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uplatterme · 1 year

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false god

—sub!dainsleif/dom!amab!reader, priest!reader | reader is called ‘father’, throatfucking, cockstepping, first half is plot and then the other is filth.

—and after posting about writing for dain since january, i actually finally finished one for him!

This isn’t the first time that such a thing had happened to the Bough Keeper.

Such a thing was, accidentally teleporting himself to a place he didn’t mean to, partly due to exhaustion and sleepless nights.

It was often like these that the immortality cast upon him mocked him more than anything.

Droplets of water started to fall onto his hair, then eventually onto his body. He stares into the dark sky, the coldness of the rain bringing more comfort than it does harm.

Dainsleif sighs, and instead of teleporting away to his right destination, he starts to walk and explore this newfound place.

There isn’t much to say about where he’s landed himself, and frankly, he’s thankful for that. Silence is a gift for him nowadays and even when he’s isolated, it’s rare that he isn’t plagued by awful memories that keep him from just closing his eyes for longer than a few minutes.

His slow steps are halted though, when he sees that he has brought himself in front of a very peculiar building. The rain continues to soak his body as the man stares at the white architecture and the statue that is displayed in front.

He chuckles. Of course, it couldn’t be that easy. His luck had never been the one to land on his side, he didn’t know why he expected otherwise.

It’s quite big for a chapel, especially since he doesn’t recognize the figure in front. Still, it’s one of a god’s, nonetheless. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised considering the lengths that devotees had gone to.

His curiosity gets the best of him when he goes nearer the said building, wanting to examine the sculpture. However, before he could even get a closer look, the wooden entrance opens.

The Khaenri'ahn’s first instinct is to transport himself away but finds that to be useless as he meets the eyes of another. What he didn’t expect next, is genuine worry.

“My goodness! Are you alright?”

He almost gets confused as to why one would react in such horror. He doesn’t have any blood on him, does he?

Dainsleif looks down, not wanting to traumatize a random stranger…and discovers that there’s nothing wrong with him?

He lifts his head back up, only to find you nowhere near the doors of the chapel. He wonders where you are for a quick second until he feels something warm covering his body.

“I hope my robe will make do…Come on, get inside. You must be cold.” His reluctance is evident in his face but before he can even say anything, he’s pushed inside the chapel, much to his distaste.

Him stepping inside such a place was too much for him already that he forgot the fact that he’s wearing a robe, one that he assumed was no ordinary one.

Dainleif wants to take it off and so he tries to, at least.

“Keep it. I apologize I don’t have any spare clothes at the moment.”

He really does not want to wear a priest’s robe.

“Did you come here for the mass? I’m afraid it ended an hour ago…Ah, but you can still stay until the rain stops.” You offer generously.

“No. I just happened to be passing by.” He explains.

He watches as your mouth gapes, looking for the words to say after you’ve just brought him in here out of his will.

“That makes sense…I was wondering why I haven’t seen you before. Not that it matters, you can still stay. The Chapel of our God is glad to help any troubled souls.”

He takes offense at that.

“Troubled, you say? That’s quite a big assumption of a man you’ve just met.” His tone is as monotone as ever, yet that doesn’t hide the disdainful look that lingers in his bright eyes.

You muse.

“Ah yes, a non-troubled person that enjoys looking gloomy and letting the rain pour all over them.”

Dainsleif bites his tongue at that.

“I’ll show you around.”

While it does interest him that this chapel worships a god that isn’t of the seven, that doesn’t mean that he wants to learn more about a dead god who was defeated in the archon war just like the others. Although he presumes that the way you tell of their tales makes it somewhat bearable.

Even if it’s not what he expected.

It’s not as overwhelming as he had thought, but perhaps that was due to the lack of nuns he usually sees when it comes to churches.

“Is there something wrong?” You ask fondly, stopping your rambling about your said god just to listen to him.

“Does this place have many attendees?”

“Not quite…but it’s a lot if you consider they’re followers of a God who isn’t one of the seven.”

Frankly, Dainsleif doesn’t get it. It’s not as if all these masses you lead would ever lead to something else. It’s just wasted hard work, if he’s to be brutally honest.

He can tell that there’s a lot of admiration and work you have put into this, but for what reason? What reason is there to keep spreading the word of someone you haven’t even personally met?

Would your faith waiver if knowledge of your god performing deemed evil acts is brought upon you?

“Should we continue the tour?” You ask.

He politely shakes his head, thoughts still lingering in his head.

“We must adhere to these values that our God has specified in their writings…that our way of living as a mortal is something that should be celebrated and not frowned upon…”

The non-believer sits at the last row of the chapel, somewhat half-heartedly listening to your words as you read passages from a book in your hands.

He only watches, observing the entire view in front of him. How people reply in unison whenever you say a certain phrase, an exchange that he finds to be quite strange.

The mass isn’t that long, yet you still manage to lead that hour with grace, making sure that every part of it goes well without any fault.

How you stand to the side, leaning on the podium with a smile as everyone sings along with the choir.

Dainsleif’s eyes meet yours and he sees you mouth a greeting to him.

…He supposed that he can stay for a minute when everyone has gone.

He sees you grin as you start walking towards him, your robe neat and tidy as ever.

Surprisingly, he speaks first.

“I’m surprised you still have a recollection of me.”

“It’s only been a few months.” You reply, your voice soft and soothing, unlike the way you spoke as you preached earlier.

Most people would choose to forget. “You’re different in person than you are earlier.”

“Perhaps.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence in the chapel, the mosaic windows dim the bright sunlight from the outside but that only results in the colored glass reflecting stunningly on your face.

He takes the initiative and speaks again.

“Is it because I’m not a follower?”

Your breathing catches on his ear. “Maybe.”

He wonders if you know of his lineage and if that’s the reason why you had kept an eye out for him, suspicions rousing through your brain.

“Father.” The change of tone to formality shocks you a little that you were forced to question why he’s suddenly calling you that.

Your awkward chuckle echoes through the building. “What are you calling me that for?”

“Just seeing if your attitude would change. If you’re truly as honest as you present yourself to be.”

You click your tongue. “Is there a reason you came here?”

There it is. A snarky tone. He knew he was right to come back here.

Why was he sent here before? Was someone playing tricks on him? The Abyss? The gods? He knows there has to be a reason for him being teleported here that day.

“May I ask how someone becomes a member of your church, Father?”

He hears you sigh deeply. Why?

Aren’t more members what you want and need?

“If that’s how you want to do this then…I’ll amuse you. Follow me, troubled one.”

Dainsleif’s fists close at the nickname.

He’s brought to a room that you once showed him the previous time that he was here. You never explained what exactly this room was for as he left just before you got to.

There’s a small fountain, clear and blue flowing through it.

“This is a small tradition we have. It’s based on one of the writings that…you haven’t read, but that’s alright. It’s not that difficult to follow.” You start to explain.

“It’s a symbol of starting anew, to wash yourself of the regrets you have.”

“And if I do not have any?” He questions.

“You do. Everyone does, even Gods.”

“You think gods regret the things they’ve done.” His patience is thinning inch by inch. He almost laughs at the ridiculousness of that sentence.

“That I do. According to one of the passages that—”

“How exactly do I know whether what you’re saying is genuine or just out of a damn book?” He interrupts.

You stare at him with a disapproving look. “You’re deflecting.”

“Excuse me?”

“What is it that troubles you?”

Nothing. He’s fine. He’s done with everything, there’s no use in pondering over what could’ve and should’ve been.

“Don’t act as if you’re superior to me.” He says, visibly upset.

“So much for becoming a believer.”

That’s when the grin is swayed off your face in just a few seconds as Dainsleif pins you to the wall, your head slightly tilted up as he grips tightly on your collar.

“Who sent you?” His enchanting eyes cross yours, not even a shade of fear in them.

“What exactly have you gone through that you think everything is out to get you?”

He stills at that. You’re not trying to push him off.

Instead, you’re conversing with him like he’s a lost lamb who’s unsure of where to go. An amenable priest who listens and asks.

He lets go. Your robe is now crinkled, and the mark of his fist is clearly evident.

You sit on the bench near the fountain, patting the empty space right next to it. Dainsleif refuses the offer, choosing to continue standing while he searches for the next words he’d like to say.

You smile.

“You don’t have to apologize or continue this. It doesn’t mean anything anyways if you don’t take it to heart.”

It’s such a strange sentence to hear from someone like you. You’re not..forcing him nor are you trying to sell him your ways by threatening him of what he may face if he doesn’t.

The Khaenri'ahn sighs, the words of apology already at the tip of his tongue.

“I’d prefer it if we were to continue.”

“You would?”

“I can still change my mind.” He jests, seeing you beam from ear to ear.

Dainsleif slowly walks towards the fountain, sitting beside you and laying his head down on your shoulder. The gesture is surprising to the priest but it isn’t turned away.

“I hope you’re quite ready, Father. This might take a while.” He says with his eyes closed.

“Confess your regrets, my troubled one.”

Eventually, it becomes a habit of his to visit you whenever he’s plagued with thoughts that make him anxious and question his choices.

And each time, you’re there to give advice. To lend a shoulder, and sometimes a little more than that.

He will never worship a god, but he’ll sure as hell worship you.

Dainsleif always waits patiently in the last row, watching you and listening to how your voice sounded rather than the message you’re conveying.

It’s soothing, in a way.

He doesn’t say a thing and only waits as you walk down the aisle with a smile.

It’s a silent exchange.

You place your hand on his shoulder and Dainsleif rubs the side of his chin on your hand, his eyes shut.

“Dainsleif.”

“Yes, Father?” He teases, a smirk forming on his face before opening his eyes.

Your fingers lift his head slightly before bending down to reach his soft lips. He doesn’t pull away, he presses them further as if it’s his salvation.

It’s somewhat sick that he’s found comfort in someone like you. He contemplates whether he’s walking the path of failure that the gods have planned, if this whole thing will eventually turn over just to punish him even more.

In the end, it’ll all be his fault. He’s the one who revealed secrets that you’ve never asked for.

“You’re making that face again, Dain.” You speak.

“What face?”

“The kind you make when you’re overthinking things. The one I want to get rid of.”

Dainsleif reaches for your hand, asking even if he knows the answer. “Pray tell, how exactly?”

“It makes me wonder if it’s a turn on of yours to get fucked in a place of worship.”

“Like how it’s a turn on for you when I’m on my knees and calling you Father?”

You laugh, caressing his hair as you look down on him.

“You don’t even worship the God of this place.” He looks so sweet like that, his head between your legs. Such beauty ready to kneel for you and do whatever if you ask him kindly.

“What’s the need when I already worship you?” Dainsleif says and takes you in.

Dainsleif never imagined he’d gladly be spending his time inside of a chapel, right in front of empty seats where anyone can walk in through those wooden doors, acting as if the altar is your hips.

And yet he’s letting you use his mouth eagerly, so used to how you taste that sometimes he himself craves for it when you two are separated.

“That’s right, love. Just think of me.”

He groans as you push further into his throat, his eyes wandering to you despite his breathing getting obstructed.

He loves the things you do. Whether it be hearing you talk so dearly to him, tugging his hair with the right amount of pull, or the way you fill his mouth nicely like this.

It’s yours.

The sound that escapes his throat when your foot presses directly on his crotch is loud and lewd, echoing through the empty chapel.

His cheeks lightly flush, grumbling something incoherent.

“Speak clearly, my lamb.”

He rolls his eyes at the mischievousness of your voice. You know he can’t, and yet you’re still asking him to do so.

He follows still, of course.

“M-Mo—ah!”

Dainsleif chokes as he tries to speak.

“Too much for you?”

He shakes his head and tries again.

“Mow—Moah-”

It’s not working. He’s stuffed full to even say it.

“Come on,” Your foot steps on his cock again. “There’s another way to plead. I’m sure a smart devotee of mine can figure that out.”

His chest heaves, trying to calm his breathing from the pressure and whining as it stops.

That’s when Dainsleif moves of his own accord, taking you even deeper than you already were. You can feel the vibrations from when he slowly pants, breathing through his nose more so he won’t pass out.

He bats his eyelashes at you, with a face full of sin.

Tears are starting to form in his eyes.

Please.

Dainsleif gags on your cock again, moaning impurely when your foot begins to knead more aggressively on his pants.

Your shoe adds even more stimulation and his cock aches wanting, no, begging for a release.

“Such a sinful body, no wonder the gods haven’t been blessing you.”

Fuck.

He continues to whimper, sucking your cock needily and knowing you’ll stop if he doesn’t do well.

“You get on your knees to be a slut, I wonder if they’ve bruised already.”

They do. They always do when you fuck his throat like this.

His mind is hazy and he’s close, he’s so—

“Hmgh!—”

“Not yet. Be patient.”

His body wants to buck down when you remove the pressure just seconds before he cums, but your hold on his head keeps him from doing that and he’s left to whine painfully.

The tears in his eyes finally fall and he stares up at you to be merciful, to let him have this one since it’s been a month of waiting to finally have you get him off like this.

“You want it?”

He nods and whines, begging for you to hear him out.

“Alright.”

When he gets permission, he sobs out on your cock, cumming inside in his own pants and soiling the floor. You feel how warm his breath is, his body is tired and trembling, but he keeps trying to make you finish as if it’s the only thing he’s made for. Even if he’s barely doing it well, too drunk with his tongue tired already.

The sight of that is enough to get you off.

Dainsleif tries to swallow but he doesn’t do it fully, cum dripping down his chin and coughing on the amount he can’t.

He finds it a waste that he isn’t able to. He stares, wondering if he should clean it up.

“Dain, it’s fine. You did amazing.”

His heart softens.

“Let me help you out, love.”

His head rests on your lap, your fingers playing with his hair. A tradition that you two somehow have ended up doing each time you finish.

He thinks it’s sweet and funny that you act so soft despite the things you say when having sex.

“Tell me.” You say.

“Tell you what?”

“What’s bothering you?” You question.

Dainsleif only snickers at that.

It’s you, Father.

#plattered writings #sub genshin impact #sub genshin #dom reader #dom!reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #dainsleif x reader #sub dainsleif #sub!dainsleif

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deliciousangelfestival · 1 year

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3 Billion Divorce - Lloyd Hansen Series (Completed)

Character: Lloyd HansenxFem!Richreader

Summary: Reader became a rich heiress after her grandfather chose her as his successor. This reason was enough to make her relatives want her gone. Our reader is a fighter; when she finds a chance, she offers a fake marriage proposal to a sociopath mercenary.

Words Count: 1750

A/N: Finally, I'm back. Never thought that I could make a post with Lloyd. It's been a while since the last time I posted. Hope you like it. Feedback and Reblogged are appreciated. Thank you!!!

The Italic font shows a flashback scene.

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

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Sometimes, simple things like waking up from a good sleep and having a coffee in the morning sound easy. To you, it sounds impossible.

Because of everyday…

Dangers always come to you. You must pay this price when you accept your grandfather's will.

Four years ago,

Your grandfather wrote your name on his will to become his successor and owner of all his assets. But you have to be 35 years old before you get everything.

After the lawyer revealed the will, your relatives wanted you dead, so the grandfather's money would go to charity, and they could use it.

Since then, your quiet life has turned to hell.

Your relatives have hired multiple killers and assassins to kill you or make it look like a suicide. It's been four years of living like this.

And there's only one more year left, the chasing getting more intense that you can't bear it anymore.

Like today, you’ve been hiding in the back seat inside your car because a black Cadillac has been chasing you all day.

“I had enough with everyone who wanted me to die. What a family huh? They were born as elites but they’re monsters.”

Your old bodyguard Jimmy, an ex-Navy hired to protect you who was busy shooting the other car, said, "Y/N. To beat a monster, you have to make yourself a monster."

His words got you thinking. You want revenge on your relatives, but you don't have the ability since they have already bribed the police and judges. You are already powerless; the only person who always stays beside you is your old bodyguard.

Before you could even get any idea, another car appeared from nowhere and hit yours.

“Jimmy!” You screamed the name that protected you before you lost consciousness.

When you woke up, you already being tied down on the chair.

You look at your surrounding where you got kidnapped. It’s different than usual. Usually, it’s a dark basement with a horrible smell.

But right now, you’re inside a nice room with a marble floor and Roman pillar. There’s also Renaissance painting and sculpture. It seems like you’re in a mansion or something like that.

The door suddenly opens, making you nervous because you are mentally unprepared to meet someone who will kill you.

A group of men who wear bulletproof come inside the room. Lastly, a man who wears a black turtleneck and light brown pants. But you can see everything he wears is from a luxury brand.

He leaned down and smiled at you.

"Hello Princess, my name is Lloyd Hansen. Welcome to my home”. His voice was low and deep.

‘His mustache looks ridiculous.’ You thought.

His hand grabbed a screen tablet to show you the money that had been transferred.

“Someone really wants you dead. Look at the money they gave me. This is the biggest payment that I have received." You could feel the joy when he explained while you have a life crisis.

You wonder how much your relatives pay to make you go. When you saw the number…

Ooh, it made you fume with rage.

40 Million Dollars?!

Your life is only worth 40 Million?!

With all the money you will get from your grandfather, your life is worth more than 40 Million.

‘You have to make yourself a monster.’ You remembered those sentences from Jimmy.

That gave you an idea.

This man Lloyd Hansen, you could use him to be the monster to finish all relatives that want you dead.

"Mr. Hansen, I don't want to die."

He nodded. "Me too sweetheart. But I've already got the money. They really want you to be gone quickly. Such a shame."

"If I gave you a proposal to make you richer, would you listen to my offer?"

Lloyd tapped his watch. "You have 3 minutes, sunshine."

“First of all, are you single Mr.Hansen?”

Lloyd let out a big laugh.

But you didn’t laugh; you studied his character. After spending time with your bodyguard Jimmy, he taught you how to read people. You figure this man Lloyd is a sociopath, and seeing him acting childish like this, you take a bet that he is still single.

With this, you took a chance and gathered your confidence. “I assume you are, that made my plan easier.”

You took a moment before offering the proposal because he would end your life if he didn’t like it.

"3 Billion Dollars."

'WHAT!' His soldier gasped when they heard the number.

Your offer got the attention, "I will give you 3 billion, but I want you to do something for me."

Even Lloyd never expected that. He did a background check on you.

You’ve been trying to stay alive for 4 years. That's when he knew you're an extraordinary woman.

One of his soldiers steps in, "I volunteer Miss Y/N."

Before you could see who it was, Lloyd had already shot him.

He smiled. "I could swim in that money, what can I do for you?"

"Marry me."

Lloyd's brain circuit stopped for a second. He laughed again, but he stopped when he saw you being serious.

"I didn't expect I would get proposed like this."

"You know I'm a rich heiress, and I will get my money next year. While waiting, I need someone to protect me and keep me alive. After that we will get a divorce and you will get other 2 billions. Right now, I could give you 1 billion. What do you think?"

There was a moment of silence. You could only hear the clock ticking. After he hears your offer, Lloyd turns his back and looks at the big French window. You couldn't see his expression.

Suddenly he turns around and walks towards you. Lloyd got on his knees and grabbed your hand. "You got yourself a husband, Mrs. Hansen."

'Yeah, you caught a monster.'

-One year later-

Lloyd arrived at your company and saw your bodyguard, Jimmy. Lloyd clicked his tongue. “Where’s my wife?” Jimmy pointed to the door behind him.

Lloyd pushed the door and saw you look busy signing some documents, not glancing at him.

He told your secretary, who was already scared, "Get out shithead."

After your secretary left, he turned around and saw you had crossed your arms while looking at him. Ooh, so you’ve been waiting.

He always loves your confidence. This trait must be one reason your grandfather chose you as the successor.

Lloyd smashed a piece of paper on your table. "What the fuck is this?"

"It's a divorce paper."

"Yeah, and you didn't even think to discuss it with me first ?"

"It's been a year Lloyd, we made a deal. Remember?"

It made Lloyd silent.

Of course, he remembered.

Lloyd wishes he could stop the time.

After he agreed to marry you, his life became more exciting.

Lloyd always dealt with different hitmen, politicians who wanted to steal your assets, assassins, and taking revenge on your relatives who wished you were dead.

With the 1 billion, he could get all the resources and finish his job quickly and quietly. He got new clients every day.

But most of all, Lloyd cherished the time spent with you. He loves every moment. You have a sharp mouth, don't take No for an answer; he likes it when you act like a boss to him. He wants to obey your order.

And…

The sex was also excellent. You weren't tempted at first. But who can't resist the charm of Lloyd Hansen? At first, it was just pretending to act like husband and wife. Give each other kisses on the cheeks, then move to the next step because of the alcohol effect that leads to sleeping together.

When you fell asleep on his chest, his fingers brushed your hair. You gave him a soft kiss on his forehead; it made him like a teenager who was drunk in love.

You were there every time he got hurt. You hired the best doctor to treat him. No one ever does that to him. He knew because you needed him to stay alive. But when he saw you holding his hand while he was bleeding, Lloyd knew you cared for him.

