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astralisbelle · 1 year

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Dead Man's Hand 13 - It's Never Enough

Dead Man's Hand Masterlist tags: engineer!reader, gambler!reader, loose canon timeline, eventual smut, fluff, action, casino aesthetics, touch starved reader, touch starved din, reader and din get on each other’s nerves, also they’re idiots, defrosting ice king din, cinderella vibes, everybody loves grogu

chapter summary: They have a talk and she's determined to keep going. Unfortunately, there are other obstacles in their way.

notes: we've reached 1000 likes, 100 reblogs, and over 50 followers omg thank you all SO SO much. I love writing Mando content so I'm already thinking about what I can write next once this series wraps up. feel free to drops suggestions or requests in my ask box :) thank you again!

Grogu’s eyes regain focus and he smacks his lips, blinking away the rest of his tiredness. He makes a little squeak as he stretches his arms out, rubbing his eyes.

He hoists himself out of his pram and surveys the room, lit by the late morning sun. His big ears twitch when he hears the stream of the shower in the bathroom. Must be his father, seeing as how his armor is still laid out on the table. Speaking of table, he sees a tray two plates, one missing food and the other still covered. Did his dad order breakfast? Is there anything for him?

Oh, but he doesn’t want to eat alone. He waddles towards the bedroom door, wanting to go wake her up. Maybe she’ll let him take another bath with her too. Once the door opens, he climbs onto the bed and babbles towards her. She sleeps on her stomach, blanket covering her shoulders. Grogu walks towards her head and pats on her cheek. He coos, hoping the sound of his voice will wake her up.

“Mmgh…” She moans a little, stirring. A yawn escapes her as her eyes flutter open. “Mm… Grogu?” She pushes herself to sit up, the blanket slipping off her shoulders. It’s only now that she remembers she’s naked and quickly covers her chest. “Grogu!”

The child just tilts his head, confused at her reaction.

Memories flood back into her mind. It all happened in complete darkness, but each sound, each touch, each sensation was clear. So that… that really happened. Din and I… Her face reddens and she clamps her hand over her mouth to muffle a yelp. She looks over her shoulder… no Din. Oh Stars, he didn’t leave, did he? Wait, of course not, Grogu is still here. “Where’s…”

Grogu makes a noise and points towards the bathroom. Now that she strains her ear, she hears the shower turn off. Her heart immediately races. Grogu nudges her again, babbling and pointing towards the door. “Okay, okay. I’m coming.” She gulps and slips off the bed, wrapping the bed sheet around her torso. As she does, she winces and mouths a quiet “ow.” Why am I so sore �� right…

Grogu leads the way, more interested in the food waiting for them. She lifts a brow. Food? Did… Din order this? She notices one plate is already finished. Sitting down, she uncovers the other plate, steam escaping and revealing a hearty plate of breakfast. Grogu jumps onto her lap, reaching for the small bites that he can shovel into his mouth. “You go ahead, kid,” she says, listening to the sounds behind the bathroom door. “I don’t think I can eat yet…”

She isn’t sure how this is going to go, but she doubts it’ll end in anything other than the Mandalorian telling her to forget about it, that it never happened. And will never happen again. She was, after all, just being selfish. Maybe he hates her for it. Her stomach feels too tight to accept any food, so she just waits in agony.

The door opens. She lifts her head and he steps out, helmet blocking any indication of his emotion. He’s fully dressed, apart from the beskar he needs to put back on. His heavy gait towards them makes her heart race and her mouth dry. Without a word, he sits down across from them, reaching for his armor and putting it on, piece by piece.

Nothing? He’s going to say nothing? She grits her teeth. “Okay, fine.” She breaks the silence. “I’ll make this easy for you, Mando.”

The use of the nickname stops his hands. He faces her. “What?”

“Let’s just forget about it,” she says, her eyes darting to the side, her voice wavering. “Pretend it never happened. I’m sorry. I… I shouldn’t have…”

Din’s chest heavies. Grogu is too busy eating to listen in on the conversation, but where he sits doesn’t go unnoticed. He even offers her a piece of fruit that she politely declines. “...Why?” Din asks.

“’Why?’ I…” She sighs, her hand running through her head. “Isn’t this… what you want?”

“When did I say that?”

She blinks in surprise. “You… don’t want that?”

“I…” Now it’s his turn to avert his gaze, even though he knows she can’t see his eyes. He rubs the back of his neck. “Oh boy…” He sounds stressed. “You… don’t regret it?”

“I-I don’t!” She shakes her head. “I th-thought you would regret it. I thought… I was being selfish. That I forced you into it and-and that you didn’t want to and—”

“Hey, hey, slow down.” He lifts a hand. “It’s okay. You weren’t being selfish. If anything, it was me.” He looks at Grogu, knowing it wouldn’t be the first time.

“Oh…” She cracks a smile, relief written in her visage. “S-So… what does that mean? If we’re… both selfish?”

“Well… the kid and I know a thing or two about that.” Grogu looks up with a gleam in his eye. It was selfish for Din to go back for him in the first place. It was selfish to endanger others just to rescue him from Moff Gideon. It was selfish for Grogu to leave Luke to return to him. At some point, it stops being selfish and becomes something else entirely. “So it wasn’t… bad?”

“Bad? Are you kidding me? It was...” She stops herself from sounding too giddy, considering the fact that Grogu is still present. And Din knows that he understands more than he lets on. “It was wonderful, Din.”

He grins. “G...Good…” Now that that’s taken care of: “Pack your things,” he says to her. “We’re going to leave.”

Her smiles drops. “Leave? Why? The tournament isn’t over.”

“I know.” He secures his vambrace. “But I’m not putting you in any more danger.”

“Hey! Wait just a minute!” She almost stands up, but Grogu is planted firmly on her lap. “You got rid of the danger, didn’t you? There’s just me and the Twi’lek now. I’m so close!”

“You were almost killed.” He stands. “You wanna walk around with a target on your back?”

“Oh, like you don’t?”

“That’s different. I’m a Mandalorian, I’m a bounty hunter. I know how to fend for myself.”

She huffs in frustration. “So I’m just supposed to give up now?”

“There’s other beskar in the galaxy. I’ll figure it out.”

Now she stands, carrying Grogu in her arms. “You listen to me, Din… I don’t know your last name—”

“Djarin.”

She blinks. “Really?” How pretty — not now! “You listen to me, Din Djarin!” Grogu giggles. “I didn’t come all the way here, get hit on, felt up, threatened, a blaster on my face, all to just give up right when I’m so close to the finish line!”

Din takes a step back. Felt up? “Wait… when did you get…?” His blood starts to boil.

She waves her hand. “It was Besporos, the trust fund kid. Said he’d give me some beskar if I went on a date, but we all see how that turned out. Anyway, I didn’t go through all of that for you to tell me to forget about it.” She takes a step forward. “I need to win this… for me. Don’t you get that?”

He resigns himself, lowering his head. “Of course I can.”

“Then it’s settled.” Another step forward. “But…” She lifts her hand, cupping the side of his helmet. “I do think it’s sweet that you care.” Din tenses out of instinct, but he breathes out and dares to lean into the touch. How he wishes he could feel it on his skin again… The best he can do is hold her hand, thumb brushing against her wrist. The bed sheet drapes around her makes her look like a work of art, like a statue that only he can admire.

He fantasizes about the curtain of night being drawn and carrying her back, their clothes on the floor leaving no barriers. Din never imagined he could feel so close to another person like that.

Grogu coos, tilting his head and giving him a look. Din knows the kid can’t talk yet, but he says enough with his expressions: what’s happening between you and her?

“Urm.” Din clears his throat loudly, pulling away.

She walks back to the table, setting Grogu down on it so he can continue eating. “I’m going to freshen up.” He nods, watching her walk towards the bathroom door. “The door’ll be unlocked, okay?” She winks, clicking her tongue before she walks in. Din’s throat tightens and he clenches his jaw. Din sinks into the couch and tries to shoo away those thoughts while Grogu eats.

He recalls how he once mused to himself that Grogu would be the death of him. Now he thinks the same thing of her, but for entirely different reasons.

---

Her bath that afternoon is long. She savors it knowing that it’ll be the last time she gets to experience such luxury before leaving Canto Bight. Kriff, she hasn’t even decided where she wants to go after this… It doesn’t have to be Tatooine, that much she knows. What if she stays here? Or maybe goes somewhere else fancy, like Coruscant? A whole galaxy is at her disposal. So, instead of being alone on Tatooine, you wanna be alone somewhere else?

She sinks into the tub.

Of course, her heart knows exactly where she wants to go. Could she do it? Travel the galaxy, hop from one place to the next, not knowing what the next day would bring? Hell, that sounds amazing. And it wouldn’t matter where she went, as long as she had them.

Slow down. Maybe… maybe focus on winning the tournament first.

She finishes her bath and walks to the bedroom to pick her outfit for that night. As she goes through the many dresses that stylist left her, she notices that the hotel staff had put her Tatooine clothes on a hanger, its dull brown colors looking even muddier next to the vibrant ones. Taking it off the rack, she notices that it’s been scrubbed clean of dirt and sweat, even smelling nice.

The corner of her lips curls up. It was fun dressing up like a rich noble the past few days, but something about wearing her normal clothes seems right for tonight.

“Okay,” she says, stepping out of the bedroom. “I’m ready.”

Din looks up, a little surprised that she came out in her regular clothes. The last time he had seen her in those, they were bickering and biting each other’s heads off. Yet, he knows she’s still the girl from last night, the one that pulled him into her arms and accepted him entirely. She’s still just as beautiful. “Then let’s go.”

Walking across the casino is like wading through tar. Hundreds of people watch them, congest the walkways as they stare and whisper. She meets their gazes with a firm look, her hand clutching his wrist. As they near the room of the tournament, they hear arguing from inside.

“Oh boy,” she says. “This could get ugly.”

Inside, Dastiv shouts at his bodyguards while the Twi’lek and the other competitors watch, occasionally joining in. As soon as the casino owner sees the three of them walk in, his face reddens with rage and he points towards them. “You!” he shouts. “I want you out of my casino! Out!”

“Tournament’s not over,” she says, hiding the rising rage in her voice.

“Oh, yes it is.” Dastiv hisses. “I’ve already made the decision.”

“What?” She glares.

“You — or rather, your friend — murdered Bras Luum, another competitor! You are disqualified!”

The crowd around them gasps. “What?! That’s not fair!” she shouts. “He tried to murder me first! And you!” She points at him, her finger right in his face. “You helped him!”

“I’d watch your tone, scum. You’re lucky I’m not calling for your arrest.” Din is ready to step between them before she puts a hand on his arm, stopping him.

“Afraid the New Republic’s gonna investigate into your friend? Yeah, that might not look good.” She seethes with fury. “I don’t want to be here a second longer, but you’ll let me finish this tournament if you know what’s good for you.”

“No can do.” He takes a step back. “I’ve already called it. Your winnings have been added to the final pot. And since there are no more competitors, I shall declare Hadira Vossall the winner of this tournament!” The Twi’lek woman narrows her eyes at Dastiv, not appearing the least bit excited about this development. “She will receive the entire pot and the beskar.”

She pales, feeling her heart break in two. “So it’s decided…”

“Yes.” Dastiv smiles smugly. “Glad you understand.”

Her hand twitches. “Yeah… means I won’t feel bad about doing this.” She takes her fist and swings with all her might, punching him right in the face, the crowd gasping in response while Grogu giggles. “That’s for drugging me, you bastard!” Din sees that her fist is cocked for another cross and he catches her hands, pulling her back.

“That’s enough. He’s not worth it.”

Dastiv holds his cheek, spitting out some blood onto his hand. “My tooth! She broke my tooth!”

Din glares at him. “You’re lucky she didn’t break more. C’mon.”

She wishes she could delight in the sight more, but the heartbreak was too much. Not only did she lose the beskar, but all of her winnings… Everything that she worked for was gone. She bites down on her lip as Din leads her away, holding back the tears. “I’ve had enough of this city,” she tells him as they reach the casino’s exit. “Let’s get out of here.”

Just as the doors slide open, they hear a feminine voice call “wait!” The trio looks back, seeing a young, green Twi’lek girl run up to them. “Miss. I come on behalf of my mistress, Lady Vossall. She would very much like to extend a formal invitation for you and your friends.”

She blinks, exchanging a look of confusion with the Mandalorian. “That’s… generous, I suppose. What for?”

“She did not say. She told me only to make sure you did not leave. If you are interested, please come to the penthouse in one hour.” She tells them how to find it, then she bows and leaves them be.

Din looks to her. “It’s up to you,” he says. “We can leave right now if you want.”

She takes the time to think. Why would Hadira want to see her? Maybe they could negotiate for the beskar so far. If they could get it, then she wouldn’t care about the money loss. It’s worth a shot. “You think it’s a trap?”

“She just won the tournament. I doubt it, but then again… I don’t trust anyone.”

“If it is, then at least we’ll escape it together. What do you think, Grogu?” He coos in affirmation.

---

Hadira Vossall’s penthouse sits on the top floor, overlooking the rest of Canto Bight. The first thing they notice is how warm it is, like a steam bath almost. If Din’s helmet weren’t specialized, it would have fogged up his visor. There are luscious green plants and flowers lining the hallways, alongside works of art and various artifacts. A servant leads them further into a spacious yet quiet room with a grand table in the center and a fountain on the back wall. At the head of the table, Hadira rises from her chair to greet them, stating the girl’s full name.

“That’s me,” she says. “Thank you for inviting us. You have…” she scans around. “A really lovely home.”

“Thank you.” Hadira walks around the table, servants following her. She walks like a queen… “I don’t know what transpired between you and Bras,” she says, folding her hands together. “And frankly, I don’t care.” She stops in front of them, a calm expression on her face. “Allow me to explain something to you. I don’t need to gamble for money. I do it because I love it, because I’m good at it. And I love winning… but you know what I don’t love?” She frowns. “Winning by default.”

She nods. “I… see.”

“I could tell that Dastiv had already made up his mind, but he cannot control what I do in my own residence. So, I ask you.” She once again uses her full name. “Would you kindly indulge in a game of sabacc with me?”

She blinks in surprise. “Wh-what?” Her heart swells in elation. “Really?”

“Indeed. I will gladly give you your earnings. However.” She holds up a hand. “Now that the beskar is in my hands, I ask that you provide something equal in value for the buy-in.”

At that, her face turns pensive. “I… I don’t have anything like that…”

Hadira grins. “Perhaps you don’t. But the Mandalorian does.” She turns to Din. “For five ingots of beskar, I believe his full set of armor serves an equal value.”

“No!” She shakes her head. “I-I can’t ask D– Mando to do that for me. It’s–”

Din says her name. He puts a firm hand on her shoulder and leans in so his voice through the modulator only reaches her ears. “Can you win?”

“I-I don’t know,” she stutters out. “She’s really good and… no, no, I can’t gamble with your armor—”

“Can you win?” he asks again, firmer. She closes her eyes, focusing on his voice, on his hand. “When you woke up this morning, did you think that you could win.”

“...Yes.”

“Is it any different now?”

“It’s your armor, Din.” She presses her temple against his. “I could never lose that.”

“...Then don’t.” He gives her shoulder a squeeze. “Go ahead. Play.”

She opens her eyes and gives him a look of pure determination, her brows fixed, her eyes brimming. A firm nod is all he needs to pull away. She faces Hadira.

“Let’s play.”

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #work: dead man's hand #fun fact #i like to think din put the blanket on mc before leaving #heheeh

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krsonmar · 7 months

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Okay you know what I don't have Spotify and I haven't found a way to post fan playlists with annotations that I like yet so guess what here this is in a text post with links like how we used to roll on Ye Olde LiveJournal

This is my OFMD S1 playlist. Loosely follows the season plot. Here we go:

1.) Come Sail Away by Styx

Because duh like why have they not used this in official promos yet but also very call-to-adventure and with vibes of midlife angst

2.) Fraud by Jonathan Coulton

Every playlist needs some JoCo because there's JoCo for every occasion. Fans debate about what this song is about--I think it's very plainly about imposter syndrome as it relates to the creative process--but here I'm applying it more generally to the feeling that everyone can tell you're faking it. In other words, very early-season Stede.

3.) Royals by Lorde

INTRODUCING BLACKBEARD

(Also I did not know until looking this link up just now that Lorde is also a Kiwi! I am out of touch.) 4.) We're Going to Be Friends by The White Stripes

This song always breaks my heart (in a good way) with its sweet tale about childhood innocence and ease of making fast friends. When I was making this playlist, this track made me think of Ed and Stede's ease of "falling into friendship"...because making a new friend who gets you really can be another kind of falling, just like romantic love, can't it?

5.) My Favorite Things by Me First and the Gimme Gimmes

Pirates like nice things, and they don't ask for what they want...they TAKE IT!!! This is a cover of the Sound of Music song, but made appropriate for the anarchy of a raid by this aptly-named punk rock band.

6.) You're My Best Friend by Queen

I had to get some Queen in here, and this song has always hinted at a slightly-more-than-just-two-friends dynamic to me. The French talk about all kinds of relationships as involving some type of seduction, not just sexual or romantic ones, and for me this track evokes Ed and Stede falling deeper for each other.

7.) Heathens by Twenty-One Pilots OR the cover by Boston Manor

I realized when I was constructing this list to put on my MP3 player (yes, I still have one, can't you tell by now that I'm old-school) that I don't actually own a copy of Heathens by the original band (and yes, I still buy and…ahem…otherwise own copies of the music I like). I did have access to the metal cover off of Punk Goes Pop vol 7, and I think the rawness of that version fits Ed's moment to Stede of "You were always going to find out what I am" quite well. Whichever you, the listener, prefer, I think this is an appropriate spot in the playlist for Stede to be reminded that Ed does have a history, and they are all, after all, pirates.

8.) The Ship Song by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

I love how we all, as a fandom, seem to have discovered this song independently of each other but because of this fandom. And what a fantastic, devastating song it is! It's not just about a relationship that crashes and burns, it's about your own ideals, dearly-held illusions, and self-respect going right along with it. And how it grows to be predictable. I don't really understand the concept of "a good cry", but if I did, I think this song would do it for me.

9.) I Crush Everything by Jonathan Coulton

The second requisite JoCo song of the playlist. This one is literally about a giant squid that hates itself, but I defy you not to be smacked viciously about the head with the Kraken vibes of it.

10.) You've Got To Hide Your Love Away by The Beatles

We've all been there. The fake-it-til-you-make-it "I definitely am doing better now :'-)" phase of a heartbreak. This is Ed's floral nightgown being hidden away and replaced by black eyeliner and kohl; this is Stede's determination to grit his teeth and return to the life he hated and now no longer can even fake his way through. The Beatles always knew what they were doing. (That said, as a note, this is about to be four kinda downer songs in a row on this playlist, and the order does matter, so since the next and last heart-wringer is about to roll up, if the tear-jerkers are getting to be too much for you by this point of the playlist, I suggest omitting this one. The Fab Four will understand.)

11.) Samson by Matthew Luke Sandoval

This is a cover I found on YouTube of the Regina Spektor song, sung with such beauty, emotionality, and earnestness by a male vocalist with an angelic voice. The cover is over 10 years old at this point, and it looks like this guy suffered an apartment fire a little while after uploading this video and ended up not getting his singing career off the ground like he would have if this world knew any sense of justice. I tracked a copy of this song down to a mostly-defunct MySpace page and if my Google-fu is accurate, Mr. Sandoval still lives in NYC and is now an accountant or CPA of some type. I hope he hasn't truly given up on his singing dreams, but sometimes doing so makes life more liveable, so I get it if he has.

That said, this song about the bittersweet regret of knowing a relationship just wasn't going to work although it was magic while it lasted seemed appropriate, especially those famous, poetic lines about "the history books forgot about us". Apply that to a fictional reimagining of a man who history knows more as legend than as flesh-and-blood fact, and his protegee, a starry-eyed would-be adventurer, and how they both went down in flames along with a golden age of rebellion against a vicious status quo, and this tender dirge for a love that couldn't be, sung with a masculine vulnerability, gains a new layer.

Yes, I am very proud of this selection.

12.) Beyond The Sea by Bobby Darin

Okay, time to scrape you up off the floor and wipe your nose. Here's a blanket and a cup of something warm. This is, AFAIK, the original version in English of this song (although it was originally written in French), and it has the right musical and lyrical cautious optimism to not only ease you up out of that Pit Of Despair I just put you in, but also to suggest the wistful hopefulness of knowing you'll see your lover again soon, it's just a matter of waiting until the tides and currents and the sea winds align to bring you back to each other. I compiled this playlist earlier this year, and as of this writing we are 10 days away from season 2 premiering, so I am of course conjecturing and self-soothing somewhat here. That said, it's a romance, we know they'll get back together!!

13.) My Favorite Things by Sarah Vaughan

I call this The "Maybe The Nice Things We Wanted Were Actually Feelings and Relationships All Along" Reprise. Another gentle healing song, one that makes me think of cautious but eager reunions and teary-eyed reconciliations.

14.) Purple Haze by Jimi Hendrix

This show loves to use purple imagery to show when Ed is falling more in love with Stede, and while the show creators have said they're thinking more along the lines of Prince (and I declare, right now, before all maybe four of you reading this, that I want to bet actual real-world student-loan-paying money on Blackbonnet's canon reunion scene being set to Purple Rain, you saw it here, mark my words, etc.) if the very last scene of the show doesn't have our boys sailing off into the sunset set to the most famous misheard lyric in rock history, what are we all even doing here?

*****

Would love your thoughts or reactions, I haven't shared a fan playlist before, so I'd love any and all thoughts including things like YOU HEARTLESS BITCH NOW I HAVE TO REAPPLY MY MASCARA or anything else you please! :-) ❤

#ofmd #ofmd fan playlist #fan playlist #ofmd s1 #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #playlists #ofmd playlist #ofmd season 1 #our flag means death

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merakiui · 3 years

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Hey I see that tag about Xiao being the one to hunt you down 👀 I wonder what would make both Zhongli and Xiao fall for you though? On an unrelated note; mafia!Zhongli definitely gives off the vibe of making you be his personal servant. Where you tidy up around his office and accompany him on missions (like meetings etc).

👀 Just a what-if/alternative scenario, but maybe you think it’s possible to get out of this—to actually break your contract and leave it all behind—so you run. Xiao trained you well, but as a result of this he knows what to expect as you use techniques he specifically taught you. It won’t take long before he finds you. Zhongli won’t be too happy to know that you attempted to break the contract…

But I can totally see Zhongli making you his personal servant of sorts! Ganyu does the majority of the paperwork and other secretary duties, so if Zhongli wanted you to get accustomed to that type of work he’d have Ganyu give you a few pointers. However, Zhongli does like the idea of keeping you safe within his office and private estate, where all you’d have to do is serve him. He won’t ask for much and actually enjoys having you accompany him to his meetings. You’re a good listener and when the two of you are alone he enjoys conversing with you over tea.

