#which is exactly enough to say 'that looks reasonable' but if I wanted to get into it I'd need to make so many phone calls

[matan4il]

Im currently doing a simple poll on my other account what Tumblr thinks of a Free Palestine and I say the results so far are a little concerning

And then two comments so far:

ardwolff: That's like saying we give a small chunk of land back to the indigenous American people and keep the rest for ourselves while we "live in peace" -- y'all do realize a Palestine historically was home to Jewish people and can be again if we abolish the Israel - backed apartheid ethnostate. No theocratic ethnostates should exist. They are inherently unjust

beigale-shtuchim: hey buddy what happened to the jewish population in MENA states?

Hi! First off, sorry that it took me so long to reply, I am getting so many asks, and I do not have as much time to reply as I would like, despite doing my best to find it... But I hope you know that I appreciate everything you do!

Thank you so much for doing this poll, and for sharing the temporary results. Do you have the final ones? If so, I hope you consider adding a link to them here.

There are different strategies researched in psychology about how to persuade people to come around to your position. It actually started out with marketing, but can be applied to any campaign aimed to get the public to subscribe to a specific position. One of them is the "foot in the door" strategy, a term that comes from those salespeople who show up on your doorstep, trying to sell you stuff you weren't even looking to buy. Their first challenge is how to keep you from slamming the door in their faces. If they right away offer you to buy something big and expensive, which you don't even need, you're likely to do exactly what they don't want. But if they get you to agree to something small, then they "got their foot in the door," you won't slam it in their faces 'coz you agreed to something small, and now they have you engaged. And the more engaged you are, the more invested you become. If you've already said yes to the small thing, you're now invested, and they can start talking you into why, if you're gonna buy this thing anyway, a bigger and more expensive version makes more sense.

The way it is defined here: "The foot-in-the-door technique (or FITD) is a strategy used to persuade people to agree to a particular action, based on the idea that if a respondent will comply with a small initial request then they will be more likely to agree to a later, more significant, request, which they would not have agreed to had they been asked it outright."

That's what the anti-Israel movement basically did. They started out with a smaller, more reasonable request, for people to care about the "Palestinian problem" (which means they were getting more and more people invested in it), and agree to a Palestinian state alongside a Jewish one. That wouldn't be as hard for people to agree to, especially since Jews themselves had agreed to that notion back in 1947, when they accepted the UN partition plan. Then, once people are invested in caring about the Palestinian problem, the discourse switched to how Israel has no right to exist as a Jewish state, and the only solution is to destroy it. Now all of a sudden, if you really care about Palestinians, then it's not enough to support a two state solution, you have to be against Israel, you have to be against Zionists, you have to be against the Jewish right to self-determination, anything less than that, and you are failing the Palestinians (who by now are depicted as the world's greatest victim, even though there is plenty of comparison data to refute that notion). And you do care about the Palestinians, right? So you gotta be against the Jews. Sorry, Zionists.

Also, I would love to hear what chunk of the land @ardwolff lives on they gave away to native people, while they're so willing to distort the history of Israel and erase the native rights of Jews here, making us the only native nation to have returned to its ancestral land, only to discover the world wants to displace it again. First it was done by the Romans 2,000 years ago through colonialism, now it's "in the name of" anti-colonialism (as its been packaged by your friendly FITD seller), but by punishing a native population, it's playing right into the hands of colonialists still...

I hope you're doing well! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[serensurrealitea]

Trigger warnings: fem! reader, pm! dazai, angst, blood, death, guns, alcohol, angry at waitress (abusing staff is never okay), dazai-typical suicide comments, please comment if I'm missing anything

Belladonna: silence

Word count: 3.8k

Author notes: This have been in my drafts since late November and I wanted to get it out before I turned 19 (that didn't exactly happen), so here's a birthday gift from me to you. I also apologise because all my other Dazai drafts are also angst.

The rain started to pick up but neither of the two teens bothered to pull out an umbrella, not that they had one, or take cover beneath the restaurant awnings. They welcomed the light shower which soaked their clothing and prevented the blood that coated it from permanently staining the garments. Trailing behind the bandaged young man, who skilfully avoided the lit streetlights which would reveal the darkened red patches to an innocent passer-by, was a young girl of the same age in equally dark clothing.

“Have you ever considered leaving the Port Mafia?”

The question made the boy’s artful steps pause as he turned to his companion.

“Why? Do you plan on leaving me, Belladonna?” he teasingly replied with that classic ambiguous smile that never got close to reaching his eyes.

The girl paused, lips parted slightly as if to say something but shut just as quickly. She stood there facing him, however her eyes never met his unbandaged one, instead staying fixated on the straightness of his nose and pointiness of his jaw. After a moment of pause, the answer followed.

“Of course not, I could never leave you… till death do us part.”

The boy’s piercing stare didn’t soften. The answer was hardly satisfying considering the prolonged pause used only by those yet to master the art of lying. He said nothing though, and simply turned back around, relieving the suffocating atmosphere that unnerved the weary office worker unfortunate enough to pass by them in that moment.

The pair continued their walk once more under the starless night sky whose hopeful twinkles were slaughtered by the insomniac-inducing brightness of city-light neon.

The office door closed with a slight click as the person failed in their attempt to enter unnoticed. The man that sat conceitedly in the plush leather chair, which looked out of the floor-to-ceiling windows, turned his calculative eyes upon his visitor.

“Ah, Dazai, what brings you to my office?”

“Why did you give orders to execute Y/N without consulting me?”

“Come now, you are smart enough to already know why.”

“I won’t let you.”

“Why? Because she is your girlfriend? Surely you aren’t foolish enough to actually fall in love.”

Dazai gave no response, only hardening his glare at the man still seated in the plush throne of an armchair.

“As an executive you should already be aware that such relationships are a weakness not needed in the Port Mafia.”

Silence from Dazai continued to pervade the room as his stare took on a bloodthirsty edge which would have unnerved anyone else.

“Let me handle this, there is no reason for you to involve others when she is my subordinate.”

“No, another executive will be tasked with the mission of eliminating Y/N and you are not to interfere. Should your personal feelings get in the way then I will have no choice but to take disciplinary action against you.”

Knowing he no longer had room to argue with his superior, Dazai reluctantly resigned from the verbal battle. Though he was sure to leave the with the stench of unfinished business, and a clear promise of defiance which certainly wasn’t his brightest idea but not regrettable to the boy.

With the insolent slam of the office door, Mori picked up the phone beside him and dialled a number. It didn’t ring long before a familiar snarly voice answered the call. “Chuuya, could you come to my office?”

The tight dress felt constrictive around the girl who was used to her looser work clothes that provided the freedom of movement needed for her line of work. The boy opposite her, who stayed in his usual attire despite his request to dress up, busied himself with the menu although it was obvious that no words were being comprehended. The girl’s menu, wrapped in an elegant black leather cover characteristic of such a high-end restaurant, stayed in its neat form, untouched.

Without ever having removed his eyes from the cream tinted paper, “Are you not going to order, Belladonna? You’ve been staring into space for the past fifteen minutes.”

She startled out of the daydreams that violently consumed her like a starved beast and shakily grabbed the menu from its resting place only to tear apart the binding with more brutality than necessary. She quickly flicked through the pages while restlessly shuffling, from the overpriced entrees that wouldn’t be more than a mouthful to the extensive wine selection flown in from every famous vineyard in Europe, none of the elegantly printed words registered to her frazzled brain still drowned in its own paranoia heavy enough to block out the world around her.

She was saved seconds into reaching the last page by the waitress that seated them that evening and had already been waved off by Dazai prior for the two guests were then still indecisive. With a practiced upturn of the lips she patiently asked if they were now ready to order.

The boy closed the menu and handed it back to the woman, not once taking his eyes off the fidgety girl across from him, as he recited his order that consisted of the priciest steak and a bottle of vintage wine he definitely wouldn’t enjoy.

When silence followed his response, Dazai asked, “Belladonna, have you made a decision?”

The frazzled girl dared to glimpse at the eyes of her lover which she had until then avoided all evening so far. Dark pools of hollowness which took in everything they saw without giving away anything themselves caught hers and trapped them there inconsiderate of her pleas to look away.

“Belladonna.”

His voice took on a sharper commanding edge this time but still sounded light and teasing to any stranger.

“Uh, I- I’ll have the same, thanks.”

“An excellent choice, ma’am.” With that the waitress left the two teens to their uncomfortable silence.

Dazai’s mouth was moving, and the girl could just barely make out the hot air spilling from his mouth from their close distance. But his words never registered, blurred instead with the dozens of other patrons merrily chattering away till it became incomprehensible white noise. Her eyes drifted longingly to the door a dozen or so paces away and just barely obscured by the oriental plant that didn’t quite suit the establishment’s French aesthetic.

“-re you listening to me? Belladonna? I’m recounting my brush with death here, and you’re spacing out? Do you not care about me anymore?!”

The buzz finally subsided into a medley of words again, and the girl was confronted with the pouty face of her lover           whom she starred confusingly back at with owlish, empty eyes still not quite present.

“… I’m listening, you were talking about-“

She was thankfully saved by the waitress who had returned with the exorbitant wine comfortably blanketed by a bucket of ice and was placed at the edge of the table. She took the already uncorked bottle and poured the bloody liquid into two glasses then elegantly wiped the nozzle on a white cloth, the colour bleeding into the pure shade, before slightly bowing and leaving them to savour the ambrosia.

As Dazai lifted the glass toward his date in preparation of a toast, the last few drops were already sliding down the glass and past rouge painted lips.

“Belladonna, you’re meant to savour such wines. You’re lucky that slug isn’t here to chew you out for such barbarism,” he teased as his own lips kissed the glass only to slightly pucker at the unaccustomed sweet fruitiness not found in his usual choice of poison.

Now drowned in a strained silence once again, and with no attempt made by his partner to break it, Dazai decided to make the first move and asked, “how was your day, Belladonna? I was so busy overseeing a weapons shipment that I never got to visit you.”

“Oh, it was fine, just the usual boring paperwork regarding mission reports and such.”

“Aww! And without me there to entertain you it must have been so boring you were willing to finally join me in the afterlife to escape this oxidising world’s mundanity!”

An empty, sad chuckle left her chewed-up lips at the Dazai-typical comment as she placed the glass down that was already half empty of her second drink.

“No, not yet. There are still things I want to do with my life, places I want to see once I’m finally free.”

The unnoticeable twitch on Dazai’s lips lasted no more than a split second, though whether it was a smile or a frown not even the demon himself could tell. “Free? And what exactly do you mean by that, my Belladonna?”

The poor girl didn’t get out more than a few frantic stutters before they were interrupted by the waitress again who had arrived with two steaming plates of their finest cuts personally cooked by their renowned head chef himself. A look of blissful relief painted the girl’s countenance at the sudden end to a tense interrogation.

Dinner was shrouded in silence as the two quietly ate their meals while the steak was still juicy and tender, and salad still fresh and crispy. Dazai had scoffed his down with a little too much vigour (probably being the first thing he’s eaten today, maybe yesterday too), and with only a few mouthfuls to go finally looked to his partner. She, on the other hand, had barely touched her food, and was currently chewing with about as much enthusiasm as someone forced to eat sand.

“What’s wrong, Belladonna? Is the food not to your liking? You look like the slug whenever we’re forced to work together.”

“Oh, um- it’s a little dry, I guess…” she stuttered, avoiding eye contact with the boy in front.

“Really? It looks fine to me. Here, let me try some.”

The girl frantically grabbed the plate and yanked it away from the outstretched hand, the knife fell in the process with a deafening clatter. Two pairs of owlish eyes met, though one had a touch of fear that the demon could definitely discern. Sheepishly, the girl returned the plate back to the table and collected the knife from the floor while avoiding the impassive eyes of her partner.

Another minute of tense silence was thankfully broken by Dazai as he waved down the waitress.

“My dear Belladonna here says the steak is dry. Bring the chef out so he can fix this abomination, I can’t go serving anything but the best to my Belladonna.”

“Oh! Of course, Sir. I’ll bring him here right away, Sir. I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience,” the waitress hysterically apologised with overly exaggerated bows to the two.

“Ah- No! It’s fine, really! The steak isn’t that bad actually, and I wouldn’t want to cause them any more trouble.”

“Belladonna,” Dazai’s strict chastisement shut the girl up. “If it’s not to your liking then say so. You’ve been a mess all evening, it’s getting annoying.”

A muffled sorry escaped bitten lips.

“What are you still doing here? I already gave you an order.”

The waitress, who till now had been watching the two, turned around in a panic to escape the wrath of the demon before her.

“You know what, it’s fine, I’ve lost my appetite. Belladonna, we’re going.” Dazai stood up with a loud clatter and grabbed his partner’s hand to drag her away from the teary-eyed waitress fearing for her employment.

 “Ah! Dazai, wait!”

The boy turned around, only to address the waitress that was too distressed to move. “You can charge our meal to my dog, Chuuya Nakahara, when he visits this weekend,” he proclaimed, before promptly storming out of the fine-dining establishment. The mood, already soured by the earlier commotion, felt even worse now as all the staff were already well aware of the rumours surrounding his reputation.

The cool breeze nipped and chilled the girl’s bones to ice as her jacket was sadly left abandoned on the side of her chair back inside. Her wrist was still being painfully clenched in the vice grip of her partner who clearly had no intention of loosening his hold.

“Hey, um- thank you for tonight. Though, I need to go now, I have an early mission tomorrow and am really tired.”

“I want to take you somewhere,” Dazai interrupted as he stared absently into the distance.

He started walking off into the pitch black yonder, and while his grip slightly lessened it did nothing to ease the hand-shaped bruise forming, nor the tempest of anxiety in her stomach.

The full moon, tinted an eerie blue, illuminated the abandoned warehouse and its surroundings just enough to make out the outline of a young man in a pitch-black coat. Obscured in the shadows was his partner, the young girl of the same age in equally dark clothing. A gentle breeze tickled the two’s hair enough to send a chill down the shadowed body’s spine (or was it the boy’s stare?). 

“Have you ever considered leaving the Port Mafia?”

The question made the girl’s eyes widen as her muscles tensed in trepidation. 

“Of course not, I could never leave you.”

She tried her best to hide behind a smile, but the rueful upturn of her lips easily gave away her secrets to the boy who could read her like a book.

“Then tell me what you were thinking of when you colluded with the Special Division?”

The girl wasn’t stunned by the statement that she had already known was coming, though it certainly didn’t help her prepare for this situation. She  stood in silence, no longer worried about the chilly evening that didn’t bother her anymore, instead more concerned for her trembling soul being consumed by the red-eyed demon.

“Answer me!”

His response lacked the subtle warmth and adoration it once had, to the point she thought all of their history together was just  an unrealistic dream that would never come true. And maybe that was so because…

Now all the fear that had been building up in her stomach and tormenting her mind was finally on full display at the sight of that all-too-familiar tarnished silver barrel. She flinched. Not the subtle jerks she had been giving all night whenever he said her name, but a jolt backwards like she was prepared to flee.

She wanted to throw up. Spill the pricey contents that unsettlingly filled her stomach across the gravel below.

She wanted to run away. Leave her life and everything- the good and the bad- behind to start anew in a foreign country far, far away from the Port Mafia.

That was the plan after all. But what did it matter now? What did it matter now that she was cornered by the man who used to whisper sweet nothings into her ear under sweaty sheets, the man who now forced her to either stare down the imposing loaded barrel waiting to dole out her inevitable fate, or the demonic, unfamiliar, red eye.

She wanted to breakdown and cry. Maybe his non-existent heart would have just enough pity to end her suffering quickly rather than continue this pointless torment. But what was she expecting from the mafia’s greatest torture specialist, the demon prodigy himself? He was probably relishing in her suffering, quietly laughing behind those watery eye mocked her for naively believing their relationship was ever truly real to him.

She wanted to give up. So tired of all these mind games and bloodshed that maybe she knew this was the only true way to release her soul from the bloodstained underworld, from all this worldly suffering she regrets enduring.

The click of the safety being turned off broke the agonizing silence. The muzzle pointed between her eyes at an almost point-blank range that even a blind man couldn’t miss. Most in her situation would be on their knees by now pathetically begging for their lives as they lie through their teeth about some loving family they can’t bear to part with, however she just stood there. Eyes were murky with tears that refused to fall, and a defeated smile graced the lips that he wished to kiss such sorrow off of because they only ever deserved joy.

“I love you, Osamu.”

The sorrowful crow whose beady black eye had silently judged the scene took flight in a frenzy as the gentle thud disturbed it. The dark liquid which miraculously until now had yet to stain the girl’s dark clothing soaked the black cotton a disturbing wet colour till the original shade disappeared in its entirety.

A barely visible stream of smoke rose from the hot muzzle as it rested by the side of the heartbroken lover.

The silence that followed suffocated the midnight air which took on the faintest hint of an irony scent.

“You can come out now, Chuuya, the deed is done.”

The shadow clad figure hesitated but didn’t seem surprised by the address from his partner. Unmistakeable orange locks came into the moon’s view for the first time since arriving at the warehouse as their owner floated down from the cracked window on the second floor.

“I didn’t think you would actually go through with it,” the ginger apprehensively replied.

“Oh come on, Chuuya, we’re partners, you should know me better than anyone, that a demon can’t fall in love.”

“Then why do you look like you’re about to cry?”

Dazai never answered Chuuya. Never spat back a teasing comment like usual to raise the ginger’s short temper in hopes of him kicking the bucket from high blood pressure. Dazai never even looked his way.

Instead, his right arm started to lift. The heavy object weighty in his hold, and the slight sizzle to his temple unpleasant, though it didn’t matter when all would be over soon. Nothing mattered anymore now that the heart that once beat for you both had gone silent at his own hands.

He was ready. Always had been for the past eighteen years. All he had to do was pull this trigger and-

“Hey!”

A swift kick to the wrist was all it took for the gun to fall from his grip with a resonant thud.

“Geez! If you were going to take it this badly why’d you kill her at all, you clearly knew I was following you.” The chihuahua’s barking never registered to his ears which still rang with the sound of his yet-again failed attempt.

“Oi, are you even listening to me?!” It was clear by the lightless eye that he was not. Chuuya seriously didn’t understand why he still bothered with this enigma of a man. Even if he was the only one who could read him, Dazai still managed to dumbfound him at times.

Though, looking back on his meeting earlier in the day, he supposed the outcome was inevitable.

“Chuuya,” the mafia don started the second his office door clicked shut, “I have a mission for you.”

“What is it, Boss?”

“I want you to eliminate Y/N. She has been caught leaking important documents to the Special Division in hopes of defecting from the mafia under their protection.���

The words clearly shocked the young man as his mind raced with any possibility that such a statement was untrue. He had met the girl several times while in the company of their mutual, Dazai, and was never once struck with any suspicion of possible disloyalty from her. Afterall, she was (somehow) the Demon Prodigy’s lover, and Chuuya knew that despite his general laziness toward work his partner would never tolerate betrayal to both him and the organisation. But Chuuya also knew better than to question the words of the boss as the former doctor would always, always prioritise the organisation’s security no matter the cost.

“I’ll see to it that it’s done,” was all the ginger could respond with.

“Chuuya… Dazai will try to interfere, you don’t have to stop him, just make sure that the task is completed. Afterall, I’m sure he won’t risk his position over some senseless feelings that need to be purged.”

With that, the young man was dismissed from the office and sent on his way to end the life of his work partner’s cherished lover.

“hehehe hahahaha!”

Chuuya was broken from his thoughts by the deranged laughter in front of him.

“Oh, hat rack, did you honestly think I could ever fall in love? Someone like me isn’t capable of such senseless feelings… no, if they do exist, they should be purged or else I might start seeing a point to living.” His tone was kept light the whole time, even his partner somehow bought it, though deep down he wasn’t entirely fooled by the lack of eye contact and the brunette’s quivering shoulders.

They stood like that for some time, in the silence of midnight which ate up the distant noise of Yokohama’s always bustling nightlife. They ignored the corpse not even five feet from them despite knowing they would have to call the cleaner to dispose of it and the blood which had somehow dried despite its unsettling size, a testament to how long they stood there.

Eventually, the silence and the cold became too much for Chuuya who had started to make his way back to the busy streets and toward home. But he stopped after only a few paces.

Dazai had not moved from his position, not even looked toward his partner, and instead opted to continue staring into the jet-black sea that perfectly reflected the moon’s azure glow.

“Hey… you coming or what?”

All he got was a hollow hum of approval in reply, though it still took Dazai another minute to finally set off. Chuuya never tried to leave without him despite his muffled grumbles of “damn, it’s cold,” and “hurry it up already.”