He likes having you near him and can't bear letting you go.

Lloyd realised his feelings when Jimmy came and gave him the brown envelope.

Lloyd knew what was inside the paper, so he ignored it. But that damn envelope keeps coming after you get the inheritance and you have left the house that you two shared. He felt like a used rag that you could just throw away.

He can’t imagine seeing you being single, and another man will try to pursue you.

"If you sign it today, the other 2 billion will be transferred to your account."

"I don't want to."

"6 billion then."

Lloyd's hand touches his left chest.

"What hurts me more is that you have the money and could finish this as soon as possible."

Then both of you will be strangers; NO, he didn't want that.

"After you use my body, you throw me away? You hurt my feelings sunshine."

You walk away from your table to stand in front of him.

"Lloyd, that's part of our deal. You protect me and I owe you one.”

You couldn’t believe he’s the same man who wants to kill you, and now he’s begging you not to leave him.

“And I paid my debt with money that I promised."

He sighed and said, "I do love money."

Lloyd held your hand that still wore the wedding ring; he rubbed it gently.

"But my dear wife, I love you more."

Your breath hitched when you heard his sudden confession. You were stunned to speak.

Lloyd grabbed your chin and gave you a passionate kiss. "I won't let this marriage end with divorce."

Lloyd kissed your forehead before he left you. Before he reached the door, he saw from the mirror your reflection. Your fingers touch your lips. At that moment, he knew you shared the same feelings. He will give you an offer that you can’t resist.

A/N : This Series has Completed.

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#lloyd hansen x fem!reader #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x fic #lloyd hansen imagine #llyod hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen one shot #the grey man #chris evans characters #chris evans x reader #chris evans x y/n #3billiondivorce

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winchester-girl67 · 4 months

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Wild Hearts (Part 5) - Six Years After Dean Left

Summary: It's been nearly six years since Dean and the reader became friends. Now that they finally have a chance to reunite he's desperately hoping for a chance at the love they denied themselves in the past.

Masterlist

Pairing: AU!Dean x reader

Square: “All I wanted was a happy ending.”

Word Count: 3,137

Warnings: age gap (reader is 21-22, Dean is 26-27), time jump, mentions of physical abuse by a parent/violence/death, pining, a hint of jealousy, protective!Dean, kissing/cuddling, fluffy fluff fluff

A/N: These two are adorably irresistible together. Ultimately decided to post the rest of this series in the order I wrote it because I feel it reads better.

_____

Six years after Dean left.

The town you once thought would never feel like home had grown on you since Dean. That’s how you thought of him, as if Dean was a fixture in time, in your past; a turning point. And he was. So you hadn’t stayed in hopes of his return, it had been six years after all since he left. You stayed because it was home.

Your brother eventually moved to the city, with that blonde you thought it would never work out with, and now you saw him on weekends when they dropped by for dinner and a day at the beach. They didn't have any plans for getting married or having kids though, and that was fine, they were just young and in love, or lust depending on who you asked.

You still lived at home for the time being to save money while you commuted to finish off your final year of college. You liked life by the beach. It was simple and though it could get crowded with tourists in the summer months, you wouldn't trade it for the bustling city life.

Summers were spent working with Cas at his local art gallery. He needed help during the busy season and he lacked the people skills he needed to sell his creations. His family had helped him acquire the place since they were well off and you were pleasantly surprised at his handiwork. He turned out the most beautiful carvings and sculptures from driftwood and found objects he'd picked up from the beach.

You didn't regret taking a gap year to figure out what you wanted to study and you settled on a degree in Business. In your spare time, you volunteered at the youth group in town that you and Benny organized together. He had been all in when you proposed the idea to him and you both wanted to create a safe place for kids -both like and unlike Sam and Dean- to go to for support. Even if that just meant playing board games, making crafts, or taking them sand surfing for an afternoon so they'd have a place to go where they wouldn't get into trouble.

Dean was pretty proud of you when you told him about it and promised to visit back in February. But he never made it out and you lost contact for a bit after that. You guessed life got in the way, but it made you a little sad.

You still loved getting his postcards though and had been on the tips of your toes ever since the latest one arrived a couple months ago. He'd written that he was 'coming home' and 'soon' but he didn't say when. So when your mom handed you a postcard that afternoon, you nearly leapt out of your skin.

There was no stamp so you figured he had hand delivered it and he'd written, '...meet me under our streetlamp...' your heart beat so fast it felt as though it would fly away if it wasn't held in by your ribcage.

You had bought a new dress in the hopes of seeing him after his last postcard and rushed into your room to throw it on. Every time he'd seen you was in jeans and boxy t-shirts and even though you knew he didn't care, you wanted to look nice.

Sure it was a little chilly outside, but the length of the dress reached your ankles and you wore leggings underneath, a light jean jacket overtop and sneakers, because heels take balance. Which you didn't have. Then with a glance in the mirror, you dashed out the door towards your truck, still the same ridiculous burnt orange colour as the day you got it.

You pulled into the empty parking lot of the pier, instantly spotting the mint-condition, shiny black Impala. You parked beside Baby, but Dean wasn’t in the driver’s seat and the engine was cold when you hopped out of your truck and felt the hood with your palm. You peered inside, not a single takeout bag or ketchup packet in sight. Not that he didn't eat that type of food but he kept her tidy like she deserved.

Backing away from Baby you noted her brand new-old headlight and the lack of dents in the front bumper. Dean must've finally found those parts he was checking every salvage yard for.

You turned on your heel and glanced down the lot, spying Donna’s ice cream shop; it was around the same time of year you met Dean which meant the shops would be closing soon for the winter. You smiled and looked across to the bench that sat under the streetlamp. Your spot from that night six years ago.

A man sat on the bench staring out at the horizon as a sailboat headed towards the harbour in the distance. He turned his gaze as though he felt your eyes on him and squinted, then stood up.

You thought you'd recognize Dean anywhere, but you couldn't remember the last time you video chatted and when you had, the connection was too fuzzy to see anything other than frozen pixels. You stepped slowly towards the man, giving him a squint of your own eyes and tilting your head. Mirroring him when he smiled.

"Y/N?" He called over the distance and you'd recognize that deep voice anywhere. Dean.

You ran towards him with a beaming smile and jumped into his arms, knocking him back a step. His hands clutched your waist and he lifted you and spun you around as he laughed.

"I almost didn't recognize you. Are you wearing a dress?" Dean chuckled and set you on your feet.

Your cheeks burned, "Well, I remember you were a big fan of the skirt." You teased him about the time he saw you in your school uniform and his cheeks burned just as red. "What's this?" You brushed his jawline with your fingertips, feeling the stubble against your skin.

Dean's neck flushed under your touch, "Uh, yeah. I probably should've shaved again before I came here but I didn't want to take a chance at missing you."

"I dunno, I think it kinda suits you," you shrugged, unable to keep your smirk to yourself. "Your beard was practically nonexistent when we met."

"I don't think you wanna talk about things that were practically nonexistent when we met." His eyes dropped to your chest for half a second.

You gasped and shoved him in the shoulder and he burst out laughing. You couldn't help but notice the natural tone in his muscles and how much broader he'd gotten.

"You grew up." You squeezed Dean's shoulders, barely able to get your hands around them now.

"I should be saying that about you." He sucked his lip as he looked you over. "Seriously, though. Did you get taller?"

"Yeah, sure. Let's call it taller," but you knew what he really meant. You grew into your body and you owned it now even if you still dressed like you were a sixteen-year-old tomboy most days, but you weren't afraid to throw on a dress every now and again for special occasions, like today.

It was a bit of a gloomy day but there was enough warmth in the way he looked at you that you didn't care.

You grabbed his hand and tugged him to sit on the bench with you. "I missed you."

"We text almost everyday, Y/N." He smiled. "And talk as much as possible."

"Not for a while now. You kind of ghosted me after Valentine's day." You said, still holding his hand and playing with his fingers between yours. "I should be more mad at you, but I missed you too much, I couldn't not come meet you if I tried."

"It wasn't fair to you," he squeezed your fingers in his, "I’m sorry, Y/N. If it’s any consolation, I missed you every minute.” He bit his bottom lip like he did often. "But we both know we couldn’t be together back then-”

“All I wanted was a happy ending for you, Dean." You cut him off and waved your hand. "And Sam, and you guys have that now, in California. I'm so happy for you."

"Yeah," he breathed and brushed his hair back, not that he needed to, it was much shorter now. "About that. I'm not going back." You dropped your jaw and pushed your brows together. "With my father gone, there's really no reason to stay away anymore," he grabbed your hand and clutched it to his chest, "And every reason in the world to stay right here."

"But won't you miss Sam?"

"Of course, but he has Jess now and he doesn't need me anymore. I think for once in my life, I'm going to do something completely selfish and, despite some painful memories, I've always loved this town. It's where my mother grew up and had my brother and me. She taught me to ride my bike on this pier, I have the scar on my knee to prove it and I taught Sammy four years later. My friends are here, you're here. I don't think I need much more of a reason than that."

You stared at him and opened your mouth, then closed it, speechless, and he smiled.

"Y/N, when I picture myself happy, it's with you. In this town, with this ocean and that ice cream," he pointed to Donna's across from where you sat on the bench. "I wanna settle down, have a family with you; raise our kids in a house that's a home and have a happy little existence with my dream girl by my side."

"I'm your dream girl?" You blinked up at him.

"You've been starring in my dreams for longer than I care to admit. And now here we are. Same spot as the first night we met. Sam is safe and I don't have to deal with my prick of a father anymore. You're almost twenty-two, I'm twenty-six and the five years between us is just that."

"Um, Dean..." you bit the inside of your cheek and he deflated.

"You're with someone, aren't you?" He asked and you nodded twice, trying to hide a smirk. "That makes sense. You're beautiful and smart and strong and I never had a chance. The timing is always gonna be wrong for us and I shouldn't have expected-" He sighed and rubbed his knuckles like they were split, but this time they weren't. "He better treat you right."

"I love you."

"Huh?" His green eyes flicked up to meet yours and you let the smirk take over.

"I love you." You repeated.

"I don't think your boyfriend would appreciate that, Y/N." He shook his head, his breath heavy.

"Oh, I don't think he'll mind." You leaned into him and let your lips connect in a quick kiss. Dean was so stunned he didn't move and you whispered, "In case you didn't catch on, I'm talking about you."

He bit his lip and laughed silently. "I think you made that painfully obvious, sweetheart. But, way to give a guy a heart attack."

You didn't set out to wait for Dean, but you weren't about to settle for any less either. And keeping in touch over the years kept those feelings alive; like feeding fuel to a flame and you could feel the fire in your belly.

You kissed him again, "You made me wait."

"It wasn't easy for me either," he cupped your cheek and brushed your skin with the pad of his thumb. "And I love you, too, Y/N, more than you’ll ever know.”

He wet his lips and pressed them to yours. The heat from his mouth warming your skin and his hand tangling in your hair. It wasn't your first kiss with Dean but somehow, it felt like it was. It was the beginning of something real, with nothing to hold you back and keep you away from each other.

A butterfly sprung to life from the fires in your stomach and you drew back, "So, what now?"

"What do you mean?" He brushed your hair behind your ear.

"What happens now? Do you move into your father's old house?" You asked.

It had been sitting empty since him and Sam left and now that John was dead, everything was in their names. It wasn't something that Dean ever wanted to talk about but you'd found out that John finally picked a fight with someone big enough to fight back.

"I'll burn it to the ground before I move back there." He almost laughed though he was completely serious. You couldn't imagine the painful memories that place held for him; they overpowered anything nice their mother had been a part of creating there. You couldn't blame him for not wanting to go back. "Cas and Benny said I could stay with them, they have a spare room and it'll give me time to sell off the house and find a place of my own. And maybe if I'm lucky, by then I won't have to move in alone?" He cocked an eyebrow at you that held a thousand questions.

"That depends," you sighed and glanced away from him, then back.

"On?" He smiled, knowing you were teasing him again.

"Whether you snore when you sleep, duh." You rolled your eyes playfully.

"I'll buy you earplugs." He kissed your cheek, then your lips.

_____

Four months after Dean came back.

It was cold outside, freezing actually and snowing heavily. If this wasn’t the last of the boxes, you and Dean would’ve waited to bring in the rest. You plopped down onto the floor in the living room amongst the many other stacked boxes. You’d accumulated more than you thought over the past few years, but you didn’t think it was that much until now. Dean set his box on top of the others and ignored it when they started to lean, opting to lie next to you on the floor and risk getting crushed by cardboard and clothing instead.

He rolled onto his side and propped his head on his hand. He gazed at you and reached out to brush the snow from your eyelashes.

You closed your eyes.

It was a cute little two story house that Dean had found with a wraparound porch, no walkway, and a big backyard. The house itself needed a lot of work, Dean saw nothing but potential and thought it was a steal. You had to agree and you weren't opposed to rolling your sleeves up and putting a little elbow grease into the place you would eventually call home.

When he first told you that your dad had helped him get a job in mechanics at Sandover Bridge and Iron, you were surprised to say the least. You always said you would never date a man whose job took precedence when it didn’t need to and you worried Dean would overwork himself to prove his worth to your father. But your father had figured out his work-life balance since you were a teenager and if he could do it then so could Dean; so you made an exception as if it was ever an option to walk away. Besides Dean always made it home for dinner and honestly without him, your new home together would just be a house.

What you had with him only came around once in a lifetime, you knew because you never felt the same about anyone else. Not even close.

You opened your eyes.

Dean looked at you like he could see your whole future together. Like nothing could tear you apart. And nothing would because you would never give up on each other.

"What are you thinking?" You asked even though you were pretty sure you already knew.

"That it's midnight and we'll very likely be snowed in by morning," he leaned over you and you felt his weight as he kissed you. "And we don't have a shovel."

"Benny could come dig us out," you breathed and he pressed his forehead to yours. "He owes you for fixing up his Jeep anyways."

"Mm," his lips brushed over yours, "I can't believe he still has that thing. Too bad we don't have a way of calling him, though."

"What are you talking about? I have my phone right here," you pulled your cell from your pocket but Dean took it and tossed it out of reach.

"Oops, guess we'll just have to stay stranded." He smirked and you laughed as he pecked kisses to your cheeks, squirming when his lips reached your neck, "Happy Valentine's Day, sweetheart."

You opened your mouth to speak but he silenced you with a kiss until you were breathless, then he started working over your neck with his tongue. You giggled and laughed until you twisted out from under him with a red spot on your pulse point.

This moment was perfect with him, but incomplete. There was only one thing missing to make it feel like home.

"Which box is the hammer in?"

"I think that one," he pointed to the box near the doorway, "Why?"

You pushed on his chest when he tried to kiss you again and he rolled off you, watching you curiously. You jumped up and dug around in the box until you found it and a nail, then grabbed the framed photograph you'd set aside in a box of breakables. He sat up and smiled when he recognized the frame.

It was the gift he'd given you before he left six years ago. The selfie of the two of you during your day of sand surfing. It was the first thing you'd hung on your wall back home and you wanted it to be the first thing you hung up in this house, too. Your home with Dean.

Over the years, you went from loving that photograph to hating it and back to loving it. You knew it was contingent on the way you were feeling about Dean at those times, but you never took it down. Until he asked you to move in with him, then it was the first thing you packed.

You curled your finger at him and he followed you into the master bedroom. You hung the photograph on the wall and dropped the hammer when Dean wrapped his arms around you from behind, swaying you back and forth; he smiled as brightly as he did the moment the photo was captured.

Dean looked at the photograph with you and dropped his chin to your shoulder.

"Love you," he kissed your cheek. "You make me stupidly happy, do you know that?" He kissed your neck, making you giggle.

"You make me stupidly happy, too."

_________________________

Part 6

_________________________ Dean: @akshi8278 @laycblack @thoughts-and-funnies @mrsjenniferwinchester @crustycheeks @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @lyarr24 @suckitands33 @eliwinchester99 @yvonneeeee @igotmajordaddyissues @djs8891 @leigh70 @globetrotter28 @backseat-of-deans-67chevy

SPN: @hobby27

Wild Hearts: @justrealizedimmascifygurl @evieluvsjamie @kimberkingrivers @vicmc624 @ladysparkles78

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #au!dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester #spn fanfic series #dean x #dean winchester x #au!dean winchester x reader #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural dean #dean winchester series #spn series #dean series #spn reader insert #wild hearts series

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ramayantika · 11 months

Text

Krishna (mystery academia)

I was inspired from that old Vishnu post and that Delhi vala post so here we go. No idea how this will turn up though par dekhte hain.

No, it can't be a dream. You have pinched yourself twice, and your sister has been calling your name out from the past five minutes, but you can't help yourself. Your eyes are transfixed at that giant grey cloud hovering majestically in the sky. A face is etched on the cloud. He looks enchanting.

Your books have fallen on the floor. A mysterious flute tune rings in your ear. You haven't heard it anywhere recently, but the melodious tune starts to grow too loud. Look carefully, who is the girl in a pink saree, her golden bangles blind your vision and you hear a boy's sweet laughter before your legs give out.

It's Janmashtami night. The clock struck 12 and kids from your society broke the pot. They jump around in getting some money from the dahi handi while the adults clap and call their kids to come home. Everybody chants jai shri krishna and bows down folding their hands. You too close your eyes. Once you raise your head to look at the Krishna murti, your eyes see a person standing behind the murti, twirling a flute with his nimble fingers. Someone snaps their fingers beside your ear. The figure vanishes.

'yada yada hi dharmasya glanir bhavati bharata abhyutthanam adharmasya tadatmanam srijamyaham' Goosebumps rise on your skin and a divine vision graces your being. The sun and the stars collide, but everybody keeps breathing. The sound of a conch fills your mind and you see someone larger than any human, than any other organism on earth stand in a battlefield. He looks fierce once and then in a blink turns as calm as a river.

'paritranaya sadhunam vinashayacha dushkritam dharma sansthapanarthaya sambhavami yuge yuge' Tears flood down your eyes as you wake up from yet another dream of this all pervading misery encircling the world that has given itself to crimes and murders, forgetting that the quest for lust, greed, pride and ruthless power has gone in vain. Once again you stand on a battlefield witnessing hundreds and thousand of mighty warriors flanked by their elephants and horses. On your side stands one man. Just one man -- wielding a chakra and a large mace. He charges off at every soldier. In seconds bodies pile up on the battlefield and a guttural cry pierces your ears. The lone warrior clutches every fallen body and weeps.

The sweet smelling fragrant chandan makes you smile. The old temple priest, a gentle soul patiently applies tilak to all the devotees. After ten people comes your turn to apply the tilak. The priest's eyes brighten as if he has known you since long. You don't know him. This Krishna temple is far away from your home. The priest looks back at the beautifully decorated Krishna murti and smiles. You blink and turn your eyes to a pillar beside the garbhagriha. There stands a boy too gorgeous to be real, a form so enchanting that it etches itself on your eyes. You feel your heart thumping as the fragrant chandan clouds your senses. You are about to fall, but that lovely looking boy catches you in his arms. Flowers fall on your head and a sweet voice whispers, "Will you finally come back, sakhi?"

The night sky is full of stars tonight which is highly unusual for this busy city. Two stars gleam the brightest. You try to figure which constellation they belong too until hundreds of stars come together forming an image of a peacock feather.

At Prem Mandir in Vrindavan, you eagerly watch all the moving sculptures showing different pastimes of Krishna. Somewhere nearby, a group of ladies are singing Meerabai's songs. Your feet tap on their own accord and you feel yourself sway. When did you raise your arms to the sky and twirl? Nobody knows. Your family watches you laugh and dance in the temple. You look at no one but Krishna. The handsome boy from the temple is back again wearing bright yellow clothes -- not too hard to miss. A rough shake on your shoulders makes you open your eyes. The devotees in the temple are staring at you, but you blush in awareness of a certain dark one looking at you.

You sit gazing at the cool waters of Yamuna, the river which played an important role in Krishna's life. She saw his arrival into Gokul and his departure to Mathura. The texts and the old say that she later accompanied him as his wife to Dwaraka. You bow your head at her and dip your feet into the water. Nobody is at the ghat, it's all quiet and peaceful. Yamuna cools your body and a sense of calmness pervades your mind. You feel yourself slipping somewhere. The river like a gentle mother's touch touches your skin. "Do not fear, friend."

The car is about to cross the borders of Vrindavana. You feel your heart cry for an unknown separation. All these nights, you heard female voices whispering, "do not leave." At dawn you woke up with the sounds of a flute and sometimes your evenings were blessed with a boy gracing your hotel's terrace at sunset. He carried a peacock feather with him. You never shared a word with him nor did he with you. The steep silence yet felt comfortable.

Should I stay? Should I go? Should I call that boy and say goodbye, but how do I find him? What is this feeling in my heart? I feel it break into pieces. The driver caught your eye in the mirror and you hear a screeching break, The small flute replica hits the backside of the mirror and there you see a divine view once again.