Zhongli likes your determination and grit. You’re good at adapting to new situations and you’re always looking out for yourself and others (he’s noticed that, as much as you claim to despise Xiao, you make sure to have his back whenever the two of you are assigned the same mission). But all of these aspects of you aren’t the things that truly capture his heart. What makes him fall for you wholeheartedly is the fact that you’re a genuine person with a pleasant set of morals.

You’re too cute when you ask him how his day was or poke your head inside his office whenever he summons you for a briefing on a new assignment. You never complain around him and when you do it’s usually about Xiao. Zhongli knows deep inside that you could never truly hate Xiao—or anyone for that matter. You’re too nice and that’s why he thinks it’d be better if you stayed behind to serve him, where your safety is guaranteed and you won’t have to witness horrible things.

Also, your unwavering loyalty is nice. Like Xiao, you understand the importance of a contract and you don’t have any intentions of breaking the one you signed with him. That alone puts you in good standing with him. The more he gets to know you, the more his observations will prove to be true—and it’ll only further his admiration.

As for Xiao, he makes his dislike for you very apparent. To him you’re nothing more than a troublesome newbie—someone who isn’t cut out for the rough edges of the underground. It’s not a surprise that the two of you are always bickering and fighting. You manage to cooperate when you train together, but when you’re on a mission all bad blood is dropped in favor of working together. Xiao finds that you’re actually not a bad partner. You still have a long way to go, though. But he’s relieved to know that you’re reliable and aren’t quick to trust. Those are good qualities to have, as he’s lectured you before on how trust is a double-edged sword.

Xiao’s crush on you is a gradual process. Slowly but surely, he’ll stop viewing you in a negative light and eventually it’ll get to the point where he actually waits for you to wake up every morning so that the two of you can head to the weight room for some exercise. There are little things in your relationship with Xiao that hint at his slowly growing feelings for you. He stops nitpicking your flaws and (though it’s rare) praises you when you do well. He used to tell you that he’d have no problem leaving you behind if a mission goes haywire, but now he does everything in his power to ensure the both of you will make it out alive when dealing with the underground and its slew of criminals.

Xiao finally realizes he’s got a crush when he finds himself thinking about you all the time, wondering what your old life was like, and watching what he says so as to not upset you. He doesn’t want to ruin his relationship with you, and it isn’t long before he actually starts to enjoy being around you, training you, and just looking at you. He’s hooked on you and your bright energy. Also, he thinks you’re very attractive when the two of you are on missions together, but that’s a brain rot for another time.

#genshin chit chat #liyue mafia #kier-xs #AAA YES YES #maybe zhongli starts to hold you back from missions #and that makes xiao jealous >:(

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wildingrose · 3 years

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hassle

dark alley help part 8

part 7: refusal | part 9: care

word count: 2k

》 public sex

- ✿ -

You twirled on the spot while keeping your gaze fixed on the store's wall mirror, fixing the blazer and feeling the material of the pants on you. "How does this look, Tae?"

When you didn't hear anything, you frowned and turned your head to where he stood leaning against a clothes rack. He was glaring at the fabric wrapped around your legs.

"Tae?"

"I don't like them," he muttered while scowling at your pants.

Your frown deepened. "Why? Do I look bad in them?" You thought they were perfect, hugging your waist comfortably and your legs still looked sexy despite it being hidden.

And that was the exact problem he had.

Taeyong loved seeing your beautiful legs when you wore short skirts and dresses and so he didn't like it one bit that they were being caged away. "They're not convenient."

It took you a while before you understood what he meant. Looking around, no one was near you and in a hushed tone said, "Seriously? You don't like them because it's not convenient for you to fuck me? These are for work and I'm not having you fuck me while I'm at work."

He finally lifted his gaze to meet yours. With a naughty smirk, he whispered, "Wanna bet?"

You rolled your eyes. "Whatever, I'm getting this."

His eyes blew up. "No!"

"Give me a proper reason why I shouldn't."

His jaw clenched before another one hit him. "It'll take too long to dress."

You huffed. "More like too long to un-dress."

"It'll be a hassle."

"Tae?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

He sulked and looked away. In a really quiet voice, he muttered, "Lighter colour would look better."

Impressive. "You finally give a proper reason. Good boy," you cheered.

His eyes darkened instantly and before he could lay a touch on you, you held a finger up to stop him. "Nuh-uh, don't you dare even try anything here."

He rolled his eyes and caught sight of formal dresses across the store. "Can't you at least get some dresses?"

"The only ones considered professional are those body tight style that go past the knees. Not a fan of that."

"At least they'll show your legs."

You gave him a pointed look. "I'm not trying to woo anyone with my legs. Plus, I feel like I'm radiating serious boss vibes in pants. At least as a newbie, I'll avoid dresses until I've gained some respect through my work."

He hummed. "What is this business anyway?"

"My dad started his own business in real estate. Remember that small building you came to pick me up and met my brother? That's where he has his small team. His name is doing well and wanted my brother who has no interest in it to carry it on. And that's where I stepped in and saved everyone. My dad's happy, my brother's happy, and I'm happy. I get the business and I still have you. It's a win-win situation."

Taeyong's face turned grim when there was still one member in your family who wasn't happy. "But your mom..." he trailed off quietly.

You sighed and held his face gently, making eye contact. "Yeah, she might not be happy right now, but she'll eventually come around it. Let's be a little optimistic, hm?"

He smiled a little and nodded slightly.

"Good! Now let's change the topic. Do you have a suit? Like a formal, business type suit or something?"

Taeyong shook his head, frowning. "Why?"

You hummed and looked around for the men's section. "You're gonna need one for an event. Go check some out while I change, okay?" You flashed him a smile and headed for the fitting rooms. Just when you were about to close your door, Taeyong pushed it and slipped in. You staggered back a bit from the unexpected force. Puzzled, you asked, "What are you doing here?"

He didn't answer and shut the door before crouching down in front of you and unbuttoned your pants, yanking them down along with your panties in one swift move.

You gasped. "I thought I gave you a task, not an invitation to follow me here for a fuck," you spoke quietly through gritted teeth, hoping no one would hear you on the other side of the door.

"Put your feet up."

"I'm not."

He looked up at you. "See how annoying it is when you wear pants?"

You inhaled deeply and strictly told him, "Get this in your head. I am not letting you fuck me when I'm at work."

You both had a staring competition, his eyes holding utmost determination for what he wanted to accomplish in the small room as his hand gently remained wrapped around your ankle. Unlike him, your eyes shook the longer his eyes burned into yours and so your body reacted, feeling a slight throb in your exposed core.

Silently admitting defeat, you raised your foot and a huge smirk got plastered onto his face. He ripped your shoes and pants off and stood up, shrugging out only enough for his dick before pushing you against the wall and hooking your legs around his hips. His cock lined up to your entrance and held it there, waiting for your permission with a devilish smirk.

Quietly groaning, you whispered, "Don't you dare fucking tease me. Just do it!"

"Gladly."

He slowly pushed into you, both of your sighs mixing as he rested his forehead against yours. You bit into your bottom lip from having to be beautifully stretched out for the first time in nearly 48 hours.

"You feel so damn good, doll," he whispered, following suit and kept his voice low. "It's been a while."

"It's only been two days, Tae. I was busy." Busy learning the work and introducing yourself to the team.

He grunted. "That's too long." Pulling out a bit, he pushed in again, setting a slow and steady pace as he rolled his hips into you. "Not fair," he mumbled against your skin when his lips littered kisses along your jawline.

You shivered as your tight walls hugged him and tried to contain your whine when he wasn't quite rutting into you like the way you loved. If he did, it was going to be a challenge to stop yourself from drawing attention of concerned employees. Instead, you turned your head and sighed softly at the mirror displaying live porn between you and your man. Taeyong followed your gaze and curled his lips up. "Like what you see, doll?"

Your hands balled his shirt, nodding to his question. "Very."

"Good." He pecked your lips and pulled out to the tip, his hands pushing your ass up and giving it a gentle squeeze to get his doll ready for the mission.

And the timing couldn't have been worse when you heard a knock on the door.

"Ma'am, is everything going well in there?" an employee spoke, tone polite, friendly, and unsuspecting.

You gave Taeyong a strict look, silently warning him to not even think of doing anything. "Yeah, everything is- ah!"

Your fingers dug hard into his shoulders, your head flew back and hit the wall when he decided to have some fun by thrusting hard into you.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" Her voice sounded panicky. "Do you require assistance?"

"No!" you squeaked out. You kept your eyes shut and tried to calm your spiked heart down. There were no locks for the rooms and if she turned the handle, then you were screwed. "I'm... changing."

"Alright, ma'am. Let me know if you'd like anything."

Opening your eyes, you glared at Taeyong. He bit his lower lip, being fully entertained by your reaction. "Ye-" Not even one full syllable in, Taeyong repeated his fun, pulling out and jamming into your slick hole swiftly. Your toes curled and you clamped one hand to your mouth to stop yourself from screaming while the other fisted tightly in his hair, not caring if it hurt him. He merely grunted in response.

Thankfully, you heard her heels click away from the door. Your hands went limp to your sides and narrowed your eyes on Taeyong who chuckled quietly. "That was not funny," you scowled after collected your breath.

"It was. You should have seen yourself."

"What if she walked in?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Free show."

You smacked his shoulder hard and he laughed it off. "Let's hurry this up. I'm tired."

Taeyong arched a brow. "My doll is tired? How is that possible? We're barely getting started."

You scoffed. "Oh really? After that fun you decided to play out and me making sure I didn't give away what we were doing in here, you don't think it's possible?"

He flushed his body against yours as he pressed you further into the wall, leaving no gap between his chest and your breasts. You silently wished that the two of you were bare chested for you to feel his hard chest against your soft one, though that could wait till you were somewhere out of public place. His fingers came up to lightly trail along your jaw as he hummed against your cheek, the tip of his nose sending tingles throughout your body. "We're gonna have to work on upping your stamina, doll."

Without warning, he dug his fingers into your hips and kept you still as he pounded in and out of your heat, not giving you time to prepare yourself in keeping quiet. Your eyes pricked with tears as you felt the delicious pleasure near and did your best to muffle your moans and cries against your hand.

"You sound so fucking beautiful, doll. You should let it out, let them hear how nice you're feeling," he grunted out and shifted your ass to hit you in a slightly different angle and that was when it hit you.

Your cry hit a higher note, though gratefully not enough to hear an employee call for you again. Your muscles clenched around him as he fucked you out during your high, him bursting inside you not too long after.

After catching your breaths, he set you on your feet and you reached for the wall to hold yourself up as Taeyong fixed his pants back up to his hips.

His eyes landed on the supposed pants for purchase. Casting a nasty look at it, he asked, "Isn't it a hassle? Now you have to put your pants on. You didn't have to worry about that with your dress."

This guy and his hatred for pants was very interesting.

Huffing, you took off the blazer and Taeyong whistled with a pleased look. "Are we going for round two?"

You faked a smile and flung the blazer at his head, covering his sight. His shoulders shook as he laughed while you retrieved your panties from the discarded pants and put your own skirt and shoes back on. You draped the pants over your arm and went to rip the blazer off his head. Taeyong trailed behind you as you made your way to the door.

Opening it, you were stunned by a woman in uniform waiting on the other side with wide eyes. "Uh- I hope everything is okay," she stammered.

Shit. You screamed a series of curses in your head, wondering how long the employee stood there while you were being fucked.

Taeyong calmly walked past your shocked self and stood in front of the woman. He shoved his hands in his pockets and tilted his head. "I wonder what assistance you would have given for our love-making session," he said with a joking glint in his eyes.

All the colour drained from her face as she stood still like a statue. Her expression was masked in sheer horror, and you yelled at him. "Taeyong!" His laughter boomed as he sauntered away. You gave her a sheepish smile. "I'm so sorry," you gently apologized and hurriedly scattered away from her horrified figure. You discarded the clothes on a nearby rack and yanked Taeyong by his arm, dragging him out the store and promising yourself to never step foot in there again.

tag list: @cosmiclatte28 @mel-yjh @johnnysuhisnotmyproblem @kttyongie @chantellsievert

#nct smut #nct 127 smut #taeyong smut #lee taeyong #taeyong scenarios #taeyong imagines #taeyong x reader #nct scenarios #nct imagines

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embrassemoi · 3 years

Text

No Body, No Crime ✁ 1

AU - Y/N L/N is a second-year law student attending Stanford and studying under Professor Aaron Hotchner. Along with his associate attorneys, Ms. L/N is alongside some of the most ambitious and cutthroat law students in the nation. However, her life gets flipped upside down as she’s thrust into a life of murder, sex and lies.

Main Pairing: Spencer Reid x [F]Reader

Content — Mature themes, blood, major and minor character death, violence, angst, triggering themes, bad coping mechanisms, drugs, mental health shit, alcoholism, lots of smut, language, fluff, mystery, thriller, mentions of cheating, canonical typical themes , dark academia vibes, explicit content - read with caution

DISCLAIMER: This story will contain MATURE content. It will include themes such as smut, violence, etc (see content). If you are not 18+ and unable to handle such themes, respectfully, please exit this story. It is not my intention to make readers uncomfortable or trigger them in any way. If you continue to read the story despite the multiple warnings, I am not responsible for any triggers that may pop up.

Also, based off this blurb!

I am also not a law student, so there is bound to be misinformation!

【 ao3 | Masterlist | Playlist 】

CHAPTER 1: Death and All His Friends

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Blood, she thinks, you never really know how much blood is in a person. Logically, she did know; she had to learn how many pints there were in the human body from med school and the mass amount of profile study cases. From looking at crime scenes, reading textbooks, medical journals and fake charts; blood has never bothered her, if anything, she got used to seeing and being around it.

There are roughly about ten gallons of blood in the average adult, but typically, losing more than forty percent will result in death. That was about two thousand millilitres.

But, you never realize just how much blood a person can hold, not until a human is slaughtered like an animal, eyes glossed over, body turned cold and stiff — splayed out in front of you. It seems like a lot more than what was described.

There’s a saying, bleed like a pig. Well, she understood what it meant now.

God, she sounded like Spencer.

“What are we going to do with the body?”

“Let’s leave it. We need to go back and clean!”

“No, let’s bury it.”

A chuckle of utter disbelief forces its way out of Derek’s mouth in a rush. It’s both strained and ragged and sounds as if he’s about to burst into tears, but the shock and anger seem to immerse deep in his bones and control his actions. His head shakes subconsciously, “You’re — you’re fucking joking, right? It’s the middle of winter! Tell me how the fuck we’re going to bury a body when the soil’s hard?!”

There’s a collective panicked sigh that goes through the group as the implications finally start to settle in.

“Be any louder!” Emily half-shouts. She paces back and forth, the freshly fallen snow crunches under her shoes as they leave footprints in their wake. Her hands make extravagant hand movements, almost in an attempt to speak with her actions. But, the only thing that has Y/N somewhat grounded is the rusty blood on Emily’s hands. The stark contrast of her pale skin against the deep red does nothing but make bile rush to her throat.

“The body is what gets us caught!” JJ cuts in through her half-sobs.

“The one time it snows in California! Since when do we get snow?!”

Sticky, cold, dry, flakey blood. It brings too much attention to the blood painting her body in a cruel, evil painting. Y/N lifts a shaky hand as she turns to observe the way the pads of her fingers were stained red. Underneath her fingernails, she can see the blood caking, dried underneath and can feel the heavy liquid travelling up her sleeve.

Her fingers pressed together before a hand shoots up, trying to pick off the blood in a hasty attempt.

Everything was uncomfortable — too uncomfortable and it was sticky and disgusting and there was too much happening. Her brain was overstimulated and all she wanted to do was yell or cry or strip herself clean from these heavy clothes, hiding the blood drenching her underneath. A hand went to claw at the fabric — she needed to breathe — she needed air and it was too tight and —

The falling snow had finally come to a stop, the ground becomes muddy, wet snow being tracked all around but aside from that, it’s dry out. Panic is slow seep within her body, only just registering the dull, prickling ache that travels up the side of her right arm. Not to mention the pounding in her skull felt like someone had taken a power tool, drilling a burl hole into the side of her head in hopes of creating a make-shift lobotomy. On instinct, her hand reaches up to her temples, massaging small circles in hopes to find relief.

But then she catches sight of her hand again from her peripheral vision, or rather, it’s as if she can feel it laminating her skin. Blood.

Now there must be smeared streaks of dried blood coating her face. Fuck, now she really feels like throwing up.

A soft wail can be heard in the background somewhere, but it sounds distant and underwater. She thinks it’s JJ. Her high-pitched cries are loud and she thinks that’s Derek’s voice yelling at her and god… it only amplifies her headache.

She needed an aspirin, Advil — maybe Spencer had some.

Her mind wanders back to the group. Emily… Emily — she’s — Y/N doesn’t know where Emily went actually. She could have sworn she was by the trees…

She continued to pick at her skin absentmindedly, and now she couldn’t tell where her blood started and the one that was sprayed onto her ended.

And Spencer, he’s pacing and hadn’t muttered a word since they left Hotch’s house. His body language is closed off, his hand rubbing up and down his arms in either a self-soothing method or because it’s cold out. She assumes it’s the former.

The one time — the one fucking time the asshole is supposed to be smart, his IQ magically drops below zero.

Everyone is arguing and they all hear the faint cheers, laughter, early fireworks and music blaring in the background. The sound of the bonfire crackles in the distance and all she can do is drown it out. She was supposed to be having fun. She should’ve been visiting home, or maybe studying of fucking Spencer, not wearing shoes twice her size, gloves to cover up her fingerprints; not trying to come up with an alibi and there definitely shouldn’t be someone else’s blood clinging to her. She should’ve been anywhere but here. It’s too much.

Lightheaded, Y/N stumbles backwards, supporting herself against a nearby tree. The shadows and black coat camouflaged her, engulfing her into the night and she feels an odd sense of comfort by it. But, it does anything but calms her down as her chest begins to rise rapidly up and down.

Oh god, oh shit, shit, shit! They’re all fucked — she’s fucked. Her DNA is all over the crime scene. The crime scene is on her and probably under the body’s fingernails. There was no way she was getting out of this. It wasn’t even her fault and look where she is.

She should’ve listened to her Grandparents; don’t go to law school, it’ll turn her into something she’s not. Y/N smiles twistedly thinking about it, they were right.

You can’t get away with murder.

Shit, fuck, fuck, FUCK!

“We need to stop wasting time,” Emily announces, appearing remarkably calm.

“W-we should call the police,” Y/N mumbles in a shaky voice. Her voice hitches and she sucks in a cry.

All of their heads, besides Spencer’s, whip over to her; she’s on the verge of breaking — possibly even running off and going straight to the local police station. Her phone suddenly feels heavy in her pocket.

“What we’re not going to do is that! Do you want to spend the rest of your life in jail?!” Derek exclaims. His mouth goes to open again before he suddenly halts, looking over to Spencer and shouting. “Ayo, kid-fucking-genius, could you, I don’t know — think?!”

The yelling makes her shrink in on herself. Yes, call the police, turn yourself in. Obstruction of justice; tampering with evidence, manslaughter, attempting to hide a body, invasion of privacy, possible perjury — all this leads to incarceration and more time. Maybe she could even get a deal, say that she was in shock, dealing with PTSD. Immunity! Maybe she could strike herself and Spencer an immunity deal.

God — they killed her. They murdered someone.

Immense guilt bubbles its way through her before she turns to gag on air. Her hands clutches her stomach as she heaves, distantly hearing the arguing background.

“— about Hotch?”

“What about him? He’s going to put us in jail himself. If we’re lucky, he’ll kill us so we can skip a life sentence!”

JJ cries louder. God was she fucking annoying.

“He doesn’t give two shits about her —” “Could everyone just stop for a fucking moment,” a new, irritated voice cuts in. It sounds like it’s been pushed through gritted teeth, muddled by straining and holding back tears. It’s Spencer.

His eyes shut, the palm of his hands pressed harshly on them before rubbing them hard. But, they travel up to his forehead and through his hair, pulling down so hard that Y/N would be surprised if he didn’t already lose a chunk. But within a swift motion, he crouches to the ground in a fetal-like position; the balls of his feet roll back and forth, making his entire body bounce in small rhythms.

He’s having a panic attack, judging by the way his breathing cuts in and out in large volumes, hyperventilation bound to happen soon.

The entire group stays silent before Derek has enough. He walks up to Spencer, a hand clutching his jacket which forces him to stare straight into his eyes.

“Don’t treat him like that,” Emily tries to cut in.

“If you don’t give us something good within the next few seconds, you better pray to god —”

With newfound determination, Spencer meets his eyes with a fiery look, his chest puffed out a bit and his voice is even.

“We burn it.”

━━━━━━━━━༻✈︎༺━━━━━━━━━

Friday, August 29th, 2003

Palo Alto, California. Apartment 7

Four months before

A clanging sound reverberates throughout the empty hallway for the third time within the last five minutes. Her keys.

An annoyed sigh involuntarily leaves her lips as she struggles to lift the stacks of heavy boxes in her arms. Her attention was drawn to a bulletin board near her door. A missing person’s photo was plastered, marked with an eye-catching red border. Printed underneath a photo of a man in bold letters: George Floyet, twenty-five-year-old student at Palo Alto University. Last seen on July 30th, 2003.

When Y/N L/N was fourteen, she vaguely remembered people asking her where she saw herself in the next ten years. Now standing outside her newly rented apartment, sweating as she juggled a stack of large boxes without tripping — well, she certainly hadn’t thought this.

Life had many ups and downs, as cliche as that sounded. She hadn’t expected to graduate university with an English and Human Physiology degree, nor had she expected into medical school before ultimately deciding to take the LSATs, pursuing a career in law.

Truly, had Y/N used one word to describe her career ambitions at the moment, she’d say she’s pretty fucked and clueless. Although, she’d liked to consider herself fairly motivated, resilient, perhaps even strong-willed and quick on her feet. Scratch that, if anything, the one thing she did pride herself on was her ability to compose herself quickly and the want to overcome fear. It was a motto, of sorts, which she’d been sticking close to: going with the flow.

If anything, those were the attributes that built the foundation of what anyone needed to become a successful lawyer. Yes, that made her situation sound a lot less… pathetic.

But certainly, standing in the middle of a corridor in a shitty apartment with walls too thin to save money on rent, she’d consider herself pretty pathetic.

