#do i tag this as monster fucker or will i be normal for once

[giyuulatte]

i feel like this is a great time to announce that i am a monster movie enthusiast. i LOVE monster and mecha movies!! godzilla, king kong, transformers, pacific rim, kaiju, alien, predator…GIMME IT ALL

#i’m on spring break so i’m rewatching a bunch of movies with my mom #and i forgot how much i love this genre(?) #if y’all have any recs for me i’m all ears #the 2014 godzilla movie will always remain my favorite for some reason #but the others are good too #except godzilla vs kong bc i blocked that one out of my mind for some reason #i also really like cloverfield for some reason and my mom HATES it lmao #she just doesn’t get it like i do (she hates found footage movies) #i also love transformers age of extinction too #tho i think it’s just for the dinosaurs bc it was lowkey ass #but i wouldn’t have it any other way #i really need to watch shin godzilla and soon #OMG AND SUPER 8 I LOVE SUPER 8 #super 8 is one of my top favorite movies it’s SO good #godzilla #king kong #cloverfield 2008 #pacific rim #transformers #battleship 2012 #super 8 2011 #alien #predator #alien vs predator #monster lover #do i tag this as monster fucker or will i be normal for once #i will be ‘normal’ it seems #…for now

[lincolndjarin]

Oh Honey. ✩ Chapter 3

chapter three : we're all mad here

series masterlist ao3 kofi main masterlist

a/n : thank you to everyone who has waited patiently for this ily all. not much to say here other than that this chapter gets a lil buck wild so read the warnings. also this chapter is just a shitty whirlwind of things whoops

pairing : monster!joel miller x mortician!reader

rating : 18+ mdni - explicit content, read all warnings

word count : 11.9k

summary : bunny and joel are in a tough spot but hey couple fight, i'm sure everythings super chill and normal

warnings, etc. : angst, language, smut, dubcon (reader and joels relationship is relatively unhealthy and mostly just sex at this point. basically sex is reluctant or angry most of the time), oral m!receiving, crying after sex, toxic relationship, these two aren't doing well, readers mental health isn't in a great place, gaslighting, grave digging, typical oh honey description of corpses, general sense of dread, fear, feelings of despair, violence, gore, body horror, just in general a lot of bad shit happens in this chapter and i definitely missed tags so proceed with caution. this is a monster fucker fic - proceed accordingly

“It’s okay, it’s just me.”

Joel, Joel, Joel. 

The only thing that consumes your thoughts. 

The nightmare that’s still there after you wake up. 

Neither one of you moves, he just watches you as your chest heaves, your hands shaking as the dam finally breaks and you crumble entirely. The overwhelming fear that has plagued you for weeks now finally consumes you entirely. 

And you cry.

Not just a few stray tears, or some sniffling.

You cry. 

Big, salty tears and full body sobs because you are just so fucking afraid. 

Afraid of the woods, of the monster, and of Joel. 

And despite that fact, you let him hold you because you aren’t just afraid, you’re tired. You stop putting up a fight when he pulls you into his arms, and you let him soothe you because there is no one else.

You don’t have anyone here. 

(You don’t really have anyone anywhere else either.)

Except Joel. 

So you press your face into his chest and you let him lay down with you. 

You let him hold your ear against his sternum until your heartbeat matches his.

You let him kiss your forehead. 

And you let him rock you back and forth until you fall asleep once more. 

You don’t remember any more dreams that come your way but you know that you don’t sleep well after that, at least two more times you wake with a jolt. And you’re rocked back to sleep every time a fresh flood of tears threatens to rush from your eyes. 

“Can we talk about last night?” Your eyes are still shut when you feel the heat of the sunrise against your face, his chest rumbles against your cheek when he whispers. “I know you’re awake.” 

“I don’t wanna talk about it Joel.” You mumble, your eyebrows furrow, eyes still shut as he rubs your back. 

“Please?” He sits up on his elbows, holding you to his chest still, the blanket sliding down his stomach and you’re suddenly reminded of the lack of clothing between the two of you.

You sit up with a groan, stretching your arms above your head before holding your comforter up to cover yourself, as you stare at the scene before you. The morning light is seeping in through the windows, turning his dark curls almost copper. Your eyes trail across the sheets until they settle on the large rips exposing your mattress. 

“I said no.” You grumble.

“Bunny-”

You grab the blanket covering him, yanking it down as you yawn. You crawl between his legs letting your own blanket drop as you take his soft cock in your hand, watching him swell against your palm. He gasps at the suddenness of it all but when he doesn’t push you away you keep going.

“Sugar, I’m beggin’, let’s just take a second to talk.” He puts his hand over yours, trying to slow you but you just slide down onto your stomach, pulling him between your lips, wasting no time to drag your tongue along his tip. A long, unbroken groan falls from his lips. You take him deeper, savoring the way your eyes water and your jaw aches. It keeps you grounded. It keeps you here. 

“Mmm.” You moan around him, god, why can’t he just be a normal man? If he was just a man he wouldn’t feel like velvet in your mouth, and he wouldn’t taste like sweet coffee first thing in the morning. 

You know that now. 

He isn’t just a man. 

You don’t actually know what he is, but you have a few theories. A lot of theories that don’t work because the monster you saw in the woods wasn’t Joel. 

His hips involuntarily rock forward and you groan as he hits the back of your throat. You smooth your hands over his bare thighs to push him back down as you relax your throat. 

“Bunny- ah-” He stammers out as you work yourself back down his length, trying to ease him in at your own pace. “Slow down gorgeous, m’gonna come too fast if you keep this up.” He runs his knuckle across your jaw but you just hollow your cheeks and push on, pulling a strained groan from him. 

You swallow around him, it’s on the verge of painful as you struggle a bit to breathe but you have no desire to stop. No amount of fear is going to change the fact that he soothes you. With his cock in your mouth it’s easy to forget about everything that’s happened to you this past week. It’s easy to just drink him in, and taste the warm caramel of his skin. You let one of your hands slip between your own legs, your fingers drag through the slick there before focusing on your aching clit. 

You concentrate on syncing up the movements. Running your tongue along the underside of his cock as you swipe your fingers against your bud, practically humping your own hand after a few minutes. You keep it up for a bit until you feel his balls tensing and you pop yourself off of him. 

You pull yourself into his lap, straddling his thigh as you wrap your hand around his twitching prick, both of you panting as you grind yourself against him. He grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls your lips to his as you groan into his mouth, he grunts against you until you feel him pulsing against your palm, streaking his stomach with his cum. After another moment you feel yourself clenching around nothing, finishing against your other hand.

You collapse against him, resting your head on his shoulder as you catch your breath. You take a moment to briefly run your fingers through his spend before sucking them into your mouth. 

Just like frosting, a sweet vanilla taste coating your tongue. 

He watches you like he’s about to pick up where he left off before you distracted him but he shakes it off when you give him a desperate look. He pulls you into an embrace. 

“If you won’t let me talk about it, at least let me redress your wounds.” He murmurs before kissing the top of your head. You give him a small nod, too tired, and too afraid to object as he peels back the bloody gauze, carefully cleaning every cut before wrapping them once more. 

When he’s finished he goes through and gives each one a small kiss, as if that could erase the terror around their origins. 

“I gotta go to work, are you gonna be okay today?” He whispers as he leans forward to give you one last kiss on the cheek. 

“I’ll be fine.” You give him a weak smile, content to act as if everything really is fine for just a few more moments. 

“I’ll stop by for a few minutes after work, then I gotta go get Ellie.” He starts collecting his scattered clothing, dressing himself as you lay back down. “I’ll see you tonight.” He murmurs, giving you one one last sympathetic smile before he’s gone. Just like that.

And you’re alone with your thoughts.

What the fuck are you gonna do? 

There’s a monster loose in the woods and Joel is clearly going to be no help. And of course there’s the issue of not being able to break up with him, for several reasons, one of them being that you simply don’t want to. Anything that happened last night doesn’t matter because at the end of the day you really like Joel, but more importantly you don’t think you can break up with Joel. It doesn’t really seem like your body will let you, whatever the invisible, inexplicable force is that drives you two together might not allow such a separation to happen. 

So you’ll stay with him.  

And you’ll use him to your advantage, it’s clear he knows something about what you saw, why else would he have gotten so defensive about it? He can’t be perfect forever, eventually he’ll slip up. You just have to wait for it. 

You can wait. 

Turns out you’re not as okay as you thought you were. 

You spend the rest of your day cleaning up around the camper, just sort of taking care of things and everything seems fine. Joel texts you a few times, mostly just asking if you’re okay. And he comes to check on you after work, you’re just getting out of the shower when it happens, you had just stepped out of the bathroom in your robe, drying your hair with a towel.

His truck is old, he keeps it in good condition and he takes care of it but the engine is still pretty loud. 

That was all it took to send you under the table. 

Something about the roar of the engine just as it was turning off set you off. You closed your eyes, just for a moment and all you could see was the thing from the woods and you were curled up in on yourself, tucked away under the table with your hands over your ears. You didn’t hear Joel bust down the door and you screamed when he pulled you out from your hiding spot, thrashing and kicking at him. It took a while but eventually he calmed you down, sitting on the edge of your bed with you wrapped around him, trembling in absolute terror. 

When you finally calmed down enough to quiet down he continued to hold you close, humming a song softly as he rubbed your back until you decided to break the silence. 

“You have to go get Ellie.” Your voice was raw from screaming and he sighed. 

“I can stay.”

“Go get her, I’ll be fine.” It took a lot of insisting but eventually he relented, but not before making sure you ate the take out he had brought you. The two of you sat in silence until he couldn’t stall anymore and had to go. 

“Text me before you go to bed.” He mumbled, giving your hand a soft squeeze before he left. 

You did as you were told. 

That was when you became vaguely aware of just how bad things are right now. 

You thought you were up for this, monster hunting, mystery solving business. But you’re terribly afraid, almost to the point of being useless. You can’t just let innocent people die though, no one believes you, so you have to be the one to do this. The thought makes you sick but what else can you do? 

So you endure. 

You wake up from restless sleeps, haunted by monsters you cannot escape from even in your dreams, and you go to work. You let Joel pick you up each morning and you let him kiss your cheek and put his hand on your thigh as you drive. You work as if everything is normal, and you only work on bodies that have died of natural causes for the rest of the week. 

Night time is when things get tricky. 

Joel wants to talk.

He wants to ask if you’re okay and he wants to talk about what happened that night you saw the beast but you know that if you do that you’re going to fall apart all over again and you’re starting to worry that one of these times you aren’t going to be able to put yourself back together. 

So you do the one thing you know will distract him. 

You fuck him. 

He comes over after work each night, bringing food as if he knows you won’t eat unless he makes sure of it. He’ll ask you how work is and you’ll tell him the truth. That you’re busy and Maria’s busy with all the funerals. 

And every night he tries to talk about it, usually starting by reaching out to you and holding your face in his hands. But you know better than to let him get more than a sentence out, so once he starts you drag him to bed.

The first time you executed this plan you were a little worried about what was going to happen after the sex. You couldn’t fuck him again. (Actually you probably could, but that’s beside the point.) So you needed to formulate a plan for afterwards, but once you’d started you got a little lost in your efforts and by the time you were done you had nothing. 

It’s a good thing you solved your own problem when he pulled you against his chest and you suddenly burst into tears. 

So yeah, you aren’t really all that okay. 

You’ve developed a habit of crying after sex and you haven’t gotten any new information out of Joel. But at least you aren’t getting worse, at least it feels like you aren’t. For a week and a half the routine doesn’t change until finally on Wednesday he comes to pick you up after work. 

“Should we go to dinner?” He wraps an arm around your waist as he pulls you closer.

“Let’s just get takeout.” You rest your head against his shoulder as he walks the two of you out to the truck. 

“You don’t wanna go out?”

“I just wanna stay in tonight.” He hesitates for a moment, giving you a troubled look as he helps you into the passenger side. Once the engine hums to life you punch the number into your phone, ordering for the both of you, having it delivered to the camper. 

And you ride in silence.

For a brief moment you wonder if he’s mad at you. 

You can’t really find the will to care, it’s not like he isn’t gonna stay. He’s just as stuck as you are. You aren’t sure you can keep this up for much longer though, he knows what you’re doing at this point and he’s starting to use it against you. 

You want him to snap again. 

That’s sort of the goal right now.

To have him lift you as if it’s nothing. To tear something to shreds. You’ve been trying to make it happen all week, you’d think that with all the sex he’d lose control at some point. 

But he’s careful now. 

Somehow you always end up flat on your back and before you can gain any sort of semblance of control over the situation he’s got you coming your brains out. It’s clever really. Fighting sex with sex. 

You get him to stop talking by starting it and he keeps you from doing any real investigative work by playing you like a fiddle each and every time.

No one wins. And no one loses.  

You know you can’t do this forever but for now it works. 

Work, sex, cry, sleep. 

You decide you need to search his house, maybe find some evidence. You’re getting nowhere with your investigation and even though there haven’t been any mutilated bodies you know it’s only a matter of time. You need to take preventative measures. 

The only problem is you don’t know where it is, you’ve always stayed in the camper and you’re struggling to think of a way to invite yourself over without raising suspicion, after a few days it comes to you. 

“Can we talk?” You stammer out the moment you hear him pick up the phone, he doesn’t even bother hiding his sigh of relief.

“Of course we can, right now? Or should I just come over tonight?” 

“I was thinking maybe we could go to your house, I’m hoping a change of scenery might help me open up.” It’s a bullshit excuse but you know he’d do anything to have a conversation with you right now. 

“That’s more than fine, I’ll pick you up around six? We can have dinner and then we’ll talk.” He sounds so happy you almost wish this was real. That you could give him this thing he wants so desperately but you know that he won’t admit to anything he knows, so you just need to find proof, something he can’t brush off or ignore. 

“Sounds perfect, I’ll see you then.” You hang up before he can respond, staring at the wall in silence, barely noticing when the sun sets outside the window. You don’t snap out of it until headlights flood the interior of the camper and you stand, grabbing your bag before rushing out to meet him. He jogs around the front of the truck to wrap an arm around your waist and kiss your forehead before opening the passenger door.

“I hope you don’t mind, we’ve got a little company tonight.” He raises his eyebrows at you, closing the door before you can ask any questions, when he pulls himself up into the driver's seat you open your mouth to ask what he means but he speaks first, turning to stare into the backseat. “Do you know who this is, little monster?” He turns the cab light on and you see Ellie strapped into her car seat. She appraises you for a moment before all of her limbs straighten out as she yells.

“Girlfriend!” She shrieks and you can’t help but smile for the first time in a while as Joel gives you a lopsided grin. 

“We worked on that the whole way over, she was supposed to say your name but that’s close enough.” He gives her a mock look of disappointment that has her bursting into a fit of laughter as he turns the light off, pulling away from the camper and back onto the road. Joel turns up the radio, both of you sit quietly as Ellie sings along behind you, making up her own words to a pop song you vaguely recognize. “Hope you don’t mind.” He reaches over, taking your hand while the other stays on the wheel. “I haven’t been able to spend a lot of time with her recently.” He nods towards the back as you smile politely. 

“I don’t mind at all.” It’s more than true. You’re rather fond of Ellie. He gives your hand a small squeeze and when you look his dimple is prominently visible on his face. 

It’s about a ten minute drive to his house. 

It doesn’t even look like he has neighbors. He pulls into a driveway between the trees and tucked away is a small ranch style house. You don’t know what you were expecting. Maybe something a little more sinister? But this is quite lovely, lots of space in an outcropping in the trees, a pretty cream colored house with dark oak accents and a tire swing hanging from a nearby tree. 

Secluded. 

You step out, staring at the pretty little place as he unbuckles Ellie, who immediately breaks into a sprint when he sets her on the ground, running up onto the porch and jumping to grab at the door knob. 

“S’locked, honey.” He yells as he takes your hand, chuckling while he retrieves the key from his pocket. “She’s been excited since I told her we were gonna have you over, she loves showin’ people the house.” You both step up onto the porch as Ellie stares at him impatiently. 

“What a lovely house you have, miss Ellie.” You crouch down in front of her as she gives you a grin, she’s clearly much less reserved around her father. 

“Thank you.” She smiles proudly, when Joel opens the door she grabs your hand, pulling you inside as he flips on the lights. “We’re home!” She yells into the empty house. You give Joel a nervous look but he just laughs. 

“She does that everytime we walk through the door, it’s just us here tonight.” He whispers reassuringly as Ellie immediately drags you deeper into the room. 

It’s startlingly average. 

It’s simply a house. No claw marks or blood on the wall. Just a surprisingly well kept little place, a well lived in family home. The walls are lined with photos of Ellie and a girl you assume to be Sarah, the fridge is completely covered in drawings similar to the ones you’ve seen Ellie do before. It’s just a house, nothing more. 

Ellie pulls you into the living room before tugging your hand and pointing up at the wall until you scoop her up. Joel’s already working in the kitchen on dinner as you walk Ellie around the room. She’s more talkative then you’ve ever heard her be now that she’s got a clear line of sight to Joel, clearly more comfortable as she points out each framed photo, having a seemingly infinite number of things to say about each. 

She babbles on endlessly, you don’t understand her well, you can really only make out names in her mess of gibberish but it sounds like she’s telling jokes. She points at each photo, looking at you as she says something incoherent before pausing, when she speaks again it comes off like a punchline, a single short burst of words before a shriek of giggles. You feel truly happy for the first time since that night. You feel normal. 

You carry her over to where Joel seems to be putting toppings on a pizza. 

“I thought you didn’t know how to cook?” You set Ellie down on the counter.

“I don’t know if buying pre-made dough and putting things on top of it is cooking.” He chuckles, handing her a piece of pepperoni. You feel painfully normal. This feels normal. It feels good, holding Ellie, and sneaking her another piece of pepperoni. It feels good to listen to the music softly filling the kitchen from the radio in the corner as Joel puts the tray in the oven before turning to smile at the two of you. “Did you show her your room yet El’s?” He grins at you and Ellie urgently grabs the sleeve of your sweater. 

You pick her back up and she directs you towards the first door on the left once you turn down the hall. You set her down and she runs in, jumping up to turn the lights on as she scrambles to the toybox. 

“Oh wow…” You can’t hide your surprise as you look around. The walls and ceiling are painted a navy blue with constellations drawn onto them, each one is outlined and labeled. Her bedframe is a wildly detailed miniature spaceship, hollowed out to hold her mattress. You walk forward, running your hand along its outline. “You have a beautiful room Ellie.” She turns and looks between you and her bed. 

“Thanks, daddy did it.”

“Your father did all this?” You tilt your head as you carefully poke the solar system mobile hanging from the ceiling fan.

“Mhmm.” She’s still busy digging through her things until she produces a few plastic dinosaurs, seemingly forgetting your presence entirely as she begins smashing them together, growling and snarling. You watch her until Joel calls you back and she scrambles to her feet, running back out. You take a moment, looking at the other three doors in the hall. You can hear Joel talking to Ellie in the other room so you take the opportunity to look around. You try the door across from Ellies, pushing it open. It's a completely average bathroom, when you check the other two you find them both locked. 

You don’t get a chance to make any attempts to get into them before Joel is calling you. 

When you walk back into the kitchen they’re already sitting at the table, the seat next to Joel is pulled out and you take a seat. 

And you get to be normal for just a few more minutes. This is what you wish it was with Joel. You wish you didn’t have to shut him up with sex every time he came over. You want dinners with Ellie. You want to watch her scramble to pick out a movie and you want to relive the look of content on Joel's face when his daughter chooses to sit between you two instead of just beside him. You want to hear Joel laugh at shitty jokes in a Disney movie and you want to watch Ellie struggle to keep her head up, alternating between leaning against you and leaning against her father. 

But you can’t have this. 

At least not after tonight. 

Ellie yawns, her head slowly tilting to rest in the crook of Joel’s arm as she struggles to keep her eyes open. Joel taps you on the shoulder, nodding down at the sleeping toddler.

“I’m gonna put her to bed.” He mouths before scooping her up and carrying her down the hall. You sit by yourself for a moment, soaking in the quiet ambiance of the movie when you suddenly hear a tiny pair of footprints as Ellie runs up to you. She’s in her pajamas now, a pair of striped pants and what looks to be one of Joel's old shirts. You think for a moment that she might hug you as you give her a soft smile but she just pats your knee a few times.

 “Good night.” She mumbles before running back to her room. 

“Good night Ellie.” You call after her. After another moment you stand, curiosity getting the better of you as you walk down the hall as quietly as possible, leaning in the cracked open doorway. Ellie is in her bed with Joel sitting on the edge of it, he’s bent down to properly fit into the spaceship as he tucks her blankets in around her. 

“What can I get for you tonight, little monster, story or song?” He whispers as he hands her a stuffed dinosaur. 

“Song please.” She yawns, rubbing her eyes. 

“Comin’ right up.” He reaches outside of her bed, grabbing the guitar you hadn’t paid much attention to earlier, you had been enraptured by everything else at that point. He tunes it for a moment as she gets comfortable, pulling her blankets up to her chin as she stares at him, her eyes already struggling to stay open. “What song do you wanna hear tonight?”

“Hmm… the rabbit song?” 

“That’s a very good choice, Eleanor.” He nods as he slowly begins strumming a series of chords. 

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run run run.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run run run.

Bang bang bang bang goes the farmer's gun.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run run run.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run run run.

You rest your head on the doorframe as he strums softly, looking up every once in a while to see if she’s sleeping yet, he repeats the song about two times until he finally looks up and her eyes are shut. You rush back to the couch when he stands. 

“Took her a while to calm down, sorry about that.” He rubs the back of his neck as he walks back into the room.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s more than fine.” He sits beside you, your thighs touching as he puts an arm around you.

“You’re really good with ‘er.” He whispers, turning to rest his forehead on your temple. 

“She makes it easy.” You run your hand along his thigh, trailing it up until he gently grabs your wrist. 

“We gotta talk first, bunny.” 

Absolutely not. You didn’t find anything so the next course of action is to fuck or leave. 

“Why don’t we go talk in your bedroom?” You roll yourself into his lap, straddling his waist and he frowns. 

“Let’s just talk for a few minutes.” You start trying to tug open his shirt as he sighs. You lean forward, kissing him but he doesn’t reciprocate, keeping his hands at his sides, when you pull back he’s scowling. 

“Come on…” You whine softly. 

“You can’t keep doin’ this.” His southern accent thickens as he starts becoming visibly upset. 

“Doing what?” You mumble. 

“Shuttin’ yerself away. Pushin’ me away. You can’t keep using sex to end conversations you don’t want to have.” You continue fumbling with the buttons on his shirt as he purses his lips, finally just grabbing your wrists, pinning them down. “Would’ja stop for one damn minute?” You can feel him glaring at you but you just keep staring at the buttons on his flannel, silent. 

“I don’t want to talk.” You exhale, pulling your wrists free. 

“Bullshit.” He grabs you by your jaw, no forcefulness behind the action but he makes you look at him. “I’m worried about you.” His tone softens immensely as he gives you a pleading look. 

“I’m fine.” You push his hand away but maintain eye contact.

“You aren’t. We haven’t had a conversation in weeks, and you cry everytime I see you, I don’t even know why you keep askin’ me to come around, at this point I’m allowed to be worried.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” You start to get out of his lap but he grabs you by your waist and pulls you back down. 

“Well I do. I’m serious, somethin’ is wrong with you, this isn’t normal.” When you try to get up again he doesn’t stop you, just putting his head in his hands as he groans. “There’s something seriously wrong with you bunny, we need to get you help.”

“I don’t need ‘help,’ I’m fine, now drop it.” He can’t do this, he can’t just call you crazy when he’s the one who drove you to this point. 

“You aren’t fine, you’re the furthest thing from it. You’re a mess, you’ve become a mad woman.” You’re about to just grab your bag and leave when he leans back. “Does it run in the family or something?” He mutters into his hand and you freeze in place.

“Excuse me?” You don’t conceal the hurt or the venom in your tone. 

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-” He gets to his feet but you put a hand up when he takes a step forward.  

“Don’t.”

“Please bunny. I’m just so frustrated I didn’t mean it, please.” His expression is full of desperation but it’s too late, the damage is done. 

“Fine Joel, you know what, let’s talk. Let’s talk about how you think I’ve got whatever ‘Ditsy Darlene’ had.” You raise your eyebrows at him, taunting him as you sneer. “Let’s talk about what’s wrong with your batty little bunny.” You hiss the end of the sentence and his eyes grow sad. 

He stares at you, silence ringing through the living room for a moment before you finally just grab your bag and make a beeline for the door, unfortunately he beats you to it just as the angry tears start pooling in your eyes. 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going home.”

“Like hell you are, it’s miles away, and it’s the middle of the night, I’ll give you a ride.” He grabs his coat but you just shake your head. 

“I’m not getting in the truck with you. Besides, Ellie's already asleep.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath once more before reaching into his pocket, scrolling through his phone for a moment, you’re about to just push past him and leave when he brings it to his ear. 

“Can you come over? I need a favor.” He grumbles into the phone, you hear a rather irritated voice on the other end until Joel stops them. “You owe me.” There’s a beat of silence before he gets a response that has him nodding and hanging up, looking back at you. “Tommy’l be here in a few minutes, he’ll take you home.” He mumbles before leaning against the counter, you take the opportunity to sit at the table near the door. 

Neither one of you so much as moves until headlights illuminate the dim kitchen. When Tommy walks in he’s rather disheveled. His hair is pulled back but most of it still falls around his face, from the looks of it he’s only wearing sweatpants and a jacket. 

“This better be important, I haven’t seen Maria in days. So help me god if this is your way of getting back at me for-“ He immediately points an accusatory finger at Joel, sounding extremely irritated. 

“She needs a ride home.” Joel interrupts him quickly, nodding over to you before making his way over to Tommy rather quickly, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket and yanking him back out the door. “We need a second.” He yells back in your direction and before you can object he slams the front door leaving you alone. 

Almost immediately you watch the blinds shudder as something slams against the kitchen window. You don’t hesitate to stand, rushing over and pressing your ear up against the wall, you don’t even have time to feel bad about eavesdropping. You haven’t found anything damning yet and this might be your only chance. They’re a bit hushed but you can hear them pretty clearly. 

“She’s perfectly fine, unlike some people I can control myself.” 

Tommy. 

“Perfectly fine? She’s a fuckin’ mess Tom. You’d have my head if it had been Maria.”

Joel.

“Maria never woulda found herself in that situation because she knows better, maybe it’s time for you to take care of that.”

“You say that like it’s easy.” 

“It is. I told Maria on our second date, you know why? Because it doesn’t matter. There isn’t a damn thing you could tell that girl that would make her leave you, I know it, you know it, hell, she probably knows it.”

Does Tommy know what the thing that plagues you is? The thing that keeps you from staying away from Joel? 

“She doesn’t know anything and it’s gonna stay that way.”

“She knows enough. You’re doing more harm by keepin’ her in the dark. What happens when you finally lose that famous self control a’yours?” Another slam against the window has you jolting backwards but you quickly lean back in when you hear Joel snarl. 

“I would never do anything to hurt her.”

You want so badly to believe that. 

“We both know I’m a hundred times more calm than you and Maria doesn’t even let me stay in the house most days. She needs to know so she can protect herself. What’s gonna happen when you don’t get outta town fast enough one of these days? You’ve been getting dangerously close these last couple of times, you’re gonna break her if she doesn’t know.” There’s a moment of silence and you worry they’re about to come back inside when Tommy speaks again, softer now. “What happens when she goes back into those woods? If she’s in the wrong place at the wrong time?” Another beat of silence. “I’ve seen the two of you, you can barely keep your hands off of her as is, what happens when you catch a whiff of her in the forest and can’t help yourself?”

“I wouldn’t hurt her.”

“I didn’t say you’d hurt her. I said you’d break her. You can’t keep lying to her and telling her she’s crazy, if she finds out on her own she’ll lose it Joel. You want her to end up like our old man?” 

You already feel broken. 

“This is different.”

“I think it’s exactly the same.” There’s another beat of silence before Tommy speaks again, angrier than before. “If you don’t tell her I will.”

“You have no right-“

“Would’ja quit shovin’ me. She’s gonna come out here if you don’t stop. She has every right to know. I’ll give you a few more weeks but I won’t leave her in the dark forever.”

Maybe you should just ask Tommy to go get coffee or something. From the sounds of it he’ll sort it all out for you. 

“Fine.”

“Fine, I'm gonna have to deal with this?”

“Fine, I’ll deal with this.” You barely have enough time to run back to the table and sit before the door swings open again, only Joel comes back in, his expression goes from furious to apologetic when he looks at you. “Tom’s out in the truck, he’ll get you home safe.” The tone he speaks to his brother with is unrecognizable compared to the tone he uses with you. You nod before grabbing your bag keeping your head down as you rush out the door, he catches your arm as you cross the threshold. “What can I do to fix this?” His voice cracks on the word fix and you turn to stare into those brown eyes that threaten to swallow you whole. 

You take a moment just to fight the urge to forgive him all together, to act as if all of this is perfectly fine just so you can stay with him.

“You can stop lying.” You whisper before yanking your arm free and running to the passenger side of the truck. You strap yourself in swiftly, not so much as glancing at Tommy. 

“Ready to go?” He sounds chipper as ever as you nod, giving one last look to Joel, standing in the doorway watching you depart. 

A soft country love song plays on the radio as he heads back towards your camper, a part of you longs to ask him for answers, wondering if he’d actually give them to you. It sounded like he wanted to, a lot of that conversation left you more confused than ever but also rather worried.

You decide it’s better not to let him know you were listening. At least for now.

“You have fun with the little monster?” He breaks the silence, making you jump a bit. 

“Ellie? She’s a delight.” 

“She’s the cutest, I’m glad Joel has her. He was pretty broken up when Sarah went to college.”

“She still visits, right?” You do your best to not stare at the trees, focusing on the dashboard instead. 

“Oh yeah, on holidays and special occasions, she’s only a state away. But you know how it is when you’re in college. She loves her dad but she needed some space to find herself and Joel just got lonely.” He flips on his blinker, turning down your road. “Ellie’s good for him. She keeps him busy.”

“Do you and Maria get to watch her much?” You’re hoping to catch him in a lie.

“Quite a bit yeah.” Damnit. “Joel’s always busy doing Joel stuff and it’s good practice for us, we haven’t decided on kids yet so we settle on just watching Ellie.”

Well this is going nowhere.

You sit in a mostly comfortable silence for a moment. 

“She called me girlfriend today, Joel was trying to teach her my name.” You both laugh a bit until he speaks again. 

“I’ve been trying to get her to say ‘Uncle Tommy’ for months now, damn kids not sayin’ it just to spite me. She’ll say ‘Auntie Maria’ clear as day.”

You genuinely like Tommy. 

Outside of the fact that he wanted to tell you whatever truth everyone seems hellbent on keeping from you. 

He’s easy to be around.

“Then what does she call you?” You say with one last laugh as he pulls up towards the camper. 

“Most of the time she just calls me Tío.” He gives you a grin as your mouth goes dry, when he gives you a hug goodbye you’re acutely aware of the fact that he smells like cinnamon. 

You feel relatively sick the rest of the night. 

Tío.

You had almost laughed; it had shocked you so deeply. 

It had been Tommy in the woods that day. 

You’re sure of it now. It explains everything and fills in all the gaps. The Miller brothers are both haunting these woods. You’re left to stew with that the rest of the night.

You aren’t crazy. 

Joel isn’t just a man.

And according to your book that’s why you can’t get away from him. You’re mates. Something about finally knowing you’re right helps you sleep soundly for the first time in ages. You don’t even dream. 

You’ve got several notifications from Joel when you wake, a slew of apologies and missed calls which you ignore as you step into the shower. You manage to keep it together long enough to wash yourself, rinsing your hair out, tugging your fingers through the tangles. 

You pat yourself dry, wrapping a towel around yourself as you step out of the bathroom, pouring yourself a glass of water as you take a seat at the table, scrolling through your texts.

[ can i come over tomorrow night? ] 

[ i’m sorry, i didn’t mean it. ]

[ we can do whatever you wanna do. ] 

[ bunny please. ]

You’re already feeling your Joel withdrawal, you should text him, does your body somehow know you plan on depriving it of him? You’ve only been without him for a few hours and you’re exhausted after a full night's sleep. You sit with your head in your hands for a moment, massaging your temples as a headache settles there. After another moment you pinch the bridge of your nose, standing up abruptly. 

“Fuck! Ah-” You catch your foot on the uneven board under the table, slicing your heel open on an exposed nail. “Dammit…” You mutter under your breath as you lift your leg, examining the cut. It's small, barely even bleeding but it irritates you wildly, your mood growing more and more sour. You sit on the floor, turning on your phone flashlight as you examine the floor, hoping to fix whatever the problem is, you realize quickly that the entire board is loose. “What the hell?” You pull it back completely, staring confused at the cubby. There’s a small space under the table, when you reach in you find a tote bag in surprisingly good condition. When you free it from its confines your eyes go wide when you see a laptop case. 