Surrounded by cows, his feet crossed, he stands with a flute donning yellow garbs. You see the sun and the moon in his eyes. The universe gleams in his limbs. He appears magnificent. The divine sound of the conch rings again and you fall at his feet. 'I am all yours, Shyam.'

'Glad to have you back finally sakhi...' Red palms touch your forehead and the figure in front shines with bright white light like a halo around him. A lotus flower is placed on the last page of your book over Krishna's photo. The afternoon sky is now grey and far away you see a dark cloud emerging towards you.

"It shall start again, isn't it?"

Tagging the sakhis: @sanskari-kanya @shut-up-rabert @krishna-sahacharini @ketchup-jar-ka @arachneofthoughts @jessbeinme15 @ma-douce-souffrance @tumhari-bhairavi @manwalaage @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @reallythoughtfulwizard @bambioleo @morally-gayy @krishna-priyatama @kaal-naagin

#krishna #mystery academia #krishnablr #hindublr #desiblr #indian gods #desi aesthetic #samridhi writes

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venus-haze · 1 year

Text

Who's Sorry Now (Bo Sinclair x Reader)

Summary: After nearly a year of being under Bo’s thumb in Ambrose, he’s decided it’s time you get involved in the family business. You never expected to make it this far, and when you finally come face to face with (victims) tourists in town as part of the act, you think it more of a curse than a blessing. Look at the warnings before deciding if you want to read this.

Note: This is mostly a (extremely gross) standalone fic, with some references to events in Howl and Adam Raised a Cain, but it can be read on its own. I took some creative liberties with Trudy's casket again. Inspired by the Connie Francis song. Reader is a woman, but no other descriptors are used. Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: Graphic depictions of murder and violence. Descriptions of violence involving weapons. Disturbing and sadistic behavior. Misogyny. Physical abuse, emotional and psychological manipulation, major Stockholm syndrome. Sexually explicit content which involves coercion/dubious consent, slapping, degradation, cigarette burns, licking water and cum off of a dirty floor (sorry). Do not interact if you are under 18.

Summer raged angry in Ambrose, its unforgiving heat leaving you drenched by the late nightfall, when you’d sit in the passenger seat of Bo’s truck, head hanging out the window as you took in the rush of cool night air. Sometimes he’d take a long way back up to the house, just to indulge this one quirk of yours, despite the fully air-conditioned home that sat atop a hill. Even Vincent struggled in the heat, emerging from his studio dripping in sweat when he actually went down there. Instead, he opted on moving from air-conditioned house to air-conditioned house, checking on each of the wax sculptures that resided in Ambrose.

It was cooler out when you and your friends had arrived in town, hopeful and unsuspecting, making it not quite a year since Bo tangled you into this tapestry of wax, murder, and violence that had been woven since before you were born. Your few freedoms were hard fought, your body and mind littered with scars of what you’d been through at his hands.

Still, you hadn’t quite proven yourself to Bo yet. He’d leave you to work on a grueling yet mundane task he’d given you, but you wouldn’t run even if you had the chance. You felt far too guilty and complacent to claim your victimhood. If you were ever found, no one would believe you. You’d quickly be an accomplice, just as crazy as the rest of them. At least, that’s how you’d view yourself from the outside looking in, unaware of the desperate measures you took to survive, even when you didn’t necessarily want to.

There hadn’t been any visitors to Ambrose for a long while, and with the oppressive humidity that veiled the Louisiana swamplands, the brothers seemed glad for the extended break. You were too, since Bo had told you that if you were going to be “working” in town, you’d have to pull your own weight. Sooner or later, you’d kill someone, either out of necessity or him forcing your hand. You silently hoped that the world would continue to forget about Ambrose, that no one would be able to pass through again, and you and the Sinclair brothers would be the final addition to the dead town’s rot. There was no point in hoping.

The town’s dry spell of unsuspecting motorists broke in the middle of June, a sweltering day you spent mostly inside the gas station, standing in front of the air conditioning vent with a sweating bottle of soda. An unfamiliar car chugged along the street, before pulling into the gas station. You didn’t know much about cars, but the loud bang the machine made when it finally stopped didn’t sound good.

You set your soda down, taking a deep breath before walking outside to join the couple who had gotten out of the car and were arguing. They were around your age, and you wondered if they’d recognize your face at all, recalling it from missing persons ads. When the couple looked at you, however, recognition didn’t spark in either of their faces.

“How can I help y’all?” you asked.

“My car’s fucked, and some weird guy on the highway said this was the only body shop around,” the guy said.

“I’m going inside. It’s way too hot out here,” the girl said, heading inside the shop.

“Sure, let me get Bo. He’s on lunch, but he’d be glad to help,” you said, almost shocked at how easily the lie came out of your mouth.

The guy nodded. “Yeah, whatever.”

Bo spent most of the late morning in the movie theater, claiming something needed to be fixed there. It wasn’t a far walk, but between the heat and their attitudes, you figured the couple weren’t the type who liked being kept waiting. Still, you didn’t run, it was too hot out for that kind of effort on your part.

As soon as you stepped into the derelict movie theater, you were met with a stifling humidity and the scent of rot. You hated that you knew what that smelled like now.

The air conditioning, that’s what Bo had been busy fixing. In all honesty, it amazed you that the wax museum was even standing with how hot it got in Ambrose. Every few days, Vincent would have to make the rounds and check on the wax sculptures, touching up any heat-related imperfections, though you knew most of the buildings had air conditioning blasting to preserve his work. The movie theater had without a doubt the most sculptures besides the museum, so keeping it cool was imperative.

You called out for Bo, wandering around the movie theater until you heard him respond from a utility closet. Finding him in this spot, you couldn’t help but admire the way his white t-shirt clung to his sweat-covered body. Thankfully, he didn’t notice your ogling.

“What? You couldn’t even bring me a fuckin’ drink? Jesus,” Bo said.

“There’s two—um—we have customers.”

He grinned, grabbing the mechanic’s shirt that was bunched up on the floor. “‘Bout damn time.”

After using the shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, he pulled it on, buttoning it up as the two of you left the movie theater and walked back to the gas station. Although no one could possibly eavesdrop, you spoke in a hushed tone as you relayed the basic information that you had on the couple. Lester directed them to Ambrose, their car was busted, and they were incredibly cranky.

You were worried that it wasn’t enough information for him, but he seemed more than pleased with what you already knew. It made sense, he was used to handling this side of things on his own. Again, you cemented your accomplice status.

The couple rushed outside as soon as they saw you and Bo a few yards away, making your way up the street. They were in one hell of a hurry for nothing.

“Sorry ‘bout the wait,” Bo said. “This your car?”

The guy nearly rolled his eyes. “What do you think?”

Bo chuckled, though you knew him well enough that it betrayed his disdain for the guy already. “Right. How ‘bout you gimme the keys, and I’ll bring it into the garage and take a look at it.”

“Good luck,” the guy said, handing Bo his keys. “I barely got it into town in the first place.”

“Might as well give it a try. Y/N, you mind helpin’ me for a minute?” Bo asked.

“Not at all. You two make yourselves comfortable inside,” you said.

They hardly waited for you to finish talking before making a beeline to return to the air conditioned store. Bo shot a glare at their backs, shaking his head as he got into the guy’s car. As he revved the engine, it made a noise that had Bo smirking a bit.

“Damn, this car’s shot to hell, and I didn’t even do it this time.”

It took him a minute or two to get it a few feet into the garage, and you didn’t have to be an expert to know that getting that car safe enough to drive would probably take a few days. It didn’t matter. They wouldn’t be driving it again anyway.

Bo got out of the car, throwing the keys on a nearby tool cart. “You’re gettin’ one of those assholes. I don’t care which one, but today’s the day, darlin’.”

“I—the girl, I guess.”

He grabbed your shoulders, looking at you with an intensity that made you nearly wither to dust in his hold. “No guessin’. You killin’ her or not?”

You nodded. “I will. I’ll kill her.”

“Good. There’s a gun under the counter, should be easy enough to take ‘er out.”

“Okay, okay,” you said.

“Get on back there, then,” he said, giving you a quick kiss.

When you walked back into the shop, the girl had already helped herself to one of the sodas, another unopened one sitting on the counter. They were mumbling between themselves, glancing at the garage until they noticed you were back.

“Can you hurry up? I’m gonna need one of those cans of oil. The one behind the register,” the guy asked as you went behind the counter.

“What do you expect, babe?” the girl muttered. “They probably can’t even read.”

He snickered in response. She hadn’t meant to say it loud enough for you to hear, but you did, loud and clear. Derogatory, meant to bolster their fractured superiority at their helplessness, having to turn to the likes of swampland hicks for help. You supposed that included yourself now, living in unprecedented isolation with the Sinclairs.

That was a decision you’d made yourself a few weeks—or was it months—earlier in the kitchen of the Sinclair house. You caused a scene, but you got your point across. You chose this life instead of death. You chose Bo. It was one thing when your own life was in your own hands, but the lives of others was a much heavier burden. You loved Bo. You knew you did. Sometimes love meant compromising, though it surely was never supposed to go so far. Then again, no one had ever been in a relationship quite like yours before, you were sure of that much.

You gasped as your hand brushed the gun Bo kept beneath the counter. The guy looked at you, rolling his eyes before turning around, leaning against the counter and staring at the sleepy main street out the shop windows. It’d be so easy, just pick up the gun and put a bullet right through the back of his head, then get his girlfriend while she was still in shock.

Shaking your head, you grabbed the plastic container next to you, setting it on the counter. They were rude and awful, but that didn’t mean they deserved to die. You were sure there were plenty of times you’d been rude before, short with someone on the receiving end of your bad day. It didn’t mean you deserved what had happened to you.

Their deaths were inevitable, though. That was certain in Ambrose, but you’d stand your ground. If they were going to die, you wouldn’t be the one to do it. Maybe that made you just as bad, but your hands would be clean. You rung up the oil and two sodas on the beat-up cash register, and the guy turned around to grab the container and leave a twenty-dollar bill on the counter, mumbling for you to keep the change.

The couple headed outside to see how progress was going on their car. Bo really was one hell of a mechanic, and as much as he knew how to fix a car, he also knew just how to fuck around with one to make it undrivable. In this case, he wouldn’t have to do too much extra work.

You sat down on a crate behind the counter, displeased to find that your soda was room temperature and flat. Sighing, you closed your eyes for a few moments, ignoring the heat-induced headache that you could feel creeping up on you.

The shop door slamming open, bell clinging rapidly, pulled you from your rest. Was it only a few minutes, or had you fallen asleep? The girl stood in the doorway, panicked and wild-eyed.

“Hey! Holy shit!”

You stood up, furrowing your eyebrows at the way she rushed toward the counter.

“You have to call the police! That guy out there–your coworker went insane!” the girl shouted. “Fucking do something!”

She pushed you out of the way, grabbing for the phone on the wall behind you, only to hear a dead dial tone on the other end of the line. “What the fuck? What the–”

The bell for the front door of the shop chimed again, and the two of you saw Bo taking up most of the space in the doorframe, sweat dripping down his face, blood splattered across his hands. The screwdriver he was holding was covered in blood too. His eyes were set on the girl as he took a step into the shop.

“We have to go!” the girl screamed, grabbing you by the sleeve and pulling you after her.

She ran into the garage, an anguished scream tearing from her throat at the sight of her dead boyfriend. When it became clear you weren’t in as much of a rush as her, she started running, leaving you behind. You couldn’t blame her, that’s what you would’ve done too.

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Bo growled, seeing the girl run off while you stood around, shocked and useless.

He shot a glare your way as he raced after her. Maybe she’d get the upper hand somehow and do what you and everyone else who came before weren’t able to. The thought made you tense up. Would she know you were part of this? Would she come after you next? You weren’t sure what you wanted to happen, but as you caught a glimpse of the fresh body of the girl’s dearly deceased boytoy, you decided to head back into the shop for the time being.

You spent the next half hour cleaning the blood off the gas station shop floor, the bleach you poured burning your throat as you mopped up what had come from Bo when he stormed through. Your efforts were premature, because almost as soon as the old floor looked as spotless as you could make it, the shop bell rang again.

Bo had caught up with the girl, though from the scratches on his face, it wasn’t without a fight. More than you could say. She, however, was worse for wear, her nose bleeding, probably broken, and she had a pronounced limp as she stumbled into the shop, black tears streaking down her face. Grit and dirt were inseparably mixed with the blood that ran from her knee down to her ankle, skin red and raw.

Bo pushed her onto the ground, and she screamed as her open wound made contact with the freshly bleached floor. Bile rose in your throat as you looked at her, trying to ignore Bo reaching for the screwdriver he’d kept in his pocket. You couldn’t do it. She could’ve been you or any of your friends. Nevertheless, he shoved the tool in your hand.

He held the girl by the hair, close enough so her throat was pressed against the end of the screwdriver. “Do it.”

“Please don’t. No, no, no, no, I don’t wanna die,” she sobbed. “Fuck, shit, I don’t wanna die.”

You didn’t even know her name and you were supposed to kill her. Would that have made it easier? Or harder? Your hesitation didn’t go over well with Bo, as he let out a frustrated growl and grabbed your hand, driving the screwdriver through the girl’s neck. His hand wrapped around yours in a death grip, making you unable to let go of the screwdriver or pull it from her flesh until he thought it was enough.

To add insult to injury, he twisted the screwdriver, and you gagged at the girl’s gurgled agony as blood poured from her mouth. Her hands weakly reached for the screwdriver in vain, because Bo twisted it again, grinning at the pained expression on her face. Panic finally caught up with you as you considered if this was how your friends died–messy, cruel, and torturous at his hands.

When he pulled the screwdriver from her throat, releasing your hand with it, you almost felt relieved that it was over. By the furious expression on his face, however, you were still in for it. He grabbed you by the scruff of your neck, backing you into the wall and holding the bloody screwdriver against your throat.

“I oughta kill you too,” he hissed. “When I tell you to do somethin’, you fuckin’ do it.”

“Bo, I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I couldn’t–”

Before you could try to explain yourself, he roughly grabbed your arm, his short, sharp fingernails digging into your skin as he walked toward the basement door. He dropped the screwdriver on the floor as he used both hands to get a better hold of you. Your shoes squeaked against the linoleum shop floor as you tried to dig your heels in and prevent him from moving you any closer.

“No!” you screeched, feeling the strain in your throat as you struggled against him. “Don’t bring me back there! I don’t wanna go back there!”

“‘S where you belong. Vinny was right, gettin’ you into this was a mistake.”

“I swear to god I’ll do it next time! Please don’t–”

You wailed as he landed a harsh slap across your face, his ring breaking the tender skin of your cheek. In this moment of weakness, he was able to overtake you, pulling you back into the hell you’d worked so hard to escape from less than a year before.

The animalistic holler you let out in protest was met only by echoes from the concrete. Your fallen comrades plastered on the walls shared your distress as your eyes darted across each of them. You knew as soon as you ended up in such a place that you’d end up one of them. You had your chance, and you blew it. Soon, you too would be memorialized as yet another brutalized girl whose Polaroid graced the walls of the goddamn dungeon.

Bo sneered as he strapped your limbs to the surgical bed that you still had nightmares about. You probably would have thought it was a dream if your face wasn’t stinging from the impact just moments earlier. Nothing that was coming from your mouth was coherent. Nothing you could say would make him have pity or mercy on you. He wasn’t capable of that.

Deja vu swirled through your mind as he cut off your clothes, and you braced yourself for the feeling of his knife on your skin, until it didn’t come.

He clicked his tongue as he looked at you, sobbing and bleeding. “There ain’t gonna be a next time.”

He smacked you again for good measure, and then left to take care of the bodies in the shop. You didn’t see him again for three days. Nothing had changed since you were last down there, he hadn’t even bothered to clean the place out, as if he were keeping it for insurance if things didn’t work out with you.

There was no point in screaming for help, no one who heard you would help anyway. This was between you and Bo. You wondered if he was leaving you there to die, knowing dehydration would catch up with you, and he’d find your disgusting, rotting corpse by the Fourth of July.

Your mouth was dry, and your whole head was pounding from the lack of water and the heat that somehow made its way all the way down to the basement. You couldn’t even cry, you were so dehydrated–there were no tears, just your pathetic wailing and whimpering until you couldn’t even manage that.

When he finally came down to check on you, cigarette hanging from his lips and a cold bottle of water in his hand, you could’ve sworn you were hallucinating. He grinned upon seeing you, and for a moment, your heart fluttered, or maybe you were just dying. Regardless, you were glad to see him, even if he had done this to you.

“Fuck, seein’ you back here is somethin’ else,” he growled lowly, setting the water bottle tauntingly close to you and adjusting his crotch. “How’s your vacation been?”

You balked at his statement. Vacation?

“What? You ain’t been doin’ shit the past few days, just lyin’ around here. Seems like you don’t appreciate it, though,” he said.

You shook your head frantically, unable to speak. He pulled the cigarette from his lips, tapping the ashes onto your bound leg. Your muscles flinched, and you hissed in pain.

Though you knew what was coming next, you still couldn’t mentally prepare yourself for the way he took a long drag from the cigarette before putting it out on your leg, holding it for at least ten painful seconds as a harsh cry came from your parched windpipe. Between the pain from your leg and your throat, you felt like you were being torn in half. He snickered as he pulled it away, his other hand brushing the freshly burnt skin as you screamed again.

“Why don’t I make it better for ya, darlin’?” he asked, conniving condescension in his voice as he picked up the unopened water bottle, twisting the cap open, and pouring half of it onto your leg.

Fuck, you should’ve killed the girl you had the chance. The first water you’d seen in days and half of it was running down your fucking leg.

“Stop,” you croaked.

He grinned, holding up the water bottle. “Where’s your manners, darlin’?”

“Please.”

Once again, he set the water bottle down, but this time he unstrapped your arms and legs from the surgical bed. You knew better than to assume you’d get out of it with mild dehydration and a cigarette burn. Your legs gave out beneath you, and you fell to the floor. He looked more than pleased with this. It’s where he wanted you anyway.

He grabbed the water bottle, and you opened your mouth, expecting the extent of your humiliation before him to be his pouring the water into your mouth so you’d choke on it or something. Instead, he poured the water on the floor directly in front of you, and you looked at him in horrified disbelief.

“Well? I thought you were thirsty,” he said, stepping in the puddle of water before you.

You let out a whimper before lowering your head, hesitating for a moment. With a shaky breath, you stuck out your tongue, and as soon as it touched the water, you lost control. What little dignity you had left in your brain screamed at you to stop, that you were better than this and you’d probably get tetanus or jaundice, or some kind of -ice or -itis that would fuck up your intestines royally.

The rest of your body, that was parched and desperate overtook your reasoning, and you lapped up the dirty water at his feet like–well, your life did depend on it. The water was disgusting, and you gagged a few times while licking it up, the taste of dirt and copper and god knows what else mingling in your mouth. Then, when the floor was as dry as it could get, and all of the water was gone, you looked up to see his cock in his hand, a sadistic grin on his face as he jerked himself off over you.

“Fuck, you’re the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he grunted in perverse adoration.

You moved to take over, assuming that was what he wanted you to do next until he pushed you onto your ass with his free hand. It felt like you were watching him for eternity before he came with a loud groan, throwing his head back as his cum pumped from his cock and onto the floor. When he was finished, he looked over at you with hooded lids and a lazy, shit-eating grin.

“Get a move on, darlin’. I wanna see you lick it up like a little bitch again.”

Though you had a bit more resolve this time around, your lip trembling as you stuck your tongue out, almost recoiling when you tasted his cum on the floor. Apparently, you weren’t licking it up enthusiastically enough for his liking, because you felt his boot on the back of your head, pushing your face into the floor.

With tears in your eyes, you lapped up his cum like you did the water just moments before, and a pleased groan came from above you. You actually heard his pants zipper this time, trying to focus on anything but the overwhelming nausea and rancid mix of semen and whatever else was on the floor. Somehow, you managed to lick it all up, not without losing a solid amount of respect for yourself first.

Suddenly, you started gagging, feeling the sour mix of floor water and cum making its way back up your esophagus.

He covered your mouth with his hand. “Keep it down, darlin’, or I’ll make you lick that up too.”

Your muffled whine was all the affirmation he needed, and you somehow willed yourself not to throw up.

“Next time you think for a second you can get away with not doin’ what I say, I want you to remember this,” he hissed in your ear.

You nodded, bleary eyed as he helped you up from the floor, practically having to drag you up the stairs. He drove you back up to the house, and the next week or so consisted of you slowly regaining your strength and attempting to get back in his good graces, if you could even call it that. Despite everything, you wanted his attention, his approval. After all, he let you live despite your massive fuck up. He was all you had. Against every rational bone in your body, you still loved him.