Oh, the joys of moving.

Just as she felt one of the boxes tipping, the sound of shuffling fills the hallway. A pair of large pale hands come out of nowhere, swiftly catching the stacked cardboard boxes with ease.

When she looked up, she hadn’t quite caught a look at the man in front of her as he bent down to pick up her keys. But when he finally stood straight, eyes locking, she took note of his features

He was tall, much taller than herself and dressed in black slacks and a light lilac dress shirt which was pushed up by the sleeves. He was young, probably the same age as her or younger. He was wide-eyed, almost doe-like and wore a nervous yet seemingly gentle expression.

“Hello,” said the stranger. His hair was rumpled as if he’d just woken up as darken eyebags accentuated his face. His face was sharp, features dark — but in a soft sharp way that made the shape of his nose and lips the most noticeable. Pink lips, a tired look, pretty face.

This stranger was friendly and very attractive. That was her first impression of him.

“Hi,” she replied, a bit breathless from the weight of juggling the boxes. But still, she smiled and her head tilted to the side slightly.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you were my new neighbour, I hope you don’t mind me helping, you looked like you needed it,” he says nervously, his extra free hand goes back to rub the back of his neck.

Y/N’s eyes shoot over to the door at the end of the hallway, conveniently next to hers: apartment 8. He must've heard the banging against the doors and walls, and suddenly, she felt guilty. She must’ve woken him up.

“Haha, yeah! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so loud.”

“No! It’s fine.”

Now, both stand there a bit awkwardly before she coughs, which has him nodding and fumbling with her keys in his hand, “Er — I have a couple of minutes before I leave for work, do you still need help?”

“Right, yes!”

Y/N hands him over her other box, her hand taking the keys back as she clicks open her door. The smell of cleaning products filled her nose along with the smell of old books. It’s spacious, considering what she’s paying for it. It’s a flat, aside from the bathroom and kitchen and there’s a small balcony that’s connected with another set of railings outside. The view of green trees and flowers could be seen and suddenly, Y/N considers herself lucky when she’s realized the place she’s snagged.

The man trails behind her, setting the boxes down on the kitchen counter before dusting off any non-existent lint off his pants. His eyes quickly scan the area, in an analytical fashion.

He clears his throat, “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

She nods too, walking back up to her door to lead him out. “Likewise, neighbour.”

This time, a real smile crosses his face before looking down sheepishly, a small tint covering his cheeks. “Please, I’m Doctor Reid — but please, call me Spencer.”

“Doctor?” Her face lights up with curiosity. This man looks as young as her, younger — and she’s only twenty-four.

“Oh, I don’t practice medicine,” he quickly adds. His hands go to fiddle with each other, “I have three PhDs and an IQ of 187,” he explains. However, it’s not in a blatantly rude manner — like he’s trying to flaunt it. If anything, he looks embarrassed. His head drops to look down at his shoes, trying to make himself appear smaller, seeming uncomfortable. But like she said, Y/N likes to believe she’s quick on her feet.

“Well then, Doctor,” she teases, which has him going a deeper shade of pink, “I’m Y/N L/N, I have no PhDs, I used to practice medicine and I have an IQ of — probably a hundred or less.

At this, Spencer visibly relaxes as a deep chuckle makes its way out. He nods again, making his way out the door and does a small wave before disappearing back into his apartment. Y/N leaves her door open, but her back is faced towards it as she hears his door click back open and she feels the vibrations of his door closing before the tapping of his feet becomes more and more distant.

There are a dozen other boxes she ends up hauling in, but she’s noticed that Spencer must have somehow carried a few of the boxes to the top of the stairs rather than just leaving them in the lobby.

As she wipes down the surfaces, music blasting through her earbuds before unboxing her new bed frame, a smirk crosses her face; cheap rent, enrolled at one of the top law schools in the country, has enough money saved for the next few months and a cute, tall, polite and a fucking doctor that just so happens to be her neighbour — damn, Y/N doesn’t mind this at all.

【 Next Chapter 】

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there-must-be-a-lock · 3 years

Text

Leave Your Boots By The Bed (SPN x BtVS)

Sam Winchester x Faith Lehane

Word Count: 7350

Warnings: It’s smutty! Samhandling, the jockey is MJ’s favorite sex position, lots of discussions of trust and consent, unprotected sex, rimming, spanking, hair pulling, and dom/sub themes. Wee bit o’ feelings but in a nice way with a happy ending. Mostly just a whole bunch of marathon, athletic, probably-not-OSHA-compliant banging.

A/N: This is the Sam/Faith side-quest (idk what else to call it) to Big Damn Heroes, but you don’t really need to read that to understand this. You can also read just the scene where these two meet over here.

This is my entry for @idabbleincrazy and her “What Do You Mean This Is Classic Rock?” Challenge! My prompt was “Girl All The Bad Guys Want,” by Bowling For Soup, which 100% gave me Faith vibes. It’s quoted/referenced a couple times in the story.

It’s also my (second) entry for @stusbunker’s Jam Basket fic exchange. This one’s for @thoughtslikeaminefield, who deserves the world on a silver platter. I cannot give her that, so instead I offer Faith smut. Thanks to @mskathywriteswords for prodding and lotion-related reality checks, and to @fangirlxwritesx67 for the read-throughs and for reassuring me that if I ever write Sam smut without a little psychoanalysis thrown in, she will worry about me.

Title from the Jason Isbell song “Cover Me Up,” which I listened to on repeat while writing certain chunks of this.

“What’s so funny?” Faith asks, looking at him sideways as they walk.

“I just told you I come from another universe and your response is ‘cool.’”

“Am I supposed to be impressed? I like it this way. No chance of you gettin’ all clingy.”

Sam laughs. “Fair enough.”

“Monsters, huh? You ever staked a vamp before?”

“Stakes don’t kill ‘em in my world. But… beheaded a few,” Sam says mildly.

“Yeah?” Her eyes sparkle. “So if we take the shortcut through the graveyard, you’re not gonna slow me down or get yourself killed?”

He gives her an unimpressed look. “What do you think?”

“Let’s go, then,” she challenges, pointing to the cemetery gate up ahead. “Bet I can dust more before we get to the other side.”

“You’re on.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“Heads up,” Faith shouts, and tosses him a stake. Sam whirls and punches it through the thing’s ribcage, sending dust swirling just in time to turn and watch Faith launch herself at another vamp.

“Is this where you take all your dates?” Sam wonders out loud, a little bit enthralled by the cocky grin on her face as she sends the vamp stumbling with one of those showy spin-kicks.

“This is not a date,” she snaps, between solid punches. The last hit decks the vamp, and she stakes him before he can hit the ground. She struts toward Sam, brushing dust from her skintight jeans with a Cheshire cat smile. “I like my job. Fuckin’ sue me.”

“Not complaining,” Sam says, sincerely. “Hottest thing I’ve seen in ages.”

She looks up at him suspiciously, like she thinks he’s making fun of her, and Sam lets her see the heat in his eyes. The grin is back, and she’s grabbing him by the lapels and rocking onto her tiptoes, swaying into him with a little sigh and a lot of confidence. Sam slides both hands into her hair and ducks down to kiss her, sucking on her lower lip and tasting waxy red.

Breathtakingly competent and moderately bitchy has always sorta been his type.

“We had a bet,” he points out, before crushing his mouth to hers again. She makes a sound like a purr and wrenches herself away, grabbing him by the wrist and making a beeline for the path.

“I’m gonna say we both won here,” she says decisively. “Let’s go.”

* * * * * * * * * *

She grabs him the second the lock slides into place, backing him against the door, already tugging at his belt. He yanks her jacket off her shoulders and she lets it fall, and then he grabs her by the belt loops, reeling her in until she’s pressed against him, hips flush to his as he slouches against the door. He bends to mouth at the long smooth line of her throat.

“Talk to me,” he says, nipping at her earlobe. She shivers.

“Fuck that,” she says hoarsely. “Didn’t bring you here to talk.”

“Don’t worry, I can multitask.” Sam nibbles at the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, working delicate skin between his teeth, and pops the button of her jeans. He slides a hand down, teasing her clit with his fingertips, and repeats: “Tell me what you like.”

“I like a lot less conversation and a whole lot more nudity,” Faith tosses back, but her voice is ragged, and she tilts her head to the side, baring her neck for his teeth. “I don’t fuckin’ know, dude, are we doing this or not?”

He bends just enough to scoop her up, and she goes with it, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as he cups her ass with both hands. When he turns them around, slamming her back against the door and rolling his hips, Faith lets out a breathy sound of surprise.

He drags his open mouth up the side of her throat and repeats, “Talk to me.”

She pulls him up by the hair, forcing his head back, rough and perfect, and Sam moans against her lips as she kisses him. It’s more like a bite, all teeth and heat.

“Bedroom’s that way,” she says huskily.

She’s so strong, rock-solid where she’s wrapped around him, that it’s barely an effort to carry her through the small, spare living space. She’s got her hands in his hair and her teeth scraping his collarbone, and Sam grits his teeth against the sting as he kicks the door shut behind them.

“Get your fuckin’ clothes off already,” she rasps, tugging at his flannel, and he strips both his shirts off obligingly, leaning back against the wall to balance as he discards them without putting Faith down.

She lets go of his neck to help him, holding herself up with no support other than her abs and her thighs. Sam’s just as turned on by that casual display of strength as by the sight of bare skin — no bra — when she peels her tank top off. He hoists her a little higher, until he can flick his tongue over one hard pink nipple. He blows a stream of cool air over the sensitive skin and she shivers, thighs squeezing his sides as she arches her back.

“What do you want?” Sam whispers, and laves his tongue over the other nipple.

“Fuck, anything, you’re killin’ me here.”

“Anything?” He scrapes pebbled skin with his teeth, savoring the way she squirms.

“Want you naked. Now.” She twists out of his grasp like a cat, sliding down his front and landing gracefully on her feet. Gracefully but loudly, that is; she crouches to deal with her big chunky boots, and Sam toes off his own.

He grins down at her as she tugs on his belt, admiring the way her mouth looks: bright red from his teeth, now, with the last smudges of lipstick smeared down her chin.

Sam bats her hands away from his zipper. He picks her up before she can argue and tosses her bodily onto the bed, and she bounces on the mattress, her hair spilling across the sheet like a dark glossy halo. She lifts her hips to get her jeans off, her torso bowing up in a long elegant curve.

Neither of them hide the way they check each other out when the clothes are finally out of the way. Sam kneels on the bed, looking down at her, and she bites her lip, tracking the movement of his hand as he strokes himself lazily.

“Is this what you want?” he asks. “Ask for it.”

Her eyes sparkle, mischievous and defiant, and she moves so fast that Sam’s taken by surprise when she grabs him — he can’t remember the last time that happened to him, let alone in bed. She pulls him down on top of her and rolls them over, switching their positions, and Sam laughs breathlessly as she pins his wrists to the pillow on either side of his head.

“I don’t like takin’ orders,” she says smugly.

“Is that true?” Sam counters. “Or have you just never met anybody who knows how to give orders?”

She looks startled by that, but instead of responding, she straddles him — sinks down on him wet and tight and perfect — and Sam has to grit his teeth and close his eyes for a moment, adjusting to all that sudden slippery heat around him.

There’s a gratifyingly breathless note in her voice when she says, “Does it matter? Point is, I can take care of myself.”

She’s not fucking kidding about that part.

She arches into a spectacular back-bend, supporting herself with one hand and zero visible effort. Her other hand is between her legs, rubbing her clit hard and fast as she bucks her hips up in little jerky rocking movements — and there’s an image that will (hopefully) be seared into Sam’s memory until the day he dies. For a moment all he can do is watch and try to memorize it. Then he presses the heel of his hand into her lower belly, grinding into her as best he can, and she clenches around him, soaking and squeezing in pulses so intense it almost hurts as she comes with a rough, husky moan.

“This is gonna be fun,” Sam breathes, and he tugs her upright for one searing kiss before flipping her onto her stomach.

* * * * * * * * * *

When Sam offers to wash her hair, she reacts like he just proposed marriage, except instead of an engagement ring, he’d offered her a grenade pin — shock, disbelief, and more than a little fear.

“Please tell me this is a kinky thing,” she says warily, and Sam laughs, tilting his head back in the spray and sluicing water from his face with both hands. When he looks down at her again, she’s still got her lip curled and her defenses up.

“It’s not a kinky thing,” he says, rolling his eyes.

She can’t get far in the shower stall, but she turns her back to him, and Sam’s forcibly reminded of a cat, licking her paws dry after accidentally stepping in a puddle.

“I can wash my own damn hair. Shit, don’t get all touchy-feely on me.”

Sam’s had a lifetime of practice at remaining earnest in the face of someone who’s determined to pretend they don’t want his kindness. He knows better than to give up that easily.

“Come here,” he says, smoothing his hands up her sides. She doesn’t relax, exactly, but she doesn’t shy away. “Faith. Different universe, remember? Not a romantic thing. I just want to touch you.”

She takes a reluctant half-step back, settling against him without a word.

Sam squirts a dollop of shampoo into his palm, tilting her chin up so that her head falls back, and he massages her scalp with his fingertips, rubbing in firm circles.

“Keep your eyes closed for me,” he tells her quietly, maneuvering her into the spray, but he shields her face carefully with one hand as he starts to rinse the lather out, making sure the bubbles don’t go anywhere near the fan of her spiky-wet lashes. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” she croaks, barely audible under the sound of the water. “S’ not so bad.”

“Speaking of kinky things,” he says casually. “We should talk about that.”

“Yeah?”

“What do you like? What’s your safeword?”

“Safeword?” She snorts, dismissive. “What, you really think you could dish out somethin’ I couldn’t take?”

Sam clenches his jaw. He’s glad her back is to him so she can’t see the expression on his face right now.

There are no more bubbles in her hair, but he keeps running his hands through it, just to have something to do as he figures out how to say this.

“I don’t think there’s much you couldn’t take,” he tells her softly. “I think you might be the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”

“Damn straight,” she mutters, mollified.

Sam squeezes out some conditioner, finger-combing it through her hair.

“You don’t trust me,” he says. It’s not a question.

“Fuck no,” she replies promptly. “Why would I? Trust is something you gotta earn.”

Sam’s mouth twists into a smile. “Fair enough. But… it’s not about seeing how much you can take. It’s about you trusting me to stop, no questions asked, if you say that word. You want me to take control, I’ll do it. Believe me, I’m down. But not until you trust me. If you think you can do that, all you gotta do is ask. Okay?”

She takes a breath like she wants to say something, but she seems to think better of it. She lets out a sigh, looking at him — through him — and all he gets is a subdued, “Yeah, okay.”

Sam tilts her head back gently again, working his fingers through her hair until the little crease of a frown fades from her forehead. He turns her in his arms, cradling her against his chest, and she lets him, resting her cheek over his heart.

“Poughkeepsie.”

“Gesundheit.”

“Cute. It’s a city where I — I was in over my head, one time, and I needed help. That’s my safeword.”

She pulls back, looking up at him, confusion written all over her face. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I trust you.”

“Really?”

Sam shrugs. “If somebody offered you a lot of money to kill me, I’d sure as fuck be watching my back. But… as far as respecting boundaries? Here and now, just you and me? Yeah, I trust you completely.”

Faith stares, scanning his expression for a hint of a lie, but when she doesn’t find one, her eyes soften. Her lips curl briefly into a pleased little smile.

“Didn’t really take you for the submissive type.”

“I’m not.”

She cocks her head thoughtfully, gaze calculating, and prods, “Go on, then. You’re the one who wants to talk about everything.”

“No bodily fluids.”

“With you on that one. There’s good freaky fun and then there’s just freaky. What else? Bet you’d look real pretty tied to my bed.”

“No chains. Ropes, cuffs, that’s fine — no chains. Um.. pain isn’t a big deal. I’d rather you didn’t draw blood, but… as far as pain goes, don’t worry about pushing too far.”

“Tryna be a tough guy?”

“No. Just telling you the facts. Temperature play is a hard limit. Ice, especially.”

“Okay. So… if I wanted to blindfold you, tie you up, and ride your face for a while…”

“Works for me.” She gets out of the shower without another word, grabbing a towel, all business, and he laughs. “Somebody’s in a hurry.”

“You’ve got like sixty seconds before the hot water runs out and it gets all end-of-Titanic in there.” She flashes him a grin. “Also, yeah. Let’s go.”

* * * * * * * * * *

She pretends she’s asleep, for a while, but then she slips out of bed, and her bare feet don’t make a sound as she navigates the apartment in the dark. He hears the toilet flush, water run, then the creak of… something.

He gives her a minute to herself before he gets up, just as silent as she was, and follows the smell of smoke to the open window. She’s leaning on the sill, silhouetted by the filtered yellow light of street lamps, and when she takes a drag the orange ember flares in the dark.

“Jesus, fuckin’ scared the shit outta me,” she snaps. The Boston in her voice comes out strong when she’s startled. When she offers him the last bit of the cigarette he takes it, grabbing her wrist with the other hand, and throws it out the window as he pulls her close.

“Hey, I was smokin’ that,” she protests, voice crackly like there’s a popping fire down in her chest.

Sam traces the curve of her cheek. He brushes one curled knuckle back and forth over her lower lip and then drags the pad of his thumb over the pillow of it, watching the soft give as he presses down. Her tongue darts out to flicker over his thumb, but otherwise, she’s motionless.

Faith takes his wrist, holding his hand to her mouth, and swirls her tongue over the pad of his thumb. Then she slides his index and middle fingers into her mouth, sucking on them shamelessly. They slide from her lips with a wet pop. A bolt of heat thuds through Sam’s gut — he’s only human.

“I like your hands,” she purrs, with one last suggestive lick.

“Something in particular you want me to do with them?” he asks.

She hesitates and presses a kiss to the center of his palm before answering: “I bet you have some ideas.”

“Tell me what you want, Faith.”

For a second there’s a deer-in-headlights vulnerability in her huge dark eyes, and she can’t hide the slight frown that flickers across her face.

“Why do you keep asking me that?” she whispers. She’s still holding his wrist. Sam twists to lace his fingers through hers instead, letting their joined hands drop palm-to-palm.

“Because sex isn’t fun for me unless everybody’s getting what they want. Call me crazy, but…”

“I brought you here, didn’t I? You know I want it. That’d be good enough, for most guys. Believe me, if you do somethin’ I don’t like, I’ll tell you about it.”

Sam closes his eyes, thinking of a half-dozen possible answers to that question. He considers telling her about Meg and Gadreel and all the other things that have slithered in over the years and used his body without his permission. He feels a phantom pain in his palm and remembers Lucifer’s taunt — you let me in — and he considers telling her about why he can’t stand the feel of ice or the rattle of chains.

He settles for the most fundamental answer: “Because you deserve to get what you want. You deserve better than ‘good enough.’”

She digests that silently for a moment, and then she guides his hand firmly to her hip, before grabbing the other and placing it flat on her breastbone.

“Just… touch me?” she asks, and Sam smiles, shifting closer, running his hands over her skin: fingertips in the dip of her throat, thumb stroking her collarbone, palm sweeping up and down her side, gentle and deliberately innocent.

“Why does it bother you so much when I ask?” he says softly.

She grimaces, and for a second it looks like she’ll brush it off, make a joke of it.

“Not used to it, I guess. Most guys don’t ask. I think guys look at me, they make some assumptions, you know?”

“Such as?”

She shrugs. “Guess they figure I’m down for anything.”

“Faith.”

“Don’t. Anyway, it’s more than that. Most people, they only offer to give you something if they want something in return.”

“What do you think I want from you?”

“That’s what’s got me spun out. Figured you just wanted a great lay, but… you’re still here.” She drops her gaze. “Bein’ all sweet and shit.”

Sam tries to hide his smile. “Should I not be?”

“Can’t figure you out,” Faith mumbles. “You’re different.”

Sam thinks about that for a moment as he folds to his knees in front of her. He drags his mouth down the center of her chest, tasting salt, and nips at the soft skin under her belly-button.

“How do you mean?” He looks up at her again, holding eye contact as he traces her hipbone with his tongue.

“I’m not the kinda chick that sweet guys usually go for, you know?” She slides her fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, and Sam hums his approval. “The nice ones know better. I’m the girl all the bad guys want.”

“That seems a bit reductive, don’t you think?”

“See, shit like that. Your mouth’s an inch away from my pussy and you’re using words like reductive.”

“I just want you. All of you, not just the ‘nice’ parts or the shit you show most guys.”

“Might not be saying that if — oh. Do that again.”

“Faith, trust me when I say that whatever you’ve done, I’ve done worse.”

“Jesus, can we talk about this later?”

“What do you want?”

“Want you to get your ass back in bed and quit teasing, for starters.”

“I can do that.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“The fuck did you find in the fridge?” Faith asks hoarsely.

“Beer and pickles,” he says, glancing over his shoulder with a grin.

She’s leaning against the frame of the bedroom door, wearing his flannel and nothing else. It’s open, baring a long slice of pale skin, from the dip between her breasts and down her stomach to a neat trail of dark hair. She looks like a centerfold, but rumpled and sleepy-eyed and real, human, in a way that makes it so much hotter.

“You went out.” She frowns at the front door.

“Are you surprised I came back?”

“Honestly? Not really.” Sam hides his smile at that answer. “Except that door’s supposed to lock automatically.”

“It does. I picked the lock.”

“Anything you can’t do?” Faith comes over and hoists herself up onto the counter next to him, eyeing the pan of bacon eagerly.

“Never been good at walking in heels.” Sam passes her the extra large to-go cup of dark roast he’d gotten her from the local coffee place, and she grins.

“Shit, you really know how to spoil a girl.”

Sam puts a hand on her bare thigh, thumb running back and forth idly as he takes her in, tracing the shape of her body with his eyes. She gives him a raised eyebrow and sips her coffee quietly. There’s none of the wariness or put-on swagger from last night. She just seems comfortable.

“No bruises,” he says, hand sliding up higher, finding nothing but unblemished skin where he knows he left marks. Every imprint of Sam’s teeth and hands and hipbones has melted away.

“Slayer healing.” She leans back on her palms, inviting him to touch more. Sam pulls his hand away — pancakes to flip — but he smirks.

“That’s a shame. They looked good on you.”

Faith’s eyes go dark. “Yeah?”

“I’ll just have to leave some more… later. Breakfast is ready.”

Faith eats with an indecent enthusiasm that reminds him of Dean, but somehow that doesn’t surprise him. Which… speaking of Dean — Sam borrows her cell as they’re finishing breakfast, because apparently other universes aren’t included in his roaming service, and a sleepy female voice picks up.

“Faith?”

“Sam, actually. Is my brother around?”