Darlenes. 

Everything’s in the bag, case, laptop, and charger. You set everything on the table, covering the floorboard and making sure nothing sharp is still exposed before taking a seat. You plug the charger in quickly, giving it a moment before opening the laptop and turning it on. You’re delighted when the screen illuminates, a small startup chime playing. Hopefully learning a bit more about your aunt will help you take your mind off things. 

Shit.

Password. 

You think to yourself for a moment, pondering and trying to come up with a few guesses before you start typing. 

Honey

West Virginia

ABC

Darlene Wilson

Ditzy Darlene 

You try your own name and your birthday and nothing happens, you stare for a moment, seemingly there’s no limit on guesses so you just keep going. Eventually you just start typing whatever you see, it’s better than nothing. 

fridge

shower 

laptop 

You glance down at your phone. 

Joel 

Nothing. 

You sigh for a moment, running your fingers across your scalp. 

Fuck it. 

bunny 

Your eyes go wide as you stare at her desktop. 

Fucking, bunny. 

You don’t dwell on that too much, too captivated by the mess of folders in front of you, you start clicking through things, confused by everything you’re seeing until you finally realize what it all is. 

It’s everyone in town, and from the looks of it, every adjacent town. 

She was keeping profiles on the townsfolk. 

It takes a bit of searching but after a few more minutes you find a folder within a folder, within a folder labeled Millers. 

Five documents are inside. 

Joel M. 

Thomas M.

Maria M. 

Sarah M.

Eleanor M. 

You open Sarah and Ellies first, both are pretty scarce, mostly just schools and such, a few dates in Sarah’s file are highlighted. Maria’s is the same except for a small section noting the increase in unexplained deaths when she officially changed her residence to Honey. 

Tommy and Joel are where it gets complicated. 

Endless pages of information, enough to fill a book. Most of it seems to be mundane information, more a diary than anything else. Notes on things she found out through the internet, a lot about how they moved around a lot as kids and kept up with that lifestyle up until Sarah, there’s no information on her mother but from the looks of it, the Miller clan settled in Honey six months before Sarah was born. 

There’s just too much on them, even simple things like how Darlene saw them in the grocery store, detailed calendars of their whereabouts were being kept by your aunt. You try to skim through a lot of it but there doesn’t seem to be anything highlighted until the last page. 

Not to be overlooked. 

Did she fucking know? 

Darlene may have been ditzy in some ways but this was clearly not one of them. A second highlighted sentence underneath that one catches your eye.

To be investigated in case of my untimely passing. 

Your stomach drops.

There’s no way. 

You close the files, trying to push away the implications of what you’ve read. But you can’t seem to keep it down. 

You never asked anyone how she passed. 

Work after the laptop incident is uneventful at best. 

With no bodies there isn’t much for you to do. 

You clean and you take care of the occasional elderly person you get but that’s about it, you spend a lot of time with Maria, sitting in silence and doing paperwork. It’s as if she knows that you aren’t exactly doing great and just doesn’t want to stir the pot. 

You haven’t texted Joel back.

And you feel like shit. 

Just in general things haven’t been all that great since you and Joel fought. Being away from him makes you feel shitty and it’s made your mood shitty, you’re irritable and impatient and by the time Maria finally breaks the silence two weeks later you’re ready to explode. 

“Are you feeling okay? You seem a little down, you know you can talk to me whenever you want.” It sounds genuine enough but you know better by now than to trust any member of this family. 

“I’m fine.” You can’t find it in you to care if it comes off as rude.

“Are you sure?” She’s filing papers on her desk, freezing in place when you speak again. 

“Did you do my aunt's service?” You look up at Maria.

It’s a terrible question.

You probably shouldn’t even be asking it but you need to know. 

She sits in stunned silence for a moment before clearing her throat. 

“I did.” 

“How did she die?” 

Somehow an even worse question, this is a terrible example of mortician etiquette. 

“They told me it was old age.” 

“Who told you?”

She swallows loudly.

“The police.”

“Why did the police declare the cause of death? Isn’t that your job?” This might cost you yours but what have you got to lose at this point?

“The police found her.” 

“Why were the police even at her house?”

“Christ, I don’t know! You sound just like her, with the questions and the accusations!”

“Accusations? I wasn’t accusing you of anything, what did you think I was accusing you of?”

“I think you should go home, take the rest of the day off.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re acting crazy.”

You aren’t crazy. 

Fine. You’ll take the night off. You’ve got some things to take care of anyway. You can’t keep doing nothing, you owe it to Darlene. 

“I’ll see you on Monday.” You stand, hastily grabbing your things. 

She calls your name as you’re leaving.

“Take care of yourself, please.” 

You don’t respond, closing the door as you step into the misty afternoon air. 

You aren’t crazy.

And you’re pretty sure Darlene wasn’t either. Something about Maria’s story isn’t adding up, maybe you should have started by interrogating her, she isn’t as good at lying as Tommy and Joel are. Nonetheless, you need to do your own research now. 

That’s what you tell yourself to justify what you’re doing as you walk into the police station. It’s tiny, as expected, there’s no secretary so you just let yourself in, approaching a woman with a name plate reading Sheriff.

“Hi, I’m Darlene’s niece.” You don’t bother giving a last name, everyone knows everyone in this damn town. 

“Oh! I’ve been meanin’ to stop by and introduce m’self.” She gives you a toothy grin as you nod. “I knew yer aunt pretty well, we used ta joke that I should give er a punch card fer the station.” You thought Joel had a thick southern accent but this woman is on a whole different level. 

“She was here often?”

“Nearly twice a week. She would come in ‘ere, poor thing, spewin’ about monsters in the woods. But she was harmless, I didn’t have anything better to do so I’d listen, y’know, ‘take ‘er statement.’” She does air quotes with her fingers and you fight the urge to frown. “Hell of a storyteller that one.” 

“Could you help me out with some information regarding her passing?” No sense in being coy about it, seems like this woman will talk for hours if you don’t interrupt. “Maybe I could talk to the officer who found her…” You look around the room at the empty desks before looking back at her, she has a sympathetic look on her face now.

“That would be me. I was first on the scene after we got the call.”

“Call?”

“Well yeah, it was the Miller brothers that found ‘er.”

What the fuck. 

“Joel and Tommy?”

“You’ve met ‘em? Who am I kiddin’ of course you’ve met ‘em, they probably knew her better than anyone else, real saints those two.”

“Darlene? You probably know her better than I do.”

That’s what he had said. 

“I didn’t realize they spent so much time together.” How much has Joel lied to you about?

“Oh yeah, they were over there several times a week, Joel even named his daughter after her, Darlene’s middle name was Eleanor.” There’s a sour taste in your mouth as you let that sink in.

“So… Tommy and Joel found her?” 

“Unfortunately, they had come over like they normally did on Sundays to help her with any house work and they found her in her camper, said she went in ‘er sleep.”

“Wait, they said she went in her sleep? You never saw the body?”

“I- I couldn’t bring myself to look… I cared a lot for Darlene, I considered her a very good friend. Joel and Tommy wrapped her up for me, I escorted them to the home and Maria took care of the rest. Declared cause of death and all that.”

That’s all you need to hear. 

Now you have to check, it’ll eat you up inside until there’s nothing left if you don’t. You mumble a goodbye before making a hasty exit. 

Tonight you’re going to the cemetery.  

Dig or leave. 

You need to make up your mind, you can only stand in a graveyard with a shovel for so long before you’re arrested. It’s already ten at night and you need to start as early as possible. 

There’s just a lot going on here. 

Darlene Eleanor Wilson

More important than the Eleanor of it all is the fact that you’re faced with two tombstones, Darlene’s clearly being a lot fresher than the one beside it. 

Benita Isabella Wilson 

Both tombstones are labeled the same, beloved wife, and friend 

Wife. You’d been told she’d never married.

There was no indication in the camper of such a thing yet here it is, clear as day. From the looks of it Benita passed nearly eight years ago. When you look closer you can see how well kept her tombstones have been. You make a note to pick up where Darlene left off and come back to clean both. 

After you do what needs to be done. 

You take a deep breath before finally driving the shovel down into the dirt. There’s no time to be squeamish about this, you know better than anyone how long this is going to realistically take to get done so you need to work fast if you want to be out of here before the sun’s coming up. 

So you dig. 

And you sweat, and you ache but you don’t dare stop. 

You dig, and you dig, and you dig. 

Until finally the sun is coming up, the sky is dimly lit when you finally hit something other than dirt. You work as quickly as possible to unearth the top half of the coffin and just as daylight breaks you manage to do it. You’re actually a bit thankful for the sun's rising, because you have no time to hesitate, you have to do it and you have to do it now before someone finds you.

So you grit your teeth and open the coffin. 

And you meet Darlene. 

Your poor, poor aunt Darlene.

Aunt Darlene, who’s cause of death was deemed ‘multiple organ failure, natural causes.’

She’s only been in the ground a few months. A normal person might blame her state on that fact but this isn’t decomposition. Decomposition doesn’t tear half of a person's face off. 

When she died she was missing over half of her face, from the looks of it her nose was torn clean off before she got anywhere near a casket. 

You swallow your vomit, not wanting to further desecrate her grave. 

Your brain is moving at a million miles an hour yet you’re also struggling to form a single coherent thought as you take in the sight of her until finally something just snaps. 

Staring at the corpse makes something shift inside of you. As if you’ve been pulled taut for weeks and you’ve finally split in two. Something deep inside of you that you’d never felt before, you sort of wonder if this is how normal people feel when they see a corpse. 

You don’t even laugh. 

There isn’t fear, or anger, or hate, threatening to burst from you, forcing that all too familiar laugh from your chest.

There’s nothing.

Just you and a corpse. 

A mangled corpse, with no one to mourn her, and no one to realize something was horribly wrong until long after she was dead. 

You don’t remember much after that. You don’t remember closing the casket, or covering it with dirt, but you know you did. You don’t remember walking to the hardware store, open surprisingly early, you don’t remember making any purchases, and you don’t remember going home. 

Yet you’re there when you come to your senses. 

You feel terribly hollow and suddenly you’d give anything to fill the camper with one of your nervous laughs but it never comes. You shake your head a bit, trying to focus. 

You’re in the camper.

The sun is up.

And you’ve got two rather heavy plastic bags in front of you. You  pour the contents out onto the table before methodically grabbing each one, tucking them into your empty backpack, making yourself a mental list of everything while trying to remember why you bought them in the first place.  

Several armfuls of rope, and chain, several rolls of duct tape, a new first aid kit, more padlocks than you could ever possibly need, paper towels, bleach, and a rather gaudy souvenir mug, scribbled on the bottom is some print telling you that it’s microwave and dishwasher safe, and shatterproof, it’s obnoxious and absurdly heavy, a decal on the front says ‘Sweet as Honey, West Virginia!’ 

You stare at your now full bag, blurry memories of your train of thought coming into focus as you slowly but surely remember your intentions. 

You were going to visit Joel. 

And sort out this whole mess. 

Finally have that talk he’s been wanting to have so badly.

If everyone is gonna keep treating you like you’re gone mad then you’re going to act mad. 

You wait two days to go visit Joel.

You’ve started to track your cycle so you know exactly when to go see him. When the day comes you tuck yourself into the trees adjacent to the funeral home. Deep enough in the woods that no one can see you but not so deep that you’re filled with the familiar dread the woods typically give you. 

It is tempting though. 

The concept of getting to feel something again.

Ever since you saw that corpse you’ve just been empty, there isn’t anything left of you. 

Joel's truck pulls in as you tilt your head to the side. 

You watch as he lifts Ellie out of her car seat, letting her run the distance to the house where Maria waits for her. They talk for a bit before Joel kisses the top of Ellie’s head, making his way back to the truck. The moment he begins backing out of the driveway you begin your walk towards his home. 

It’s about a three hour walk but you don’t get bored. 

You’d have to be able to feel something to feel boredom. 

So you walk, because there’s nothing else for you to do. You walk until you see the tire swing swaying in the cool night air. You walk around the house to the sliding door in the back, and you peer inside through the blinds to find the living room and kitchen empty, when you push the door it gives way immediately. 

No reason to lock a door when you’re the scariest thing in the woods. 

When you step in you hear the faint sounds of the shower running and you quietly make your way across the room once the door is closed behind you. You take your bag off one arm so you can reach inside, retrieving the novelty mug before zipping it shut and putting it back on. 

You don’t even feel nervous. 

Your skin buzzes as if you’re anxious and you tap your foot but the wave of anxiety never comes. You fill the mug with water, sipping slowly until you hear the shower turn off and you dump out the contents, tucking yourself behind the fridge and holding your breath. 

He moves around for a bit, you hear him moving throughout the house until finally the sound of his footsteps travel down the hall and into the kitchen, when you peek around he’s leaning against the counter, staring into the living room while drying his hair with a towel, dressed in only flannel pajama bottoms.

It’s now or never. 

“Could’a swore I shut those…” He grumbles as he tosses the towel onto the back of a chair, you know he’s about to close the blinds so you step out before he can even get off the tile, standing directly behind him as you inhale sharply. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, shutting your eyes tight just as he turns around and you slam the ceramic mug against his temple. 

Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.

You pray silently to yourself as you finally kneel beside his crumpled form. After the initial strike you’d turned around with a small squeak, terrified of your own actions, hearing the sound of his body hitting the floor. It took you five whole minutes to finally turn and look. 

Still breathing.

That’s all that matters. 

You throw your backpack down on the counter before crouching down, rolling him onto his back. His chest rises and falls as if he were asleep but a small amount of blood is pooling from where you hit him, the skin split just below his hairline. You brush a curl away from his forehead to look closer, it’s a superficial wound, not too deep but still bleeding profusely. It could be worse, you tell yourself as you stand again, searching through your pack, eventually just grabbing it by the bottom and dumping the contents onto the counter. First things first you need to bandage his wound, this will all be easier if he isn’t bleeding everywhere. 

You grab the bandages you bought for this very purpose, along with the paper towels, dabbing up the blood now streaking through his hair.

This is fine.

Everything’s fine. 

It takes a bit of effort but once he’s all cleaned up you manage to get him into a chair and it’s easy from there. You know how strong he is so you’re rather generous in your use of each restraint. Using most of everything you’ve got securing him, rope, tape and chain. When you’re finished you take a step back. 

He won’t be able to get out of it. 

You’re certain. 

You aren’t sure what’s next honestly. There isn’t really anything for you to do until he wakes up so you find yourself just staring down the hallway. 

He was just in his room, it probably isn’t locked anymore. 

Curiosity gets the better of you as you make your way down the hall, Joel’s bedroom door beckoning you. You twist the knob, slowly pushing the door in as your hand fumbles with the wall beside it, trying to find the lightswitch. You stare into the darkness before finally finding it, flinching a bit as a single light fixture hanging in the center of the room flickers on. 

Huh.

This is what you were expecting to find the first time you came over. No wonder he always wants to sleep in the camper. 

It looks like a room you’d only see in a horror movie. The walls are mostly bare, the wallpaper is torn off in large chunks and against the far wall you can see a few polaroids taped up. The only furniture is a mattress on the floor in the center of the room. Your breath hitches as you walk to the closet, pulling open the door. It looks like he keeps all of his belongings in here, shoved into the small space, clothes, personal items, and boxes fill it entirely. You shut the door, you don’t have nearly enough time to go through all of it so you go to investigate the photos instead. 

Five polaroids are pinned up.

One is a photo of Joel holding a tiny baby with a shocking mess of brunette curls atop her head. Her big brown eyes are identical to Joels.

The second is a pretty recent photo of Ellie. A slightly blurry photo of the little girl holding the camera in front of a mirror, Joel is barely visible in the background, you can see his signature dimple as he holds her up. 

The third photo is of two people you don’t recognize. A man with a vacant stare sitting in a rocking chair with a woman perched beside him, kissing his cheek. Both look to be in their sixties, the man bares a striking resemblance to Tommy, the woman has the same frenzied curls as Sarah. 

The fourth was taken in front of the funeral home, Tommy and Maria are pictured standing underneath a ‘Grand Opening!’ banner.

The fifth, and clearly most recent photo is of you. You have no memory of it being taken, how could you, your eyes are shut. You look peaceful though. Happy. The morning light shimmers against your lashes, you’re tangled in the sheets with your arms wrapped tightly around his abdomen, from the angle he’s holding the camera at you can see his head turned down, giving you an infatuated look. 

You run a finger along the edge of the photo, lost in thought until you hear him coughing, you turn the light off, rushing back out into the kitchen, his eyes are glued to you immediately. 

“Bunny…” His tone is low and cautious. 

“Don’t do that, don’t talk to me like I’m crazy.” You make your way across the kitchen, pulling up a chair and sitting across from him. 

You know how this looks but that doesn’t give him an excuse to be condescending. 

“Of course you aren’t crazy, I know that, I just need you to let me go.” His voice goes soft, as if he were speaking to a cornered animal. 

“Stop it.” You frown at him. “I’m completely coherent right now.”

“Okay.” He nods slowly. “Look, I know things haven’t been easy for you recently, just let me go and we can forget any of this ever happened, okay? We can just go to bed and deal with it in the morning.” The funny part is that you know he’s telling the truth, if you untie him right now he’d carry you to bed as if nothing happened and he’d hold you until you forgot about the whole thing. “Please don’t do this.” He speaks softer now. “Think about Ellie. Don’t leave her without a father.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, I’m not a monster.” The offense is apparent in your tone. 

“Then what’s the plan here, bunny.”

“We’re going to wait.” You sit back in your chair, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “I should be getting my period tomorrow.” You tilt your head to the side a tiny bit as the color leaves his face. “We will wait here for forty eight hours, if nothing happens I’ll untie you.” 

His face suddenly turns to an expression of concentration, you’ve got plenty of time to grill him over the next forty eight hours, you decide to let him be for now. Neither one of you says so much as a word for well over an hour when suddenly his hand spasms. A nervous tick of sorts, his fingers flexing outward before his knuckles go white as his hand forms into a fist. 

“Let me go.” He whispers.

“In forty eight hours.”

“Now.”

You shake your head no.

Almost simultaneously you watch his jaw twitch in an almost inhuman way. 

“Then you need to get out of here.” His voice is strained now as he gives you a look of pure desperation.

“I’m staying right here.” You raise your eyebrows at him definitely but lose any of your bravado when he snarls, his muscles rippling briefly as you watch the tape tear, some of the ropes split in different places as he flexes. You tumble out of your own chair as you recoil.

“Iron?” He growls out, when he looks up at you now his eyes are bloodshot, you’re incapable of doing anything other than staring in horror as you hear the screech of metal as one of the chain links bursts. “Are these- are they iron?” His voice shifts down an octave halfway through the sentence and you shake your head frantically. 

How were you supposed to know they needed to be iron? You aren’t exactly experienced in holding eldritch horrors hostage. 

“You- fuck, you need to get out of here.” When he stares up at you there’s another groan from the strain against the metal but you can’t move. You’ve fallen flat on your ass as you stare at him with wide confused eyes, your legs splayed out uselessly in front of you while your arms prop you up just enough to watch the nightmare before you unfold. “Now.” You recognize the voice that speaks now as Joel’s, despite the fact that it isn’t his at all, it’s just a low bellowing sound now that shouldn’t be possible for a human to make. Your breath is starting to quicken as you tremble. 

You’re nearly hyperventilating when the chains all simultaneously break, the metal shrieking as it rips. But it isn’t anywhere near loud enough to cover up the horrific sound that echoes throughout the house. 

Bones, breaking. 

A sickening crunching and snapping as Joel's flesh ripples as if the ocean is just beneath his skin. Joel is big, he’s always been broad, sturdy, but this is something completely different. He isn’t just big, he’s hulking. His body twists and tears and it hurts to even look at but you can’t turn away. He’s falling apart, his flesh and bones tear and bleed as they reshape themselves into something beyond your comprehension. 

This isn’t what you came across in the woods. 

This looks like the kind of thing that eats what you came across in the woods. 

His body curls in on itself, crouching down onto all fours and he’s still taller than you. If he had been wearing a shirt you assume it would have torn when his spine realigned itself. Each vertebrae popping itself out, separating and lengthening until his body shudders, the skin pulled taut over his stretched out form. The entire process probably takes less than a minute but it feels like hours pass as you watch, your eyes wide. 

Until finally he stills, panting, staring at the ground before tilting his head up a bit. 

“Little… rabbit.” 

It speaks.

He looks at you like a meal and your breath hitches at the sight, there’s a burning in your abdomen as you stare into his eyes, he’s searching your gaze for something but he doesn’t find it. Almost as if you can read his mind a word comes to mind.

Repulsion. 

He’s searching for disgust, or loathing, but he won’t find it, after all this is what you wanted. You don’t hate him for this, you won’t look at him like he’s ugly because he isn’t, even if you’re afraid. There is something horrifyingly gorgeous about him, even if every one of your base instincts tell you to get as far away from him as you possibly can. 

He’s beautiful like this. 

The deep brown of his eyes takes over the whites as his eyelids pull back, his eyes must be the size of baseballs now. Enormous and dark, sparking with intrigue. The hook of his nose now stretches to fit his new face, halfway down it bends and breaks a bit. His hair looks a little longer, more appropriately framing his face now.

Does it hurt?

Is the question that comes to mind the more you take him in. Despite how large his maw is it still tears a bit at the cheeks, holes where it looks like the skin was pulled too tight, revealing the jagged teeth within.

A growl bubbles in his throat, pouring out and snapping you out of your assessment as he crawls forward a bit until he’s practically hovering above you, his head turns, shifting from side to side as he gives you several small sniffs, almost like a dog assessing a stranger in it’s home. 

It makes the hair on your arms stand straight. 

Run rabbit, run. 

“Bunny.” He rumbles out, almost as if he’s acknowledging recognition. 

And you fucking laugh.

With your entire chest. 

It’s the first time you’ve felt anything in days, it’s almost a relief. Everything comes bubbling to the surface as you burst into a fit of hysterical, nervous laughter. 

You have never been this afraid in your entire life. 

He exhales sharply, the force of it has your hair rustling a bit, your senses suddenly overwhelmed with the smell of peppermint. You don’t dare move, freezing in place when he leans down, only a few inches away from you now, his arms pinning you in. God, he smells so fucking good right now and you hate yourself for noticing. 

Curiosity killed the rabbit.

Is that a saying? It will be after tonight. 

You swallow loudly, and try to close your legs as subtly as possible but his gaze follows the movement immediately and you freeze once more. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your stomach burns so hot it’s painful as you stare up at him. 

His head tilts almost knowingly as he inhales deeply and his eyes darken.

Fuck.

Can he smell how turned on you are?

i no longer have a tag list !! if you want updates for this fic follow @lincolndjarinnotifs !!

a/n : have a love hate relationship with this chapter bc i hate that i love it. but like straight up lemmie know if this chapter was a bit scattered bc that's my big worry rn. i jumped around a lot but also these chapters are so long sometime i feel it's best to just expedite some scenes yknow? idk.

#lincolndjarin #joel miller #tlou #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #tlou hbo #joel tlou #the last of us hbo #monster fucker #monster lover #monster romance #oh honey #fic : oh honey

[laidback-thrills]

EDIT: THIS IS SLIGHTLY OUTDATED. More coming soon.

Hello all!

I've been meaning to talk more in depth about this!!! I put a "read more" bc this is a little long and I don't wanna clog up the tag.

BUT

DSAF CULT AU!!!

My DSAF Cult AU is very canon divergent.

Dave Miller is a fledgeling demon who was once a young nephilim. He remembers very little about his past, but something horrible has made him what he is now.

He has a full, actual Enochian name, but people tend to throw up and shit and die when they hear it, so he chose to go by "Dave" because "It's common! I'm a normal, common guy!", but also because he trusted and loved someone like a father.

His demonic sigil and general telltale symbol is the extremely long sacrificial dagger driven into his skull. No matter what form he takes, he will have it. It can be taken out for a short period of time before Dave begins to have trouble staying corporeal.

Now literally borne with a total inability to feel remorse for his actions, he is a sick and twisted monster that does not know how to control his own extremely horrifying powers. He requires a conduit to channel them, lest he explode.

He was all alone in the world. A freak, even when "disguised" as a human. (He's purple for fuck's sake, he smells like rot and he's scaring people!). Connection eluded him, although it was all he ever wanted, even as a horrifyingly malicious entity. It's very much a similar situation to regular DSAF - he was "abandoned", and now forever seeks

Until some idiot.

Jack Kennedy was a desperate man with a missing family and no future. He was addicted to every kind of substance, heavily in debt, and crushingly isolated.

After uncovering some interesting literature from his shitty Fazbender's Pepperonerie job, he decided that he was desperate enough to follow the instructions in the grimoire. Nothing to lose anymore, and a big goal to achieve. A skeptic as he was, he did not expect the ritual to work, but when it did, it completely changed his world.

Jack did not immediately make a contract with Dave, out of pure shock and wariness, but the fucker stuck around anyway. He was offered a deal and spent a while debating it.

Eventually, it went through.

Jack was granted a demonic boon. Power, money, pleasures of the world, and a chance to put them back together. In return, he traded his body and soul for Dave's services.

The process was painful.

An agonizing death, and a transformation. Dave's sigil burned into his back, and all at once, he was rotten and orange.

Then, the demon ate his soul.

Dave benefits greatly from the exchange too (baby's first contract). He gets a lot of power from it. It keeps him anchored. Gives him something to do. Someone interesting to play with. Company at last, and it's someone that can't run away from him!

Jack is Dave's saint. They are intrinsically bound. Jack is the first person to ever form a contract with Dave— Blackjack is caged inside of Dave, alive and warm, providing him with abilities and power he didn't have before. The Black Dog is loyal to its original master, however, and attempts to return to him. As a result, the soul more or less keeps them tethered. They physically cannot stray too far from eachother.

Post-contract, now armed with the knowledge that more souls = more power, and wanting to actually put a use to their power, they get to work!

With supernatural persuasion and a great gambling streak, Jack gets his start in Nevada. There, they build their empire off of the backs of desperate gamblers who put their soul on the line. Hungry, lonely men, hookers, the desperate and the naïve...all are errant souls that Father Jack will lead right on home.

Dave requires fresh blood for any spell, but demands child sacrifices to perform large spells, but that is quite alright. With the influx of followers, children are not too hard to come by. The death of a toddler, and an unholy miracle is performed— Jack's precious little flock has a home, a commune tucked into the desert.

(It isn't DSAF without a little toddler stranglin'!)

Jack and Dave- they get them good. Victims, converts- they're promised security, "God is dead, but we've got the power to help you!" Father Jack's a friendly and convincing fella, it seems, and after all...his Gospel is very legitimate- why have just faith when you can see your new God? When that doesn't work, there's always fear. Don't believe his word? Why, they'll show you horrors of which you've never seen! Father Kennedy's fun loving, but he's a soulless bastard, and he's not shy about putting the fear of all things unholy into his flock.

Of course, once the sinners are deep enough, it's too late to escape. Father Kennedy has some dirt on them. This lovely community is built on violence, after all, and Father knows exactly what they did to get here, and exactly what they've said at confessional. That, and...who does not fear the erratic demon?

At the commune, the "church" is hidden away in the labyrinthine basement of an invaded Freddy's location. (The management seems...more than willing...) The Pepperonerie is a front, concealing profits and deaths from the government. The Priest and the Demon wash their money, wash their hands, and serve unsuspecting guests pizza with a healthy dollop of propaganda.

When they aren't terrorizing their followers, however, Dave and Jack spend their time together. It is with mixed enjoyment. They find new purpose in each other. Commit horrible atrocities and live it up in V E G A S, baby! They're...gasp...starting to crush on each other? They're also sexily trying to kill each other just a little bit.

"I hate this purple motherfucker...but I want to kiss him on his hot mouth..."

Important note shoehorned in—

Jack does not worship Dave traditionally, the way the other followers do. He does not fear him at all. He recognizes Dave for what he is- a lonely, desperate fool. As far as they go, the demon is on his leash, not the other way around. He only prays when he needs something, in the very beginning. As their relationship advances however, and they commit atrocities that would make mankind pale, Jack becomes a very religious man. Not because he is afraid or respects him as any kind of authority (he does not respect him period), but because he is Really Gay. The way he prays is devout and hungry. Only in prayer can Jack manage to say what he means.

Actually, Dave ends up more worshipping *Jack* more than Jack worships him. It's turned on its head. Dave is sooo down bad and in love, he'll do anything. Anything at all for his priest, his clementine. His obsession is very much comparable to canon. He haunts Jack and everything that he does. Jack is never alone, never truly, because a dark looming purple shadow will always follow him. He steals his things and vies for his attention at all times of the day, because he is so wrapped around Jack's orange finger it's stupid...

"Jump." "How high?!"

Peace, quiet and privacy is an extinct concept to Jack, unfortunately.

TLDR; They're horrible to eachother but are in love and their hands are drenched in the blood of children (as usual) but now it has a gay worshipping undertone.

This is not everything, of course. Next time I talk, i'll delve more into the serious and rather toxic side of their relationship but this is just some stuff i've managed to crank out! Sorry if it's all over the place! I have one billion thoughts. Feel free to ask any questions, too, I'll do my best to answer. There will be more soon.

#my stuff #dsaf #davesport #dayshift at freddy's #dsaf cult au

[streets-in-paradise]

The Road So Far - Andy Barclay x (Fem) Winchester!Reader

Warnings: Slight crossover with Supernatural, part of my unfinished crossover series starting in Childs Play 3 where the reader is a Winchester sibling and has a personality resemblance with Gabriel. This oneshot includes a discussion on Chucky's bizzare journey through the lenses of the supernatural lore.

Summary: Andy revisits with you how far Chucky has come and your perspective introduces plenty of new concerns for him. From the exponential escalation in the vision of the doll's plans you inspire him a question he had never asked to himself before.

Is a Chucky that keeps coming back to life no matter what actually worse or better than one accepting his place in hell ?

Tags: @losersclubisms ( i'm posting this for you. I wouldn't have dared to do it if it wasn't for your excitement when i told you about it)

It was often believed that hunter’s first case could remain with them forever, referring to the role of personal revenge and obsession possibly marking the path of their careers. Andy Barclay could be a poster boy for that slogan, but he could also be the joke of the community. Even among insane people chasing monsters he would be an outcast, underestimated as heavily as his nemesis was. It was unbelievable that the killer doll could keep coming back, what in the philosophy of hunting had to be a failure of the man in charge of keeping him down. At the eyes of the others Andy would be assumed to be terrible at hunting because a possessed toy kept escaping him no matter how many times he would get to kill him. For obvious reasons he avoided all sorts of networking for the job. Isolated and obsessed is how he preferred to do his thing, 

At least in that, he was a bit like your father and you hated letting Freud win. The sweet boy you once met in the military school, your first infatuation, had at least some sense of normality he wanted to reclaim for himself. The man he had become was a complete mess lost to the lifestyle: he lived in a cabin armed to the teeth, and had mastered several methods of torture. He was a freak, too threatening for the normals but not enough for the hunters, and you were insanely attracted to him. Even since you reconnected the realization kept hitting harder the more time you spent with him. 

The little redhead bastard did his magic creating a situation so chaotic and unsustainable that Andy had to finally accept help. 

“ So,what’s the fucker’s game now? If you ask me, this erratic shit seems to point in so many directions.” You were theorizing out loud with him. “ Multiple dolls and now human possession happening simultaneously ? He is expanding and we have no idea of how many branches he has opened already. Did you get any public statements from the Chucky.Inc headquarters? “ 

The way in which you referred to the Chucky head showed you haven’t lost your touch over the years. 

“ Nothing, apart from some loud, nice screaming.” 

The sinister comment got him an approbation smirk from you. 

“ I’m gonna have to make you an indecent proposal.” Was your playful reply. “ You, me. A weekend in New Orleans to learn some new tricks and get back in the game. What do you say? I know of your no magic assistance policy, but you can’t continue like this. How many times are you going to fight spellwork with knives and bullets? Even the most close minded hunters go alternative from time to time. I’m not the witch of the family, that’s Sam, but the little I know I have learned from him.” 

He got lost at some point of your rambling because he couldn’t believe what he sensed in your tone. Not because he couldn't expect it from you, but due to the context in which it emerged.

“ Are you hitting on me right here and now? In the middle of this? ” 

The response he obtained was even more provocative. 

“ That depends … Are you up for it? 

He groaned with frustration, wondering why he bothered to call you. 

“ Andy, my dear. It’s so cute when I can still sense the naive boy deep inside of you.“ You mocked him sweetly. “ Hunters can do both, doing the research is a code for you know what …” 

“ I may be a bit behind in your cultural slang, but I’m definitely not naive. “ He rapidly replicated. “ I need you focused, Winchester, so stop the tease.” 

The subtle evocation to the old times made you chuckle. 

“ Sure, general! We are going to war. The problem is … With what kind of weaponry?  I can’t just get holy water, buy a pack of flour and hope for the best while the little menace keeps upgrading the mojo. We are completely unprepared, so we also need to update the methods.” 