The town was quiet again, until the weekend before the Fourth of July, when it wasn’t. You were in the gas station, this time with Bo nearby in the garage when another couple walked into the shop. They were smiling and holding hands. You almost wondered if they were in the right place. As they walked up to the counter, you greeted them as pleasantly as you could.

“Your face–oh honey, you alright?” the woman asked, genuine concern laced in her voice that made you want to cry. The cut on your cheek where Bo had hit you wasn’t fully healed, and despite your care, it would undoubtedly scar over.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said. “I took a walk during my lunch break the other day and tripped on the gravel road up the way.”

“Well, we’d appreciate some help. Got some car trouble up the road. We were gonna walk, but this nice fella gave us a ride,” the guy said.

“Sure, my husband Bo’s the mechanic. I’ll go get him,” you said, leaving for the nearby garage to let Bo know about the customers.

Why did these ones have to be nice?

“Husband and wife, Lester dropped them off because their car broke down on the side of the road but they’re not sure what’s wrong with it,” you explained quietly.

“You fuck this up,” he threatened through gritted teeth, “and I swear to god, I’ll make sure Vincent keeps ya alive when you join your little friends.”

“I won’t.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it. She better be dead by the time I get back with his body.”

“She will be.”

You and Bo walked back into the shop, his arm around your waist as the two of you sauntered back into the storefront.

“Sorry ‘bout the wait. My wife tells me y’all’s car broke down?”

“Yeah, the man who dropped us off said you could tow it back here? We’re real sorry for the trouble, but if you could–”

Bo smiled. “No trouble at all. You wouldn’t mind comin’ with me to pick it up? Don’t wanna drag the wrong guy’s car all the way back here.”

“‘Course, is there a motel nearby we can stay in if the repairs take a few days?” the guy asked.

“Yeah, I can show you on the way back, and then Y/N can give y’all a lift there once I get the car in the garage.”

“Thank you so much,” the woman said. “You two are really sweet.”

“We’re just glad to help,” you said.

Bo grabbed the tow truck keys from one of the hooks on the wall, before pulling you in for a kiss. You wished he didn’t kiss you so sweetly only because there were other people around. Hell, you almost considered escalating it, the couple wouldn’t live to tell anyone anyway.

“We’ll be back quick, darlin’,” Bo murmured against your lips. “You girls stay out of trouble.”

The woman laughed, shaking her head as her own husband gave her a kiss before walking out of the shop with Bo.

“So, how long have you and your wife been together?” you could hear the guy ask Bo.

You wanted to keep interactions with the woman as minimal as possible, but she was frustratingly sweet, insisting on helping you with the bullshit task you’d made up to try to keep your distance from her. She reminded you of your own friends, in a way, or maybe someone being genuinely nice to you for the first time in nearly a year made you overly sentimental.

“That’s wonderful you get to work with your husband. I’m sure y’all are either really close or ya can’t stand each other,” she said.

“Something like that.”

“I hope Billy and me get to do somethin’ like this one day, maybe with a few kids runnin’ around,” she said wistfully. “I’m probably gettin’ ahead ‘a myself.”

You gave her a terse smile. Poor Billy won’t be doing shit. Glancing at the clock, about twenty minutes had passed. If Bo and Billy–of course Deanna had given you their fucking names–weren’t at the car by now, they were going to be close. Your window of opportunity was shrinking with each passing second.

“You’ve really been so helpful, Deanna. Are you sure you don’t wanna wait?” you asked.

“Lord no. Ain’t many people like you and your husband around nowadays,” she smiled. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Alright, well, I gotta get something from up front really quick.”

She nodded absentmindedly as she looked through the box of fan belts you were restocking.

The shop felt unsettlingly cold for the season as you rounded the counter, grabbing for the gun that was kept underneath it. Your breath hitched when you came up empty. He moved it, probably on purpose so your first kill would have to be more bloody, more personal. You’d lost the privilege of a clean, easy kill.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you considered your options. The screwdriver was definitely out, and you couldn’t head back into the garage and dig through Bo’s tools without her seeing you. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you looked frantically around the shop until you noticed a letter opener laying next to the cash register.

You walked to the back of the store, Deanna still facing away from you. The letter opener would hurt like hell. It wasn’t even that sharp to begin with, and you’d have to really work to make sure she was dead. Taking a deep breath, you plunged it into her shoulder blade and then back out.

“Lady, what the fuck is your problem?” she shouted, reaching for her shoulder and gasping in pain.

You froze. You fucked up, and Bo was gonna be back soon. Both you and Deanna had the same idea, because as soon as she ran, you sped after her. Though you were still weak from your days in the basement, she wasn’t very athletic herself. She tried several shop doors, distressed to find them locked, until she made a break for the church. You followed close behind. There was no person, no deity in that church who could save her.

By the time you got inside the church, she’d already realized that the congregation, the priest, everyone was fake. The confusion on her face shifted to panic as soon as she saw you.

“Get the fuck away from me you psycho bitch!” she yelled, throwing hymnals at you as you approached with your sad little letter opener.

In your desperation, you tackled her, but the letter opener slipped out of your hands. The two of you punched and clawed at each other, until she rolled over, and you shoved your finger in the wound in her shoulder blade. Her screams fell on deaf ears as once again you looked frantically for something nearby that you could use as a weapon. Your gaze landed on the rosary beads clutched between Trudy’s wax-preserved hands, and you dug your finger deeper into Deanna’s shoulder blade as you maneuvered the rosary beads out from the casket.

Rosary beads in hand, you pulled your finger from the now gaping wound in Deanna’s shoulder blade and pulled the rosary around her neck, the individual glass beads digging into her skin as you pulled tighter and tighter, your own hands getting cut up with the force you were using to strangle her. It seemed like it was a never-ending struggle until finally, she went limp beneath you, and you pulled the rosary away, small cuts in her neck beading and dripping down her throat.

You put your fingers to her pulse and waited. Nothing. You did it. Throwing the rosary beads back into the casket, you didn’t look forward to telling Vincent which statute needed repairs now. That was nothing, though. You could deal with his moping for a few days. Besides, you got one, a brand new addition to the growing town.

Grabbing Deanna’s limp body, you began the ordeal of dragging it back to the gas station so Bo could see your handiwork for himself. You only got about halfway back before the tow truck pulled up, Billy and Deanna’s car hitched to the back. As soon as Bo stopped the truck, Billy hunched over. He was definitely dead.

Bo got out of the truck, rushing over to you. He looked at Deanna’s body, and then to you.

“What’d you use?” he asked, taking your cut up hands in his, inspecting the wounds, your own stigmata.

“Strangled her with your mom’s rosary beads,” you answered quietly. “Sorry.”

He grinned. “You did good, darlin’.”

All of the tension in your body released at those words, and you smiled, throwing your arms around him and kissing him deeply, giggles emitting from your chest every few seconds. Maybe it was the adrenaline still rushing through you, or maybe Bo had been right all along. You felt…great.

#bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x female reader #bo sinclair #house of wax #slasher x reader #slasher fandom #slasher community #house of wax 2005 #bo sinclair x you

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blankvort · 10 days

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tangentially animal-related hcs 4 the mean girls crew bc i am now responsible for giving a goldfish daddy issues

cady

inexplicably allergic to dogs and always in the first four stages of grief about it. don’t @ me about the medical semantics i just want her to suffer a little

tried to get a job at petco the second she turned eighteen but learned of the above information in the most destructive job interview since janis’s application to be the local coffee shop’s cool gay barista (they were worried that she’d swear at fighter-jet-takeoff volumes if she touched hot coffee) (she did, but only because they started playing a shitty pop cover of one of damian’s fave show tunes) and came out of the building a puddle of mucous and tears

grossly fascinated by the grossest of primitive functions. her insta page is all dope and authentic until you find a selfie taken using the back camera 0.5x with the corpse of an effervescent snail and a bunch of reels telling you how to narrow down what bird species are destroying your garden by the splay of their shit

has a miniature aneurysm whenever movies get stuff wrong about animals. artistic liberties are granted to janis alone. like sure if she’s in the theater she’ll sit through the movie fisting popcorn down her throat but as soon as she gets out of there the entire mall becomes a soapbox for dissecting the bullshit sexual dimorphism of giving female animals eyeliner

thus while i know the headcanon of her loving the lion king is basically canon i think she’s absurdly secretive about it. like she’s burying her merchandise and blu-ray copies under her bed in the dead of night while secreting more sweat than should be possible. she could come out to her parents and elope to antarctica no problem but liking the lion king which implies that lighter manes = stronger lions is a death sentence

probably got banned from a bunch of zoos for interrupting field trips

janis

had one of those angel/wolf/dragon/whatever hybrid phases as a kid like all good artists. did those like. not quite furry but not quite human animal art commissions on twitter for a while for the funnies but discovered a lucrative market and never turned back

does not know how to hold human or animal babies. like she’s good at taking care of them in terms of general physical and intellectual nourishment but that limp wrist is not supporting any necks properly

mercilessly makes fun of the whole “would you love me if i was a worm” trend. she doesn’t even love most humans what makes you think she has any answer for you regarding that other than that she’d turn you into a super deep art piece museums would purchase for exorbitant amounts

that being said she feels like a vivarium girlie to me. she’s nocturnal like a pillbug and post-canon constantly tries to convince the plastics that her pacman frog is poisonous

feeds her meticulously decorated ant farm gourmet meals every day. anyone else gets microwavable mac and cheese at best

this one probably won’t make sense unless you’re a jenny nicholson fan but she has a fake id for buying wine and turning the corks into those hallmark craft animal sculptures (and selling the open wine bottle to mrs george in back alleys)

damian

his grandma owns the most omnicidal chihuahua in the state of chicago. it’s how he learned to dance with such mental and physical dexterity. how else would he have survived visits to the nursing home

^ attempted to adopt the chihuahua’s children to have his own bruiser woods moment. turns out, even with his classically trained tenor voice, puppies and janis respond to the “drop it” command much the same way. that is to say they do not drop it and the puppies ran away with ninety nine per cent of his anastasia-inspired music box memorabilia

has a love-hate relationship with cats the musical. like memory is one of his top ten karaoke songs but he’s not going to admit it until he’s several fruity seltzers into the night. wishes all the actors in the movie had been replaced with real cats picked off the street before anything else was approved

played milky white in a scammy local production of into the woods and so so so embarrassed about it. he had to be on stilts the whole show

stuck a fish in regina’s backpack sometime in sophomore year but found karen feeding it and talking to it about her worst fears and greatest dreams felt too guilty to continue with the next phase of his plan (sticking a very hot picture of janis in regina’s backpack) (karen probably would’ve tried to talk to the photo too)

regina

musical specific but i think she didn’t Exactly do a matching animal costume with gretch and karen because 1) what can you dress up as when your friends are going as a cat and a mouse. cheese? 2) had cady not moved into the neighborhood, she’d have gone as a sexy lion to ease into the prospect of. you know. with shane oman but going as a sexy lion when your shiny new homoerotic frenemy has a lion pin on half her clothing isn’t quite a non-questionable choice

had a warrior cats phase she keeps under lock and key in the very depths of her closet. her closet is an iceberg of issues that goes shein -> homosexuality -> warrior cats and climate change is doing a number on it

fried a couple of janis’s ants alive with a magnifying glass sometime before middle school. she’s never flirted normally in her life

the bulk of janis’s furry commission clientele. she has so many emails for alternate accounts that she could get every american president ever suspended from twitter if national security let her. that’s including the dead ones

remember the nigh-rabid chihuahuas damian had. yeah she’s been raising those in secret for a few years now. mrs george doesn’t notice because regina hides them in her hair and extensions are, like, totally in or whatever

had a horse girl phase. all her drawings of horses came out like this meme tho. the art freaks nickname was born out of jealousy

gretchen

chose to be a sexy cat for halloween to match with karen because she has no sense of identity. also because she remembers regina’s warrior cats phase

actually a guinea pig person. i’ve never met a guinea pig person but she feels like one. they’re both in dire need of daily interaction and likely polyamorous

but also peri-canon gretchen could not keep a pet alive she’d spend every cent of the wieners fortune on buying the animal’s love

speaking of. her family bought a stable to fuel “her” horse girl phase. she just wanted to make regina happy and couldn’t stay on a saddle if there was an escalator that plopped her right on the horse

cares about the puppy bowl more than she cares about the superbowl

instinctively pets cute animals. if they bite her then she deserved it

karen

chose to be a sexy mouse for halloween because tom and jerry was having a media marathon and she’s into that sort of power dynamic

believes in unicorns more than she believes in horses. this is because she had a horse girl phase for the hottest of seconds before realizing that none of the ponies at the apache trail sale had horns and thought they had their horns cut off for aesthetic reasons

animals love her so much. survived a jellyfish attack because the jellyfish sensed she just wanted to pet something shiny and absolutely respected that. pests of all shapes and sizes evict themselves stat when karen says her mom doesn’t appreciate her hundred thousand dollar lotions being invaded by peril-bringing insects. strays follow her 24/7. gretchen is jealous (of the animals)

thinks tigers are very sick zebras

thinks blobfish are cuter when they’re all flesh putty out of their natural habitats but would also break into a zoo if she thought the animals were being mistreated

was banned from australia at the age of eight because she tried to have a sleepover in a kangaroo’s pouch

aaron

mean girls insta described him as a golden retriever so i’m also hcing him as being allergic to dogs <3 equality

becomes deeply fearful of all fauna after falling into a research rabbit hole for the sake of connecting with cady. what do you mean buffalo are some of the deadliest beasts on the planet and not just a type of chicken wing

kevin g

a preteen vsco girl in her granola advocacy era stuck in a teenage boy’s body. he has saved more turtles than any natucate volunteer by repurposing his rejected business cards to make a selfie stick long enough to stick him in the same selfie as gretchen wieners. the selfie stick has been in progress since daycare. he has also gone to the hospital more than any natucate volunteer do not trust this man with shop class equipment

#mean girls #cady heron #janis sarkisian #janis ‘imi’ike #damian hubbard #regina george #gretchen wieners #karen smith #karen shetty #aaron samuels #kevin gnapoor #kevin ganatri #these r so long for no reason #who wants goldfish pics btw

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shina913 · 1 year

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Stalemate, Part 1 | MYG

Stalemate (Mini-series)

Definition: (1) Chess. a position of the pieces in which a player cannot move any piece except the king and cannot move the king without putting it in check. (2) any position or situation in which no action can be taken or progress made; deadlock

Pairing: Woodworker!Yoongi x Fem!Reader

Rating: M 🔞; NSFW

Genre: breakup!AU; toxic relationships; angst; fluff; smut; heavy drama

Summary: "The truth is, I'm not afraid to take that gamble anymore...in the off-chance that I get lucky again and feel the way I felt when I was with you. I'd happily make that bet over and over."

Word count: 8.9K+ words

Warnings (more written in individual chapters): problematic exes; relationship insecurities; alcohol consumption; cussing; miscommunication; past infidelity (reader had an affair with a married man but not detailed); vulnerable confessions; protected sex; oral sex (F-receiving); breast/nipple play; dirty talk; jealousy; multiple orgasms; verbal confrontation; a terrible joke about wood 😑

A/N: Phew! What a way to break my month-long writing drought/limbo...jumping from one unfinished WIP to another. As I mentioned on the series masterlist, this is a nonlinear story so you'll see multiple time jumps. I tried to map out the timeline using "Now" and "Then" headings so I hope that helps!

I was also going to straight-shot this but Part 2 is still missing a couple of scenes so I hope to post that in the next day or two. Until then, here's some smangsty-angst!

Now…

Yoongi pushes the button of his key fob to lock his car then walks across the street toward an alleyway. Over a decade ago, this area, at this time of night was always questionable at best. But the neighborhood was changing and old warehouses like these were being converted into some tech start-up office, a pop-up restaurant, or sometimes, the occasional modern art gallery.

“Yoongi!”

His friend, Namjoon’s voice boomed through the loud chatter and house music. He rushes to greet him by the entrance with a hug.

“Hey, glad you could come out tonight!”

Yoongi scans the surroundings and nods in approval. He gasps, “Wow–this looks great, Joon!”

“Thanks, man. Do you like how we styled all of the light fixtures?”

Both men look up at the ceiling and marvel at the decor. “I think I might run out of adjectives tonight,” Yoongi laughs. “I love what you did with them. They look awesome!”

“Great to be friends with the supplier, huh?” Namjoon grinned, elbowing Yoongi playfully.

“Yeah, yeah,” Yoongi answers wryly. “Only for you, Namjoonah.”

“Listen, I’d love to hang out and chat but there’s a lot of people here tonight. Lots of people to rub shoulders with, you know?”

“Aish, go ahead, man–it’s your night. I’ll be fine,” Yoongi smiles.

“Alright well, there’s an open bar set up in the patio and we’ve got people walking around with finger-foods. Just help yourself and have fun, yeah?”

After Namjoon walks away, Yoongi starts to walk deeper into the building and sees doors leading to an outdoor area to where a makeshift bar is set up. While he waits for the bartender to bring him his drink, he turns around to admire his friend’s place once more.

It had been a while since Yoongi had gone out on a weekend–by choice. He mostly preferred to stay in and be a recluse or occupy his time by working.

“Sir, your drink?”

Yoongi turns back toward the bar to take his beer. “Thanks,” he nods at the bartender, then drops a dollar in the tip jar.

As he starts to turn and walk away, he pauses while his vision lands on one corner, next to one of the multiple mobile sculptures installed in the space.

He watched from a distance as you carefully gazed at the exhibit, trying to find some deeper meaning or metaphor that it was trying to convey. Once you were ready to move onto another section of the gallery, your breath catches–and your eyes lock.

Then...

“Dude, where the hell are you? I’ve been waiting for over an hour,” Yoongi grumbled while he stood in a quiet corner to make a call. He’d been at the bar waiting for his friend, Namjoon to show up. It’s been a stressful week for him at work and he wanted to unwind and have a few drinks.

“Sorry, Yoongi. I sort of…ran into someone and now we’re talking about heading to her place–”

“Her?” Yoongi repeated, “Wha–you already hooked up with some chick?”

“I mean, I don’t know how it will turn out yet, Yoongi,” he chuckled on the other line. “We’re just talking. But if you want, I can still meet you? It’s just going to take me a little while,” Namjoon sputtered.

Yoongi groaned, knowing full well that once Namjoon had been roped in, it would be like trying to pull him out of quicksand. “You know what bro–just…don’t worry about it,” he concedes.

“A-are you sure? I could still–”

“It’s cool, Namjoonie. We’ll link up next time. Have a good night.” He signs off as sincerely as possible before hanging up.

Yoongi huffed, downed the rest of his beer then trudged back over to the bar. He motions to the bartender, who moved closer so he could place another drink order.

“Can I get a scotch, three fingers, no ice?”

******

It’s nearly 10:30 at night and you and your friend, Hyejin were still feeling the club’s vibe. It was a long weekend and you were intent on making a casual hookup or two.

“Anyway…we decided that things weren’t working out,” Hyejin shrugs. “We’re good though.”

You eyed her suspiciously. “Oh sure,” you say sarcastically, “Is that why you’re still fucking him?”

She giggled, clearly not planning on denying it. “I mean, he’s a nice guy and we started out as fuck-buddies…” she trailed off.

You rolled your eyes. “You need to start setting better boundaries, girl,” you say before taking a sip of your drink.

She shrugged, “I’m just living life. You should try it sometime!”

After you snort at her comment, she nudges your arm, bobbing her head toward the bar’s direction. “He looks yummy,” she remarks. You turn your head and made a quick assessment of the lonely patron she was gesturing at.

To your surprise, he turns his head in your direction. You met his gaze for a brief moment before he hastily turned away.

“He’s hot but a little too broody-looking,” you say dismissively even though you felt a flutter in the pit of your belly.

“So? You know what they say about those quiet, broody types…” Hyejin leans into your ear and whispers, “They’re freaks in the sheets!”

Your eyebrows knitted comically at her. “Who the hell said that?”

She clicked her teeth. “Me, duh!” She threw her head back in laughter, the music drowning out her drunken cackles. “Go get him–or I will,” she threatens.

Just then, he glances in your direction once more. But he’s unnerved by you and Hyejin staring straight at him so he turns away and looks down at his phone screen instead.

“I think he looked at me,” Hyejin said.

“Shut up, he looked at me!”

“You said he was too broody–”

“That didn’t mean that I was disinterested,” you cocked a warning eyebrow at her..

She laughed. “Well, what are you waiting for?” She dared.

You started to back away from her and grinned. “Slow your roll, babe…I’m going!”

You turned away from her and walked up to your target, his shoulders hunched over while he scrolled through his phone and alternately took a sip of his drink.

You ordered yourself a cocktail even though you technically already had one that you conveniently left behind where you previously stood.

You parked yourself on the seat next to him, pretending to scroll through your own phone while you gather up the courage. You see him from your peripheral view sneaking more glances at you.