As they finally set off, Dazai couldn’t help but stop beside the cold body of his once lover. Her skin a ghostly pale- even for a corpse- and a clear icy blue tint to her lips that even his favourite vibrant red lipstick couldn’t disguise. And yet she was still the most beautiful woman to ever grace his sight, and probably ever will in his (hopefully) short, pitiful life.

“Don’t worry, my dear Belladonna. I’ll join you in hell soon.”

And as if it was a careless afterthought, whispered to the winds, the boy didn’t even realise the words escaped his lips.

“I love you.”

Extra (because I really wanted this in but didn't want to ruin the vibe):

“Oh, and I’m not paying for your meal, stupid mackerel, or sharing the rest of this bottle with you after you wasted it.”

“Aww, but as my dog, it’s your duty to serve your master.”

“You- I’ll kill you!”

[salchat]

So, here's another Dean. This one's in neocolor crayon, which are very soft crayons - you can use water with them, but I haven't here, because the paper's newsprint and it would fall to pieces very quickly if I used water.

While I was drawing, I was pondering various arty matters. Mainly, how some art/craft posts - mostly on Facebook rather than here - irritate the hell out of me. You know the ones. Where there's some amazing piece of art/craft, but the caption is something like, 'please be kind - it's my first time!' When it's blatantly not their first time, unless art and craft is just plain easy, which it isn't. Anyway, I'm not sure why people make those posts - for others to comment how amazing they are? I suppose. But it must be pretty hollow to receive such compliments. Unless it really is their first time. And even then...

So, anyway, it made me think, why do I post my art? What exactly do I get out of it? Do I do it to receive validation in the form of compliments? I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that, but I just wanted to be really honest with myself. And also, why do I make art in the first place and why this particular type of art, drawing the same characters over and over?

Well, I think I draw for the same, or similar reasons that I write - because it's my own world, that I can control. There's comfort there, isn't there? And comfort in the characters I draw and write about - they're not called comfort characters for nothing, after all. And they're beautiful, aren't they? They're just damn beautiful. Why wouldn't I want to draw them?

So, I guess I want to pour my love into creating something beautiful, or as near beauty as I can get. And I choose to do that with my crayons or my charcoal or my pastels because I love those things too - their colours, the way they spread, the way you can make big, soft marks or sharp, dark marks, the way you can smush them around with your fingers, the way you can just mess about and sometimes it doesn't work and sometimes you get an amazing effect that you didn't know was possible. I love drawing randomly, roughly, searching and searching until I find what I want.

But why post online? Hmm... Well, yes, it is nice when people think what I've created is technically skilful. I have an ego that likes to be stroked, same as anyone else. But if that was the only reason, I'd probably cheat. Some people do. And if that makes them happy, who am I to criticize?

Anyway, I think what I'm after is connection, which is in no way an original thought. That's what makes fandom so wonderful, isn't it? The way you can find connections with other people all over the world. I think when I post, I'm looking for people who love the same kinds of things that I do - the same characters, obviously, but also the same kind of approach to art. The colours and the roughness, the playfulness and the 'continuing mission' to find beauty. I think I post in the hopes that someone will see my art and think, 'hey, I like that.' And that they'll feel a little spark of joy.

I think that's what all our fan creations are about. You get the firework of joy and excitement that goes off when you create your story or your picture and then, around the fandom world, other people get a spark struck from your joy. Which is pretty flowery stuff, but, hey - I'm a writer, aren't I?

That's enough rambling. Nearly. Because I also want to do the thing I often do, which is totally anti the 'it's my first time!' kind of posts. This is very far from my first time and I want you to see the crappiness of my progress shots, because it's important to know that there's almost always a lot of crappy stages before you reach something you consider beautiful. Not perfect. I'm not after perfection, which is impossible anyway, and I would never say any of my stuff is perfect because it's far from perfect and I don't want that - I want life and humanity and striving toward something.

I'm gonna shut up now, because there are burgers to be cooked and chocolate cake to be eaten, and hey! Doctor Who's on soon! Bye!

[tj-crochets]

Went to the doctor just for a check up and he basically just told me "your body just processes sugar very well! :) :) :) It's a good thing! :) :) :) It can't possibly be the source of your symptoms even though eating fixes it :) :) :)" But there was also a moment when talking about my iron deficiency that is possibly one of the funniest things a doctor has ever said to me, up with the cardiologist who said "you're a medical mystery": He was going over my blood test results, and said "Your iron levels haven't gone up at all, they are still extremely low, but you're not anemic anymore" And I was like how am I not anemic anymore??? And he said "Your hemoglobin levels have gone up...somehow..." while frowning at the blood test results on his computer. It was very "somehow, palpatine has returned" lol

[chuluoyi]

MARRIED ON PURPOSE

- gojo satoru x reader

"for one, i can show you incredible things!" jujutsu, madness, heaven, sin. the strongest sorcerer is sure to show you all of that during the whole duration of your six-month marriage contract.

genre: marriage of convenience, enemies to lovers, crack, fluff, slight satosugu angst/comfort, kamo!reader, very suggestive. gojo clan is portrayed as very traditional, meanwhile kamo clan is rather unpleasant here

note: the unholy amount of times i've edited this story *sigh* but okay i must drop it here or else i'm going to keep editing it and losing my mind. despite my misgivings and all, i really had fun writing this and i hope you enjoy it! wc. 5k !

a part of 1K MILESTONE EVENT

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

Some would say... marrying Gojo Satoru would be living the dream.

“Don't look that sour now, wife.”

“…sigh.”

A playful nudge at your side, a lighthearted voice— “You're going to make them question our veeery happy marriage, you know… We don't want that now, do we?”

But to you, it was more like nightmare dressed in a daydream.

It was peak comedy because why would you put marrying Gojo Satoru in your life plans? He was incorrigible, a child trapped in a man's body, and there was also the very fact that you hate him. His only redeeming trait was being born in the esteemed Gojo clan, and now held the title of the strongest.

You know you must have accumulated karma, but out of everything else, why must you end up in this predicament?

Hailing from the great clans of jujutsu society, both of you know well that marriage is the essence to make the clan greater. And when it involves the big three clans, its importance amplifies even further.

It was just that you two were too rebellious to follow it through, for one reason or another. Everyone knows Gojo Satoru was faithless to any woman, and you were not exactly thrilled with the idea of marriage as a whole.

He was the one who came to you, proposing this insane idea of a temporary marriage.

"Look at it this way," Satoru said with a wry grin, contrasting your puzzled frown on that fateful afternoon. "It's either me or Zen'in Naoya for you, isn't it? It's so clear which is the better man."

That was what grated you the most. You would be damned if you married the misogynist.

"What do you get from this arrangement, really?" you questioned begrudgingly.

His name would give you security, stop the harassment from your clan, and maybe even a better life, but you didn't quite get what he'd get from the offer he willingly extended to you.

Satoru flippantly shrugged. "Nah, you are not exactly my type, but you're still far better than the boring puppet my family have considered to be my wife."

"Who?"

"Don't remember her name. All she goes on about is that she'll be the good wife and mother of my child. Ew."

Seven hells. You scowled. Gojo Satoru and his penchant for chasing the thrill. Boring women would kill him before an actual curse would.

"And hey, for one," he shot you a smirk, visibly smug. "I can show you incredible things!"

"That's not the point! Gojo, do you even realize—" your voice rose, pulsating with righteous fury, "—how serious all of this is? My life, your life! We're going to be stuck—together!"

"Six months," he blurted, tilting his head slightly. His sunglasses slipped down just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his sparkling eyes. "It's enough time to work through our shits, and by then if you have enough, we're through."

At that time, it seemed feasible. Both of you tolerating each other to avoid a much worse match.

. . .

BACK TO PRESENT—barely a week ever since you were paraded around as his wife, now you and Satoru were stiffly poised in the studio in your formal garbs, capturing your official wedding photos.

At that time, it seemed feasible, but now, it felt like a chore, as you realized that conversing with him either spiked your blood pressure so much that you wouldn't even be surprised if you ended up with hypertension or completely sapped your energy that you were left exhausted.

"Come on, show a smiiile," Satoru said in a sing-song voice, gesturing toward the camera as it flashed for the pictures. You were beyond appalled, shooting a glare in his direction.

"I am smiling, Gojo."

"Liar. You're pouting, wifey~"

Sigh… this really is going to be one hella of a ride, huh?

MONTH ONE, and you found out that Gojo Satoru is apparently as mad as people made him out to be.

"You've got to be kidding me!" you fumed, right after he hauled you into one of the rooms in his grand, traditional estate. Your glare pierced through him, a blood vessel ready to burst. "We never agreed on ‘consummating’ the marriage!"

You wrote him a goddamn contract. And the three conditions of this chaotic marriage are: one, it would only last six months; two, no personal feelings involved; and three, nothing borderline disturbing.

And this, you concluded, was the height of what could be called as disturbing.

"We will not," Satoru replied with a hint of disdain, grimacing, as if the notion didn't sit well with him either. The audacity! "We're just going to make it as if we are—"

"And why?! Why should I do that?!"

"Why else? Because my old fart believes that we indeed haven't done so."

"Then it's your fault? For failing to convince him? Why turn it into my problem!"

"Because, dear wife," he drawled, his tone taunting on the final note. "Now we're on the same page, in case you have forgotten."

Great clans and their hollow expectations spare no one, not even Gojo Satoru. They place importance in the most banal things, such as the continuity of sacred bloodlines and such.

The only alternative wasn't appealing either. Should you be found out that you married only to divorce... sigh, you didn't even want to know how big of a scandal it would be. One thing was certain: your clan would chop you to shreds.

You really had no choice, huh?

"Five minutes," you warned, glaring at him. "Make it loud. Make it so that no one wouldn't question this anymore."

Oh and sure he would. As Satoru pulled that shit-eating grin, you were in for another ride. You waited out until several maids were nearby, left the wooden door ajar, and began the show—

His hands wrapped around your waist—the feeling was peculiar, but you ignored it—and you let him pull you near that open door. He snuggled his face on your neck—his hair tickling you in the process, but you ignored that peculiarity again—as he started making suggestive noises. "Mm, you're so pretty, darling."

You could hear those maids gasp in surprise. And to add the flavor, you faked a moan.

This is... kinda fun? A twisted part of you suddenly found satisfaction in fooling the maids. A smile tugged at your lips as you shoved him away, and Satoru eyed you in surprise and irritation.

"Husband, you're... insatiable," you worded languidly, and he immediately caught on your act, grinning. "Anyone can walk by, you know."

"Oh? But that's the point." Satoru's bright blue eyes twinkled with utter mischief, and even you couldn't deny the exhilarating rush. "I want them to know."

And suddenly you got this very brilliant idea. You swiftly moved past him and sent the books and trinkets on his desk flying to the floor, causing questionable noises.

"Oh my!" a girlish voice exclaimed.

"The master! And the lady!"

Satoru shook his head, thoroughly entertained. And you rolled your eyes. Those nosy maids would finally have enough now, and this charade would end—

"What's happening here?"

The old fart. Both you and Satoru grunted in unison. You really thought you would leave it up to the maids to spread the word, but then you were taken by surprise when he wrapped his hands around you and flung the door open, slamming you against it—and damn it hurt!—offering everyone a front-row seat to your charade.

The maids squealed. His grandfather raised a righteous, demanding eyebrow. You wanted to scream.

"Hey, gramps," he greeted jovially, breathless, his grip on you tightening and you felt heat radiating from his palm. "Ah, sorry, opened it by accident—the wife here is feisty, you see."

Your veins felt ready to burst. Was this a part of his plan all along? How would you show your face before your grandfather-in-law now that he had seen this... atrocity?!

"So, yeah, we'll resume our business!" Satoru, the idiot, said it as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "See ya!"

With that the door slammed shut, but oh no, it was not the end.

"Mmmph!?" you protested, unintentionally loud and eyes widening in alarm when Satoru muffled your mouth with his hand.

The rotten bastard! You found it nearly impossible to breathe, shooting daggers at him. "Mmmrgh! Mmmrrgh!"

"Oh... so that boy really does it huh," you heard the elder mutter in thoughtful manner from outside—and you were in disbelief at how trusting he was—before rounding the stunned maids and barked, "What are all you doing here? Go!"

You nearly sagged with relief when Satoru loosened his grip slightly, allowing you to breathe, as his meddlesome grandpa finally stalked away. Done. This horrible act was over! But wait, why did he still had his hand on your mouth?

"That went splendidly!" he snickered, appearing rather pleased with what had unfolded. "Now, if only we work together like this more often—"

This is… my life now, you lamented the reality. The feeling of his calloused hand on you made you feel things, honestly speaking, but another emotion—and impulse—currently overpowered that.

Seething with resentment, you fiercely chomped down on his hand hard, causing him to swear and pull his hand out of you.

"You—you devil! You bit me!"

"Serves you right!"

Okay, he was bad. He was insufferable. But to be frank, sometimes it wasn't all chaos.

And what's more, by MONTH TWO, you realized that being married to Gojo Satoru also comes with several perks.

"Miss, please, you're trespassing—"

You looked at the police with the haughtiest look you could muster, unamused. "Don't you know who I am?"

"No, but it shouldn't—"

"I'm that man's wife," you declared regally, motioning towards a certain tall shuttlecock a few meters away. "Is that not clear enough for you?"

For one, no one can look down on you anymore, because should they try, you have the power to raise your chin high and declare yourself as the wife of the infamous sorcerer. The very moment you did, that nosy police stopped yapping, and let you through.

The cursed boy, Yuta and his classmate had just been trapped inside a barrier a curse user pulled down, and you were assigned to look into this case by the headquarters. As much as it boggled you—because certainly, the strongest sorcerer was enough to investigate this—you still had to do your job.

“What is this?” you asked Satoru, who was observing something far beyond what your measly ordinary eyes could see. “What happened here?”

He turned to you, all with bandaged eyes. “Hmm? Oh, you’re here too?”

“Don't act surprised. Answer my question, Gojo.”

"You’re too uptight, wifey," Satoru's lips curved upwards playfully. He had taken to addressing you with pet names as of late, if anything, only to get a rise out of you. "Isn't it the time for you to start calling me by my given name?"

You let out a weary exhale, exasperated. "I'm serious, did you find anything? Who is behind this?"

"Nah, nothing for you to worry about," Satoru waved his hand dismissively, grinning. "More importantly! Let's head back and have dinner! My treat!"

You weren't that oblivious. You noticed things too.

"What do you want tonight? Sukiyaki? Sushi?" he hummed nonchalantly. "Or shabu-shabu?"

You gave him the stink eye. "Is that all you think about? Food?"

"As a responsible husband, it's my duty to feed my wife, no?"

"News flash: temporary wife."

"But still my wife, regardless. I overheard you earlier. Being Mrs. Gojo is convenient, yeah?"

You ignored how a part of your jolted at the emphasis he placed on that word, grunting. "Nah, it's meh."

Call it a feeling or hypothesis. It was similar to how he treated his students. He always said the dumbest things, but it actually served to make them feel at ease.

Then it occurred to you, could this be actually his attempt to change the subject?

"You can't cheat your way out of this." You shot him a pointed look. "You know something. Tell me."

"Hmmm? And what would I get in return?"

"Don't make this difficult. I'm on this assignment too!"

"Nah, if you call me by my name, I might consider it."

Hah. You should really read a parenting book one of these days. Taking on your husband was more or less the same as facing a kid.

"Satoru," you tested, the name rolling out of your lips far easier than you thought. Somehow, using his given name felt like some sort of a leap of faith.

He stopped right in his tracks, turning to you. His glossy lips quirked into a meaningful smile, and you felt funny.

"Wasn't that difficult, was it?" he winked, and you covered the strange heat creeping onto your face by rolling your eyes and huffed.

Needless to say, he still didn't tell you even a clue. You finally gave up, thinking that if he insisted on not disclosing it, then so be it. You trusted him on this, even as he turned your help away, and you hated admitting it, because, well…

You’d trust him with your life. He knows how to handle this better than anyone.

Being a a woman in Kamo clan is, in fact, not any better than in Zen'in—you're regarded more as a commodity than a human being.

"When will you bear the child of the bearer of Six Eyes?" in your father's eyes, you were but a tool to tie the Gojo at his hip, and your worth probably wasn't even twice of Noritoshi's. You had known he would ask this when he summoned you to Kamo ancestral home, and you weren't that naive—you had asked Satoru to join you too. But your father had insisted him to stay at the foyer, while he dragged you into his chamber.

Just because you had seen it coming didn’t mean you liked it. "Is that all? Do you really make me come here just to ask me that?"

And what came next was like a crack of thunder.

"How insolent!"

You shuddered, hating how his voice still had control over you. You wanted to stay deviant, but you couldn't keep yourself from shaking. You thought you would have to endure this shit just like you did before, until—

"Now, now... That's my wife you're talking to. I'd watch your words, if I were you."

You had never whipped your head so fast.

There stood Gojo Satoru, your husband, in all his glory. He was smiling but it was clear that he was displeased, evident from his cutting remark, and most notably, how he had unveiled his striking cerulean eyes for all to see. Truth to be told, you didn't expect him to barge in here at all.

"Gojo-sama," your father bowed his head, displaying utter respect towards him, contrasting the blatant disrespect he showed towards you just now. Satoru paid him no heed, as took big strides towards you and seized your arm, prompting you to rise to your feet.

"What is this? Why are you yelling at her?" His voice lacked its usual hint of amusement or teasing, sending a chill down your spine.

"Gojo-sama, I apologize for my tone towards my daughter earlier. I was just trying to educate—"

“My wife. She is my wife now, and it would do you better to remember that,” Satoru asserted firmly, putting emphasis in the way he addressed you, his gaze hardening. "She is an adult. There's nothing left for you to educate her." Pausing, he added, "And the way I saw it, you were just unnecessarily rude."

"Gojo-sama, there were just certain things in our clan that—"

"Please, don't call on us again," Satoru interjected decisively with a light yet firm voice. You could swear your heart was somersaulting at the sight of him staring down your natural enemy. "I'm sure you're aware, but your daughter bears my name now, and she will get the respect she is due. I will have a word with anyone who fails to treat her accordingly."

Somehow or another, Satoru whisked you away from that hellhole, your hand tightly clasped in his. Your relieved sigh didn't go unnoticed by him, as he looked back to you.

"Have you gone soft?" he teased, eyeing you with a playful snort. "Did you forget who your husband is? You've got nothing to fear. Not even him."

"Thank you," you murmured. Your heart was still pounding and your mind blanked, rendering you unable to engage in your usual banters.

His clear blue eyes widened a touch, blinking at your display of vulnerability, Then, he wore the most innocent expression, even sporting a silly smirk—the hardness from earlier gone. "I was really cool, huh? Totally made you swoon I bet."

And in MONTH THREE, you realized, as he laced his fingers with yours, as his laughter filled the air, as calmness swelled on your chest, and as you loudly snorted at his remark, that—

You felt warm, so warm, in fact, and maybe—

"Pfft, you wish."

—maybe... being with him isn't so bad after all.

MONTH FOUR, and you finally found out that it was Geto Suguru.

Everyone knew that your husband and the criminal used to be the best of friends. You saw them during your high school days, and heck, you used to think that Geto was the better man.

You could only imagine what he must feel.

. . .

When he got back to your shared house after the whole ordeal—after he ended his best friend with his own hands, Satoru honestly didn't expect that you would be waiting for him.

"You okay?" you asked him, brows furrowed in concern. It was probably one of the very few times you had displayed emotions other than contempt towards him.

It felt strange because he was used to your jabs, and he was not sure what sort of expression he should pull now, because truthfully, now he felt empty. Blank. All he comprehended was that he had killed Suguru, that he was gone, and that was something he must do.

It would be just like any other day if hadn't just committed a murder. On someone he held dear.

"Of course, who do you think I am?" Satoru swiftly replied, sounding smug—or at least tried to. "I'm the strongest. I’m unscat—"

"No, not that." You frowned, meeting his gaze squarely. "After everything."

Satoru struggled to choose how he should react, partly because most of his energy had gone after walking Yuta back and reassuring him earlier, and by default, the two of you should be hellbent on hating each other and wishing for this contract to end soon.

"Aww, are you worried about me?" he quipped with a touch of sarcasm just because he had to, to show you that it wasn't enough to ruffle him.

Because he is still the strongest, even when alone. Especially when he is alone.

You let out a sigh, looking away. "Can't I?"

"Whoa, that's sweet of—"

"Don't fool yourself," you stated in straight-laced manner, meeting his gaze with a composed expression. "You're not okay. You might be Gojo Satoru, but no one will be after doing what you just did."

You might be Gojo Satoru, but no one will be after doing what you just did.

Despite himself, his smile fell, and his chest burns. What is this? Were you sympathizing with him?

Does that mean that you don't see him as the entity... that was the strongest?

