weeds. They choke out the first plant, cut off all its light and food until it dies. Two things can’t become one thing without loss. And Castiel doesn’t want to lose Dean – and, he realises quite suddenly, he also doesn’t want to lose himself. There’s so much he wants to do.

Things he might be able to do.

He looks at Dean, who’s watching him piece it all together, giving him time in silence, or maybe just struggling to find more words. But either way, Dean is still here. Dean is in front of him. A moment ago, they were hand in hand.

They could be again.

“You good?” Dean asks, seeming to sense Castiel come to a conclusion.

“Yes,” Castiel says. Dean visibly relaxes, shoulders easing under his coat. Castiel wants to put his hands on those shoulders. He wants to reach out. He wants to touch. He wants, wants, wants, and it feels like still growing, it feels like still changing, it feels like being alive. Like being himself.

He wants to hear Dean’s heartbeat. He wants his grace back. With a sudden absolute certainty, Castiel feels how much he wants his grace back.

He meets Dean’s eyes, and says simply,

“It’s here.”

Dean cocks an eyebrow, catching Castiel’s mood without his meaning.

“It’s here?”

“My grace,” Castiel says. “You were asking where it was. It’s here.”

“Here?” Dean looks confused.

Castiel can feel his mood unfurling, the parts of himself that he’s pushed away and hidden – the parts that have known all along he wants his grace back – finally allowed to breathe, finally being given what they need. He turns his attention to his garden, bending down next to the peach rose that has been so wilfully refusing to blossom.

“I didn’t expect anything to grow when I buried it here,” Castiel says to Dean, over his shoulder. “But then the first flowers came, and so I bought more, and then I put in the fence, and – it helped, being able to come here.” He puts out his hand towards the peach rose, speaking meditatively, almost not quite to Dean at all.

His fingertips brush the tightly closed buds, the sharpness of the thorns. Castiel lets that want for his grace rise up in him, unafraid of the feeling now that he knows it can be acted on. He closes his eyes, and feels for his grace.

It’s right there, waiting for him.

Brilliant and electric. Fast, so fast, and all colours, colours so bright they hiss and spit as they rocket up the stem of the peach rose and through Castiel’s fingers, filling his body with a fierce familiar hum. Castiel breathes in and smells every flower in the garden at once and the breeze and the tang of sap and the rich wetness of the soil and there, behind him, Dean. He breathes out ozone, heady.

He can feel the hat on his head, the way it rests on each hair. He can feel Dean’s closeness, the way the atoms of air jumble between them.

He can feel the sunshine on his face when it finally breaks through the clouds overhead.

The world is turning beneath his feet as it should. The plants around him are creaking as they grow. Dean is breathing a little quicker than usual, and Dean’s heartbeat – there it is. That sound Castiel has missed since the day he tore out his grace. Thud thud, thud thud, thud thud. Castiel closes his eyes more tightly and focuses in on it, loses himself briefly in its rhythm.

“Cas?” Dean says. His voice has all the layers Castiel can hear as an angel. Richer, deeper. He can hear the roughness that comes from the light scarring in Dean’s throat after years of hunting, calling out warnings and yelling in shock. He can hear the exact pitch at which Dean ends the single word, the note that means it’s a question and it’s shy and it’s hopeful and Dean is trying to hide all of it.

The sun is bright when Castiel opens his eyes. There on the peach rose, at the tip of the stem through which he drew out his grace from the earth, is a full-blossom flower. Blushing petals unfurled, just waiting to be looked at, to be touched. Castiel reaches up a finger, and presses it to the velvet centre.

He stands up, and turns to Dean, who’s looking at him with something in his eyes that’s just the same. Newly unfurled, wanting touch.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says, and Dean’s face relaxes.

“Here all along, huh.” Dean says. “Damn it, Cas. And there was me, worrying where to find it for no goddamn reason.” The words are irritable but Dean’s tone is a betrayal of them, because it’s so gentle, so serious. Serious enough that Castiel doesn’t feel silly when he takes a step forward, closer to Dean.

He meets Dean’s eyes silently, asking a question.

“You still…?” Dean says.

Still what exactly, Castiel wonders. Still want this? Still want you? Still look at you and think about how anything else I’ve tried to care about felt like trying to follow a script written for a part I was never meant to play, but with you caring grows up without me even trying like a wild rose in good earth?