When the bartender brings you your drink, the hottie to your left speaks out.

“Put her drink on my tab.”

The bartender’s eyebrow quirked. He looked at you then back at him. He gave him a small smile, nodded in acknowledgment, and walked away. You took it as your cue to finally start a conversation.

“Thanks, that’s nice of you,” you said, swiveling your seat in his direction, crossing your leg over the other.

“You’re welcome.”

The bartender serves your drink. As you pick it up, you raised your glass toward him. “Geonbae.”

“Geonbae,” he says as he raised his glass to tap it against yours.

After you both take a sip, you ask him straight away, “Are you here with anybody?” You were not wasting any more precious time.

“Well, I was waiting for a friend but he ditched me so I’m on my own tonight.”

“Oh no,” you feigned regret. “I hope you don’t mind if I keep you company for a bit? It’s the least I can do to thank you for this drink.”

Your boldness made him smile. “I’m Yoongi.”

“Nice to meet you, Yoongi. I’m YN.” He reached out for a handshake but you gave him a hug instead. It takes him by surprise but it’s a welcome one.

******

“So, you build furniture?”

“Yep. I design them and I build them,” he explains while you scroll through his company’s social media page.

“By yourself?”

He laughed. “Sometimes, if I can’t find reliable help,” he remarks, his laugh growing louder. “I mean, I do the designs by myself but I usually have a team who helps me with the production and assembly. I have my own workshop.”

“Wow,” you marveled and continued to scroll through his feed. “Your work is really good–and unique!”

“Thank you. I work with a lot of local suppliers–small businesses as well, like mine. It’s a great community,” he explains. “And by the way, your work looks great, too,” he says while he scrolls through your own social media feed.

“Oh, gosh–most of my moodboards are from random Pinterest concepts,” you respond.

“Ehh…I think you’re being too modest.” He zeroes in on a recent contract–one that you were really proud of. It was for a local restaurant chain that used to have a bland color palette and aesthetic until they hired you to liven it up for their first location expansion. Three locations later, they’ve been one of your most lucrative clients.

“You have a great eye,” he says before handing your phone back to you. You smile at his compliment while you return his phone.

“If you think my work is good, we should get together sometime.”

His eyebrow quirks at your remark, but he holds back his response thinking you might have misspoken. You smile at him and after taking a sip of your drink you say, “You know, I’m always looking into connecting with new vendors to partner with.”

He chuckled. “You think we can be partners?”

“Why not? I see a lot of potential for us. I work in design and you are a potential supplier...what’s the worst that can happen?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Our visions might not line up,” he responds with a hint of doubt.

You shrug. “Ever heard of compromising?”

He chuckled softly. “My work tends to come off too old-fashioned to some. It takes a different kind of audience.”

“So? Sometimes all it takes is a dash of old-fashioned,” you smile, raising your glass containing the same drink.

“Really?”

You lift a shoulder. “You need a little bitterness to balance the sweetness out.” You giggle at the cheesiness of that line.

“Point taken,” he says with a gummy smile, holding back his laughter.

******

The last thing you remember was Yoongi asking if you wanted to go to his place or yours–before everything went dark.

Your eyes flicker up to the ceiling.

As you adjust to the brightness of the room, you instinctively reach over by the nightstand to retrieve your phone to check for the time. It was a quarter past 8AM…and you were home…alone, as it seems when your head whips around to see the other side empty.

What happened?

You slowly pad your way into your living room. Maybe he was just trying to be polite and crashed on the couch.

Except, he wasn’t.

Did he just drop you off and leave? You clutch at your throbbing forehead. I’m getting too old for this shit, you thought to yourself. Still, you were worried about what happened to Yoongi.

You pull his number from your phone–at least, you think that you have his number.

“Aha,” you gasped when you find his name in your contacts list.

You realized it might still be too early but you thought you could just give him a call and leave him a voicemail just to make sure that he got home safely.

You open up your blinds to let get some more daylight in the room. By some twisted way, you found that it helped with your hangover.

While the other line trills, something catches your eye when you look out the window.

“Oh shit–” you say under your breath.

******

You approach his car and unsure whether to knock or let him be. He looked exhausted but you couldn’t just leave him out here.

You tapped your knuckles against the window and he immediately flinched. He looks around, seemingly surprised at his surroundings until his eyes land on you.

You gesture to open his door. When he does, you ask him, “Good morning. Would you like to come in for some coffee?”

******

He declines at first but you managed to convince him to come in. After a few sips of coffee, he insisted on cooking you breakfast.

You hadn’t gone grocery shopping yet and didn’t have much in your fridge except for some eggs and cheese. You had a couple of slices of bread in the pantry so he makes the most out of it. He is appreciative of the effort and continues to tell you that you didn’t need to go out of your way.

“So, do you always make breakfast for girls you pick up from the club?” You joke.

“Not really,” he laughs. “I also don’t fall asleep in my car after I’ve dropped them off.”

“You know you were welcome to sleep on the bed or the couch,” you say casually. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

“Nah, you were passed out and I didn’t want you to think that I was taking advantage of the situation or anything like that,” he reasons.

You smiled at how respectful and thoughtful he was. “I appreciate that. And…thank you for bringing me home.”

“You’re welcome.”

******

Days later...

“Bro, are you sure you can meet the deadline?”

Yoongi glanced at Namjoon, then scratched the back of his neck to think before he gave him an answer. He was feeling stressed with this client because they were fussy about the design. It took at least a dozen iterations of the collection before they finally approved it.

The deadline was fast approaching and Yoongi had fallen behind with the work. He’d have to pay his guys overtime and maybe even work on some of the pieces himself in the evenings to cover more ground.

“Tell them not to worry. Besides, when have I ever missed a delivery date for them?” Yoongi walks away and back into the workshop to check on how the other projects were progressing.

Namjoon nodded at Yoongi’s logic. No matter how stressful it got for him, Yoongi always managed to deliver the goods, and clients were satisfied each and every time. ”Alright, I’ll let them know.” He types a text to the client and sends Yoongi’s response.

After sending it off, he turns his attention back to Yoongi. “Hey, so–how’d you make out last weekend? Are we cool?”

The question seems to take Yoongi by surprise. “Huh? Why wouldn’t we be?”

Namjoon laughed. “Bro, this is me apologizing for abandoning you for a girl.”

“Oh.” Yoongi suddenly recalls the events leading up to how the night ended. “Uhm–nah, we’re cool. Besides, I did just fine,” he adds casually.

His friend’s mouth spread into a Cheshire cat grin. “Oof–you hooked up, didn’t you?”

Yoongi’s face scrunched in confusion. “Naaww…”

His laughter boomed from his chest. “Bro, I know you’re lying! Lemme see! Is she on social media?”

Yoongi clicked his teeth and groaned. “It wasn’t even like that.”

“So you did meet someone!”

He sighed, exasperated with his friend’s teasing. “Fine, I did. But nothing happened! We just hung out and I took her home.”

Unconvinced, Namjoon’s voice rose a few octaves. ”Whaaatt? Wait–so this the first girl you’ve hooked up with since–”

Yoongi waved his hand in mid-air to stop Namjoon from finishing his thought. “For the last time–she and I did not hook up,” he clarifies firmly. “We just had a nice conversation over a few drinks. Then I drove her back to her place…where I made her breakfast.”

Namjoon doubles over in laughter. “And you’re telling me that nothing happened?”

“Swear to god! After giving me her address, she fell asleep on the way there and I just carried her in. I slept in my car.”

“Wow…” Namjoon breathes out. “Look at you being all chivalrous!”

Yoong snorted at the comment.

“So–are you gonna see her again or what?”

Before he could answer, Namjoon’s phone buzzed with a text from their client. He reads the message to Yoongi. “She asked if you can squeeze in a prototype for barstools?”

“Aish,” Yoongi says under his breath. “I mean…that technically wasn’t even…” he stops short. Instead of arguing, he drags out a sigh and relents. “You know what, fine. Tell her I’ll include it and bill her later.”

Namjoon types up Yoongi’s response, to which the client replies almost instantaneously. “Is he absolutely sure?” He read the text out loud, a wry look on his face.

Yoongi looked up at his friend and let out a grunt of annoyance. “Just fucking tell her ‘yes’.”

Namjoon nods and sends the response again. “I don’t know why I need to be your middleman here–”

“Well, you brokered this deal. And from the jump, they preferred to communicate this way, so…” he trailed off. After ensuring some quality control on his employee’s work, Yoongi walks back into his living space and flops himself onto the sofa. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Namjoon walks toward his friend and sits on the adjacent seat. “Is that really all there is to it?” His voice had a hint of concern and worry for his friend.

Yoongi turned his head and opened one eye to look at him.

“It’s been over a year. She’s moved on–”

“Clearly,” Yoongi deadpanned before closing his eye again.

Namjoon shifted uncomfortably and scratched the back of his neck. “Well…aren’t you back in the dating scene? Can’t we all be grownups here?”

He let out a deep sigh, then opened his eyes again to dig his phone out of his back pocket. He didn’t think Namjoon’s question required an answer so he just scrolls through his screen.

Talking about his past relationship was a sore subject…even for Yoongi, whom his other friends thought to be typically aloof about these kinds of things. But sometimes, whatever one showed on the outside actually ran much deeper on the inside.

Shrugging, Namjoon takes Yoongi’s reticence as his cue to leave.

When the door shuts, Yoongi pauses his scrolling through his social media feed as his vision lands on a particular post. Damn algorithms got him again. He clicks on the account’s page and follows it.

Next, he types up a message and then hits ‘send.’

******

After work, you head over to a pub close to your office. You offered to meet Yoongi halfway from wherever he was coming from but said that he was happy to head over closer to where you were at.

He was already at the bar when you walked in, looking more relaxed than when you first saw him over the weekend. You weren’t much for guys with long hair but something about his hair being pulled back in a half-up/half-down bun became a contributing factor that held your attention.

You greet him with a hug, which he reciprocates. He asks what you want to drink. You glance at his whisky and decide to order an old-fashioned.

“You know, when you texted me this afternoon, I was a little surprised.”

“And why’s that?” He asks you.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t sure if you thought our night ended kind of weird.” You sat on the stool next to him, your legs crossed in his direction while you turned your glass on the bar’s surface with your fingers.

He laughed. “I’ll admit, I don't remember having a night like that…ever, I think?” Your eyes drift to his fingers that dance over the rim of his glass of whisky.

“Is that because you always score?”

He caught his lower lip with his teeth and inhaled. “I’ll tell you right now, if my best friend were here, he’d already fallen off his chair laughing.”

His comment made your eyebrows lift in surprise. You both took sips of your drinks. After you swallow, you ask, “On that note, how many serious relationships have you had?”

He nearly chokes on his drink, laughing awkwardly. “Oh, we’re at that level of comfort now?”

You lifted a shoulder. “Seemed like the conversation was headed there anyway. Might as well get there sooner!”

He laughs, then pauses to consider his answer. “I’ve had one.”

“One? That’s it?” You were incredulous. You found him attractive–and not in a novel way. He spoke calmly and even sagely at times. A good conversation these days was rare and often overlooked or easily forgotten. But he was someone you enjoyed talking to...and someone you hadn’t been able to get out of your mind in the last few days.

“Yeah. Just the one,” he replies.

“Wow…”

“Yep. We were going to get married and everything. But,” he let out a sharp breath, “She changed her mind.” He sighed, picked up his glass, and swirled the liquid in it. “She broke it off the day before…told me she couldn’t go through with it.”

You watched him throw his head back and polish off the rest of his drink. Your heart hurts for him and you didn’t have a smartass joke to say to lighten the mood.

“Anyway!” He sighed deeply, desperate for a subject change. “That was a long time ago. It’s all done and over with. She’s off doing her own thing, I’m doing mine. What about you? How many serious relationships have you been in?”

“Nine.”

His eyes widened. “Nine? Those were all serious?” He asks carefully.

“Yes,” you say confidently. “Why is that hard for you to believe?”

He scoffed. “I mean…you don’t look that old and you’ve been in nine serious relationships?”

“What does my age have to do with it?” You laughed.

“Well…usually, relationships span years–”

“That’s what you think,” you countered. “You think that in order for a relationship to be considered serious is the amount of time you’ve been with that person. I mean, couldn’t it just be the depth of connection with that person?”

That stopped him in his tracks. He let that thought sink in, then nodded gently. Meanwhile, you’re watching his facial expressions–the wheels turning in his head.

“I can still feel you silently judging me,” you chuckle.

“I’m not,” he says simply. “I’m certainly in no place to judge. You’re an adult, free to make your own choices. Besides, we’ve only just met.”

You smiled. “Fair point.”

“Although…I’m curious, if you don’t mind me asking.”

You shook your head and prompted him to continue.

“Out of all of those relationships, which one was your worst heartbreak?”

“Damn!” You laughed. “And here you are questioning whether we’ve known each other long enough to discuss these things?”

You both laugh at the thought. When you calm down, he says, “Touché. I was just curious, that’s all. You don’t have to answer.”

“It’s fine, I’ll answer.” You downed the rest of your drink and turned your attention back to him. “The one that really did a number on me was my last relationship. We were together for about six months…” You paused to clear your throat, “until I found out that he was married.”

“Married? So you were someone’s mistress?”

“Unknowingly!” You contest. “Besides, I ended it as soon as I found out. I didn’t want to get tangled up in all that.” You winced at the memory. Not your finest moment but since then, you tried to be more vigilant about red flags.

“Well, like I said–it’s all in the past, right? The point is, we both got our hearts broken. End of story.”

You nodded in agreement before he switches gears. “Don’t you ever get scared?”

“Scared of what?”

“Repeating the whole process. You know, as someone who’s been in all of these relationships…don’t you ever get tired of starting from scratch every time? The whole getting to know each other, falling in love…then being faced with the possibility of things not working out.”

“I wonder about people who are afraid to put themselves out there again after getting hurt by love. I really don’t get that,” you say in jest.

He shrugs. “Who likes getting hurt? That’s not something rational people consciously wish for themselves.”

You sighed wistfully at the thought. “You know, I never understood why some people think of it that way. You know, trying to rationalize falling in love. Isn’t that counterintuitive? Love in itself is all about being spontaneous, irrational…reckless, even. The feeling of being completely wrapped up in the emotion and the moment–all because of one person. That includes all the fear, uncertainties…even the possibility of getting hurt. The experience of love isn’t complete without all that.”

He chuckled with his gummy grin. “Sounds like a huge gamble to me.”

“But if you never take that gamble, how will you ever experience the joy of winning big? How would you ever know what your heart is capable of taking if you’re always afraid of losing?”

He eyed you for a few seconds, letting your words sink in. “So you’re telling me that you’re willing to go through what could possibly be twice the amount of hurt–just to fall in love again?”

“Absolutely!” You declared with confidence.

You took another sip of your drink, then looked him straight in the eye. “I mean…you’re not thinking of hurting me, are you?” You ask him cheekily.

His eyebrow quirked in response. “Y-you’re asking me?” He chuckled nervously.

“Calm down! It’s just a rhetorical question,” you giggled.

You both laugh it off. Afterward, he pursed his lips and eyed you again. “But just so we’re clear…I don’t plan on it.”

His answer made your heart skip. You didn’t have any smart-ass quips to lob back at him.

After what seems to be an eternity of staring at each other in tense silence, he asks, “Do you wanna get out of here?”

******

He showed you around his modest place, where he had a full and, judging by the fresh sawdust on the tables, actively functional workshop. It was attached to a one-bedroom living space with a kitchen, a cozy living room, and a full bathroom. But by your assessment, it looked more like the living space was attached to the workshop.

“You sleep where you work?” You ask while looking at the work surface next to you.

He notices you looking at it so he leans over to swipe the sawdust off the table. “I didn’t see the point of going back and forth between places.”

“Yeah but it must be hard to live where you work and work where you live?”

He chuckles. “On the contrary, it’s more convenient for me. When I’m tired, I just lay on the couch. If I have trouble sleeping, I just come over here and tinker with stuff.”

You eyed him silently as he stood over the table, his hands spread wide while he supported his weight on them.

“I don’t know if I can do that. I need clear boundaries.”

“Don’t you bring work home from time to time?”

You shrugged. “Sometimes, if I’m on a tight schedule. But I try not to do it if I can help it. I prefer the idea of drawing that line where, once I walk out that door, that’s it. I’ll come back to it in the morning. Once I’m off work, I’m off work.”

He hummed. “That’s fair.”

You carefully move a small container of wood stain to the side then hop up on the table. After giving his studio another once-over, you turn your attention to him.

“What are you currently working on?”

He seems hesitant at first but decides to share a little bit. “I’m…trying to create a prototype for this light fixture,” he says vaguely.

“Really? Can I see?”

He chuckles, then paused to check if you were actually serious about looking at his designs. When your expression remained unchanged, he decides to reach past you to pull his sketchbook toward him. He flips through a few pages until he lands on a specific one.

The page has a rough sketch of a multi-tiered looking chandelier with what looked like wooden fringes, instead of what would typically be glass or crystal.

“So, I’m trying to focus on more natural materials like rattan, bamboo…I don’t know, maybe my friend, Namjoon, has been hanging around my studio too much,” he says in jest.

Your fingers brush the pencil lines on the page. His ideas were beautiful. They were modern yet had an old-world feel to them. His pieces didn’t look like something that was mass-produced. Each one had its own personality but all of them were crafted with artisanal care.

“You think you could work with these?” He asks quietly, his face an inch away from you.

“Oh, definitely,” you smiled. “My mind’s already buzzing with ideas.”

He looks down from your eyes to your mouth…then back up to your eyes again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whisper then take in his scent. “You smell nice. What is that?”

“Uhm, I don’t know…pine?” He answers before you close the gap between you to kiss him. You taste faint traces of whisky and citrus flavors in his mouth. His lips were soft and melded into yours, making you sigh into him. His kiss was as calm and gentle as his usual demeanor.

He presses his body closer to yours, making you tilt backward on the work table, spilling the can of wood stain on you. You gasp, startled at the feel of it on the side of your leg, and hastily hop off the surface.

“Fuck…I’m so sorry,” he says.

“I-it’s okay,” you stammer, grabbing onto your dress to assess the damage.

“No, it’s not. I ruined your dress.”

“Yoongi, it’s okay,” you say nonchalantly. “I can take it to the cleaners…” You inspect the stain while he goes to grab a paper towel. Who were you kidding? This was varnish. The dress itself was cheap but it was beyond salvageable.

You looked up to see him hovering over you. “Or we could just take it off?”

With his breath fanning your face, you fist at his shirt and pull him into you again. This time, his lips didn’t feel tentative–they were more ardent…hungrier. He lifts you off the worktable and you both stagger out of the workshop and toward his living space. The closest comfortable surface was couch so he lowers you both there.

You reach back to lower the zipper of your dress while he pulls his shirt off. When he tosses it to the side, helps you undress the rest of the way through.

His fingers laced around the back of your neck urging you closer to him. He moved from your mouth down to your neck, gently sucking the skin on your collarbone.

You felt a gush of moisture soak through you…you let go of every ounce of control that you hung onto because were desperate for him now.

With one swift move, he unclasps your bra and moves his mouth to your chest while he lowered you further until your head hit the armrest.

Your breath hitches as he wraps his plush lips around an aching nipple. You swore right then that you’d orgasm from the feeling alone…but he was just getting started.

You reach between both of you and undo the button and zipper on his jeans, pushing them down.

He hooks his fingers onto your panties and you arch your back so he can slide them off. You were completely bare for him now, hypnotized by his desire for you at this moment.

You kept your eyes at him, unable to look away as pulls your legs apart and gave your inner thighs gentle kisses. He locked eyes with you and kept contact while you watched him sink his mouth onto your cleft.

You sucked in a harsh breath while he tongued you. You felt every lick and every suction of his mouth onto your moist, swollen lips.

Your walls clenched achingly at nothing while he continued to eat you out. Your breath began to stutter as you shamelessly bucked your hips against his mouth, desperate for a release.

You felt him dip two fingers into you…pulling them in and out lazily while his tongue fluttered over your clit.

Your body bowed when he alternated licking and sucking at your clit. It wasn’t long before your orgasm built up to a fever pitch. Your throat tightened, desperately trying to suck in air while your body tensed.

“Aaahh…gonna cum–fuck…”

You cried out hoarsely further as he got his last two licks in before you came down from your high. You were about to pass out from the pleasure when you saw him fish out a foil packet from his wallet.

You sat yourself up, meeting him halfway as he lined himself up between your thighs. You kissed him senselessly, your tongue fighting his for control.

Your mouth stilled as you felt him slowly enter you. You sucked in another breath while you felt that delicious stretch.

He urged you to lay back down while he pushed the rest of his length into you.

“Fuh…,” was all you managed to breathe out while your eyes rolled to the back of your head as shivers coursed through your body.

You looked back at him, a pained look on his face from how tight you were for him. You gave him a small nod of assurance to let him know that you were okay.