Before now, Satoru remembered you as the most uncooperative Kyoto girl he had ever met. Your first meeting in high school sealed your fate as the two of you could hardly get along. You didn't mince words, you didn't take shit from anyone else—heck, sometimes when he thought of you, what came up to mind was an impenetrable diamond.

Which was why he chose you. You were someone he could trust. You were pretty in the eyes and certainly wouldn't bore him either. His reasons were purely based on logic. And after four months with you, Satoru came to a conclusion that you indeed fulfilled all his expectations, if not more.

And he felt comfortable, or dare he say, secure even. He felt like he had gained a friend, who could see past his bravado and wouldn't judge him for it.

"You're..." you sighed, casting a sympathetic glance at him, your forehead slightly creased. At that moment, Satoru couldn't help but think you were incredibly endearing, fretting over him. "...an idiot."

"Heh." I really am, aren't I?

"I never knew him well..." you chose your words carefully, hesitant. "Did you try to convince him, before this?"

He barked a bitter laugh. "I did, we even made a scene in front of freaking KFC," he remarked with a scoff. "He didn't listen to me, until the very end."

You wanted to tell him “You have done everything you could” but the words faltered on your tongue. You couldn't bring yourself to say it when you saw the faint quiver of his lips, the slump of his shoulders—the very sight of a boy grieving the loss of his friend.

Your heart pricked too, somehow, seeing that expression on him. And you once again realized that your silly, exalted husband was just as human as anyone else who made him think he wasn’t.

"And you know what he said in the end?" Satoru's tone was flippant, as if asking the most normal thing around, but carried a trace of grief, evident in the slight drop in his tone if you squinted. "He said he didn't regret it, not even a bit."

"I'm sorry," was all you could manage.

Satoru's smile was lopsided. Now that he had finally accepted it, something inside him finally bleeds, and it freaking hurts. The pain gripped his chest like a swirling inferno.

But then, you boldly clasped his hand in yours, gently tracing soothing circles on its back.

"What?" he peered at you, feeling a ghost of a smile forming.

"Consider this emotional support."

And he chuckled softly. Despite the lingering ache, despite the gloom he was sure he would carry for the rest of his life, he felt the pain was more bearable with you by his side, somewhat.

How?

You blamed it on the alcohol, because it was MONTH FIVE and you were kissing Gojo Satoru, daringly.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you rasped between kisses, breathless, as your own sinful hands plucked the buttons off his shirt. The intoxication might have played a part, but the intense heat coursing through you made it hard to think straight.

Satoru crashed his lips against yours again, consumed by blind lust. "Yeah, we shouldn't," he replied in a rush. His breath was hot as he trailed his lips down your jaw and neck next, savoring the softness of your skin.

You two had attended a banquet for the elite, and you were unbelievably beautiful. Standing by his side as his wife, you drew admiring glances, with everyone marveling at what a remarkable couple you made. The Gojo heir who was born with the legendary Limitless and the Kamo heiress, as lovely as her clan's name was powerful.

His deft hands roamed the curves of your body, exploring every inch of you. The warmth of his hands tickled something inside you as you closed your eyes to sink into this very moment. Next you knew, his bare body was against yours and you were stripped out of your evening dress.

Lust flickered in his honored eyes, as he took in the sight of you in your undergarments.

"You're really pretty, you know," he whispered. The intensity with which his eyes scanned your form made you nearly squirm. "Shame we don't always get along."

"You're one to talk," you retorted, a hint of exasperation in your tone, as you willed all other thoughts away. Thoughts like what comes after this. Thoughts like—

Is it heaven or sin, if you feel both at once?

His thumb tenderly caressed your plush lips, a hint of a smirk on his beautiful face.

He has long been thinking about your body. He was but a man, after all. He just didn't expect that you wanted this too.

There was always this tension, only this time, neither of you could hold it back anymore. Perhaps it was impulse—hell, most certainly it is, but there was another thing, something more that even Gojo Satoru still didn't dare to say out loud.

"Eager, are we?" he taunted when you leaned in, yearning for the touch of his lips on yours again.

You huffed. “Shut up and kiss me.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks at the slip of those words. You were about to rectify it, taken aback by your own boldness, but then he drew you close, silencing any further protest with a gentle hush—

"Too late, sweetheart," his husky voice entered your ears, lips curling into the most wicked smile, and you were in a trance. And Satoru was once again convinced, that choosing you as his wife was the rightest thing there was.

If the two of you went with this, then there would be consequences. Things would become more complicated, harder to sort out.

But, he decided, as he captured your lips in another heated kiss, everything else can wait.

MONTH SIX, and you were dreading the day of your divorce.

You brought this upon yourself. Whenever you reminisced about that night, you wanted to smack yourself in the face and bang your head against the nearest wall.

This marriage has a time limit. And you were doing it out of convenience in the first place.

You weren't supposed to… goddammit—fall in love with him.

But what's done is done, there is no going back in time. Awkward exchanges and lingering stares had been gnawing at your insides these days, and you were sure Satoru too must have noticed them too. You two used to be more relaxed with each other, and he'd even flirt with you, but weeks ever since that night of drunken passion, you almost reverted back to your high school personas—ignoring each other.

This was tough. You didn't like this. And more than that, you were faced with a more pressuring matter...

Gojo Satoru, with everything he possessed, could have had any woman he wanted. This arrangement with you was temporary in the first place, soon he would forget you and flit to the next woman.

The thought made your heart ache, because you had involuntarily gave your heart away to him. Siiigh… What a predicament you put yourself into, huh?

With just a month left together, maybe you should just make the best of it.

. . .

If you thought that things were any better with Satoru, then you were sorely wrong because he too, was debating with himself often nowadays.

Days spent with you were fun and fulfilling. You irked expression somehow had made its mark in his heart. You were pretty, fit to be by his side publicly and preferably, behind the closed doors. With you, he didn't feel the need to carry this facade of being strong—he could be a clown tripping over his own trap and you would amuse him with your deadpan expression.

And ever since that night, he was constantly reminded by how soft your skin was against his. It almost drove him crazy now that he was deprived of it.

How was it the last month already? He wasn't ready to let you go yet.

When he got back home later after his class ended and found you in the dinner table setting the food, all he could muster was, "Hey. Haven't eaten?"

You whirled around to face him in surprise. "Oh... you're back. Just about to. Want to join me?"

Of course he would. And yet as the two of you sat down, it was so painfully awkward Satoru felt like he was dying inside.

Why couldn't he pull off a smart line or two? Where did his suaveness go? He was smoother than this, surely, with his colorful history. One night of passion was supposed to enhance the relationship, not to derail it. What happened to you both?

The salt was near his side when you reached to grab it and bumped into his hand. "Uh-oh."

Turning towards you, he found your spooked expression and your adorable eyes widening in surprise. "S-sorry..."

It was just freaking salt! Salt! Why on earth were you apologizing?!

Enough, he thought. This utter madness of being jumpy with each other. He'd start from his side.

Does he want you to keep being his wife even after all this ends? Yes.

Why? All reasons already listed above.

Does this mean he likes you? Apparently and supposedly, yes. Because if it isn't then he doesn't know what this funny feeling driving him mad is.

With that sorted out, then he only had one more thing to confirm. He put down his spoon and crossed his arms together. "Tell me the truth. Do you like living with me?"

His question obviously took you by surprise. "Huh? What brought this on?"

"Just give me an answer."

"You're so pushy," you grumbled, lips pursed, and he felt like you were finally back to your usual dynamics somewhat. Good.

"Sooo, the verdict? Do you enjoy being with me or not?"

Because to him, it was a resounding yes and more.

Ignoring the warmth that surged to your cheeks, you rolled your eyes. "Surprisingly, not bad, yeah," you admitted, mustering the courage to meet his gaze. "You're annoying, an idiot, a bit crazy—"

"Hey!"

"—but eventually you're still... manageable," you added, feeling your face truly start to sizzle. But covered it up by looking down and playing with your fingers as you still had more to go on. "What I want to say is... I'm glad that I agreed to this—with you—because I can’t imagine it with anyone else."

An unfamiliar tingling emotion rushed to his chest as his face too started to heat up, letting your words sink in. Is he blushing? Oh God. He sure is. And so did he feel hella giddy.

Then it’s sealed.

Suddenly he procured a piece of paper from his work uniform and showed it to you. You first saw his lazily scrawled signature before it dawned on you.

The contract. You almost forgot that you made him sign that looming piece of paper. You were almost dismayed, thinking that he would end this right then and there, but then—

“Well, then… I suppose we no longer need this.”

Riiip~

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when Gojo Satoru tore out your contract right in front of your face, the most brilliant of his devilish grin adorned his handsome face, as he took of his blindfold to see you far clearly than ever. Heavens, you are cute, he thought.

“Soooo~ seems like you’re stuck with me from now on!”

You gaped, awestruck at the blatant meaning of it all, feeling how your heartbeat started to pick up the pace, when he pulled the rag out of your feet once more by tilting his head to the side, looking at you with a winning smile.

“Let’s start over! What did they say again? Ah, yeah. Here’s to the first day of our lives!”

[kitkatscabinet]

Don't feed him he'll come back (2)

simon riley x neighbour! reader

summary: The ghost that lives in your apartment is a solitary man, people tend to stay out of his way, giving him a wide berth. You can't help but think he seems a little bit lonely, cue pestering him with bad jokes and food.

word count: 1.3k

A/N: Simon's POV of events. Find part 1 here. Part 3 here 18+ nsfw themes

Simon’s not entirely sure what to make of his pretty neighbour who fattens him up with their cooking and has a penchant for bad jokes that might outshine even him. From the moment he’d caught you staring with wide eyes he’d expected wariness, or outright fear, those were the typical responses. He hadn’t expected you to force a tray of pasta bake into his hands and then promptly disappear before he could get a word in. 

It’s a bit ridiculous, but the random act of kindness set his teeth on edge, enough that he’d even suspected foul play briefly. Hunger and logic eventually won out over his paranoia and Simon devoured the tray embarrassingly fast. He’s not quite sure how to face you so he simply leaves the tray outside your door and assumes that will be that. 

Except it’s not. For some reason you’ve taken it upon yourself to feed him, leaving an array of dishes from dinners to snacks. Apart from an initial note inquiring into allergies you adapt his diet on experience, taking note of what he does and doesn’t seem to enjoy. 

He doesn’t know how to get you to stop, nor does he really want you to. Not when he’s become entirely too reliant on you feeding him, eagerly awaiting each new dish with the excitement of a hyperactive toddler. 

Price says he’s got a crush, which is just absurd, the only thing he knows about you is your name. And that your left cheek has a dimple when you smile, and that you love your cat more than anything and that-

He doesn’t have a crush. 

Then the elevator breaks. It breaks with only you and him inside and instead of panicking like he expected, you only seemed mildly annoyed for a few seconds before you turned to him with a conspiratorial grin. “A bear walks into a bar and says give me a whiskey and… cola. Why the big pause? Asks the bartender. The bear shrugged. I’m not sure, I was born with them.”

Simon’s a little floored and it’s probably only his shock that prevents him from laughing because dammit, that was better than some of his. What shocks him even more is that you aren’t deterred from his silence. If anything, you seem to take it as a personal challenge and your eyes glint in determination. 

It’s both a mixture of the jokes and you’re adorable determination that finally pulls a chuckle from his lips and Simon will forever remember the way your face absolutely lit up at the noise. 

It’s not until he provides a joke of his own before ducking into the safety of his apartment that he briefly thinks Price may have been onto something. He staunchly pushes that thought away but then you start leaving jokes with the food and he has to admit he’s in a little bit of trouble. 

You wrangle his number from him (not that he resisted very hard) and then you wrangle him into your apartment and you make him watch as you flit around your kitchen in order to feed him. 

His next deployment comes at exactly the right time and Simon is prepared to spend the months away getting over you. Except this doesn’t happen because you send him a joke every day without fail, not even deterred when he rarely responds. 

You send a selfie of you and your cat and Simon stares far longer than is appropriate. He’s dreamt of you before, both innocently and not so. For some reason, the distance makes this worse and Simon wakes hard and aching for you more often than not. 

(Johnny walks in on him with his hand in his pants staring at a picture of you once and neither of them can look at each other for days. He thinks this is preferable to the shit-eating grins Johnny throws his way now.)

For the first time in his life, Simon’s desperate to get back from deployment to the empty apartment he barely considers his home. The empty white walls and space not seeming as depressing when he knows you’re waiting for him just across the hall. Waiting to fill the dark void in his chest that grows when he loses access to your smile. 

For the first time in his life, Simon doesn’t want to leave his apartment. Each time Price calls him away from your presence starts to weigh on his soul more and more. It’s getting harder and harder to stop being Simon, to put on the mask and be the Ghost when all he can think about is you. 

It all comes to a head nearly nine months after he'd initially met you. As much as he tries to ignore the way his heart sings in your presence and aches in your absence Simon can’t really deny how he feels about you anymore. 

You pull him from his dangerous train of thoughts when you plop down next to him on the couch. Not exactly a new move in of itself but even then he can’t help the way he shivers at the feel of your arm against his skin. 

If asked Simon wouldn’t be able to tell you a single plot point of the movie you’d put on, not when his mind was running a mile a minute and he was trying not to smell your hair like a creep. 

He tenses a little when you tip against him but doesn’t push you away. Instead, he can’t help but smile softly down at you as he watches you fall deeper and deeper into the clutches of sleep. Awe and adoration in his eyes as one of his hands lightly stroked your cheek, his other arm wrapping around you to pull you closer to his chest. 

You’d wormed your way into his heart months ago with all your stupid jokes and your insistence on looking after him. Not once had you ever asked for anything in return, you even seemed offended at the implication. 

He wasn’t stupid enough to let you in on his feelings, not when every time he left you could end up being his last. Simon had once accidentally caught you crying over your brother, a soldier like him, though not as lucky. Your brother was dead and buried and Simon saw the toll it took on you years later even when you tried to hide it. 

You were the sun. You were light and everything that was good in this world, saw the good in him, and Simon refused to be the potential reason that light was snuffed out. 

He wouldn’t do that to you. But Simon wasn’t completely selfless, so he held you in his arms as he slept, letting himself imagine a life where you could be together. A life where he got to come home to you and your stupid fat cat, his apartment no longer in use and he’d hold you just like this as you slept. 

This wasn’t that life, but Simon still let himself pretend it was, just for a little bit. Because Simon couldn’t deny it any longer, he loved you, was in love with you. And for that, he had to leave before he ruined you.

Tags: @cooliofango @innercollectivecomputer

[gay-dorito-dust]

How’d they react to you calling them bro or dude whilst in a pre-established relationship…(platonic/romantic)

Dick: he’s insulted.

Gutted.

He will try to give you the silent treatment for such a shameful thing but ultimately fails as he ends up being the one pawing at you for attention.

‘Do you still like me? Or did you just run out of cute nicknames to call me?’ He’d say one night as your both cuddling in bed together. ‘If it’s the later then I can help you find something, just please spare me and don’t call me dude or bro anymore.’

He’d rather you call him Richard-wait, no he hates that even more because to him you’re not meant to use his fully name, only cutesy nicknames that’d make a grown man sick to his stomach. Nothing else would suffice other than Dickie bird, handsome, babe, hunk, honeybun or anything that wasn’t his name.

He’s go mad or would act delusional and say that everything was fine when everyone could tell that it wasn’t. People who know him have personally came to you and begged you to stop calling him dude/bro because he kept talking their ears off about how his beloved partner is torturing him, which ends up torturing them even more upon hearing about his relationship issues.

Dick would even consult Hayley on what he did wrong, only for Hayley to look at him with those big, big eyes of hers. This was not her level of expertise unfortunately. (Head empty, no thoughts. She can’t do her abc’s guys it’s a real tragedy.)

Jason: ‘I just had my tongue down your throat just now and you had to go and ruin the mood by calling me bro. What the fuck.’ - Jason at some point.

It’s a whole mood killer for him to be honest.

He’s calling you things like chipmunk or sweetheart but here you were calling him dude and bro. He knows for a fact that he’s well and truly out of the friend zone because the shit you’ve done together isn’t platonic in any sort of way.

Thinks Roy had set you up to call him dude or bro behind his back. (He hasn’t)

Jason is petty and will get his own back by referring you as ‘just a really good friend’, ‘buddy o’ mine’ or even worse than both of those; ‘chum.’ 💀

When you go low, Jason was more then willing to go to the depths of fucking hell to the point it had become a game to see who’d call out just how stupid this all was, and at the both of you for ever thinking that this was an excellent idea in the first place.

You’ll probs get punished…I’m just going to leave it there and let your minds guess what that ‘punishment’ was exactly.

Damian:

As much as Damian hates it when you call him Dami, he hates it when you call him dude or bro even more, if that’s even possible.

Damian hates it when you call him dude or bro. He’s not your dude or bro, he’s your partner and he expects no less then darling, my heart or my beloved.

So you calling him dude or bro is more than enough reason for him to give you the silent treatment.

‘Until you learn that I am your partner, I won’t want to be anywhere near you if you’re going to keep calling me your bro or dude. It is a disservice to who I actually am to you.’ He says with a huff and beckons Titus to follow, only for the Great Dane to be left confused as to why his human parents were at a disagreement over something silly.

Also Titus, Ace, Jerry, Alfred the cat, Goliath and BatCow are children of divorce because I said so.

So it’s bests that you apologise while you still can because Damian can hold a grudge unlike any other. Even if you didn’t, you’d still crack first before Damian and quickly put an end to calling him dude/bro.

He just thinks being called a dude/bro when in a pre-established relationship is an insult.

He can take a joke but not when it’s aimed at his relationship. He’s well and truly devoted to his relationship -if we’re to completely ignore the whole being Robin thing- that it might as well be an insult towards him too at this point.

[nsomniacsdream]

I have a hard time talking about American law enforcement, because I have ptsd (like a therapist told me this and everything) from my own experiences with cops and because it's so balls quaking insane.

Like, a cop in the United States can pull you over for any reason. Which is a nice way of saying no reason, because literally anything can be used after the fact as justification. A cop can say its cuz you looked at him, or didnt look at him, or it looked like you were holding something, or looked like you were driving too perfectly for it to be natural. It's insane.

There are apparently no circumstances where a cop can't just kill you. The line the courts have applied is "reasonably believed" you were a threat, but that's such a nebulous nothing limit that people get shot for reaching for their license, having their phone in their hand, you're running away with no weapon, not being able to follow conflicting commands, like anything. And cops are almost never charged, because every court is going to believe he could "reasonably believe" he was threatened. Fuck, if you give me enough time, I can make any situation seem juuuuust plausibly threatening enough to pass that bar. It's insane.

A cop can just rob you. Like tell you to give him your wallet, take all the cash out, and just walk away with it. Exactly like you would imagine getting robbed in an alley would go, except no one can help. And he doesn't even have to hide it, he just drops it in a box at the station and they put it in their bank account. It's legal. You can't prove it wasn't drug money. I can't prove any money wasn't at some point drug money. It's insane.

If a cop just walks in your front door and says "I'm here to kill you and your entire family" YOU ARE GOING TO PRISON IF YOU STOP HIM. There is no positive defense for assaulting a police officer in the United States, and doubly so if you kill him. You have effectively no defense against a homicidal cop, which happens same as any other job. Unless for some reason you have cameras all thru your house and clearly caught the audio of him saying that he's there just to kill you, you have zero chance of not going to prison, probably for life. And that's assuming you aren't killed "resisting arrest" while being taken into custody. It is a crime, in this country, for you to defend yourself under any circumstances if the person you're defending yourself from is a cop. That's insane.

You don't have civil rights if a cop says so. You have the right to have a gun, right? A lot of states have open carry. A cop can shoot you if he sees you have a gun. Doesn't matter if you have a license and everything. So you effectively don't have the right to bear arms if a cop can shoot you for exercising it. You have the right to protest. Unless a cop tells you to stop. He doesn't need a real reason to tell you to stop. And if you don't stop, you can be arrested or shot. So you don't really have the right to protest, do you? A cop cant just search your car or house, right? Unless he claims he heard something, or smelled something, neither of which can be proven. So a cop can search whatever he wants, as long as he pretends there was a "reason". So you dont have protection from unreasonable search and seizure, do you? These are no longer rights- they're things the cops allow.. for now. But legally, those rights have already been found to not actually be rights, because any random cop can decide to take that right from you, for any reason. It's insane.

These aren't like crazy things that I'm just making up, these aren't some weird twisted way I'm looking at something, these are all very real things that we all just.. ignore? Police abolitionists and the media bring these things up all the time, and the overwhelming response to it is: so what? Don't break the law and it won't matter. Blue lives matter. More police funding. Cops should have tanks. It's insane. And I always feel like im just rambling and sound insane when I say this kind of stuff because if you wrote a book and had the dystopian government doing the stuff that the police in this country do every single day, those same people who "back the blue" would line up to say stuff like "*Books government* wouldnt have a chance before us real americans stopped them" on twitter and not even get a hint of the irony.