“Sam? Did you… you and Faith?” Buffy’s voice goes a little squeaky at the end. Then there’s indistinct scuffling.

Faith swipes her index finger through the maple syrup that’s left on her plate, sucking it clean, hollowing her cheeks in a way that’s pretty fucking distracting.

“Sammy?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Hey. You didn’t even notice I was gone, did you?”

“Where are you? Who’s Faith?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam says. “Did Charlie fix the thing?”

“Uh, hang on.” There’s a muffled conversation on the other line.

Faith gets up, walking around the table to pick up Sam’s plate, her movements slinky and deliberate, her hips swaying, showing off tantalizing glimpses of skin as his flannel skims the curves of her body. He twists around to watch her go. Faith sets both plates in the sink and stretches, and the flannel rides up her thighs.

“Pretty sure Charlie’s not awake yet either,” Dean says. “Late nights all around. Go team. Should we save you some breakfast?”

“No, I’m busy.”

Dean is saying something, but Sam’s not really paying attention. Faith is leaning on the table, bent at the waist, the flannel riding up to expose the lower curve of her ass. Sam turns in his chair to raise an eyebrow at her, pointedly adjusting himself in his jeans. She smirks like the cat who got the cream.

“Just call this number when you need me, Dean,” Sam says abruptly, cutting him off. “See you later.” He hangs up before Dean can get a protest in.

She bats her eyelashes, sugary-sweet. “Sorry, did I distract you?”

“Don’t lie. You’re not sorry at all.” Sam shakes his head, mock-scolding, and gives her a light tap, mostly to watch the way her flesh jiggles just right under his hand.

She grins, wiggling her hips and spreading her legs a little wider. “If you’re gonna do it, do it like you mean it.”

There’s a long, weighted pause.

“Are you asking me for —”

“Fuck yes I am.”

“Faith…”

She’s quiet but sincere when she says, “I trust you.”

Sam exhales sharply, and because she looks nervous, now, he quips, “Should’ve known bacon would do the trick.” She laughs at that and relaxes, so he stands up slowly and asks, “Safeword?”

“Dorchester.”

Sam smiles — equal parts amused by the word choice and touched by the trust. He runs a hand down her back and then up again, taking the soft fabric with him, rucking it up. He takes his time, drawing it out to watch the way she pouts, positioning himself behind her and flattening a palm between her shoulderblades to push her down. She braces herself on her forearms.

“Good girl.”

“Well?”

“Be patient.”

“Fucking hit me already,” she says sulkily.

“You can have anything you want,” he promises her, and he grabs a handful of hair, yanking her head back. “You just have to ask for it. Politely.”

He hears the way she sucks in a breath, ragged and desperate, and he smiles.

“Please spank me. Hard.”

“Good girl,” he repeats. He steps back and squeezes before smacking her, nowhere near hard enough to hurt.

“C’mon, is that the best you’ve got?” she teases, laughing.

“You know it’s not.” He brings his hand down with a satisfying sound, and Faith groans.

“Harder,” she grits out.

The next one makes her cry out, ragged and ecstatic. He hits her again, hard enough that his palm smarts, wrist snapping precisely so that the blows are spaced just right across her ass and her upper thighs.

By the time he pauses again she’s panting harshly. He takes a second to admire her, the pretty shade of red blossoming on her pale skin and the way she’s arching her back, putting herself on display for him.

“Fuck, you look good like this.” He kicks her feet farther apart and traces up her center with two callused fingertips. “So wet already, aren’t you?”

She tries to push back into it, to fuck herself on his fingers as she whimpers, “More?”

He lets loose, brings his palm down with a vicious crack, and he can see the way her legs start to shake.

“Shit, do you have any idea what you do to me?” He leans forward, grinding against her, letting her feel how hard he is through his jeans, and when he pulls back again she moans. Her skin is hot to the touch. He runs his fingers over it teasingly before sliding two fingers into her cunt, curling them, pumping and twisting as Faith curses and clenches around him.

“Need you,” she pants. “More.”

“Let me hear you,” he says. He pulls his fingers out and spanks her again, and she shudders, head bowed, pussy glistening wet.

“Please fuck me,” she breathes. He’s reaching for his belt before she gets the word out.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He rubs the head of his cock through her slickness, teasing, and when she tries to push back, his shaft slides between her lips, dragging along her clit. He bites back a groan and plants his left hand solidly at the base of her neck, forcing her to drop down with her cheek to the table, holding her in place.

“Shit,” she snaps. “Fuckin’ give it to me.”

“What did I say?”

“Want to feel that big thick cock, please,” she says. He can hear the wicked edge in her voice. “Want to feel you fillin’ me up when I come. Just fucking wreck me, Sam. Hold me down and make me scream… please.” She pauses and then asks smugly, “Fuckin’ polite enough for you?”

She could recite a grocery list in that ragged, raspy voice and it’d probably turn him on, at this point; as it is, he feels dizzy from sudden lack of bloodflow to his brain.

“We gotta work on those manners,” he says softly, and pushes into her, just a couple inches, before sliding out again. She whines.

He does it over and over again — one torturously shallow thrust after another — working her open with little rocking motions that are nowhere near enough. She whimpers, and he watches, clocking every shudder that runs up her spine, every involuntary quiver as he fucks into her a little deeper, slick spreading up the flushed-dark length of his cock with each stroke.

It takes every last shred of his self-control, but he forces himself to move slowly, deliberately, until she’s dripping wet and slamming her fists into the table.

Finally, she caves, sobbing two syllables like they’re the only words she remembers: “Please — Sam — please — Sam — please —”

“That’s better,” he sighs, and grabs her by the hips, shifting until he finds the spot that makes her twitch and squirm. She quakes when he hits it dead-on, and he sets an unrelenting pace, fucking her so hard the table hammers against the wall, a rapid-fire counterpoint to her broken, drawn-out cries.

Faith bucks helplessly as she comes, and Sam lets go a split-second later, half collapsing forward as he grinds into her one last time. He braces himself with both palms flat on the wood, and his knees threaten to give out.

His first coherent thought is amazement that the table is still standing, and while he’s trying to remember how to speak, Faith mumbles, “Shit, can’t believe we haven’t broken any furniture yet.” Sam laughs so unexpectedly he almost chokes, and maybe it’s contagious, because Faith starts giggling too.

Sam maneuvers them onto one of the chairs in a messy pretzel of sweat and skin and half-discarded clothes. A surge of pure giddy affection swells in his ribcage, and he wraps his arms around her, squeezing tight, tickling her with his stubble against her neck until she shrieks and twists.

Faith turns her head at an awkward angle to kiss him. Then she mumbles, “Is there more bacon? I could go for more bacon.”

“Anything you want.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Faith stretches extravagantly as she gets up from the opposite end of the couch, and his flannel slips off her shoulders. She lets it fall as she pads over to the fridge.

“Have I mentioned today how good you look naked?” Sam asks.

She pulls two bottles of beer from the fridge and strikes a goofy, mock-sexy pose. “No, but go right ahead.”

“You look really fucking good naked.”

“Not so bad yourself.” She passes him a bottle and sprawls out with her legs draped across his lap. “Why’d you put your clothes back on, anyway?”

“Hot bacon grease and nudity isn’t a good combo. Trust me.”

“Sounds like the voice of experience talking there.”

“Not personal experience,” Sam says with a smirk. “Dean, though…”

She laughs. He tosses the last bite of bacon at her, and she catches it in her mouth.

“Not cooking any more though, are you?” she asks archly.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He obliges, though, stripping unceremoniously, and Faith catcalls. She crawls into his lap when he sits back down, leaning in for a kiss that tastes like beer.

“Much better,” she says quietly, pressing her forehead to his.

“Really thought I might’ve tired you out there.”

“Honestly? Yeah, I need a minute,” she confesses, with a laugh. “Just wanted some eye candy.”

“At your service.”

She settles a little more comfortably in his lap, straddling him, and they exchange slow, lazy kisses. Sam can’t bring himself to stop kissing her. Her lips are soft and plush, and every brush of her tongue and nip of her teeth feels like a luxury, like something he should treasure, because he knows this intimacy has an expiration date.

They stare at each other for a long moment, sweet and almost shy.

Sam offers, “Want to watch a soap opera on mute and make up our own dialogue?”

Her dimples really show when she’s surprised to find herself smiling. She grabs their beers and the remote from the milk crate that serves as her coffee table, raising her bottle in a toast, and then she curls up at Sam’s side, naked and soft and bruised. She fits under his arm like she was meant to be there.

It’s the happiest Sam can remember being in a long time.

Normal, he thinks. This is what normal people do — breakfast and kisses on the couch — tenderness and softness and quiet everyday vulnerability.

Then again, neither of them are normal, not really. Maybe that’s why Sam feels so comfortable with her.

* * * * * * * * * *

This time, she passes him the shampoo without a word, sighing as he cradles the back of her skull with one hand and smooths the hair back from her forehead with the other. When he’s finished, hazy honey-colored eyes blink up at him slowly, like she’s coming out of a trance. It’s a dizzying change from the last time they did this.

They haven’t said goodbye yet and he already misses her — misses this — but he knows he’s lucky to have it for a moment, however brief.

The scalding water feels like heaven on his sore muscles. Sam tilts his head to the side, trying to stretch, and his neck makes a series of popping noises. Faith winces in sympathy.

“Shit, man,” she chuckles. “You sound like Rice Krispies.” She maneuvers around him in the narrow space, reaching up to dig her knuckles into one of his many knots. Sam groans, exaggeratedly pornographic.

Her hands are small, but strong, and Sam’s melting under her palms, increasingly loose-limbed and pliant as she works her thumbs in circles down the muscles on either side of his spine.

“We should get out of here before I forget how to stand up,” he mutters, and Faith laughs. “I think it’s your turn.”

“I like the sound of that.”

She lays herself out on the bed, stomach down, and Sam takes a moment to stare. The way she’s put together — sleek muscle and lush curves under creamy skin — is like art. If she was anyone else, Sam might call her delicate, but he knows better; he knows exactly what she can do. She’s a hurricane disguised as a porcelain doll.

He looks down at his own rough fingers, thickly callused from pencils and triggers and punches, and grabs a bottle of lotion from the dresser before he settles on the bed, straddling her hips. His hands seem massive on her shoulders, and when he drags his palms down, wrapping his fingers around the slim curve of her waist, he marvels at the way she almost fits in the circle of his grasp.

He loses himself in the pleasure of just touching her — in the glide of silky skin under his fingers — in the soft grunts and hums she lets out when he works his fingers into a particularly tight knot. He sweeps his thumbs down the pretty little dimples at the small of her back and then lower, caressing and kneading. He’s careful to avoid pressing on the dappled purple-red bruises from earlier, but he skims them appreciatively, feather-light.

“Do those hurt?” he whispers.

“Little bit. I like it.”

He was already half-hard, aroused in a distant, lazy sort of way, but his dick twitches at that.

He brushes his fingertips down the outsides of her thighs, then up the insides, watching the way she spreads her legs wider for him, but he stops just short of the apex, tracing out along the creases where her ass meets her legs instead.

This feels like a form of worship.

Sam bends to press his mouth to the small of her back, kissing one dimple then the other. He trails sweet open-mouthed kisses down the curve of her ass, lips dragging reverently over velvety skin, licking and sucking along the tops of her thighs, drinking in the way she whimpers and shivers.

“More?” she murmurs.

Sam hooks an arm around her, sliding his forearm under her hips to cant them up so he can lick a thick stripe right up her center, swiping his tongue down and up again with a slick slurping noise. The angle isn’t comfortable but it’s fucking hot; it feels like he’s completely surrounded by her, like this, and when he licks deeper, fucks her shallowly with his tongue, the taste of her arousal floods his senses, until the soapy-clean smell of freshly-showered skin is lost under salty-sweet musk and Sam’s mouth and chin are a mess of slick and spit.

She’s trembling as she repeats, “More.”

He drags his tongue in one broad swipe from her clit up between her ass cheeks, and she curses, pressing back against his mouth. He twists two fingers into her cunt, feeling her clamp down around his scarred knuckles and shudder under his mouth, a frisson of pleasure that travels all the way up her spine. He curls his tongue against tight muscle and crooks his fingers, circles her swollen clit with his thumb, and she muffles a sharp cry into the pillow as she comes.

“More — please — Sam?” she gasps, still clenching around him, so wet he can hear the sound of his fingers pumping into her one last time.

He slides on top of her, blanketing her body with his, kissing the nape of her neck as he presses into her. She reaches back and fists a hand in his hair, making a rough wordless noise that sounds like a question, and her fingers twist until his scalp stings and Sam groans. He sits up, straddling her legs, and his entire body throbs with the pulse of blood in his cock as he fucks her. With her legs together like this, pinned under him, she feels so impossibly tight — velvety-soft and steely all at once — he can barely see straight.

She’s crying out with every gasping breath: “More — please.”

Sam wonders what he could do if he could learn her body, learn what she likes, learn how to take her apart in seconds or draw it out until she’s a writhing mess… if he had just a little more time with her.

* * * * * * * * * *

Faith is wrecked and gorgeous on top of him, not riding him so much as undulating: deep scooping twists of her hips, rising and falling syrupy-slow like she’s moving underwater. There’s dark sweat-soaked hair clinging to her temples and a hazy-eyed, rosy-cheeked expression of bliss on her face. Sam watches a droplet of sweat trickle down between her breasts.

He’s losing his grip on time and the boundaries that used to sit so decisively between them. They’re both exhausted to the point that everything seems a little surreal, dreamy, right in that sweet spot where they might be too tired to come again but languid, sensual sex still feels amazing.

“So fucking perfect,” he whispers. “Just like that.”

Faith tilts forward to kiss him, melting against his chest as she rolls her hips. He wraps her up in his arms and flips them, still inside her, still twined around her. He rocks into her, testing one angle and then another, hitching her leg up higher around his waist, grinding and swiveling until he finds the angle that makes her choke out a curse and clutch at his biceps.

“There,” she whimpers.

Heat starts to pool low in his gut, building slowly but inevitably. He leans down to kiss her, tasting salt, mouths brushing clumsily between deep ragged breaths.

“Gorgeous like this.”

“Sam,” she says helplessly, in the shredded whisper that’s left of her voice. “This — you —“

“I’ve got you, it’s okay. I know.”

Neither of them are particularly coherent, but he knows.

Gold rays of sun slant through the blinds in stripes, illuminating the amber in her irises and the suspicious shine gathering in the corner of her eyes. She smiles up at him in a way that leaves him breathless. It takes him by surprise, the trust in her expression and the heaviness in the moment, and he knows she can feel it too.

Sam wants to shy away from it, but he can’t take his eyes off her.

“Where’s that Al Green soundtrack when you need it, huh?” she manages, and it shocks a breathless laugh out of Sam. Faith giggles too, choked-up and overtired and hoarse. Sam can feel her laugh, feels the rippling clench of wet-hot muscle around him; his body reacts with this gut-punch of arousal, and he snaps his hips, driving in deep. She lets out a rough moan and writhes under him, raking her nails down his back.

From there it builds fast, wild and uncontrollable and blinding, both of them clawing at each other, moving on pure animalistic instinct, lost in each other — lost in the moment. It’s the sort of orgasm that hits like a blackout, like Sam’s out of his body for a few seconds that might as well be an eternity.

When he comes to, he’s whispering nonsense into the sweat-slick crook of her neck — babbling endearments, calling her baby — saying sweet stupid things she would never accept if she was in her right mind, but she doesn’t argue; he’s grateful. In return, Sam pretends not to notice the tears sparkling in her eyelashes.

They’re not sad tears, he knows that much. She’s beaming up at him, all this messy pure human happiness shining in her eyes. She’s beautiful.

Eventually they stop shaking, and Sam whispers, “Nap?”

“Yeah.”

She tucks herself under his chin, and he strokes her hair, counting the breaths before she drops off. She’s asleep in ten, and Sam loses count at eleven.

* * * * * * * * * *

They’re woken in disorienting darkness by a jangling ringtone, and Sam’s immediate instinct is to grab the gun he keeps under his pillow. There’s no gun, though — just a warm naked girl draped over him, cursing like a sailor as the phone continues to ring — because there’s no need for a gun here.

Faith answers the phone by growling a suggestion that sounds anatomically improbable, and Sam hears Dean’s gruff baritone on the other end. He snatches the phone out of her hand.

“S’the middle of the fucking night, Dean,” he grumbles.

“Dude, it’s nine. When was the last time you were asleep by nine?”

“Fuck.” He knuckles at his eyes and fights the urge to hang up, turn the phone off, and burrow under the sweat-soaked sheets to sleep until he actually feels rested for once. “Yeah, okay, be there soon.”

Sam is about to apologize for waking Faith, but she sits up too, switching on the lamp, looking around bleary-eyed.

“Gonna walk with you as far as the graveyard,” she says, through a yawn. “Vamps don’t take a night off.”

Sam feels like he got hit by a goddamn truck, sore and achy all over, but the exhaustion goes much deeper than that. In spite of it, he’s smiling as they dress.

They’re quiet, nothing but a soft, “You see my other sock?” interrupting the heavy silence. They don’t touch as they leave the dark apartment and head down the dingy stairwell into the warm California night, and they don’t talk. They’re pulling themselves together — rebuilding the walls that separate them from normal people — putting on the emotional armor that allows them to fight the battles they have to fight.

They don’t wander away from the path through the cemetery, this time, and the monsters don’t find them. When they reach the gate on the other side, Faith stops.

“You know how to get back from here?”

“Yeah.” He pulls her in by her jacket to kiss her, deep and bruising.

She pulls away enough to mutter, “Fuckin’ figures you’re from another goddamn universe.”

“If things were different —”

“They’re not, though,” Faith says, smiling ruefully. “And that’s for the best.”

“Probably wouldn’t end well, would it? ”

“We’d never get outta bed, the monsters would take over. Every universe needs its heroes, right?”

“Right.” Sam cradles her face in his hands to give her another soft kiss and says, “Take care of yourself.”

Faith steps back. “Always do.”

She turns, pulling a stake out of her jacket as she stalks away, off the path toward the darker corners of the graveyard. Sam watches her go.

She doesn’t look back, but before she’s out of earshot, she shouts, “Quit starin’ at my ass and go save the world already. You’ve got work to do.”

Sam laughs, and then he rolls his eyes and starts walking, smiling to himself. She’s not wrong.

#1kclassicrockchallenge #sam winchester fic #sam winchester #faith lehane #btvs #spn #supernatural #spn x btvs #supernatural x buffy the vampire slayer #crossover fic #sam winchester x faith lehane

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mythologymondays · 4 years

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It’s that time again, the time where we all gleefully sit down on the nearest mound and regale ourselves with totally normal Welsh tales of magical women and horses and enchanted bags, because that’s just how the Mabinogion is. Fun sources and FACTS beneath the cut, as always.

Press J on your keyboard if you hate stories about Medieval etiquette, liminality, and magic mounds.

The Prince and the Horse Girl: a temporally disconnected romance for the ages

So, the last we heard of Pwyll, he had successfully cockblocked himself into becoming best friends with Arawn, the Lord of the Underworld, which sounds like a pretty average Friday night in Cardiff, let me tell you. Anyway, Pwyll at this point is just kind of riding high on the fame that being best pals with Arawn brings, and he’s showing his friendship bracelet to everyone he meets and saying stuff like “yeah, it’s great to have the Lord of the Underworld Arawn-ed whenever I need him,” and everyone just sort of rolls their eyes good-naturedly and thinks about death.

One day, Pwyll is at his court at Arbeth, which is one of his most important courts. There’s a huge feast in front of him and all of his courtly pals are there, just chewing the fat. Pwyll tears off the leg of another whole roast pig, probably his eighth of the session, and he’s about to bite into it when he realises that everyone sat around the table is staring at him, so he puts down the pig leg really gingerly and says, “do I have hog spleen around my mouth or something?” and one of his courtly crew, who doesn’t get a name in the original text and so will henceforth be known as Brad, says, “no, my lord, but you do have practically an entire herd of pigs in your stomach, so maybe it’s time for a walk?”

Pwyll blinks at him and he’s like, “I don’t really see why I would want to go for a walk in the yucky outside when I could be sitting here and savouring delicious morsels of tenderly roasted flesh,” and Brad shrugs and says, “well, I read an article about nutrition in this scientific journal last week, and apparently it’s not actually that good for you to just eat constantly and never go outside ever,” and Pwyll is like, “no, but it’s super fun,” and Brad sighs and he’s like, “look, I wasn’t going to tell you this, just in case you got too excited, but there’s actually a mound outside,” and then Pwyll’s eyes go as wide as dinner plates and he cries, “a mound? Seriously? You’re not just fucking with me to get me to go outside?” and Brad is like, “no, there’s seriously a genuine, 100% organic mound outside, and it’s only a short walk away,” and so Pwyll pushes his chair out from under the table and he’s all, “lead the way, pal, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner that there was a fucking rad mound outside, you know how much I love mounds.”

So, they all traipse outside on horseback, and lo and behold, Brad wasn’t lying. There really is an absolutely incredible mound outside, all earthy and hilly, and… look. I’ll level with you. It’s hard to get excited about a mound, but Pwyll manages it. I have no idea how. God knows I’ve tried. But anyway, he leads his merry band of lads up to the top of the mound, and they’re all about to sit down when Brad puts out a hand and stops Pwyll from doing so. Pwyll is like, “dude, stop crushing my vibe, I’m about to become sedentary on this sediment,” and Brad just shakes his head and he’s like, “bro, I need to tell you something about the mound, because I may have undersold it.”

Pwyll is obviously in complete disbelief at this point, just like, “mate, there’s no way you undersold it. It can’t get any cooler than this. It just can’t. Have you seen it?” and Brad is like, “yes, it’s a really interesting geological formation, and the topography also makes it look a bit like a butt, which is obviously super rad, but I didn’t tell you that it’s also a magic mound, because if a nobleman sits on it, one of two things will happen: either he’ll see something absolutely fantastic, like the original The Mummy film starring Brendan Fraser or a cool dog, or he’ll get maimed and mortally wounded. It’s 50/50, to be honest with you.”

Pwyll just blinks at him, and he’s like, “dude, those are two very different things, but you know, I really can’t pass up the opportunity to see a cool dog,” and Brad says, “I need you to know that the dog was just a random example, I make no canine promises here, I can’t stress that enough,” and Pwyll just shrugs and scoffs, “whatever, dude. Anyway, if I do get totally maimed, I’ve got my posse here, and you’ll do first aid on me, won’t you?” and Brad just sort of nods nervously, because they haven’t even invented antiseptic in Medieval Wales and all their bandages are just, like, old socks drenched in ale, and they don’t have St John Ambulance to teach them all first aid because there isn’t even a J in the Welsh alphabet, and then Pwyll grits his teeth and sits down.