“ We can’t, there is no time. “ He insisted. “ Each moment we spend preparing means more bodies he would be dumping.” 

There was no easy way to explain what you just had to tell him. He had a very micro approach of the problem, struggling to see the bigger picture, and over the course of your life the pile of crap following your last name had already forced you to adopt a macro view. 

“ I hate to say this because I know I sound like a senseless bitch,  but there is so much more at risk if the cult keeps growing. I’m talking of an invasion of clones. Your little overlooked problem can become a worldwide threat if it begins to spread like a disease. Chucky could become the Alpha for a new brand of monsters, so I really need a plan more sustainable than bullets and an industrial fan this time.” 

At least then he could tell you were completely focused, but it was enough to alarm him even more than he already was. 

“ You mean Chucky as the father of an entire race?” Andy summarized in an ask. “ There would be vampires, werewolves and Chuckies? Is that what you mean? Why don’t we start with the bassics before you make me freak out? What do you know about soul splitting?” 

A delicate topic you unfortunately know very much about. 

“ I know what happens when you lose your soul, I have seen the full process from very close and I can tell you it’s no game. What truly makes you be yourself is not there anymore, or at least part of it seems gone. Chucky is a heartless prick, so I guess the most shocking aspect of soulessness wouldn’t do much on him, but it could still affect his personality. We can imagine that the more he splits, the more of himself he loses and there will be a point where there would be nothing left. The vessels would not be clones anymore reflecting this lack of original substance and this is when a herd could start becoming a race.” 

“ You have to be fucking kidding me! ” He cursed out loud. “ How screwed could we be by now? “ 

Your attempt to comfort him with some hipotetical positivity wasn't as good as you judged it.

“ It could be worse, he could have faced his fate and embraced hell like he embraced the doll body. He would eventually become a demon and he would not need any chants to make the posessions. "

The comment was delivered so cassually, but the effect those words had in him were a groundbreaking discovery. So simple, yet never considered.

If Chucky would die once and for all, he would go to hell but even from down there he could still keep causing damage to the living.

" So, one way or another he still gets to possesss people.Even if the doll would be gone forever."

It was a door you never should have opened.

" Well, demons can be killed but you have to count with the ríght weapons. The bright side is that the demonification process can take a long while in hell and currently most low rank demons are bureaucrats answering to a central power. Chucky would hate it, he can't follow orders. He wants to be obbeyed …."

You stopped yourself at the edge of your conclussion for an even darker realization.

" He would destabilize hell untill getting crowned king. " Andy finished it for you. " If he wouldn't be wasting time up here, as a demon he could have made it to the top of their hierarchy. "

" He is persistent, insane, power hungry and patient enough for me to see it happening " You confessed ríght away. " It took centuries for Crowley, but i don't know how long it would take him. Chucky has proven to evolve at a considerably high speed. It only took him a few decades to become a latent massive threat."

He didn't know how to feel. Was his eternal struggle a protective sacrifice? Was he doomed to a lifetime of keeping Chucky distracted so he wouldn't find out there were bigger, cosmic scale evil goals he could achieve by accepting death?

" Should we comfort ourselves with that? Does he need to keep coming back to life as a doll so he wouldn't realize he has the potentiality to destroy the universe or something?"

" It's more complex than that, he would fuck up cosmic balance with his self centered revenge based rulling style and make life miserable for many many living and dead beings. " You carefully explained. " For example: the base of my family's survival for a long time has been sick pacts to keep each other alive because we are hipocrites. If Chucky rules, he owns our asses. He could also coronate his victory taking you as vessel, although at least I gotta say your body would look very nice in one of those kingpin suits. "

You exceeded the límits, accidentally forgetting that he had never gone through that and still reasonably feared it.

" I'll never let that happen to you, ok? " You reassured him, subtly moving to hold his hand. " Not by demon Chucky or regular Chucky. I'm actually proud you have made it so far intact and we are going to keep it that way. You know what? Since Kyle is on this too, I can call my brothers for backup and make it a full family thing."

It was kind of sweet, but the idea intimidated him.

" Your celebrity status, expert brothers? No thanks. It would be embarrasing. "

" Don't worry, I feel insecure arround your normal sister so I think we are on the same page. "

The confession surprised him and you found yourselves giving reassuring advice to each other. It felt nice, specially when you trapped him in a tender hug showing genuine affection.

#chucky #supernatural #andy barclay #alex vincent #andy barclay x reader #andy barclay x winchester reader

[lazybakerart]

ur tags about billy being buried in hawkins inspired a fun thought process that ill never write so ill just share it with you :)

billy moving to hawkins is determined to remain unattached; no friends, no relationships, no mentors, nothing that could possibly keep him stuck in hawkins

he still wants to at least try to enjoy his time here so he does what he has to to rise up the food chain, become top dog, be respected at parties and such but again, literally doesnt care about these people at all

everything in s2 happens per normal; billy gets knocked at after the fight and wakes up in a strange house alone and ya know what? investigates bc his sister was here with a bunch of boys that he doesnt know including someone way older than her and theres all these weird drawings so he digs around, finds not much until he gets a little thirsty and opens the freezer for some ice and bam

this slimey fucking alien dog thing flops out and billy scrambles back and lands on his ass, stunned, confused, and honestly? scared

he hightails it out of there, sees his car is fucking gone along with his keys and swears, kicks at a few posts and starts pacing, trying to figure out what the fuck to even do, he cant show up to the house without his car or max, doesnt even know where to begin looking for her on foot, doesnt know hawkins or the hangouts or anything and right as hes about to full on panic, like three cars pull up simultaneously and the whole gaggle of kids pop out of his car along with harrington who is covered in rainbow bandaids, the fucking chief of police is gently tugging another child from the passenger seat and starts carrying her inside, ignoring billy (and while billy didnt get a good look, he swears he saw her face covered in blood), and then wheeler and byers hop out of the last car along with another lady who is also carrying a child

and billys still woozy from whatever max pumped into his system but this is fucking...... bizarre

but honestly? billy doesnt care too much right now because neil is already going to wring his neck for how long this took

so he just gives max a look and ignores everyone else, even brushes off steve when steve tries to give him whatever excuse with a sharp "i dont care harrington"

once inside dustin starts bouncing off the walls about the demodog being out of the freezer and something about the loss of one of the worlds greatest discoveries and begs joyce to let him keep it in her freezer and steve does his best to facilitate the argument but all thats going through his mind is he knows

billy contemplates bringing up the weird alien thing with max, contemplates asking about what the hell was going on that night, but ultimately decides, he doesnt want to get involved, that sounds like getting attached and what is billy not going to do? get attached

but the summer rolls around and billy hits an animal then gets dragged into a warehouse and has a hallucination and gets face fucked by a tentacle and decides, okay fuck it, this has to be related to the weird alien dog and brings it up

so

hes in this now

he knows about the alternate dimension and the weird girl with the powers and the monsters and the overlord mind fucker

and he knows this mind fucker thing is maybe in him? they arent 100% sure but they want to test him, this whole gaggle of preteens are laying it out for him and are arguing about the best way to do it and billy wishes one of the many adults who know about this crap was involved

but they test him, and the quiet boy with the awful haircut tells him gently that itll be okay, and that is the only thing billy is holding onto

and it turns out hes possessed and he has these thoughts and urges and feelings that flash hot inside of him about the girl with the powers and about the other dimension

but he knows thats not him, this violent thing festering inside of him is that weird tentacle thing from the warehouse trying to control him, trying to make him do things and you know what?

billy has had enough with being told what to do

so he fights and smokes like a chimney to fend this thing off (bc the sauna just wasnt quite hot enough to burn it out, just hot enough for them to know hes possessed)

and these kids are, they believe him, max and the quiet kid are on his side and the girl with the weird powers keeps telling him shell kill it and while sinclair and little wheeler dont like him, they sure do keep an eye on him

and eventually everyone meets up, in the mall, theres a wild cacophony of exchanging individual clues to this fucking wild puzzle that hes somehow part of and now everyone knows everything and is on the same page and max and little byers are laying down everything they know about the mind flayer thats inside billy

its a lot

but once the tentacle monster (thats like 10 times bigger and billy shudders thinking about why its bigger, having caught flashes of what He was doing) crashes into the mall they all jump into their respective plans and fight

billy runs around the food court with harrington and turns on all the stoves and oven and food warmers while the kids are launching fireworks and billy feels everything

steve is gentle when he asks billy if hes okay when billy winces at the heat

tells him hes doing a good job holding off this beast, how hes strong

and they see the mind flayer snagging el, dragging her closer and billy feels His hatred pour into himself and just watches for a moment and just sees a little kid and he runs

runs and pulls out his lighter and flicks it on and waves his hand through the flame which stings a little but gets the flayer to let her go

and hes shouting something, anything to get its attention and backs himself into one of the kitchens and watches that thing start to writhe and feels the writhing in his gut but doesnt stop

and the flayer starts grabbing at him, tries to drag him out of the hot kitchen, tries to pull him out into the open and digs its disgusting claws into his sides and hips and thighs

and the kids are yelling and throwing the last of their fireworks and el is screaming and trying to rip Him apart and steve and robin and nancy and jonathan are finding anything hot anything even remotely warm

when it all stops

the mind flayer lets billy go and sorta spasms a little bit before slumping over and billy falls to his knees and heaves, heaves out black goo and bile and hes sweating like crazy and he flops over onto the cool tile, narrowly avoiding the puddle he just made

he can vaguely hear the walkie talkies blaring off about updates and keys and portals and whos safe

and he hears everyone yelling and asking where everyone is and whos hurt

and he hears his name a few times and hes bleeding bad and hus throat hurts and hes hot and hes hungry

and its robin who finds him, shouts out to everyone else to get bandages or towels and she sits with him, tries to get him to talk and hes so tired

his doesnt remember much else from that night, remembers the blare of sirens, the pain flaring up when he was moved onto a stretcher, remembers max crying and yelling at paramedics to be let onto the ambulance with him, shes his sister

he wakes up in a hospital groaning in pain and hears a soft "oh fuck" and sees steve

he grins sheepishly and presses the call nurse button and explains everything and also explains that max literally stepped out to get a snack like a minute ago shell be here in a second

so now billys a part of it

a part of the biggest secret in the world

and when these mysterious deaths start up again and max is telling him about wills updates about el getting arrested he knows

he did a really sucky job not getting attached to anyone in hawkins

this got kinda long but yeah lol

AMAZING. YES. YESSS.

#billy hargrove #fic #replies

[wallflowerimagines]

Hi! I looove your posts! Thank you so much for sharing your writing!

I was wondering… could you maybe write about the Four Lords with a shy S/O that gets bold and defensive when someone insults the lords? or calls them names? And the Lord’s reaction to the S/O acting different? Dk if im explaining myself >.<

Again! Love your work! Have a great day!

We stan protective partners on this blog!!

Warnings: uh...insults? They're pretty over the top😅 Also swearing.

Alcina Dimitrescu

Honestly, Alcina is more than able to defend herself.

She's got a tongue like a viper, and the thickest skin imaginable. If you really want to hurt her feelings, you have to be someone whom she already respects to a certain degree, or she won't even be phased.

Still, when she leaves a room, there's always some idiot that thinks it's a smart idea to talk shit.

Maybe it's a maid, maybe it's a guest in the Castle, but either way you're not having it.

"God, you're annoying." There was a pause before they opened their mouth again, and you rolled your eyes. "No please, by all means, continue to share your lack of taste with the rest of us."

You disassemble this dumbass, starting small with comments about their personality (trying to keep it classy), but escalating the more they choose to double down on the comments.

Alcina comes back into the room to find you practically screaming at this asshole.

"Look, all you have accomplished here today is revealing that you are a fundamental disappointment on every possible level. My life is worse now that I've heard you open your mouth, you disrespectful, shit licking worm fucker."

Alcina is stunned. You do not give off "aggressive guard dog" vibes at all, yet here you are defending her tooth and nail. While she had seen brief moments of your inner strength and protective streak (mostly towards her daughters) she just...never thought you would do the same for her.

It's not because she doesn't trust you or love you! But nobody has ever done something like this for her before? Ever? She's never had anyone try to protect her--not physically, and not even verbally. She's been so independent for so long that it's... Strange to see you support her so openly.

She doesn't need you to do this for her, she doesn't even expect it, but you do it anyway for no other reason than the fact that you love her. You want people to give her the respect she deserves.

I'm going to be real here: Alcina has never been closer to swooning before in her life. You're overcoming your shyness because you believe in her so much-- it's not a gesture meant to be romantic, but Alcina can't help but see this as a massive statement of your commitment to her.

Seriously. This is such a massive thing for her that if proposals weren't already on her mind, she is mentally picking out a ring for you the minute this happens.

Then, of course, she glides into the room, kisses you until you're breathless and babbling, and smirks at the unfortunate peon who thought they could get away with insulting House Dimitrescu.

She's in such a good mood that she's considering going easy on the idiot. Maybe removing their tongue would be enough of a warning?

Donna Dimitrescu

You don't really know how it's possible but apparently some people don't like Donna Beneviento? Some people think she's scary and unpleasant????

Wild. Can't imagine what that's like.

The two of you are honestly the sweetest, most toothrottingly adorable couple-- blushing when you hold each other's hands, sneaking glances at each other across rooms, giving each other kisses and forgetting whatever was on your mind...

Honestly, anybody who's critical of your relationship with your girlfriend is just a hater. Fuckers can pound sand😤

Still, you are pretty shy, so it takes a lot for you to defend yourself if someone comments about you. It can take a lot of courage to stand up against rude remarks, and sometimes it's easier to walk away.

Defending Donna, on the other hand?

The minute someone even thinks about dismissing her, you are ready to throw hands.

"My lovely girlfriend already said no, meaning you're either deaf or too stupid to pick up on simple social cues," you purse your lips and give the rude and pushy Villager a patronizing once over. "You and your opinion are equally useless. Get the fuck away from us."

Donna blinks.

She... Was not expecting this??? At all?? You're so nice! You always tell her about your attempts to avoid confrontation! What's going on??? How did you get the guts to say what she's always wanted to say?

Meanwhile, Angie is LIVING.

The little doll chimes in to assist you with the verbal homicide, working as a tag team to absolutely murder this moron. She's half partner, half hype man, and is so excited to do this with you. Normally, she has to protect Donna all by herself, but she's relieved and reassured that you stepped in first.

'USELESS IS TOO NICE, THOUGH! THAT IMPLIES THEY AREN'T A POINTLESS, RANCID, LONELY FREAK. THEY LOOK LIKE THEY CRY WHEN THEY MASTURBATE.'

You high five Angie, still glaring daggers at the unfortunate villager.

The two of you continue to ream into the villager, while Donna hovers nearby.

As surprised as she is, she's also grateful. She's only really ever had Angie to help shield her from insults and disrespect (and occasionally inducing horrifying hallucinations that make people claw off their own skin), but having you in her corner makes her feel safe.

Not to get totally sappy, but you're like her knight in shining armor in a lot of ways. And the fact you two are so similar is really motivating-- She wants to one day be confident enough to return the favor. Until then, she's happy to watch her two favorite people have fun insulting some stranger ❤️

Salvatore Moreau

With you being so shy, Salvatore is surprised how often he takes the lead in your relationship.

He's not normally all that outgoing, but you seem to bring out a side of him that's very protective. Whenever you have a bad day he wants to bundle you up and keep you safe from the world.

If he so much as holds your hand you start stuttering and avert your gaze. It creates a feedback loop where you both get flustered, but Moreau has never felt steadier. Despite your shyness, you make sure he knows how much you love him.

You're sweet as pie and twice as kind--Salvatore is the luckiest man in the world, nobody can convince him otherwise 💕💕

So it comes as a total shock that when a passing fisherman spits in your path and calls him a freak, your entire demeanor does a 180.

Your posture straightens and you look the villager dead in the eye, "I don't believe anyone asked your opinion."

Salvatore: 😳

This is not the time, and he totally knows it, but, uh, something about your tone??? Really does it for him???

While he's attempting to process why exactly he's starting to short circuit, you proceed to verbally shred this person to bits with clinical efficiency-- nothing is off limits.

They might try to defend themselves, but it's useless. You do not let up.

"Ugly? Monster? Bitch your teeth are throwing gang signs, don't throw stones from your shining glass house."

You insult their appearance, what they're holding, their smell-- you get so fucking mean that you might even make them cry.

Moreau is just lost right now, trying hard to figure out how exactly you were able to gain all of this confidence so quickly.

He's not upset! In fact he's very flattered! But, he also doesn't want you to get into a fight with some unimportant stranger. (After all, if they so much as throw a punch, they're straight up dead. Moreau is a patient man, but he's not that patient. You do not hurt his partner and live to tell the tale.)

He may a healer but...

Eventually he steps between you and the fisherman in an attempt to deescalate the situation, but you just kiss him on the cheek and step around him, determined to make your point.

Blushing hard, Moreau lets you do what you want. What can he say? Fish man likes himself a protective partner 💞

Karl Heisenberg

Magnet Man is not the most social guy to begin with, so any opportunities you have to stick up for him are already pretty slim.

He mostly knows you as the shy, sweet, easily flustered partner that lets out a cute squeak every time he sneaks up to hug you from behind.

Karl's honestly happy just to spend time with you all alone in the Factory. It's not the best or healthiest mindset, but he'd be perfectly content to only ever see you for the rest of his life. Spending time with anybody else feels like a boring waste in comparison.

But occasionally, you do head out into town with him. Heisenberg wants you to be safe so he doesn't do it often, but running errands with you is a weakness of his. It's domestic in a way that he's never experienced before.

He likes it ❤️

What he does not like is the shopkeeper starting to give their opinions on the quality of your relationship with him.

Most insults Karl will let slide because he doesn't particularly care. However if anyone makes a comment on how scared (shy) you look around him, how you must be being threatened into being with him, how poorly Lord Heisenberg is treating you...he won't stand for it.

But before his fingers can even twitch towards his hammer, you snap.

"You're clearly the blindest cocksucker I've ever met--so wipe the cum out of eyes and mind your own fucking business."

Karl does a double take.

He's heard you curse before, but quietly. The words coming out of your mouth are WILD right now, he has NEVER seen you so angry. You're defending him with the aggression of a wild animal, and it's simultaneously HILARIOUS, but for some reason he's also getting a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest?

He doesn't need you to protect him like this, but seeing you blatantly argue how much you love and cherish him in public reassures him in a way he didn't know he needed.

Still, hearing you call the shopkeeper "shit for brains" is the funniest thing that's happened in years.

Heisenberg starts laughing, and the more you shout at the idiot, the harder he laughs. Is it weird how hard he wants to kiss you right now?

Eventually, he just has to drag you away, cackling as you continue to shout insults at the unfortunate shopkeep. There's got to be an alley around here for some good old fashioned privacy 💕

#lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #donna beneviento x reader #salvatore moreau x reader #karl heisenburg x reader #resident evil village #re8 #resident evil 8 #resident evil #alcina dimitrescu #donna beneviento #salvatore moreau #angie beneviento #karl heisenberg #angie the doll #swearing #insults

[luvteez]

bassists do it deeper

pairing: yunho x genderneutral!reader genre + tags: smut, band au | kink discovery, exhibitionism, a brief segment of semi-public sex, hand kink, size kink, yunho monster cock bc this deserves a tag, power play, switch dynamics (i think??), dom!yunho pulls through in the end, unprotected sex wc: 6.3k

note: big thanks to my fav babie @lustjoong​ for motivating me to combine the two ideas i had for the prompt into one and motivating me to finish this!! here’s my take on the unspoken obligatory yunho size kink fic every ateez smut writer should have written once but make him a bassist. also, the band au to this pwp is literally just there as an excuse to make yeosang the lead singer of the band bc if kq won’t give yeosang lines, i will 

A lot can happen throughout a single weekend, as your English professor suddenly quitting her job, your brother Yeosang almost burning down the kitchen from deep frying an egg, an influx of voicemails in your inbox all sent from Wooyoung, as well as Yeosang’s punk rock band losing a member. It’s a lot to process when all you’ve done is stay the night at Yuqi’s, even harder so when Wooyoung keeps repeating every five seconds that Seonghwa quit the band. (”Why did it have to be Seonghwa who left Stereowave? He was the hottest one!”)

That being said, you expected to come home to a beyond grumpy Yeosang who was trying to find a replacement asap. A band without a bassist sounds empty, and while Stereowave has garnered a big enough fanbase over the years that wouldn’t mind the band continuing as a trio, it just feels wrong. Besides, branding a group consisting of Yeosang the frontman, San the guitarist, Mingi the drummer, and nobody covering the bassist position a band doesn’t sit right.

You were prepared for the worst; a messy kitchen, Yeosang walking around in clothes he wore for five days straight, possibly the outbreak of World War III depending on how shitty he’s feeling. But instead, you find the kitchen exceptionally clean and Yeosang acting as if nothing ever happened.

“Can you help set up the camera? The guys and I wanna film a new song.”

“Uh, sure,” you answer irritatedly. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about finding a replacement for Seonghwa though?”

“Oh, we already have a new bassist,” he waves off casually, “What are you gaping at? Shut that jaw of yours before flies fly into your nasty mouth.”

“First of all, rude.” Yeosang rolls his eyes at that comment. For a split second, you’re contemplating letting him figure out on his own how to use the camera because he’s the walking embodiment of a technology illiterate, but your curiosity about the new band member is bigger. “But how did you manage to find a new replacement so fast? It’s been like, what, a day since Seonghwa left?”

Yeosang sighs. “He’s been thinking of quitting for weeks now, so I had enough time to look for a new bassist. It’s not that big of a deal anyway.”

And this is exactly why you should never get dicked down by your bandmate several times in a month, you think to yourself. Seonghwa and Yeosang thought they were slick, but everyone figured they were more than friends. Needless to say, it was only a matter of time until the strain of their relationship wreaked havoc within the band.

“So,” you say as you two walk to the makeshift studio in the basement, “Is the new guy good? What’s his name?”

The change of topic makes Yeosang relax visibly. There’s a sheepish smile on his face and he replies, “You’ll see.”

You arch a brow. For some reason, that doesn’t settle comfortably in your gut. Then there’s the fact that Yeosang is slightly skipping, and that makes you more concerned than relieved. Because Yeosang barely skips, only when he’s being petty and is planning on pranking somebody. (Most of the time, it’s San.)

The faint vibrations of drums and guitars ring in your ears before you step a foot into the basement. Mingi is the first to acknowledge your presence, immediately dampening the cymbals before waving at you. That causes the other two guys to stop playing their instruments and turn their heads around. You greet San like you normally do, and when your eyes flit to the new addition, all brightness drops from your face.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Yunho cocks his head to the side almost tauntingly, eyes challenging. The corners of his mouth quirk upwards, though more with the intention of saying hah you thought you’d never see me again. “Hello to you too, honey. Looks like fate brought us together once more, eh?”

You blink multiple times to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. To your dismay, they sure aren’t. It really is Yunho standing right next to an utterly confused San, and the bass in his hands just confirms it furthermore.

“Since when do you play an instrument?” you gawk. There’s no fucking way he could’ve had time to pick up music, not when his schedule was already jammed with basketball training and student council activities. Then again, that was his schedule in middle school.

“Since I was fifteen,” he drawls, unaffected by your outburst. “Any other questions, honey? Preferably something along the lines of how have you been? I expected a warmer welcome from you, not gonna lie.”

“What does Yeosang even see in you?” you splutter instead, disgust prevalent in your voice.

“Talent. Believe it or not.”

“Guys, no fighting,” Yeosang warns, but you’re too busy sending Yunho daggers and every pg rated curse under the sun your brain can wrack up.

Meanwhile, San shifts his weight on one leg awkwardly and asks in the background as your verbal dispute continues, “Are they exes or something?”

“Nah, just childhood enemies,” Mingi mumbles, clearly used to your interactions to the point where he’s becoming bored of it. He’s heard all the profanities too many times coming out from the same mouth, hence why he isn’t as disturbed as San is.

“Listen up, you piec—“ 

“(y/n), the camera. Help your older brother out, will ya?” Yeosang cuts you off urgently, the warning tone in his words hard to miss.

“Yeah, help your brother out, shorty,” Yunho snickers. Appalled by his blatant shamelessness, you scowl.

“I’m not that short—!”

“Still shorter than I am, shorty. Or do you prefer honey?”

World War III would’ve broken out right then and there if it weren’t for Yeosang’s death glare — you know, the look he has etched on his face whenever he means business and is willing to go so far and expose all of the nasty mishaps you’ve done in middle school, which is definitely something that should never see the light of day.

“I prefer neither,” you mutter after weighing the gravity of Yeosang’s wrath, avoiding any eyes before you set up the camera. Luckily, nobody further comments on that and eventually, everybody resumes practicing their parts of the songs.

Just in time as Mingi takes another short break to chug his water down, you stumble across a problem. “Uh, Yeosang? You should buy a new camera. This is still usable, but you might have to reset every ten minutes or so.”

A groan leaves him, followed by a shrill guitar riff, and you can see that he’d prefer death over spending money for a new one. “Can’t you just stay here during practice and reset it? You also get to hear some new tracks of the upcoming EP!” That fucker, he’s just too lazy to run forward and press a button every few minutes.

“I have to be on standby for the Block B ticket sale,” you lie. Technically, it’s not really a lie because you do plan on going to the Block B concert with Wooyoung, but 1) the ticket sale isn’t even today and 2) it’s always Wooyoung who buys the tickets. Yeosang doesn’t need to know that though. Any excuse is better than having to sit through practice and see if Yunho is as good as he claims.

Seems like Yeosang desperately doesn’t want to keep running back and forth to reset the camera as he suddenly says, “You can do it here too.” You would argue that the garage has its separate WiFi and only the band members have access to it, but then: “You can use my laptop instead.”

And letting you use his laptop is something he never does. You failed to submit an assignment in time because your own laptop broke down and he didn’t let you borrow his computer for even that.

“Fine,” you sigh in defeat. Yeosang thanks you with a smile so obnoxiously sweet it makes you gag. When all he gets in return from you is the middle finger, his demeanor drops and he mutters something inaudible under his breath, pointing to the small table at the side where all their phones and laptops are lying before he goes back to the others.

Once all four of them are in position and ready to play, you press the record button before flipping yourself onto the old patchwork couch Yeosang bought at a garage sale for only thirty quid a few years back. To your surprise, Yeosang’s MacBook is already unlocked, the default wallpaper of mountains and northern lights quite jarring to your eyes.

When given the rare chance to have unlimited access to your sibling’s devices, it’s self-explanatory what to do. You either a) go through all of their accounts and find as much dirt as possible about them that serves as good material for future blackmail purposes or b) sign them up to as many online subscriptions as possible that will make them go crazy. Unfortunately, that doesn’t work on Yeosang because 1) he doesn’t mind online subscriptions, and 2) he never checks his email account, hence why his inbox is filled with over 2000 mails, a third of them most likely unopened. On top of that, his MacBook is strictly meant for work, so if you really wanted to find out his most embarrassing secrets, your only shot is his phone.

That being said, you’re left with option c) which is checking out Block B’s concert merch since that’s the only sensible thing you can do right now. Forget productivity; that isn’t doable when Yeosang’s deep timbre is blaring in your ears along with the instruments. To be honest, you really enjoy Stereowave’s music and that’s on their music, not because your brother is the lead singer. You’ve enjoyed each of their performances and perhaps you’ve been indulging in the privilege of hearing their new songs first.

But now that Yunho’s involved, suddenly the prospect of having a new favorite band sounds tempting. What was Yuqi’s favorite band again? Day6? You should take a closer look at their discography.

As much as you want to mute the sound, from San’s riffs to Mingi’s drum solo, you fail to do so. One moment you’re opening the search browser, and in the next, your eyes are set on the group. They’re practicing like they usually do; fun etched on their faces as they lose themselves in the music. Yeosang is singing as if he was performing in front of a million viewers while San improvises a solo on a whim. Mingi messes up the beat for a split second after failing to catch his stick and somehow, your eyes have zoomed in on Yunho. It doesn’t take you five seconds to realize:

Yunho is good.

While he might not seem as fired up as the other three, he’s visibly relaxed. Just like Seonghwa, he plays smoothly and isn’t overpowered by the others, but he seems to have an easier time gliding his fingers across the fingerboard. The bassline is easy to filter out, not the generic pattern you can find in every second pop song, yet still compliments the other instruments.

He can play, fair game. However, that’s the least of your worries. You’re more attentive to the ratio of his hands to the bass. His hands are larger than Seonghwa’s by far, no doubt. That makes sense given his height, maybe an inch taller than Mingi. But Mingi doesn’t have that big hands. Doesn’t that mean that Yunho’s body is disproportional?

Before you know it, you drag your gaze from his shoes up to his legs and stop at his hands briefly, only to proceed upwards until you see the cocky smirk and amused eyes directed at you. All clogs in your brain come to a stillstand and despite that, that’s when you realize you’ve been 1) enjoying his music, 2) checking him out, and 3) checking him out and caught red-handed.

It feels as if you were living on the sun instead of on Earth as you burn up in embarrassment. Knowing there’s no way you can deflect what you just did, you quickly turn back to the laptop, the Google search bar staring back at you.

You’re about to type in something when the search history pops up, catching your eyes. A gasp leaves you but it goes under the music, everyone too immersed in their own thing to notice the prevalent horror settling on your face.

exhibitionism

getting off in public

best crowded places to have sex and get away with it

You blink, thinking that your sleep deprivation got the worst out of you and that you’ve finally reached the stage where you start hallucinating. Except, you know you’re not hallucinating. After going through the words again and again, you know that you’re really not fucking hallucinating and that your nonexistent sleep cycle isn’t as bad as Yuqi makes it out to be.

When you said you wanted to dig up dirt on your brother, you didn’t mean it in the form of his kinks. Money can’t buy everything, but how you wish it could so you could unsee that shocking discovery.

Since this is Yeosang’s work computer and he’s signed into his Google account, he must make use of the drive to save a copy of his ideas. It probably won’t amount to anything since he’s the walking embodiment of staying unbothered, but writing him a note on his docs about how he’s made your life worse by not clearing his search history is better than staying silent.

You click on the little icon on the top right corner, expecting to see Yeosang’s name right above the email address. But then you see Yunho’s name instead, and suddenly everything makes much more sense.

This was never Yeosang’s laptop to begin with.

To say you’re at a loss of words is an understatement. There’s no way someone could have as little self-awareness and leave their laptop unlocked, let alone Yunho out of all people. Then again, the last thing you expected from him was to play the bass and blend well with the rest of the band as if he’s always been the bassist of Stereowave and not the newly found replacement.

This is absolutely bonkers. But:

You could have fun with it. Maybe it’s for the better that money can’t buy everything.

Besides dozens of articles about semi-public sex and even a blogpost titled Shagging in Broad Daylight for Dummies, his search history of the last 24 hours consists of many forum links discussing the morality of exhibitionism, conspiracy theories, and hand care guides. You wheeze when you see the private playlist he saved on his YouTube account; a collection of videos about filing your nails properly and the best hand cream brands for dry skin.

Yeosang calls in for a break, and everyone’s grateful for it. San lets out a relieved noise as he places his guitar on the stand before catching the water bottle Mingi chucks at him.

“My arms are beat,” Mingi complains.

San sends him an incredulous look and snorts, “All you do is bang! crash! ppang! while my throat is fucked! And so are my legs!”

“Not my fault if you keep doing your high pitched oows! while jumping around like a— like a cricket!”

“A cricket? Are you serious?”

“I’m tired, okay!”

“Then that means we should call it a day and go home and rest, right?”

“Choi San, I think you’re onto something.”

“Absolutely not,” Yeosang deadpans, causing the bickering duo to pout in sync. “We have lots to do especially since Yunho’s now part of the band.” When all he’s met with is an attempt of cute puppy eyes that rather looks like a bad rendition of any horror movie featuring creepy dolls, Yeosang sighs, “I ordered chicken for dinner and yes, it’s on me.”

In an instant, Mingi and San’s faces brighten up and they’re celebrating as if they won a free cruise to the Bahamas. They don’t hesitate to envelop Yeosang in a bear hug, crushing the life out of him. A chuckle escapes you at the sight of your brother wringing for his sanity. Sometimes you wonder how on Earth those three guys are the same three guys who perform in abandoned warehouses, jamming out their punk rock songs while looking all edgy (in a cool way that has at least half of their fans thirsting after them).

Meanwhile, Yunho drops himself on the other end of the couch. Propping his right leg on the coffee table in front, he digs around in his pockets before pulling something out.

“Since when do you file your nails?” You pointedly raise a brow at him. Although your extensive research on his browser history already answered that question, you ask him just for the sake of it.

“Hand care is important, shorty,” Yunho replies, keeping his eyes trained on his fingers as he works the file around a nail. “If Kageyama Tobio files his nails, I can too. But enough with the small talk, what do you want?”

“I didn’t peg you as an exhibitionist.”