[lowkeyremi]

Bakugo with the kids >:3 (bakugo x fem!reader)

This post was possible bc of @shima707 they commented on my bkg dad post for more so i decided to write more :D

"Daddy, Shoko's cryin' again." Mayako says shaking her father. Katsuki usually sleeps in on Sundays with you by his side but for some reason he's waking up upon the fact that the newest addition to the family is crying.

"Where's mommy at? Tell her to get Shoko." He mumbles under the covers. Mayako gets off the bed to open the blackout curtains which causes Katsuki to groan loudly.

"I looked for mommy but she's not here!!" Katsuki perks up at those words, where could you be early on a Sunday morning?

"She's not here? That's weird, she woulda told me if she was goin' somewhere." Mayako glares at her father, it's actually pretty ironic. Katsuki feels like he's staring at himself.

Your blond husband rises from bed to brush his teeth, this was not how he imagined his day would start.

"Can you get one of Shoko's clean bottles off the rack, Maya?" he asks between brushes.

"Mommy already made a bottle for her its in the fridge left with a note to warm it up." Katsuki finds it strange that you left without saying anything. The hero jogs his memory trying to remember if you said anything about going out on Sunday.

Once he's freshened up, he makes his way to the nursery with Mayako by his side like a little assistant or something.

"Your brothers 'wake yet?" He asks opening the nursery door, he is met by loud cries from his little one.

"I think Kaien is awake, not sure about Kitaro." Katsuki nods, he picks up his daughter with his washed hands. He wanted all of his kids to have K names like him but you argued it'd be too confusing. You agreed on both your sons having K names but you named Shoko and Mayako.

"Alright Shoko, that's enough crying." She's only about four months old which means aside from eating, pooping and peeing, crying is all she can really do. He cradles her and puts the bottle in her mouth. The cries stop immediately and she sucks on the bottle harshly.

"Daddy, please don't get mommy pregnant anymore. I'm tired of hearing crying everyday." She admits in a tired tone as if she's the one who cares for all the children. She does contribute to her siblings care though.

"Hah? I hafta hear crying every day, more than you did and how do you even know I'm the reason mommy has babies?" He's shocked to say the least, Mayako is only nine.

"Well for one mommy was always like 'I swear on my life all that man wants to do is get me pregnant' or 'I'm not having anymore of his kids after this one' so I asked Aunty Mina what she was talking about and she gave me as she called it 'a watered down version of how babies are made'." Mayako explained to her father. He should've known it was Mina.

He switched Shoko's postion so he could burp her, then he realized he needed her towel or he'd have spit up on his shirt.

"'N what exactly did Mina say?" He completely ignores that fact that you've complained about pregnancy, he's heard it all before. Whatever Mina told his daughter was something ridiculous he already knew it.

"She said that you slid your hotdog into mommy's bun and the mayo created a baby hotdog." Katsuki cringes hard. Out of all the things Mina could have told his daughter it had to be that.

"I hate that idiot so much." He mumbles. Shoko gives a good burp and a few coos. Katsuki adores the fact that Shoko has your eyes and your nose.

"Go tell Kaien to brush, Kitaro too if he's 'wake." Mayako gives a silent nod and stomps out of the nursery. Katsuki predicts that Kaien will come crying in a little bit, he and his sister clash often due to Mayako's firey temper and his softness.

He's determined to change Shoko's diaper and clothes before Kaien comes in crying.

Katsuki gets lucky and is able to start breakfast when Kaien comes crying in the kitchen. "Daddy, Mayako's being mean. I hate her!" He yells folding his arms.

"Woah kid, we don't say hate. Especially not about family." Katsuki says, he's in his 'Kiss the chef' apron in courtesy of you.

"You say hate all the time!" Kaien argues, and well, he's right. Katsuki doesn't want his child outsmarting him, though.

"That's cuz I'ma grown up." It's the best thing he can come up with at the moment. A father of four with his wife away can only do so much. He's got Shoko strapped to his chest while he's cooking.

Katsuki gets no respond from his son, so it's time to do some digging.

"What did your sister do, Kaien?" He was not at all prepared for Kaien's answer, he expected that she was bossing him around or something.

"S-she said that I can't use the spicy toothpaste because I'm a baby!" Spicy toothpaste? Oh, he must mean the mint toothpaste.

"What did you tell her?" He quickly scarmbles the eggs with the cooking chopsticks.

"I told her six isn't a baby and she said it is." Katsuki almost laughed, not at Kaien. It's just that cute little pout he has on his face.

"Maya-"

"Yeah?" She responds before her father can finish calling her name. He had a sneaking suspicion that she was lurking around the corner waiting to interject and say that her brother was wrong.

"Why can't Kaien use the spicy toothpaste?" The eggs are done so he plates them and checks on the rice. Shoko was drooling all over his collarbone even with her baby towel.

"Cuz he's only six, he should use the kid toothpaste." She says in her 'as-a-matter-of-fact' voice.

"Are you Kaien's ma?" Katsuki asks, he doesn't miss a beat while chopping the spring onions.

"No but-"

"Aht, no buts. You're not his ma so you can't go around telling him what to do. Unless of course, you're babysitting 'em." He sets the chopped onions aside and puts the rice and eggs into bowls. He makes sure all the servings are equal or he'll get complaints from his mini critiques.

"Mkay." She's sour right now.

"Where's Kitaro?" Katsuki garnishes the the food and sets it on the table.

"We both tried to wake him up but he kept saying he was tired." Mayako comments and sits in her normal spot.

"Ain't nothing for him to be tired for, he's eight." Mayako shrugs at her father's words and says thanks for the food. She and Kaien dig in.

Katsuki heads up the stairs, Shoko still strapped to him. His eyes scan the hallway and it's covered in toys. The blond makes a mental note for his kids to clean up later.

He walks over toys to reach Kitaro's room, the door's closed which isn't normal. You enforced the 'no closed doors' rule, unless someone's in the bathroom or changing.

He opens it half expecting Kitaro to be doing something bad. Instead the eight year old is snoring like he hasn't slept in years.

"Get up kid, time to eat. Go brush." He shakes Kitaro.

He just groans, pulls his covers over his head, and yawns.

"I'm tired." Katsuki raises a brow.

"Tired from what?" Once again, Kitaro's only eight, he can't be doing anything that energy consuming.

"Video games." He mumbles from under the covers.

"Tch, 's why you don't needta be playin' them. I don't know why that old hag got you a gaming system." Kitaro is sluggish getting out of the bed. Katsuki's watching him like a hawk. He watched him all the way until he was at the table.

He sees you sitting with Kaien in your lap eating some of his food because he's not likely to finish it.

"There's my baby girl!" You coo to Shoko. Katsuki undoes the baby carrier and takes her out of it. Those ruby red eyes scan your body for any indication of your activities this morning.

"Where have you been all mornin'?" Shoko babbles while Katsuki starts eating breakfast.

"I went to the gym, I'm trying to lose baby weight." You explain with a small smile.

"Tch, why's it matter? I'm your man 'n I like you the way you are." He never understood why you were so insecure.

"I'm not doing it for anyone besides myself." Kaien whines when you pick at his eggs.

"You aren't gonna eat them, little boy." You boop his nose and he tries to bite your finger.

"Too slow, Kai." He pouts, and it looks just like when Katsuki pouts.

"Why didn't ya tell me you were leavin'?" He huffs.

"Cuz you'd tell me I look good and convince me to stay." You're met by his silence which tells you you're right.

"Date night?" Katsuki asks with a sly smirk.

"No more babies!" Mayako protests.

"I agree- wait how do you-?!"

"Mina." Your husband and eldest daughter say at the same time.

"Oh I love her." It doesn't take a genius to know Mina probably told her some crazy watered down version of sex.

"Ki, hon, you look tired." He yawns at your words.

"He stayed up all night on that gaming system the old hag gave him." Your eyes widen.

"Katsuki! Your mom is not the 'h word' and I've been meaning to put parental controls on that thing." He rolls his eyes at your pg language when you normally have the mouth of a sailor when the kids aren't around.

"Whatever." The hero scoffs.

"Love you too, Kats!" You wink at him obnoxiously and he groans.

Thanks shima707 for giving me the motivation to write more, and I'm glad you enjoyed the first part! Love you guys and see ya next time <3

[jaylaxies]

NOW OR NEVER

PAIRING: spider-man!sunghoon x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, unprotected sex, choking, fingering, slight bondage, usage of nicknames, breeding.

SYNOPSIS: going around the city with your massive poster which said, ‘Choke me, Spider-Man!’ was something you did for fun, not knowing that your dream might actually come true.

WC: 1.4k words

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni

A/N: hihi, loves! this one was requested by my anonnie and i’ve also posted this as a mark fic before! i hope you guys will like it :3 all likes, comments, reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated! iloveyou all <33

“Shh, baby. Don’t want your parents to hear now, do we?”

You truly couldn’t believe that it was happening—that Spider-Man was in your room with his slender fingers wrapped ever so perfect around your throat.

You’ve always wanted this from the day you first saw him, on the day he saved a lift full of people from falling down and crashing to the ground. You were one of those who unfortunately got stuck inside the lift too, which was the traumatic onset of your tiny crush on him.

No one knew who was behind that mask, yet his suit clad figure was a sight to see, his build lean and slightly muscular, not to mention he smelled brilliant (a little something you gathered when he saved you).

To add to it, his ever so attractive voice always grasped everyone’s attention, you thought he was funny too, which is exactly why you ended up making a poster full of glitter saying:

Choke me, Spider-Man!

It was a silly joke, albeit you’d definitely be lying if you say you didn’t get wet dreams about the superhero, because you did. Detailed ones at that.

Maybe carrying the poster with you at all times was a stretch but you did it anyway, granted that your city was full of crimes and spotting Spider-Man was an easy task, which is why you proudly held up the poster in the crowd whenever you saw him, after he fought with the villain that is.

The people around you laughed, but it wasn’t mocking, it was more of an amused laugh, and you could have sworn you noticed spidey look your way, before swinging away, much to your dismay.

This went on a few times. You were practically waving the poster frantically when it was the fourth time, yet he didn’t pay you attention of any sort, leaving you dejected as you dragged yourself back home from Uni, chuckling at your state.

Crush on a superhero?

Pathetic.

He’s loved by countless people all over the world, what makes you think he’d have time to give you even a sliver of his attention when he’s so busy saving the world?

Clicking your tongue, you threw the crumbled poster in the trash can of your bedroom, dimming the lights as you sat down on your bed, ready to change into your nightwear before opting to sleep to take your mind off things.

Just then, a loud sound of knocking on your window caught your attention, which was funny considering you lived up on a pretty high floor in your apartment building. You thought that it must be a bird, still, you decided to open the curtains to check it out.

Shock would be an understatement to explain what you were feeling the second your eyes laid on the person right outside your window.

The reason for your sour mood, or rather, the reason you spent hours trying to ease the pent up frustration in you each night, moaning out with need, was hanging by your window.

“Oh god,” you breathed out, brain short circuiting for a few seconds before you shook your head, opening the windows for him to come in.

Who knew Spider-Man would actually care enough to notice you?

Then you realized just how awkward the situation was, and you didn’t have much to say anymore now that he was standing right in front of you, looking around as if he was inspecting your room.

“Spider man,” you breathed out, and he chuckled.

His attention was on you now, walking closer to you, “so, you’re the one who wanted to be choked by me,” he said smoothly, and you couldn’t help but shamelessly gawk at his figure, mouth watering at the sight.

“Uhm—I mean, holy fuck you’re actually here,” you tried to voice out your thoughts, but they were a mess, which only caused him to chuckle at your shocked state.

“Didn’t you want me here, baby?” He asked and you felt your knees buckling at the deep tone of his voice.

You took another step back, only to lose balance and trip. But good for you, your spidey was quick to shoot his web on your silky night blouse, pulling you close and right into his arms.

He smelled so good.

“Careful. We don’t want you hurting your pretty face,” he whispered, tracing his glove clad finger along your jaw, gripping your chin when he noticed how your body had gone still, “deep breaths, babe.”

“Are you gonna fuck me?” You asked, voice coming out in a low whine, eyes twinkling with hope.

He chuckled, pulling his mask up which had you bubbling with anticipation, you really wanted to see what he looked like. However, he stopped a little too soon for your liking, only exposing his lips, leaning in to mumble against your own.

“I’m gonna fuck the life out of you,” he whispers, a gasp leaving your lips as you pulled him closer into a rushed kiss.

He was quick to take over, kissing you harder as he pushed you down on your bed, you could feel his fang like canines biting down on your bottom lip, “undress, quick,” he ordered, and you fumbled while getting everything off your body.

Your cheeks were warm, your eyes on his figure, which was now devoid of his costume, faint abs and strong muscles on display for you, but your mouth practically salivated at the sight of his cock, thick and hard.

Just when you sat up to touch him, he grabbed your wrist, pushing them up your head and shooting webs to tie them, making sure they didn’t move.

You never knew you’d be into web-play but here you are, getting wet by being constrained by webs.

“Please,” you begged in hopes that he’d touch you, or do something, anything.

“So needy, aren’t you?” He clicks his tongue, his fingers caressing your cunt, collecting your wetness, “so wet already,” he smirked, “wanna be fucked all night, huh?” He asked, continuing working his fingers between your legs, arousal leaking from your cunt.

His other hand was wrapped up around your neck, fingers tightening enough for you to gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you felt lightheaded with the whole situation, but you couldn’t have asked for anything better.

He was so good with his fingers, thumb pads circling your clit while two digits plunged in and out of you, eliciting moans out of you.

“Shh,” he whispered, his hold around your neck tightening which caused you to open your mouth, giving him the perfect opportunity to lean in and spit in your mouth, watching the glob travel down your tongue till you gulped it down, earning a praise out of him, “good girl.”

He pulled back right when your body started shaking with the orgasm building up in your lower abdomen, his hold on your neck loose to let you breathe some more before he took it to the next level.

He ran his lips down your neck, sucking harshly as he lined his cock to your eager folds, your expression blissful and your entrance so wet, it made it easy for him to bottom out, “so fucking pretty,” he groaned out.

His voice strained as he started fucking you into your mattress, his power was evident with how precise and hard his thrusts were. It was a lifetime opportunity for you, and you wished to savour every second of it as you wrapped your legs around his slender waist, pulling him even closer and deeper in your pussy.

He hit your spot over and over again, “cream my cock like a good girl, baby,” he rasped out, his own orgasm approaching.

You couldn’t hold back anymore, with his fingers still gripping your neck, the lack of air was evident but it somehow made you feel as if you were floating with unadulterated bliss around you as you finally reached your state of euphoria, coming undone on his cock, exactly when he filled you up with his cum, mixing it with yours as he emptied himself in you.

You whined when he pulled back, getting dressed after draining you, “you’re leaving?” You asked, frowning.

“Gotta save the world now, pretty,” he whispered, removing his webs from your wrists before pecking your lips and rushing out of the window, leaving you dazed.

Maybe making the poster wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

@jaeminvore @macaroonff @ajayke-reads @lunalovesstories @jayzdaze @deobitifull @celeste-hoon @mari-oclock @kpoprhia @ikeuizm @woniebae @lalalalawon @blessedcursd @skzenhalove @heesuncore @seuomo @kyurizeu @haechan-nahceah @tobiosbbyghorl @jezzebear @jaehoonii @itsgivingitalian @bunhoons @luvswonyoung @ma-riiii @addictedtohobi @heeliopheelia @haanigurl

permanent taglist open! comment or send an ask to be added!

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[ryukatters]

swipe right — k. bakugo x fem! reader

✮ a/n: i remember seeing a post on here a long time ago about a character making a fake tinder profile for their gf and realizing how many people want her. (if someone knows the OG post please lmk so i can link it!) so now i present to you: bakugo falling to his knees in the middle of your apartment bedroom for the exact same reason.

✮ content/warnings: dubcon, quirkless/college! au, jealousy, possessiveness, breeding, creampie, unprotected sex, cum eating, cunnilingus, overstimulation, praise, biting, bkg gets a little rough with you, and bkg's also a fucking simp but when do I ever write him as being otherwise??

✮ summary: your boyfriend decides to make a fake tinder profile for you just to see how many matches you get. he comes to a realization just how many other people want what’s already his.

✮ word count: 4.2k (i'm so sick)

Bakugo can remember how this all started. In very vivid detail, actually. He remembers because Kaminari had pissed him off so much to the extent that it took him a very substantial amount of effort to refrain from bashing his friend’s face in.

It all started during the last monthly hangout amongst Bakugo and his friends— one day out of the month designated to make sure that they all had time to catch up with one another despite their busy schedules.

Everything was normal, with all of them getting more than enough of their fill of food and alcohol while idly playing video games and talking about random topics to fill in the silence in Kaminari’s living room. 

Perfectly normal, until Denki decided to open his stupid mouth, at least. 

He goes off on a tangent about a trend he saw on social media where someone makes a fake Tinder profile for their partner to see how many matches they’d get. He proceeds to tell Bakugo that he should try doing it, for “funsies,”— to which Bakugo scoffs at. 

“Aren’t you curious, Kacchan?” Kaminari smiles cheekily, wrapping an arm around his blond friend’s shoulders, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Bakugo’s becoming visibly more upset with every passing moment. 

“Your girlfriend is really pretty,” Mina chimes in, sticking her tongue out when Katsuki whips his head to glare at her. “I’m still surprised she’s with a grump like you.” 

Kaminari butts in, “I bet there’s a whole line of guys around the block just waiting for a chance to get with her. I mean, just look at her! Hell, I’d even let her peg m—”

For a moment, Bakugo swears he wants to bash Kaminari’s face into his flatscreen. And for a moment, he lets that impulsive thought win— getting up and grabbing two fistfuls of Denki’s shirt before promptly getting cut off by Kirishima.

“Alright alright,” Kirishima forcibly pries Bakugo off of the other blond, pushing him off to the side. “That’s enough, you two. Kaminari was just messing around. I’ll admit, it wasn’t a good joke, but no need to hurt the guy, okay Bakugo?” 

Kirishima knows that Kaminari wasn’t being that serious, but Kirishima can also admit that what he had to say held some ounce of truth. And Kirishima knows Bakugo well enough to see how your boyfriend tends to be rather skittish and protective with matters concerning you— which is exactly why Eijiro had to stop him before it was too late. He really didn’t feel like preparing for Denki’s funeral or helping hide Katsuki escape from a homicide charge.

And that was that…up until a few minutes ago.

Katsuki’s tried to forget that conversation. But try as he might, his mind betrays him and can’t help but wander back to what Denki said that night.

He trusts you of course, and has complete faith in your relationship. However, he’s curious to a fault, just about perhaps too curious for his own good. 

How badly could this end?

As it turns out, this whole scheme seems to be playing out very poorly. 

Dozens of photos of you— screenshotted from your social media accounts— fill Katsuki’s screen. He had to choose photos you uploaded yourself, because most of his photos of you were either too…suggestive or too domestic (and he wants to be the only one to see you in those moments).

He swipes through “your” profile one last time before clicking “done” to officially put you on the market. And just like that, Bakugo’s met with the faces of men who are nowhere near your level. He goes through the batch of profiles, scrutinizing each one he comes across. He’s (un)surprisingly selective with the ones he chooses to swipe right on— making sure that they’re at least somewhat conventionally attractive. To his surprise (or dread, rather), his phone pings right away with a notification from someone who swiped back. Another ping. A message. 

You free tonight? 

Bakugo scoffs. He looks through the guy’s profile— a picture of him at a party with his arms around some girls, another with him doing a victory pose presumably after hiking, and one with him holding a fish. He feels his mouth curl in disgust, about to give into the urge to reply and give this guy a piece of his mind, before he realizes he’s pretending to be you. He takes a deep breath, closes out of the app, and puts down his phone. 

He’s starting to regret this.

Bakugo’s phone has gone off 15 times in the last hour. Bakugo has also felt the need to strangle some stranger through the phone 15 times in the last hour. Your (read: his) profile has existed for less than 60 minutes, and you already have a whole address book of nobodies trying to link with you and get a quick fuck. 

He feels the familiar beginnings of a headache creeping up the back of his skull. He thinks he might need a drink. Why did he decide to do this again?

In hindsight, he probably should have known this is exactly how it was going to go down. 

What was that saying? Curiosity killed the cat?

Yeah.

He was never great at self-preservation in the first place. So this, the feeling of overwhelming jealousy, frustration, possessiveness brewing up a storm threatening to pour out of every single fiber of Bakugo’s being— was no surprise.

He watches as the numbers at the bottom of his screen increase steadily, before tapping on the star icon. 