He started to move his hips slowly until he found a consistent rhythm.

He lowered himself further against your body and wrapped your leg around his waist. He thrusted in and out of you at a steady pace while your core tightened further around him along with another orgasm building up.

“Fuck, YN…feel so good,” he choked out in between breaths. He sealed his mouth onto yours, moaning in pleasure.

Your nails raked his back–from his shoulders and down to his hips that relentlessly railed into you.

“Fuck, don’t stop…don’t stop…” you gasped as you felt yourself edge closer to another orgasm.

Your muscles clenched around his cock while he repeatedly hit you deep into your core. You buck your hips into him, meeting him at every thrust while you both moan into each other’s mouths.

The next thing you knew, he had tipped you over the edge again.

His palms cup your ass, raising your hips to him. A few more thrusts and he was arching his back, pressing his forehead to yours as his own climax coursed through him.

The next morning, you wake up to the smell of coffee, that he brought to you, bedside.

******

After that night, you spent many more going back and forth between his place and yours.

You went about both your days but talked all the time. You always made time to see each other–he’d work around your schedule and you’d work around his. Things were going so well and stress-free.

You didn’t feel the need to change the way you were around him and neither did he. Everything just came naturally to both of you.

Some days, you were unaware of how much time you spent together. Some weekends, you would just laze around and never leave the room. It was bliss.

“Jagiii!” You yell out from his bedroom, hoping he’d hear from the loud, grinding noise of his industrial sander.

He turns the machine off, flips his visor up, and pulls his earplugs out. “Yeah?” he bellowed from his workshop.

“Could I just have five minutes for a phone call?”

He gestures to his workshop assistant, telling him that he can take a break. “Alright, we’ll take five!” he says.

“You’re the best! Love you!”

“You owe me,” he teases.

“Just put in on my tab, jagiya,” you tease back.

******

Weeks later, you finally signed a lease for your new condo. Yoongi was on hand to help you move and get settled. You’d gone back and forth your old place to pick up smaller things that you didn’t load up in the big truck. The most important things were your larger furniture anyway.

Yoongi was tinkering with the internet connection in the second bedroom while you stood quietly in the midst of the expansive space, surrounded by boxes. It was getting dark out but you hadn’t installed your blinds yet so the moonlight illuminated the room. You stared out the window and into the glittering city lights.

“Why are you standing out here in the dark?” Yoongi flicks the light switch on.

“No, no–turn it back off.” He does so tentatively. “Is everything okay?” He approaches you carefully from behind, wrapping his arms around you. You lean your head back against him and sighed. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you. Just…trying to take it all in as everything calms down again.”

“Are you tired?” He nuzzled his nose into your hair.

“Mm-hmm,” you nod.

“Yeah, I can smell the dried sweat from your forehead,” he says before you poke him in his side, making him laugh out loud.

“I’m kidding,” he smiles, grabbing onto your waist and turning you around to face him. “Are you happy?”

“I am.” You plant a soft kiss on his lips. “Thank you for helping me today.”

“Of course. Even if you didn’t ask me to, I still would have done it.”

“I know but this is a huge deal for me. After all these years of hard work, I’m finally upgrading my home.”

“That’s great. I’m very proud of you for doing that. And you know,” he glances past your shoulder and jerks his chin at your windows. “I can totally make you some custom blinds, too. None of that plastic, vinyl shit. I can use bamboo so it’s cooling but also great for insulation. Very sustainable, too.”

You giggled and kissed the tip of his nose. “Mmm…keep talking eco-friendly to me, Mr. Min…”

“Well…” he brushes his lips against yours, “If you like that, wait ‘til you hear about the reclaimed wood we’re using for this new commission.”

You threw your head back and moaned. “Ooh…yes…keep going.”

Chuckling, he dipped his head and leaves a trail of kisses down your exposed throat. “Why don’t we take this back in the bedroom and I can show you what else we can do with some wood.”

You start cackling at his comment and before you know it, he picks you up off your feet and you stumble into your room and stayed there until the sun came up.

Now…

In a panic, Yoongi heads to one corner of the gallery to search for his friend. “Namjoonah!”

Namjoon’s head whips around to see Yoongi headed for him. He excuses himself from the current conversation he was having. “Hey, Yoongi–”

Immediately, Yoongi pulls Namjoon right by the bathrooms to scold him. “Bro, that’s not cool. I wish you told me that YN was going to be here.”

“If I had told you, would you have come out tonight?”

Yoongi scoffed, “Of course, I still would have,” his voice went up a higher register, making Namjoon snicker. “I just…I wish you would have given me a warning so I could have been, I don’t know, better prepared!”

“Prepared for what? You guys have been broken up for years. Besides, you’ve always known that she and Hyejin are friends. You should have at least expected her to be here so I don’t know why you’re all bothered. Unless of course you not over her yet?”

Yoongi remains adamant. “Dude, of course, I’m over her! I just got caught off-guard, that’s all.”

“Are you sure you’re not still thinking about her?”

“Fuck no! Are you kidding? You know I can’t stand her! She’s too loud, a terrible cook…not to mention that she has way too much drama in her life.”

Namjoon snorted. “And you didn’t?”

Yoongi shakes his head dismissively. “Whatever, dude–I’m just not all about that. My new motto in life is to stay drama-free, you know?”

He gives Yoongi a skeptical smile. Just then, the bathroom door opens behind them.

The color from Yoongi’s face drains as he gets the shock of his life when he sees you emerge.

You stood there smirking while Namjoon and Yoongi exchanged looks.

“Uh, sorry, guys–I think I need to use the bathroom.” Namjoon says, stifling a laugh while he cuts in between you two and shuts the door.

Yoongi remained standing in awkward silence, trying to will the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“I thought you liked it when I was loud for you?” With that, you walk past him and disappear into the crowd.

Then…

“I can’t hear you, baby…come on…let me hear how good I make you feel.”

“Ahhh…f-fuck…” You cried out loudly, body stiffening, with your fingers grasping Yoongi’s hair at the roots while his tongue teases the last pulses of your orgasm.

“There you go…good girl.”

You and Yoongi were planning to have a quiet night in but Hyejin invites you out at the last minute, saying that you haven’t had a proper girls’ night in a while. Thinking about it now, it’s been over a month since you met up with her. Most of your nights were preoccupied with Yoongi these days.

When Yoongi couldn’t convince you to stay in, he asked if you needed a ride there and you decline, saying that Hyejin offered to pick you up.

When you stepped out of the room and he sees you in your outfit, a dark cloud overcomes him. He grabs you by the waist, lifts you onto the kitchen counter, and moving your panties aside, dives right in.

He helps you off the counter and you smooth your dress. You glance downwards and see the bulge in his pants.

“Hey, let me take care of that.” You reach out to cup him but he catches your hand and lifts it up to his lips to kiss it.

You’re suddenly torn between walking out the door and wanting to stay to suck him off…deep. The latter option sounded more appealing as you felt your mouth water at the thought of him fucking your mouth.

He pulls you in close and presses his hard-on against you. You let out a small whine of protest. His tongue grazed his lower lip before sinking his teeth into it.

He tutted. “Come home to me later and I’ll give you what you want.” His voice made it sound like a warning…a warning that you were tempted to ignore just to find out what he would do to you for ignoring it. The idea excited you so much that you felt heat pooling between your legs again.

“Are you sure? I still have a few minutes before I’m supposed to meet Hyejin,” you smile sweetly, your lips brushing against his jawline.

“I’m sure. Now go before I change my mind,” he says in jest.

“Okay,” you acquiesce.

Right before you walk away, he takes your mouth and kisses you hard. You couldn’t help but lick traces of your arousal from his lips.

When he pulls away, you are breathless and weak in the knees–more so after that orgasm that he gave you minutes ago.

******

You hadn’t noticed that Hyejin stopped mid-sentence to eye you as you giggled at your phone screen while you exchanged spicy texts with Yoongi. You finally look up and meet her gaze.

“What?”

“What do you mean ‘what’,” she says in a mocking tone. “I’ve been blabbing up a storm here and you’re all heart-eyes, drooling over your phone there.” She tilts her chin up to get a look at your text screen and you immediately pull it close to your chest.

She scoffed then laughed. “Oh my gooood…you are so whipped for him!”

You roll your eyes at her. “I am not!”

She laughed even louder at your response. “Oh come on, YN! How long have we been friends? I can tell whether you’re just feeling a buzz between your legs or if you’re really into someone. And right now, I know that you are so down bad for him,” she declares.

You feel your cheeks ignite. It wasn’t because of the alcohol but because you knew she was right.

You sighed in defeat. “Okay, fine! So we’re a little obsessed with each other, big deal.”

You started to gush over your relationship. “I just love how much he cares. He checks in, asking whether I’ve eaten yet. He cooks for me…then, he tells me when he misses me. It’s nice. It feels nice to feel needed, you know?”

Hyejin nods. “Well, that’s all because you guys are still in that honeymoon phase!”

You scoff, dipping your fingers into your glass and flicking droplets of cold water at her. “Bitch! You’re so negative!”

She throws her head back in laughter. “I’m kidding, babe! You know me. Seriously, I’m happy for you. Now…” she cleared her throat. “Does he have a single hot friend that you know of?”

******

The following weekend, you convince Yoongi to come with you on a walking tour of a museum exhibiting gothic renaissance art. You were looking for some inspiration for your next project. You saw an ad online and decided it couldn't hurt to go exploring for a bit. It was also a nice excuse to pull him away from his workshop.

“Uhh…” Yoongi croaks tentatively. “I don’t know exactly what it is we’re looking at,” he laughs while cocking his head from one side to the other, trying to decipher the exhibit in front of you.

“Neither do I, jagi,” you giggled, glancing at the museum brochure. “I don’t know, I’m just trying to get some inspiration for this restaurant revamp. They currently have this old western theme…which is strange because they serve pizza and pasta.”

Yoongi laughs. “That concept doesn’t even make sense!”

“I know! But the owner’s daughter is a bit more modern and she’s totally up for a theme change.” You’ve talked to Yoongi about this new contract for weeks now and it’s finally happening. He was excited to bounce ideas off you to the point where you pulled him in as a supplier for the rebrand.

Even though the daughter was pushing for a more modern twist, her father, the restaurant’s current owner, wants to keep some traces of that classic feel to it.

“So, no saloon doors?” Yoongi says sarcastically.

You threw your head back in laughter. “Definitely not! The daughter would fire me. I was thinking we can bring in your natural concepts with that wooden fringe chandelier sketch that you were working on.”

His hand linked with yours, bringing it up to his lips to kiss it, making you grin like a lovestruck teenage girl. “Sounds good to me.”

You walk out of the museum and stood on the sidewalk, intending to walk a block over to a theater, not to see a show but to look at the architecture. The theater had a classic art deco design that would come in handy for your moodboard. You convinced Yoongi to make it part of your chill date before heading back to your place for dinner.

As you approach the end of the block, you are nearly run over by a man pushing a stroller that rounded the corner.

“Hey, watch it,” Yoongi exclaims protectively.

“Oh, I’m sor–YN?”

You suck in a breath. “Soonyoung, h-hi.”

“Hey! Wow…it’s been a while. Uh…h-how’ve you been?” He asks.

“Uhm…g-good,” you stammer. “You?” Then your eyes flick nervously over to the stroller that had a sleeping baby in it. “Congratulations!”

“Thanks,” he smiled. “Uh–so–”

“Yeobo!”

You whip your head around to see a woman come out of the restaurant that you were standing in front of. She walked towards Soonyoung and the stroller.

“Hi,” she greets you and Yoongi, then turns to Soonyoung waiting for him to introduce her.

“This is my wife, Naeyeon. Yeobo, this is YN. She’s an old friend.” She smiles at you then her eyes shift to Yoongi.

Somehow, your brain lurches forward. “This is Yoongi,” you say to both of them while you stood across from them. “My boyfriend.”

“So great to meet you both!” She says with a warm smile.

“Anyway, we should go before we miss our reservation, Nae. It’s good to see you again, YN,” Soonyoung says in a hurry before he and his family walk around you and into the restaurant.

******

Since that awkward run-in with Soonyoung, Yoongi has been uncharacteristically short with you for the rest of the day.

When you get back to your place, he sets the grocery bags on the kitchen counter. Afterward, he picks up the to-go bags that contained your dinner.

You watched him quietly lay out the containers on your dining table, along with the disposable utensils, setting place settings for you and him.

He sits down and pulls his chopsticks apart. “We should eat before the food gets cold,” he says without looking up at you.

You wordlessly take the seat adjacent to him. He immediately puts a dumpling on your plate before he serves himself.

He pauses as if remembering something. He rose from his chair and moved toward the kitchen.

“Do you want a beer?”

“Just water is fine,” you answer blandly while staring at the lone dumpling on your plate.

He returns to the table, setting a glass of water next to you, and immediately takes a long swig of his drink after he sits back down.

He grabs so more food and puts it on his plate, pausing to offer you some but you decline. All this time, he still hasn’t made eye contact with you.

Unable to withstand it anymore, you push your plate aside to finally ask, “Something the matter?”

He doesn’t answer and instead continues to chew his food quietly.

You let out a frustrated sigh. “You’ve been acting weird all afternoon.”

He swallowed his food only to say, “Not now, YN.” He takes another bite.

You pursed your lips and gently press him again. “Look, if we have a problem here, we need to talk about it. We’re both adults here–”

“YN, I said, not now,” he says more sternly. Catching himself, he leans against the back of the chair, throwing his head back and rubbing his eyes. He regrets snapping at you. With a heavy sigh, he finally meets your gaze. “I’m sorry I…” he hesitates but finally gives into that nagging feeling in him. “Was that him?”

You give a small nod. “Yeah.”

“Fuck,” he says under his breath. “You should have introduced me as your boyfriend sooner!”

You scrunch your face in surprise. “Why does the timing even matter? The point was that I introduced you, right?”

His voice grew louder. “If you introduced me sooner, he'd take it as a sign not to make stupid small-talk or-or...even think about trying to start shit with you again!”

“Geez, Yoongi. Why would you even think like that? Clearly, the man was right there with his wife and kid. It was a short, very random run-in that will probably never happen again.” You maintained a calm tone.

“That’s what you think.”

“Excuse me?” You started to grow irate at how unreasonable he was starting to sound. “Yoongi–I’m with you, not him. I love you, not him. I don’t understand why we’re making a huge deal out of this!”

He stood there silently, his hands on his waist, nostrils flaring with every breath he took. The seconds tick by and before you try to reason with him, he huffs and walks into the bedroom, the door slamming.

*****

After you store the takeout containers in the fridge, you enter the bedroom to find him lying on the bed with his back toward you. He doesn’t turn to face you or say anything so instead, you shower and get changed. When you get under the covers, you turn on your side so you faced the opposite direction.

A few minutes of silence and staring at your nightstand, you hear him let out a deep sigh before speaking. “I’m sorry for acting the way I did earlier.”

His apology pinches your chest but you keep your back toward him. “You know, just because I hooked up with a married man before doesn’t mean that I’m itching to do it again. So I froze when I saw Soonyoung, but that’s only because I hadn’t seen him since I broke it off and to add to that, his wife was right there. What did you expect me to do?”

“I know, I’m sorry. I got jealous and–I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking.”

It was then that you rolled over to face him.

“Look…I made a stupid mistake a while ago but as soon as I was aware of it, I walked away and I grew from that. I thought that my being completely honest with you from the very beginning was a way to build trust between us…and that I had nothing to hide. But…” Your voice started to waver, “If you’re only going to use that against me, then I don’t think–”

“No, no–” He engulfs you in his arms immediately. As the warmth emanating from his body coursed through you, you couldn’t help but cry into his chest.

“Aw, baby…I’m sorry. I love you. I won’t question that again. And I do appreciate your honesty.”

You lifted your head and tilted your chin up to him. “I love you, too, Yoongi.”

There was nothing you could do to change the past but as he rocked you to sleep, you wondered if you were right to be open and honest with him from the beginning …or was it a careless mistake? Should you have put your best foot forward first and pretended to be perfect instead?

At your age, you learned that being up-front with your relationship expectations prevented less hurt if things went south. If either party decides that any of those expectations was a dealbreaker, you moved on, and no harm was done.

You only hoped that Yoongi felt the same.

Tags: @internetjunkdrawer @itdoesntmatterwhy @yoongukie-ff @deepseavibez @miksancheese @shesoldbutcute @yu-justme @joonschocochip

Part 2 ◥ | Main Fic Masterlist

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#bts fanfiction #yoongi #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #yoongi angst #yoongi smut #bts smut #bts angst #bts min yoongi #bts yoongi #myg angst #myg smut #stalemate x myg

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sara-wishes · 11 months

Text

S8er boi. - 여상

Skater!Yeosang x Female!Reader

genre: fluff, enemy to lovers.

warnings: rude y/n (only at the beginning), poor skater vocabulary, mention of scratches, a swear word (?), sorry not sorry but studying biology sucks, angelic yeo.

word count: 3.3k

now listening to: S8er boi by Avril Lavigne

a/n: happy birthday to yeosang! if you enjoy this work, pls consider reblogging :D also, i added everyone who interacted with my previous post for this fanfic to the taglist, since I changed the requirement after posting it.

The headache was already present in your system.

You couldn’t tell if it was from having locked yourself up five hours ago to study non-stop, or from the noisy and irritating rolling of skate wheels.

The culprit to blame for the incessant clattering, none other than Yeosang.

The boy next door, who had accompanied you all throughout your life, as your neighbor and as your classmate. Not that you knew much about him or you shared an irreplaceable bond with him. You were acquaintances, who had talked to each other from time to time. And perhaps, just perhaps, you had developed the smallest, tiniest and insignificant crush over the greek sculptured boy.

Nonetheless, if someone were to ask you about your opinion on him, of course, you would retort that he is to you nothing more, but an endless nuisance, and that you considered him to be the ultimate archenemy of all your grades.

Although he indeed was ‘the boy next door’ for you, he liked being referred to as the ‘skater boy next door’. Who was too passionate about skating, to ever stop trying new tricks, right under where your window happened to be located. The only parchment of the street he had deemed good enough to practice on. Unfortunately, summer was nearing your town, and the luxury of keeping the window shut was not one which you could afford indulging in.

So, you were stuck with the bothersome rumbling of plastic over concrete.

The hours of studying were finally getting to you. As the diligent student you were, you had been bottled up inside your room. Reading, memorizing and hammering into your brain your biology sessions, hating every single moment of the five hours in a row, in which you had been torturing yourself. The fog in your mind didn’t make it any easier to keep going.

You were officially burned out. No other time like before your finals to reach your human limitations. But still, even if you were incredibly bothered by this fact, you tried to blankly read and re-read the now familiar pages of the book, making this your last, desperate attempt.

Regardless of your tries, you were slowly getting more irritated at your inability, after 20 minutes of useless staring at a filled notebook, letting your nerves get the better of you. The annoying hobby of the previously ignored boy, finally affecting you too negatively to restrain yourself. Blinded by your powerless state, you were even convinced he was doing it just to spite you and you were putting an end to at least one of your impediments.

While you took your time to angrily load with irritation each of your moments as you got up from your seat at your desk, you pondered that, maybe, you shouldn’t be letting your pent up anger out on the skater boy, but you were too tired and done for to take a moment to think things through.

Leaning your head out the window, and waiting for your vision to adjust to the sunlight, your target became distinguishable. The blonde, unaware of your eyes on him, still practicing his tricks.

“Hey, you! Could you stop for three minutes? People are trying to study here!”

The innocent boy looked up at you with big maltese eyes, startled at the unexpected voice coming from above his position. ‘Fantastic.’ Now you didn’t only feel miserable with yourself, but guilty at having called out the boy’s harmless doings. Perhaps this enmity was one sided after all.

“Sorry, am I making too much noise?” He shyly and politely asked you.

“Well… Yeah.” You honestly felt like a Karen, complaining to a manager over the incorrect order in a restaurant.

“Oh, sorry…, again. Y/N right?” His voice got smaller at your glare and his form shrunk at your tone, making you feel as if you were kicking a puppy. At this thought, you scoffed out loud, making the boy tilt his head naively. You really were the villain in this story, huh?

Coming back from your cloud, after self deprecating just a little more for the day, you nodded at his question, actually surprised at his knowledge of your name.

Without a doubt the most beautiful guy in the world remembered your name, the name of the most basic and common girl to ever grace the earth. You sure felt kind of special at this. A silly thought and sentiment, but you had had enough pestering all day to not take the indirect compliment.

You really were regretting having ever complained to him. And even though you couldn't even blame the blonde anymore as hard as you tried, he continued explaining himself.

“I figured you would stop studying at some point of the day.” His deep timbre conjured his sentence, with no malice or offensive intent.