Almost immediately, this brilliant white horse just zooms past them, and Pwyll is like, “oh, that’s fucking sick, my dudes! I thought a dog would be cool, but a horse? Are you kidding me? It doesn’t get much better than this! Equestrian displays are my jam!” and then Brad rolls his eyes and he’s like, “my lord, did you not notice that there was a phenomenally sexy and almost certainly magic lady in gold riding that horse?” and Pwyll is like, “honestly, no, I was kind of distracted by the fetlocks, but now you come to mention it, she’s pretty attractive, I guess. Hey, do you think I could catch up with her and ask her where she got her cool horse?”

So he gets back on his horse and he tries to catch up with the lady, but even though Pwyll’s horse was sold to him as being the fastest ride on four legs, he can’t even come close to her. He walks back to his lads, his metaphorical tail between his actual legs, and he’s like, “dudes, we’re going to formulate a plan tonight,” and then a random guy in the posse is like, “oh cool, I brought Sharpies,” and they go back to Arbeth Court and spend literally all night just drawing diagrams and equations on a tapestry of England, because that’s probably the best use for it.

The next day, they put their plan in action. Pwyll gets his youngest, fittest lad, plops him on his biggest, muscliest horse, the one that’s like an equine version of that man in Game of Thrones who keeps breaking weightlifting records and is almost definitely earmarked to play Atlas in some big budget Greek myth film, and sends him after the lady. But still, no matter how fast they ride, she’s always one step ahead of them. At one point, they almost catch up with her, but when Pwyll reaches out to stroke her silky blonde hair in a totally normal and cool way, she pulls forward again and he just fucking eats dust. It’s humiliating.

And this goes on for three days, because princes don’t have, like, hobbies in Medieval Wales, or apparently any princely duties that would make galavanting after a magic horse woman for half a week kind of inconvenient for the general populace, and gradually, Pwyll’s men all bow out one by one, probably because they’ve all developed an absolutely stonking case of piles from being on horseback for three days solid, and then Pwyll is alone in his romantic and also literal pursuit.

Exhausted, starving and probably desperate for the loo at this point, Pwyll throws his head back and howls, “what the fuck is going on on this day? I’ve tried everything! I’m absolutely stumped. I don’t know what to do about this. I’ve considered it from every possible angle. I chased her, and that didn’t work. I got my wingman to chase her, and that didn’t work. Those are my only two options in the entire world. I just don’t know what else I can do. It’s completely fucking futile, I wish I’d just seen a dog instead,” and then a flash of inspiration comes to him, and he just calls out to the woman, “erm, could you maybe just, like, stop?” and, like a miracle, she does.

When he catches up to her, she glares at him, and says, “I’ve literally been waiting three whole days for you to just ask me to stop, why did it take you so long?” and Pwyll is like, “I sort of thought that it was implied, to be honest with you, what with all the chasing and me crying loudly about my unending solitude and the futility of love,” and she shrugs and says, “well, if we’re to be marred, we really have to work on our communication,” and Pwyll is like, “wait, what, who said anything about marriage?” and she just rolls her eyes, like, “look, I’m a sexy Medieval maiden and you’re a prince with some land and gendered expectations, so of course we’re going to get married,” and he’s like, “well, if we marry, that means I get to ride your horse whenever I want, right?” and she nods, like, “yes, that’s definitely the primary appeal of marriage.”

But just as he’s about to get down on one knee, she looks at him again, and says, “I should just tell you something super quick, in the name of true love and Medieval marriage etiquette,” and he’s like, “what, your name?” and she says, “no, not that, although it’s Rhiannon, but mostly I’m thinking of the fact that you actually have to wait a whole year to propose to me, because I’m almost engaged to someone else, who I hate, and I need to sort that all out first.”

Pwyll frowns and says, “hang on, is this going to be another one of those weird magic things where I have to wait a whole year and then conveniently murder someone in a previously determined location?” and she’s like, “what the fuck, no, there’s not going to be any murder at all, just a lavish engagement feast and some nuptials and probably some awkward standing around with the in-laws to-be,” and he’s like, “so why do we have to wait a year?” and she just waves her arms around and says, “temporally disconnected Otherworld shit, my love, I don’t make the rules. Just come to the court of Hyfaidd Hen in exactly a year, and we’ll do the whole ball and chain thing. It’ll be great.”

So he agrees, because of course he does, and the next thing he knows, it’s a year later, and he goes to Hyfaidd Hen and Rhiannon’s there in this beautiful McQueen wedding dress, looking all Kate Middleton but without the colonial royal associations, and there’s an absolutely exquisite feast laid out, with a whole array of delicious Medieval food, like unseasoned meat pies and room-temperature ale that looks like piss, and Pwyll just thinks to himself how cool it all is, but he also secretly harbours a lingering regret for the previous year, where he was forced after a blunder of etiquette to kill a random man in a duel, and although he feels bad about it, a part of him longs for the decadent adventures of his bachelorhood, when murder was more than just a six letter word.

They’re all just kind of milling about on the dancefloor, listening to the bards spit some absolute club classics like Y Gododdin by Aneurin, which really gets the toes tapping, when this random dude with a chiseled jawline and a playful glint in his eye comes up to Pwyll and extends his hand for Pwyll to shake. Pwyll, who is completely head over heels for manners and etiquette, shakes the man’s hand, and says, “hello, new friend! What can I do for you?” and Rhiannon elbows him in the side, and hisses, “be careful, fiancé dearest, don’t let him tangle you up in a web of etiquette from which there is no escape,” and Pwyll waves her off, saying, “my sweet darling, I am a prince of Wales; manners are my middle name,” and he turns back to the man.

The man grins at him, and he says, “I’ve come to ask a favour of you, Pwyll, prince of Wales,” and Pwyll, still enamoured by this man’s manners, is struck by an overwhelming desire to just do whatever this perfectly polite man wants, so he spreads his arms wide in a benevolent gesture, conveniently using it as an excuse to set down his glass of lukewarm piss ale on a nearby shelf, and says, “literally anything you want, my friend, I’ll give you!” and then the stranger’s grin turns into a smirk and he says, “by your word?” and Pwyll is like, “fuck yeah, man, by all of my words, as God and all these noble guests are my witness!” and the stranger is like, “sick bro, I want to marry Rhiannon, and I also want your wedding feast.”

And Pwyll has no idea what to say to that, because he just promised this man anything he wanted, so he decides that maybe silence is his best bet here, and the man grins at him, and stalks off, knowing that there’s literally nothing that Pwyll can do now except reconsider all of his life choices up to this point.

When the man has left, Rhiannon groans, “you phenomenal dick, that man was Gwawl and he’s the complete bag of dicks that my parents tried to marry me off to, and you just got me affianced to him!” and Pwyll just grits his teeth and hisses, “well, dear, you might have told me that before I told him I’d do whatever he wanted,” and Rhiannon sighs and says, “you’re right, but look, we can work through this. Here’s the plan. Firstly, we’ll tell him that he can’t have the feast, because it’s not yours to give, but mine, and we’ll prepare him an equal feast instead. Then, we’ll tell him that he can marry me a year from today, but here’s the thing - on the day of the wedding, you’ll secretly turn up in disguise with a very tiny magic bag and you’ll ask him, very reasonably, for just enough food to fill the bag. He’ll obviously say yes, because even he can’t turn down something that reasonable, but the bag will be enchanted to never be filled, so you’ll just take all the food, until he asks you how he can help you fill the bag, and you tell him that a fine nobleman has to step on it to seal it, and then he’ll step on it, and then you jump on him and pull the bag over his head and tie him up in the bag and hang it from a rafter, and then you’ll blow your hunting horn to summon your posse of lads and you’ll all beat him to a bloody, pulpy death in the bag.”

Pwyll just blinks at her, and says, “sweetheart, love of my life, light of my existence, did you perchance dream up that oddly specific plan a while ago, because if not, then your imagination terrifies me,” and this small, maniacal grin plays on her lips, and she says, “darling, you know how you asked me last year if you’d have to wait a whole year and then conveniently murder someone in a previously determined location, and I told you no?” and he’s like, “yes, I do remember that,” and she says, “well, ask me again,” and so he says, “babe, do I have to wait a whole year and then conveniently murder someone in a previously determined location?” and she’s like, “yes, sweetheart, but I’ve got it in the bag,” and then they high five each other and do a vengeful murder jig for like ten minutes.

And of course, a year later, they do it all over again, this time with a tiny enchanted bag and a goddamn point to prove, but that’s a story for another time.

My other retellings can be found here, and my Mythology Mondays Facebook page is here. My book is here. Yay.

I’m going to level with you: I typed out a whole bunch of super cool academic stuff and then my turdwallet of a laptop crashed and deleted all of it, and I honestly want to perish very slightly at the prospect of typing it all out again, but in a nutshell:

Some people think that Rhiannon was a horse goddess who was undeified by the Christian dudes who wrote down the pagan Welsh myths all those years later. While the Christian dudes did almost certainly sanitise the source material, we just don’t have any real proof of what they left out. The main argument for Rhiannon being a horse goddess is that she’s a woman and there was, erm, a horse. Not the most compelling argument. Some people also think she may be a cognate to the Gallic horse goddess, Epona, but this is basically extrapolated from the fact that they’re both female and somehow linked to horses, which I don’t think would fly in a court of law.

If you’re wondering why Pwyll didn’t just tell Gwawl to fuck off, it’s because he’s bound, as a nobleman, by a very strict code of honour and morals. By giving Gwawl his word, even before he knew what he was agreeing to, Pwyll made a binding promise. If he goes back on his word, Gwawl is well within his rights to challenge the fuck out of him.

Welsh myth and the Otherworld is super interesting. The Otherworld was generally believed to only be accessible at certain times and via certain places, called ‘liminal spaces’, such as bogs, bodies of water, and caves. Liminal spaces are essentially a sort of sacred space which exists in the in between, where the boundaries between worlds are porous and can be crossed, provided certain ritual conditions are met. The mound in this particular narrative is likely a portal to the Otherworld, which explains why Pwyll was able to access the magical realm of Rhiannon through it. The Otherworld, although not explicitly an Underworld, does have links with death and the afterlife, as do mounds, so that strengthens the connection. Bet you never knew mounds were so fucking cool.

Primary sources:

Davies, Sioned (2007) The Mabinogion, New York: Oxford University Press

Secondary sources:

Goldwasser, Michele (1994) What Drives the Mabinogi? Proceedings of the Harvard Celtic Colloquium, 14, 49-57

Linkletter, Michael (2001) Magical Realism and the “Mabinogi”: an Exercise in Methodology, Proceedings of the Harvard Celtic Colloquium, 21, 51-63

Wachsler, Arthur (1975) The Elaborate Ruse: A Motif of Deception in Early Celtic Historical Variants of the Journey to the Other World, Journal of the Folklore Institute, 12(1) 29-46

#mythology mondays #celtic myth #welsh myth #pwyll #rhiannon #mythology #mabinogi #mabinogion

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turtlegirlave · 3 years

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So this has a ton of opinions which I usually stray away from but i really let all my opinions out here. Also there is definitely fact mistakes, probably name mistakes and some incorrect singing terms in here, I wrote this at 2 A.M. with a limited knowledge of theater I’m just trying to get a point across.

Why s2 of hsm the series should have been newsies instead of beauty and the beast:

They say straight up in the show “we need a real Alan Menkhen musical” and they pick beauty and the beast instead of newsies, a literal Broadway stage production???

At first I assumed it was because the cast was primarily male, but that isn’t even a reasonable argument. 1)as shown by s1 when a boy played sharpay, gender doesn’t matter when being considered for a role. 2), a cast with multiple male leads would give the gay men in the show a chance to shine, instead of shoving them to background roles like Chip. Not to mention Carlos is a dancer, and newsies is a musical driven by choreography. 3), since nini moved there are only like 2 lead females anyway, which works for the 2 female roles in newsies.

Casting Wise, the play works SO MUCH better!

Ricky: jack kelley is a much better role for him than the beast for many reasons. First, their personalities are very similar with the mischievous main teen vibe, so the role would be like Troy where Ricky can slip into it easier. Second, it fits him better vocally. It is very clear from listening to Joshua basset sing that he has a relatively high vocal range, and singing low notes or in a deep voice doesn’t come as naturally to him. Jeremy Jordan has a similar vocal range, where he stays in higher octaves and more rarely uses a deep, monotone voice (at least never to the beast’s extent). Ricky would sound perfect singing in Jack’s vocal range. The beast, however, sings almost exclusively in an extremely deep, monotone voice that Joshua cannot easily perform.

Ashlyn: not only does she look quite similar to Katherine, but they have similar personalities as well. Also, katherine’s high and bubbly singing voice would sound lovely with Ash’s, which is also high and bubbly but often softer. This would allow her to push herself to sing louder and more confidently. And she still gets to play a smart bookworm lead female role.

Kourtney: she was born to play miss medda larken. Mrs. Potts’ debut song “beauty and the beast” is a soft romance ballad, which does not match kourt’s stadium reach, strong, powerful voice. “That’s rich” not only shows off her vocals better, but matches her personality and voice much better with the grit and power behind it. Also, Mrs Potts as a character is the soft, motherly type. Miss medda is a rambunctious, empowered, “I got men if I want em but I don’t need em” kinda woman. Which role better fits the girl power, loud, activist, personal cheer squad type person that Kourtney is?

Carlos and Sebastian: not only would this stop shoving the gays and only interesting men other than Ricky to background roles (sorry big red), but it would show off their talents. Seb would make a wonderful crutchy, with his innocent nature and likeness to the character. It would also give him a chance to flex his vocals and sing a duet with Ricky in Santa Fe, further developing the friendships in the show. Carlos could play really any of the main boys, I mostly think he would kill in this due to his dance and choreography skills, which newsies really emphasizes.

Big red: PLEASE this boy would be perfect as Ben Cook’s role (can’t remember the newsie’s name). They’re both the kinda dumb but endearing friend type, and he leads “king of New York”, a song with a killer tap dancing break, which is the whole reason big red wanted to try out! His chemistry with Ricky as crutchy would make that a fine role for him too, but since Sebastian has stronger vocals I think it’s better for him to take a more prominent role while big red relies on his dancing skills over singing.

Gina: though there’s no more lead girl roles, I think she would kill it as mr. Pulitzer. They could add some spice to the character through her insane dance skills, and she would play a great “cunning yet intelligent buisinesswoman” type. This dude also gets 2 or 3 songs, and honestly I don’t remember who she plays in Beauty and the beast so idk.

EJ: I admit Gaston is a perfect role for him and I can’t fit him into newsies well. He would play a good spot conlin, though it is a significantly smaller role. No one really cares about ej though so small loss.

Plot valuability:

doing newsies makes literally way more sense. Firstly, they are kinda planning entering this show last-minute compared to the competition, so to pick a show already written and choreographed for stage production would really save time. (Even though it would still need work to be condensed for a high school production). Second, miss Jen is so determined to stand out from the crowd and win the contest so she picks... beauty and the beast? One of the most popular Disney movies (and honestly with one of Alan’s weaker soundtracks compared to tangled, Aladdin, and the little mermaid imo). Having them do newsies, especially when switching up gender roles like casting Gina as Pulitzer, would actually make them stand apart from the dozens of schools performing Disney movies. It would also give a significantly more impressive vocal and dance performance, since the songs were written for Broadway singers rather than actors. The set is also more cheap and condensed, while still looking professional, which would help with their “we’re too poor and late to afford a straight-up aquarium so let’s do the most with what we’ve got.” Putting the characters in these roles would also not alter their development or main story plots much, besides strengthening certain friendships and pushing aside less popular characters (ej). It would also give more rep for the gays as well as switching up gender roles. Imagine, the gay guys get actual things to do in the show and aren’t defined by the sole plot of “my boyfriend rich” relationship drama! (I love these two but I am a tired ace). Also jerjor performs in both this and tangled the series, so it’s a double whammy for Alan menkhen representation.

Marketability: I know the musical has to be widely known and appealing to viewers. People watched s1 because they love hsm. People also love beauty and the beast, so viewership may raise with fans of the movie. Newsies doesn’t die here, though. It is a very widely popular play among theatre people, and existed first as a movie musical so it isn’t exclusive to theater kids. Also, fans of Newsies are generally between their tweens and early twenties, the exact age demographic for the show. Beauty and the beast is a classic and more widely known, but also doesn’t draw in large numbers of the exact age group you want. Also, the fact that newsies is a little less mainstream only helps the plot point of them choosing it to still have something well known while also standing out from the competition. Doing beauty and the beast is not only an awful choice for casting that limits the actors vocals or is completely out of their range, but it also makes them blend in with the crowd.

Final notes: beauty and the beast was IMO the worst choice for the play this season. Movies like Aladdin and tangled both have very energetic and loud soundtracks that allow these characters to belt their hearts out. Beauty and the beast has a very folksy, quiet, ballad type of track that limits the actors. The only actor that I think sings ballads better than big booming tracks is Nini, who isn’t even in the play this year. Ricky also sings great ballads, which is why ballads that are still slow but also emotional and powerful like “Santa fe” or “something to believe in” (which would sound AMAZING in his and Ashlyn’s voices) fit much better than the deep voice of the beast that he can not comfortably sing in. Also, the beast has very few songs whereas newsies would allow him to belt his heart out in nearly every song with that lovely voice he has. The age range of the newsies cast (that characters are supposed to be 17) fits better with these very teen actors than a movie about old fashioned French young adults. Really newsies was the best musical choice for this season, but I also believe beauty and the beast was the last one they should have chosen.

(After reading comments I rescind my statement that beauty and the beast was the worst choice, but it’s still second to newsies imo)

Feel free to debate me in the comments or point out my mistakes, I’m very open to other points of view

#newsies #hsmtmts #hsm the series #beauty and the beast #Disney #disney+#disney plus #jeremy jordan

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fandom-puff · 4 years

Text

Severus Snape smut alphabet

Requested by anon and @epaige0914 - enjoy !

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Severus is extremely loving after sex. he will heal any bruises or aches (unless you want them to remain) and clean you up. He’ll pull you close and kiss your forehead, stroking your hair as he tells you how good you are, how proud he is, how well you take him

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Severus doesn’t like much about himself. He simply isn’t conventionally attractive. What he does like, however, is his hands. He has very elegant hands, with long, slender fingers. He is an expert potioneer, and these skills translate in the bedroom- he is meticulous with his hands, and his heart swells with pride when he can bring you over the edge with just those digits.

With any partner... eyes. He loves your eyes. Looking deep into them as you fuck, the way your eyelids flutter as he pleasures you, forcing you to look at him even though you can barely keep your eyes from screwing shut...

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Severus is traditional. He doesn’t want to dirty you, so he prefers to finish inside you. It’s all about connection for him.

An exception to this is your throat. He loves when you take him in your mouth, always encouraging you with that voice to swallow and not waste a single drop

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

As a legillimens, one of his greatest desires is to penetrate both the mind and body of his partner. This comes only with the most trusted of partners, after months, maybe even years of being together

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Severus has taken a witch and wizard or two to bed before, but they were one night stands. He know what he’s doing, but he’s never had a partner to truly explore what he likes and dislikes, and has never had someone with which to nurture his growing passion

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Sitting up with you in his lap, cradled in his arms as you ride him. It allows for closeness, and intimacy, and it’s you slightly elevated so he can bury his face in your chest.

He also is quite fond of missionary, especially when you want to be rough with you

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

No. He is serious, always. If you’re playing with power dynamics or role playing, he will tease you with a condescending tone, as if he’s disciplining an unruly student, but he never fools around

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

The carpet matches the drapes. Dark, straight and thick. He keeps it neatly trimmed and is very clean.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Severus Snape is extremely intimate. He would rather ‘make love’ than fuck, holding you close and kissing every inch of you his mouth can reach. He’ll mark you up, but only in places that can be covered by your clothes, so only he knows they’re there. He’s big on kissing when you have sex, swallowing your moans and leaving your lips swollen from his kisses.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

If he has time, more often than not in the shower, he’ll indulge himself. He prides himself on his self-control, though, and would always prefer you over his hand. He does like watching you, especially if you leave the door open a crack- seriously that man barely makes any noise when he walks! You love when he catches you, as it will normally result in a short lecture in that low, rumbling voice as he shags you senseless.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Severus really likes being in charge. He loves being called ‘Sir’ especially when your arse is up in the air while you’re over his knee.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

His bedroom- safe and private and he can really let loose all of his passion. A close favourite is his office, with the door locked and silencing charms up, so you can be as vocal as you want.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Your eyes. The way you look up at him with those innocent eyes is enough to get him going. He also gets turned on when you nibble your lip or stick your tongue out in concentration, often thinking of other uses for your teeth and tongue...

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Severus will not do anything that could put you in danger. while he does sometimes have a hand at your throat, it’s never really to choke, more so to show you who’s in charge. It takes you a while to reassure him that he can squeeze a little. Severus will also refuse to do anything to do with knives with you. He has been tortured enough; crucio feels like a thousand knives stabbing him at once and he refuses to let you experience anything like that.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Severus is VERY good at eating out. He knows just how to use his tongue, scrubbing it flat against your pussy, pointing and prodding it at your clit, swiping it under the hood. And he uses his lips too, wrapping them around your clit and sucking gently, humming at the feeling of you tugging his hair. If he’s paying more attention to your entrance, that hooked nose of his will bump your clit irregularly, just enough for the combined sensations to tip you over the edge.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends on the mood. After a hard day, he prefers to fuck you slowly, sliding the whole length of him in, before drawing almost all the way out, stroking every inch of your insides with his length.

He’s not above rutting into you like a dog in heat, especially if it’s a quicky in the potions cupboard, or if you’ve been particularly cheeky. When he fucks you fast and rough, he is merciless, his lips curled up into a half smirk, half snarl as he pounds into you.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Severus doesn’t mind a quickie. In his potions cupboard, up against the shelves or on the stone floor, when you catch in bed him ten minutes before he has to go and supervise detention...

During cupboard quickies, he’ll stuff your knickers in you mouth to keep you quiet, and once you’re done and you go to slip them back on, he’ll shake his head, grabbing them and pocketing them, before telling you to ‘run along now,’

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

If he is sure you will be safe, then yes, he’ll experiment. If he senses even a hint of you really not enjoying yourself, he will stop, praising you and telling you how proud he is. He won’t insist that you carry on having sex in a way you’re more used to, unless you really want to. Again, he has excellent control.