‘99+ likes!’ it reads. Over 99 people who saw your profile and thought you were beautiful. Bakugo pales, and he can feel the cold sweat building on the nape of his neck. He grips his phone, knuckles turning white. Is he shaking from anger or nervousness?

Anger because all these guys think they even have the slightest chance with someone as amazing as you. Nervousness because what if you decide that they do? You wouldn’t actually leave him for one of these guys, right? Right?

None of these men would walk through hell and back for you. They don’t know how you like your coffee, the details of your skin care routine, how you like to binge watch shows and talk Katsuki’s ear off about them (not that he ever minded, of course). They don’t know you, not like he does. Katsuki looks at you like you hung the moon. In fact, he’s pretty convinced that you did. Everything good in his life— the warmth, the color, the joy,— is encompassed by you. He’d be damned if he lets some greasy little nobody take that from him. Because the moment Bakugo fell in love with you, you became a part of him— inextricably and indefinitely. Loving you has become so intrinsic to him, that even the mere thought of another person loving you or looking at you the same way he does has him going insane. Not that anyone could love you like he did, though. That thought brings him some comfort, but not for long. 

One last notification he sees sends him spiraling. Bakugo swears that he can see red. That’s when he deletes the app, and throws his poor phone in some random corner of the living room, which is markedly one of the smarter choices he’s made as of late. He marches to your bedroom with a fire burning in his chest. 

He stops short of the door and finds you sitting at the edge of your shared bed, fresh out of the shower. You’re applying lotion, and he watches the cream absorb into your skin wordlessly, in awe at how overwhelmingly beautiful you manage to look in the most prosaic of tasks. For a second, he almost forgets the reason he was upset in the first place.  

Your hair is still damp, water droplets accumulating at the tips, and Katsuki feels his mouth run dry the minute he watches a stray bead fall and make its way down your neck and stop perfectly in the dip of your collarbone. Your very existence is forever etched into his heart, every inch of you carved into his memory, but even still he can never get tired of looking at you. At every angle, in every lighting, he needs to see you in it. You could call him obsessed, but he’d simply laugh and agree, because what’s so wrong with that? Especially if it’s you. 

You’re one to be studied— to be adored, Katsuki thinks, to the greatest capacity. It’s what you deserve. And what better person for that task to fall upon than him?

He finds himself naturally gravitating towards you, his finger tracing the same exact path the water had carved just moments before, wordlessly. You try to pay no mind, but it’s difficult as you realize just how close Bakugo was and how your towel barely manages to cover up your most intimate parts. One wrong move and you’d be exposed. With how things were playing out, and the predatory glint in the blond’s eyes, you don’t think your boyfriend would be too perturbed with your current predicament. 

Katsuki presses a delicate kiss to your forehead before he crouches down. Suddenly, you’re at eye level with one another, his hot breath tickling your lips. You think for a moment he’s going to kiss you so you lean forward, lips waiting. But he merely grazes them before he sucks a deep bruise into the juncture of your neck, biting slightly. 

You’re barely given any time to react before he’s grabbing the hand that’s securing your towel and ripping it away, the offending garment falling off your body. Your flesh prickles with goosebumps as its exposed to the sudden chill.  It’s quickly replaced by the heat of Bakugo’s body as he pushes you lightly, your back hitting the mattress. He crawls on top of you, muscular thighs on either side of your hips, your head placed conveniently between his forearms. He’s trapped you, a nonverbal challenge for you to try and escape. 

You’re a work of art, he thinks, but much more valuable than any pièce de résistance framed in any museum. 

Beautiful, yes, but far too blank for his liking. He wants to ruin you, make you his own personal magnum opus. And so he does. 

He presses a clothed knee against your bare cunt, pressing firmly. His lips continue their assault on your neck, leaving angry purpling bruises in their wake. Rough hands find your breast, and you moan in surprise when he gives both of them a harsh squeeze as he shoves his tongue into your mouth. Katsuki kisses you like a man dying of thirst, hungry for everything you can offer him and more. It’s all too much already, the way he’s kissing you has your mind reeling, and you have to turn your head away for a moment to catch your breath. Katsuki thinks it’s a moment too long without you, so he coaxes you into locking lips with him once more. A wave of mischievousness washes over you, prompting you to take your boyfriend’s lower lip in between your teeth, biting down lightly. 

You feel his breath hitch, before he lets out a low groan as he grinds his clothed dick against your bare wetness. He returns the favor, sucking on your bottom lip before letting it go with a wet pop. He pulls back with a lazy smirk, his lips pursing together to scatter messy kisses down the base of your throat and down your chest, alternating between sucking and biting at the flesh. 

He gives you a good once-over, scanning every surface, committing them to memory. You feel the need to curl into yourself with how intensely those vermillion eyes are piercing into you, memorizing every single curve, scar, freckle like he’s done time and time again. 

He drops down to his knees, broad shoulders bullying their way in between your legs, forcibly prying them open. He grips your hips, fingertips digging into the soft flesh, and drags you down the mattress until your legs are dangling off the bed.

“Jesus, Kats, be more gentle.”

“Shhh. I know you like it when I’m not gentle,” he chuckles. As if to prove a point, he pulls you down even further, giving a harsh bite to your inner thigh. He smiles deviously when you yelp. You try to pull at his hair but his reflexes are too quick, pinning both of your wrists down on either side of you easily. “Besides, this is the perfect height for me to eat you out, dontcha think baby?” 

You want to chastise him for being so crass, so Katsuki, but the words die on the tip of your tongue the minute he gives a sweet, loving kiss to your clit, sucking lightly. 

“You’re mine. I don’t want anyone else seeing you like this except for me.” 

You’re not entirely sure what brought this on, but you find it hard to complain when Bakugo drags his tongue from your throbbing clit to inside your pussy, drinking everything you have to offer. 

Your hands automatically try to find purchase in his blond locks, struggling against the vice grip Katsuki has on your wrists. He decides to take pity on you, loosening his hold so you can slip your hands into his hair, moaning appreciatively when he feels you tug. He rewards you by flicking his tongue on your clit over and over again, just the way you like it. He does it until your moans begin to pitch higher and higher, the same way that they do when you’re close. He doesn’t stop his ministrations even after you cum, riding out your orgasm until your thighs are shaking from overstimulation. He pulls away from you with a loud pop, taking in the sight before him. 

He runs a hand up and down your thigh soothingly. “So fucked out already and we’re barely getting started, baby.”

Your mind is barely processing his words before you feel Katsuki’s erection brush against your stomach, his clothing haphazardly discarded on the floor. He taps the head of his dick against your clit to tease you, a feeling of satisfaction swelling when you cry out from under him.  

He watches in fascination as strings of your arousal cling to him. He positions his length at your entrance, locking eyes with you as you hold your breath in anticipation. Katsuki likes you like this. Needy for him. 

 “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, you know that?” He slips into you with a stuttered groan. 

Katsuki’s always been big. You never get used to the initial stretch, no matter how many times you two fuck. Still, that doesn’t stop him from sliding in with ease from the slick of your last orgasm. It easily coats his cock as he gives a few experimental thrusts. He groans in rapture. How do you manage to feel so good every time? It’s enough to drive him insane. Perhaps he already is. 

“So fucking perfect, no wonder why all those losers want you.” He mutters out the last part, and you’re not sure if you caught that right. 

“What?” He chooses not to respond, and you aren’t given the opportunity to think any further before your legs are thrown over his shoulders, Katsuki’s weight effectively pinning you in place. The stretch knocks all the wind out of your lungs, and all you can do is cling to Katsuki, nails leaving red, angry lines on his well-defined back.

He wastes no time before he starts drilling into you, hips slotting in between your legs perfectly. The position has him pressed against your clit, and your entire body feels like it’s been set ablaze, with Katsuki holding both the power to have it burn even brighter and the ability to extinguish it. And you’re almost there, you can feel your soul slowly ascending, your room filled with hymns of pleasure, the coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter, threatening to unravel along with your sanity. Katsuki can feel it too— the way you’re squeezing him tighter, how your gasps and moans have climbed just a note higher, how absolutely ruined you look, how he’s responsible for your current state. Which is exactly why he wants to push it even further, he wants to see how much you’ll break for him— and only him. 

Katsuki cuts you off right before you can reach your peak, pulling out but making sure just his tip is inserted. You come to and take a look at your lover and marvel at the sight. He has a crazed look in his eyes. The way he smirks is absolutely wicked. 

You feel distraught— having been so close but having it ripped away from you. You give your boyfriend a petulant pout.

“Katsuki,” you whine, slapping a hand against his sweaty chest, “Why’d you stop? I was so close!”

“Because I didn’t want you to cum yet,” he says simply. “You’ll be good for me, yeah? I’ll give my baby what she deserves, as long as she’s good.” 

You roll your eyes, huffing. That won’t do for him.

As much as he loves seeing you indulge, he feels a need to punish you— at least a little bit to even begin to atone for being the wicked temptress you are. 

“Don’t be a fuckin’ brat,” Bakugo growls, gripping your face with one hand, squishing your cheeks, causing your lips to purse slightly. “I said be good, okay? Wanna take my time with you.” 

There’s a moment of respite, until you sigh in defeat, knowing better than to argue with him lest you wanted to dig your own grave. “‘Kay, ‘ki.”

He flashes you a smile. Obedient, just how he likes you. “Good girl.”

Katsuki draws his hips back, thrusting just enough to fuck his tip into you. He’s teasing. The amount of willpower on his end it takes not to cum is nauseating. 

“You’re so pretty, aren’t you?” he rasps, one hand finding their way around your neck, squeezing just enough to make your head spin. Your hands reflexively grab his wrist. 

All you can manage is a fucked out moan. Katsuki has to resist the urge to coo, about how he’s managed to turn you into a cockdrunk mess in such a short matter of time. The wave of possessiveness that’s been gnawing at the depths of his soul begins to seep out, and he’s reminded of the reason why the two of you are in this position in the first place. 

He gives your throat another squeeze and a rough slap to your clit. “C’mon princess, answer me. Say it.” He slowly adds more and more pressure until your ears grow hot and air feels like a precious commodity. 

“I-i’m pretty,” you manage to gasp out, tears spilling from your lash line as you begin to lose yourself between the space of pleasure and pain. 

Good. Always so pliant for him.

“That’s right, baby,” he concedes. “So fuckin’ beautiful.” He punctuates the last word with a deep thrust, right against that spongy spot that feels so good. You’re so sensitive that it’s enough to send you spiraling into your second orgasm, walls spasming around him uncontrollably. 

Katsuki stills, staving off his own release with all the restraint he can summon. He silently thanks whatever divine forces are out there that he didn’t cum the minute he felt the first clench of your orgasm. 

He grits his teeth as he wills himself to move, trying not to get lost in the wetness that envelops him. You’re babbling now, senseless moans filling Katsuki’s ears like a sweet melody. 

“Kats, please, I’m too sensitive—” You’re shaking now, muscles trembling with every thrust. 

“But I’m not done with you yet,” he says simply, drawing his hips back with a particularly rough thrust. You choke back whatever you were going to say with a loud cry. “What’s your color, baby?”

You take a moment to answer, brain trying to comprehend the words just uttered to you. You look at Katsuki firmly, “Green.”

“Atta girl,” he praises, the drive of his hips beginning to shallow. He’s close, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out. But for you, he tries. “You’re mine, right?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, shivering as goosebumps dance across your skin. 

“Say it,” Katsuki pleads, thrusts growing sloppy by the second. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m all yours, ‘ki.” 

With that, Katsuki’s fate is sealed. He’s left groaning as a flash of pleasure shakes his very soul, filling you up with so much cum that it dribbles onto the mattress even while he’s still inside you. You follow suit, an embarrassingly obscene rhythm of squelching noises fill the silence as you spasm around his dick. He collapses on top of you, but he’s still coherent enough to not dump all his weight on you. 

Your labored breaths fill the room as the two of you come to. Katsuki pulls out of you with a wince, still a bit sensitive. He gives you a peck on the lips before he drags himself down, settling in between your legs much like he was earlier. 

You tense up, “Kats, wait—”

Any and all protests cease the moment Bakugo works his tongue inside of you, slurping lewdly as he drags out the mixture of your cum and his, swallowing. He tries not to stimulate your puffy clit in an attempt to be merciful, but you still feel yourself steadily climbing to what would be your fourth orgasm this session. While the past three have been intense and drowning, this one comes to you in waves, dull pleasure invading your senses as Katsuki continues to eat you out to clean you up. 

He pulls away when you finish, your slick and his saliva coating his chin before he wipes it off on the back of his hand. You stare at his half-hard erection with a half concerned, half quizzical look. “Do you…” you lick your lips, “need help with that? I’m a little sensitive down there  but I could use my mout—”

“Nah, I’m good babe,” he says earnestly, flashing you a smile that he only ever shows around you. “I’ll be back.” With that, your boyfriend leaves the room only to come back with a bottle of water. 

“Drink.” You comply, finishing half the bottle graciously before handing it to him. He downs the rest before he settles next to you on the bed, laying on his side. You mirror him, shifting your body so that you’re both facing each other. 

Katsuki reaches out, finger idly tracing random shapes and lines onto the bare skin on your hip. He has a pensive look on his face, one that he usually doesn’t hold after stolen moments like this; it’s an expression he wears when he’s in deep thought. 

“Baby,” you call out. His eyes snap to yours, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah?”

“Whatcha thinking about?” You watch as a hesitant look flashes across your boyfriend’s face before he shakes his head.

“S’nothin’. Just thinkin’ about us two.” He speaks lightly. It’s always been difficult for him to voice his inner thoughts and feelings, so he tends to beat around the bush. You’ve learned that if you ever want something out of him, you’d have to pry a little. Katsuki always indulges you though. 

“What about us?”

“Do you- do you think you’ll ever get tired of this?” He repeats himself, clearing his throat. The question is followed by a weaker, “...of me?”

You think it’s the most ridiculous question he’s ever asked, because the answer should be obvious. “I’d never get tired of you, Katsuki. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he replies automatically, “but if I ever do anything that upsets you, or if I get too much for you, or if I—” he’s rambling now. Yes, it’s difficult for Katsuki to talk about his feelings, but once you manage to get him to open up, all the walls of his self-made fortress come crashing down and it’s up to you to pick up the pieces. 

“Baby,” you giggle, pressing a kiss to his lips, cupping his sharp jaw with one hand. “Look at me.” And he does— ruby eyes meeting yours. “I love you because you’re you. And I choose to be with you everyday. It’s not always gonna be perfect, no relationship is. But I know that I will always wake up and choose you.” 

You can see the anxiety melt away from Katsuki’s body, shoulders slumping as he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Love you too, sap,” is all he says before he’s pulling you against his chest, squeezing you into a bearhug. You two stay that way until both of you are lulled to sleep. 

You’re laying in bed with Katsuki, both of you dozing off when you hear a slight buzz from your phone on the nightstand. You squint as you try to read the notification, and make out that it’s from your friend.

Denki Kaminari: So did it work?

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing, giving a quick glance over your shoulder to check on your boyfriend— fast asleep. You turn back to your phone, your thumbs making quick work at your keyboard. 

You: Just like I said it would. Thanks Denki :)

Writing belongs to @ryukatters. Please do not share my work on Tiktok.

[dramaticals]

a favour

pairing: theodore nott x reader

summary: you want to get your mind off of your break-up and theodore knows just what to do. literally just smut. characters are assumed to be 19+. mdni.

author's note: based on a thread i wrote in the rpc, but i excluded any wordings from my writing partner for obvious reasons

You didn't know who else to ask.

You've tried just about every heartbreak remedy out there—guzzling glasses of alcohol being the most recent and detrimental. The only remedy you hadn't tried required another person, and asking for it seemed to be much harder and more embarrassing than you thought.

In theory, you should be doing what any normal person would do when they want to get over an ex: find some stranger at a bar and have at it. But you're convinced the looming grey cloud that seemed to follow you around was enough to deter any stranger, regardless of whether sex was involved.

Which is why you were standing in front of Theodore Nott's place with a ridiculous and crude request on the tip of your tongue.

You and Theodore Nott weren't exactly friends. Friends of friends, more like. You two ran in the same circles, but there had never really been an opportunity or a reason to hang out one-on-one.

Even so, you knew the type of guy he was. Theo was as charming as he was alluring. He had that aura around him that just screamed lothario. And he was—at least, that's what you heard. Your mutual friends often teased him about his latest conquests, to which he'd respond with a smirk and a dismissive, "If you want me to fuck you next, all you have to do is ask."

"Y/N," Theo says. He leans against the doorframe of his apartment coolly, brows raising in question at your visit and curious eyes giving you a once-over. The way his arctic green eyes lingered on your body made you flush.

"Hey," You say breathlessly, fingernails digging into the palm of your hand out of pure nervousness. You didn't think it would be so hard to come out and just say it. "Can I ask you for a favour?"

"A favour," Theo repeats, his lips twitching into his signature smirk. By the way he was looking at you, you swear he knows what you want from him. "Depends. What do you need?"

"Could you help me get over my ex?"

Theodore's brows raise, his eyes flashing in smug amusement. He definitely knew why you were here.

"I can think of a few ways to distract you." He says slowly, eyes trained on yours. There's a teasing tone in his next words as he lists, "Movies, puzzles, bourbon..."

"Actually," you interrupt, your gaze flickering anywhere but his eyes. Your heart's practically beating out of your chest now. His intense gaze was doing a number on you, and you suddenly understood every woman he'd ever slept with. Theo knew exactly how to work a woman in the simplest way possible. "I was thinking of something more effective than that."

"Oh? And what may that be?" Theo asks as if he already didn't know. He just wanted you to say it.

You inhale sharply, your eyes meeting his again. "I want you to fuck me."

Theo lets out a breath, his lips twisting into a mischievous grin. "Gladly."

Theo beckons you inside before shutting the door and turning the lock. He wastes no time closing in the space between you two. Strong hands pull you close as his lips ghost over yours teasingly. You can practically feel his smirk on your lips, and it makes you shiver.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this." Theo says huskily against your lips.

There's no time to process his words before his lips are on yours. You gasp against his mouth, allowing him the opportunity to slip his tongue in. He steps forward, guiding you backwards until you're pinned against the door. Your hands reach to cup his jawline, kissing Theo back with as much passion as he was giving you.

He lets out a groan against you, and it strikes a fire within you and to your core. God, you needed to hear more of that.

Feverish kisses turn into teasing, nipping kisses down your neck. His rough hands slide down your frame, his leg expertly maneuvering between yours and pinning you in place. You whine at the pressure, throwing your head back in response.

"Fuck, Theo," you breathe, your fingers running through his brown curls.

He lets out a low chuckle against your collarbone, clearly eating up every second of this favour. You were so receptive to his actions that a part of him wanted to drag this whole ordeal out.

His hands tug at your sweatshirt, expertly removing the garment. He hisses when he realizes that was the only barrier he had to deal with. The cool air of his apartment, along with his lips on your chest, made your nipples perk. Your back arches into his mouth.

Theo flicks his tongue against your breast, teeth grazing lightly as he pulls away to say, "So fucking beautiful."

You could just melt into him. The way he was working you was unlike anyone you've ever experienced before. And the way his hands hooked onto the hem of your skirt and knickers, pulling them down swiftly—fuck.

One hand moves to capture both your wrists, lifting them both up and holding them above you firmly. His other hand finds its way to your core, toying with your slick folds before inserting a digit.

You let out a desperate whimper. You want to grip onto something, but his hold on your wrists is solid, and it only makes your hips buck into him.

"Eager, are we?" Theo muses, his lips planting a sweet kiss on yours. He watches you attentively as he slowly inserts another digit. Slow enough to really take notice of your wetness on his fingers. Theo smirks when your breath hitches.

"Theo," you gasp. "Please."

Theo kindly obliges, curling his fingers inside you and flicking repeatedly against the spot that made your knees buckle and your heart soar. His grip on your wrists tightened in part that you could no longer keep yourself standing.

"Oh my god. I need—" you moan, your eyes shutting in pleasure.

"What do you need, darling?" Theo asks smoothly, his fingers continuing their motions inside you. His eyes are dark with lust. He plants a kiss on your jaw.

"You." You manage to get out, squirming against his fingers. You're so close.

Theo was feeling too fucking smug seeing you unravel like this, and so it's another second before he's sliding his fingers out of you and letting go of your wrists. You whine at the loss of contact, your eyes shooting open in confusion.

Theo's discarding his shirt, untying his sweatpants, and shoving off his boxers. You bite your lip at the sight of him. You didn't think he could be any more sexy.

"Like what you see?" Theo quips with a sly smile. His hands move to your hips and then to your thigh, guiding your leg up around him. He guides himself to brush against your core teasingly. You jerk at the contact.

"Theodore," you warn. You don't know how much more foreplay you can take.