Oh. Oh. So you were the stupid girl who was feeling remorse over your actions, and he was getting cocky? The anger that had slightly subsided, arose once again even stronger than before. At least that was how you were taking that incredibly blunt statement. The patience left in you taunted by it, made you want to go down to the alley and break that damned skate of his.

“Well Yeosang, I figured you would stop skating at some point of the day.” You’d give him back a taste of his own medicine.

At that, the blonde shut up and stood still, just blankly staring at you. And even if you thought he had never looked as handsome before, not his visuals nor his damaged puppy face would make you forget how pissed you were at him right now. Tired of his silence, you decided to finish the job.

“Are you gonna’ stop or do I have to go down there and break that thing in half?” You bitterly made him snap out of it, using your head to gesture to the bored skate that he carried in his hand.

“Hey, h-hey, I’ll stop, don’t be like that.” He rushedly assured you.

“Thought so.”

With that, you retreated back into your room. Back to studying, to pretending not to be worn out from all the pressure, time and dedication you put into it.

At least, that was your plan. As soon as you tried to duck back indoors, you heard Yeosang’s angelic voice call you out (was every single thing about him just angelic and otherworldly?).

“Wait! Wait! Please.”

Annoyed out of your skin and huffing, you decided to indulge the skater just this time.

“What.” More than as a question, it came out as a statement, only adding to the furious rudeness.

“Why don’t you come down?” He timidly suggested.

“So you can make me lose more of my time? No, thank you.” Was your retort, sarcasm dripping from every word. He must be losing it if he thought he had a shot at convincing you.

“No.. It’s just- you can't spend all day cooped up inside. It isn’t healthy. Besides, I’m sure you’re burned out from all that hard work. A bit of fresh air and skating can do you no wrong.”

Taken aback from his honest and sincere worry, instead of answering back with a witty remark, you let yourself ease a bit into the conversation. You were getting tired from all the tension and anger that were in no way helping your headache. Maybe he did have a shot at convincing you. So you could only think that, maybe, he was more observant than the rest of his friends gave him credit for, and found his realization of your state admirable.

“You noticed.” Answering with a calmer voice, the frown that had adorned your face for the entirety of the word exchange, now gone. However, even at your more relaxed state, he still felt the need to be watchful and careful of his wording, cautious as to not let his previous mistakes repeat.

“Don’t take it the wrong way but, you’re usually so kind with me and my friends. Even if just from passing. It just didn’t seem like you were the one speaking right now.”

Perplexed at his statement, you allowed yourself to drift from the conversation to your own head, leaving the boy hanging.

He… noticed you? Not only that, but he thought you were kind? You couldn’t believe what he was saying. He was the kind one. One of the kindest souls you had encountered. He was the one dealing with a pissed-off neighbor incredibly politely and with the grace of a swan. You were the one who should be praising him and awarding his kindness.

Yeosang was like a sun, always making sure his friends shined as much as him and no one felt out of place or kept out of the loop. You were not stalking him or anything of the sort, but everyone who knew just a bit about Yeosang, was aware of how far he’d go to make sure his friends and close ones felt appreciated. He was the definition of kindness. So much so, that just with that comment he had managed to lift your spirits quicker than you could’ve ever imagined. Just like the work of magic.

Remembering you were still in a conversation with the boy in question -who, at your unresponsiveness had begun fiddling with the ends of his board-, you answered his previous question.

“Okay.”

“O-okay?”

“You notice me being worn out from class, but you can’t tell what I’m talking about? You still are as oblivious as always, Sangie.” Maybe you were being too cruel on the poor clueless boy. Maybe you were taking too many liberties and speaking too casually to the one you only shared the same classroom and apartment block with. Maybe. But you were feeling happier thanks to him, and maybe you were in to have a little fun, after looking at your biology book for about 3 hours straight with a blank mind and no results.

After having decided for the more enjoyable choice, you retreated back into your bedroom. You closed the damned book with a slam, turned off your heated up monitor and without even grabbing your keys, you sprinted down the stairs of your apartment and hopped over the side of the road Yeosang was calmly waiting for you.

“So, what do you suggest?” You expectantly blinked at his form.

Abruptly and out of nowhere, he began chuckling adorably at your sudden enthusiasm and outburst of energy. At this, you couldn’t contain your own smile, not that you were trying to. It was amazing how fast he had been able to lift your mood. Partly to how honest and good-natured his words had been, as insignificant they could seem to any other, they weren't to you. And partly to you taking a moment to assess how childish and simple-minded your previous attitude at the boy had been.

When he finally took a breath after his fit of adorable chuckles -which made his smile smaller and all the cuter-, he let out his thoughts and the reason as to why he had felt the sudden humor. “You’re eager.”

“Yes! Now teach me how to skate!” Even if your crankiness was gone, your mindset was difficult to get rid of. The stubbornness of getting things right when you dedicate yourself to them and the ‘don’t lose your time’ attitude you always wore on your sleeve, were also present now, when your current fixation was learning how to skate with Yeosang’s guidance.

The sun was setting, but now seemed like the perfect instance to try and successfully ride without scraping your knees. You felt confident, after all, how difficult could rolling on top of a skate be? Maybe after you got the hang of maneuvering around with it, you would even go and try some simple tricks.

Although you felt hesitant at first, since you believed to be skillful enough to manage without it, Yeosang convinced you to let him show you a bit of the theory involving skating. How to position your knees, where to stand on the board, how to turn and push yourself easier…, the basics.

Thanks to Yeosang, you learned all the theory needed (Not much, thanks to god, otherwise you would’ve already passed out from all the ‘studying’.)

“Okay, now you ride it.” Without hesitation, you jumped on the board, avoiding Yeosang’s helping hands to get on top of it. You felt optimistic enough to slide across the street without the boy’s help. It could not be that difficult.

That’s what you thought at first.

Going on a straight line was the easy part. You forwarded your body with the help of your foot, managing to beeline towards your initial destination for the most part.

When the moment to turn arrived, is when things started to go south. Not only were you unable to properly direct the board to take on the curve, but the momentum of the previous linear movement wasn’t helping either.

The stiffness of the board threw you off balance and made you lose your footing. Before you could even realize what was happening, you were barreling towards the floor.

From your position, facing the other side of the street, you couldn’t see Yeosang, but you heard his gasp as you fell.

Planting your hands in the ground, you stupidly fell over them, your knees also taking the impact and scraping themselves in the process.

“Y/N!” Yeosang shouted for you, running to your aid.

“Ow…oww…” You whined at the painful scratches. Yeosang skidded across the pavement, not caring about damaging his pants or his own knees.

“Are you okay?!” He worriedly questioned your state, kneeling to your level.

“Yeah, yes- I just hurt myself a little. I’m okay.” Brushing off the dust and dirt from your knees, you reassured him you were fine, just a minor wound. Regardless, he took out of his back pocket a box of Peppa Pig bandaids, selecting a few of his liking. Incredulous, you stared at him.

“Are those for me?”

“Yeah, we can’t let it get infected. Who do you prefer, George Pig or Pedro Pony?” Not believing your eyes, this time you were the one to start chuckling. He could be so childish and so mature at the same time. Yeosang was truly a wild ride. But, obviously, you had an evident answer to his question.

“Pedro Pony, of course. He's my hero.” At your confident answer, Yeosang did not hesitate another second and proceeded to take his water bottle -that had been waiting by a corner on the alley-, pouring a good amount of the liquid over your wounds and patting down the excess with a tissue. The Pedro Pony bandaids coming next. After securing them on your skin, he got up and lent you a hand to help you off the ground.

“Thank you. I really thought I got it.” You sheepishly broke the comfortable silence.

“Don’t worry, it happens to everyone. But, I have an idea. Do you trust me?” He looked at you through his lashes, standing just a few centimeters away from you.

For a moment, you pondered. This was the longest amount of time you had talked to him ever before. Sure, you did kind of fancy the boy, but maybe you could take the opportunity to tease him a little. Either way, he had made you feel incredibly comfortable in record time, giving you the opportunity to run away from your duties just when you most needed it. You could honestly say, you trusted him to teach you skating, and a bit more than just that.

“Sure.” When your answer came out as positive, he smiled brightly. Almost blindingly. Possibly the most beautiful smile you had ever witnessed had been his in that exact moment.

The blonde signaled you to hop on the skateboard again, just a little bit over the front. Maybe you should have expected it when he directed you to settle that way, but it came as a surprise when Yeosang climbed on behind you. He began circling his arms around your hip, but the kind male, gently asked for consent before completely embracing you.

“Can I?”

“Yeah.” Due to your proximity, both your answers came as a mere whisper, only audible for each other. His arms finally settled around your form, instantly warming you, from the electric touch of his fingertips near your belly, to the top of your shoulders, where he leaned his chin to be able to see. Your ears became a vibrant red without you even realizing.

The boy began pushing you both forward, starting slow, taking the turns you had not been able to before. But when you both had settled into a comfortable position and tempo, he thought he could speed things up.

A bit more harshly, provoking a small rattle on the surface of the skate, he pushed you both with his foot, planting it strongly on the ground. The pace began increasing, the wind making your hair wild, slipping through your locks and caressing your face. The freedom you had been yearning for just minutes before, was now finally yours to enjoy and savor.

“Woohoo!” You couldn’t help yourself. You really needed this and you were going to make the most out of it. Letting out a freeing laugh from the pits of your chest, Yeosang joined you in your joy. Unbeknownst to you, he was immensely euphoric to have been the one to free you from your shackles, taking the glee trapped inside you, letting it resurface.

Even hours after the sun had settled behind the horizon, you two still skated, laughed and talked about everything and anything, building a moment that you both would treasure and hold dear next to your heart.

Sadly, you had to come down from your cloud at some point, returning to reality. And you could stress no more the liberating hours.

“Yeosang. Thank you so much for this. All of it.” You snapped the boy out of his daydream, the same one you had been engrossed in just moments ago. He slightly raised his left eyebrow at your remark, curious as to what you meant. And smiling due to his antics, you decided against answering his silent question.

“You have nothing to thank me for, everyone needs this from time to time. I am glad I was the one to help you.” When he finally understood the meaning behind your words, he sincerely retorted. But he deduced this was your way of telling, the moment was coming to an end.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” He tried to elongate the moment as much as possible, feeling the same way as you did about your parting.

“Yeosang. We live right here. Like, two meters away from this alley. I think I’ll do just fine. But, thank you again, either way.” Smiling at him, you begrudgingly rose from your sitting spot. And waving at him, you made your exit around the corner. “See you around, S8er boi!” You shouted over the other side of the street, unable to see Yeosang’s reaction at that point.

If you had already admitted to yourself that you had a crush on the boy before, you now had confirmed it was much more than that. And perhaps, if someone were to ask about your opinion on him, this time, you would consider telling them Avril Lavigne could try to take away from you this skater boy, but never succeed.

With this thought in mind and a new perspective of Yeosang in your heart, you were ready to take on more of your studying. But, mayhaps, the universe was against you studying at all today. Your apartment keys missing from your pocket -forgotten on your desk at the prospect of skating with your crush- and a blossoming smile on your lips -ecstatic at the thought of spending more time with the boy of your dreams-.

taglist: @anew-inception, @harmonized-disarray, @imalittlebitlovedrunk, @dea-nimus, @landsharkfandomtrash, @alice0blog, @baizhuu, @bunnyiix, @cookiechristie, @alex-90000, @corpser2002-blog. (names not on bold could not be found).

#skater boy yeosang #yeosang x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez #fanfic #fluff #kpop fanfic #ateez yeosang #kang yeosang #yeosang ateez #yeosang x reader fluff #ateez imagines #yeosang imagines #yeosang fanfic

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suzuran777 · 7 months

Text

Slow Damage: Clean Dishes Epilogue 4, 5 & 6 Summary

It has been a while! I summarized the first three epilogues some time ago, but because I’ve been very busy I haven’t had much time lately to summarize the remaining three epilogues. Unlike the first ones, the other three are less dark and focus on the main characters spending time together and having fun. I thought it would be a good idea to write a few shorter summaries and combine them into one blog post.

Epilogue 4 It has been two years since the Hare’s Nest Incident. Shiro realizes it's Baku's birthday, but isn't sure how to celebrate it this year. Last year he bought him a birthday cake and they watched movies together, but this year he wants to do something more special. Baku however, doesn't care much about his own birthday and even forgets about it every year. This year is no different and Baku once again doesn't seem to care much, so Shiro decides to visit Roost. Shiro asks Kotarou, Mayu and Eiji birthday gift advice, but Mayu just mentions that he’s happy with merchandise of his favorite anime. Kotarou mentions liking alcohol and accessories, and Eiji, well… says that he’s fine with receiving anything he likes, so in the end Shiro’s still wondering what he should give to Baku...

He ends up taking him to Krishna (the restaurant you also visit in the main game) because they sell a lot of different kinds of beer, which Baku likes. After enjoying their food and drinks there together, they return home and Shiro gives Baku a book, featuring many illustrations by an artist Baku mentioned liking before. The game often hints that Baku is interested in art, but he usually looks at it online and doesn't usually buy things for himself. Shiro ends up telling him he asked Eiji and the others for advice, as he sometimes still doesn't know how to make people happy. In the past, he only used his body to make people happy, but now he's also trying to find other ways. As expected, Baku laughs and mentions how Shiro doesn’t really need to do anything special. Just being with Shiro is enough, but he’s happy that Shiro wanted to do something special for him.

Epilogue 5 Two years have passed since the Hare’s Nest Incident, and Shiro and Baku started living together. Before they started dating, Shiro hooked up with random men and didn’t return to his apartment often. Baku had been to his apartment once before, and said it looked more like a garbage storage room than a place where someone lived. After Shiro moved in with him, they slowly started learning more about each other’s hobbies. For example, Baku is interested in various art forms, such as special effect make-up and sculptures. Shiro likes collecting clothes and small, cute items. Shiro also likes singing, and Baku noticed he’s quite good at it too. While drinking coffee at a cafe one day, Baku suggests that Shiro could maybe even start his own band if he's interested. Shiro replies that he only wants to do it if Baku joins too, even though he has no experience playing an instrument. Shiro then suggests Ruu and Kimika also join his new band and invites them over. By the way, Kimika seems to have blonde hair again in this epilogue, but in the drama CD Ruu mentions he liked the blonde hair, so maybe he dyed it again? Anyway, seems like at least Kimika has some experience playing the guitar, but Ruu also has no experience. Shiro suggests they learn how to play an instrument and Ruu becomes the drummer and Baku the bassist. And that’s how their band activities started...

With the help of Kimika and Shiro, Baku and Ruu eventually learn some basic skills how to play these instruments. Eventually, they decide that they finally want to play some songs in front of an audience, but Shiro realizes he doesn’t really have any other friends he could invite… Luckily, Kimika suggests contacting the Roost manager, and maybe they could play some songs in front of the customers there.

Some weeks later, it's the day of the concert. They all bought some new outfits and Kimika also offers to do everyone's makeup. The concert ends up becoming quite the success and more than 30 people showed up. Eiji, Kotarou and Mayu are also impressed and share their positive feedback with the group.

I have to admit... that this is absolutely not what I expected to happen after the game’s ending, but it's quite interesting to learn more about their hobbies (?). They do mention that the concert is a one-time only kind of thing, but everyone did enjoy the experience, so who knows!

Epilogue 6 It has been six months since Kimika was released from prison, and all four of them continued woking at Sara-ya. With the death of the Takasato-gumi boss and many other incidents, Shinkoumi was in a state of chaos for a while, but things are slowly calming down. During one of their lunch breaks, the four of them started discussing the topic of vacation. It seems like Shiro and Baku usually stay indoors during summer, but Kimika and Ruu really want to travel to the mainland to visit the beach there. Baku and Shiro agree to join, even though Shiro has never been to the mainland before and Baku hasn’t been back there since he was a kid.

A month later, they finally prepare for their trip. Baku is a bit worried about Shiro because he has never left Shinkoumi before. After a one hour flight and a bus ride, they finally arrive at the inn where they will be staying for the next four days. They decide to drop off their luggage and then meet up with Ruu and Kimika near the beach. Shiro feels a little bit dizzy because of the heat, but he ends up having a great time playing in the water together with the others. They spend the next couple of days visiting shrines, climbing a mountain and all kinds of other activities they had never done before. This epilogue is probably the most light-hearted one of them all...! But it is nice seeing them have fun together.

At the end of their trip, Shiro starts teasing Ruu and Kimika again, wanting to know what kind of relationship they have now. Ruu claims there’s nothing going on and Kimika doesn't reply (those who listened to the drama CD know that’s a lie…). He then changes the topic and says he heard Baku and Shiro doing inappropriate things in the open-air bath. Both of them just nod "ah you found out..." and then the bus arrives to take them back to the airport. After that they return to Shinkoumi and the game mentions that this is the end of Clean Dishes's story for now. Shiro thinks that until Baku finally kills him, their life won't change much in the future.

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And that's the end! Not much to say about some of these because they are pretty short, but I am always happy to see Kimika and Ruu in these epilogues too. Of course there's also the drama CD content, which kind of takes place in-between some of these epilogues. Right now I don't have any plans of summarizing/translating it, but maybe someone will do this in the future. By the way, all three of these epilogues have a new r18 scene, so I suggest buying them if you want to see them! I'm not able to upload these anywhere.

#slow damage #slow damage clean dishes #nitro+chiral #summary #blvn

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brisquad-unit-4402 · 1 year

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Hello, if you write angst, may I request a any character you want x reader, where in the process of time travel, they lost reader.

If you don't write angst, may I request a any character you want x short reader, with anything you want.

lost in time with luxiem

part 2 here ↣

mmmyess YESSSS i do write angst! it’s been a while since i wrote some but i’m glad i got to practice my hurt skills :D long post incoming but i really enjoyed writing these. especially the gory scenes. man. i really am a briskadet aren’t i

tags: established relationship, hurt no comfort, gender neutral reader

⚠️ drinking + gore in luca’s entry

⚠️ drinking in mysta’s entry

⚠️ suffocation + fainting in shu’s entry

⚠️ gore + panic attack in vox’s entry

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you’re ripped out of your universe and sent to a completely new world, it’s only natural to react like that...

🖋 Ike Eveland

His usual solution is to throw himself into his work. The must tumultuous of times create the best stories, pressure turns carbon into diamonds, and writing down the pain make it so much easier to let go of when he scraps the draft.

Ike commits pen to paper, as is second nature. He holes himself up in his office. Sleep comes to him randomly. He can never predict when, but he sleeps deeply, and when he wakes up it’s right back to his nightmare. Food becomes a second thought to written word, then third, then fourth, until it’s forgotten completely.

It’s addicting, is what it is. He needs to write. The situation he finds himself in, peeled away from everything he knows, is so wildly impossible that maybe, maybe, impossible thinking will return him to where he once was. If he wishes so much to return to the one he loves, creates a world within his pages that mirrors his own, then maybe the stars above or the spirit of the universe or some cruel higher power will hear him and return him to where he came from.

The world he finds himself in is angular, blocky. Its features are so foreign to the intricate architecture of his homeland. Where there once was grass is now endless gray and metal and stone, pavement under his footsteps, so he stays inside now. The office, just as geometric as the outdoors, is blank and the paper serves as the color he’s neglected to spread within his room.

Because, after all, he’s not going to remain here. Of course, he can’t remain here.

There’s so much he wants to do in his original world. He’s no revolutionary author, but his works are getting recognition after years and years of publishing. He just used the money to move into a proper home of his own, and it’s no mansion but it’s more than comfortable, and the window in his bedroom is at the perfect angle to gently wake him with soft sunlight every morning.

And after all, there’s an angelic face sleeping next to him every time he rises.

He writes tales of a princess trapped in her own castle, with no way to communicate with her subjects. After that, a novel about a hermit who returns to society, and how decades of living alone impacts his daily public life. Whenever he runs out of ideas, he works on a collection of short stories from the perspective of various people locked within a strange, enclosed new environment.

The poetry is new. Novels are paintings, but poetry is sculpture, and he struggles to find the right words in the right order, but whenever he writes the last line it always tells stories of loneliness.

Each draft takes place along flowering fields and rolling skies, clouds that adorn tall trees. Houses painted in candy colors. Streets in sepia. Snow that falls gently like blankets, and sun rays that greet mountain peaks. The aurora borealis heralds the climax of each protagonist’s journey.

Ike’s pen runs out of ink on what he would estimate is the seventh night. He curses, and his throat is so out of use, the sound is barely decipherable. He reaches to his drawer of office supplies, only to grab nothing. There is no drawer. He’s forgotten exactly where he is again.

Ike clears his throat, and raises his voice. “Reader? Be a dear and get me some more ink, please?”

Ike waits.

“Reader?”

There’s no response.

“Reader, my darling.”

There is no Reader. He’s forgotten exactly where he is again.

It’s strange that he does, he notes. Why, he’s written so many stories as his own escapism, but he can’t even remember that he left his darling Reader.