He finds it amusing when you have a new idea, as you’ll typically beat around the bush about iy (even if his head was between your thighs not ten minutes ago)

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Severus can LAST. Honestly, you have no clue how he does it, but he can last a long time. You’ll be clamping around him for the second time that night, but he would still be gritting his teeth, a slight bead of sweat trickling down his temple as he is DETERMINED to make you come again before his own release. A huge part of the enjoyment for him is seeing you come undone and knowing that it was him who caused it.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Severus doesn’t own any himself. If he wants to tie you up, he’ll conjure ropes. You, however, have a few to choose from. He finds your little box one day while making the bed, and can’t help but have a look, intrigued by the strange looking contraptions. That night was particularly interesting, as he insisted on a demonstration for each one...

His favourite thing to do is have you wear a vibe all day, with him being in charge of the settings, bringing you close to the edge at dinner, in the middle of conversations, but never letting you come until the evening

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He is a relentless tease, as you saw above. Because of his control, he can often hold you on edge for hours without giving into his own needs. He loves to make you beg and squirm, and smirks down at you telling you to ‘behave’

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He is rather quiet. He does make noise, of course, but he doesn’t shout. His noises are often low groans, sharp intakes of breath, and strained grunts, which flow into your ear as his kisses your neck and shoulders

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He loves the sight of you bare, with nothing on but thigh high stockings. He’ll sit at his desk in his office and make you strip slowly down to just the hosiery, before beckoning you over.

He also likes the sight of you undoing his many buttons. The ones on his frock coat and trousers are flat canvas, with stiff button holes, and the ones on his dress shirt and cuffs are fiddly little mother of pearl ones. This combination makes it very difficult to undress him quickly, and honestly, watching his long fingers slowly ease each button out of its hole on his victorian frock coat has you dripping.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Severus is a big man. Long and thick, even when soft, with a purplish head which throbs when he’s aroused. he has a few veins here and there, which he loves being caressed. When aroused, he is longer, rigid and standing proud, and you often need to take the first thrust slow as he sinks into you, stimulating you deeper than ever before

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

He likes having sex. Especially with you. But again, he has excellent self-control, so doesn’t NEED to get off as soon as the thought pops into his head.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Severus has difficulty sleeping at the best of times. After sex, he likes to curl up with you, but often still lays awake, staring at the ceiling long after you’ve nodded off.

Tag List: @obsessedwithrandomthings @haphazardhufflepuff @diksy1112 @zodiyack @axriel @Theunderlier @hiddensapphic @samnblack @tinylumpiaa @in-slytherin-we-trust

#severus snape #severus snape x reader #severus snape x you #snape #severus snape headcanons #request #smut alphabet #smut

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bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture · 3 years

Text

And the aftermath of the first battle. Featuring more OFA talk!

[No. 34 - Victory or Defeat]

The cover art for this chapter is actually pretty gorgeous. Like, wow, that HAIR. It looks so damn soft I can’t even.

Getting into the chapter itself, we get just shy of a page of flashback to Shinsou’s middle school. Several students are talking about how cool Shinsou’s quirk is, how they’ve never heard of a quirk like it, how jealous they are. One student comments on how he could make all kinds of trouble with it, while another adds on that it’d be without getting his hands dirty. She then asks Shinsou not to go around controlling them.

Past Shinsou just laughs it off and notes how everyone says that, with his internal narrative thinking about how he’d also expect bad things from someone with his ability. That person would probably turn into a criminal - a villain, even. So he’s used to everyone implying that about him. That’s just how the world works.

Back in the present, we see Shinsou gritting his teeth, while Izuku is standing over him, a bit bloody and beaten, but still victorious. Present Mic again confirms Izuku is going to the second round. Up in the stands, Kaminari nudges Katsuki’s shoulder with his own, noting how Izuku had also gotten him with that shoulder toss. Katsuki looks a bit put out, I guess? Or just distracted. He calls Kaminari dunce face, which gets a fantastic face out of Kaminari.

Artwork.

There’s a bit here about Izuku using a baiting tactic that I’m not sure whether is from Katsuki or Aizawa, since Aizawa’s thought process continues in the next panel. In either case, I am certain it’s Aizawa noting how Izuku was concentrating his quirk in just his finger, like the strength test and the throw in battle training. Izuku’s been learning from those experiences - or rather, said experiences have forced him to adapt.

As Shinsou and Izuku bow (or at least Izuku does), Present Mic comments on how the event is off to an uneventful start, before encouraging the crowds to put their hands together for their fierce competitors. As the crowds do so, Izuku is thinking about Shinsou’s words, being ‘naturally blessed’ and ‘getting to follow his dreams.’ Eventually, Izuku asks why Shinsou wants to be a hero. Shinsou turns away to start leaving the platform while replying that ‘we don’t get to choose the things we naturally admire.’

Izuku vibes deeply with this, thinking about how those feelings are just like how Izuku was before he got One For All. But as he is now, what does he say to that?

Shinsou gets his own surprise, however, when his classmates start shouting their praises from the stands above the entryway. One says how awesome Shinsou had been out there, another on how he’d had them on the edge of their seats, a third on Shinsou being the shining star of the general studies guys, and a fourth on how he’d done just as well as the guy who’d gotten third in the obstacle course (Katsuki). Shinsou looks like he has no idea how to process this. And if that’s not enough, the heroes in the crowds are also talking about him and his quirk with no small amount of admiration.

...oh man, wait, do I spy Miss Joke there with the crowds?

Why, yes it is! I don’t know if her character was fully planned or background developed at this point, but I suppose Hori must have elevated hr to more than a one-off appearance at some point. Perhaps liked her relatively simple design?

But yeah, we shift back to Shinsou and the other gen ed students as the latter point it out, and repeat how awesome he is. Shinsou says nothing for a moment, hesitating at the entrance, before speaking to Izuku. UA will consider transfers to the hero course depending on the results here. Remember that. Maybe he failed here, but he’s not giving up. He’ll show UA he’s got what it takes to make the hero course, and he’ll become a greater hero than all of the other students.

Izuku accepts this driven challenge, only to get caught in Shinsou’s quirk again. Izuku’s confused, because the match is already over. Shinsou comments on how people who respond to him tend to stiffen up like that, and how it’d be easy to mess everything up for Izuku just now. But instead he just demands a promise as he lets Izuku loose from his quirk - don’t lose in a sorry way out there. Izuku agrees again, only to again be temporarily caught in Shinsou’s quirk.

Also, it's a teeny thing here, but I know there's been people (not necessarily in here, but in general) who've questioned how shinsou's quirk works, and from here in the sports festival, what I can at least determine is this:

-his quirk can affect multiple people at once

-people don't remember what they were doing under the quirk's effect (barring Izuku for Reasons)

-his quirk takes effect when he chooses after someone responds verbally to him (sign language or writing don't work)

-it can be a statement or question someone responds to!

-general non-word noises, or non-directed sounds (ie izuku's growls of exertion) don't work as targets for shinsou's quirk

Anywho, with that, we transfer over to Recovery Girl’s temporary office, where Izuku is getting himself healed up while Toshinori hovers nearby nervously. Izuku admits that he couldn’t smile at all, and Toshinori considers that and figures this must have been a tough battle for him, given what Shinsou was saying. Izuku replies that that doesn’t make it okay for him to lose; when you’re aiming for the top, that’s just how it is, right?

Recovery Girl is not impressed with the ‘life lessons’ Toshinori is passing on to Izuku, spinning around to wallop Toshinori on his non-injury side. Toshinori tries to reply that it’s all necessary, only to be interrupted by said wallop and yelp in pain. While Toshinori is nursing his poor abused ribs, Izuku brings up the vision he had.

He saw eight or nine shadows - not sure on that - when his mind was lulled from the brainwashing, the vision appeared and snapped him out of it. In that instant, he was just barely able to move his fingertip. One of them had Toshinori’s hairstyle… so could it have been the souls of the people who have inherited One For All?

Now, a few things I have to say to this:

First off, holy SHIT did Izuku already pretty much hit the nail on the head for what’s happening here. We obviously don’t really get more about this for, what, a hundred and fifty or so chapters? I dunno when the JTA is in the manga exactly, so I’m probably off, but even before then, there’s only a few hints here and there about the whole ‘ghost’ thing happening - and yet, Izuku already is kinda sus of what’s happening after just one vision.

Secondly, while it’s way more likely that it’s Izuku being scared and confused that has him questioning the number of shadows he saw there, I also really love how it’s a perfect set-up for something Fishy if Hori so wants, while also allowing an out if he doesn’t want. It’s like, does the number mean something, or is it just a scared schoolkid struggling to remember details he only glimpsed for a moment?

In any case, we move on to Toshinori’s response to this strange vision. Mostly in that he finds it kinda scary. Izuku is confused, because he was sure Toshinori would know. Toshinori admits that he did see them once when he was young, and that it’s a clear sign Izuku is getting used to One For All.

At Izuku’s visible confusion, Toshinori continues - the shadows are traces of the quirk’s past bearers. But whatever they are, they can’t directly interfere or influence Izuku. Nor can Izuku affect them. In other words, that vision wasn’t what undid the brainwashing. Rather, it was Izuku’s protagonist powers strong will that allowed him to see those faces - and as far as Shinsou’s brainwashing, Izuku overcame it! Just for an instant! He managed to move that fingertip all on his own.

Izuku isn’t convinced, but Toshinori chastises him, telling him not to dwell on it, and shouldn’t he be worrying about his next opponent instead? Izuku agrees, and thanks both him and Recovery Girl before heading out. Only once Izuku is gone does Recovery Girl note that Toshinori’s shadow had been there too. Toshinori replies how that’s not a bad thing.

My take on this whole scene?

But yeah, it definitely is interesting how early Hori outright told us what was happening with One For All, only for it to be dismissed by Toshinori and a good chunk of the audience. I mean, I don’t know if Hori was planning everything with the vestiges and the other quirks at this point, but he sure laid the groundwork here, and I kind of love it.

Anywho, moving on from that, we shift over to Shouto making his way towards the arena for his own fight, only to run into the last person he wants to see - Endeavor. Shouto tells Endeavor to get out of his way, but Endeavor ignores him, instead calling Shouto a disgrace to him. He harps on about how Shouto could have crushed the obstacle course and the cavalry battle if he’d used his left side. Shouto says nothing as he marches himself past his father.

Endeavor tells Shouto to grow up, and stop rebelling like some petulant child. His duty is to surpass All Might. He’s different from his siblings - Endeavor’s greatest creation! Shouto asks if that’s all Endeavor has to say, then states how he’ll win this with his mom’s power alone. He’ll never use Endeavor’s power in battle. Endeavor states how that might be good enough while he’s a schoolkid, but he’ll reach his limit soon enough.

Shouto is… not in a good headspace. As we’ll see momentarily.

Izuku joins Ochako and Tenya in the stands while Present Mic starts to announce the participants of the next match. Sero Hanta, the cream of the crop, and yet somehow still as plain as they come! Versus Todoroki Shouto, the best of the best, strongest of the strong!

The match starts as Sero finishes stretching himself out, stating how he doesn’t really feel much like winning. His arms then snap forward, the tape rushing out to wrap around Shouto. Sero tugs back, yoinking Shouto into position to be swung out of the arena. Present Mic hypes up the surprise attack maneuver, and how it’s probably the best strategy for him, overall complementing how Sero’s giving it his all. Shouto, still somewhat mad-eyed, apologizes, and then-

...yikes. How Sero (or any audience members in the way) didn’t die here is a show of Shouto’s astounding control here, even if it doesn’t seem like it. The entire stadium is dead silent as Sero calls the move a bit overkill. Midnight, half-frozen as well, tentatively asks Sero if he can move. Sero asks if she’s kidding, before the frostbite starts getting to him and he starts biting back pained hisses. Midnight announces Sero’s loss, and the crowds are… pretty sympathetic, calling out good tries to him.

Shouto steps forward to start defrosting Sero, apologizing for overdoing it, stating that he’d just been annoyed. Up in the stands, Izuku watches on, with his future narration noting that, lost amid the cheers that arose from the audience, he saw Shouto defrost his own frozen self with his left hand. And to Izuku… something about Shouto seemed really sad.

Shouto is announced to be moving on to the second round, and the chapter closes.

Holy shit. This chapter is actually really something, and not just because of One For All. But still, it really is fascinating to see what groundwork laid early on in the series ended up being used way down the line by Hori as he got more comfortable with the direction he wanted his story to go in.

Anywho, see you next time for the last chapter of volume four! Which means the next bonus material post is upcoming. And I can just say there’s some interesting stuff in that as well…

#chapter 34 #sports festival arc #readthrough #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #midoriya izuku #shinsou hitoshi #recovery girl #yagi toshinori #todoroki shouto #todoroki enji #Sero Hanta #izuku: so i think our quirk is haunted #toshinori: nah you're just the main character #izuku: bet #(150 chapters later)#izuku: quirk's haunted bitch!#toshinori: :|

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tequiladimples · 3 years

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I hope this doesn't come off as rude, but I saw that you dislike when collision is branded het cause you're not het, but no one's talking about you personally? like for me, I really like collision but I can understand the criticism in a way and that isn't an attack on you (or an attack at all lol). again hope I'm not rude but idk it seems unnecessary to get upset, it's better to take it as constructive criticism

sigh i don't think ur rude but it simply isn't constructive.

look i’ll talk abt this one more time n then i Beg we can put it to rest! (this is gna be a lot of word vomit but if i'm elaborative now i hope i won't have to talk abt this ever again)

i’m deeply insecure abt many aspects of collision. i don’t really keep that a secret. i also know some ppl don't like fantasy, some ppl don't like the kinds of dynamics i like, some ppl don't vibe with my style of writing (hell, i barely vibe with my style of writing). those things are fine. i can't control that and i don't take that personally. the reason why this is the one critique i do take personally is because it genuinely presumes wrongful, harmful things about me and my values, especially when i've made deliberate efforts to avoid writing the exact flavor of fic they're accusing me of having written. just because people don’t mean for what they say to reflect back on me, doesn’t stop it from doing so.

the thing about calling something a “het fic” is that the term brings along certain connotations which i don’t stand by at all and feel deeply uncomfortable and distraught to possibly have created. i’ve gone over this godforsaken story again and again just to be absolutely sure i didn’t actually do so. when people say “het fic” they generally don’t mean “boy meets girl and they fall in love”, they mean “super rude and mean boy meets uptight virtuous girl and makes her fall in dependence with him through manipulation and treating her like shit until she behaves how he wants.” and that is straight up not the fic i wrote. i’m not stupid. i know the dynamic i went with is widely and easily misused and there’s a lot of fiction depicting really bad, uneven, unhealthy relationships through it. i knew this going in, and i’ve tried persistently to avoid making those same mistakes.

skipping over the fact that they’re both boys (bc duh)--harry doesn't exhibit any real manipulative power over louis. collision harry is a grumpy, fruity little nerd who happened upon a really unfortunate lot in life and managed to trick himself into believing he's evil for like half a second of the story and his resolves crumble like a danish pastry the moment he receives his first hug. he's kind of aloof and arrogant, and understandably hardened from his past, but he's not bad. he's just lost. that's the basis of his character arc. now on the other hand, louis has harry wrapped around his finger starting like chapter 4. harry’s the one who opens up emotionally first, harry’s the one desperately seeking louis’ approval and caring about his opinion, harry’s the one who makes himself vulnerable continuously throughout the entire story. the only time louis makes himself vulnerable on a comparable scale is during the smut scenes, and even then, harry is gentle and attentive and puts louis first. louis is less experienced than harry in that area, but he isn't scared or intimidated by harry, and he has full reigns of the progression and nature of their relationship as a whole. that’s kind of how it needs to go with tough x soft dynamics for the power balance to not feel uneven, and i wrote the story accordingly. if you then happen to still be so blindly determined to associate soft/small with weakness (and thereby uh, womanhood ig) that you still felt like louis had an inferior position to harry solely because he is indeed soft/small, that sounds quite frankly like a you problem.

now, the whole point of louis’ character is that he’s underestimated. sure, he’s naive and self-centered and sheltered from the real world--that’s the basis of his character arc. those things all change. but louis isn’t ever weak. like idk who apparently needs to hear this but you can be small and simultaneously not be a pushover. the two aren’t mutually exclusive. there isn’t a single time louis takes shit in this story, especially not from harry; he gives back as good as he gets every time. oh! and then he literally saves the entire universe and the execution of that whole thing was his idea alone. i tried really hard to underline how strong-willed and full of grit he is to contrast what others think of him. if you think he’s portrayed as a meek and frail damsel, you missed the point. once again, i feel like we circle back to this misconception of louis being kind of naive and physically small = louis being inferior = louis being female. just do some soul searching.

(i could also get into the fact that for a bunch of people who don’t know these boys personally (no matter how much we like to think we do), this fandom is weirdly opinionated about characterization. especially regarding sexual stuff. i know creating a version for ourselves of who we think these boys are based on things we recognize in ourselves or things we find endearing is part of the comfort with loving them. but that doesn’t really equate to actually knowing them, and besides, this is fan fiction; no one’s opting to write a biography, anyway. being experimental and explorative and putting different aspects of their personalities in different lightings is what makes fic fun. if someone’s writing harmful or one-dimensional characters, that’s one thing, and preferences is again whatever floats your boat. but the “out of character” argument feels mostly really strange to me. this is a bit of a tangent, though.)

lastly, the thing is that i will and i do take it personally if someone insinuates that a character--a gay character--that i, a lesbian, construed is a secret vessel for expressing heterosexual attraction. if someone calls louis a “self-insert”, that does reflect back on me. and to elaborate on that--i don’t particularly love to bring it up, but it's quite disheartening to pour personal PTSD experiences into a character and rly put effort into doing it right and justice and underline growth and healing, just to find out people disregard all that completely in favor of declaring that my self-projection lies in the attraction to a man--which is to say, the one thing i couldn’t possibly feel more estranged from. it's so incredibly tactless. i feel thoroughly whiny at this point but how is that not supposed to make me a little sad?

anyway. none of this is to say that you can’t dislike or critique collision. you can. sometimes ppl don’t like things. but i hope i’m clear about where i’m coming from with my discomfort now. people’s preferences and dislikes are indeed not mine to be hurt by, but these things are. this definitely got unnecessarily long and i probably look like i take myself unbearably seriously (i promise i don’t), so i’m sorry. but at least i've said everything now, and if i encounter this sort of rhetoric in the future, i have something to redirect people to. also anon, none of this is directly pointed at you, i know you mean well. take care <3

#look away this is so long #also @ my non fic mutuals scroll past it pls #it’s not that deep i’m just tired #ask

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begrudginglytumbling · 3 years

Text

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

Part Five!

Now with gifs!...since I’ve learnt the most basic of basic gifmaking and it was actually quicker than trying to pause at just the right moment, which has been enough of an issue previously to make me swear through gritted teeth.

Time for Love O2O - that’s both the film and the series since the little overachiever just had to get cast in both.

Ready?

Bai Yu plays a character called Cao Guang in both the film and drama. In the film he seems to be a smushed together version of what in the drama are two separate people.

Now then do you see this slightly bewildered expression while looking at a computer screen? Because this was basically me watching Love O2O, both film and drama.

Why the bewilderment?

Well, I’ve come to expect a certain level of odd sitting and leaning from Bai Yu. I almost expect all his characters to be some form of Bi Disaster now. But Cao Guang? So far I’ve never seen Bai Yu sit so straight. It’s slightly unnerving, in a similar way to if someone went into your house and moved things just slightly to the left. There’s not enough of a difference to cause major problems, but there’s enough for your mind to feel uncomfortable and twitchy because something is just off.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, he still does his Bai Yu thing, but it’s almost muted, I suppose is the best word to use for it.

We’ll start with the film version, which also has the alternate title of One Smile is Very Alluring apparently.

Before this moment, he’s actually sitting properly at the desk. Both feet were on the floor and everything which was just weird. But then he stood and transitioned into a lean, that made it a little less weird.

This is, technically, also further evidence that if something is at Bai Yu butt height, he will lean/sit on it. I think I’m going to have to start capitalising it since Bai Yu Butt Height now seems to be a Thing.

(I could not get this paused at just the right moment, so here, have a gif)

And look here! He’s sitting kinda properly and only vaguely uncomfortable looking, but that has more to do with the situation than the sitting.

Seriously, so weird.

If we stick with just the general premise of ‘does he sit or doesn’t he’ then being on a horse counts...even though watching the game scenes hurt me in a major secondhand embarrassment way. Just...the outfits, people, and the hair...I just...I can’t.

At one point he gets his arse handed to him multiple times, which leads to quite a bit of time on the floor.

Even the set refuses to let Bai Yu get up and support his own body weight apparently. The weirdness of him standing under his own power is obviously just too much.

Too odd.

Too strange.

He must be returned to his natural state of being.

The car magnet he’s got implanted in his backside did manage to do its job though...even if it was in the background and barely lasted a couple of seconds at most.

Now then, the drama. Admittedly I only got to episode 11 then I started skipping because I got a bit bored with the main pairing and general story. But the bits I skipped to? Yeah...I may have gone a little over fixated on the whole way of sitting thing since I found myself analysing the degree of leg bend when his feet weren’t in shot to gauge whether or not both feet were planted on the ground or if one was on top of the other and...yeah, let’s just say it was a good thing when I got to the end of this drama. For what remains of my sanity if nothing else.

Look, most of the time, if he’s not standing and walking, he’s like this.

Sitting properly, feet on the floor. And yeah, it counts as not supporting his own weight. But what happened to the floor is lava? How hard was it for him not to cross his legs, or put one foot on top of the other, or rest his feet on something else?

He does cross this legs sometimes, and you can even see it fully a couple of times.

Like here, this is what I’ve come to expect. This is a normal seated look for this man.

He sits.

He flicks one leg over the other.

He’s happy.

Simple.

But most of the time, he doesn’t have his legs crossed in this drama. Which led me to leaning forward and squinting at the screen when moments like this came along.

Because those legs are crossed. I’m sure of it.

Cao Guang, as a character, is not the kind of person to sit like this often. Bai Yu, as a person, can’t seem to stop himself fully though.

And look at this.

When it comes to this desk, this is the weirdest he sits. Which isn’t weird at all! It’s still kinda sitting properly!

And then this. This is one of those moments where I spent way too long staring at his legs trying to determined if he had one foot on top of the other.

From the angle, and the shadows, and the different heights of his knees, I have decided that yes, he does had one foot on top of the other. He is playing the floor is lava when the camera can’t see his feet.

(...don’t judge me for diving off the deepend on this one. I’m already judging myself hard enough)

Cao Guang might not be much of a weird sitter, but he is still a slight leaner if the opportunity presents itself.