With a pompous grin, Theo sinks into you roughly. He grunts in pleasure, reveling in the feeling of your dripping cunt around him.

"Fucking hell, Y/N," Theo groans, setting up a torturous rhythm of thrusts. You feel the pleasure bubbling in your core, your fingernails dragging across his bare back.

Theo buries his face in the crook of your neck, leaving sweet kisses on your skin. The sensation of his soft, tender lips on your neck versus the primal thrusts into you made you want to scream.

Theo senses this, and he relentlessly continues his movements. He's quite close himself, his cock twitching in response to your body. But considering this was a favour to you, he holds himself back. You needed to come first.

And you do.

You release a panting whine just as the building pleasure finally washes over you. You grip onto the locks of his hair on the base of his neck for support, coming undone in his strong arms. Theo moans, feeling you clench around him, before allowing himself to come.

You slump forward into Theo, your forehead resting on his chest. Your hands gripped his shoulders tightly, now more than ever needing the support his strong frame provided.

"That'll definitely do," you say with a weak nod.

You can't see his face, but you can practically see the shit-eating grin on his lips.

[marriedtobigfoot]

Steve ends up heartbroken, lonely and depressed after season 2. Nancy called him bullshit, even after he ditched all his old friends for her. Billy Hargrove took his spot at the top of the food chain. He can have it, Steve doesn't really want it anymore. But Steve does want to find some sort of connection. Someone to have in his life who isn't an 11 year old kid he barely knows. He tries to go on a date one night, take a nice-seeming girl to a party. He wants to find connection, to kill the loneliness that's been building for months, but just as he's feeling kind of good about things, his date ditches him.

So. He decides to drink his feelings. He gets majorly fucked up, and ends up laying on the ground in the backyard, contemplating how much life seems to hate him.

Only to literally get tripped over by Eddie Munson, who was at this party selling pot and is very confused as to why Steve Harrington is alone on the ground with a bottle of vodka clenched in one hand.

Eddie ends up chatting a little with Steve, nothing substantial, but enough to know that Steve is very very drunk, and also very very sad.

He asks if Steve wants to go back to the party, and Steve staunchly refuses. He doesn't want to be around a bunch of annoyingly happy people.

He asks if Steve needs a ride home, and Steve just kind of shrugs. His parents just left for another trip, so home is kind of depressing right now too. But he doesn't exactly have any other friends he can stay with so. Home it'll have to be.

Only Eddie can *tell* he doesn't really want to go home, though he has no idea why Steve wouldn't want to return to his veritable mansion after a shitty night. The reason doesn't matter much. He offers to let Steve crash at his place. Steve can take the couch, or hell he can stay in Eddie's room if he doesn't mind sharing, that way he wouldn't risk being woken up when Wayne comes home that morning.

And well, Steve agrees. Can't think of any reason not too. Munson has been nice so far, he's got a good easy-going energy that Steve likes. Why not stay the night.

By the time they get to Eddie's, Steve is *slightly* more sober. Not much, but he's slurring his words a little less, and he can walk with only a little help.

Eddie grabs them each a little plate of leftovers, because he has no idea if Steve's eaten at all. It's quiet while they eat, Eddie doesn't push Steve to talk, and Steve isn't sure what to say. Eventually Eddie sets the plates aside and give Steve an easy grin.

"So, do you want the couch, or are you crashing with me?"

Steve thinks about it for a while. He hasn't shared a bed with a guy-friend since he was a kid, and he's heard rumors about Eddie, whispers in the hall about the way he looks at other guys. But...Steve can't really bring himself to care. He's tired, and he really doesn't want to be alone.

"I don't mind sharing."

Eddie sets them both up in his room, letting Steve choose which side of the bed he wants, and they both settle in. There's a respectable distance between the two of them, and Eddie says a quick goodnight to Steve, figures they won't talk and just go right to bed.

Except Steve isn't sober, and he really isn't in a good headspace, so he can't stop himself from blurting things out into the quiet of the dark room.

"Are you really gay?"

Eddie stiffens next to him, he can feel it, he can hear the way that the other boys breath cuts off and he seems to stop breathing all-together.

"It's okay if you are, I'm not going to be an asshole about it, I'm trying not to be that guy anymore. I guess I was just curious."

It's quiet for another beat before Eddie seems to loosen just a little. He starts breathing again at least.

"Yeah I uh- I am. Gay. And if that's weird the couch is still open, I can-"

"It's not weird."

"Okay."

Steve let's himself mull over this confirmation, and then his mouth starts moving again, without his permission.

"Is it lonely? Cause I mean, it's got to be hard to date in Hawkins. People here are shitty. Unless you've got like, a secret boyfriend or something."

"No...no secret boyfriend. It does get a little lonely sometimes. I'm lucky though, I've got my uncle, and my friends are pretty great. That's enough most days."

"What do you do when it's not enough?"

"Hmmm?"

"When your uncle and friends aren't enough, what do you do? To try and...make it better?"

Eddie is quiet again for a long stretch before he shrugs.

"I try to focus on something else. I'll play my guitar or work on a new campaign, read a book. Something to take my mind off it."

"Oh."

Now Steve is the one who seems tense, his jaw is tight and he's got his arms wrapped around himself. His next words come out as a whisper, but Eddie manages to catch them.

"I don't know how to do any of that."

He sounds almost choked, and Eddie is caught off guard. He's never seen Steve Harrington as anything other than solid, as happy. He's the king, after all. He's supposed to be all smiles and great hair. Only...Eddie's noticed that he hasn't hung out with his old friends lately, that he's eaten alone at lunch too many times to be anything other than strange.

"Steve...are you lonely?"

Eddie expects a denial, for Steve to laugh it off and tell Eddie that he's perfectly fine and fulfilled. Or maybe he expects a shrug, a non-answer. What he doesn't expect is the gut-wrenching sob that seems to tear past the other boys lips.

He doesn't expect to turn and see Steve Harrington's face, a scant foot from his, shining with tears.

He panics a little at the sight.

"Fuck- I'm so sorry-"

"Don't be." Steve tries to wipe his eyes, to hide the tremble in his voice. "Not your fault there's something wrong with me."

"What do you mean?"

"It's like I'm broken man, like nobody can stand to be around me. Tommy and Carol hate me now, Nancy- hell even my own parents hate being at home with me for more than a week. It's like I'm repellent or something. Couldn't even get a date to stick around for a whole night."

And Eddie's pretty sure *he* might start crying now. He'd never have expected this much from Steve, all that sadness to come pouring out. It wouldn't have happened if Steve was completely sober. Without thinking, he reaches out.

Eddie puts a hand on Steve's shoulder and waits to see if the touch gets rejected, but Steve seems to lean into him, so he lets his hand linger.

"This probably won't help, but I don't think you're repellent. And that's coming from somebody who your whole group used to torture. I don't know much about you, but I kind of liked having you around tonight."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Steve gives him a tiny smile. His eyes are still wet with tears, and the smile doesn't come close to reaching them. He seems impossibly small here in Eddie's bed.

"I don't know man. I just wish-"

He cuts himself off, apparently deciding his words are too far, but Eddie urges him to keep talking.

"What do you wish Steve?"

"I just wish that... there was somebody out there I could have a future with. Somebody who actually loved me, you know?"

It might be the saddest thing Eddie's ever heard, and he blames that fact for what he does next.

He takes his hand off Steve's shoulders and instead hauls Steve closer to him, fitting the other boy against his chest and wrapping his arms around him. It's a move that might get him decked, but he doesn't think it will. And he'll be damned if he doesn't hug Steve right that second.

He doesn't get hit. Steve tenses for a second, but it's just that one instant before he's melting into the embrace.

Eddie feels more tears falling against his shirt, and he couldn't care less. He keeps Steve close, let's him cry into his chest, runs a hand through that famous mop of hair.

He isn't sure how long it takes for Steve to calm down, but eventually he does. His breathing evens out, and he shivers a little before speaking.

"Thanks man."

And Eddie takes another leap of faith.

"I could be that person, you know."

"What?"

"I mean. You know Im... not straight. It may not be exactly what you're wanting but. I think I could picture a future with you. If you want to, just for tonight...I could be that someone who loves you."

Steve looks at Eddie, like he's a puzzle that he needs to solve, before a other shiver seems to wrack his body.

"Just for tonight?"

It comes out as a whisper, but Eddie hears it all the same.

"Yeah. For tonight Steve."

"I think...I think I'd like that."

Eddie gives him the sweetest smile he can muster, and nods.

"Alright sweetheart."

Eddie isn't exactly sure what it means, to love Steve for the night. After all, Steve is straight. He figures it doesn't matter much though, it's only for a night.

He keeps a hold on Steve, let's him get comfortable tucked against Eddie, and he does what feels natural. He runs a hand up and down Steve's spine, traces shapes into the soft fabric of his shirt. He tangles their legs together, and in a moment of insane bravery he presses a kiss to the top of Steve's head.

He's met with a sigh, full of relief, and figures he's on the right track.

"Just close your eyes Stevie, I've got you."

"Can you tell me about it?"

"Hmmm?"

"The future. You said you could see one. Can you tell me?"

And he asks so carefully, he sounds almost afraid, Eddie can't say no to that.

"Do you want the fantasy future, or the realistic future?"

"The real one."

"Alright then. Well, if I'm not going to be a rich and famous rockstar...I'll probably graduate and get a job somewhere in town. A real job, maybe working on cars or something. I'm good with cars. You'd come over all the time, have dinners with me and with Wayne. You'd have to meet Wayne. And we'd have more nights like this, sleeping close."

Steve let's out a pleased sounding hum, and shifts his face so it's buried even closer in Eddie's neck. He can feel Steve's breath on him.

"We could save up money and get a little place together, somewhere outside Hawkins. I have to stay kind of close, for my uncle, but maybe Indy?"

Steve nods, mutters something about staying close 'just in case'. He sounds like he might fall asleep, so Eddie keeps going.

"We could get an apartment, nothing too fancy. We would get two rooms, so nobody gets suspicious, but we would share a bed most nights. I'd play with my band on weekends, just for fun, and you'd join some little local sports team. I'd make sure to schedule DND nights so that I never miss a single game, even though I don't understand a damn thing about sports. We would come home for holidays, but most of the time it would just be us. I'd take good care of you, make sure you never go more than a few hours without me telling you I love you. I'll show up wherever you're working just to give you a hug and a kiss, and make sure you don't forget it. And I'll annoy the hell out of, but you won't mind too much, because I'll make you happy too."

Eddie can think of more. He can think about so many things. How he could give Steve one of his rings, even if they couldn't legally get married, even if Steve would never want that. Just as another reminder that he's loved. They could take trips together and go out to parties where Steve will never have to worry about getting ditched. Eddie doesn't do things halfway, and he has a hell of an imagination. He could picture them growing old together, if he tried, if he let himself. But this is just for tonight, so he doesn't. Instead he runs a hand through Steve's hair again, and listens to his quiet breathing. He thinks he may have fallen asleep, but he's wrong.

"That sounds nice."

It comes out muffled, spoken into Eddie's neck, but he manages to make it out, and he let's the vibration of it sink into his skin.

*It's only for tonight.*

He has to remind himself, because Steve is just feeling lonely. He doesn't want that future with Eddie, he just wants to feel loved.

But even if it's just pretend, just to help Steve for a few hours, he's okay with that.

Steve may think he's broken, but Eddie thinks he would be easy to love for a long time. Loving him for one night is nothing. He doesn't even have to try.

Tomorrow Steve will wake up sober, and he'll thank Eddie for letting him stay over, and they won't talk about it. Eddie will drive Steve back to his car in silence, and they'll say their goodbyes. They may not talk ever again, they never had before.

But for tonight? Eddie Munson will love Steve Harrington, and Steve? He'll let himself be loved, let himself beleive it. And he'll love Eddie right back.

Just for one night.

And if Steve ever needs it again? Eddie will love him for another night. And Steve will give that love right back. He's got plenty to spare, after all. And there's far worse people he could share it with.

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: Sometimes your lovely boyfriend can have a hard time with the word 'no'.

Genre: Fluff <3

Warnings: swearing, discussions of consent (nothing bad happens at all!! I promise!), implied sexual relationship

James didn't always know when too much was, well, too much. 

He had this impulsive tendency to take things way too far. Of course he always had the best of intentions, it was just that sometimes his initial excitement would cloud his judgment. Like now, when no matter how many times you insisted, he couldn't take your, "No, I don't want to swim in the freezing water," seriously. 

"Come on! Everyone's in, sweetheart!" James whines childishly. 

He isn't wrong. All your friends play happily in the water while you sit on the bank of the lake. It's an early summer morning and the air is still too chilly for you to even consider jumping in, so you've adamantly (and politely) declined all their invitations to join them.

However, your darling boyfriend can't seem to accept the no.

"James, love, I will hex you if you don't shut up." You warn with a playful smirk. Sirius uses James's distraction to splash him, which makes the latter squeal. Remus wraps his arm around James's neck, pulling him half-way into the murky water. When they emerge, they laugh breathlessly.

You adjust the strap of your bikini over your shoulder and simply lay your head on your arms as you smile at them.

"You are in your bathing suit, Y/n." Lily reasons with a small smirk and you glare at her. Traitor, you think, she's supposed to be on your side. 

"Exactly, thank you, Lily!" James jumps up and starts to waddle through the water towards you. He's dripping wet when he stands over you, bends over, and shakes his hair. You cover your head with your arms as small, practically freezing, droplets of water hit your warm skin. 

"James!" You exclaim and scramble up to move away from him.

You hear Remus, Sirius, and Lily chuckle in amusement before they turn around and mind their own business. Traitors.

Your boyfriend just sends you smirk and outsretches his arms, "Hug?" He honeys, faking a pout.

You hold out your arm, "Get away, you nutter." You say sternly.

"Please." James sounds more sincere now and moves towards you a little.

You squint at him, hiding a smile behind a look of suspicion, and ask him, "Just one?" 

James nods. 

You pick up your towel from the grass and then throw it to him. James catches it and dries his hair. He also starts to pat himself dry as you approach him wearily, "I don't bite, lovie." He laughs.

You roll your eyes, still believing him. However, the moment you're close enough to him he's wrapping the towel around your ass and pulling you into him. 

You make a small shriek as you hit his, still extremely wet, chest and his lips attach themselves to your neck as he nips at your skin. You squirm and when he looks up, an adorably stupid look on his face makes your heart leap, "I lied." He points out with another pout. 

You frown, "You're an absolute idiot."

"Probably." He admits and then, with no warning, picks you up and throws you over his shoulder. 

You hit his back, "James Potter, put me down now or I swear I’ll bloody murder you, you wanker." You cry as he turns around and you just know he's already making his way towards the lake. You kick your legs and flail your arms in protest but feel his cold, damp, hands tighten around your waist. 

"Careful, mate." Remus tries to warn him but James doesn't listen. He's already almost waist deep in the water and he lets you fall into his arms. You clutch onto his neck and squirm.

"No." You hiss and stare into his eyes. 

Again, James isn't the best at knowing when to stop. 

"Sorry, love" He whispers and proceeds to throw you a few feet away from him. Your head hits the water and instantly, the temperature shocks you as your ears start to ring from the impact. You let yourself stay underwater, a little surprised by the depth, and collect yourself. You realize James doesn't know you're a good swimmer, all he knows is he just launched his poor, unwilling girlfriend into freezing water. 

So, you stay under as long as you possibly can. Just to scare him a little.

Barely a few seconds pass by before strong arms wrap around your waist and pull you to the surface, "Y/n!" You hear James's voice as the water drains from your ears, "Are you okay?" 

You splash him, your hand hitting his cheek playfully, "I hate you." You say with a small smile. 

James's face relaxes, “You fucking scared me." He admits, half-scolding, half-relieved, and holds you close. 

You laugh and stand up in the water, "It's not that deep, idiot." You scrunch your nose when he uses both of his hands to move strands of hair from your face as he peppers kisses all over your cheeks. 

"Merlin, don't do that ever again, Y/n." He whispers. 

"Maybe don't throw me into the water when I asked you not to." You retort and push your hair back. 

James looks a little guilty, "Yeah, sorry." 

He leans in to kiss you but you turn his head around, "No." You say and James frowns. 

"No?"

"No." You fight a smile.

"Okay." James says, confused, and dunks under the water. He comes back up and pushes his hair away from his forehead.

"See, it's not that hard." You tease him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He nuzzles his cheek into the crook of your neck,

"That's a completely different situation, love." He tries to reason but you shake your head.

"Consent is consent." You inform and James pouts like a child.

"Now you're making me sound like a dick." He whispers, embarrassed, "You don't actually think I'm bad with consent, do you, Y/n?" He sounds genuinely concerned.

"You're not a dick, Jamie." You laugh, "You are a little bad with the concept of the word no, though."

"Hey! Not when it really matters!" He defends, carefully wrapping your legs around his waist. He starts to roam around the water like it's just the two of you, alone in your little bubble.

You nod, "Of course, but it does matter all the time."

James tilts his head, "Yeah, you're right, I'm sorry, honey.” He kisses behind your ear, "How can I make it up to you?" You giggle and lean in to kiss his lips, which he accepts graciously.

"You know what you can do?" You ask in a whisper into his ear, "You can take me upstairs and I'll let you — " You make sure the rest can't be heard by your friends.

James's eyes sparkle excitedly, but then he pauses and his eyebrows furrow as he thinks, "And you consent, yeah?" You grin, endeared, "Just say no and I'll listen, baby." 

"Good boy. You learn fast."

James groans and kisses you again, "Call me a good boy again, please." He mutters as his lips trail down your neck.

You laugh. He wraps his arms around your waist and you hold onto him, "Behave, Potter."

"Tease." He says and suddenly drops you into the water. You emerge and splash him, your smile hurting your cheeks.

"Perv." You retort and James raises his brow. He grins and throws you over his shoulder again. This time, you don't protest and just wave as you walk by your friends.

"Do we even want to know why you're leaving?" Remus shouts, shaking his wet hair from next to Sirius.

"They're going to have sex, Moony. Keep up." The latter rolls his eyes.

"Gross." Lily scrunches her nose. Your friends turn their heads when they hear your amused squeal and see James dig his fingers into your side, making you laugh, as you pick up your belongings. You hit him with your towel but hold his hand anyway.

"Sometimes, I do hate how cute they are." Peter mutters to himself.

"Aww, I can give you a kiss if you want, Wormtail." Sirius jokes which earns him a splash from Remus and an eye roll from Lily. 

"Bugger off." Peter looks horrified. 

"Pucker up." Sirius cries and lunges at Peter in the water, only to be pulled away by Remus and you can hear their laughter even from far away.

You look at James. James, your lovely, sometimes stupid, boyfriend and his messy dark curls. He's all you had ever asked for, and all you could ever want. 

"I love you." You say, adoringly.

James turns his head, an obnoxiously proud look on his face, "I love you more, my love. More than you can ever imagine." He pulls you into him, his hand leaving yours to wrap around your shoulder as he reaches for your opposite hand.

You hand it to him and grin when he squeezes it. You feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

[ceilidho]

prompt: Ghost only takes you half-seriously when you say you want to see other people. He has just the man in mind. tags: dubcon; threesome; anal (2.5k)

-

He doesn’t so much as twitch when you stumble over your words in an effort to get it out.

“I don’t think this is working,” you say, hands clenched into trembling fists at your sides. “I think we should start seeing other people.”

The only bit of it that Ghost really pays attention to is the fact that you decided to make this little announcement while he’s in the middle of taking apart and cleaning his gun at the kitchen table. His little spitfire girl. Not a lick of fear in you, just a fistful of attitude and snark. The attitude’s ensconced now in your trepidation, a bit smothered under it, nervousness a clear trill in your voice, making it warble, but it shows itself in the downward slant of your brows. Delightful girl.

“That right?” he grunts, jamming the lubricated cotton mop into the bore of the gun. You flinch at the sudden movement, nervous eyes trained on his hands. Ghost makes a note to apologize with his mouth later on.

“Yes,” you croak, then cough to clear your throat. “I’ve, um…I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I think it’ll be better for—for both of us. It’s just…it’s not working out.”

The cigarette dangling from between his lips stinks up the room. Poor girl, he thinks pityingly when you scrunch up your nose and eye it resentfully. Always trying to get him to quit. It’s just shit luck for you that he’s never been good at quitting things, at letting anything go. Everything he’s ever lived through clings to his skin like smoke. 

He ashes it out in the little turquoise ceramic pot on the table, a trinket he’d once picked up in Tala'a Kebira years ago while in Morocco on some other business. You look marginally less irked with the cig put out, but that just means that more of his attention can focus squarely on you, which leaves you a bit wide-eyed under his stare.

“For a while, hm?” Ghost asks. It comes out teasingly, if only to him. The lilt in his voice is a tricky one to catch.