His hand stops moving. Yunho looks up at you, irritation written all over his features. “Because I file my nails...? A bold assumption, honey.”

There’s a reason why Yunho has always gotten away with pretty much everything. He’s a good actor who’s able to feign innocence at any time. His posture is relaxed, voice genuinely sounding flabbergasted that not even your shit-eating grin can throw him off guard.

You can’t, but your proof will do the job.

“I never said it’s because of your hand fixation.” You turn the laptop screen his way and once his eyes flicker on it and decipher the words, his face falls. Gone is the faux-confusion; as all color drains from him, his eyes look like they’re about to fall out of their sockets. “Is it really a bold assumption now, honey?”

Yunho inhales sharply when you scoot closer to him and put a firm hand on his left leg, his laptop now closed and long forgotten. Your fingers are placed too high for it to be friendly, skimming lightly on the inside of his thigh. Yeosang and the others are busy minding their own business but the chance of getting caught in the act is still there. The simple realization has adrenaline running a hundred miles an hour in your veins, and with the way Yunho clenches his jaw — a desperate attempt to fight the groan that’s threatening in the back of his throat — you’re not the only one who’s aroused by the setup.

Slowly, your hand inches closer to his growing bulge. Before you can dare yet another experimental squeeze, Yunho’s hand surges forward and holds your wrist in a vice grip.

“Don’t,” he snarls through gritted teeth, but it sounds sadder than it is intimidating when he’s sporting a boner right in front of your eyes.

You cock your head to the side, almost in a mocking demeanor. “You sure? Think about it, it’s a win-win situation. You get to live out your exhibitionist right here in front of your new bandmates, and I get the confirmation that you’re into it. But if you really don’t want to…” you try to retreat your hand but Yunho doesn’t let you budge, hand still enclosed around yours. That won’t do as an answer.

“Which one is it? Say it, Yunho,” you assert, narrowing your eyes. Yunho looks distraught, feverishly biting his lip while he’s internally fighting with himself, but he eventually chokes out a response.

“As long as nobody notices—”

“You either say you want me to touch you or not. I don’t want any roundabout stories.”

“Touch me,” he whispers defeatedly and the grip on your hand disappears completely. “But I swear to God if anyone realizes what you’re doing— hhnh—!” he cuts himself off with a low moan when you cup him over the material of his jeans.

“Yes yes, I get it. I don’t need Yeosang to know about this,” you dismiss. “And oh wow, you’re getting hard fast when I’m just touching you over your pants.”

“Just get to it.”

The snappish attitude causes you to stop dead in your tracks. “You think you’re in the position to tell me what to do? I can be mean too, y’know,” you start nonchalantly, a stark contrast to the way your heart is shaking in your ribcage. The power you suddenly hold is exhilarating. “I could just leave you like this, and then you’d have to try to cover your situation down there while practice goes on. How would the others react if they only knew your dick is hard? Probably won’t take them too long to find out since standing for a long time can be tiring, hm?”

Yunho’s head lolls back in response as he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. His breathing is uneven and the resulting moan that follows suit makes you smirk. You lightly smack the inside of his thigh, causing another wave of arousal to rupture in him. He chokes out a hushed ‘f-fuck’ and at this point, the constriction around his cock must be bordering painful.

“Who would’ve thought that the big bad Jeong Yunho is actually a submissive bitch who’s hungry for attention?” you ask gleefully, delivering another slap before stroking the area. “Who would’ve fucking thought you were a sub?”

“I-I’m not— shit, s-stop that, hngh— a fucking sub.”

“Yeah yeah, say that to yourself.” You rip your gaze away from Yunho’s flushed face to check if the coast is clear before targeting his fisted hands. He stiffens when you pry his hand open and bring three digits to your lips, sticking your tongue out to give kitten licks to his fingertips before pushing them into your mouth. You hum, suck, swirl your tongue around his fingers, giggling when all he does is stare at you wordlessly, unable to form any coherent thoughts. “See? Not even once have you put up a fight.”

That seems to snap him out of his daze. In an instant, his eyes darken and his jaw clenches.

“Oh honey, you know, you really shouldn’t tease me.”

You snicker, seeing through his bluff. “Wow, I’m so scared. What do you wanna do? Leave practice right now? Drag me to my room and pound me into the mattress?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“You could never, sub.”

Whatever strands of self-control were still residing in Yunho have turned to dust by now. One moment he’s towering over you in full height, looking down on your sitting form in bitter distaste, and in the next, he’s dragging you out of the basement, unaffected by the sudden silence and Yeosang, Mingi and San’s confused expressions.

Once you’re in the living room, Yunho wastes no time crowding you against the wall and crashing his lips against yours. The kiss is a messy clash of teeth and tongues, but it leaves you hot and lightheaded and aching for more. Yunho knows no limits and snakes one arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, the other hand fisting your hair. He tugs harshly and the sharp sting sends all your nerves into a frenzy.

“Bedroom. Now.” The sudden huskiness in his tone catches you off guard and you wonder when his voice has ever sounded so rough. You moan into the kiss, fisting his shirt as you stumble your way to your bedroom.

Yunho pins you against the door once you’re in your bedroom. His lips are addictive, just like the groans he slips in kisses and his hands roaming your body. He gets rid of your clothes until you’re left in your underwear, then forces a knee between your legs to keep them from closing. Your eyes roll back at the friction, growing needier and hotter when he presses his thigh against you harder. 

When you finally pull away, his eyes are hooded and his lips are red and swollen. There’s no trace of inhibitions left in him as he watches you like a predator. With horror, you realize that the tables have turned, and when he easily locks both of your wrists above your head with one hand only, that’s when you know you’re undisputedly powerless against him.

“Who’s the sub now?” he pants, eyes sparkling with glee.

“Still y-you.” The response sounds pathetic to your own ears, but you have too big of an ego to admit it out loud. Yunho doesn’t buy it either if his quirked brow wasn’t telling enough.

“Still in denial, honey? I see. Guess I’ll have to do more then.” His free hand reaches down to tug on the waistband of your underwear, only to let it snap against your skin. The slight sting is enough to render your knees into mush and set fog into your vision. He does it again, and then he actually tugs the fabric down and you finally grab his motives.

“You’re bluffing— y-you wouldn’t put y-your fingers,” you ramble, hyperaware about how dangerously close his fingers are. Just when you think he’s about to shove a digit in, he pulls away completely.

“You know, you keep talking about my hands. It’s always my hands this, my hands that,” Yunho says casually, giving his nails a quick glance before meeting your eyes. “Rather than me having a hand fixation, it’s you who has a thing for hands. My hands specifically.”

You don’t like how every word is true. You don’t want to acknowledge that he’s correct. Verbally, because your body is moving on its own and has betrayed you long ago.

Yunho taps on your bottom lip and you comply reluctantly, letting him shove the same three fingers you sucked before. Mumbling unintelligible words under his breath, he watches intently as you hum around him, eyes fluttering shut when he slowly moves them in and out of your mouth. A whine escapes you when he pulls them out for good, soaked wet with your spit.

“Tell me.” Yunho grins, “Tell me what you like about them. Or else I’ll leave you hanging.” He’s not lying and you know it. The look he sends you is enough proof that he wouldn’t hesitate to leave you high and dry.

You don’t like how he’s stringing you on like a rag doll. You don’t like how he’s stripping you off your dignity step by step. Strangely enough, you feel yourself leaking and wanting nothing but his pretty long fingers inside of you.

“I like how they, agh I— I l-like how—” you stutter, losing all levels of rationality when he suddenly circles around your entrance. Yunho urges you to continue and it takes up all of your brainpower to pick up where you left off, “—they’re so long and big and pretty—”

“So you have a size kink.”

You stare at him in disbelief. Now that, that’s something he shouldn’t have deduced. “W-wha— I don’t!”

“Seems to me that you have one though. You kept stressing how big and bad and tall I was after all.” You stiffen. Did you? Did you really? You don’t recall saying it that many times but it's hard to think straight when Yunho still has your wrists above your head and is looking down at you in a downright patronizing way. It leaves you trembling pitifully, feeling called out and feeling so, so small.

He really wants you to hit your lowest peak because he doesn’t stop there. “Who’s the real sub here? Is it really me? Or is it you who likes feeling so short, small, tiny.” His smirk widens when your breath hitches ever so slightly. “I fucking knew it.”

“You don’t know shit,” you bark back, but to no avail. Your credibility has diminished the moment he caught up to your kinks.

“Say whatever you want but that won’t change the fact that you’re tiny baby,” he pauses, takes his bottom lip between his teeth as he’s giving you a thorough once-over and then enunciates the next syllables with such clarity that forces time to stop, “My tiny, helpless baby.”

The pet name breaks you. It’s the final trigger that takes all your inhibitions away and the pathetic size of an ego that was left in your stubborn head.

“Please,” your voice cracks but that’s the least of your worries. You can’t move, can’t talk back, and won’t get anything in return. Yunho is right in front of you, finding satisfaction in your internal destruction and yet, after all of the things he’s slaughtered you to, he won’t give you anything in return.

“Just a little bit more, baby. I’ll give you what you want if you repeat after me; I’m your—”

“I’m your tiny, helpless baby who desperately wants you to fuck me.” Yunho is mildly taken aback that you were still able to think and get it right before he even finished his sentence. “Now get on to it, Yunho. Please.”

You’re sniffling at this point, begging for any kind of stimulation that shoots you to the stars. You’re fucking sniffling, and that’s all it takes for Yunho to manhandle you on the bed. A gasp escapes you, not expecting this turn of events at all. It all happens in a flash and the next thing you know, you’re on all fours, face buried in the pillow.

“Yunho, I t-thought y-you’d fuck me,” you complain, glancing behind to see what’s taking him so long. Your mouth waters at the sight.

“Patience, baby,” he says as he’s unbuckling his belt, taking his sweet time. You rub your legs together to ease the tension, but you can’t really say you’re not enjoying the show. Yunho’s lean, slightly defined, and once he’s only left in his underwear, you swallow heavily. There’s a large, dark patch on the fabric and the bulge seems more prominent than before.

If your mouth was only watering, you’re drooling by now. Yunho takes off his boxers, revealing his painfully hard cock, tip red and oozing precum. Just like the rest of him, he’s abnormally huge.

You have two thoughts. One: Fuck, you want him. Now. Two:

“That’s never going to fit inside of me.”

“Oh it will,” he says with such confidence it gives you shivers. “I’ll pound you into the mattress and you’ll take it all.”

He grabs you by your thighs to pull you closer to him before positioning himself right behind you. “W-wait!” you cry, heart suddenly feeling heavy in your chest, “D-don’t just put it in without prep— o-oh, hnngh—” your body feels like jelly when Yunho presses two spit-coated fingers past your entrance, stretching you out with finesse.

“I’m not that heartless,” he chuckles amusedly, right at the same time he curls his digits right against your sweet spot, sending you headfirst into bliss. “You’re so small you wouldn’t be able to take an inch without prep.”

You only whine into the pillow, arching your back as he continues his ministrations. Once Yunho deems you stretched out enough, he retreats his fingers and replaces them immediately with his cock.

The difference is like night and day. It’s like his fingers didn’t amount to anything compared to this. The high-pitched cry that escapes you is loud as you grasp onto the pillow for dear life.

“How can you be so big?” you pant. There’s no way he’s past four inches deep inside of you. You’re far from being filled, but your walls are already clenching hard around him.

“Bassists do it deeper for a reason.” The innuendo is tacky but in your current headspace, it sounds like the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard. Yunho stills his hips, letting you get used to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Guh—” he chuckles at your inability to form coherent words, let alone thoughts. “So big.”

“You’ll get used to it, honey.” He leans forward to pet your hair. “Tell me when I can move,” he adds gently, and you swear you could melt right then.

It takes you a moment to get your breathing steady, and then he pushes more of his length inside. Whimpering, you writhe beneath him, feeling as if you’re being torn apart. Meanwhile, he’s breathing hard through his nose, trying his damn hardest to go as slow as possible. At a certain point, Yunho stops pressing for more and pulls out ever so slightly before rocking his hips back forward. It starts out slowly, but he gradually picks up the pace and you lose yourself into him.

“Faster,” you moan, bending your back for an even deeper angle. “Hnngh, so full. Want m-more.”

“You were right, you can’t take me to the hilt.” Yunho readjusts his grip on his hips and you know that bruises are going to last until the end of the week. “God, you’re so fucking small that you can’t take me to the fucking hilt.”

Your vision turns foggy once the meaning gets through you. Now that he’s saying it, how much of his cock is inside of you? Half of it? A third? He’s stretching you out so well, filling you up so impossibly deep and that wasn’t even his everything?

“That’s not— want more of you, all of you,” you stammer, not realizing what you’re even saying. “Baby wants all of you.” God, you’re so drunk and desperate for his cock that you can’t refer yourself in the first person anymore.

Yunho reacts just as perplexed, eyes widening. His hips still once more, and though you’d want to shout at him to keep on moving, you don’t find the energy to move your head, or even lift a finger.

“So fucking greedy,” he growls, pulling out of you completely. Not even a second later, he flips you around on your back so that you’re facing him dead in the eye, and then he pushes back in. The new position has you gurgling on broken words as your arms flail around for dear life.

Yunho throws a leg over his shoulder, creating a deeper angle. You don’t know if he’s actually giving you more if he’s managed to force more of him into you. All you register is the messy squelch of liquids and your moans bouncing off the walls. You can’t even see properly, everything a blur and a mix of different colors.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper, sensing your demise nearing closer and closer.

“Then cum,” Yunho orders in between groans, then adds in a louder voice, “You hear that baby? Cum and make a mess out of yourself.”

Your orgasm crashes onto you in a big singular wave as you tremble under his frame, walls clenching around him tightly. His name leaves your mouth like a mantra as you continue to convulse. Yunho pulls out moments later, just to spurt white on your abdomen. His face is flushed and beads of sweat are forming on his forehead while he jerks himself dry.

It’s a miracle that Yunho hasn’t toppled on you once he slowly comes down from his high. The fog in your vision clears up gradually, but your limbs are as good as worthless. You won’t be able to move freely for a good day or two.

As you continue to blink at the ceiling, only finding the energy to breathe, Yunho grabs the box of tissues from your nightstand and wipes himself off before doing the same to you. His touch is gentle unlike before, and you’d thank him if your vocal cords were still functioning.

You’re about to drift to sleep until he suddenly leans down and pecks your lips. In an instant, you narrow your eyes at him and ask, “What was that for?”

“You had some cum on your lip. I wanted to taste too.” Yunho smiles cheekily and runs his tongue against his bottom lip, then grimaces. “It tastes... yikes.”

He cleans you up in silence before plopping onto the bed right next to you. No words are exchanged up until you say, “Yeosang is going to kill you.”

“He can’t afford to kill me. He needs me for the band,” he muses.

“He’ll still kill you.”

“I appreciate the concern, honey.”

“Just scram back to practice.”

“Don’t you want to go to the bathroom first?”

“I can do it myself.”

“Oh really?”

“... Yunho, help me on my legs and then scram back to practice.”

Meanwhile, back in the basement, the guys are waiting for their bandmate to come back so they can finally finish practice and then eat chicken.

“You sure (y/n) and Yunho are only childhood enemies? They’ve been going at it like rabbits if he isn’t back here yet!” San exclaims, throwing his arms up for dramatic effect.

Mingi can’t counter that because San has a point, so he whips his head to Yeosang. “Dude, you sure they’re not in a relationship? They have to be at least fuckbuddies! Or fuckrivals? Fuckenemies? Or…”

“I do not know and I do not care,” Yeosang says blankly, looking like he’s about to bang his head against the wall because he sure won’t walk into your room and curse his eyes for the rest of his life. Damnit, all he wants is to practice and get the band together; their next gig is only a few weeks away. “In fact, I want to unsee what I just saw and unhear what you just said.”

#blame 5*os for the creation of the band au idea #ateez smut #yunho smut #jeong yunho smut #ateez hard hours #atz smut #luvsmut #the ending is rushed oopsie but i never know how to end smut scenes ahahaha

[1kook]

skirt chasers

jjk x (f) reader

summary “Baggy clothes are in, but you wouldn’t know that, Miss I Draw Inspiration From Catholic School Girls.” tags f2l, triple texting king kook, ncampus crush kook who is also the weird gamer boy, the skirt aspect is forgotten towards the end tbh, dumbassery is a disease and we are all affected by it, confessions SO CORNY it could be a 2005 teen romcom warnings smut in the form of: unprotected sex, use of mirrors, mostly heavy petting as foreplay I’m sorry, mentions of Jk’s furry ways as a gag kinda, like an unnecessary amount of swearing  wc 7.8k 

to make a long story short, i saw this nsfw gif and wrote this entire fic between 2 am and 6 am anyway i actually really like how this turned out!! lmk when u think

Part of the ideology behind the pleated skirt was in hopes that buying a new wardrobe would somehow help you rebrand your image around campus. Truthfully, it was kinda too late for that now; you’d been here going on three years, your friends and anyone with eyes could see that the style of clothing you leaned towards favored comfort over fashion. However, someone—it might’ve been Taehyung—had gone on a drunken spiel the other night concerning the importance of presenting oneself via fashion. It wasn’t aimed at you, but it certainly left you wondering. 

Which is how you find yourself shivering to the bone now, lingering around the west quad as you wait for Jungkook to come out of an anatomy lab. He’s at that point in the semester where grades mean nothing and everything to him at the same time, so Namjoon’s commissioned you and your other pals to take turns babysitting him once a week to make sure he gets at least some assignments done. 

You don’t know where any of you would be without Kim Namjoon.

Anyway, your legs are fucking cold and if this is what it takes to be known as the fashionably cute girl around campus, you’d rather choke. The imaginary sound of your bones rattling is cut off when Jungkook throws the door nearest you open, his big dopey smile engulfing his face the moment he sees you. He barely acknowledges the gaggle of students that follow after him, all calling out a chorus of goodbyes to him, because unlike you Jungkook was the cute, campus boy crush with his suave looks and comfortable fashion. God, if only you could pull off sweats and mustard-stained Venom shirts like him.

“Lets go,” you yawn, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of your long cardigan. Jungkook jogs over, slinging an arm around your shoulders and nearly knocking you into the emergency telephone you’d been brooding by. “You smell sterile again.”Jungkook grins. 

“That’s because I was touching dead people again,” he informs you, too giddy for someone who’d probably fingered the fuck out of a gallbladder twenty minutes ago. 

“Ew,” you whine, the sudden urge to shove Jungkook and his dead people germs away from you. He cackles in your face, and you wonder again how he single handedly enthralls half the campus population with a laugh like a seagull. 

You’ve barely moved ten feet when Jungkook finally notices your vibrating body, and it’s only because you’re nearly convulsing with shivers at this point. “Woah, what are those,” he exclaims, eyes pointedly eyeing your legs. 

You know your bare legs are a rare sight when Jungkook has to resolve to overused memes to refer to them. 

“They’re my legs, and they’re fucking freezing,” you calmly reply. 

Jungkook seems shocked for only a moment longer, and you almost think he’s gotten over it when he suddenly snorts and scares the shit out of you in the middle of the crosswalk. “Why the fuck are you wearing a skirt in this weather, you dinglehead?” 

You shove him, and he stumbles over the curb, but you get the feeling he’d do that without you pushing him. Jungkook was clumsier than Namjoon on his bad days. “I’m trying to be fashionable, you hater,” you huff, not even bothering to say thank you when he pulls open the coffee shop door for you. “I shouldn’t have to explain myself to someone who doesn’t even wear the right size shirt.” 

Like always, he’s one step ahead of you and hands the cashier his card before you can even reach for your wallet. Next time. “Baggy clothes are in, but you wouldn’t know that, Miss I Draw Inspiration From Catholic School Girls.” 

“For your information I bought this from H&M,” you retort, though you can’t hide the flush that warms your cheeks at his comment. “Also, what's the point of working out your hotbod if you’re just gonna hide it under shirts long enough to be a mini-dress, huh? Riddle me that, Jeon.” 

You flinch when your bare thigh touches the cold seat of the booth, something Jungkook doesn’t miss. “Your skirt is mad short,” he points out, and you kick his shins. 

You’ve already got a Google Doc open on your laptop from last night when you and Jimin had been going ham on a psych essay, but you also have a Fashion Nova cart on another window that’s just begging for you to check out. 

“Short skirts are just a concept made by men with lingering eyes to demean and belittle women who don’t submit to their every want and need.” 

“Oh my god,” he groans, and you watch him muffle a laugh into his palm as he gets his own work out. “Do you think I’m gonna pull the meninist card out on you and call you a slut or something?” 

You fake gasp, eyes wide and shocked as you give him your best disappointed face. “Jeon, how could you? I expected better from you.”  

This time he does laugh, a dorky sound unlike his witch cackle from earlier, and you finally let a smile slip. Jungkook was funny, too sweet and kind hearted for his own good. A little dumb, but most cute guys were. He’s one of those guys who thinks girls are nice to him out of their own free will, and not because they’re trying to bag the campus hottie. 

“Seriously,” he says once he’s pulled his fat anatomical reference book out, stuffed to the brim with worn scientific essays he’d printed out, and pictures he’d taken at every single one of his visits to the cadaver lab. His voice is earnest and genuine when he speaks again. “You can wear whatever you want, I was just curious about the skirt ‘cause you normally wear things past the knee and elbow.” 

When he puts it like that you kinda sound surprisingly conservative. 

You shrug, tapping away at your computer as if the sight of you in anything other than what he said isn’t really weird. “Just thought I’d try something new. Why, does it look too weird?” Your voice suddenly feels meek, and you’re not sure if your cheeks are warm from the chill outside or from something else. 

Jungkook shakes his head, coconut hair bouncing from side to side. “Nah, you look cute,” he says, and then, as if an afterthought, adds, “weirdly sexy, too. Like you belong in a Brazzers video?” 

“What the fuck, Jungkook,” you groan, sinking your head into your palms. 

“What! You asked for my opinion and I gave you it,” he defends, too casual for someone spewing their unwarranted porn knowledge at you. You urge him to do his homework, drink his coffee, anything besides embarrass you further. 

He does, but you don’t miss the goofy way he glances under the table one more time. 

The pleated skirt makes it’s return three weeks later, this time accompanied by her best friend, the sheer pantyhose. 

“Oh, who’s this sexy schoolgirl?” Taehyung exclaims the moment you step into the diner. Your cheeks flush red when the family beside you send you and your friends a disapproving look. 

“That’s what I said!” Jungkook says as he gets up to let you slide into the booth. He has this incessant need to be sitting at the end of the booth just in case nature calls in the middle of dinner and he can’t usher the rest of you out fast enough. 

(It almost happened once, and the sight of Jungkook shoving Hoseok flat on his ass had been too funny to forget.) 

“Wait a minute, is that why you stopped using EOS and started using the Dove shaving cream?” Chaeyoung interrogates from across you. “So you could show off your sexy model legs?” 

“No, Dove is just cheaper,” you reply, trying to sound as aloof as possible but if anyone at this table knew you like the back of their hand, it was definitely Chaeyoung. “Why can’t you guys let me live my best life?” 

Taehyung scoffs. “Who the fuck are you?” 

“Who the fuck are you?” You snap back, but your level of sass can never seem to match his. 

“We all know your ‘best life’ would be spent in those fuzzy Cookie Monster pajama pants and one of Kook’s big ass shirts,” he points out, and you hide behind your menu much to everyone’s amusement. 

You whine, “why can’t you all just be supportive besties and tell me I look cute?” 

“You look gorgeous, babe,” Chaeyoung assures you, gesturing for you to pass her the sugar for her coffee. “It’s just weird seeing your legs out. Almost weirder than if you randomly pulled your tits out right now.” 

Behind her, you can see the same mom from the family glaring at you guys. You lower your head in shame. 

“For the record, I’m team skirt, but I wouldn’t be opposed to the other,” Jungkook adds after being silent for so long. Taehyung fist bumps him as you slap your hand over your eyes. At this rate you’d rather just put a paper bag over your head. 

“We’re sitting on the same side of the table, so you’re supposed to be on my side!” You groan, and Jungkook shrugs mid-milkshake sip. 

“I am!” He splutters once he’s gulped down the thick substance. “I just said I was team skirt, did I not?” His scandalized pout twists into the same sneaky little smile he has whenever Taehyung has convinced him and Jimin to do something stupid. “But I’m also a man, and therefore, a skirt chaser,” he winks. 

From the other side of the table Taehyung’s eyes twinkle. “Bro, your mind,” he says in awe. He reaches over to shake Jungkook’s hand as if he’s just presented the table with some riveting discovery in the medical field, and the fucker has the nerve to look smug about it too. 

“You guys are so stupid,” Chaeyoung whispers right before the server sets her pancakes down. 

“Hey, have you seen Joon’s book? He said he might’ve left it—oh, Jesus, fuck sorry,” Jungkook says before whirling around to face the wall. 

You turn from your bent over position by your bed where you’d been rummaging around for a book you coulda sworn you stuffed there last week. Jungkook’s blazing cheeks don’t register with you until you realize your favorite skirt is draping over your rear, giving him a clear view of your dorky star-printed panties. 

“Kook,” you stammer, quickly jumping to your feet and brushing your hands over your skirt. “H-How’d you get in?” You ask for lack of greeting. 

“Um, uh,” Jungkook stutters, eyes laser focused on some point on your wall. “Chaeyoung let me in.” 

“Oh,” you say, and then silence falls over the two of you. 

Holy shit this was awkward. 

Despite being friends for going on three years, you don’t ever remember there being any stale moments between you and Jungkook. You were the type of friends that just clicked, never having gone through that awkward phase before. But you’d also never seen each other in any state less than presentable. (Being drunk at parties did NOT count, and even then, you’ve always been pretty collected.) 

To know that he’s seen your ass, covered or not, tilted your Golden Friendship with Jungkook scale extremely off center. Your fingers twiddle at your sides, not really sure if you should mention what just happened or… what?

He coughs, and you snap back to reality. “Um,” he drawls, still not looking at you but at the socks you’d thrown off the second you got home. “Sorry about that,” he apologizes, voice soft and earnest in that Jungkook™ way that made all the girls swoon. “I should’ve knocked before coming in all rude.” He finally gathers the balls to look you in the eye, and the dude looks like a kicked puppy. 

“No,” you wave him off, hands fluttering in front of you because standing like some Macy’s holiday mannequin certainly isn’t making this situation any easier. “It’s okay, the skirt—y’know this wouldn’t happen if I just wore pants,” you say, tacking on a self-deprecating laugh. It’s your turn to look away in shame. 

Jungkook jumps at your words. “The skirt’s cute!” He basically shouts and you flinch at the sudden increase in his tone. Then you’re both left looking at each other wide-eyed again as he scrambles to assure you it isn’t your fault. “I like it, and it makes your legs look really nice, so don’t-“ he stutters, as if realizing the meaning in his words, “don’t stop wearing it...” he trails off, cheeks rosy. Your mind goes blank. 

“R-Really?” You stutter, surprised at his compliment. It’s not like Jungkook never complimented you—dude couldn’t go fifteen minutes without telling his friends how much he loved them—but for some reason it feels different now. 

“Yeah,” he assures you. “Makes you look nice, and um. Pretty.” 

“Jeon Jungkook telling me I look pretty? Someone call TigerBeat magazine,” you joke, trying to ease the tension somehow. Your chuckle sounds awfully robotic to your ears, but it makes Jungkook crack a smile and that’s all that matters. 

“Shut up. You know I’m not friends with ugly people.” 

“Wooow,” you laugh, real this time. “How noble of you,” you retort, and he gives you his best snobby expression possible. 

“Ya, you’re welcome,” he teases, and then suddenly remembers what he came for in the first place. “Give me Joon’s planner, I know you’re holding it hostage.” 

You roll your eyes, and point over to the notebook on your desk that’s absolutely overflowing with sticky notes and bookmarks. “As if I’d want his nerd diary ruining the good vibes in here.” 

“These good vibes smell a lot like Bath and Body Works perfumes, you cheapskate,” Jungkook says as he snatches the book off the surface. He’s at the door again, narrowing you with another faux uppity look when he adds, “this is a Victoria’s Secret Bombshell household.” 

“Bombshe—you don’t even live here!” You huff in laughter, ushering him down the hall to the front door. He’s half a foot out the door when he suddenly whirls around, making you take a step back in surprise. 

“The stars are cute, but I prefer hearts.” 

He slams the door shut behind him so fast, that you almost don’t catch the smirk tacked on at the end. 

You were many things, but a liar was not one of them. You couldn’t lie to your parents when you were younger and wanted to sneak out, to your teacher when she asked where your homework was, or to your friends when they asked you who you liked. You couldn’t even lie to yourself. 

You’ll admit it, there was a time your eyes had lingered a little longer on Jungkook. When you would spend moments tracing the slope of his jawline, and memorizing the twinkle in his eyes. He was devastatingly handsome, and you would be blind not to see it. 

But that was before you became close friends—before game nights at Hoseok’s became a regular staple in your schedule, before your little makeshift picnics in the quad, before you all became Park Jimin’s dedicated fan club (it’s a rotating unit consisting of whoever’s able to go to Jimin’s showcases). 

Those fantasies of kissing Jungkook and going on dates were stuffed to the back as you became pals. As you’ve mentioned a million times now, Jungkook was the campus dream boy. He was hardly the skirt chaser he made himself out to be, too sweet and romantic for his own good. Besides, there was no need to be when the skirts flocked to him. 

He’d had flings, and even girlfriends, in the time you’ve known him, but he rarely mentioned them to his friends. And even though you pushed that teensy crush aside, you still wondered how Jungkook acted with girls he was interested in, if it was the same he treated you and Chaeyoung, or special on an intimate level a platonic friendship could never be. 

It’s the middle of the night when you first get a glimpse. 

[1:21 am] jk wyd 

[1:21 am] you sleeping , u? 

[1:22 am] jk same anyway I finally beat world 8 in super Mario bros

[1:25 am] you omg the 1 w dry bowser?? [1:26 am] you wait u said u wouldn’t play w/o me :/

[1:27 am] jk u suck at Luigi and u know it 

[1:30 am] you fuck u  [1:31 am] you ok but seriously what do u want I have a test tmrw morning and am pretending to be asleep 

[1:32 am] jk damn ok can’t I just talk to my friend about my successes  [1:33 am] jk but if u must know 

[1:33 am] you I must 

There’s a lull in messages for a while, and you decide you should finally actually go to sleep, dabbing some spot ointment onto your skin before hopping in bed. You turned off the overhead light long ago, so the only light illuminating you now is the lamp by your bedside. You tap your phone once again right as Jungkook sends another message. 

[1:40 am] jk you looked really pretty today

Oh. Your entire body pauses for a moment to process the sudden message, cheeks slowly heating up. You roll your lips in to stop the squeal that threatens to rip itself out of your throat, scrambling for something to type. But it’s the first time he’s randomly thrown something like this on you, and your brain feels like that episode of Spongebob when everything’s on fire. 

Before you can send the jumbled letters you’d convinced yourself was acceptable, your phone vibrates with another alert. 

[1:42 am] jk I know its weird to say that but I gotta make sure someone told u at least once today 

Your heart flutters at the explanation, and you have to slap a hand over your face to get rid of the goody smile that overtakes your features. This time, you’re a little less thrown off and quickly tap out a reply before he can say anything else. 

[13:43 am] you thanks kook :) was it the red skirt lol 

You’d been experimenting with different skirts lately, quickly growing bored of the black pleated skirt you’d originally worn. Your latest trip to the mall had you coming home with a variety of colors and styles, like the dark red denim one you’d worn today. 

[1:45 am] jk no!!!! [1:45 am] jk maybe… [1:46 am] jk ok yes you looked gorgeous 

The tiny letters blink back at you, and you set your phone down for a second to smile stupidly at your dark ceiling. You only let yourself wildly kick your legs around for five seconds because Chaeyoung was asleep next door. 

[1:47 am] you haha well I’ll make sure to wear it again for u :)

It’s only after you’ve sent the message that the last two words have you stuffing your face into your pillow to hide your embarrassment. Girl, what the fuck!!!

Oh my god, he could’ve just been friendly and polite this whole time. Jimin had said the skirt looked cute on you as well, and you hadn’t responded like this. All it took was a few compliments from Jungkook to have you dopily acting like a clown for his affections.

Before you can scold yourself anymore, your phone vibrates and you have to sit up to retrieve it from where you’d tossed it across the bed. 

[1:50 am] jk for me? I’m honored :)  [1:51 am] jk anyway get some rest before ur exam!!! [1:51 am] jk night cutie

You squeal, and Chaeyoung kicks your shared wall. 

You liked to clown Seokjin for being the president of his fraternity. He was already a stereotypical frat boy, so it wasn’t that hard anyway; he came from money, was ridiculously gorgeous, and played on your school’s soccer team. However, behind that facade he liked to put up, he, too, was infected by the dumbass disease.