Especially in Bai Yu Butt Height circumstances.

But in general, he’s less of a full body lean, and more of a light, quick lean. And it always seems to be on things he himself has placed there.

Like a moped,

or a camera.

He does sit on the floor in a sweaty mess after having his arse handed to him in a 1 on 1 basketball game.

Seriously, if you want a sweat physically dripping off of him Bai Yu, then this is the scene for you.

Further sittingwise you have some general sitting in what I think it meant to be a foreign country(?).

And the delightful lift-and-turn he’s got going on here.

(and I’ve only just realised that ErXi has her hand up as though if she can’t see the teacher, then the teacher can’t see her. I adore this woman, she’s just so cute)

Hospitals.

Every character of Bai Yu’s I’ve encountered so far has a different way of sititng in hospitals.

Zhao Yunlan looks like he’s barely seconds away from either sliding to the floor or giving himself back problems, Xie Nanxiang is partial to a lean or a cross legged sit. Cao Guang? I would describe it as he sits like a bloke - legs spread, elbows resting on his knees. This might honestly be the straightest Bai Yu character I’ve ever encountered.

Of course he also has an in-game character in this. The wig is less cringe worthy than in the film, but there is something about his eyes in this that freaks me the fuck out so you won’t be getting on the floor pictures or looking in the direction of the camera pictures because looking at it too much seems to trigger a mild fight, flight, or freeze response in me. And I’m in no mood to deal with such ridiculousness.

So, in game character. He does spend time on the floor, only a little though. Most of his time is actually spent walking. But then they get in a boat and Bai Yu gets to indulge in his favoured elbow hook seated position generally reserved for benches and breakfast bar surface things when he’s on a stool.

Ok, last but not least, the moped!

This is a moped that birthed a headcanon for me.

It would seem that regardless of character, if something is a form of transport with wheels, then Bai Yu will find some way to sit or lean on it.

And y’know what? He is fully capable of looking damned good while doing so.

So that’s it? I think the conclusion I can draw from this one is that Bai Yu’s sitting, leaning, and lounging habits are things he can either turn up or tone down depending on the character. It’s just that more often than not the characters he plays allow him to turn it up. But Gao Guang was one of the more subdued ones, more straight blokey vibes, than Bi Disaster ones.

Both film and drama are available on Netflix (at least here in the UK they are).

They’re also on YouTube - film - drama - with subtiles and pretty good quality.

And both are on DramaCool - film - drama

The drama is on Viki too.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

#Bai Yu #Bai Yu Sitting Project #Cao Guang #Love O2O #featuring the straightest Bai Yu character I've ever encountered #and yes #I'm including the military bloke who got blown up #and the Fa Hai dude #and the 8 seconds of screen time deskmate #that I am clearly /not/ still salty about #but honestly what even /was/ that film?#everything about it was just.../ugh/!#...ok...breathe...we're not going down that road again #if I could scrub that film's existence from my mind I would #just look at the pretty Bai Yu and breathe

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kitkat1003 · 3 years

Text

On the Issue of Mortality

Chapter 3: Duplicity

“Pretty good, pretty good?! That’s not good enough!”

AO3 Link

Monkey King doesn’t tell Kid to come and see him, nor does he actively make Flower Fruit Mountain uninviting, but it takes longer than he expects to hear his staff slam onto sand. He supposes he should have expected that, as just a cursory look of the Kid tells him that his successor is the type to do absolutely everything on his own.

He purposely doesn’t go to check on Kid, purposefully holds back, because he’s been getting too close. Watching the Kid from afar at all hours of the day—he’s Sun Wukong! He has better things to do than to just semi-stalk a full grown mortal adult.

Kid’s an adult, he can decide whether or not he wants Monkey King’s help. Even when Monkey King feels those little flares that mean Kid is using his powers, even when his stupid brain worries for some reason, even then he stays back at Flower Fruit Mountain and takes it easy. If Kid needs help, he’ll ask.

Won’t he?

He should be concerned by how long it takes for Kid to reach out, but he’s made it absolutely clear to himself that he won’t be getting attached to his successor. It’s really the best for the both of them. Kid looks at Monkey King as if he’s God and Monkey King doesn’t see that hero worship fading anytime soon. On top of that, he just doesn’t need a mortal hanging around. It’s just asking for one of them to get hurt.

By one of them, he means he. Because Monkey King, despite his best efforts, has a soft spot for mortals. Triptaka was bad enough, he misses his master daily, but to add more to that roster? Never.

He knows he’s been getting too close, too protective, so he pulls back, stops people-watching, stays away from the mortal world, lets Kid handle it.

A few weeks pass before he feels his staff hit sand and he waits patiently for Kid to come rushing in. And he does, practically tripping over himself as he heads into Monkey King’s inner sanctum, and the first thing Monkey King smells is blood.

He jumps off of his cloud and watches Kid run over as something like terror tremors up his spine, because he hasn’t smelt blood in years. It brings back too many memories, memories of his master stolen by demons and threatened with death over and over and Monkey King coming in just in time, but this time he didn’t even do anything and Kid comes over smelling of blood and Monkey King worries.

Kid has a bandage on his face and a once-over reveals a quite few injuries on the Kid, as if he’d been in a fight a few days prior. That deep seated fear settles in his chest like a weight, and he slaps on a grin and waves lazily, bag of peach chips in hand.

“Hey! What’s up?” he calls out.

Kid holds the staff like it’s a shield. Monkey King wonders if Kid’s scared of him. The thought bothers him.

“Um, hey, uhh...I was wondering about, um, training? I guess? You-um-you never said that we would-but you know more about how to use this than me, so—” Monkey King stops listening after the third stumbling sentence, because yawn, he gets the point, whatever.

“Sure,” he interrupts.

He turns around before he sees the look on Kid’s face. He doesn’t see Kid go quiet and look down at his feet, as if ashamed to think he could speak.

“We’ll start with some katas. C’mon.” He waves a hand, and Kid follows.

The first katas are a mix of easy and hard ones, because he needs to gauge the Kid’s current martial skills. Once he establishes a baseline, he can figure out where to start Kid from.

Kid is clumsy, unfocused, and not at all sure-footed. He stumbles through the easy katas and looks lost when shown the hard ones. Monkey King barely bites back sighs of frustration, because he can’t get mad when learning was the point of the exercise. He just wishes his successor had some semblance of martial arts training. It would make things a little easier.

He’s about to tell Kid to take a breather, ‘cause no point in continuing when nothing is getting done, but then he watches a little longer and sees something...interesting. Concerning? Interesting.

Kid is determined. Monkey King watches him take a deep breath—he sees young eyes glance his way, and Monkey King forces his gaze to drop from interested to bored—and reset his stance, stumbling and fumbling with the same kata over and over and over and over until something snaps.

It’s not a triumphant moment, when Kid gets the kata right. Instead of bending like bamboo and finding his groove, Monkey King watches his successor push through like a hand through a wall, sharp and frustrated instead of excited and relieved.

“Good work,” he says, because you should reward success, right?

Kid brightens like the sun under the praise, soaking it up like a sponge, and Monkey King watches, and wonders.

Kid goes through the next kata with that same grit and determination, occasionally glancing at Monkey King for something like approval, and Monkey King throws up some lazy thumbs up, leaning back on his cloud and munching on peach chips. He does throw out a suggestion or two when Kid looks like he’ll snap again, but it seems inevitable, as if failure is a non option.

At this point, Monkey King doesn’t have it in him to tell Kid the point of the exercise, to tell him that some katas weren’t meant for beginners and some were, and that he was just testing Kid’s skills. And, hey, if Kid gets the easy and hard katas down on his own, less work for him, right? Why teach someone something if they can teach themselves? That’s how he learned things, after all.

Again, he thinks he can hear his master screaming, off in the distance. He shrugs to himself.

“Done!” Kid shouts from below, and Monkey King watches him perform the eight katas he’d shown Kid earlier in perfect form. Well, not perfect, but close enough.

“Nice! We can do more whenever you show up next, but, uh, that should be good for today.” No point in overwhelming the Kid, after all. Plus, eight katas ain’t too bad for a first day. “Hey, do you got a schedule? I kinda have a life, you know. Would be good to know when to expect you.”

He doesn’t mean to let it come out as biting as it is, but Kid hunches down on himself and looks so terribly guilty that Monkey King immediately regrets asking. He opens his mouth to say something that could soften the blow, lighten the mood, but Kid speaks up before he can.

“Um, I talked to Pigsy, and he doesn’t mind me taking half shifts on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays. We’re not as busy then, and some Sundays, Pigsy goes out shopping, so I won’t be missing work then,” he shrugs.

Monkey King nods. Three days a week doesn’t seem too bad, all things considered. Gives him some free time, 4 days where he doesn’t have to worry about watching out for the Kid.

“Sounds good.” He grins, eyes closed with his arms back behind his head. He expects Kid to leave, but the shuffling of feet do not turn into footsteps moving away from him, and Kid doesn’t say goodbye or move for a good few seconds.

Right before he opens an eye to see what the issue is, Kid speaks.

“Um, how do your clones work?”

Well, now, isn’t that a change of subject.

“Figured you would know, considering your story chronicle thing.” Monkey King sits up and stretches, eyeing Kid with a half curious, half pensive glance.

Kid fidgets, and something flickers on his face. Guilt, fear? Kid isn’t good at lying, but he’s very good at hiding. “Yeah, but I’ve-uh-I mean not all the stories are a hundred percent accurate, right? And, like, I was just wondering how you use them, so when-so if I need to use them I know how, you know? Extra me’s are pretty useful, right?”

Kid doesn’t seem to notice the slip ups, but Monkey King does. He’d wondered if Kid would get all of his powers right off the bat or just the basics. Makes him wonder if he should try for transformations, see if Kid can shapeshift.

One thing at a time. He hops off of his cloud, picks a strand from his hair and blows on it. An identical copy of himself appears and Kid’s eyes sparkle with interest.

“Let’s see yours,” Monkey King gestures for Kid to try, and he gets that same flicker of something. Guilt is definitely there, and nervousness. He doesn’t know why. Shame, he thinks he’s getting?

He glances at the few wounds on Kid’s body with a new perspective.

Kid eventually plucks out a strand and blows, and an identical copy of Kid appears. Monkey King raises a brow.

“Nice,” he says with a grin, and his clone leans in to take a closer look.

Kid’s clone hunches down on himself, anxious, and Kid quickly dispels the clone, nervous. Monkey King dispels his own with a shrug.

“Um, how do you use your clones?” Kid asks, voice hiking up into a panicked lilt that seems to be expecting Monkey King’s response to be hard and mean.

“I mean, I use ‘em a lot as cannon fodder in battle. Bullets I guess? They can’t take as much of a beating as I can, but they pack enough of a punch or can be enough of a distraction that they help me get the upper hand in battle. Not that I need them often.” He’s pretty good at fighting villains without them, thank you very much.

“Do you ever have them...stick around?” Kid asks, and Monkey King raises a brow.

“No? The world only needs one of me. I’m pretty great, no need for a second one stealing my spotlight.” He glances at the bandages on Kid, and a distinct lesser amount of hair on the left side of his head. “Why?”

Kid almost full on flinches at the question, gripping the staff like a shield again, as if one wrong thing said would lead Monkey King to attack. It puts Monkey King on edge. What’s got the Kid so antsy? It’s not like Monkey King tries to be scary around him. He’d like to think his laid back persona would give off a less threatening vibe.

“Uh-I-no reason!” Monkey King bites back a sigh at the obvious lie. “A-anyway, I promised Mei we’d go to the arcade, and I’m gonna be late. Bye!”

Kid runs off, and Monkey King fights the urge to shake the story out of him.

Something happened, and the Kid got hurt. Even with Kid being vulnerable, he’s still got a bit more durability than most mortals, so it would take something big to damage him. Why wouldn’t he talk about it? Is Monkey King really that unapproachable?

He wrestles with that and takes a deep breath. No. He’s not going to be that close to the Kid. Kid’s got an entire other family to talk to about his problems. If it’s important, if it’s Monkey King related, he’ll hear about it. If not, not his problem.

Surely the Kid will talk to someone about the issue. He’s got the chef—Pigsy?—and the scholar, and that dragon girl. He has people. Monkey King isn’t in charge of the well being of his successor, he’s just making sure Kid doesn’t die, and Kid’s fine. Just a few scratches and bruises.

But he’s mortal, and vulnerable, and a bit thick, Monkey King knows. So he wonders. And sits back. If Kid needs help, he’ll ask.

Won’t he?

The question still has no definitive answer.

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #MK #monkie kid MK #monkey king #monkie kid monkey king #sun wukong #qi xiaotian

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justletmeplayminecraft · 4 years

Text

so that cute clip i posted of scar and wels? angst brain went brrrr.

scar has his reckoning. wels is the unlucky target. i’ve left it ambiguous whether or not it’s really scar, that’s up to your interpretation. also briefly mentions the wels backstory i wrote up, you don’t need it to understand this though.

featuring: scar can and will use his mayor powers for evil, he also has some scary magic that he uses on wels, wels cannot shut up to save his life, please stop him, there’s no comfort but its a fairly open ending, scar finds his enforcer through less conventional means.

warnings: using magic to physically control & hurt others, abuse of authority (kinda??), possession (if you read it that way), threatening someone with their past trauma, just big evil scar vibes.

also posted on ao3!

"Scar!" Wels steps through the large, open doorway of the town hall. Scar's called him here, on 'official mayoral business' or something. Really, it's been awhile since they've just had time to hang. Scar's in a different area of the server, plus he's busy with being the mayor and whatever Grian's doing in the Nether. Whilst Wels is still trying to catch up on the time he lost.

"Ah, Wels. You made it." Wels has to look up to see the source of the booming voice. Scar is nestled on the diamonds, his legs folded as he lounges on an arm. The throne sparkles in the sunlight, lighting the hall up with a blue shine. Wels has to say, it's an impressive sight. If a little conceited.

"Hey, man." Wels holds his hand up in greeting. "What did you want to meet me about?"

"I'm sure you remember your... Infraction, correct?" Scar sits forward, pressing his hands on his knees. Wels smirks.

"You mean your list?" He teases. "I thought you were joking about that." Scar's eyes narrow, a hint of annoyance on his face. That expression doesn't look right on Scar. Wels is about to apologise, but Scar speaks first.

"Well, the reckoning has begun. Kneel, Wels." Wels raises his hand very slightly.

"What? Seriously, Scar?" His voice comes out flat. Scar's eyes flash bright blue.

"Kneel, Wels." Wels feels the air shift, something magical stirring. He opens his mouth to counteract it but it sends a shock through him, the magic overpowering his own with ease. His body moves without him controlling it, getting down on one knee and bowing his head. He tries to tense his shoulders, wiggle his fingers- there's nothing. He's completely cut off from his own body.

He doesn't think this is Vex magic. He remembers his cathedral, only two worlds ago. The very air felt electric in there. Everything the Convex touched had the energy of a charged creeper. No, this magic is cold. A numbing sheet laid across his body, disconnecting it from his thoughts. Like a diamond in the shade. Wels' wordsmithing doesn't have such a chill. Scar was trying magic at the start of the season, wasn't he? Those crystals... This is no magic he's seen before. He shivers involuntarily. He barely feels himself doing it.

"There's a good knight." Wels scowls at the mocking tone. Scar sounds so pleased with himself. "Oh, you can look at me." His voice is brighter, but still dipped in power. Wels looks up, meeting glowing blue eyes.

"What is this?" He asks. He tries to keep his nervousness from his voice. Scar holds his hands out, refolding his legs.

"It's a neat trick I've learnt! Don't you think?"

"It's pretty cool," he replies, slightly hesitant. "Now let me go. You've made your point." Scar's laugh makes Wels jump slightly.

"My point? Please, this is just to keep you in one place." Wels watches him closely, clenching his jaw. "Oh, no, I'm here to offer you an ultimatum. An offer you can't refuse."

Wels' voice is dry, "Really?"

"You don't have to sound so enthusiastic about it." Scar rests his chin on his fist, looking down at Wels with a smug smile. "It's simple, really. You accept the punishment for your transgressions. I've already got it all thought out. That's all you have to do."

"And what if I don't?" Wels asks, testing.

"Well-" Scar drags the word out, "-I could find somewhere nice and dark for you. Let you watch the sun set over the horizon without a bed to sleep in and leave you there until you come to your senses. Would that be nice?" Wels glares, his stomach twisting. Scar's his friend. Wels told him that fear in confidence.

"This isn't you," he declares, confident in his assessment. "This is something... puppeteering you, or whatever. You're not Scar." Scar laughs, his eyes flashing as he does. Wels feels a spike of pain in his chest, gritting his teeth.

"Y'know, Wels? For someone who likes to think so big of himself, you can be very naive."

"I'm sorry I like to think the best of my friends." Wels raises his eyebrows. "Is that a crime, now, oh great and powerful mayor?" The stab in his chest hurts enough for his body to break out of the control. Wels curls forward, clenching his fists as a weak noise escapes him. Scar sighs.

"I was going to let you off lightly with that... Motivator." When Wels gathers the strength to look up, he feels his body disconnect once more. Stuck in this perfect kneel. He holds back a sigh. "But maybe I need to turn things up a little."

"Do your worst." He regrets those words the moment he sees the delight on Scar's face.

"Oh, sweet Welsie." Wels continues his unimpressed stare. "It would be a shame, you know, to lose you to another long sleep, don't you think?" Wels' eyes widen.

"You- you wouldn't." His throat feels tight.

"Do you know how easy it is to break your code?" Scar asks. "NPCs are such simple things. You can put one in a player's body, but it doesn't change what they really are." Wels actually feels a bit sick. Was Scar the one who- no, it wouldn't make sense. They barely interacted last season. Scar had no reason to do that to him. It was a freak glitch. But the comment about Wels' code... He couldn't have been responsible, right?

"You're bluffing." Wels keeps his voice steady. "You know you couldn't get away with something like that." Scar sighs, looking disappointed as he adjusts his sash.

"Please, Wels," he replies. "They forgot you last time, didn't they?" Wels focuses on one of the diamond blocks instead of answering. He could swear they're glowing. "Fine then, I'll just do it now, shall I? I'm sure I can find somewhere to put you."

"You wouldn't." Scar raises an eyebrow, smirking.

"Wels, go to sleep." Wels can feel the magic imbued in the words. He barely manages a gasp before his mind goes heavy with exhaustion. He presses his eyes shut before reopening them, taking a controlled breath in.

"Scar, stop this," he demands. His eyes slip closed. He forces them open. If the magic wasn't holding him still, he thinks he'd fall.

"You have the power to stop it at anytime," Scar tells him. "You just have to submit to your punishment." Wels locks his jaw, head swimming. He can hear his heart hammering, breaths coming too fast. He's determined to hide his fear.

"No- no, Scar-" His head spins with another wave of exhaustion.

"Oh come on, Wels. Do you really want to sleep again that badly?" He tries to take a deep breath but it shakes. Even his posture is slipping now. He sinks closer to the floor. He doesn't want to sleep again, he doesn't want to.

"Fine, I yield!"

"Do you really?" Scar watches him with a small smile. "Do you agree to accept whatever punishment I see fit to administer, as elected mayor of the shopping district?" Whatever punishment Scar's thought up can't be worse than being forgotten again. What does Scar consider a punishment if this isn't? Wels squeezes his eyes shut, fighting the fogginess threatening to overtake him.

"Yes. I accept, please. I accept your stupid punishment, just stop!" His energy comes back to him in a rush. He opens his eyes, frustrated to find he still can't move. But he's not falling asleep, he's awake, he's awake-

"Well." Scar's eyes glint as he leans forward on the throne. "We've been needing an enforcer. I think a chivalrous knight such as yourself would work perfectly." For a second, Wels can hear Scar's usual tone. His excitement when a plan all comes together, eyes lighting up before he breaks into a ramble. Wels only feels cold.

"An enforcer?" Scar's smile grows.

"See, there's a few people, such as yourself, that need some... Reminders of how things work around here." He gestures to the shops outside. "Rules to be followed, payments to be made. But people don't really like seeing this side of it all." His palm moves towards Wels. The knight nearly scoffs. "I have a reputation to uphold, so we need somebody to do the... Let's call it 'dirty work' for me."

"You want me to threaten our friends?" After this, Wels isn't surprised. But- these are their friends. They're basically family. He wants to believe Scar still is. That whatever this is, it isn't him.

"I want you to do whatever it takes to get the results I want." Wels swallows. Scar wants him to become the bad guy. Take his fall.

"This is too far," Wels warns, trying to appeal to whatever good nature is left. This can't be him, can it? Please, it can't. "The others won't-"

"Wels." Scar's voice drops low. Wels finds himself breathless. "Are you telling me you'd prefer to take an extended nap?" He takes a deep breath in. What's worse, being possibly hated by his friends, or forgotten by them? At least he can explain this. It's all part of the bit.

"I'll do it. I'll be your damn enforcer." He can feel the magic in the air click at his words. He closes his eyes as Scar claps in delight.

"Perfect! This meeting has worked out wonderfully." Wels falls sideways as the magic lifts, barely catching himself with his hands. The terracotta doesn't even feel cold against his skin. He winces as the strain of his muscles hits him all at once. He looks up at Scar in surprise, breathing heavily with exhaustion. Scar's still relaxed on his throne, head resting on his fist. The magic usage hasn't affected him at all. Wels struggles to his feet, trembling with the effort.

"Isn't that great." Wels looks at the darkening sky. It shrouds the town hall in shadows. All Wels can see of Scar's face is that glowing blue. "I'm leaving now."

"So soon?" Scar asks. Wels consciously stops himself swaying as he moves.

"I want to get home before it's dark." He should be able to make it, even if his base is a little further out. He'd find a bed in the shopping district, but he can feel the lingering magic in the air. It's making him sick.

"I suppose that's fair." Scar leans back against the throne. "Have a good night, my enforcer."

"You too," Wels bites in response. He makes it two steps when Scar calls again.

"Oh, and Wels?" He turns back automatically. Scar smiles at him, all too pleasant. His eyes feel like ice. "You can't tell a single hermit about this arrangement of ours. Or this meeting. Not one word about it, to anyone." Wels is about to cut back when he feels the enchantment hit. Something woollen settles in his brain, blocking off his own thoughts. He glares instead. "That's a good knight. Run along now. I'll be in touch." Wels breathes out through his nose, accepting this new reality. He doesn't let Scar see his fear.

He flies away without another hesitation.