You nod; the note must have slipped through your hands like smoke. “There’s a girl I found online that’s studying abroad right now. Offered to sublet me her room while I look for a place. I thought maybe, um…maybe tomorrow I’d go.”

“Don’t worry about all of that,” he says, already dismissing the conversation from his mind. “Won’t be back for another week anyway—no reason for you to run off if I’m not even around.”

“Oh.” You shift from side to side, thinking it over. “I guess. How long will you be gone?”

“A week. Two weeks tops.” Plenty of time for him to sort out this mess. Figure out what exactly caused you to get all jumpy and eager to try out other people. 

He smiles internally. Little bird probably just can’t stand how often he’s away, poor thing. It’d be enough to make any girl upset—the constant leaves of absence, gone months without being able to send word, showing up bruised and bloody on the doorstep only to have you fall to pieces trying to put him back together. 

There are options though. He’s not opposed to adding someone new either—in fact, he has just the man in mind. 

Ghost has been holding Johnny back because he always thought you preferred to just be with one man (and Christ, the whining he’d had to deal with from Johnny, always begging to see you or begging Ghost for even just your panties, anything at all because he was so desperate and Ghost wouldn’t let him have you), but now?

Now there’s no reason to hold Johnny by the collar when he comes over for dinner. Now there’s no reason to kick Johnny from under the table when he leans just a bit too close to you when you’re sitting down to eat, eyes locked on the glimpse of your chest peeking out of your shirt and damn near drooling on it. Now there’s no reason to listen to Johnny jack himself off to the point of tears while trying to get some shut eye on a mission, the only crumpled up photo that Ghost had ever allowed him to take cupped close to his face.

He really pitied the poor mutt before, no pretty girl at home, his only crush being his superior’s girl. But Ghost is magnanimous—he’s a generous man. If you want to see other people, he has the perfect puppy for you to play with.

When you smile, still a bit unsure, he has to smother a grin. “Okay. I’ll stay ‘till then and look.”

The look Johnny gives him when he brings it up is equal parts disbelief and fevered need. “Say that again, Lt?”

“You’re coming over after we wrap this shit up. Bird’s been asking about a third.”

He chokes, scrambling to his feet. The temporary base is damp, always on the frigid side of things so Johnny’s still in uniform for the most part, the fabric rustling in his haste to get up off his bed. It’s not a place either of them are eager to spend more time in than absolutely necessary. The lack of space means that the two of them are made to bunk together as always, sharing a room with two cots and a small en suite, the tub still wet from Ghost’s shower.

“Christ, yer serious? No joke, sir?”

Johnny pushes his head back into Ghost’s hand when Ghost reels him by the hair, dropping a firm close-mouthed kiss onto the centre of his forehead through the fabric of the mask. “She was clear about it. Why? Gettin’ cold feet on me now?”

“No, sir,” Johnny protests, shaking his head as much as he can in Ghost’s grip, eyes shimmering a bit. “I can bring over a bottle o’ wine if ye like. Somethin’ fancy to set the mood.”

Their closeness is not unusual; Johnny’s always been a tactile man, favouring touch over words. One of their small similarities; their shared modes of existing in the world. There’s a line in the sand where you’re concerned that Ghost has been clear on, but he’s used to always having a hand somewhere on Soap, keeping him close. Now, he gets to keep him even closer. 

His bird really has the best ideas. 

Ghost snorts, knocks their heads together. “Just bring yourself, pup.”

He ignores the way Johnny’s breath hitches, the way he hurries into the bathroom and slams the door behind him the second Ghost lets go. The frantic eager sounds from behind the door when the water runs, only muffling the loudest of his groans. He probably had his dick choked in his fist the second the door shut, a thick nut swirling down the drain within the first five minutes. 

They ship out the next morning, exhausted from the week’s work. No amount of sleep out in the field is ever good enough, especially not in cots barely built to accommodate men of their size. Especially not Ghost. Johnny dozes off on his shoulder in the plane, sinking into a deep sleep to compensate for the hours spent tossing and turning the night before. Ghost uses the flight to get a headstart on his paperwork, enough so that he’s not held up on base when they land back home. 

He doesn’t give you a heads up that he’s home earlier than planned; no need to give you enough time to pack a bag and schlep it over to that place you’d found. It’s better for everyone if you’re caught a bit off guard, just a little frazzled. Ghost’s not entirely unsympathetic—he knows you’ll overthink things if he gives you any time to yourself. 

It’s endearing the way you gape up at him, eyes flitting between him and Johnny, when he finally makes it home. For the few times that Johnny’s been over, it’s not an everyday thing; his visits are always planned and strictly timed, Ghost monitoring him to make sure he doesn’t overstep his bounds. Seeing him with Ghost in your foyer must be strange, must put you on edge. 

“Simon, you didn’t tell me you were—” you start and then pause, swallowing. You look over his shoulder at Johnny, smile stiff, uncomfortable. “Hi Johnny.” 

You’re always a good girl, not wanting to argue in front of company. 

“Heel,” Ghost says, steel in his voice when Johnny almost lurches from his side. The other man glances over at him with wild eyes, almost on the brink of disobeying, but he holds in the end and stays put. Ghost’s eyes soften when he looks back at you. “Have a nice week, pet?”

“Yes—sorry, I’m glad you’re home safe,” you say, flustered, taking his back from him to drop in the usual place in the hall. “I, um—” again, you eye Johnny nervously, unsure of how much you can say in front of him, “—I found a place…for…you know.” 

“‘Course,” Ghost agrees, shucking his boots at the door and giving Johnny a shake by his coat until he does the same. “Missed you too, pet. C’mere.” 

He muffles your protests with his mouth when he stalks forward and pulls you in for a wet kiss, rolling the mask up and off at the same time. You’re a bit stiff in his arms until he slips you some tongue and the resistance leaks out of you, helpless the second he gets his hands on you. Your eyes are still a bit misty when he pulls away, fingers clutched in the collar of his shirt like a reflex. Second nature to cling to him. His chest puffs up at the gesture.

“Thought about what you said the other week, bird, and you’re right.”

You blink, coherence coming back to you, shaking your head to divest yourself of the momentary confusion. “I am?”

“‘Course. Smartest girl in the world, isn’t she, Johnny?” Ghost asks over his shoulder, slipping a hand into your hair at the same time to hold you in place. It makes you frown, his actions not mirroring his words. 

“Aye, sir,” Johnny hums, nodding eagerly. Boots off, he stumbles forward, crowding around you from the other side, not realizing that they’ve backed you into a wall until it presses against you, trapping you in place. “Bonnie ‘n sharp as a whip. Always thought so, sir.” 

“That’s right,” he agrees, tightening his fingers in your hair until you squeal, brows furrowing in that way they do when you’re right on the precipice of pain and relief. “Only a smart, brave girl would ask for what she needs. You’re just lonely when I’m away, isn’t that right, pet?”

“I’m—I’m what?” you splutter, hands planted on Ghost’s chest, trying to push him away to no avail. He hardly notices it. 

“Go on, Johnny,” Ghost murmurs. “Since she asked so nicely. Give her a kiss.”

That’s all his mutt needs to hear. 

You huff and puff with the strain it takes to take Ghost’s cock after a week and a half away. 

You’re always tighter when he comes back, an effort to work you up to taking him again; he lets Johnny get you prepped this time, slobbering all over your pussy in his eagerness, plugging you with three fingers before you’re even close to ready. He gets off on the way you howl, rutting his cock into the sheets of your bed while he keeps you pinned by a thick arm over your stomach. 

Ghost has to scruff him after that. He takes over, running a soothing tongue over where it hurts until you cry big, fat tears and come a couple times. He makes sure you’re taken care of before it gets tough. You’re mindless by the time he moves off you to retrieve the lube from the bedside drawer, only coming back to yourself when he turns you over onto your belly and spreads the cheeks of your ass. It unwinds something in his chest to hear you yelp when he pushes a finger into your ass, like coming home. 

This is why he does what he does: to get this when the job is done. 

It’s not often he gets to do this, usually too big for you to take comfortably in your ass. Johnny’s not that much smaller, in fairness, so he works you up to two and then three fingers before lying down on the bed and pulling you over him. Your legs tremble when you straddle him, fingers digging into his chest when he lowers you onto his cock for the first time in a week. 

“There we go,” he says, grunting when you pull his chest hair a little. “That’s a good girl. We just about done crying now?” 

Ghost smiles when you shake your head stubbornly, eyes still filled with tears. “This isn’t what I meant, Simon.”

“You can cuss me out when Johnny’s done, alright? That make you happy?” 

He almost chuckles when Johnny clambers back onto the bed in his haste to get his hands back on you, his pants still hanging off an ankle until he gives it a shake once his palms fit over your waist. 

“Slowly, pup,” Ghost cautions, reaching around to spread a cheek. He coos when you flinch, whispering for you to relax. 

Johnny’s eyes roll back into his head when he pushes in, hips stuttering forward until Ghost snarls and he stops, letting out a deep, shuddering breath to calm himself down. Even for Ghost, it’s intense; you tighten around him when Johnny pushes in, only letting up when he cups your cheek and draws you down for a kiss, loosening you up with his tongue. 

“Sir, I can—fuck, fuck, fuck,” Johnny whines, back curving when he drops his head. “She’s so fuckin’ tight, I can—swear I can feel you, sir.”

He’s not wrong. Ghost swears he can feel it himself, Johnny’s cock in his pretty bird’s ass while his is stuffed deep in your cunt. You pant through the stretch, words half-croaked out, unintelligible. It’s better that way. He loves listening to you sing, but you’ve been in a right mood these past couple of weeks. Just needed a good lay to sort you out. 

“Simon,” Johnny begs, thrusting forward until he bottoms out in you, making your pulse skyrocket. “I cannae breathe.”

“Yes, you can,” Ghost says dismissively, wiping at the drool slipping out of the corner of your mouth. “Give ‘er a sec and then you can move.”

“So, so, so hot. ‘M gonna come—”

He reaches behind you to wrap a hand around Johnny’s throat, giving it a squeeze. Johnny’s eyes bulge. “You don’t get to come until she does, pup. That’s all the time, got it?” 

He doesn’t pay any mind to how Johnny nods and mumbles his little yes, sirs after that—he’s a grown man, maybe not as grown as Ghost, but man enough to compose himself until you stop trembling and sweating so hard. 

It’d been a mite difficult to wrangle you into bed. He understands. He’d let you talk yourself red in the face about this not being what you meant by ‘seeing other people’, but Ghost hears the said and the unsaid. You wouldn’t be still in his house a whole week later if you really wanted to leave. 

“Alright, pet,” he grins, running his thumb over your bottom lip until it drops open and you let him run it over your teeth. “Hang on now.”

[wildwestdean]

transposition

summary: a spell goes wrong and ends up with you and sam switching bodies. neither of you tell dean, which ends up being the greatest decision you ever made

pairing: dean winchester x witch!reader; best friend!sam winchester x witch!reader (platonic, obvs)

word count: 6.3k+

warnings: swearing, mentions of magic use, misunderstandings, miscommunication, angst, secrets, accidental love confessions, awkward idiots, mutual pining, friends to lovers, fluff, cliches, minor use of [y/n], (female pronouns/descriptors used)

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Sam grunted under his breath, continuing to powder the contents of your mortar with more force than necessary. “If Dean finds out about this-”

“Dean asked me to do this,” you defended, eyes skimming over the page in front of you before looking up at him. “Okay, maybe not verbatim, but he asked!” you added upon seeing the look on Sam’s face. 

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m sure he did,” he replied sarcastically, slamming the pestle down with enough force to make you flinch. 

“Would you be fucking careful!” you hissed, glaring at him. “That thing isn’t indestructible and it’s important to me, it was a gift-” 

“From Dean,” he finished for you. “I know. Sorry,” he added, and even though his tone was sincere, you just knew he rolled his eyes anyway; and you chucked the closest thing you could grab at his back in retaliation. 

“Dick,” you muttered, going back to reading the passage before you. 

It wasn’t often that you used your powers - more so when it came down to a last resort option - and when Dean first discovered that you had magic, it wasn’t intentional. The two of you were on a hunt together, and it was - of course - not going to plan. You were on the brink of consciousness, having no choice but to watch defenselessly as Dean became outnumbered by Vamps. The spell came out of nowhere, nothing more than a primal instinct to protect him, and before anyone knew what was happening, the two of you were left alone with nothing but piles of ash where the monsters once stood. Dean first thought that Rowena had somehow stumbled upon them to save the day once more, though once he realized the spell came from you, he damn near lost his mind. You would have rather he yelled at you, smashed things around, anything compared to what he did. Once he made sure you were okay and had you checked out, he simply acted as if you didn’t exist; you were completely frozen out of his life. He never needed to say anything, you could see it in his eyes every time he glanced at you: How could you be a witch? He hated witches, and you knew that- it’s half the reason you never told him in the first place. He only started coming around with Sam’s convincing- and even then, it took an incredibly long time for him to trust you again. Then, one day, he came to realize that no matter what happened, he could never hate you. So, he came to you with an open mind and a peace offering- the exact mortar and pestle you had once told Sam that you wanted, because it reminded you of your mother’s- and the two of you worked on putting the pieces of your friendship back together. 

“Ass,” Sam retorted, turning and walking over to you with the freshly crushed ingredients. 

“You know,” you started, taking it from his hands. “You can’t really be against this all that much, otherwise you wouldn’t be here helping.”

“I’m only here so you don’t get yourself killed.”

“Oh, come on,” you urged with a chuckle. “You love doing this, and you know it.”

He gave you a sarcastic smile before taking the book from you. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Fine,” you huffed, snatching the book right back. 

With one final glare at each other, you started the spell. Everything was going well… until it wasn’t. 

You aren’t exactly sure where it went wrong. You don’t know if it was the ingredients, the way you said the spell, or just a mixture of everything, but before you even knew what was happening the bowl before you exploded in a cloud of yellow and sent both you and Sam flying. 

“Oh, god,” you groaned, holding a hand to your head as your ears rang. “What the fuck?” you wondered aloud, feeling strange beyond comprehension. 

“What the hell happened?” Sam croaked out.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said through a fit of coughs. “You?”

“I don’t know. Something feels wrong,” you declared, sitting up. It was at that exact moment you realized why you felt so different. “Sam?” you asked meekly.

“Yeah?” he questioned, sitting up. “Wait-” 

“I’m-” you began, unable to finish as you stared at your hands; were they even your hands? 

“You’re….” Sam tried, staring at you then down at his body; your body? 

“You’re me!” you exclaimed, gesturing between the two of you. 

“You’re me!” he echoed, scrambling to stand.

You followed suit, using the wall behind you to help you stand. “God, how do you live like this?”

“Me? What about you? I won’t even be able to reach the upper cabinets in the kitchen!” he countered, flailing his arms around. 

“At least you’ll be able to fit on your bed! My feet are gonna dangle!” you huffed, folding your arms over yourself. 

“You need to fix this,” Sam declared, stepping towards you. You couldn’t help but take a few steps away- this was way too weird. You’ve seen shifters take your image before, but this was actually you. Only it wasn’t you. You felt like your head was about to explode. 

“Gee, you think, Sam?” you snapped, narrowing your eyes at him. “I thought we’d just stay like this forever!” 

He opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the door swinging open. You both flinched, turning to see Dean peering into the room. 

“What the fuck’s with all the yelling?” he asked, glancing around. “The hell is going on?” 

“I- uh-” you tried to answer, but nothing came to mind. 

“Just, uh…. experimenting,” Sam supplied, and you sent him a glare. 

“Experimenting?” Dean repeated, raising his eyebrows at you- or rather, at whom he thought was you. 

“Yeah,” Sam said with a shrug, not sure what else to say. The two of you shared a look, silently agreeing not to breathe a word of what was really going on. 

Dean’s face softened, and he sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re actually doing that spell. Sweetheart, we can get by without it.” 

“We don’t-” you started to argue, before Sam interrupted you with a clearing of his throat. 

Right. Dean wasn’t exactly talking to you right now. 

“Thought it was a good opportunity to practice,” Sam replied, sounding more like he was asking than telling. 

“Right,” Dean said, eyeing your body wearily. 

Oh, god. He was gonna pick up on something being wrong, it was only a matter of time. 

“You can leave any time now,” you spoke up, more irritated than you meant to sound, but you were severely on edge.

Dean turned to you with a look of surprise. “‘Scuse me?”

“I just- you know, we’re in the middle of something,” you continued, doing your best to stand your ground. 

“Yeah, I can see that,” he quipped, taking a step towards you. “What the hell were you thinking? Why are you letting her mess around with this stuff? Better yet, why are you helping her mess around with this stuff?” 

“It’s just a simple spell,” you argued, your head swirling with the fact that you were looking down on him, instead of being dwarfed by his frame like you normally would be. 

“A simple spell?” he repeated, fury and irritation dancing in his eyes. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”  

“Last I checked we could make our own decisions, Dean!” you exclaimed, glaring at him. 

“Sure,” he placated with a nod. “So long as they’re not stupid ass decisions!” 

“Can we go ten minutes in this place without a fight happening?” Sam pitched in, already exasperated with the situation. 

“Yeah, sure,” Dean grumbled, glaring at you. “Food’s ready.”

“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Sam announced, earning a glare from you in return. 

“Don’t you think we should finish-” you tried to ask, but were quickly cut off by Dean. 

“No, you guys are done in here,” he declared, shaking his head. “Let’s go.”

“Dean-” you tried once more, only to be cut off again. 

“Sam,” Dean warned. “I’m not kidding. Whatever you two were doing, it’s done.”

“Fine. We’ll be out in a few minutes,” you relented, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “We need to clean up!” you added upon seeing the look on Dean’s face. 

“Five minutes,” Dean agreed pointedly. “Or I swear, I’ll drag both your asses out of this room.” 

“Yeah, five minutes, got it,” you huffed, watching him as he hesitantly left the room. 

You waited a few moments before hastily making your way over and all but slamming the door, turning to look at Sam with wide eyes. 

“We are so screwed,” he declared, matching your expression. 

“What are we supposed to do? He’s gonna figure out something’s wrong!” you exclaimed, slumping against the door behind you. 

“We just…. I don’t know, pretend?” Sam suggested with a shrug. 

“Pretend?” you repeated incredulously. “Sam, this is insane! We can’t just pretend to be each other!” 

“It’s not like I meant permanently!” he defended, holding out his hands in surrender. “But until we can find a way to fix this, we have to at least play the part in front of Dean.” 

“Fine,” you agreed with a huff. “But I am not going on your crack of dawn jogs.” 

“Oh, come on-” he started to argue, though quickly stopped when met with your glare. “Yeah, okay, that- that’s fine.” 

“Great. Now let’s go before Dean gets even more pissy,” you declared, opening the door with a flourish. 

With a quick nod, he followed you down the hall, the two of you lowly bickering about the situation all the way to the kitchen. 

“I feel like a baby giraffe with this fucking body.”

“You look like a baby giraffe, do you not know how to walk?” 

“Yeah, I know how to walk! I know how to walk with normal legs!”

“Normal? You’re short enough to get in anywhere with a child’s pass!” 

“Keep up with the attitude, Sam. Maybe I’ll go have a really nice salon visit and cut all this hair!” 

“Fine, then maybe I’ll call up that guy from your ‘worst date ever’ and ask to catch up!”

“Fine by me. You’ll be the one he’ll be groping and hitting on the whole time.” 

“Yeah- well-... look, just don’t cut my hair!” 

“What are you two all hush hush about?” Dean asked curiously, eyeing you both as you entered the kitchen. 

“Nothing,” you both quickly replied, taking a seat at the table. 

Dean stared at you both for a moment before nodding curtly. “If you say so.” 

Choosing not to reply, you both quietly watched as he joined the table, taking his regular seat next to you. Which, of course, meant he was currently next to Sam, and you watched in amusement as he shifted nervously while Dean got too close for his comfort. 

Attempting to stifle a laugh, you took a bite of the burger that was placed in front of you, only to grimace in response. “What is this?” you asked through a mouthful, meeting Dean’s confused gaze. 

“It’s… the same veggie burger you force me to make you every time I make burgers?” he replied, looking at you as though you lost your head. 

Fucking Sam, you thought bitterly. “Oh, right. Right, it just- it tastes different, I don’t know,” you stammered, sparing a quick glance across at Sam as you hurriedly took another bite. 

“You two are weirder than usual tonight,” Dean muttered to himself before eating his own food. 

The three of you ate in stifling silence, you and Sam both internally trying to find a way out of this mess, before Dean spoke up again and pulled you from your revere. 

“[Y/N], do you want just the usual from the store? I was gonna make a run before our movie night,” he said, turning to look beside him with a soft grin. 

You felt your stomach drop as Sam cleared his throat, looking between you and Dean for a moment. “Movie night?” 