“Wait, are those your legs?” He says the moment you step into his frat party. Normally, he wasn’t prone to the same stupid questions that regularly plagued Taehyung and Jungkook (sometimes Namjoon, but everyone had their weak moments), so you deduce that he probably had some alcohol in his system to openly be asking you such a question. 

“Yes, now give me whatever’s in that cup,” you brush off, not bothering to stick around to watch him not-so-subtly grope Chaeyoung as she enters behind you. You trust him enough to hand you a drink that hasn’t been roofied, but you’re also aware that Jin drinks like he’s trying to die three times over. One sip has your face scrunching up at the sour bitterness of it all. 

There’s a loud cackle of a laugh that you’d recognize anywhere, and you turn to find Jungkook leaning against the staircase banister looking like a wet dream. “Someone lost on their way to Weenie Hut Jr?” he sneers, cheeks a nice rosy color. You flick his forehead. 

You don’t bother gracing him with a reply, instead shuffling over so you’re stood side by side observing the party before you. Yoongi’s here, which is an even weirder sight than your legs being out, so you wonder why no one is talking about that. But then you see the way he’s trailing after Seokjin’s cat, Jalapeño, and realize he’s only here to make sure no one hurts her (she’s more important than anyone else here). You honor his service with another sip of Jin’s whatever the fuck mix. 

“Wow, getting braver every day, huh?” Jungkook teases after giving you a very intense once over. He’s referring to the skirt you’re wearing, a little black circle skirt that flows around you like the first one you’d worn a couple months ago. Call it a tribute to the one that started it all. You’ve definitely experimented with lengths a little more, the one you’re wearing now brushing just barely below your ass. Appropriate for the frat party, but definitely not for your theology elective. 

You hum, stepping aside as a couple makes their way up the stairs. You’re tempted to go tattle on them to Seokjin, but decide against it when you feel Jungkook’s fingers brush against your thigh. 

He grins at the surprised little gasp you let out. “Pretty,” he chuckles, deep and seductive in a way you’ve never seen before. You were used to giggly Jungkook, and Jungkook who laughs like the stepmom from Cinderella, but you’d never seen this one before, the Jungkook who looked and laughed like he was straight out of a Calvin Klein campaign. 

You giggle like a teenager at his compliment, unsure of what else to do so you settle on chugging Jin’s death drink. You only get a good three gulps in before Jungkook’s tugging the plastic cup away from you and setting it down on the nearest flat surface. “Don’t get all drunk on me now,” he jokes, eyes the teensiest bit glassy. He doesn’t look drunk, and he’s certainly not acting drunk. He might be a little tipsy, you think, because a completely sober Jungkook would never have the balls to tug you closer by the waist like this one does.  

Your hands fall flat on his chest, warm beneath the material of his shirt. Not one of his super baggy ones today, but still a bit loose where it could hug his build. “What happened to the little red one? You said you’d wear it for me…” he questions, lips playfully pushing out into a pout. 

You struggle to meet his gaze, focusing on the mole beneath his lip instead. “I, um, haven’t got around to washing it,” you stutter, absentmindedly shifting your weight from side to side. 

“Really?” Jungkook presses, sounding like he doesn’t believe you at all. After a moment in which he ducks down to catch your gaze, he seems to accept. “That’s fine. This one’s cuter anyway.” 

His words are emphasized by his fingers, tracing along the edge of your skirt while purposefully making sure to graze your skin. You shiver, unconsciously arching your chest into him. It’s only afterwards that you realize when Jungkook smirks in triumph. “Easy access too,” he murmurs, and your heart leaps in your chest. 

“Jeon,” you whisper, hyper aware of all the people in this house right now. You’re standing at a point where everyone walks by, and the idea of Jungkook groping you in front of these people, some of which are friends, seems horrifying. “People can see.” 

Jungkook’s Cheshire smile grows even wider, and you muffle a yelp when his hand slips beneath your skirt to grope your ass. “Since when were you shy?” He says, voice soft and lilting over the hum of whatever music is playing now. “Weren’t shy when you had your ass in the air that one day in your room.” 

Your cheeks burn at the memory, but your core surges with a newfound heat at his wandering hands and teasing words. “Remember?” 

You nod, tucking your head against his neck in a last ditch effort to hide your embarrassment. From here, your senses are bombarded with Jungkook and only Jungkook. 

You feel him let out a long sigh. “Been thinking about you since,” he admits. “Nah, even before that. When you wore my shirt that one day after our balloon fight in the west quad.” 

Your heart thunders at his sudden confession. The balloon fight in question had been a little over a year ago, a rallying effort from your friend group to cheer Taehyung up after an exam. After soaking each other to the bone with water guns and balloons, Jungkook had let you wear one of his stupidly big shirts home. So you’d ditched your usual jeans and shirt, wearing his shirt like a dress all the way home. 

The fact Jungkook’s been thinking about you since then makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter. 

“Every time you wear these little skirts, I think of that day. You, in my clothes, looking so soft and warm. Fuck, baby, you don’t know what you do to me.” 

You glance around, and your soul almost leaves your body when you make direct eye contact with Yoongi holding Jalapeño across the room. He gives you that Yoongi look, the whatever you’re doing is weird but I won’t say anything because I don’t care look, and that’s your signal to stumble your way upstairs before Seokjin can see you two and scold you. 

You’re not sure who’s room you end up, just that it has one and a half bunk beds in it, so you don’t hesitate to push Jungkook down onto the half. He plops down like a little cherub, all sweet smiles until you see the way his pants strain at the crotch. Of fuck, this is happening, you think as you climb onto his lap. 

His lips envelope yours the second you’re in his arms. You’re not usually one to give into those John Green cliches, but everything about being in Jungkook’s embrace feels so right. Like you belong there, or whatever. 

He’s a good ass kisser, but you shouldn’t be surprised. Jungkook was good at everything he did—such was a known fact. But he still kisses you like he’s trying to prove something, like he wants you to melt into him, and he succeeds. His mouth moves against yours, tongue sneaking it’s way past your lips until it’s inside yours, and you’re swapping spit. His breath hot, but you imagine yours is as well because just making out with Jungkook has your body temperature hotter than the inside of a sauna. 

“Jungkook,” you groan when he pulls away, desperate to feel his mouth on yours again. He smiles, lips slick and cherried as he drops his hands to your waist. 

“‘M right here,” he assures you, pressing a few pecks to your mouth before trailing his lips down your neck, deliciously licking and kissing every inch. You let out a choked moan, and you can feel his smile press against your skin. “Cute,” he croons. 

“More,” you beg, fingers curling themselves into his hair. It’s gonna way longer these last few months, the front pieces almost brushing the tip of his nose. He looks sexy as fuck. 

“At least let me stretch you out first,” he teases, face too cute for someone about to fuck your brains out. You huff in annoyance, snatching his hand away from its path to your panties. 

“No,” you whine, and then shuffle forward to grind your center onto him. Jungkook groans, jaw tight as he watches you. “Just fuck me, Jungkook.” 

His eyes roll back at a particular roll of your hips. “I-It’ll hurt, though,” he tries to reason, but his hands are already hiking up the back of your skirt. 

“Make it hurt,” you mumble, so caught up in the moment that your eyes bulge out when he suddenly lifts you to your feet. “What’s wrong?” You huff in dismay, lower lip trembling at the thought of him changing his mind. He lets out an airy chuckle. 

“Turn around for me, doll,” he softly demands, and not a single inch of you feels the need to go against him. 

You’re met with the sight of your own expression, staring back at you from the closet’s mirrored sliding doors. It’s a little dark in the room, most of the light coming from a desk lamp on the other side of the room that had been on when you first broke in with Jungkook. 

“So pretty,” Jungkook praises from behind you, and you watch in the glass as two firm hands snake around your waist, slowly easing you back into his lap. In the seconds you were distracted by yourself, he’d unbuckled the front of his jeans, the cotton fabric of his boxers brushing against your ass. “Gonna fuck yourself on my cock, baby?” 

You nod, unsure of what to do with your hands. You needn’t worry any longer, your body naturally guiding you through the motions, until one hand grabs his thigh and the other grapples for the bedside drawer next to you. His fingers trace around your waist, hiking your skirt up to—only to reveal a pair of white undies with red hearts. Jungkook’s chuckle against your ear makes you clench your legs together. “Fuck, it’s like you knew this would happen,” he murmurs, and you can’t take your eyes off the mirror as you watch his fingers trace over your covered mound. “Did you?” He asks, breath fanning over your ear. 

“N-no,” you gasp, hips jumping when he presses a lone finger to where your clit would be had your girly panties not obstructed the way. You’re embarrassingly wet just from kissing Jungkook, and his playful fingers only worsen your state. “Please hurry, Kook,” you plead, grinding back against his engorged cock. 

“You sure?” He checks, and your bobble head nods have him muffling more laughter into your shoulder. “If you say so, baby.” 

He lifts you up just the slightest bit to tug his cock out of its confines, and this is the only instance where you wish you weren’t looking at the mirror. His fingers dance along your skin again, tugging your panties to the side. 

Screw it, just do it, you say to yourself before sinking down on his cock in one go. “Oh fuck,” you cry, head lolling back to rest against his shoulder at the sudden intrusion. 

“Holy shit,” he sighs into your hair, one hand circling to the front of your waist, while the other creeps upwards to rub at where he knows your nipple is. If he were to pull your shirt and bra away, he’d see how rock hard your nipples were right now. “Relax for me, doll, I promise it’ll feel better if you relax.” 

You nod, eyes squeezed shut as your body slowly assimilated to the feeling of being stuffed full. God, he felt good inside you. Fit every crevice of you pussy like he was made for you. “Jungkook,” you moan, and he hums in response. “You feel so f-fuckin good,” you babble, swiveling your hips much to both your pleasures. “Can feel you everywhere.” 

He presses a kiss to your scalp. “Can you move for me, baby?” He questions, dropping his hands to your waist before slowly pushing you up so you’re not flopped against him like a rag doll. “Wanna see you bounce on my cock. You can do that for me, can’t you?” 

You nod eagerly, desperate to show Jungkook how good you ride dick. You muster up the strength to sit up, one hand right around his thigh again, but this time the other one clamps down over his hand on your waist. “Good girl,” Jungkook praises, giving your hips a tight squeeze. 

It’s like you thrive off Jungkook’s compliments, because soon enough you’re riding him like your life depends on it. 

It’s a rhythm of pushing yourself over and over, thighs tense from the effort it takes to pull yourself away from his cock until only his tip breaches you, before dropping back down. You can’t entirely take the credit, because Jungkook’s arms are there, lifting you up before pushing you back down. Truthfully, he’s probably still doing most of the work in fucking you with the way you see his arms flexing in the mirror. 

“Lemme hear you, doll,” Jungkook huffs, and you don’t hesitate to moan for him. It feels overwhelmingly good, his hands tight on your waist as they move you up and down, the material of your skirt bunched up between his fingers. What you’d give to feel them inside you some day, a day in which you’re not dying to feel his cock inside of you. “That’s it,” he grunts, and doesn’t even complain when your legs begin slowing down. 

He picks up the slack for you, thrusting his hips up into you like you’re just some toy for him to use and discard. But the soft praises slipping past his lips assure you you are anything but. “F-fuck,” you whine, forcing yourself above and beyond as you begin to feel that familiar coil of heat grow tighter in your abdomen. “Your cock’s s-so f-fucking big!” You cry, and one look at the mirror let’s you know you look as stupid and fucked-out as you sound. 

“Really?” Jungkook smirks, drilling into you like his life depends on it. There’s an embarrassingly growing stain on the front of your panties that you catch sight of in the mirror, and part of you wants to clench your legs shut so he doesn’t see. But it seems to do it for Jungkook, and he starts rambling about that next. “Look at you. Fuck. You’re ruining your cute little panties. Absolutely fucking soaking them with hot wet you are. I get you that wet, doll?” 

You squeal at a particular thrust of his hips, feeling his cock so deep in you that your eyes momentarily go cross eyed. “Yes, yes!” You agree, bouncing yourself with a renewed vigor. 

The answers please Jungkook, and he rolls forward until he’s pressing his tip faintly against your cervix, and your body damn near leaves your soul. “O-oh fuck!” You scream, body turning into jelly as your orgasm has you spurting hot cum into your panties and over his cock. 

“Pretty even when you come,” Jungkook huffs, hips rocking up into yours for a few more minutes until he eventually comes when you roll your hips backwards. “Holy fucking shit,” he moans, finally releasing your skirt from the death grip he had on it. 

You watch it flutter back into place around you, and you almost look like two platonic friends sitting together, but then Jungkook shifts inside you and your body convulses from the oversensitivity. 

“Wait, you and Jeon finally fucked?!” Chaeyoung exclaims halfway through breakfast, which she had so lovingly prepared at three in the afternoon. “When? Is that why you made us get waxed last week?” 

“No!” You flush, shoving another forkful of burnt scrambled eggs into your mouth. “We waxed our coochies before that, but I didn’t know we were gonna fuck.” 

Chaeyoung blinks. She’s stupid pretty even with avacado spread on her cheek. “So do you have like a seventh sense on when to get your kitty trimmed?” 

“What? No,” You scoff. “Seventh? What’s my sixth?”

“Knowing the exact moment Taehyung’s gonna throw up at a party.”

You accept. “Anyway, we just… I don’t know. It was at Seokjin’s third birthday bash last weekend.” She nods like she remembers anything besides sucking face with him all night. “We were talking and then suddenly we were upstairs and...” you trail off, glancing at your fake collection of succulents lining the kitchen window. 

“Was he good?” She interrogates. 

You flop back onto your chair dramatically. “Chae. He was so good,” you whine, and she slaps your arm in enthusiasm. “He made me ride him facing a mirror,” you spill. 

Chaeyoung squeals. “Bitch!! Here I was thinking Jeon Jungkook was the poster boy of vanilla sex,” she pauses. “I mean, still pretty vanilla compared to the time Seokjin stuck it in my—“ 

You gag and she rolls her eyes. “Have you been talking since?” 

This is the part where things get awkward, and Chaeyoung immediately senses as much. “Oh, honey,” she frowns, eyes furrowed in worry. 

“He walked me home,” you mumble, toying with the tablecloth ends. “Kissed me on the doorstep and all, but besides a few texts, I haven’t seen him around,” you lamely finish. It’s been a week. 

“Ugh, men are trash,” she spits, turning in her seat to play with your hair. “I swear if I see him on campus I’ll rock his shit. My older brother used to practice WWE moves on me, I could easily smash him through a table.”

“WWE wrestling is staged, Chae,” you point out. Chaeyoung was about ten thousand times more experienced when it came to men and their behaviors. She’s been played but also has played, so her reaction to you telling her about Jungkook is all you need to hear. 

In all the scenarios you’ve ever had about Jungkook, him randomly ghosting you had never even been a possibility. The Jungkook from your imaginary universes either just dumped you, or awkwardly friendzoned you. But completely disappearing on you? Now that was some John Greene shit. 

You’ve gone long periods of time without seeing him, like your freshman year you saw him one time in March. But even then he’d made sure to keep in contact with you, randomly blowing up your phone with Cup Pong and 8Ball requests. 

He sent you two texts this whole week, and both of them had been to cancel your homework sessions. 

You almost couldn’t believe you were living this life. The men are trash, love isn’t real, heartbreak can possibly cause death life. Forget John Green, your life had taken an unexpected Shakespearean turn. 

“Oh,” you say the moment you step into Taehyung and Jungkook’s apartment, surprised at the fact Jungkook is there despite the fact he, y’know, lives there. In retrospect, you should have seen this coming when Tae had asked you over to help him decorate a poster for Jin’s next game. He’s never been to a single soccer match in his life. “Is Tae here?” You ask, looking every part the stupid bitch. 

Jungkook’s cheeks had flushed the moment he opened the door. “No…” he answers, glances at the shoe rack behind the door as if to make sure. “Were you supposed to meet him?” Well no shit. 

“Uhh, yeah,” you say, and it’s even more awkward than the time he saw your star undies. Granted, now he’s become very familiar with your underwear and what’s hidden beneath it. You would think such an encounter would bring you two closer. “I’ll just come back another time.” 

“Do you wanna come in?” He blurts out before you can even turn away. You flinch at the sudden intensity of his voice, and then both of you are left staring at each other like cringey high schoolers. “I cut some cucumber slices with lime and that one spice you like.” 

“Taíjn?” You confirm, and he nods. “I mean...sure, if it’s not a bother.” 

Usually when you and Jungkook hung out at his place, you’d throw your bag across the room and flop onto the ugly armchair the moment you stepped in. Now, you’re awkwardly hovering by the armrest of the sofa, like this is your first time here. 

Jungkook disappears into the kitchen to, you assume, get the cucumber slices. He comes back empty handed, and with a heavy heart. “I lied. There’s no Tajín,” he confesses, and you rush to tell him it’s okay but he beats you to it. “There’s no cucumber slices either. I just needed to get you inside to talk to you.” 

“You act like I needed to be lured in, Jungkook,” you say, forcing a tight smile on your face. Jungkook visibly deflates at your tone. 

“No, this isn’t right,” he huffs, dramatically throwing himself onto the couch. You jump at the loud groan he releases from his position, which is face stuffed into the cushion. 

“You...okay?” You tentatively ask, clutching your bag even closer to your side. Jungkook shakes his head no against the couch. “Should I call Namjoon over?” 

He sits up so fast you worry he’ll get whiplash. “I have a confession to make,” he informs you, doe eyes wide and serious. 

Your brain processes for a minute before slowly responding. “Okay…”

At your response he jumps to his feet. “This may come as a shock, but I’m not a womanizer.” 

You blink. 

“When have you ever been a womanizer, Jeon?!” You nearly exclaim when you mull over his absurd proclamation. “Are there people who actually think that?” 

“I think that people think that,” he stresses to you, running a hand through his hair. “Look. I don’t mean to brag, but I’m really nice and cool, and sometimes people think that means I’m flirting with them.” Valid point. “But I’m not, because frankly I’m terrible at shooting my shot.”

The fact he’s actually admitted it out loud leaves him devastated, and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Finally, something Jeon Jungkook isn’t good at. 

“What lead you to that conclusion?” You carefully press on. 

“Because,” he sighs, dropping back down onto the couch, except this time he’s sitting like a normal person. You sit beside him, close enough to the edge that you can just spring yourself out the door if need be. 

“There’s this girl I like,” your heart pangs, even though the logical side of you can more or less guess where this is going. You’re stupid, but not that stupid. “She’s amazing, like everything about her makes me like her. God, she’s so cool, like everyone wants to be her friend, even though she sucks at Super Smash Bros., and burns her ear on a straightener at least once a month. But she’s funny and sweet, and makes me wanna join a clown troupe just to hear her laugh. And she looks gorgeous in skirts, and the way she rides dic—“ 

“Alright, that’s enough of that,” you interrupt, glancing at the coffee table decorated with Jungkook’s anatomy books, because you don’t want to look at the big dopey grin on his face as he talks about you and your dick riding abilities. 

Jungkook grins, this much you can tell from your peripheral, before it drops into a frown. “Whole point is, she’s cool as fuck. And I… I think I might love her,” he admits, and you whip around to face him. His cheeks are as red as Taehyung’s current hair dye, which is to say they’re as red as a fire truck. You get th feeling you're mirroring his expression. 

The silence following his confession seems to drag on an eternity, but truthfully, you and Jungkook both have the patience of a soccer mom of three, so he jumps to fill the spaces between you. “And like, I just wanna kiss her and hold her and watch her eat and cuddle her to sleep and hold her hand and buy her gifts, and I think I would die for her?—”

“Okay chill, Romeo,” you scramble to cut off that train of thought. Jungkook’s looking at you like you were the creative director behind Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker and the trailer released two minutes ago. It’s a weird reference but coming from Jungkook, it means a lot. 

You don’t know what to say, but Jungkook beats you to it anyway. “There’s this girl I like,” he repeats, and your heart does nearly implode on itself when he reaches over to clutch your hand in his. Your hands are sweaty and fidgety from his confession, but so are Jungkook’s. “How do I tell her I like her?” 

You gulp, before reaching over to smack at his bicep much to both your surprise. “Jeon Jungkook! How’re you gonna give me the best fucking of my life and then ghost me for a week, because you’re too much of a pussy to tell me you like me!” You almost want to cry, and you almost do when he wraps you in his arms with a delighted, warm laugh rumbling through his whole body. “You suck,” you huff, and sniffle once, and only once. 

“Thank fuck,” he sighs in relief. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you friendzoned me.” 

“The friendzone—“

“—is a made up concept created by men who feel like they’re entitled to women and their feelings, I know,” he huffs and you laugh. You push yourself away from his chest to meet his gaze, stretching up to capture his lips in a sweet kiss that quickly turns naughty when you feel the flex of muscles beneath your hands. 

“Ugh, you beefcake.” 

“I wish,” he snorts, tugging you back into his chest as he flops down onto the couch. You snuggle into him, the position all too comfortable in your skirt. The only reason you’re reminded of it is because Jungkook traces his fingers along the edge of the material. “You asked me why I workout out but hide in big clothes, and the truth is its so I can beat up any meninist douchebag that tries to slander my girl in her thot skirts.” 

You sputter. “My thot skirts—you asshole! All my skirts are of appropriate length,” you defend, pinching his side and winning a giggle for your efforts. “That doesn’t even explain the baggy clothes part either.” 

“Shh, your thot skirt is tempting me.” 

“He made you dress up as a what now?!” Chaeyoung exclaims, fork clattering loudly against her plate as everyone in the diner turns to look at you two. You try desperately to quiet her, but the damage is done and even the server whose long since become familiar with your antics looks disgusted. 

“Oh my god,” Chaeyoung sighs, her concern on everything but this public humiliation. “I knew it. I told you he got along too well with Jalapeño, remember?” 

[ NOW WITH A DRABBLE WOW!!! ]

#kpopwonderlandtag #thekpopnetwork #jjk♡ #jungkook smut #jjk smut #jeongguk smut #bts smut #jeon jeongguk #mine

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Pairings: None

Word Count: 1,945 Words

Summary: Five worried members of class 1-B and a day off for the hero courses.

Warnings: Cursing, Injury Mention, Caps, Death Mention, Broken Bone Mention, Panic Attack Mention, Abuse Mention, Disownment Mention, Blood Mention, let me know if I should tag anything else.

Usernames: Existence Is A Prison  Aizawa: feral cat dad, Aoyama: gay salt, Hagakure: ranch flavored jello, Tokoyami: foil-mecha, Shinsou: farmer toshi, Kuroiro: life is a nightmare, Shiozaki: saviour, Tsunotori: schrodinger better run, Honenuki: pure, Monoma: nat20

Aizawa, We Agreed No More Cats: Chapter 4

2:55 PM

Existence Is A Prison

nat20: @feral cat dad @gay salt @farmer toshi @foil-mecha @ranch flavored jello

nat20: Are you guys okay? There was an announcement for all available staff to come to the USJ asap. Isn't that where you are?

nat20: Guys?

nat20: I get that y'all are training but can one of you answer? I'm getting worried.

nat20: Akemi, sis, you better fucking answer me.

3:00 PM

Existence Is A Prison

nat20: Akemi, this is breaking law three of being half-siblings. Getcha ass in the chat and fucking respond to me or I'm taking a protective quirk and coming down there myself.

saviour: You will do no such thing. Clearly it's dangerous since the announcement was directed toward all available teachers. That doesn't sound normal to me, even if someone had been just injured. Seiko, it's best to try to make things decently safe for their return instead of hound a response.

life is a nightmare: Six different news sources say that three unidentified people were admitted to a hospital nearby UA, said to have been transported from the USJ, which was attacked this morning by an unidentified villain, the attack being resolved by UA's pro hero staff members only ten minutes ago. Two more people were injured and are supposedly in Recovery Girl's office.

nat20: AKEMI @gay salt

gay salt is now online

ranch flavored jello is now online

foil-mecha is now online

gay salt: I'm back, Seiko. I'm fine. Almost everyone is fine.

nat20: Five people are hurt!

ranch flavored jello: Yeah, all three pros were hurt.

nat20: Which students got hurt!?

foil-mecha: I think you already know what you're suspecting, Seiko.

nat20: No. No, he's not dead. If Shinsou's dead, I'll personally bring him back to life to scream at him. My little brother isn't dying dammit.

gay salt: Not dead, mon dieu. Shinsou is severely injured but he isn't dead.

nat20: Who else is hurt? That green kid again?

ranch flavored jello: Yeah, Midoriya's hurt again. To be fair, he wasn't thinking about how he was using his quirk, just that he was using it period.

foil-mecha: Hold on, they're calling on Aizawa and Shinsou's condition, I'll do a video chat with you guys.

foil-mecha has started a video chat

The bones in his arms are splintered and he's got facial fracturing. Fortunately there doesn't seem to be any serious brain damage. But his orbital floor has been almost completely destroyed. We have no way of knowing if his eyesight will be impaired or not once he's healed. -Unknown

Well, you heard the man. -Unknown

Sir, what about Thirteen? -Unknown

No need to worry there, despite some pretty bad lacerations to the back, Thirteen is gonna pull through good as new. And AllMight is also without any serious injuries. He's in the nurse's office right now. Recovery Girl's power should be all that he needs.-Unknown

What about Deku!? -Unknown

How's Midoriya? -Unknown

Midoriya? Oh, Recovery Girl was taking care of him too. He's fine.-Unknown

How is Shinsou!? -nat20

Who was that? -Unknown

My half-sibling, we both live in the dorms with Shinsou and Aizawa. They're worried about them. So is the rest of the class 1-B students that live in the dorms with us. -gay salt

Shinsou has a mild concussion, a severe bruised nasal bone, and his jawbone was fractured so he needs to have his jaw wired shut for a bit until he's back to being strong enough for Recovery Girl to heal him. He should be better in about a week or two.-Unknown

What the fuck happened to him that he got that badly hurt? -life is a nightmare

During the villain attack, Shinsou decided to fight alongside Mr. Aizawa. against the villains and this big monster thing was hurting Mr. Aizawa and this creepy guy was about to hurt Asui, Mineta, and Midoriya. -ranch flavored jello

Call me Tsu. -Unknown

Tsu, Mineta, and Midoriya. But Shinsou got the creepy guy to respond to him with the mist guy's voice and he brainwashed him. Then the monster hit his face into the ground really hard. But he covered Mr. Aizawa with his own body and got his face hit down again. -ranch flavored jello

Shinsou was really out of it, ribbit. He was calling Mr. Aizawa his dad.-Unknown

Tsu, Mr. Aizawa legally adopted Shinsou as of 8 o'clock this morning. -ranch flavored jello

I'm gonna hang up, we're all gonna head back. I'll visit you Seiko. -gay salt

You better. -nat20

gay salt has ended the video chat

2:40 AM

Existence Is A Prison

farmer toshi is now online

farmer toshi: WHY CANT I TALK WHATS HAPPENING WHERE AM I

life is a nightmare: Shit, I'll shadow over, hold on, Shinsou.

2:50 AM

Existence Is A Prison

life is a nightmare: shinsousleepingagainsther.jpg

life is a nightmare: Guess I'm claiming he's my boyfriend when they ask why I'm here because I can't even shadow out right now without waking him up.

gay salt: rip to you, Kageya, but me and Seiko need our beauty sleep.

nat20: so go to sleep, Kageya, you need to sleep.

2:16 PM

Existence Is A Prison

saviour: I'm pre-making some easy meals since they both have facial damage and need softer foods.

farmer toshi: What are you making?

saviour: Well, I have Seiko working on frozen smoothie bags. Kiyomi is helping precook some vegetables and stuff that can be blended down to baby food consistency. Pony's really good at making homemade juice so she's making you juice with lots of protein and stuff so you don't loose too much weight and set your progress back.

ranch flavored jello: Me, Akemi, and Fumikage are making soft food for you both once Toshi gets his wires off. We've been making a lot of soup. We may have gone overboard.

ranch flavored jello: So far we have chicken soup, broccoli and cheese, potato soup, split pea soup, egg drop soup, cheese soup, soft curry, corn chowder, turkey rice soup, ham chowder, cheeseburger soup, creamy meatball soup, chicken cordon bleu soup, chicken pot pie soup, and and miso soup.

farmer toshi: You guys are so sweet. Thank you so much. I wish I could hug you guys right now but they want me in the hospital today for observation.

gay salt: I expect a hug when you come home.

feral cat dad is now online

nat20: DAD'S BACK!

feral cat dad: Hello, dorm children. This is Mr. Yamada, Mr. Aizawa told me to tell you all thank you for making him and Hitoshi food for when they come back on Friday.

pure: It was nothing! We want to help them get better as fast as possible and, to do that, we need to keep them healthy!

feral cat dad: I'll add myself so Shouta can have his phone back.

feral cat dad has added Yamada

farmer toshi has changed Yamada's name to President Megaphone

nat20: Wow, you don't waste a second, do you?

farmer toshi: I didn't when I was attacking villains in the USJ.

schrodinger better run: What happened in there, by the way? My phone went missing yesterday and the day before and I finally found it last night.

farmer toshi: Well, you see, some wannabe criminals calling themselves the League of Villains teleported themselves into the USJ just before we were about to start training and our communal father figure was about to go fight them and all my instinct just told me to follow him so I did.

President Megaphone: Kid, you really don't have to tell them just because you live with them.

farmer toshi: These are basically my adopted siblings, Mr. Yamada. Of course I want to tell them.

farmer toshi: Anyway, so I was fighting thugs and Dad had already gotten to this "Shigaraki" dude who was like their leader or whatever and the fucker decayed his right elbow and I was trying hard to get to him but the fucking cronies wouldn't let me by them.

farmer toshi: Then this huge fucking monster grabbed Dad and hit him into the ground and broke his arms. That thing couldn't be human, it's brain was out and it was like 9 feet tall.

farmer toshi: That Shigaraki fucker spoke to me. I can't even remember what about, but he was mocking me, I can tell. But the teleporter told him they needed to leave because Iida had made it out by that point.

farmer toshi: So this fucker tries to decay either Midoriya, Asui, or Mineta to "break AllMight". But I used the teleporter's voice to brainwash him and that monster hit my head into the ground like he did with Dad for brainwashing its friend.

farmer toshi: I knew Dad was out because the thing had hit his head into the ground again and knocked him out and that thing would try to hurt him again if I didn't do something. So I put myself on top of him because I couldn't lose a Dad I just finally got. But the monster hit my head down again.

farmer toshi: I had finally managed to get up to get me and Dad out of there when AllMight showed up. AllMight put us on a stair landing and I had to get up the rest of the way. Another villain tried to get us while I was getting him up there to get out but I just stabbed her and pushed her down the stairs.

farmer toshi: Mind you, I was running on adrenaline this whole time. So, when the UA teachers came in, I was pretty numb emotionally because I was basically out of steam but I wanted to get Dad out of there so I kept going until Sero and Uraraka helped me up the rest of the stairs while the teachers got there.

farmer toshi: I'm pretty sure Snipe is who caught me but then I just passed out and woke up in the hospital not being able to speak and had a panic attack.

feral cat dad: I've figured out speech to text and I appreciate what you did for me, Hitoshi, but I was worried about you when that thing had me. I don't want you dying to protect me.

farmer toshi: Trust me, I don't plan to nearly die again. The headache was killer and I'd rather never experience that again.

feral cat dad: Good. Now, make sure you rest, kids.

2:15 AM

private chat with Bakugou and Yamada

Bakugou: Look, I know it's late, but my mother kicked me out and she's disowned me because she now wants me to drop from UA and I won't do it. I need somewhere to stay and I know Aoyama and them were talking about dorms yesterday after the USJ incident.

Yamada: It doesn't matter if it's ideal. Head to the school, I'll come get you inside and we'll go for your stuff from your parents' house tomorrow after school and I'm putting a rush order for emergency UA protection for your custody right now.

Bakugou: I think I need Recovery Girl, she got my arms pretty bad. I'm losing blood like crazy and I can barely grab things to keep going but my leg is sprained so I need help moving.

Yamada: We can worry about healing injuries once you're here. Until then, just be safe and get here as fast as you can. If you can't make it here, then I'll come get you.

Yamada: Just keep responding, little listener. How bad are your injuries?

Bakugou: bloodyleftarm.jpg

Bakugou: bloodyrightarm.jpg

Bakugou: sprainedknee.jpg

Bakugou has sent their location

Yamada: Fuck.

Taglist: @everythingisstardust 

#mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #monoma neito #ibara shiozaki #kuroiro shihai #aoyama yuuga #hagakure tooru #fumikage tokoyami #shinsou hitoshi #yamada hizashi #aizawa shouta #katsuki bakugou #snoweywrites #aizawa we agreed no more cats au #tw cursing #tw injury mention #tw caps #tw death mention #tw broken bone mention #tw panic attack mention #tw abuse mention #tw disownment mention #tw blood mention #i told you i'd post it twice this week

[profoundnet]

PROFOUND MEMBER MASTERPOST FOR NOVEMBER 2020!