#welsknight #goodtimeswithscar #hermitcraft #my writing #come get yalls angst #i had this in my head a few days and finally got it down #also customary: no i do not think scar is evil i am writing a persona #have u seen him planning??? hes scheming #and yes i shoved a bunch of my wels hcs in there #its my fic ill be as self-indulgent as i want #thank you for reading!!#reckoning verse

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justimajin · 4 years

Text

It’s a Reverse Basket ◍ Part 20

⇝ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

⇝ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst

↳ Basketball AU, Crossdressing AU

⇝ Words: 4.6k

⇝ Summary: Basketball is your everything; your passion for it running deep and wanting nothing more then to play the sport. Problem is, the sport isn’t offered competitively to girls and with that, all your hopes immediately fizzle away… …but who ever said that was going to stop you?

⇝ Warnings: pg13; time for things to get intenseee

gif credit.

⇝ Previous Parts: Moodboard Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19

⇝ Last Update: Tuesday, July 28

“You’re being too slow.” A deep voice immediately warns. The bright orange ball in your hands topples over and bounces onto the ground, rolling far from you. With a sigh, you chase after it and position the ball on the palm of your hand once again, cautiously side-eyeing the bench.

Yoongi attentively watches as you bring the ball up to your fingertips, hurriedly squatting at it with your free hand. It revolves perfectly for a spiky moment and you glance at Yoongi with pure amazement.

The moment however, is short-lived. Once your attention deviates back to the spinning ball in your hands, it slips out of your hold and falls onto the ground again. Yoongi still holds an impressed smile, reaching down to snag the ball. He effortlessly raises it onto his palm, letting it spin as if he was just merely breathing.

You gaze in awe when it doesn’t waver at all like how yours did, the bubble of wonder only popping once Namjoon enters the room. Yoongi ends up casting the basketball away in a hurry, acting like he hadn’t spent the past twenty minutes of dire practice time teaching you a simple trick.

The sudden shift is understandable, especially when your entire team's stiff forms begin to flood into the gym and Namjoon appears significantly tenser.

You’re nearing the end of nationals, and soon you’ll be facing off with the last team in hopes to win this year’s title.

One by one, everyone in your team forms a line-up similar to day one. Taehyung yawns beside you and Jungkook mimics the same expression Namjoon dons. You catch sight of Hoseok and Jimin, waving back at them as the latter briefly smiles in your direction.

But seeing them only heightens your senses, face paling as one lone thought suddenly sparks up in your mind.

What would they think if they knew about your secret?

***

The last day of nationals has arrived.

After being called in, your team – which consists of your two roommates, Hoseok and your Captain – is swarmed by a stream of lights and the voices of cheering coming in from the bleachers. Your jersey shines underneath the spotlight and you head towards your side of the court, anxiously waiting for the team that you’ll be facing off with. The lateral doors to the gym open and the answer you wanted is presented right in front of you.

Your body numbs with horror, the ground underneath you nearly shattering. With wide transfixed eyes, you can only watch from afar as the team continues to pool out of the doors, the reality sinking further in.

Because right in front of you, stands the team you had once desperately tried to become a part of.

Your old high school’s competitive team.

Sucking in a harsh breath, you attempt to shake away the terror that fills you by the minute. The referee strides in when the court is completely full of players, a basketball in his hands.

He states the basic instructions you’ve heard countless times during these games, informing everyone of the crucial fact that you initially assumed you were prepared for.

Winner of this game will be the victor of this year’s league.

Your throat grows parched, but your hands twist into tightened fists as determination spikes within you. This is something you’ve been dreaming of for so long and you can’t let this sudden new flood of feelings overtake any of that.

You force yourself into focus as the referee picks up his whistle, mind remaining alert. There’s a plethora of shrieks in the silence gym and your entire team instantly disperses.

Yoongi steals the ball much to your relief and Hoseok immediately emerges onto his radar among all the players. He jumps to retrieve the ball, heading straight for the basket. When his path becomes blocked though, he swirls around – eyes catching onto your racing form.

The ball meets your shaken hands, agilely dribbling it alongside your quick feet. A head full of black fluffy locks hurriedly outstretches his arms, your eyes flickering.

He’s covered in a flash, a member of the other team suddenly coming forth and cutting off your space. Your brows contort, attempting to assess the situation for a better way out – but that’s when your eyes fall upon the member’s face.

You still, breath hitching in your throat. You’re not the only one having a reaction, because the person blocking your path is completely stunned as well.

A basketball abruptly shoots out, nearly hitting you after your conversation with the coach.

“Oops!” A boy rushes over, his eyes wide but far from innocent, “That was my bad! Maybe if you were on the team you would have been able to catch it.”

The comment is followed by an accompaniment of snickers from behind him, and he slips the ball away from his hands towards you again with a conniving smile.

You merely blink as the ball slips through your hands, the boy sprinting across the court with it to reach his other members. Snapping too late into the action, the buzzer rings and the team is rewarded with a point.

A hand suddenly wraps tightly around your arm, spinning you around. Your fearful eyes find Yoongi’s confused one’s right away. He’s sweating profusely, but his eyes are flickering all over you, utterly puzzled with your abrupt daze in the middle of such an important game.

It’s only when he notices you trembling that he lets go, yet the fear doesn’t leave as you quietly trudge back to your position. Yoongi does so as well when the referee ushers him to, but he can’t stop himself from sending concerned glances at you. Gritting his teeth, he’s forced to acknowledge the situation is out of his hands when he has to stand opposite from the other Captain on the court.

The whistle blows and the other team gets a chance at the ball this time. Your entire team disperses in efforts of deterring them and grasping any opportunity from a slip up. The strategy seems to work with Jungkook taking control of the ball, his sight briefly swinging to your side. You stretch out your arms, prepared to grasp onto it.

The ball falls out of your hands.

A loud cry rips out of your throat when you make contact with the court, your arm skidding harshly against the ground.

“Y/N!”

The rough impact makes your mind spin, vision turning impaired. The sound of faint snickers is all you can pick up on, not until there’s two strong arms lifting you up.

You’re plopped down onto the bench with a wince, “Is it bad?” Namjoon’s voice picks up, crouching down to view the injury.

“He’s bleeding.” Yoongi states, sounding out of breath. You open your eyes at that, your sight getting cutting off by his hand. “Don’t look, it’s–…it’s pretty bad.”

You nod, trusting him on the matter. Within minutes, the echoes of heels hitting against the floor greet your ears, a familiar voice joining the two of them.

“Move over.” Soyoung orders and you feel Yoongi shift. There’s a drawn-out silence that spikes up the beats of your heart, a sigh passing by the doctor’s lips.

“The injuries are deep. He needs to be taken to the infirmary.”

“Lead the way.” Yoongi responds, lifting you once again. You scramble to keep a tight grip on him, voice wavering.

“I-I can walk Yoongi, i-it’s okay….”

“No.” You feel him deeply exhale, “You can’t.”

You frown, but that’s when a sharp pain in your leg shoots up and elicits a hiss from you. Yoongi rushes behind Soyoung, his eyes growing skeptical when he notices the other team huddled and observing you leaving with twisted smiles.

***

Once you reach the infirmary, Soyoung snaps into action and begins taking out bottles of ointment. Long white strips are tied around your right arm and leg, the sight of skin torn and bright pink flesh being visible making you grimace. Yoongi and Namjoon remain on standby next to your bed, darting a glance between each other.

“I don’t understand…” Namjoon whispers, “Y/N’s injuries shouldn’t have been this bad.”

“They shouldn’t have been....” Yoongi grits, arms crossed. A light knock rattles against the door, Namjoon’s eyes perking up.

“Is Y/N okay?” Jimin questions, the room slowly being flooded with a few members of your team. Because Yoongi and Namjoon had abruptly left with you, the game was put on halt and the members were left confused with the sudden change of events. They had been granted limited time to visit you but seeing your injuries on full display pulls them back into uncertainty.

Taehyung and Hoseok poke their heads out next, stuck in disbelief from your condition. Jungkook faces Namjoon, astounded as well.

“What happened?”

“He was pushed.” Yoongi spits out before Namjoon can answer, his eyes flaring.

“By the other team?” Taehyung immediately questions, and Yoongi nods, “But why?”

“I think they were targeting Y/N from the start.” Hoseok interjects. “I don’t know why but I’ve been getting a bad vibe from them.”

There’s a collective hum in the room and you tighten your hold on the bed sheets, eyes fluctuating. Another knock resounds on the door, drawing out your attention.

It’s him.

Your eyes grow wide from the smirk he holds, “Is your player alright?”

You have to lunge forward to grab onto Yoongi’s jersey, his blood boiling from the sole question. He throws a stunned look at you, but you merely shake your head in response.

“Yes, he’s recovering.” Namjoon steps up, “Thank you for the consideration, but why are you here?”

He smiles, stating a proposition no one was prepared for, “Because I want you to forfeit the game to our team.”

“What?” Hoseok immediately shrieks, stomping over and grabbing onto his collar, “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming in here and telling us what to do after hurting Y/N!”

“Hoseok!” Namjoon tries to push him away, but he doesn’t budge.

“Really? You’re protecting Y/N.” A scornful laugh bubbles out of his lips, only to further add into Hoseok’s rage, “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

It takes both Taehyung and Namjoon to yank Hoseok off, who scowls at him.

“What are you even talking about?!”

You unconsciously tighten your fists, “Should I tell them Y/N? Or do you want to do the honours?”

All eyes are suddenly on you, forming a bright spotlight.

When your silence simply grows, Taehyung intervenes. “Just leave us alone. We’re not going to forfeit this game.”

He wickedly laughs, “If you guys don’t agree, I’m going to tell the referee about Y/N’s little secret over here and your team will be disqualified.”

“What?” Jungkook interjects, his eyes darting over to you, “What secret, Y/N?”

His laughter only grows, “Poor Y/N’s been hiding it from every single one of you! This entire time, you’ve been playing with a girl on your team!”

The room is laced in a dense silence, only the manic laughter of your former school mate’s voice resonating. It snaps the cord of control Yoongi had been holding, sending the boy reeling outside the door.

“You better make a decision fast! Lose with some dignity or I’ll take that away from you too!” You don’t hear much after that once Yoongi emerges from the door frame with heavy pants. There’s silence once again, the air lingering with unsaid questions.

Taehyung is the first to speak up.

“You’re a girl…?” He says it like he’s still questioning the idea, not fully convinced.

“That guy was just messing around. There’s no way that’s possible.” Jungkook brings up, clearly irritated.

Taehyung hums in agreement, but your voice cuts through.

“I…need to tell you all something...”

“Y/N.”

You glance over at Yoongi, who begs you with his eyes to stop. Although you acknowledge that Yoongi is normally right, you don’t think you have it in you anymore to keep lying to the people you love like this.

Taking in a deep breath, your eyes flutter close. When they open, you address all the confused looks staring back at you.

“What he said, was true. I’m a girl.” Your words are firm with resolute, sparking wide eyed looks.

Jungkook intervenes, “But that’s impossible how–“

“I changed my identity when I entered this school. I hid that I was a girl the entire time I was here.”

You continue as shock reigns through everyone and gesture towards the door, “He was a part of the boy’s competitive team from my old school. He knew me as a girl, so I think he wants to use that as a way for us to give up on the game.”

A shaky breath leaves you, “I-I’m sorry.”

You pause, waiting for the pregnant silence to be over. Surely enough, someone does.

“There was no history of your previous schools.” Namjoon states as a fact, a finger on his lips, “I assumed you had come from another state so that’s why the documents hadn’t transferred over, but it was actually because you couldn’t have records with being female to come here.”

You nod, “I had to request for a record with a new identity to be made instead.”

Namjoon hums, appearing to understand you more than anything. You appreciate it, however, you can’t say you had prepared yourself for the worse.

“You lied to us…” Taehyung whispers, a grimace running through you, “T-This whole time...”

“We were your friends….we stayed in the same dorm...” Jungkook adds on, distraught in his voice, “We spent so much time together, but you never thought to tell us once?”

“I-I….”

“I don’t even know what to say.” It’s the first time you’ve seen Jungkook so shaken, turning away from you.

“Guys please.” You beg, “I’m still the same person.”

Your eyes move over to Hoseok and Jimin, who appear conflicted with the new information. Hoseok sighs and shakes his head, pacing to the door frame before heading out. The action sends a pang of pain through you, like you had just been faced with rejection.

Taehyung and Jungkook soon follow through with Hoseok, leaving the room’s premises completely. Catching sight of Taehyung’s broken expression elicits a hoard of apologies from within you, but it’s too late when they all disappear.

Sobs shake through your body, curling in onto yourself. A hand reaches out, tapping against your arm.

Your eyes are wet when Jimin gazes at you in dismay, planting himself down onto the side of the bed. His appearance puzzles you, the confusion being lifted once a soft smile graces his lips.

“Jimin…?” You sniffle, “Y-You stayed?”

His eyes crinkle, “I guess I’m not entirely shocked? I kind of found out unintentionally…”

A deep blush covers his cheeks as he nervously scratches his neck, a small smile spurring from you at the memory.

“Thank you for staying.” You whisper and Jimin brightens up from the notion. Yoongi watches the two of you from afar, before turning to Namjoon.

“What are the stats?”

“Two and zero. They’re one point from winning.” Namjoon sighs, “We’re going to need a miracle to win this Yoongi.”

“C-Can we win…?” You whisper, warily glancing between them. It’s clear that either way, this game is not going to end well for your side.

Yoongi doesn’t respond, lost in thought. After a moment, something finally sparks in his eyes.

“Do you want to keep playing this game?”

You blink, “I can’t Yoongi, I–“

“Answer me.” He leans forward, inches away from you, “Do you want to play this game?”

“I-I…” You falter at his deep gaze in his eyes, “I…do.”

“Then you need to get back in there.” He turns to Namjoon, “What did Soyoung say about her injuries? Will they impact her if she returns?”

Namjoon shakes his head, “She should be fine as long as she keeps her arm and leg covered. I can also inform the referee about the situation.”

“Good, let me know what he says.” Yoongi mutters, but your hand reaches out and clasps onto his arm.

“But you can’t bring me back, the members are upset and if my secret’s out then–“

“Y/N.” Yoongi softly whispers, gently holding your hand, “You came into this school dressed up as a boy to fulfill your dream. Are you really going to let some guy from your old school ruin that for you?”

You press your lips together at that, “Don’t worry about anything. Leave it all up to me.” He reassures, “Just focus on the game.”

“He’s right.” Namjoon says, smiling from behind.

“We need you Y/N.” Jimin pitches in, a huge grin forming on your lips.

“Alright.” You say firmly, staring back in Yoongi’s eyes, “Get me back into the game.”

***

If you thought heading into this game the first time was hard, you couldn’t have been even more wrong.

It takes every fiber within you to walk confidently into that gym, surrounding yourself with members that barely want to take a peek in your direction. Taking a couple of steadying breaths, you observe Namjoon and Yoongi conversing with the referee until he nods, letting Yoongi jog back to his position on the court. From the looks of it, everything seems okay.

Once the whistle blows, you click right back in. Yoongi pushes himself to capture the ball, tossing it over to Jungkook who soars by while dribbling. He glances around and his stare notices you right away, but with a grunt he opts out to pass to Taehyung instead.

Although you understand you’re not on the greatest patch with one another, passing to Taehyung morphs into a downfall when the ball slips out of his hands and falls onto the ground. The whistle is blown and the referee declares the round won’t be included because of the ball’s uncontrolled contact with the ground.

With a sigh, you resume back to your positions and attempt to give another shot. This time, the other team snatches up the ball and you race over to block a shot, but Hoseok ends up getting to the basketball faster instead. You stretch out your arms for him to pass over to you in an open spot, but the struggle in doing so causes you to stagger on your feet and for a wave of pain to spike up in your leg.

Hoseok ends up spending too long in finding another opening and the timer for the round buzzes.

A tick leaves Namjoon and he signals the referee for a time out. He’s given three minutes and that’s all he truly needs to scold his team.

“Teamwork – that’s the one thing we have emphasized countless times during practice.” He huffs, being met with down casted gazes, “Come on guys!”

“We have a game to play.” Yoongi states, his arms crossed, “I know there are some differences between us, but that’s not what we need to focus on right now.”

You’re appreciative that Yoongi didn’t bring up what transpired in the infirmary, but it takes one glance around to tell you that it isn’t as simple as doing so. Namjoon’s rant spurs a couple of ‘hms’ and ‘okays’, the team nonchalantly disbanding.

Getting back onto the court, your eyes are solely glued to the way the timer is rapidly ticking down.

Taking a different approach, you instantly dart over to Yoongi’s side once the ball is under his wing. He notices your brisk sprinting in an instant, letting out a grunt as he luckily tosses the ball to your side.

You let all thoughts loose right when the firm ball meets your delicate fingertips, a rush of energy drumming through your veins. But it’s cut off short as you suddenly become surrounded, face to face with the very person causing chaos for your team.

His hands are wide like he knows you’re going to pass to him, throwing in the rag for this game and granting them the gracious opportunity of skyrocketing to victory. You’re almost tempted to, knowing that either way, your team will be faced with dire consequences because of your sole mistake.

“Y/N!”

You snap out of your daze at Taehyung racing to a free spot near you, his arms waving. “Over here!”

Blinking for a moment, you don’t even hesitate. Taehyung spins around and passes the ball onto Jungkook, who trudges through the field of players.

The last person that receives the basketball is Yoongi, taking the final shot with one hand.

The buzzer rings; your team having scored their first point.

You quickly glimpse at Taehyung when getting back into position, observing his clenched fists and determined gaze. A smile loops on your lips, waiting for the next signal.

Yoongi goes for the same strategy again, acknowledging that you’re the person who manages to get to him the fastest. You dribble around, avoiding everyone until two hands halt you.

“This wasn’t part of the deal!” He aggressively whispers.

You ignore that, remembering Yoongi’s words of solely focusing on the game. Hoseok sprints behind you, narrowing his eyes.

“Back off.” He barks, and you whirl around to hand him the ball. He dashes to Jungkook, who manages to get another point for your team, the score officially being tied.

You heave with relief, dragging your sore and exhausted body back to the court. You glance at the other team, huddled and whispering into each other’s ears. You can’t help but notice the way they look at you, something that feels unsettling.

The referee declares the last game and blows his whistle. The opposing captain whisks the ball away this time, your entire team dashing around him.

Jungkook dramatically speeds up, appearing more determined than ever. He snags the ball, passing over to Taehyung.

Taehyung rushes to break away from the hoard of players around him, failing to do so when the ball is knocked out of his hands. You hastily grab onto it, warily glancing near you when all the players slowly crease forward.

You furrow your brows when it almost feels like you’re being caged in, but then you realize they’re using their forms to tower over you.

When you hear a round of snickers, you know the entire team knows more about you than you had hoped. You become even more alarmed when they cover your backside, no opportunity in allowing you to escape.

Jungkook paces through all of them, his eyes wide when you're constantly averting your gaze for an opening. He meets your eyes and signals for you to pass it along, relief on your features from his immediate appearance.

Jungkook practically glides across the ground to get away from the sudden crowd of players, willing himself to pass the ball over to Hoseok. Although sweating like a madman, Hoseok manages to find some room and give Yoongi the ball.

Yoongi races to the hoop, the timer on the scoreboard rapidly ticking down. He’s close and if he makes the shot now, he can surely bring his entire team to victory.

He halts his steps.

You anxiously rush over, wondering why he was simply dribbling underneath the basket when you barely have time left. But that’s when Yoongi spots you and hands you the ball instead, handing you the opportunity to make the final shot of the season.

You waste no time in doing so, grinding your teeth harshly and letting the ball sink in. You wait a moment, the silence being replaced with the loud sound of the buzzer.

Your eardrums almost split with the high-pitched voices screaming in the gym, prepared to sink down onto the ground with a thud. Your team doesn’t allow for that though.

Before the haze of winning takes you over, you’re being squished into a huge team hug. As per usual, you’re a little watchful at all the grabbing hands, but that thought disappears once Yoongi and Namjoon join in as well. You don’t realize you’re crying until the team parts, everyone smiling at you.

“You did it Y/N!” Hoseok shouts.

“WE WON!!” Taehyung chimes in.

You smile, but then another voice cuts in.

“Bangtan Sondeyeon has cheated to win this game!” A particularly loud voice declares, blinded by fury, “One of their members is A GIRL!!”

You notice the claims have peeked the referee’s interest, his hands gesturing for your team to come over. You bite down on your lip, hands fumbling until Namjoon steps forward, giving you a small smile.

“What seems to be the problem?”

“Her!” He points directly at you, “She’s the girl on their team!”

“What are you talking about?” Namjoon questions, facing the referee, “That is certainly not the case, all of Y/N’s previous records state that he’s male.”

The referee nods, “She’s a girl! I’m telling you!!”

“Do you have any proof?” Namjoon ponders, a cunning glint in his eyes. “For something as trivial as this, you would need proof, no?”

“I-I…” He huffs, clearing not prepared to admit defeat. His next words have your eyes enlarging, fear spreading through them.

“Strip him then.” He grins, “If he’s really male, then he should look like one right?”

You take a shaky breath, but you’re soon being pushed behind a head of red hair.

“That would be considered harassment.” Yoongi states, the look in his eyes making you want to shrivel away. He glares at the referee, “If this is a serious claim, then I believe an investigation can be done.”

“We’ll have to do an investigation. A background check and previous records need to be looked into, but for now, “ He raises a brow at how much the boy next to him is heaving, “Bangtan Sondeyeon has officially won this year’s league.”

“This is not fair! It’s all her fault and they should be disqu–“

“I suggest if you don’t want your own team looking bad, you agree to this investigation. Otherwise it seems more to me that your claims are false.”

He quiets down at that, the referee smiling at Namjoon and Yoongi with a congratulations. He leisurely walks away as the other team leaves with scowls on their faces, but your team barely pays attention.

“Thank you.” You sincerely whisper to Namjoon and Yoongi, facing your other members, “And thank you for helping me through the game. I’m really sorry I lied to all of you….”

Your gaze falls onto the ground. Taehyung, Hoseok and Jungkook exchange glances with each other, before Taehyung pulls you into a hug.

“We’re sorry for getting angry with you. It’s like you said, you’re still Y/N.”

Jungkook smiles, “Which means you’re still a part of Bangtan too.”

Tears slip down from your eyes from that. “But you have a lot of explaining to do!” Hoseok pipes up, “Especially with how you managed to live with us without slipping up the secret!”

“Actually….” You avert your eyes, “There was one person who knew about my identity this whole time….”

“What? Who?!” Hoseok proclaims. Yoongi quickly ushers you all to move to the side, a frown on his face.

“Let’s just get going now, what’s done is done.”

All three of them whip around to stare at Yoongi in shock, but the former casually pushes them to keep moving, biting down the smile that threatens to overtake his lips.

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