“Yeah,” Dean said, his eyebrows furrowing in even more confusion. “Like we have every Friday?” 

“Oh, right!” Sam exclaimed, chuckling nervously. “I didn’t realize what day it is, I, uh- I’m actually not… feeling too hot, do you mind if we skip it tonight?” 

“You wanna skip it?” Dean asked quietly, making your heart shatter as you watched the hurt and disappointment flash across his face.

After the two of you made up from your falling out, you started a tradition of spending extra quality time together at least once a week. This resulted in having a movie night every Friday, no matter what. Whether that meant catching a random movie on a motel tv or settling into the Dean Cave, you both always found a way to make it. Knowing you had no choice but to skip out this time almost made you want to tell him what happened right then and there; but you didn’t. 

“Yeah, I just… I think it’s best if I just head to bed, you know? I’d hate for it to get worse,” Sam said sheepishly, playing with the glass in front of him as he met Dean’s gaze halfheartedly. 

You were glad that if you had to mistakenly swap bodies with someone, it was Sam. Given that he became your best friend from just about the moment you met, he had your behaviour down pat; you just hoped you could do the same and make this all a little easier. 

“Well what do you mean, what’s wrong?” Dean asked worriedly.

“I’m just feeling run down is all,” Sam said, shrugging lightly as he stood up, taking his dishes to the sink. “Maybe we can watch something tomorrow,” he added, turning back to Dean with a shy smile. 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” Dean agreed softly, averting his gaze to the beer in his hands. “Don’t worry about it, just get some rest.” 

“Sure. Uh, goodnight, guys,” Sam replied awkwardly, shooting you a pointed look before leaving. 

You stayed in uncomfortable silence for a moment, studying Dean as he pouted at his bottle. 

“You alright?” you asked tentatively. 

“Yeah, just… first time she’s bailed on me,” he replied indifferently, downing the rest of his beer before heading to get another one. 

“She didn’t bail on you,” you argued firmly. “It’s not like she chose to go bar hopping or something, she’s sick.” 

“Didn’t seem so sick when she was huddled up with you,” Dean said curtly, leaning against the counter as he sent you a cold stare. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked confusedly, shifting in your seat to look at him better. 

He remained silent, lips pursed as he studied you for what felt like hours, before he finally shrugged. “Doesn’t mean anything.” 

“Then why say it?” you asked in irritation. 

He remained silent once more, simply raising the beer bottle to his lips and taking a long sip before standing upright. “Night, Sammy.” 

“Dean-” you tried to press, but he only ignored you as he continued across the floor, leaving the kitchen without saying another word. 

You sighed in exasperation, quickly cleaning everything up before heading to your room, catching almost no sleep as you dove deep into researching for a reversal to your mistake.

“You need to shave,” Sam said, staring at you from across the table. 

“What?” you asked, caught off guard by the declaration. 

“Your beard - my beard. You need to shave it,” he clarified. “It’s been over a week.”

“And?” you asked, arching an eyebrow at him. “I doubt you’re taking care of all my housekeeping.” 

“That’s because I’m doing everything possible to not look at you! Like you asked!” he hissed in return. 

You rolled your eyes in response, returning your attention to the book in front of you. “I have more important things on my mind than shaving your stupid facial hair - which looks fine, by the way.” 

Sam huffed, shifting in his seat. “Yeah, well you can at least take five minutes for me!”

“I don’t even know how to shave a beard, Sam!” you argued, closing the book in exasperation. 

“Then just let me shave it for you!” he begged, leaning over the table. “I’m serious, [Y/N], you can’t just leave me all unkempt.” 

You met his gaze and sighed softly. “Damn, you can even pull off the puppy dog eyes with my face. That’s a talent, Sammy.” 

He couldn’t help but laugh, for what felt like the first time since this whole thing happened. “You can do it better than I can,” he chuckled. “At least when it comes to Dean,” he added with a smirk. 

“What does that mean?” you asked curiously. 

“Nothing,” he said, shrugging dismissively. “C’mon, let’s get you- me- whatever, all taken care of before Dean gets back with dinner.” 

“Fine,” you begrudgingly agreed, getting up to follow him.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of him as he sat on the bathroom counter, because: “How else are we supposed to do this? These arms aren’t gonna reach that face comfortably without some help.”

You fell into a comfortable silence as he did what he needed to do, the only words spoken being his occasional nagging for you to quit moving, as you were both lost in your own thoughts about the last few days.

“I’m really sorry, Sammy,” you said suddenly. You weren’t sure whether your voice was so quiet due to the shame you felt, or for the fear of breaking the silence that surrounded you. 

“It’s not your fault,” he said simply, reflexively. 

You sighed, gently shaking your head; which earned another scolding glare from him as he steadied you. “It’s entirely my fault. I fucked up big time, and we both know it.” 

“Look, it was an accident,” he urged, wiping away the remnants of the shave one last time. “Assigning blame isn’t going to change anything.” 

“Why aren’t you mad at me? You should be furious! I practically ruined your life,” you pressed on frantically. 

“Okay, that’s being dramatic,” he chided. “Yeah, this isn't an ideal situation. Though weirdly, it’s also not the weirdest situation I’ve been in. And you know what? It’s not even the first time I’ve been in this situation! Remember when that kid switched bodies with me? Trust me, you’re a much better person to be switched with.” 

“Yeah, I remember,” you said, chuckling softly. “Still, I’m really sorry.” 

“I know you are,” he said softly. “I also know you’ll find a way to fix this.” 

“You really believe that?” you asked hesitantly. 

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “‘Cause it’s you, and I’ll always have faith in you. You didn’t mean for this to happen, [Y/N]. It’s okay.” 

“No, it-” you started to argue, but he cut you off. 

“Stop,” he urged softly. “I’m not mad at you, okay? Maybe I was at first, but I’m not anymore.” 

“Promise?” you asked meekly. 

“I promise,” he said firmly.

“Okay,” you relented, not fully believing him but not wanting to push the topic any further. 

“Okay,” he repeated, gently wiping away one of your stray tears. 

“Maybe we should just tell Dean,” you suggested hesitantly. 

“Tell me what?” Dean’s voice suddenly cut through the room.

The two of you jumped, and you moved away from the counter as calmly as you could, knowing how the predicament you were in must look to him.

You turned to the doorway and came face to face with Dean staring intently at the two of you, his mind working into an overdrive as he tried to make sense of the scene he just walked in on. 

“Dean, I- when did you get back?” you asked nervously. 

“Tell me what?” he asked again, ignoring your question. 

You and Sam were both at a loss. You spent so much time trying to figure this whole thing out, yet neither of you thought to come up with some kind of story should you be cornered like this. 

“[Y/N]?” Dean asked softly, looking over to where he thought you sat on the counter. 

The look of hurt and confusion that flashed over his face and the waver in his voice all but sent a fresh wave of tears washing over you. 

Dean waited impatiently a few moments before shaking his head with a scoff. “Whatever, food’s in the kitchen.”

Before anyone could say anything else, he turned on his heel and left, leaving you and Sam stunned in his wake. 

The dynamic between the three of you began shifting even more ever since that night, and you could feel Dean slipping further and further away from you with each passing day. 

You noticed it every time Dean would catch you and Sam huddled up and whispering low; when he would stand and stare before leaving with a quiet grumble of forgetting why he was there. 

You noticed it when he started spending more time in his room or tinkering with Baby in the garage; finding any and every excuse possible to spend time outside of the bunker and away from you and Sam. 

You and Sam tried to ignore it, promised yourselves that you’d explain everything once you managed to set things right - or, if you discovered you were over your heads and couldn’t fix everything. 

The thing you hated most about this whole thing was that it was becoming easier and easier to lie to Dean; and the worst part about that was not knowing whether you and Sam really became more convincing, or if Dean just didn’t care enough to question you anymore. 

Which is exactly why you found yourself sitting in the war room, waiting for Dean to make his way through to the kitchen, in order to try and talk things out. 

You weren’t expecting him to appear with one duffle bag over his shoulder and another by his side - and he wasn’t expecting to see you, either. 

“Didn’t think you’d be up,” he declared after a moment of hesitation, continuing on his path to the stairs. 

“Where the hell are you going?” you asked hotly, standing from your seat. 

Dean sighed, throwing his head back in frustration as he considered his response. “Donna’s cabin.” 

“What? Why?” you asked, eyebrows drawing together with confusion. 

“I can’t do it anymore,” he said tiredly. “I just can’t, okay?” 

“Do what?” you asked wearily, taking a tentative step towards him. “What are you talking about, Dean?” you pressed, feeling your chest tighten with the rising nerves and fear.

“Don’t do that,” he demanded, shaking his head. “Don’t play coy. You think I don’t know what’s been going on around here?” 

“What-... what’s been going on?” you asked curiously. “The hell are you talking about?”

You weren’t sure if or when he figured out what happened, and you also weren’t sure why it would make him feel the need to leave. 

“I’m talking about you and [Y/N]!” he shouted, throwing his bags down and stepping towards you. 

“Me and [Y/N]?” you wondered, taking a nervous step backwards. 

“I’m not an idiot, okay?” he spat, his jaw ticking. “You think I haven’t noticed? Think I couldn’t figure it out?” 

“Okay, look,” you began, holding out your hands defensively. “I can explain.” 

Dean let out a humourless laugh, running a hand over his mouth before glaring at you once more. “Explain,” he echoed with a chuckle of disbelief. “Don’t waste your breath.”

“Why are you so pissed off about this?” you asked in bewilderment. “I mean, I know we kept it from you, but we figure it’d be easier for you.” 

“Easier for me?” he repeated, voice raising. “What about this entire situation makes you think it’d be easy for me?”

“Well because it-... I mean it doesn’t really affect you, Dean,” you replied, unsure of your own words. 

“It doesn’t affect me?” he repeated with perplexion. “Of course it affects me! You know how I feel about her!” he exclaimed, taking yet another step forward. 

“What?” you questioned, thrown off by his response. 

“Don’t “what” me,” he snapped. “I want to be happy for you, Sammy. I really do, but I just-... I don’t think I ever can be.” 

“Okay, I-... I am so lost,” you admitted.

“You stole my girl, Sam!” Dean all but screamed. “You know that I love her. You know I was gonna tell her, and you know how much I want to spend whatever’s left of my god forsaken life with her! You swore you didn’t feel that way about her. You- I mean how to hell could you do this to me, Sammy? I can’t even stand to look at you anymore.” 

You remained silent, staring at him in shock and confusion for what felt like hours. Your mouth opened and closed a few times as you tried to formulate a response, but all that came out was a broken whisper of his name. 

“Don’t sweat it, Sammy. Not like I can blame you for falling for her, right? I mean hey, I sure did,” he sassed, smiling sarcastically. “Not surprised she chose you, either. She deserves someone better than me. But I’m not sticking around anymore to see it first hand.” 

You watched in stunned silence as he turned to gather his bags, trying and failing to think of anything to say. What the hell were you supposed to do? The man of your dreams just admitted he felt the exact same way, and you were trapped in his brother's body. Even if you told him the truth right now, would he even believe you? 

“Do me one favour, though,” Dean said from the foot of the stairs, effectively pulling you from your thoughts. “Don’t tell [Y/N]. Don’t tell her anything. I’ll think of something to tell her during the drive and call her tomorrow.” 

“Dean-” you finally began to protest, only to go unheard by him as he started up the steps. 

“Later, Sammy,” he announced with finality, disappearing out of the bunker. 

“You have got to be kidding me. I mean honestly woman, how stupid can you be?” Rowena’s voice rang through the war room as she made her arrival known to you and Sam.

“Did you not get in enough insults over the phone?” you asked in exasperation, not bothering to move from your spot in the library as you watched her approach.  

“I don’t think there are enough insults for this situation, dear,” she said sweetly, smiling innocently. 

“Either be helpful or leave, Rowena,” you replied solemnly. 

It had been three days since Dean left, and over two weeks since the whole debacle happened. You had never been more determined to find a solution, nor had you ever felt more defeated. 

“Alright, fine. No need to be cranky,” Rowena tsked, taking a seat across from you. “Go on, then. Walk me through everything.” 

“Fine,” you sighed, steadying yourself before recounting the situation. 

“Let me get this straight,” Rowena declared, holding a hand up. “You actually let him leave? After what he said?” 

“Is that seriously your only take away from this?” you asked angrily, glaring at her. 

“It’s not my only take away, but it’s certainly a big one,” she said calmly, accompanied by a half shrug. “This is the spell you used?” she asked, looking over the book you gave her during your explanation. 

“Yeah, that’s the one,” you confirmed sheepishly. 

“Well, don’t you worry. We’ll have you and Samuel right as rain in no time, dear,” she comforted, eyes never leaving the pages in front of her.

It took another four days, but ‘No time’ finally came. You were practically itching to get this all over and done with as the three of you finished setting everything up. You didn’t even care about being in your own skin again, all you cared about at this point was getting Dean back in your life. He did everything possible to avoid talking to you or Sam each time either of you tried contacting him, and you were missing him more and more with each passing hour.

“That should do it,” Rowena declared, snapping you back to attention. “You know what you need to do?” 

“Yes,” you said quickly, urging her out of the room; the last thing you needed was for her to be around and have the spell go wrong again, resulting in all three of you being scrambled around. 

“Don’t rush it!” she cautioned. “I know you want him back, but you need to take this slowly. You can’t afford another screw up!” 

Her statement made you pause, and you knew she was right. “Go slow, I got it,” you confirmed, shutting her out of the room. 

“Ready?” Sam asked, looking at you eagerly; albeit nervous beyond belief. 

“More than ever,” you declared, taking your place at the altar. 

You began the spell, doing everything slowly and precisely so there was no room for error. Once you had finished, however, nothing had happened. You were just about ready to scream with all the emotions boiling inside of you when suddenly the bowl before you exploded in a cloud of yellow, sending both you and Sam flying. 

“Oh, god,” you groaned, holding a hand to your head as your ears rang. “This again?” you wondered aloud.

“Did it even work?” Sam croaked out.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said through a fit of coughs. “You?”

“I think so,” you declared, sitting up. It was at that exact moment you realized what happened. “Sam?” you asked breathlessly. 

“Yeah?” he questioned, sitting up himself. “Wait-” 

“I’m-” you began, unable to finish as you stared at your hands; your own hands.

“You’re….” Sam tried, staring at you then down at his body; his very own body.

“You’re you!” you exclaimed in glee, pointing at him.

“You’re you!” he echoed, scrambling to stand.

You followed suit, taking a moment to steady yourself on your own feet. “I need to go,” you announced, not giving him time to reply before you ran out of the room. 

“You’re welcome!” Rowena called after you, watching you run by. 

“Thank you!” you called back absently, hurrying out to your car. 

The drive took longer than ever before; at least, it felt like it did. You spent the whole time trying to think of what to say, of how to explain, but nothing seemed right. Nothing seemed like enough. All you could hope for was that everything would magically come to you once you stood before him. 

If he ever decided to open the goddamn door. 

“Dammit, Dean! Open the fucking door before I break it down!” you yelled, banging your hand against the wood for the upteenth time. 

You opened your mouth to yell once more, but before you could even make a sound a voice boomed out from behind you. “What are you doing here?” 

You turned with a start, coming face to face with Dean as he stood at the bottom of the steps. “I came to talk to you,” you said simply, taking a few steps forward. 

He quickly averted his gaze, focusing on wiping the grease from his hands with the rag he held. “Coulda just called,” he countered gruffly. 

“Why?” you asked, laughing dryly. “You’d just ignore my calls.” 

He stilled his ministrations for a moment before shrugging, glancing back up at you. “Maybe ‘cause we got nothing to talk about.” 

“Dean-” you tried to argue, though you stopped short when he rolled his eyes and turned away from you. 

“Look, I know all about you and Sam, okay?” he huffed, storming across the drive and to where Baby was parked, hood still open for Dean to continue working on her.  

“Oh, for god’s sake, Dean. There is no me and Sam!” you exclaimed with a groan, quickly following behind him. 

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he placated, picking up his previously abandoned ratchet. 

“Just listen to me,” you pleaded, watching his face scrunch with a mix of frustration and concentration as he dove back into his work. 

“You don’t need to explain,” he said distractedly. “I get it. He’s good for you. I just-... you didn’t need to hide it, [Y/N/N]. I thought we were closer than that.” 

“We are! That’s not what we were hiding, just let me explain!” you said desperately, stepping closer to him. 

“You can quit the act, okay?” he snapped, stopping what he was doing as he stood up, finally turning to look at you. “I have eyes, I saw what-” 

“Sam and I fucking switched bodies!” you yelled over him, effectively rendering him speechless. “Alright? When you walked in on us doing that spell the other week… it went wrong, Dean. Sam and I, we just-... we switched!”

“You… switched bodies?” he asked slowly, scepticism starting to present itself on his face as he processed what you said.

“Yes,” you confirmed softly. ”I was Sam, Sam was me.”

He nodded, shifting uncomfortably as he anxiously tapped his fingers on Baby’s exterior. “Well, isn’t that just a great story,” he muttered, leaning under the hood once more. 

“It’s not a story,” you argued desperately. “It’s what happened.” 

“Then why not tell me?” he challenged, not missing a beat. 

“Because,” you began lamely. “You always have so much on your plate, Dean. We didn’t want to shove this stupid thing on you and add to your worries.” 

“So you lied to me for my own good?” he asked harshly, gaze not straying from his hands as he worked. 

“We didn’t lie, we just-”

“Avoided the truth,” he finished for you. “Same thing, if you ask me.”

“We thought it was for the best,” you admitted quietly. 

“Oh, yeah,” he agreed sarcastically, throwing his tools down. “Sneaking around, icing me out. Definitely for my best interest, huh?” 

“Dean, please,” you pleaded. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.” 

“Then why did you come, [Y/N]?” he shouted, shutting Baby’s hood. “What did you think was gonna happen here?” 

“Well, I thought-... I just-... I wanted to clear the air,” you stammered. “I wanted to explain.” 

“Well, you explained,” he muttered, busying himself with tidying his mess. 

You watched him silently for a few moments, trying to think of your next move. You decided to ask the question that’s been on your mind since he left: “Were you really planning on actually telling me one day?” 

He let out an irritated sigh, picking up his belongings and moving around to the trunk. “What are you talking about?” 

“Were you really gonna tell me?” you repeated, quickly taking a few steps to meet him at the trunk.  

“Tell you what?” he huffed, irritation oozing off of him as he slammed the toolbox down. 

“How you feel!” you blurted out, taking yet another step towards him. 

“The hell are you talking about?” he questioned, feigning cluelessness. Though the way his body stiffened as he idly messed with the stuff in the trunk betrayed him; he knew what you meant.  

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you replied softly. “Were you?” 

“I don’t know!” he huffed, shutting the trunk. “Maybe,” he added, walking away from you once more. 

“You said-” 

“I know what I said!” he interrupted, clearly irritated. “Can we not relive it? I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“Well I do!” you argued, exasperated. “Why the fuck else do you think I’m here, Dean?”

“To clear the air,” he sneered, repeating your earlier words as he made his way back to the cabin. 

“To tell you I love you!” you shouted after him, stopping him in his tracks. “I didn’t choose Sam. How can I choose him when I’ve loved you for years? How can I choose him when my entire world stopped spinning the day you shut me out of your life all those years ago? How can I choose him when I didn’t feel like I could breathe until you finally spoke to me again? How can I choose him, when having to watch you walk away the other day was the most terrifying thing I had to do, because I didn’t know if I’d ever get you back this time? You can put us in any timeline, in any universe, or in any realm, and I will always choose you. I love you.”

You were met with silence for entirely too long, and you watched the unsteady rise and fall of his shoulders as he kept his back to you, standing tense as ever with his head down low. 

“Will you just look at me, please?” you pleaded shakily.

As soon as the words left your mouth he spun on his heel and marched towards you, closing the distance between you two in seconds. He grabbed your face in his hands, letting a moment of hesitation pass by before crashing his lips against yours. It was harsh yet delicate, slow but needy. It was gentle and all consuming. His hands strayed from your face, one sweeping to the back of your head to hold you steady while the other slipped to your waist and pulled you close. Your hands found themselves gliding up his arms, resting on the base of his neck for a moment before settling on his cheeks. 

When the two of you finally pulled away to catch your breath, it seemed like neither of you wanted to go too far; foreheads pressed together and noses brushing as you both giggled quietly, shy smiles on your swollen lips. 

You stood like that for a few minutes, basking in each other's presence in ways you never could before, until your gentle whisper cut through the silence: “Please come home, Dean.” 

“My sweet girl,” he said quietly, planting a delicate kiss to your forehead before completely wrapping you up in his arms, holding you closer than ever. “I am home.”

tagging: @winharry

dividers by @firefly-graphics and @saradika