The answer to all of it is yes. It’s Dean, after all. The answer is yes.

Castiel doesn’t use words to say it. Dean barely used them to ask the question, it was all in his eyes and the way he’s still holding his arms slightly out to the sides as though hoping to have a reason to put them around someone, and so Castiel gives him a reason.

The closeness – Castiel has always thought it might be jarring, if it ever happened, to be in Dean’s space like this. Something he’s wanted for so long and imagined so many times that the reality would be strange. But it’s not strange, it’s – it’s just a little slow, and hushed. It’s so quiet in the garden as they come together. Hand touching hand. Then arms reaching up. Castiel’s eyes tracing the lines of Dean’s face, finally having time to do it in as much time as he chooses, because Dean’s going a pleased shade of red under his gaze.

“I, uh,” Dean says, his voice a little hoarse. Castiel tilts his head at a slight angle. “I, uh. I don’t know how to do this. When it’s you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I – I don’t know if you want me to…” Dean’s eyes drop to Castiel’s lips. Through angel’s eyes, Castiel can see the slight tremor in him, the way he leans in just a little and then pulls back, the way his muscles are tightening in uncertainty.

“Yes,” says Castiel simply. He reaches up, and tilts his hat back.

“But you… it’s…” Dean looks at him helplessly.

And Castiel thinks perhaps he understands. This thing between them, the way that Castiel feels, it’s – it’s alive, it’s wider and deeper than the sky. It’s everything. And they’re supposed to, what, kiss about it? As though it were the end of a fairy tale? The end of a second date?

But then, they’ve done all the rest of it before. They’ve done blood and big choices. They’ve done hands grasping for each other against every rule, against all the smart money. And now there’s just this.

There’s just Castiel leaning forwards, and seeing relief and happiness break through on Dean’s face like sunshine for a second, before they kiss.

Castiel feels his wings unfurl.

It’s still not Heaven. It’s not even close. But – Castiel pulls back, and sees the expression on Dean’s face, the way his eyes are wide and unbelieving and so, so happy. But it’s a place, where Castiel is growing things.

[oikadori]

➸ [ 3:46 am ]

The movements on your bed seem to be endless at this point. You shift to the right, to the left, you lay on your back and then turn again. Finally, you lay on your tummy but straighten up almost instantly to flop the pillow, placing your face on the cold side of it, a relieved groan that was a little too loud for the man beside you, leaving your lips.

Sakusa knows that it only had passed no more than half an hour but the tiredness on his limbs makes those minutes to feel like hours.  His eyes remain closed as your body keeps searching for a way to accommodate yourself. When he finally senses no more movements coming from you, he sighs before his mind dives into slumber at an incredible speed.

However, the sudden feeling of something getting in between his rips makes Sakusa’s eyes to snap, he looks at your curled-up form and huffs. He is genuinely shocked about the knee that is stabbing his side, but he is more dumbfounded about the way your back bends making a perfect c next to him.

He changes his position, making sure his back face you in hopes he won’t receive any further interruptions in his sleep. His eyes remain open, waiting for a sign of any other move, even though his eyelids feel incredibly heavy. It’s not long when his lower back gets pushed by your foot making him groan as he tightly holds onto the sheets to not fall from the bed.

He turns around with the intention of waking you up but stops himself immediately when he sees your sleeping features.

You are laying on your back this time, your body spread all over the bed, leaving little space for the wing spiker to prperly move. His eyes open wide as he takes in the sight of you, your nose scrunches up a little, air escapes through the thin gap between your lips and your cheeks looks puffier then usual. The silence in the room makes his eyes fix on the way your chest slowly rises and falls under the thin fabric of your night dress, making the former Itachiyama's ace to blush before shaking his head at how ridiculously cute you look into your deep sleep.

“Idiot”, he mutters before looping his strong arms around your shoulders and gently pressing you against his chest, making sure you can’t move any further. Your arms instinctively move under his own to wrap his naked torso and your legs tangle with his muscular thighs.

“Omi?”, you babble, your mind trying to shake the sleep away so you can enjoy the new warmth around your body causing Sakusa to frown before resting his head on top of yours.

“shhhh — keep sleeping", Sakusa whispered the order with a tiny smile on his face, pleased, that he found the position where he won't get any more bruises from you.

seriously rip to all my future partners 🤚😭 soft sakusa cuz we love Omi-omi in this household