Featuring Destiel/Gen works by jscribbles, Jeanne_de_Valois, tiamatv, LeafZelindor, prosopopeya, DragonSgotenks, sketching-fox, kittimau, castielslostwings, FriendofCarlotta, universalsatan, Idjit_01, Destielshipper4Cas, purple_charlie, Maleyah, noeizumispn, kitmistry, TheSongSmith, one_more_offbeat_anthem, interstitial, JusithAndronicus, ArielAquarial, queer-things-do-happen-dean, goldenraeofsun, andimeantittosting, and starprincecas.

Join us on Discord!

Masterpost below the cut.

jscribbles - jscribbles

I’ll Go With You (G, 4.7k)

A coda to 15x18 "Despair".

He hadn't said anything. He hadn't said anything when he'd been given the chance.

Tags: 15.20, reunion, grief, love confession

We Are Real (M, 2.4k)

Smutty sequel to I'll Go With You.

Dean hadn't kissed him yet.

But they were alone now, and free.

Tags: 15.18, smut

404 Error (G, 500 words)

How hablo espaniol?!!

I DON'T KNOW. Neither does Dean.

Tags: spoilers for 15.18, based on spanish dub, crack fic

The Weight of Silence (E, 26k)

The weight of silence is heavy on Dean's shoulders as he learns to live a new kind of life in Heaven. In classic Winchester-style, despite being in a place that isn't supposed to have pain and suffering, Dean rebels against it by being straight-up fucking miserable.

Tags: depression, mentions of john winchesters garbage parenting, canon compliant, 15.20 fix it coda, happy ending, smut, romance, love confessions

~

Jeanne_de_Valois - Jeanne_de_Valois

Free Bird (G, 1.7k)

Heaven is an open road and not having to pay for gas.

Heaven is a greasy sandwich and a novelty-sized candy bar.

Heaven is awkward, shuffling, confusing.

Heaven is getting to say what you wished you said, a lifetime ago.

(A Coda to Supernatural 15.20- Carry On)

Tags: Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Requited Love

~

tiamatv - tiamatv

Stone and Flesh (E, 6k)

Dean didn’t think, even in his filthiest imaginings, that Cas would sound like this in bed—loud, eager, easy with it. He doesn’t give a fuck who hears him enjoying himself. Though maybe Dean should have known. It’s not like Cas has ever once held back on anything he ever wanted to say or do—

Didn’t he?

(Not quite an episode coda for S15e18 per se, but more a "what comes after.")

Tags: AU - canon divergence; Post-Episode S15e18: Despair; Canonical Character Death; Selectively Mute Dean Winchester; Hopeful Ending

Domestic (T, 5.6k)

A little less than a year after the world doesn’t end, he and Cas get married.

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence; Future Fic; Tooth-Rotting Fluff; Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker; Kid Fic

Bight (E, 2.5k)

“Do you want more?” Cas asked, against Dean’s thigh. His thumb strummed gently at the soft, folded-up pocket behind Dean’s bound knee.

It tickled, but… didn’t.

Dean didn’t know what the answer to that was.

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence; Rope Bondage; Gentle Dom Castiel; Sub Dean Winchester; Praise Kink

~

LeafZealindor - @leafzelindor

Artwork for “break to let the light in” DCBB2020 (SFW)

Artwork draw for the DCBB2020 fic "break to let the light in"

Tags: fluff, touching, intimacy. Accompanied by fic by PeppermiintsPlease.

~

prosopopeya - prosopopeya

Like Real People Do (G, 4.9k)

Castiel experienced a moment of pure happiness, expecting it to be his last. 

It wasn't.

Tags: Post-15x18, canon divergence, first kiss, angst with a happy ending, first kiss

Under the Same Sun (E, 14k)

In which time is infinite, and so is the list of people willing to help Dean figure out what to do about Cas. 

A fix-it for a lot of things: Dean's repressed bisexuality, Dean's utterly inexplicable failure to realize what Cas meant, the Charlie & Dean brother/sister content I crave, among others.

Tags: Internalized biphobia, Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester, angst with a happy ending, post-series, Heaven fic

~

DragonSgotenks - DragonSgotenks

Say Cheese (E, 50k)

Dean Winchester is thirty, flirty, and thriving, or at least that's how his best friend Charlie describes him. Either way Dean feels pretty good about his life. He has a decent job, a nice house, and a great group of friends and family. Sure his brother's been living hundreds of miles away to attend law school and an internship, and yeah maybe he wasn't working his dream job, and so, okay, he spent most nights zoning out in front of the tv alone but that was fine. Dean was fine. Until he gets a call about a daughter he didn't know existed and suddenly Dean's quiet (boring) life is turned upside down.

Castiel Novak is a photographer whose passion lies in capturing the beauty of nature. However to pay the bills he works part time at the mall doing portrait photography. Sure it might not be as artistic as he'd like and his odd hours make for a dull social life but he's still doing what he loves. He especially enjoys doing the kids photos and over the last couple of years he's built a bit of a reputation for always getting the shot no matter how unruly or stubborn a child might be. So when a handsome father brings in his grumpy little girl for pictures Castiel thinks it will be just another photo shoot.

He's wrong.

Tags: Destiel, Single parent Dean, kidfic, bottom Dean/top Castiel, mentions of childhood trauma, eventual smut, past Lydia/Dean

~

sketching-fox - @sketching-fox

Dean Winchester Monster Fucker (NSFW)

Arts done for Dean Cas Big Bang in my partnership with LoversAntiquities.

Tags: alleyway, impala, mature content. Accompanied by fic by LoversAntiquities.

~

kittimau - @kmauspn - kittimau

Beg Pretty For Me (E, 5k)

“Cas…” His eyes flutter closed, mind slipping into the warm, pleasant haze of that special place, the one that allows him release, relief. Peace. Heart pounding in his chest, he fights the temptation to touch himself through the delicate material because Cas hasn’t told him to yet and he wants to be good.

“I want to hear you say it, Dean.”

“Fuck…” He swallows thickly. “Yeah. I- I feel beautiful.”

Tags: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Phone Sex, Light Dom/Sub, Dean Winchester Wears Panties, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Masturbation, Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester

~

castielslostwings - @castielslostwings - Castielslostwings

Loud (G, 4.3k)

Minutes, hours, days, years might have already passed—time is different here, and Castiel has no way of tracking it, and still the Shadow doesn’t come. 

Castiel sits, he stands, he walks and walks and walks and walks. All he ever discovers is more darkness, more nothing.

Tags: 15.19 coda, alternate 15.20, canon fix-it, carry on fix-it, canon-compliant, love confessions, the empty, coda fic, the profound bond

Carry On (E, 8k)

“I think I’ll go for a drive.”

This is what happened between that moment, and Dean meeting Sam on that bridge.

(A 15x20 missing scene/fix-it fic).

Tags: 15x20 fix-it, Carry On coda, love confessions, castiel and dean are in love, first kiss, first time, reunions, Heaven improved, dean gets the funeral he deserves, missing scene

~

FriendofCarlotta - @friendofcarlotta - FriendofCarlotta

The Novel (E, 4.5k)

Dean, Cas, Sam and Eileen are happily retired and living their best lives. There's just one problem: Sam has decided to commemorate the Winchester brothers' adventures by writing a novel, and it's not very good at all.

AKA the episode coda where 15x20 was nothing more than Dean reading a draft of his brother's first novel and becoming increasingly appalled.

Tags: Coda, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Technically Canon-Compliant, First Kiss, Top Cas/Bottom Dean

~

universalsatan - @universalsatan - UniversalSatan

Mortal One, With The Sun in His Hands (E, 135k)

Cowhand Dean Winchester is notorious for risky gambles, rightfully proud of his horse Impala (who has the prettiest speckle in the West), and is stubbornly certain that his life is in apple-pie order. His comfortable existence crumbles apart when he's saved from a fire-and-brimstone death by a mysterious wanderer he discovers to be the infamous White Bandit, mythical Angel of the Desert. While his savior is as fearsome as the legends say, Dean can't help but draw closer to the quiet and endearing man the real Bandit turns out to be... even if he doesn't yet realize they're the same person. This time, Dean may have to reach out to the flame instead of recoil.

Tags: Western, Historical Fantasy, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Cowboys, Plot-Heavy, Hurt/Comfort, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings Graphic Depictions of Violence, Explicit Sexual Content (Censored Version Available). Accompanied by art by Artmetica.

~

Idjit_01 - Idjit_01

I’m not gonna say that I’d change it cause you and I know that we can’t (T, 1.3k)

After Lisa's goodbye speech to Dean in 6x14, Dean gets drunk and calls Cas.

Tags: Episode: s06e14 Mannequin 3: The Reckoning, Alcohol abuse/Alcoholism, Canon Divergence, Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt No comfort, yes both

game over (try again, please) (G, 887 words)

After Case and everyone else's departure in 15x18 Sam and Dean sit and talk. (And yes they discuss Cas's confession)

Tags: Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Suicidal Thoughts, Canonical Character Death, Good Sibling Sam Winchester

There’s blood on your face. (Beer and Nightmares) (G, 1.4k)

Dean wakes up pretty badly shaken from a nightmare. He struggles with it. He goes to the kitchen for a beer, but Cas and Sam are there. In the end, thanks to Cas's shenanigans, he doesn't even remember the nightmare.

Tags: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Teasing, Touch-Starved Dean Winchester, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester Is So Done

Help(less) (T, 1.9k)

Everyone Chuck took away is back and are doing normal life again. As there are no monsters and everyone around him has someone else, Dean's on his own and feels awful. So he drives away and makes several questionable choices. Featuring: Dean, a missing angel, a moose, Baby and a frankly abused forest

Tags: Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Grief/Mourning, Vomiting, Eating Disorders, Suicidal Attempt, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death

~

Destielshipper4Cas - @destielshipper4cas - Destielshipper4Cas

The Alpha Next Door (E, 36k)

When Cas is placed in WitSec, he gets a fake secondary gender designation to go along with his new name, ‘Jimmy.’ All he has to do until the boss of the omega trafficking ring he escaped is behind bars is keep a low profile, always apply his alpha scent, and not fall in love with an alpha. Well—two out of three ain’t too bad…

Dean has never had a crush on an alpha before. Along comes his new neighbor, Jimmy, an alpha who is alphasexual. There’s just something about him, and to his utter confusion, he finds himself falling for an alpha for the first time in his life.

Tags: Past Rape/Non-con, Strangers to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Omega Verse

~

purple_charlie - purple_charlie

Walk Through Fire for You (T, 2.3k)

Boyfriend.

The word still feels foreign in Dean’s mouth, still brings back echoes of John Winchester’s thinly-veiled (if even that) homophobia. "Man up, don’t be a sissy, I didn’t raise a fairy". It’s a swollen blister in the back of Dean’s mind, throbbing with pain whenever a stranger’s eyes linger too long on Cas’ hand in his, whenever a waitress double-takes at how close they sit in diner booths.

But here, dirty dancing with Cas in a warehouse full of other queer folks, Dean wants to shout from the rooftops- I’m Dean Winchester, I drive the baddest car in town, I lift heavy things for a living, and this is my boyfriend.

Tags: Homophobic parents, homophobic siblings, bisexual Dean, Gay Cas, Pride, marijuana use

~

Maleyah - @maleyah-givemetomorrow - Katherine_Kat

Art for In A State of Perpetual Disrepair (SFW)

Art for my fic, In A State of Perpetual Disrepair, a hurt/comfort A/B/O Destiel fic.

Tags: fanart, A/B/O, hurt/comfort, Alpha!Cas, Omega!Dean

Start of Time (G, 754 words)

Except he never expected to be awake for the aftermath.

You see, he can hear Dean's prayers.

Tags: Castiel POV, Despair, Hope, Coda 15x18, post episode 15x18, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts

We’re Not Gonna Take It (T, 1.4k)

Amara gestures at Dean calmly. “Have you been praying lately by any chance?”

Dean flusters and stammers, hands at his hips to give himself an attitude, while his eyes flick from her to Sam and Jack insecurely. “N… No.”

Tags: Coda 15x19, Post episode 15x19, Fix It, Dean's dirty prayers, Dean Prays to Castiel, Angel Wings, Wings, First Kiss

Drive (M, 1.5k)

Dean's prayers take a turn for the sensual, which drives The Empty to the brink.

Tags: Coda 15x18; post episode 15x18,, Dean Prays to Castiel, Dean's dirty prayers, Angel Wings, Wings, First Kiss, Fix-It, Slight Crack

Now That We’re Dead (M, 2.5k)

“You got everything you could ever want or need or dream. So I guess the question is… What’re you gonna do now, Dean?”

Looking around, he doesn’t know how to answer that question. The obvious is suggested when she turns out to have made it to Heaven too. Dust dances in the air around Baby, shining in the sunlight, tempting him to go for a ride. The endless stretched out road and horizon.

He blinks a few times, slow and owlish.

And right there, his shadow falling long and dark, almost touching Dean’s feet, is Cas.

OR: the one where Cas gets the love he deserves

Tags: 15x20 coda, Fix It, First Kiss, human!Cas, Heaven, Heaven happy ending, Canon divergent from the moment Bobby says "Cas helped", Fix-It

I Wanna Live, Not Just Survive (M, 3.9k)

“Dean Winchester,” Cas drawls. “I did not go to The Empty, so you could get yourself impaled.”

Or: the other one, where Cas and Dean get to be what they deserve.

Tags: coda 15x20, Fix-It, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Earth happy ending, Because let's not bury our gays, First Kiss, Cuddles, Hurt/Comfort

~

noeizumispn - @noeizumispn

Colors (SFW)

Art inspired by Misha's words on Cas' wings

Tags: Rainbow, colors, destiel, wings

~

kitmistry - @kitmistry - Kitmistry

Don’t You Cry No More (T, 4.8k)

There has to be something, he told himself the first night he pulled an all nighter, only to wake up with his cheek smashed against a book, dark circles under his eyes, a throbbing headache, and nowhere closer to the answer than when he started. The light was still on above his head. He didn’t bother turning it off.

Or the one where Dean doesn't die, but he searches for Cas instead. 

Tags: Fix-It, Coda, Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Post-Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending

~

TheSongSmith - TheSongSmith

Four Seasons (G, 754 words)

Cas is the owner of Four Seasons Total Landscaping, and he received a very curious call on a quiet Saturday morning. Dean owns the adult shop next door, and is very confused by what's going on. Good times are had by all, except Donald Trump because fuck that morally-bankrupt tangerine.

Tags: Four Seasons Total Landscaping, Destiel is Canon, 2020 is a dumpster fire so have this fic, twitter made me do it

~

one_more_offbeat_anthem - one_more_offbeat_anthem

So Comes Snow After Fire (G, 11k)

Cas was old, like old-old, like ancient, like here for the beginning of the goddamn cosmos old, like remembers rain being invented old, and he could be anywhere, but instead he was in Dean’s kitchen (well, the bunker’s, but no one else cooked--Jack and Cas were kind of clueless when it came to that stuff, and all Sam made was health food), reading The Hobbit aloud to Dean while Dean himself made them all spaghetti.

(or, they got their win--the biggest win of all--and now autumn is settling in. a nearly-human Cas plants a garden, and Dean helps him along.)

Tags: Post-Canon/Canon-Divergent, Domesticity, Getting together, Fluff and comfort, Gardening Castiel

~

interstitial - interstitial

Thirst Was Made For Water (T, 5.9k)

Cas is hit by a truth spell. The results are unexpected.

And maybe just a tiny bit funny. Unless you're Dean. 

Tags: Dubiously Consensual Courting Behavior, Mildly NSFW Art Included, Profanity, Crack & Fluff, Truth Spells, Animal Transformations, Canon Divergent After s7e17 The Born-Again Identity, Light-Hearted and (Relatively) Wholesome For These Trying Times

~

JudithAndronicus - @judithandronicus - judithandronicus

Up We Go (E, 4.9k)

A coda fic series for 15.18.

Tags: Grieving, Canonical MCD (temporary), Alcoholic Dean, Angst with a Happy Ending

The Kindness of Ravens (E, 7.5k)

Crackfic wherein ravens pooping on Dean lead to feelings realization and eventual smut.

Tags: Fluff, Crack, Feelings Realization, Diners

The Ampersand Chronicles (G, 1.3k)

This is unrepentant canon-adjacent Bunker fluff, set in a universe where everything is kind of the same, except fluffier. Cas lives in the Bunker with Sam and Dean; things like Gadreel and Lucifer aren't a problem; and oh yeah, there's a cat.

Tags: Fluff, Bunker Fic, Kittens

~

ArielAquarial - ArielAquarial

Boyfriend Blues (G, 1k)

“I have a boyfriend!”

It came out of nowhere. One second Dean was shoveling a truly amazing pork roast into his mouth, already planning the meat to mashed potato ratio of his next bite, when Claire opened her mouth and his fork was clattering to the plate. Cas stopped mid-bite to stare at her while Jack, completely oblivious, continued making a Jackson Pollock out of his potatoes and gravy.

Tags: Parenthood, Domestic Fluff, Married Life, Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Kid Claire Novak, Kid Jack Kline

Extra Credit (E, 4.2k)

“Hey, babe. Who has the kids?”

“Mr. Winchester…” Cas rumbled, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. “You’re cutting it close. My office hours are almost over.”

Dean frowned at him, confused. That didn’t even remotely answer his question. What did he—

Oh…

Oh!

Or, the moment Dean has been waiting for has finally arrived.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Husbands, Professor Castiel (Supernatural), Mechanic Dean Winchester, Sexual Roleplay, Teacher/Student Roleplay, Anniversary

Never in a Million Years (G, 2.5k)

If someone had told Cas six years ago that he was going to be a happily married man with two kids, he would have laughed. Now, with Dean by his side, he couldn't imagine things being different, even if the path to get there had been a little rocky.

Tags: Domestic Fluff, Holiday Traditions, Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Backstory, Bickering, Married Life

~

queer-things-do-happen-dean - @queer-things-do-happen-dean - Latter_alice

Tangerine, tangerine (E, 1k)

“So it’s – It’s really nothin’, huh?” Dean swallows and tries to blink away the wetness in his eyes. His gaze don’t weaver from the road. “No, uh, key words ring a bell? Chuck? Angel tablet?” He pauses, flicks his eyes over to Castiel and back. “... Leviathans?"

When Dean pulls Cas out of the Empty, not everything comes back.

Tags: Canon divergent, post series, memory loss

~

goldenraeofsun - @goldenraeofsun - goldenraeofsun

Symmetria (T, 4k)

When all’s said and done with Chuck, Dean takes his time getting used to his new gig as capital D Death. Billie, of course, did not see fit to leave him a training manual. But with his brother-turned-God on his side, and Jack as the new Darkness, they all muddle through.

Finally, all that's left is to rescue Cas from the Empty.

Tags: 15x18 fix-it, alternate post-series AU, Death!Dean, God!Sam, Darkness!Jack, love confessions, first kiss, minor Sam/Eileen

~

andimeantittosting - @andimeantittosting - andimeantittosting

We Are (M, 699)

15x18 coda. When they get Cas back, because they do, because somehow, someway, sometimes good things do happen, Dean... 

Tags: Reunion, Resurrected Castiel, Requited Love, Happy Ending

Carrying On (G, 794 words)

15x20 coda. Dean dies and goes to heaven. But then he wakes up.

Tags: Fix-it Fic, Djinn, Happy Ending on Earth

Two Inches to the Left (T, 2.5k)

15x20 coda. Something tells Dean to stop by that bridge, so he does. The last thing he's expecting is for a pair of Vespas to pull up and Becky Rosen to tell him that he's still in Chuck's story. Finally, it's time to write his own.

Tags: Fix-it Fic, Temporary Character Death, Happy Ending on Earth, Fangirls Save the Day

~

starprincecas - @starprincecas - cuddlesandcas

so it goes (T, 1.4k)

The Empty comes to collect.

Tags: Major Character Death, Episode Tag: s15e18 Despair, Angst

no more waiting on tomorrow (T, 739 words)

For all that they’ve finally won once and for all, the victory feels hollow.

Tags: Episode Tag: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Fix-It Fic

#dean winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #spn #profound monthly masterpost #profoundnet #november masterpost #member fic #member art

[purplesurveys]

1275

When you were younger, did your mother or father ever let you open a few presents before Christmas or your birthday even arrived?  We open all our presents the night of Christmas Eve to begin with; but no, they don’t tease by letting us open a few of them before our usual schedule.

If you could receive a 100 dollar gift card for either blouses, pants, dresses, shoes or purses, which would you chose?  If I could change blouses to shirts, then I would go with that because I’ve recently gotten into t-shirts and sweatshirts and no longer the trendy and preppy tops I used to like haha. But if not, I would go for shoes.

What is your favorite thing to do after crying? Ex: Sleep, listen to music, have some alone time, talk to someone, etc?  It varies as it depends on how much I cried. The harder I cried the more I’d want to sleep it off, because it can actually get pretty exhausting. Sometimes I’ll reach out, sometimes I write. It’s really different every time, but at the end I’m just glad I can no longer even remember the last time I cried out of sadness.

Do you think Trump will be assassinated, or will he survive his term?  Well we know the answer to this. It’s satisfying to notice him disappear off the face of the Earth immediately after his term, though. I don’t have a clue what he’s up to now.

Last time you felt suicidal?  For some reason I felt down last Thursday and I felt the slightest, slightest tinge of suicidal thoughts. No idea where it came from.

Last time you had butterflies?  Ugh idk but it was probably BTS-related hahahahahahah

Biggest asshole you know?  Certain politicians.

Did you ever leave someone because you know you’d hurt them?  No, I was on the opposite side of the coin for this one. I was broken up with because they believed they would hurt me, if not already doing so.

What song did you last listen to?  Hip Hop Phile by BTS.

Ever ridden in a police car?  Nopes.

Ever witnessed a murder?  Hmm, not that I can recall. I do remember having to monitor crime stories for one of my very first journalism assignments and the one time I didn’t tag along to the fieldwork with my classmates, they got to witness a stabbing incident :/ By itself of course it always sucks to have violent situations like those, but as a reporter it would’ve been interesting to see the scene and its aftermath.

Have you ever lied under oath?  I don’t think so, no. I can’t even remember the last time I was put under oath.

Have you ever failed a subject before? I’ve failed exams but never an entire class.

Have you ever had a deadly animal as a pet?  No.

Have you ever kissed someone of the same gender?  Well yeah, I dated one.

Have you ever been in a hot tub before?  Sure.

Have you ever been to a movie that sold out?  I’ve never experienced trying to buy tickets only to find out they’re all sold out, but that’s also probably because we have hundreds of malls in Manila alone and you can always find a theatre that are still offering tickets.

What movie last made you too scared to go to sleep?  I’m not usually that way with horror movies, but I do remember running into a jumpscare on TikTok while I was scrolling at 3 AM. Not fun.

When you’re on a laptop, do you hook up a mouse or use the touchpad?  Touchpad. I never use a mouse.

What’s your mom’s mom’s name?  Agnes.

Would it be hard seeing someone else kiss the person you like?  I’m not interested in anyone so this shouldn’t be a problem.

Have you ever been tempted to steal?  Sure, but the urge is never so strong.

What is the main character’s name in the book you’re reading? I’m not reading anything.

Do you have a favorite local band? Who are they? Nah. I did have a Ben&Ben phase, though I haven’t revisited their music in a long time.

Who’s the last person you saw naked, aside from yourself?  I’m not sure about completely naked, probably still my ex. As for partially naked, my dad sometimes goes shirtless at home as most Filipino dads do lol.

Who’s your favorite horror monster/killer?  The most iconic for me would be that porcupine looking ass from Resident Evil 4, I believe it was meant to be for one of the boss stages or something. Anyway, it’s memorable for me just because that fucker had been impossible to defeat and I loved watching my older cousin do attempt after attempt. I don’t think he ever got to beat him and by the time he did us cousins were already adults, lol.

On a side note, we called him ‘Porcupine’ as kids since a shitload of spikes would stick out of him unpredictably during the boss stage, and I thought that nickname had been just our thing; but I’m actually surprised that that villain actually comes up when you do a simple ‘Resident Evil 4 porcupine’ search haha. I guess other people called him the same thing too.

What kind of music do you prefer to listen to when driving?  I usually put on a playlist of BTS’ rapline; I tend to enjoy high-energy songs while driving.

Would you ever own a hairless rat, cat or dog?  I don’t see why I wouldn’t when it comes to the dog. I don’t want a cat or rat. 

All the people you’ve kissed, what did their names start with?  G.

What did you and your ex fight about most?  It was about the deeper, more profound stuff. We never saw eye to eye about the future, if we were helping the other grow, etc. Someone was always scared or insecure about something that the other could never help with fixing.

Don’t you love long hugs?  Sure, I love getting hugs as long as I’m comfy around the one giving it.

And long kisses?  Mhm, they’re nice.

Have you ever purchased condoms?  Only for Angela when she had still been too shy to ask for it herself. 

Have you ever gone on vacation with your boyfriend/girlfriend?  No. We had gone out of town for daytrips, but never for a fully-decked out vacation.

Have you ever trashed your ex’s car after an argument?  I wouldn’t do anything that loud. My resentment’s a lot more reserved and subtle, definitely on the passive-aggressive side.

Would you leave a note on a car claiming responsibility if you damaged it?  If I left like a paint scratch, no. If I was somehow stupid enough to manage wrecking the car then yes.

Have you ever used someone's handicapped parking pass to get a parking spot?  Oh that’s just gross. No. I do remember unknowingly parking over a spot meant for the handicapped once just because the paint was so fucking faded. It was genuinely so hard to tell but in the end I ended up just getting out of the spot and looked for another just to be on the safe, unassholey side.

Are you embarrassed to tell people your job?  Not at all! I love telling people I work in PR and sharing the brands I work with...it’s just a bitch trying to explain what exactly it is I do on a normal day. I’m still blanking out on it now that I’m thinking about it, haha. PR’s a challenge to summarize in one or two sentences.

If you ran over an animal would you keep driving?  I honestly have no clue how I’d deal with it. Ideally I would pull over and help bring it to the side of the road, and try to ask for help from passersby as well. I’m still not sure what I should/would do next.

Where’s the best place to eat a romantic dinner?  French, Spanish, and Italian restaurants always seem to carry a pleasant, date-y atmosphere to them, so any of those cuisines should be ok. I also like quieter restaurants with warm yellow lighting, since that makes me feel at home the most. The place definitely doesn't have to be super popular; I would just want for it to serve good food.

What hobby would you get into if time and money weren’t an issue?  Flying planes.

What would be the most amazing adventure to go on?  Probably something that’s booked with thrill-seeking adventures? Like a day of wakeboarding, paragliding, skydiving, riding an ATV...I would be exhausted as fuck and sleep for the next three days, but I can’t even begin to imagine how fun it would be.

When people come to you for help, what do they usually want help with? Writing stuff. < Yeah, essentially. My friends ask me for general life advice too.

Has anybody criticized the way your significant other looked like?  Yeah. But I always defended her.

Have you written or drawn anything for somebody else?  I mean I’ve written long letters, but I haven’t made a poem or song for anyone.

Who has impressed you most with what they’ve accomplished?  These days it would probably be Arlan. He just finished his Masters in Journalism at Columbia and I couldn’t be more proud. I remember wanting to attend Columbia too, but seeing how my love of journalism turned out...I’ve long accepted the fact that that route was not meant for me, hahaha.

What is something you think everyone should do at least once in their lives?  Finish a painting, which can also serve as a callout to me lol.

What would you rate 10/10?  Seafood.

What do you hope never changes?  My relationships with my best friends.

Would you ever have sex with the last person you texted?  No, I barely have a clue who she is and she seemed decades older when she called me up this morning.

Is there anyone that you’d love to just spill your guts to?  I’m good.

Where is the person you have feelings at right now? 

Are you happy with your relationship status?  Yessssssss. I love not having to worry about another person to spend on LOL

When did you last cry? What for?  Two Saturdays ago. The one-year mark of my breakup had been coming up and an overwhelming wave of emotions just flooded me all of a sudden, I guess. There was happiness and relief from not being stuck in it anymore; feeling sorry for myself as I remembered the turmoil and deterioration I went through in the latter part the year; anger for the shit she pulled; and there was also just the general feeling of being grateful that I’m still here after everything.

Do you think you’re wasting your time on the person you love? 

When’s the next time you’ll kiss someone?  No clue. I’m not holding my breath for it and that’s okay.

Were you ever scared to death of anyone you knew? Or are you currently?  Yeah, unfortunately I’ve always been surrounded by at least one person who terrifies me.

What’s the longest you’ve been away from home by yourself?  Nothing more than a day. That’s something I have yet to try out.

Have you ever been made fun of, because of what you look like?  Athenna was relentless in her insults. I dunno why I was friends her for as long as I was.

Have you ever made fun of others, because of what they look like?  If they’re some random person on the internet with disgusting political views, then yeah; but it’s just thoughts I keep in my head and I never verbalized the bullying. But not anyone in real life. Do you think it’s cute when you’re leaving a place, and a guy says “no hug?”  If I’m friends with the person I’ll banter with them for a bit until I give in for a hug. If it was any other guy I barely know...I would be disgusted and throw them the dirtiest glare.

Do you wear short shorts (if you’re a girl)? I didn't know short shorts were specific to females. < LOL same. Anyway no, not these days. I used to but they’re not really a part of my personal style anymore.

Who are you the most uncomfortable around?  Relatives with the wrong political views.

Who has your heart?  Nobody.

Should cloning ever be allowed to happen?  I don’t see the point. No.

Are you impatient with really shy people? If it gets to the point that they seem aloof and radiate very I-could-not-care-less-about-getting-along-with-any-of-you vibes, then yeah I feel like I would get irritated pretty fast. But I was an extremely shy person once too, so I’m typically friendly with them and I would usually be That person who constantly stays next to them so they feel like they belong.

Does your house have air conditioning throughout, or do you have one that sits in your window?  It sits in the window, as with most households here.

What is the most ridiculous band name you’ve heard recently?  I haven’t encountered anything wacky recently.

Would you ever get a fashion mullet?  No.

Do you believe that Jesus lived and is returning?  No.

Do you believe in spiritual gifts?  No.

Do you believe in callings?  Not really, no.

If you were rich, would you get a professional photoshoot done?  Hell no. I get extremely sheepish in front of a camera and a thousand times worse at posing.

#survey #surveys

[viking-raider]

Silver and Magic - Chapter 3

Summary: You tend to Geralt’s wounds, prevent an angry mob from storming the house, because Geralt is there. Then, you both find something new about each other.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Reader

Word Count: 3,547

Chapters: 1 2

Rating: M - Violence, Cursing, Mature, Sex, Fluff

Inspiration: This is sorta what I picture reader’s sword to look like (x) and how I picture the reader’s eyes (x)

Author’s Note: Tell me what you think!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans, @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @the-freak-cassie-131, @heelsamizayn, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @katiebriggs004-blog, @badassbaker, @mrsaugustwalker, @authentic-bish-face, @rizeandvibe, @severuined, @supernaturalvikingwhore​, @bellastellaluna​, @wondersofdreaming, @thisisntmyrightera, @michelle-1185​, @winchwm​, @royallylazy​, @sofiebstar​, @worldicreate​, @agniavateira​, @fantasygirlsuniverse​, @witches-of-discovery-a​, @xuxszx​, @ayamenimthiriel​, @keiva1000​, @klaine-92​, @itsreigns​, @constip8merm8​, @scorpionchild81​, @mylifefallingupthestairs​, @onlyhenrys​, @luclittlepond​, @ellixthea​, @lebguardians​, @geralt-yennefer-jeskier​, @cherrybloomn​

You had just finished lunch with Geralt, when you noticed the string of twinkling lights coming out of the treeline, in front of the cottage.

“The fuckers.” You snapped, setting the plate you were washing down and strode out onto the porch. “Fuck the short mindedness of men.” You cursed, feeling the tense heat of Geralt's body behind you.

“If I had known, my presence would have been such a bother to you, I would have left sooner.” Geralt replied, touching his bandaged side, underneath his shirt.

“It's as if you are Mateo and his monster all over again.” You said out loud, more to yourself than to Geralt.

“This has happened before?” Geralt frowned down at you.

“Some years ago, there was another Mage that lived in the village,” You explained, watching the torch holding villagers come closer. “he was shady, at best. He would dig up fresh corpses from the village graveyard and piece them together, trying to reanimate them.” You told him, shaking your head. “Why he wouldn't just use the whole fresh body, instead of parts of it, is beyond me.” You cleared your throat, at how odd that sounded. “But, he managed to animate one of them, it turned on him, attacking and gravely wounding him. He came to me, to heal him, obviously.” You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “The villagers, having heard of this, came up here, just like this...” You waved your hand out to the small mob of angry villagers, almost at your doorstep. “They demanded, I bring him out, or they'd do me harm.”

“What did you do?” Geralt asked, flexing and tensing his body.

“I wouldn't let them take him.” You answered, looking up at Geralt. “He had done wrong, yes. He had defiled bodies of beloved family members, and meddled in magic, he shouldn't have. But, he was wounded, near death, either way. It is my responsibility and duty as a Healer to protect and tend to those in my care, no matter what they have done. If they wanted him, once he was healthy, then I wouldn't have protested too much. But, in the end, he gave himself up, and they killed him. Burying him in the cross roads.”

“Healer!” The leader of the mob yelled, as they stopped in your yard. “We demand the Witcher.”

“And, I demand you to get off my property.” You retorted, lifting an indifferent brow at them. “So, fuck the fuck off, before you end up regretting it.”

“Why are you shielding the murderer?” A voice called out from the crowd.

“Who has he killed, Jax?” You replied, knowing the owner of the voice.

There was a hushed silence between the two groups, and you nodded your head.

“I didn't think so.” You huffed, shaking your head at them.

A rock sailed out from the tangle of bodies, and would have hit you, if Geralt's hand hadn't shot out, by reflex, catching the stone in his large palm, with ease, and inches from your face. You both exchanged looks, and it was in that moment, Geralt noticed that your eyes were a liquid silver color, making him blink at you, his arm lowering, slowly.

“Right.” You said, still looking at him, your voice strong and annoyed. “All right!” You barked, stepping off the porch and addressing the mob. “Listen up, you fucking runts.” You growled, jaw tightening. “You have come onto my property and threatened not only my guest, but you have also threatened me.” You said, looking at each and every one of their faces, making eye contact and snickering when several looked away, unable to keep your eye. “I have served this village as a healer longer than some of you have been alive, three or four of you, I actually helped birth into this world.” You hissed, looking two of the people you were sure of, in the face. “and this is how you repay me?”

“We don't like his kin-”

“I don't care, what you like, Tomas.” You snapped at the leader. “My home, my rules. If you have an issue with how I run my household and tend my land, you can come and tell me, to my face.” You challenged them, the sudden whoosh of air and thunk of metal against stone permeated in the air. Glancing down you saw the vibrating hilt of your sword, the mob took a collective step backwards. “I didn't think so.” You said, looking at them wide eyed and tilting your head. “Now, leave. Before, I have more patients to tend too.” You told them, softly.

Heads turned towards each other and there was a low murmur of voices, before the group cracked and fell apart. The villagers dispersed and wandered back to their homes. Geralt stepped up behind you, watching them go, then turned his attention back to you and your sword.

“How did you do that?” He asked, resting his index finger on the top of your sword's hilt, stilling the vibrating metal.

You looked up at Geralt and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Right.” He smirked, nodding his head. “Magic.”

“Leave it.” You told him, turning your back to the sword and going back inside.”Just leave it there, as a reminder, to anyone that wants to be brave, and try sneaking about.”

“You think, they will?” Geralt asked, standing in the kitchen as you picked up the plate you had been washing before all the commotion.

“No.” You replied, washing the dish. “Only time I'll hear from them, for a while at least, is when they need my healing capabilities.” You smiled at him. “Which is how I like it. Nice and quiet.” You dried the dishes and put them away. “That's why I picked this spot, to have the cottage built.” You explained to him, leaning back against the counter. “It's a nice and secluded spot in the mountain and woods, but still close enough for those that need me, to reach.”

“It is a very quaint spot.” Geralt nodded, looking around your homely cottage. “A very homey cottage as well, it's...” he paused and felt the next word he was about to say, deep in his chest. “peaceful.”

“Enchanting, isn't it?” You smiled, looking around the place yourself.

“Is it?” Geralt asked, looking back at you, his brow creased. “Have you enchanted it?”

“With magic?” You frowned back at him, and shook your head. “No, this isn't the work of magic, this is the work of finding what makes me happy and centered, over the years. It's pure and natural. It's what makes it feel...” You shrugged, struggling to find the right word. “peaceful.” You said, giving in.

“I've never quite felt so, at home and peaceful, as I do here.” Geralt admitted, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, that's good to know.” You smiled at him, touched. “I wouldn't want my patients feeling uncomfortable or anything, inhibits the healing process.” You heaved a sigh and fixed your eyes on him. “I'm going to lay down, you seem well enough to stay on your feet.” You told him, checking him out to be sure of your assessment. “Just don't over do it, hm? I don't need to find you face down in my herb garden.”

Geralt laughed, very softly, smiling down at you. “I promise, I will not stray.” He swore, stepping out of your way.

“That's a good Witcher.” You teased him, rubbing your forehead as your head started to throb.

You laid down in your bed, not even bothering to take your shoes off or cover up, feeling your head pound; you had used a lot of magic in the last few days, between normal daily use of it, healing Geralt and dealing with pesky villagers. It took a long while, but you finally managed to slip off into a black sleep, restless as that was.

Geralt walked out onto the porch, and took a deep breath of the fresh mountain air, it was so crisp and clean, then wandered around your property, checking out your garden. He found you were growing all sorts of things; herbs like penny-royal, lavender, st. john's wort and aloe. But, also regular plants, you would find in a garden, plenty of flowers, like daffodils, roses, that climbed the trellis just outside your kitchen window, honeysuckles and dragon's breath, which Geralt hadn't seen in a very long time. He found a small stone bench in the heart of the garden and a little fountain in front of it, the vibration of his medallion told Geralt that the water flowing from the fountain was done with magic. Geralt took a deep breath, his shoulders drawing up and his enhanced sense of smell picking up the sweet and fragrant flowers, the sharp and bitter scent of herbs, and the earthy smell of vegetables, before letting the breath out with a soft and content hm, his eyes falling closed. Enjoying the peace of the garden a little while longer, Geralt stood and checked on Roach, who was grazing on the tall grass and wild flowers out front of the cottage, then went back inside and noticed you were still asleep, so he stayed as quiet as he could.

With dinner nearing and you still asleep, Geralt poked around your kitchen and pantry, but noticed you were running rather low on items. Pressing his lips together and tapping his foot, Geralt went back to his room, pulling his dagger out of his saddlebags and went out into the surrounding forest. A little while later, he came out of the treeline, a large buck draped over his shoulder and dropped it on the pouch, before going around to your garden, helping himself to some of the carrots, onions and peas you had growing. Geralt grabbed your cast iron cauldron, filled it with fresh well water and set it on the kitchen counter, washing his bloody dagger, he used it to chop up the onions and carrots, dropping them in the cauldron, and then shelled the peas in a separate wooden bowl, for later. He went back out onto the porch and started skinning and cutting up the deer, what he wouldn't use for dinner, he stored in your meat shed, and tossed the deer meat he was using, into the pot, set it on the hook and over the fire to stew. When you still weren't awake an hour later and the stew was done, Geralt went down to your room and stood there at your half closed door, debating whether he should wake you or not. But, decided against it, if you had slept this long, then apparently you needed it, and he didn't want to ruin it for you. So, he ate his fill of the stew and pulled it off the fire enough, that it would stay warm for you, when you finally did wake up.

Geralt had laid down, but hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep, until the sudden scent of Sunflowers entered his senses and he jerked, groaning as he strained his stitches. He took a breath and it got stronger, getting out of bed, he followed it, down to your room. He pushed your bedroom door open and found you having a bad dream. Frowning, Geralt stepped into your room and gently rested his hand on your shoulder, shaking you carefully, trying not to startle you awake. He could hear the rapid pound of your heart, like a drum in his ears.

“Y/n?” He whispered your name, but you only seemed become more agitated. “Y/n.” He called your name again and sat down on your bed, the frown between his brows deepening. “Y/n, wake up.”

You jerked up, like shot, laboring to breathe, eyes wide with fear and distant. “Get off me!” You barked, feeling Geralt's thick arm wrap around your waist, increasing your panic.

“It's all right, y/n. It's me, Geralt.” Geralt whispered in your ear, pulling you closer to him. “It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you, you're safe with me.” He told you, cupping the side of your face and laying your head down on his shoulder, turning his face into the back of your hair and rocking lightly. “It's all right.”

“Geralt?” You panted, blinking rapidly.

“Yeah.” He sighed, pressing his cheek to your hair and felt you slump against him, one of your hands gripping his upper arm. “You're all right, I've got you.” He assured you, hearing your hiccup and hitched breath, the drip of your tears on his skin. “You have nightmares often?” He asked, rocking a little bit more.

“No-I..” You paused, frowning against his shoulder and let out a breath. “I didn't think, I did. I don't remember dreaming at all.”

Geralt nodded, his thumb caressing your cheek and ear. “It's not uncommon.” He assured you, listening to your heart slow as you started calming down. “Not all together a bad thing either, you don't always want to remember a nightmare, when you wake.”

“True, also slightly annoying.” You agreed, pulling away from him. “I'm sorry, if whatever noise I was making woke you.”

“Actually,” Geralt frowned, looking you in the eyes. “You weren't making a sound, it was...” he took a deep breath; yes, that was the scent that had woken him up. “It was your scent, that woke me up. It just came over me, waking me and it led me to you, like you called out to me.” He blinked, confused by it.

“That's weird.” You frowned at him, just as confused. “The only time a person can smell a Mage is, when we've taking some sort of hold on them. But, I haven't.” You leaned toward him, taking a soft breath. “Hm, you smell like--”

“Sweat, horse, blood and death.” He nodded, and sounding methodical. “So, I've been told.” He said, narrowing his eyes at you

“No.” You said, quietly, and shook your head. “Well, yes.” You chuckled, looking at him. “But, that's not what I mean, or what I smell.”

“What do you smell, then.” He asked, suddenly curious, everyone Geralt had ever met, at some point, pointed out that he smelled either like Roach, sweat, blood from things he's killed, or death, if not all the above.

“You smell like,” You took a deeper breath, licking your lips and closed your eyes, focusing on it. “Warm grass, fresh air and-” Your head tilted, with amused confusion, and smirked, opened your eyes to look at him again. “Chamomile.” Your amusement grew seeing the light reddening of his pale cheeks. “An odd scent for a Witcher.”

“No one, has ever told me, I smell like that.” He confessed, feeling a bit shy and caught off-guard.

You shrugged, smiling at him. “Maybe, they never stopped to smell.”

“Or, cared to notice.” He added, tilting his head at you.

“Caring is something I do.” You told him, brushing your hair out of your face. “You can't be a healer, without caring.” You said, abruptly aware of his scent, then his lips.

You took a sharp breath through your nose and pushed in against him, resting your hands on his broad shoulders and parting your lips as you felt the tip of his tongue brush along your bottom lip. Geralt's hands smoothed down your sides, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him, slipping a bit of his tongue into your mouth, tasting you and flicking his tongue at yours, moaning as you responded back and moaned as well. It was a delicate and satisfied dance. Geralt nip at your bottom lip and pull away from you, smiling faintly. You smirked back at him, feeling your body tingle, and leaned in to kiss him again, wrapping your arms around his neck. Geralt's hands moved to your thighs and picked you up, laying you down on the bed properly and moved over you, never breaking the kiss as he did. Your hands went to the buttons of his pants, slipping your fingers into the band and pushed them off his hips, nails grazing the skin of his ass. Kissing and biting at your neck, Geralt pushed up your skirt and made you gasp as his hand glided up your inner thigh to your pussy.

“Hm.” He hummed against your mouth and smirked smugly, his fingers finding you soaking wet.

You chuckled back, dipping your hand between your bodies and easily locating his cock, what a nice cock it is too. Feeling how warm and hard it grew in the palm of your hand, stroking it lightly and caressing the silky vein that throb against the pad of your thumb, gasping as you felt one of Geralt's thick fingers slip inside your core. Geralt took advantage of your open mouth, devouring it again, as he worked his finger, driving you wild with the light touches of his thumb to your clit, making you twitch and pant. He grinned, feeling you push down against his digit, and inserted another; he didn't need to finger you, you were beyond ready for his cock, but he was enjoy the chaos it was stirring up in you. Curving his fingers into your sweet spot and firmly rubbing your clit, bringing you to the very edge between your plateau and orgasm, listening to the erratic beat of your heart as it built, then slipped his fingers free. You whined and gripped at his biceps, nails digging into his skin. Laughing and grabbing you by the thighs, Geralt yanking you down to him, sitting back on his heels, he rested your bare ass on his thighs, gently rubbing his cock against your dripping pussy.

“Uh, Geralt.” You moaned as he pushed inside of you, the snugness of his cock gliding against your overstimulated walls almost had you coming, wrapping your legs around his waist and squeezed, sheathing his cock fully inside of you.

He moaned as all of your heat hugged his cock, he took a sharp breath and frowned, making you frown up at him.

“What is it?” You asked, your voice uneven and breathy.

“Sunflowers and-” He sniffed again, eyes closed and tilted his head, leaning down to you, your loud moan sounding in the room, muffled as you bit your lips. His face nuzzled your throat and took a slow, deep breath. “Cedarwood.” You whispered, lips brushing along your throat and the edge of your jaw. “That's what you smell like.” He told you, wrapping an arm around your waist, hugging you flat against him, and rested on an elbow, close to your head, his face a fraction of an inch above yours.

You chuckled up at him, smirking and feeling an oddness bubble in your stomach, tipping your head up that fraction of an inch, you captured his lips and closed your walls even tighter around his cock, making him groan. The first thrust was firm, pushing the head of his cock deeper into you, hitting something that made you break the kiss with a loud cry, your cervix. Satisfied with that, Geralt started full cock thrusts into you, pulling all the way out and driving himself back in, hitting that deep target every time, strong and harder. The headboard pounding against the wall, the bed groaning in protest by the assault.

“Fuck.” Geralt growled with clenched teeth, lifting his body some to see his cock diving into your core and the way your stomach danced, when he hit your cervix again, and again.

“Fuck!” You echoed back, gasping with passionate surprise as the bubble in your stomach, popped. “Geralt.” You gulped, almost choking, your legs shook and your nails dug into the skin of his arms, raking down his sides and gripping his hips, wanting him even deeper into you.

Geralt grabbed a hold of your hips and held you firmly down on his thighs, biting his lip in determination, and using a lot of his strength the plow into you. Your head threw back, your body shook, a muted cry came from your mouth, and you clenched so hard around Geralt's pounding cock, you slowed his pace and forced him to come with you, hot ribbons of milky release mixed with your come. You let out a soft sigh, but didn't relax or move, the orgasm still gripping you, and making you feel like you were light and heavy at the same time, tingly, cold and hot all at once. Your brain had short circuited and blown all the fuses, you had been alive for a very long time, and yet, you never felt, or had, an orgasm, like that before. There was a wet sound as Geralt pulled out of you, pressing his lips to your chest as he let you lay back down on the bed, then kissed the corner of your mouth, laying down on his side next to you, just as spent and deeply content.

He felt...peaceful, as he fell asleep, a smile on his face.

#Silver and Magic *fic* #Henry Cavill #HenryCavill #Geralt #Geralt of Rivia #Geralt/You #Geralt/Reader #Geralt of Rivia/You #Geralt of Rivia/Reader #The Witcher #Witcher #Scent #Sunflowers #Sunflower #cedarwo #Grass #fresh air #chamomile #Blood #Sweat #Horse #smell #Love #Fluff #Hurt/Comfort #nightmare #protective #August Walker #Charles Brandon #Napoleon Solo

[jitteryjive]

FANTSY AU OH BOY*sits down and brings out a bag of popcorn and a large fanta* I WANA LISTEN ABOUT THIS ONE

HELL YEAH!!!

also apologies for this taking so long to answer!!! I wanted to write everything down :)

warning: this will be a long post even though it’s incomplete! also this will contain ode/pmtok chapter three spoilers since I’m not ignoring the fact that the game exists

tags contain all triggers.

-

okay, so basically, this niche au is entirely centered around the protagonists of my normal pmtok fics, consisting of Sea Captain, Ode, Prof, Cherub, DJ, and Shroomses. I’m sorry I don’t know why it’s such jitteryjive-protags-toadcentric but whatever, sorry guys

let’s start five thousand years ago. five thousand years ago, a pirate by the name of Captain Ode stole a legendary item from the heavens called the Marino.

it was simply a simple barter for the crown of the desert, belonging to a widespread king named King Shroomses (not to interrupt but HOLY FUCK his later designs in this story are like YES). for a while now, he’s held a grudge against him, as he’s much more skilled in stealing in this au and does stuff to fuck with him.

so, one day, Ode comes to make a deal with the King. he proposes that, if he lets him inherit the entire kingdom right now, he’ll have in possession both the Marino and boundless riches he’d stolen from aristocrats and oligarchies.

however, things don’t go as planned. Ode is captured by the King in response to the deal, surprising him.

he’s told to return the Marino to the heavens or else. like the crafty pirate that he is, Ode creates a plan to get away with the crown, and to seal the deal in a way the King won’t realize.

he tries to become king in the dead of night. he’s found attempting to steal the responsibility of being a ruler of the Kingdom, and apparently, this was the last straw.

this is where canon goes downhill. instead of being frozen and revived yadayada, he’s brutally executed on the spot (it’s not relevant to the plot but he was guillotined if you were wondering, ouch).

even though he’s, well, dead now, the King is still upset over his fuckery, and with necromancers growing stronger around him, he decides to take measures to ensure he will never walk the earth ever again.

he creates an elaborate labyrinth and hides the body of the pirate, convinced no one will ever revive his presence, and he goes back to his throne.

that isn’t the end of his story, though— he feels worse and worse for executing him in such a painful way, all on a personal grudge. it isn’t kingly at all to feel petty and take a technically innocent person’s life, even if everything he said was genuine.

over time, in his head, his morals degrade and his ruling abilities deteriorate as he falls into madness, believing he isn’t fit to rule at all with such a sin committed.

King Shroomses goes to Sedjet, the Fire God, to receive punishment. however, as a divine being due to his blessings, he cannot die from fire (MARY SUE ALERT /j).

he is severely injured, though, earning permanent magic scars all over his body that reek of flames and intended death.

so, what does he do now, to step onto the gallows and rid his kingdom of his evil doings?

the King decides to put himself into eternal sleep (contrasting from the non-au theory that he didn’t intend to sleep for a couple thousand years lmao). he curses himself a flower called the sleeping lily, shutting down his body and sending him into what is essentially a magic coma. he cannot be woken up, unless the lily is destroyed (causing him immense pain), or his living conscience is taken over. the way the curse works is that he allows himself to only think— his intention is to suffer and think over everything he’s done, to rid his body and his kingdom of anymore of his madness and horrible intention.

he orders his kingdom to set a new ruler, and to seal him into a room where his flowers will be kept and connected to his immobilized body. combined with the heavy doors, the flower’s intense properties, and the now hidden key to the room, there is essentially no way to wake him up. the King has finally gotten his wish— he will do the same as Ode and never live again.

he earns the new nickname of the Sleeping King, the once proud and prominent ruler dissolving into nothing more than a mysterious legend and a locked room. again, it’s what he would’ve wanted, to lose everything he’d built up to.

now, present time! woohoo!

five thousand years later, the story now focuses on a young bard by the name of Peter (this is DJ in the au, it’s his first name). Peter is a necromancer bard who comes from a long line of.. oh, pyromancers. they’re not very happy he’s chosen a different route in magic. (this is based off my headcanon/theory that he’s the Lighthouse Keeper in pmcs, just for kicks n laughs lol)

they have dreams of being able to revive someone great, to be known as an important necromancer who’s skilled at what they do. he’s had a dream to revive those important to him, too, considering an incident from long ago when a face-stealing monster (hole punch, not derogatory) took his friends’ lives and nearly took theirs.

however, Peter has no opportunity to revive any great figures of the past— where in the world would he find someone, asking for a necromancer to try their skills and revive an ancient person fo the past?

he finds a scholar named Baker (ahhh prof the homosexual), who also happens to be obsessed with archeology and a certain dead figure in history that he has direct plans to revive and.. okay, on second thought, they find him sort of strange.

he wants to revive a dead pirate named Captain Ode, just a fantastical legend, to have him explain the entirety of his long-dead time. it could provide context for the backstory of the Sleeping King or perhaps the barren desert kingdom that once held the two figures of legend and wonder.

well, it works for Peter, considering they’ve got similar focuses, and they actually become friends! they’re besties now.

to practice the skills of an experienced necromancer, he goes around the world with Baker, the two practicing their skills and gradually collecting what little information they can scavenge for about the infamous pirate, now a shadow to the world’s past.

one day, though, things drastically change and pick up the pace. as they’re passing through a forest, known for its holiness and direct paths into the heavens, an angel falls down from heavens.

and not gracefully, as the fucker just like— *THUNK* hits the ground and doesn’t wake up.

now Peter (an inexperienced necromancer) and Baker (a wimpy scholar) are standing in front of an angel, pale and covered in feathers that fell off their small wings.

I think you can guess who this is, lol.

after taking the dead? unconscious? whatever angel to safety, they wake up. and instantly start freaking out, because through the jumble of words they’re spitting out, the two friends make out essentially:

they were walking through the heavens, guarding the clouds like usual, when the angels all around them began to panic and freak out. somehow, a monster with blades (scissors, not derogatory once again) had gotten in, and was now killing angels by slicing them in half and causing awful chaos all around.

at some point as they were running away, someone said a warning and shoved them from behind, breaking the magic barrier in the clouds and sending them falling all the way through the heavens to the vines to the canopies, and now onto the ground they were on.

so, essentially, this terrified angel going by the name of Cherub had just survived an attack from a monster and had fallen an impossible height onto earth, where they were now trapped. great.

they agree to take them into their care until they’re back to full health, and they’ll find a way to return them to the heavens— it’s safe to assume they’ll be in trouble for befriending a (literally) fallen angel.

the thing is, they don’t want to go back.

Peter and Baker are confused until they elaborate. recently, Cherub has taken up interest in a long-dead pirate by the name of Captain Ode. they’d already gotten punished for researching such a horrible, damned name in the heavens. he’d stolen the Marino, a precious artifact that was perhaps lost to time now, ruining any chance of letting those on earth to enter the heavens.

since they were so interested in Ode’s character, and that they held the belief he wasn’t as bad as the angels swore he was, they didn’t want to return to angry attendants who despised their growing opinions.

they proceed to ask if they can join them in adventuring, and their quest to revive Ode for answers of everything— they’ve always wanted to see the world.

with even more opportunity for information on a silence figure of the past, they accept them into their party. together, Peter, Baker, and now Cherub set off into the wide world of fantasy, still searching for an answer on the Pirate of Dreams and the Sleeping King.

the three become close friends, stringing quite tightly together that there is no room for anyone else— it’s just Peter, Baker, and Cherub against the world’s judgement, adventuring and fighting monsters and studying dead people.

which messes with a lonely Ken, a sea captain (Sea Captain) who considers himself ‘friends’ with the three. he isn’t sure where he stands in their relationship— he believes that all he is is a figure of transportation, boating them across oceans and supporting their adventures despite his buried jealousy and growing sadness.

he oh-so-wishes he could be part of their world. Ken wishes he could show his unused swordfighting abilities, be able to research whatever legend they’re investigating, join them and be considered an actual friend.

but, every time he asks, the three worried adventurers always say that they’re afraid he won’t be safe enough to come with them. he technically doesn’t own a sword he knows how to wield (why did he choose such a specific weapon..?), and they would hate for him to perish on a certain adventure. besides, they were scared, thinking about how he wasn’t adapted to the environments they’d been in— would he actually survive if he came along?

and every time, Ken’s pleas are refused. when will he ever get his wishes, to be part of them? to be as esteemed as Ode, the seafarer they’ve been researching?

but those are childish dreams, he tells himself. he knows he will never be important to them.

so Ken spends his days, sailing the ocean, wondering what his purpose is when his former purpose was nothing more than expectant ramblings. he’ll never be an adventurer, and he knows this.

the first section of this story is spent detailing Ken’s issues with his loneliness and yearn, and detailing the adventures our three journeyers are going about on, leading up to the true plot of the story.

Baker comes to find information that there is an ancient city deep in the desert, a kingdom of forgotten dreams and necromancers. as Peter is a necromancer bard and likes gathering crowds to their music, a small city full of necromancers is his place to be.

it’s also confirmed by Cherub that this is the assumed kingdom where the Sleeping King resides, the only ‘living’ person left who knows the location of Ode’s body. is he exactly alive, though, they’re not sure.

all they have to do is wake up the basically-fictional-at-this-point King, and they’ll be on their way to getting their precious answers about the history of the ancient times.

also, by this point, the strange party the three have created has taken up a name. they call themselves the Sun Keepers. (this is essentially a way to stop saying “the three” “them” “the group”).

the Sun Keepers head to the Sandcastle Kingdom (YES THIS IS A REFERENCE), asking the long-time residents where to find the Sleeping King. but for some reason, they get ridiculed and laughed at.

one of the residents elaborates that there is no way to find him, because his chambers were magically sealed with the only key that could open them. really, no one knew where the keeper of the key was, or even if she was still alive, narrowing down their chances of ever meeting the Sleeping King in general. woah, plot shit.

their journey takes a brand new turn when they go out, searching everywhere they know for the key that could lead them to the Sleeping King and then Ode.

eventually, more “oh HELL YEAH” plot shit happens where they have to duel the keeper in a battle of wits for the key. Baker’s actually being put to use 😳 also CHERUB USES THEIR AXE. IN SOME OF THE SCENES HERE

once they have the key in their possession, they head to the Sandcastle Kingdom, ready to open the chambers of the Sleeping King after all eternity of slumber.

when they break open the doors, they discover they’ve forgotten the fact he can’t be awoken— considering that he’s spiritually and physically connected to quite a few sleeping lilies, it’s going to be very hard to wake up the, well, Sleeping King.

they attempt a few things (avoiding the last resort of cutting off the lilies and causing him pain) such as naturally trying to wake him up I.e shaking his shoulders, having Peter try to revive him with necromancy despite him being alive, and using heavenly methods to wake him up.

with no way to wake him up, they, downtrodden, leave and lock his chambers. despite all this, hope was not entirely lost, meaning they had to take a forbidden path as to not risk his life and kill the king.

Cherub finds a way to cast a spell that will temporarily allow them to ‘intrude’ his mind, aka just fucking with his thoughts to get him to wake up. it’s difficult at first, as there are no thoughts to be able to intrude (his mind is oddly empty), but they’re able to wake him up.

the sleeping lilies disconnect, he starts breathing again, and King Shroomses is once again awake.

things go VERY differently that expected. instead of standing up or speaking or doing anything, he’s simply in shock and dumbfounded at the fact that he’s actually awake after thousands of years of thinking to himself, preserved in the ancient chambers of his palace.

he then says that he’s confused that two peasants and a divine being had woken him up with no guards in sight— was this some kind of mistake?

the Sun Keepers explain that they’ve woken him up to find the location of Ode’s body, to resurrect him for answers of a pirate’s past.

knowing he was the one who despised Ode and executed him, they expected him to put up a fight and to protest against bringing him to life, he accepts, saying he’ll allow it.

Shroomses explains that he doesn’t care whether Ode is alive or dead at this point— he is nothing more than a legend of the past, and he has nothing to lose or gain from bringing him back to life. so, bringing the one he so awfully killed to fruition, it’s not wrong in his book in the slightest.

he also elaborates that Ode’s body is hidden in a large labyrinth from thousands of years ago. originally, before he had his downward spiral, he despised the thought of Ode returning to mortality, so he’d created this elaborate prison for his body so no one could find him.

their goal won’t be easy to reach if they’re literally going to have to fight tooth and nail to get to the bones of a dead pirate. it’s really sucky for them that, now that Shroomses doesn’t care about whether he’s dead or alive anymore, there’s no reason for the labyrinth to be there.

he lends them a couple things to aid them in their journey, hands them the key to open the labyrinth, and wishes them off.

Shroomses also passes over the old clothing of Ode, his trustworthy, recognizable coat. if he’s going to be alive again, he may as well have the clothes he’s always worn.

he doesn’t even bother to leave the room or follow them or greet anyone— he simply sits back down into his ancient throne, amongst the dead sleeping lilies, and thinks about things for the first time in a long while.

with their road rocky, the Sun Keepers nervously set off to achieve what they’ve come for.

Ode, the Pirate of Dreams, soon to breathe the air of life once again.

(also, if you’re thinking they could’ve asked Shroomses about the past, they were specifically looking for Ode’s insight, as he traveled everywhere and Shroomses did not.)

the trip isn’t easy in the slightest at all— the three risk death and peril as they make their way through the endless structure, holding the bones of the dead man somewhere in its hands.

the worst part is is that they don’t know his location in this maze— it’s a mystery to where his bones might be hiding. good thing Baker has a shovel, though.

and Peter’s afraid to tell his friends that they might not be able to fully/actually revive Ode. they might not be strong or magically potent enough to bring the body of an ancient, ancient man back to life and somehow reverse its decay so the body is all back together.

hopefully, this won’t all go to hell and be for nothing. right?

after hours of staving off the magic of the labyrinth, a defense system to keep out people like them, they’re finally at the end of their path.

a small, simple room, with a grave marked with Ode’s name.

Peter casts the spell. at first, it’s messy— there’s blood, there’s guts, there’s things he wished he hadn’t seen.

but Ode walks again. he’s, surprisingly, acting normal— unlike Shroomses, who sat there for at least thirty seconds processing his existence.

they give him his coat, and now he’s in the full, depicted appearance of himself— the Pirate of Dreams, with his red spots and his blue coat.

he asks who they are, and the Sun Keepers explain just that. Peter, the young necromancer who’d just revived him. Baker, a scholar who’s been waiting to ask him so many questions. And Cherub, a fallen angel who’s been adventuring with them.

Now that he knows who they are, he nonchalantly agrees to teaching them everything he knows. although he is ruffled his peaceful deaths was interrupted, they’ve come this far to learn about him.

Ode doesn’t exactly have any opinion on this— besides, he’s got nothing better to do.

they depart together with small talk and no fanfare.

the four spend the next months learning all about the pirate. Ode does as they say and gives up everything he’s ever seen and learned. Ransacked ships, treasure islands, dead kingdoms of the past, everything an adventuring pirate would see on their travels.

they learn everything he’s been holding onto, the sights he’s taken in and the world he’s experienced.

every word out his mouth is written down and stored away for reference, everything now a symbol of the life he lived before his execution.

Ode bonds with the three, learning about them too and how they all met— even if it’s not an equal exchange, he still finds it usefully interesting.

finally, nothing’s left for them to learn. the three thank him profusely for his help.

he leaves with a simple goodbye to the three, off to apparently re-see the world in new eyes, walk on the modified land he’d ran across thousand of years ago.

the Sun Keepers know their lengthy, strenuous adventure is over now, but they’ve grown so close to one another they can’t help but want to keep going in their futures together, journeying through lands untouched and keeping their reputation as reviving such a famous figure of the past.

everything is well.

of course, that’s what they think. they’re under the oblivious impression that Ode had been cooled down to an unbiased legend, happy to comply to anything.

they’re painfully wrong, because he hates them.

at first, Ode didn’t know who they were— he assumed they were random adventurers who didn’t understand who he really was, which was technically true.

but when they explained that King Shroomses had helped them, he understood who they were. they were evil. they were malicious people, working with the man who’d so shamelessly killed him without a single thought.

and he was offended by how much they used him. at first, when he rested in his grave and grew dormant, he was upset that he was wrongfully executed. but after time, he’d gotten used to the blissful silence and approaching eternity of sleep. it was peaceful, really— no more panic or anger or joy or sadness.

he was dead, and he was fine with that. and that was where he expected to stay.

until these things that held themselves so high revived him with their shitty magic and said they needed him for— what— writing a book or something?

Ode couldn’t believe they’d brought him back into life, overwhelming and miserable for him now, just to learn about them.

they so happily worked with the King he hated, treating him like he was nothing more than a project to be studied. actually, that was who he was to them!

Ode analyzed their behaviors and got them to give up the things they were so vulnerable with.

he was finding the best way to kill them.

they were clearly affected by the state of Shroomses’ deteriorating mindset, nothing more than arrogant adventurers who gave him bad purpose. if he killed them off, he could move onto his bigger goal— the King.

and then he’d finally be at rest.

he targets the Sun Keepers first. he hears they’ve gotten off a boat in a maritime town, so he heads there to find and quietly take their lives.

however, as he’s searching the area by the docks for the sight of a purple haired bard, a scholar in brown, and a small angel with an axe, he hears.. crying.

Ode’s torn. he can either find them and kill them, or he can find the person who sounds like they’re sobbing their eyes out.

he chooses the latter— as morally screwed as he is, he isn’t going to abandon whoever’s crying.

he then discovers the crying’s coming from the boat that he hears belonged to the Sun Keepers. either one of them has been separated, which is lucky for him, or they’ve hurt someone dearly, only adding to the reasons to despise their guts.

Ode finds a freckly sailor, clad in blue, crying very hard in the corner of the boat’s cabin.

he won’t leave them behind, so he sits down next to them and asks who they are.

they admit they’re confused someone’s actually talking to them, then explains that their name is Ken. he’s a sailor who’s friends with a very popular adventuring team, the Sun Keepers.

oh.

Ode mentions that he’s.. ‘looking’ for the three, which prompts Ken to immediately direct him towards them, but he refuses his offer— some foolish adventurers don’t matter when he’s in pain.

the sailor is still perplexed by how considerate he’s acting (even though he’s literally asking what his name is..?), apparently not being used to people so nice to him. it’s been a while since someone’s considered his feelings, boating around so many people around the world.

after a bit of coaxing from Ode, he eventually lets slip that he hates his life. he’s such a miserable, greedy person who’s overly jealous of everything about the Sun Keepers.

they won’t let him adventure because they think he’s too weak for it. they’ve got such strong relationships with one another that it’s painful to even watch them stand together. he’s been friends with Baker for so long, so why did it take so little time for him to be painted over with new friends?

he finally confesses that he wants to know just why they ignore him so much, what they’ve been doing that’s making him a ghost in their lives.

Ode painfully reveals how he’s technically the reason why— they’ve been searching for him.

he expects the downtrodden Sea Captain to retaliate or get angry with him, but all he does is sadly accept the truth. it’s really his fault he’s so obsessed with the three.

the pirate backs up his feelings and opinions, however— this isn’t normal behavior in a friendship. this is neglect on their part, and he is a pawn in their game of pathetic research.

he finally speaks up. he says he hates the Sun Keepers, because they’re working with the man who wrongfully killed him over a stupid grudge of his. and they support this! they brush over it like some kind of mistake!

Ken is horrified to hear this, now knowing the deeds of the ones he is now ashamed to call his friends. how could he have been so blind to their horrible tolerance?

and that’s not all— Ode had been revived only to be used for research. he was treated like a lab rat, being continuously squeezed for answers about the past and everything he could remember. it was torture to do it, working tirelessly to give them what he needed.

combined with the fact Ken was only needed just to boat them around (as assumed), they were used in different ways by the same people.

they’re so much worse than he thought, it’s realized.

then Ode asks him something he’d never expected to be offered— if he’d like to join him in killing the Sun Keepers and King Shroomses, to finish off the ones causing them both pain.

it’s a hesitant thought, but he finds it’s the only way to feel better. obviously, they don’t care enough to listen to his pleas to adventure or even be friendlier with them.

Ode promises he’ll never treat him as awfully as the two have been treated— he’ll genuinely be his friend in exchange for working together.

that day, Ken left behind his role as an unsatisfied way to ferry a ‘friend’ around, and he became the best thing he’s experienced—

a bad person. he’s tired of being good, he wants to do bad things.

now that his hunger to be so much better than his measly past self is only temporarily satiated, he’s ready to use those swordfighting abilities he’d left idle, and join Ode on his journey to kill the Sun Keepers and the King of the Desert.

the two set off on foot towards the Sun Keepers’ distant direction, ready to complete the first targets in their intertwined destinies.

-

anyways! that’s all I have so far. it might be kinda cringe but this au is legit one of my favs of any I’ve written from how interesting it is to me. I’m probably gonna update/make my better refs for all the important characters and post em :)

if you’ve gotten this far in this wall of text, thank for reading about this! it’s incomplete, but again thank you for giving it attention.

peace out 💜

#pmtok #fantasy au #fantasy #long post #infodump #execution tw #death tw #violence tw #attempted suicide tw #falling tw #suicidal thoughts tw #guilt tw #murder tw #swearing tw #abandonment tw #corruption tw #necromancy tw #weapons tw #revenge tw #punishment tw #depression tw #jealousy tw #coma tw #sleep tw #caps tw

[prolestariwrites]

Dadgil Week Day #5: Stubborn/Duties Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Vergil, Nero Tags: Angst, Family Part 5 of 7

(A/N: I did the day 6 prompts today and will feature the day 5 prompts in the next part.)

The Kuren is on its way. The tingling in Nero’s veins that occurs when a demon is nearby is faint, but familiar, so he listens and watches intensely, not sure yet from what direction it approaches. Red Queen is secure to his back, Blue Rose in its holster, and he is ready. 

But it is difficult to concentrate, because Vergil is nearby. He sits silently on the side of the van, the door open with him perched on the step. Yamato is sheathed but Vergil holds it like a cane, his hands folded on its hilt. He stares straight ahead, as if unseeing, and Nero wonders what he is thinking.

Maybe he doesn’t want to know. The story he told last night was… disturbing. Nero had known most of it, pieced together in the hints Dante let slip and reading between the lines of the twins’ conversations. He knew they had been separated as kids, both thinking the other was dead, and that Vergil had jumped into Hell when he lost to Dante. 

But it was always a joke or something, nothing like what he had described. Nero had no idea what he was supposed to do. He had laid on the couch in the van, staring at the ceiling as he waited for his stomach to settle. The images the story had created in his mind were terrifying, but Nero refused to let a story upset him. He had been fine not knowing, yet now that he knows how much he doesn’t know… it was all too confusing, too much to handle, and he had pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and waited for the emotion to subside. 

It never subsided. It just grew and boiled until it turned to a mess of shit. Why did Vergil tell him all that? What was he supposed to do with it? Comfort him? Give him a pat on the back, say it’s all okay or some shit?

Because it wasn’t okay. He didn’t care what Vergil had thought when he raised the Temen-ni-gru or how tough Hell was. It didn’t excuse what he did. Vergil had ripped his fucking arm off, had killed thousands of people in Red Grave City, had nearly killed Trish and Lady and Dante. 

He scowls as he looks over at his father, his hands clenching a bit. The horror rises up fresh, but Nero turns it into anger, an emotion he’s much more comfortable feeling. Anger he can work with. “Hey,” he calls. “Can I ask you something?”

Vergil doesn’t look over, but nods. “Yes. This demon is getting close.”

“Yeah, I know,” Nero huffs. “What you said last night. About being in Hell.”

That gets his attention, and Vergil looks over. “Yes?”

“You expect me to believe that bullshit?”

Vergil does not react; not that Nero would have expected him to, the fucker was always as expressive as a wet blanket, but it would have been satisfying to at least see some surprise. “Believe it?” Vergil asks. “It’s the truth.”

“Some shitty ass truth,” Nero growls. 

“Shitty or not, it happened.” Vergil goes back to staring straight ahead, which annoys the piss out of him. It feels dismissive, which only cranks up his annoyance more. 

He takes a few steps closer to put himself directly in Vergil’s line of sight. “You expect me to listen to that shit, and what? Give you a hug and a cookie? You gave me a list of excuses and you know what? I don’t buy any of it!” 

Nero’s voice raises a bit in pitch and volume, Vergil as unimpressed as ever. And that pisses him off even more, because he is filled with a sorrow he can’t handle while Vergil gets to feel nothing. “You know, I was alone too. I was fucking hungry. I got my ass kicked by older kids and sometimes I had to sleep on the street if the orphanage had a sick fucker in charge.” His nostrils flare as Nero struggles to speak through his anger. “Nobody showed up and gave me a fucking sword, though. I had to make one myself. I didn’t get to be the son of some holy saint demon asshole. I was tortured for being the son of a pro, only to find out I’m the son of a lunatic.”

Vergil’s mouth twitches. “I’m not asking your forgiveness.”

Nero pulls Blue Rose from its holster. “Good, because you’re not getting it anyway!”

The trees bend as the Kuren enters the clearing. It is ten feet tall at least, covered in wisps of demon magic that resembles long, shaggy fur, thick curved claws on its paws and two horns that curl up from the top of its head. It gives a roar and lunges at them, but Nero is too quick, jumping in the air and grabbing hold of a tree branch with one hand as he aims with the other.

A series of pops echo in the forest as he shoots. Several bullets sail through the monster, and it roars as he tries to rush the other side. It teeters as it spins to make its escape, exactly what Nero had expected, disappearing faster than he and Dante had ever been able to track but at least gone for another year. But before it can move, Vergil steps out of a portal under the beast and shoves Yamato upwards, into its stomach.

Bright red blood splashes on the ground and douses Vergil with gore. The Kuren is roaring, but without a midsection it can’t run. Nero drops to the ground, squinting a bit at the neon crackle when a portal opens. Vergil kicks the thing through, and Yamato quickly seals it again as the atmosphere returns to normal.

Vergil is a mess. Nero holsters his revolver as he scowls at him, snapping, “What did you do that for?”

“I got rid of it,” replies Vergil. “I sent it to Hell.”

“Send yourself next time!” Nero shouts. 

Finally the veneer begins to crack, and with satisfaction Nero watches as Vergil makes a face. “You brought me to fight it, correct? I did what you asked.”

“I didn’t ask you for shit,” he snaps. “I wouldn’t ask you for a thing.”

“What is this about?” Vergil demands. “You wanted to stop the Kuren, and it’s been stopped—”

“Fuck the Kuren!” Nero steps up to him and points an accusing finger. His palm itches to draw his revolver and find out once and for all if a bullet at point-blank range will take care of a Sparda, but instead he pokes Vergil in the chest. “All that shit you said were nothing but excuses. You think you can make up for it by killing some Kuren? Going camping with me, like some goddamn father-son retreat? Fuck that, and fuck you. You took my arm. You killed people. You… you almost killed Dante!”

Vergil’s eyes narrow. “So that’s what’s wrong. You wish he was here instead of me. Feeling is mutual.”

“It has nothing to do with that!” Nero shouts. “It has to do with you. Everything—everything is because of you. You left me in Fortuna. And you know, the Order wouldn’t have been able to do all that shit if it wasn’t for you. They found Yamato and your damn Angelo or whatever it’s called, and used that to make the Savior. Credo died because of you. That’s not even counting all the people who died in Red Grave.”

“Go ahead and blame me then,” Vergil hisses. “It’s the easiest thing to do, isn’t it?”

He steps around Nero, carrying his sword as he heads to the van. Nero watches as he tosses the sword inside and grabs his duffel bag before turning to head towards the stream. “Hey! Where are you going?”

“None of your damn business,” Vergil proclaims, and Nero isn’t sure what surprises him more: his language or the fact that he didn’t answer.

#dmc #devil may cry #dadgil #dmc nero #dmc vergil #vergil sparda #nero sparda #fan fiction #unspoken legacy

[not-the-cleavers]

Target II - Chapter 6

HOLY SHIT sorry for the delay but I seriously got into a rut of ‘I don’t wanna” then Queen happened but now Chapter 6 is here!!! Now I’m not going to lie I did channel Penelope Garcia from Criminal Minds for a small section of this. Now Four comes across as a fuck boy in this chapter cause ya girl was dealing with some shit while writing this. Also I never thought that I would ever google “how to clean a gun” and “how to care for throwing knives” BUT HERE WE ARE!!!

Tags; @adrenaline-roulette​ and @amy-brooklyn99​ - if you would like to be tagged just let me know

Pairing; Four x Eight (female reader) Fandom; 6 Underground Warnings; Swearing, angst, mentions of trafficking again (sorry), violence against fellow ghosts and smoking Word count; 1.9k (total so far 9.8k) 

Summary; The team has moved onto their next target after dealing with Rovach Alimov, a war criminal named John Dough. Eight has just joined the team and is dying to show how much she deserves to be there

Catch up: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

A week has passed since my last interaction with Billy, was he avoiding me? I was able to keep my mind off the blonde for a while by concentrating on the hard drive and working out who John Dough interacted with most so we could hopefully take down his whole operation. Unfortunately, I made quick work of that task as Dough was meticulously organised. He had folders for business associates, shell companies, calendars and meetings with audio logs, he even had a folder for completed deals, and all were named as such. Normally organised hard drives were sought after, but all I wanted was a massive mess to have to dive into, search for what I need and take my mind off that stupidly beautiful blonde. So I started to make notes, prolonging my work and making the next brief easier, or at least that’s what I was telling myself. I decided a timeline was the best way to figure this guy out, so that’s exactly what I did. I hit play on a random playlist on my iPod to have play in the background while I focused. According to every system I had access to; John Dough did not exist before 2001 when he was 29. There are no birth or death certificates, no school, prison or medical records, no properties or loans under his name. He was effectively like us, a ghost. No real name or family, nothing tying him to anything before his crimes. Which began when he made a name for himself as a hitman. Starting slow, killing random strangers for other random strangers to make money, but without a conscious, it appeared he had no rules when it came to his murder for hire business. Three had previously mentioned almost all hitmen refuse to kill children, a few less refuse to kill women, but this guy had no cut off point. His youngest victim was just 6 months old when the car he was in with his mother exploded, as per the deal with the scumbag husband and father who paid him $500,000 for the hit. In 2008 he left the hitman business and became a human trafficker, more money and more risk involved with that particular lifestyle. And in that position he was able to create all sorts of partnerships with all types of psychopaths and lowlifes, so in 2011 when he decided that he wanted more money and more power, he became an arms dealer. His biggest earning clients were the terrorist cells he supplied with guns and chemical weapons. And that’s what he’s been doing for the past nine years, and that’s what caught One’s eye. One had a sneaking suspicion that Dough has supplied Rovach with the Sarin gas for the attack that he bore witness to all those years ago. Granted One had no idea I knew he was there during that attack, but I gather intelligence, of course I knew he was there.

Eight: Call a brief. One: You sure you’re ready, or do you still need your beauty sleep? Eight: Fuck off cunt. One: This better be fucking good. Hanger, 1 hour.

I busied myself, making seven copies of my notes and timeline and filed one copy into one folder for everyone, shoved another cigarette into my mouth and lit it, pocketed the pack and made my way over to the hanger with the files and my laptop. I had to set up to make this brief go smoothly, because unlike the rest of the ghosts, I have been legally dead for the past 3 years, well before One had recruited me. If One decided that he no longer needed me, I wasn’t stuck for options, he didn’t have to actually kill me and I could make do on my own, and he knew that.

I wirelessly connected my laptop to the multiple screens around the room, giving everyone a decent view of what I’ve found, and just as I was placing the folders around our table, One entered the room, making a scene and complaining that I was making the room smell worse with my cigarettes. “I prefer cigarette smoke over the smell of dried blood that normally floods this room” I sneered in his direction. He just rolled his eyes in response. Slowly everyone filtered in and took their seats, Billy was last in and refused to make eye contact with you. Fuck him; he doesn’t know what he’s missing! With a slight shake of my head I steadied my breath and started going over everything I know. “Alrighty squirrel friends, I have delved deep into this monsters hard drive and this is what I’ve learnt…” I started my monologue, going over the time line I created with all his victims in the early days, moving onto his trafficking days with the photos found a week ago inside their own manila folder for only the brave to look at. Four pushed that folder as far away from him as possible as soon as I mention what was inside. Finishing with his latest weapons deals that were leading to innocent deaths in the hundreds of thousands to possible millions. “Prior to 2001, there is nothing on him. I have no idea what this man was doing before he turned 29 so just in case it wasn’t obvious; John Dough is not his birth name.” this caused a small chuckle from the ghosts. “But what I do know, he travels to meet this man” I flashed a picture of a fat, white and balding man up on the screens for the team to see “twice a month, to eat expensive meals, drink ridiculously old and pricey scotch, smoke Cuban cigars and fuck high end prostitutes. Not to mention secure guns and chemical weapons for the people Dough sells to. His name is Stanislav Zakirov, a high level member of the Russian Mob. Now we could go after this piece of shit as well, but that would be more of a shit show than Hong Kong was. I would recommend hitting Dough after one of these meetings, after Zakirov leaves. This minimises the risk to us, keeps us away from the Russians, and means we can take this fucker down.” The room fell quiet as soon as I finished my speech; I was done talking so I just waited for someone to say something, a glance up at One revealed he was avoiding looking at me after his last words to me in person. After a few minutes with not a single word I decided I was done sitting around, I picked up my laptop once more, I walked past One and said loudly “Was that fucking good enough for you? Prick” lit another cigarette and walked out the hanger.  

Now with nothing to do to take my mind off everything that had happened over the past weeks I felt lost and unable to get rid of my anger, so a ritualistic activity was needed. Cleaning my guns and sharpening my knives. I walked to a rusted airplane fuselage across the lot that was upcycled into the armoury for the team, and over to my gear and started to lay out the items needed. I started with my knives, unsheathing the blades and placing them on the metal bench, and one by one sharpening them with my trusty bastard file, quickly washing away any shavings that might be left on the knife-edge and rubbing them down with lubricant, thankfully gun lubricant works for this as that’s all I had left. As I was sharpening the last blade I noticed it was slightly bent, possibly from the last mission, so I made quick work of straightening it out, placing it slightly offset from a piece of the fuselage and using my body weight. Not the best way to do it but after years I found it was the quickest. After all my knives were sharpened I started the formulaic process of cleaning my guns. Rolling out a towel and placing the brushes, lubricant, cleaning solvent and cotton swabs down and disassembling my guns one at a time. I found myself falling into rhythm, the clicks and smells of the cleaning solution taking my mind off the joke that was this teams current state of being. As I was working on my last gun my heightened instincts told me that someone was coming towards the armoury. I grabbed one of my knives and used my shirt to wipe away any remaining lubricant, and with one swift move I turned on the stool I was on and threw the blade. The knife pierced the plastic on the side of the planes body right by the door, a warning throw, not intended to harm but to scare away whoever was coming. “Fuck me dead Eight! You have to stop doing that to me” One’s voice, dripping with frustration and anger broke the silence of the room. “Maybe you should’ve learnt your lesson from last time and avoid sneaking up on me when I’m pissed off” I sneered, my attention was back to my gun, with one final click the barrel was back in place. “The fuck do you want, can’t you see I’m busy?” “Well we all wanted to know if you were coming back to the briefing or if you were gonna wallow here in self-pity” One snorted. That does it. I let loose another blade, this time aiming for his thigh, but he saw it coming and quickly dodged it. “See I did learn from last time” “Leave me alone One, I’m not in the mood for your bullshit right now. Last I checked, we were the ones working our asses off on your vendetta missions while you hang around out of danger and piss us all off.” I was yelling at this point. I was never one to hide my anger and One had hit just the right buttons, that and Four who was being the exact definition of a fuck boy right now, was enough to make me explode. “Now unless you’re here to apologise I suggest you get lost” my voice was almost a snarl at this point.

That’s when I noticed that the rest of the ghosts were also in the room with us, all but Two seemed surprised by my outburst, and even more so at my complete disregard to if I hit One or not. She had what almost looked like a smile on her lips. One pushed past them all in a huff, a string of profanities leaving his lips, all focused towards me. After a few awkward moments Two broke the silence. “Well I’m no pussy so I’ll speak. We agree with your plan, it’s smart and the easiest way to take him out. Also One is a dick. He wants to apologise but his ego is getting in the way” her French accent bringing an air of class to her words. The rest of the ghosts nodded along with her words.

“Right well he knows where to find me if he decides to pull his head out of his ass and apologise” I told her, standing from my position and making my way out of the room “excuse me, I need to be alone right now” I made my way past my team mates and out into the thick humidity of the Californian desert, unsure where I was going, but knowing I didn’t want to be around anyone.  

#ben hardy fic #ben hardy #ben jones #6 underground #6 underground fic #four x eight #four x reader #billy/four #FOUR FIC

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Conflict Resolution (baon)

Summary: Set after the events in 'Bedside Stories', Sans is the guy holding everything together. Mostly.

Tags:  Kustard, Background Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Injury, Betrayal

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it here!

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It was kind of a shame that Red was so persnickety about anyone being in his living space, because hiring some professional housekeepers was about the only way his bedroom was ever going to share space with the word ‘clean’. There was always a clutter of dishes on the dresser, whose drawers always hung open, every one of ‘em more empty than not. The floor was more of a storage facility for dirty clothes than a place for walking, and the bed? Well. Sans’s learned some new curse words the last time Edge came over to take care of Red when he was boiling over with a fever, something something befouled and beshitted nightmare fuel, as Sans recalled.

The Edgelord always did have a way with words.

But Edge wasn’t gonna be able to offer a new turn of phrase today, not with his leg out of commission. That left Sans as the one to suck it up and get it done, and he brought fresh sheets over from his place, tossing the ragged ball of linens into the corner before he made up the bed. Papyrus would probably have a snarky thing or two to say about his hospital corners, but eh, right about now hospitality was more important than hospital, since he wasn’t about to get Red to go to one, anyway.

That’d been before he even headed over to Edge’s and Stretch’s to gather up his wayward bonefriend, before he knew he’d need to layer down about a dozen towels to sop up all that damn paint. As it was, he was probably going to be buying Paps some new sheets, if he didn’t want to endure an hour-long presentation on how to properly get stains out, Sans, are you paying attention, I spent a lot of time on this powerpoint!

Red’s hankering for privacy was currently taking one for the team in the form of the hulking Monster with a set of surprisingly delicate antennae who was currently leaning over him, the eerie glow of his healing magic lighting the room. Doc looked more than a little out of place, his nattily ironed shirt incongruous in comparison to the rumpled ones crumpled on the floor. But he’d hardly batted an eyelash when Sans showed up in his living room, only stepped right up and came along for a ride.

Not like Sans or Red had much of a choice about it. Had to bring in a ringer, ‘cause the hospital was off the table and if there was one thing Sans was shit at, it was healing. Edge was a little rough around the (heh) edges with it, but Sans never got the knack for it at all, an everloving shame because it do come in handy from time to time.

But if wishes were horses, there’d be a herd eating their way through the piles of weeds in their backyard. So Sans kept back, leaning against the wall next to an opened window smoking an unfiltered, and let the professionals handle it.

The once freshly-made bed looked like a murder scene and even knowing it was only paint didn’t make it look less disturbing. Sans kept watching anyway; Red wasn’t in any shape to keep a beady eye on the doc, so Sans would do it for him.

Seemed to take forever before the Doc leaned back with a sigh. “That’s all I can do for now, anything more will hurt more than it heals.”

Sans nodded. He knew that much about healing, anyway; you could only force the bones to knit so much before it took a turn in the other direction.

“thanks, buddy.” He crushed the barely smoldering butt out into an overflowing ashtray. The Doc didn't need a warning to keep this little incident under the table. He was old enough to know how this game was played and he wouldn’t be bringing it up during any others, not even when he was losing the latest round of checkers against old Gerson down at the corner store.

“No problem. I’ll stop by in two days to check, but the residual healing should carry him through. Now, I’m assuming you’d rather give me a lift home than have anyone see me coming out?” Doc shook his head with a grin as Sans held out a hand. “Don’t think so, you’ve fooled me once, twice, and three times a lady with that old rib-tickler.”

“heh, guess you already gave us a hand, you don’t need one of mine.” Sans tucked the whoopie cushion into his pocket and stretched out his arms, hands spread in a loose shrug. “okay, choose a spot to hang on and i’ll take you home. nothing below the belt, or i’ll have a bone to pick with ya.”

Shortcutting the Doc home and back only took a moment. Red hadn’t moved while he was gone, sprawled out mostly bare on the stained towels, sockets closed. Between the Doc and himself, they’d stripped Red down to his shorts. Some of the paint was scrubbed away but there was still plenty to go around. No way to clean him up any better without a long soak in a bathtub and a stiff brush, but that’d have to wait. The heater was already cranked up, both their bones appreciated it a little on the tropical side, especially ones as beat up and scarred as Red’s.

He’d had 1 HP coming in from Underfell, slowly ticking up to five on this side of the mirror, and some days it was hard not to think of that, tracing the ridged scars on his rib cage with tongue and teeth, wondering at how they hadn’t killed him. He had a coupla new ones now and the stark white blemishes would eventually fade to match the rest. Eventually.

Sans sat down next to Red, uncaring of the filthy towels and sheets, studying his face. Beneath his sockets looked deeply bruised, more bruises mottled around his freshly healed bones. He stank of oily paint and sour sweat, the smell of it practically baking out of him and a good excuse to leave the window open for a while longer. He looked asleep, should be asleep, but Sans knew better.

True to form, Red didn’t open his sockets as he asked, “did you find him?”

“right where you left him. bastard was kinda hard to miss.” Sans lit another cigarette, inhaled the smoke, then held it against Red’s mouth, letting him take a drag. He coughed it back out, rolling onto his side while Sans watched impassively, exhaling a nicotine-drained cloud of his own, “red paint, really? that’s not a pun so much as a bad fashion statement.”

Red rasped out a laugh, took another drag when Sans offered it. “best i could do. probably not too many would think to check that old storage shed in old new home. surprised he did, he ain’t that smart. must’ve figured out i was onto him somehow and was lookin’ for a decent hidyhole.” His sharp-toothed smile widened. “red paint. think they had it set aside cause they’d planned on repainting the school this summer. if i’d known it would offend your aesthetics, woulda aimed for the whitewash, but the universe has to have its jokes too, i guess.” He scratched at his healing ribs with a groan, until Sans swatted his hands away before he could undo all the work Doc just shoved into him. “fucker was a lot tougher than he looks. even harder to take down if i didn't want to dust him, ‘specially without paps.” Red’s sockets slit open, faded crimson peering out. “i ain’t bad with the control, but i was too pissed this time. fucker almost got them all killed.”

“yeah,” Sans agreed. For trying not to dust him, Red did plenty of damage. He’d pulled the security tapes, even a lonely storage shed had them, but they were next to useless. Too much magic flying around disrupted the recording. Probably for the best, Sans didn’t really need to see it. Hearing it was bad enough and he’d turned off the tape the first time he heard bone breaking with a sickening crack.

Their traitor had been bruised from ankle to eyebrow, or at least every part of him that wasn’t covered in paint. They’d found him right where Red left him before his hop/skip to the other side of town for some emergency healing, unconscious and still pinned to the wall with a seething fester of bones, HP slowly ticking downward with karmic retribution.

What Sans didn’t bother mentioning to Red was that his control was almost better than his own. He’d stood there too long looking at the unconscious fucker but seeing his own brother, hurt and so still in a hospital bed, a rage welling up from so deep it left him shaken.

He wondered with bitter humor what his therapist would think if he told her exactly what he was using her calming techniques for, breathing in through his nasal passage, out through his teeth, until that soul-deep rage turned into something manageable. She’d probably turn it around on him, get him to spill too much, more than he’d thought possible in that way she had. There was something to look forward to.

Truth be told, the anger was almost a relief. Something focused and real, better than his diffused fear and frustration whenever he looked at Paps, who was still in the hospital, doing better, yeah, better every day, but never should’ve been there to begin with.

Delayed reaction, maybe, or maybe only being face to unconscious face with the bastard who’d almost got his brother senselessly killed.

Red was never as oblivious as Sans might want, his gaze felt weighty and knowing as he asked, “what're they gonna do with him?”

“don't think it's been decided yet. normally treason is punishable by death," Sans said calmly, as if that wasn't a sentence usually carried out by the King's Judge. Asgore already knew he wasn’t taking on this one; he couldn’t, the idea of being impartial was laughable, obscene. "can't exactly have a trial. we don't need monsters or humans knowing that one of our own was spilling the beans to an extremist group of haters, trying to get all our ambassadors killed."

"yeah.” The world-weariness in that single word made Sans want to lean in closer, to touch, to hold, shit, he didn’t know. He didn’t have a chance, Red sighed and went on, “don't even know why he did it.”

“eh, jerry's always been a resentful piece of shit. edge recently transferred him down to the records department in the basement to work on his own, since there'd been some complaints about his attitude in his old department." Sans smiled thinly. "from what i hear, he threw some of that bitch stretch's way and our honey bun took it hard. that didn't go over real well with your bro."

“so what, he sold out his own kind because he's not happy with his job?" Red’s laugh was sharp enough to cut, if Sans let it.

“nope, he set them up because he's a piece of shit and don’t you forget it.” Sans’s eye light gleamed a brief flash of blue-yellow, filling the room, "i got a real good look at him and i ain't too keen on some of the ideas he had about others. coulda done without seeing his extended torture porn fantasies, for sure."

"yeah, go ahead and forget that shit. we do any torture porn, i expect the ideas to be original." Red’s sigh rattled through him, echoing that bone-deep weariness. “gonna have to figure out what to say to stretch, told him i’d let him know what went down.”

Sans raised a brow bone. Interesting. “you’re gonna tell him all this?”

“fuck, no,” Red said scornfully. “didn’t make no promises. just need a good cover story.” He slanted Sans an amused look. “makes two of us. you gonna tell me how you found me? i only sent you all directions to find our turncoat.”

Sans shrugged. “eh, it was easy. the tracker i stuck on you at the hospital started beeping when you were in range. i was already headed to the storage shed before your text, only had to switch gears when the location updated.”

The flutter of outrage across Red’s expression was a deliciously filling meal. “where the fuck did you—“

“please, hypocrite, the three you have on me aren’t just for show and i know it,” Sans yawned. “but if you can find ‘em, you’re welcome to take ‘em off. if. and we wouldn’t need a cover story at all if you’da come here to begin with, but noooo, you had to go fuck up your bro’s kitchen.”

Red only grinned, unashamed. “sorry, i was kinda flying on pure instinct, trying not to dust and all. sides, like you can fuckin’ heal? stretch kinda feels like getting smacked upside the soul when he does it, but at least he can.” The gleaming humor on his face faded, icing over. “you talk to asgore, you tell him solitary confinement is a better punishment. anything else is too good for that piece of shit. death ends it all and beatin’s gotta stop sometime. thoughts can go for an eternity and with a nice slot of attempted murders and two successful ones, i ain’t feelin’ charitable. he can think about it all for a nice, long time.”

Sans wasn’t feeling particularly philanthropic himself, but he only nodded agreeably. All his rage was burned off for the time being, burnt out in the harsh blurt of fear when he’d first seen Red cradled in his brother’s arms, before anyone saw Sans was there. He’d tamped it back down pretty fast, obviously Red was all right if his bro wasn’t sweeping him off the floor, but now he only felt exhausted. Emptied. Tomorrow he could work up something else to feel.

They sat together smoking for a time, only the sound of exhales and the occasional clack of phalanges as they traded the butt back and forth. Right about the time Sans was about to suggest Red give sleeping it off a try, Red spoke up again, gruffly.

“almost forgot. here.”

Where he pulled it from, Sans wasn’t sure, At first he didn’t even know what it was. Sure the light jangle of a buckle registered as it dropped into his lap, but it still took a minute to filter through his weary mind. Sans slowly picked it up, turning it over in his hands. A collar.

It was made of a narrow strip of plain black leather, the inside lined with a soft, velvety material in a shade of deep crimson. Simple, practical, for the most part. Until you hit the buckle and that was something else entirely; intricately wrought, etched with delicate scrollwork and in the shape of a heart. A soul.

Huh. Looked like he had room for another emotion today, after all.

Sans glanced at Red, but his sockets were carefully closed and so was his expression, puckered tight as Blue’s asshole, if he’d had one.

“you romantic, you.” Sans tossed it back into Red’s lap, the buckle clacking against his femur. He hoped it stung. “don’t think so.” He could feel the tension rise in Red, even though they weren’t touching, hovering over him like a midnight ghost, and let it strain for a moment before he added, “once you can sit up and put it on me yourself, then we’ll go there.”

“heh.” With one word, that tension dissolved. Red managed to get up on one elbow, and his grin was all jagged teeth, devouring. “c’mere.”

Sans leaned in, a little, but didn’t make it easy for him, made Red scootch in closer, nudging Sans’s chin up so he could reach. The rasp of velvet-softened leather circling his throat was an unknown quantity, and so was the coolness of the buckle, setting against his bones. He swallowed, felt the collar rise and fall against his cervical vertebra. The unfamiliar weight seemed heavier than possible, but eh, made sense. There was a lot more to it than the physical mass, now wasn’t there.

Certainly Red’s gaze had a weight of its own, resting on that thin strip of leather with hot intensity. “that what you wanted?”

“been wanting it.” he wasn’t ashamed to say it, happy to be safely selfish for once. “took you long enough, icebergs would win a race against your smooth moves.”

That heat leapt higher, crimson eye lights briefly sparkling like a gimcrack kiddie firework. Something might’ve come of it if Red hadn’t already had the shit beat out of him earlier. That heat only lingered a minute before it flickered out, faded, and Red sank back onto the mattress with a groan. He didn’t move when Sans shifted to lay next to him, uncaring of the still tacky paint smears surrounding them as he dragged up the ruined blankets.

His scoff was hoarse, thin, as Red said, “you takin’ a nap? you’ve got a ton of shit to do out there.”

Like Sans couldn’t hear the plea beneath it? He knew Red too well now; Red’d made a mistake, tipped his hand, and now that Sans knew his cards, he wasn’t about to fold.

He settled a hand on Red��s rib cage, fingers tracing over scars, old and new. “we’ve got an entire team handling it. shut up and go to sleep.”

Red’s ribs rose and fell with his rough chuckle, but it evened out quickly, fading into slow, even breaths as he took his orders. Sans slid a little closer, until they were pressed together from shoulder to femur. Not enough, but it’d do for now.

Once Red was out, Sans reached up to touch that buckle where it was nestled against his throat and already warmed by his body heat. He traced the shape of it for a long time.

Shit to do, yeah, Sans had plenty of it. Like right now, it was time to start waiting for Red to wake up, but that was fine.

Sans was patient.

-finis-

#Kustard #spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name