His darling Reader, all alone, the only person in their shared home. They make meal servings for one, now, and wakes up later now without another in their bed. They have access to the study and the shelves upon shelves of home-bound books, the first edition before publication, but there is no novelist at the desk, no handwriting, no one to hold a mug and offer his gratitude. No one to sit behind as they read his latest work and offer their thoughts and notice his plot holes and typos and errors, no one to hold his pen back and insist, It’s late, let’s go to sleep, and carry him out of his chair and tuck him into bed themselves, and run their hands through his hair until his eyes close and his breathing softens and he wakes up to warm soft sunlight on an angelic face.

“Reader.” Ike says it again, but this time he knows there’s no one to respond to it. His voice breaks halfway through.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

🦁 Luca Kaneshiro

At the end of the day Luca Kaneshiro is a social creature. Moreover, he’s a social creature that just got cut off from his friends, family, mafia, and lover all in one fell swoop.

It’s that appreciation for others that drives Luca to walk the streets, acting like he still owns the world despite the completely different reality he finds himself in. He’s a man that’s spent his life around family, both blood and hired. New people to meet and friends to catch up with. A sweet thing he could hold and love openly, one that he would do anything for. Believe it, he means anything; that’s a promise only a mafia boss could keep and truly mean.

There’s no replacement for them in this time, but he can’t let go of it. He doesn’t actively drink in his original time but in 2022, there’s a party every night, and he wakes up every morning with a hangover. Luca admits it. He’s a nobody, a friendless loser here, but at least every night coupled with the booze and the bodies all dyed under the colorful lights he can forget. Pretend those faces are the ones he’s come to know underneath lion masks.

The first night was the hardest. He entered the club to color his mindlessly lonely days, because at least he could have a meltdown properly with drinks than the husk he is during the day. A young woman taught him to dance, and he traded dance partners with the rest of her friends until most of them went to get drinks, and the best dancer of them all cozied up to his arm.

By the time they returned with cocktails Luca was already long gone on the way back home, his coat wrapped around his body. He felt dirty. Everything about that night was supposed to make him feel like his legacy was still alive but when it wasn’t you feeling him up, he could feel his stomach turn.

Sure enough, the next morning he retched out the remains of alcohol and women, and swore he’d never go clubbing again until he returned to his timeline with you by his side… until the loneliness threatened to swallow him whole, and that very evening he was back to pretending that the people in the club were his.

People flirt with him often, and he’s surprised he hasn’t bolted from one yet. Instead he politely excuses himself and ditches the club with a hollow feeling in his chest.

Luca wakes up every afternoon- noon or later, depending on how wild the night before was- alone in a bed meant for two people. His apartment is nice, but it’s devoid of personality. Glass encompasses one side of the wall, granting him a view of the skyline, and every piece of furniture is clean white. It’s almost hilarious how much it resembles one of his penthouses in Melbourne, but without any of the charm that branded a Kaneshiro home.

He misses it so much. His active schedule has gone to the wayside, and instead he can spend hours at a time laying in bed. It’s a destructive cycle. Party at night to keep up the pretend life, then wallow during the day about how the life is gone. How unfair, he thinks bitterly. I never asked for this. I don’t even know how I got here. Why me?

The dreary thoughts never ebb while the sun’s out, and once night falls he can’t bear to spend another moment with them. Everything is a distraction now. He can’t bring himself to imagine the mafia surrounding him at the clubs anymore. It sends him into veiled turmoil.

That’s a future worry for future Luca, though.

He walks home one night in better condition than usual. The night is blank and silent, only to be interrupted by a stifled cry.

He turns to the source of the noise. Two people stand by a closed store. One of them is a older man, and the other is a young woman. Luca recognizes her as a girl from the club he just left, mostly because she barely looked old enough to enter. Her face is flush with alcohol, and the man practically drags her along closer to the door with a hand over her mouth.

Luca’s eyes meet the woman’s. They’re nearly closed, but widen when she realizes there’s a bystander, and then she’s gone. The man led her into an alleyway out of sight.

Sobriety regained, he dashes to the alley, and feels for the hidden pocket on the inside of his coat. It was one of the first things he reached for when he fell into the future, and he thanked his lucky stars he still had a pistol and rounds of ammo on him.

He takes the safety off but keeps it concealed, and turns into the alley. Two other men lurked deeper into the row, while the first shrugged the woman’s body off to the ground. She was barely conscious.

One of the creeps cocked his head. “The fuck’re you looking at?”

Another raises an arm but Luca fires before the loser aimed his weapon properly. The bullet shatters the wrist, and the gun spills out of his grasp along with blood. He clutches the mangled appendage and cries out. “Bastard shot my fucking hand!”

The second man raises his gun as well but Luca’s already aiming for his arms and fires, disabling him long enough to move closer into the alley.

The final guy brings out a knife, but Luca’s built for this. He shoves him off, then grabs his arm with one hand and forces the knife away in the other. There’s a cold look in Luca’s eye, he hasn’t said a thing. He pushes the arm the wrong direction, and feels muscle trembling to stay upright. The creep curses again, an empty threat Luca doesn’t care to hear, and the knife clatters to the floor. Luca stomps on the handle with his sole, preventing it from moving any further.

Luca keeps his grip on the arm, and feels the other guy’s joints give out. An ugly thought wants him to go further. So he indulges even after he hears the snap of broken bone, and when he’s done twisting the limb he yanks it out. The scream of dislocation is like music.

He feels monstrous, but the most alive he’s been in weeks, an animal let out of its cage with the scent of blood in the air. He notices the one with bullets in either arm struggle for one of the guns, so in one clean movement Luca pins him down, blows an elbow joint out with his own gun, and drags the disfigured arm out along the jagged pavement as his weight rises. Hopefully he’ll get it amputated.

The first one he shot, the one with one less hand than he started with, helplessly struggles for the gun he dropped with his good arm, so Luca drives the leftover knife through the flesh and into the ground. He lets the bloodthirst win as the blade curves into the muscle like a hook, twists, and snatches it out.

He covers the knife in a handkerchief, then retrieves the guns, and crouches eye-level to their drunken target. Her head is lolled to the side, but unharmed.

“I’m gonna bring you back outside the club,” Luca says. “Get some staff to watch you and call a taxi.”

He helps her up. She’s conscious enough to walk, but her body is limp, and she relies on him to guide her. The blank silent night returns as they return.

The woman slurs something out, and when Luca looks to her in confusion she repeats herself. “You’re the guy that’s always there…? At the club.”

“Yeah.” Luca keeps his face steady. “Yeah, I am.”

“You always have people around you.” She giggles. At least she seems to be a happy drunk. “Normal people don’t gun. Have guns.” She throws her free arm into the air and makes a finger gun. “Pew, pew…”

He doesn’t answer that. “What’s your name?”

She tells him. “Don’t remember it. You’re too sad for me.”

“I just saved you.”

“And thanks but you’re so… fake!” Luca should be insulted, but he’s so taken aback he doesn’t say a word. The woman is amused by it though. She continues. “Like, okay, you’re cool, I’d hang, but you’re avoiding something, aren’t you? And I’m not talking about the, the pew, guns…”

She used up so much energy talking that she doesn’t notice a crack in the sidewalk and trips. Luca catches her.

“Hero, much?” She laughs. “You’re such a hero, you’re waiting around for something. What, want me to trip again? Go find it if you care so much about it.”

The woman babbles on as they return to the club. Barely five minutes after, a taxi pulls up to the curb.

“Bye, hero!” She chirps. “Stop being so sad all the time!” Luca gives her a small wave and she’s off.

He re-embarks on his walk home, and her drunken ramblings follow him the way back. He’d save her again without question, but her words pissed him off.

She’s right, you know, he thinks. But of course she is, and of course it’s not as easy as a drunk woman makes it out to be. Longing for something is one thing. Longing for a time long gone is another.

Luca looks back at the club, so small in the distance. Already he can feel the isolation taking hold, and it’s only going to get worse the more time he spends in his apartment, but it’s not like he has the energy for anything else.

He brushes his hand against his coat. A splatter of blood stains the fur, not so much to be noticeable in the night but daylight is a whole other story. Some hero he is. He’s never been as brutal in a fight as he was today, and the way he didn’t feel a thing, how easy it was for the ugly and dark and depressed to control his weapons… it scares him.

That’s all he is. Afraid. Is this really who he is without anyone by his side? Maybe it was a good thing he was cast out of his original time. Someone like him shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near you. You’re too good for human trash that drinks until he can’t straighten out his thoughts anymore and revels in inflicting pain. Monsters don’t deserve kindness like yours, after all.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

🦊 Mysta Rias

There is logic in everything. Everything happens for a reason; every action has an equal and opposite reaction; energy is neither created nor destroyed, only transformed. This is what the detective Mysta Rias knows.

But people don’t just disappear like that. The city he finds himself in is tall and sweeping just like his home, but the lights are brighter and the people are stranger. He catches the year 2022 on a billboard advertisement and balks. This is what the detective Mysta Rias doesn’t know, and he’d admit he doesn’t know in a snap. There’s simply no reasonable way he sprung over sixty years in the future just like that.

It’s been a while since he was transported into the future with no warning. After week two, he resigned himself to living long-term in the twenty-first century. About a month in, he started a private investigation service to scrounge up money and make sure his deductive abilities stayed sharp. He met some lovely people, but at the end of the day, this isn’t his time.

What goes up must come down, and what gets magically transported out of his intended timeline must return. You can’t toss an apple on Earth and expect it to float into space. Mysta acknowledges how silly it must be to apply physics to a time portal, but it’s the only thing he can cling onto. The Doctrine of Uniformity states the present is the key to the past, and surely the present must be the key to the future as well.

During his first week in the future he already searched for his information when he was in his original time. His house was destroyed decades ago to make space for a school. The home phone went to a storefront in Glasgow. So he retraces the steps. Surely there needs to be a gap where the original homeowners sign off on a deal with new owners, and that’s where he can identify the whereabouts of him and his partner.

Hours of research and calling later, either any mention of Mysta Rias and Reader were wiped off the face of the earth, or they were never on this earth in the first place.

Mysta tries not to let it get to him. After all, even if the original hypothesis is inaccurate, it narrows down the possibilities. Just keep going.

Staking out his old haunts proved to be fruitless as well. His favorite restaurant is gone, as expected, but so is the library downtown that his city insisted on preserving for decades.

Later that evening Mysta grabs a cocktail glass of orange juice, pours vodka into the glass, and places the screwdriver on the coaster of his desk as he looks deeper into the people of this world. Clearly there’s no records of Mysta Rias nor the person he spent his life with, but he recognizes the Queen of England even in her old age, and Paddington Bear is still a thing, so surely there must be other similarities between his UK and the one he landed in.

The first thing he searches for is his mother’s name, and he’s not exactly surprised when no search results come up. His associates are nowhere to be found either. The closest he gets to finding one of his old friends is an online obituary for someone he doesn’t recognize and an archive of a newspaper comic strip.

Your family is nowhere to be seen either. A few awkward calls later, he’s confirmed the phone numbers of family and friends as well as his old detective agency are being used by completely different people. He wishes he had some kind of photo from the past. While browsing around online he learned about reverse image searching. Maybe he could see if there were any social media posts or timeless landscapes that could trace back to his origin. Being able to see your face would be a good motivation too.

Mysta pauses. Man, he misses your face. He’s been so focused on getting back to the right time that he hasn’t even acknowledged the pit of loneliness he’s been fighting off. Emotion makes reason messy, after all. The screwdriver isn’t helping either. If only Reader was here, he muses. They always watch over me when I’m drinking. Fuck, his head’s spinning. How much vodka is in this thing? He’s poured another glass, at least one more, his recollections are getting blurry.

He blinks out of his thoughts before they can begin to spiral. Even if he didn’t measure out proper shots there’s no way he’s getting drunk on a screwdriver, and during a work night no less.

The detective hones in on his legal pad and the scrawl of notes on it. He crosses out another failed method. There has to be something out there that can explain it. He chants it under his breath, because after all, he’s a detective. What is a detective without his reasoning?

Whenever he’s struggling on a case, it always helps to have fresh eyes look over his thought process. It’s always you. But he’s alone now without his partner, and he fears he’s working himself into a rut. Ugh, who is he kidding. He begrudgingly drains the rest of the screwdriver. The rut’s already here, and it always has been. The drink’s making it worse but it’s about time he acknowledges it.

He’s sick of this feeling, so isolated out from everything he knows and the future that’s left him behind, and it’s almost like he can hear your voice melting into the silence of his bleak office. But the words that you’d say evade him. You’re irreplaceable even in his imagination, and it mocks him. His focus has abandoned him, and he’s been spiraling for a while now, it’s just that his mask is starting to crumple now, and he’s already starting to regret letting it slip.

“There has to be something,” he utters, and his voice is already lifting from the alcohol. It’s high and pathetic. Mysta slaps his hands over his face and lets them drag down, as if that would fix everything, and picks up his pencil again. “There has to be a reason.”

The pencil doesn’t move. Mysta repeats himself, reason is a mantra he’s lived by, but doubt drowns him. There’s no reason in time travel, after all, but he says it again, expecting something to change. He’s running out of platitudes. But he clings to it, clings to reason, because without it he’s nothing, and stripped of his home and love, it’s all he has left. Denial of absurdity is the only thing he can do. He can’t afford to wrap his head around it, because that means he accepts this nonsensical problem, so he lives without believing it at all.

He pours himself vodka without juice and drinks.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

👟 Shu Yamino

The Yamino household was no stranger to holding the supernatural within itself. For as long as Shu can remember, there’s always been scrolls hung up on the walls in thumbtacks rather than frames for easy access, rows of herbs left out to dry for spellcraft, even the living room regularly had its furniture pushed to the side to make space for a magic circle.

That was what made morphing his own home into a witch’s hut a smoother transition than he expected from the apartment unit he shared with you. The glamour made it easier to work, and besides, looking at your favorite things and the home you created together hurt too much. Either way, you were going to come back. There wasn’t a single question about it.

Shu drags a clump of chalk along the stony floor. The outline of the circle is already complete, featuring countless shapes crafted for the exact target, and all that was left to do was to etch runes into it. The chalk digs into the floor with intention.

“It’s going to work.” He rubs a stray line of chalk away, and checks his handiwork. The angular shapes inside of the circle are in position for a standard summoning. Runes form coordinates along the outline.

He doesn’t even let himself feel proud for the summoning circle before he dashes off into your room. Moments later he returns with three items: your favorite accessory, your hairbrush, and a framed picture.

There are three winding spirals drawn equal distances apart from one another in the circle. He gently placed your accessory in the center of one, before pulling out a strand of hair from your brush and into the second spiral. One represents sentimental attachments, and the other is something physical for the forces that be to identify a target.

Shu takes great care as he removes the backing of the frame and turns the photo in his hand. He sees himself first. He’s barely holding a giant teddy bear in his arms, and the plush head poked his face, threatening to make the sunglasses on the top of his head fall. On his other side, his beloved partner held the phone in one hand and his shoulder in the other. You timed the phone to take a picture just in time as you pecked his cheek and the beginnings of his blush started to set in. When you printed out the picture, you insisted on captioning it with a thin marker. “5/11/2022: Went to an amusement park and Shu won me a bear. He got a prize too!”

The memory is warm but Shu’s face is still grim. He sets the picture down on the final spiral. Any sorcerer worth their salt knows that you reap what you sow and miracles don’t come from thin air, and if you want that miracle, you’d better be willing to sacrifice something with emotional value.

The picture captured his surprise and your affection from that day, and stares up at him as he stands. It’s been weeks since you were cast out of this reality. Even as a practitioner of the occult, Shu had no idea where the spontaneous portal came from, but it stole you away in front of his eyes. He was lucky he had the instinct to cast identification spells just as soon as you disappeared. They classified the portal as a time travel rift, and allowed him to reverse-engineer a summoning circle to locate and retrieve you. That picture, one of the most recent, was one of his favorites. It marked a shift in his relationship to you that was a long time coming, which is why it was so treasured. He would miss it, but, well, miracles aren’t cheap. He’d make new memories soon when you’re back in his arms in the timeline you’re meant to be in.

Shu lights a stick of incense, and rising smoke couples with the scent of jasmine and palo santo. He allows it to trail around the witch’s hut glamour and cleanse the room, a clean slate for his sorcery. Curses are his specialty, but he’s no stranger to ritual casting. He steps into the circle, and begins his incantation.

Shu’s flames alight after the first verse, a series of commands and words crafted carefully in accordance with the mystical. Shikigami circle around him as he gets to the second, manifestation of his ability. The room feels like it’s floating. Static prickles in the air as it warps, the smoke mixing with the buzz, and for a moment the glamour blurs. It’s the spirit of the circle shifting the world around it as it was programmed to do.

The chalk along the floor brightens, shining luminescent with his words in white to lavender to bright, burning violet. A bead of sweat dribbles down Shu’s neck. It’s getting harder to breathe. If the world intends on taking Reader away from me, he thinks, then I’ll shred the very fabric of space-time itself to bring them back.

His fury is quiet, but concealed under how the air compresses around him. It’s a strange sensation, and if the Yamino name didn’t have generations of magic practitioners before him, the way that the atmosphere around him morphs would take him by surprise and ruin his ritual.

Shu remains steadfast, though, and holds his breath through gritted teeth as the oxygen itself fights to separate itself from the circle. Even his flames flicker at the absence of fuel, and the heat transfers from the halo around his head and into his lungs as the air pressure increases tenfold, and tenfold of that.

The third verse of the incantation is a fight to speak clearly, especially as the movements require him to fight hard against the resistance of literally rending space-time apart in his living room. For a moment he thinks of Atlas, the titan sentenced to hold the world itself. Then he tells himself to get off his high horse, fight the urge to let go of his breath, and finishes the verse half-ready to choke.

As he does the circle of chalk bursts into flames that lap at his feet, now floating in midair, and he doesn’t need a mirror to know the fire spouting from his body resembles pillars more than anything. Doesn’t matter. He’s fighting to keep his eyes open, but he swears there’s a crack levitating in nothing right in front of him. The fire around him pulses away from the crack and the air gets even tighter, teasing him with the vacuity of the universe he provoked.

The sorcerer thinks of the final verse less of words and more of sounds, anything to make it seem less like all the world’s weight is suffocating him. The crack in space is real. It stares at him unblinkingly.

Even when his eyes are open he’s seeing double, even in the silence he can’t hear himself utter the incantation. His chest is screaming and burning, a red-hot sensation unfamiliar to his purple heat, like claws raking through his lungs and threatening to shred him into ribbons from the inside. The pressure is too much to bear.

The body is practically frozen in place as the vast emptiness of the crack slowly widens into a hole- a portal- and absorbs all the life from the room, and constricts him to where he stands. The claws inside start to pry and drag along his organs running dry without oxygen, and it’s a completely different sensation than incineration, it’s dead and deep, and slow. Shu’s eyes widen and strain, before blinking once, twice, and feeling the world turn upside down as everything goes black. He faints.

The sorcerer gasps alive minutes later, before entering a sharp coughing fit. The burning in his lungs has subsided, but the coughs are raspy and gritty.

Shu clutches a hand over his heart as the memories of the ritual flood back, some areas spottier than others. The last thing he remembers is the way that the portal widened and the watercolor webbing inside of it, freckled starlight between the pure pitch, and clouds of color dyeing the fabric of space-time.

He rolls over weakly. He doesn’t have the energy to stand up. Instead he drags a tired hand over the remains of the magic circle, now a smoldering drawing in the center of his living room. Looks like the witch’s hut glamor faded. Not only that, but the chalk has turned to residual ash, easily brushed away by his fingers.

He inspects the rest of his surroundings as best as he can in his faint bleariness. The incense has gone out long ago, the room is in utter disarray, and barely a speck of dust is left on the spirals where his components were spent. They’re gone.

Shu tries to call your name but before he can get a sound out he’s already choking on his words. He fights to stand upright and clear his throat. He doesn’t know why he tried calling out to you. He should’ve known it was a failure. It’s just that he’s gone so long without you, without answers, without a single successful summoning, but this was the first time he saw the crack in space.

Something’s going right. His body feels like it got caught in a land mine, but he’s on the warpath now, and he’s got his sights set on a new ritual draft, something that will certainly bring you back next time.

Shu hacks out a plume of ashy smoke and violet sparks. He’ll return to the drawing board soon, but he’s overexerted himself like nothing else.

Despite how much his body feels like a crumpled ball of paper, he writhes to a pen and paper knocked to the ground from his ritual. He’ll summon you yet. Hopefully his next ritual won’t result in drowning on land, but he’s not too optimistic. He’s not going to stop until you’re back in his arms or his body gives out entirely, but he can’t kid himself forever. He’s going to burn himself out one day if he keeps this up, either metaphorically or literally.

He writes down new observations from this ritual. It still doesn’t change a thing. He’s going to break himself if it means returning you to where you belong.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

👹 Vox Akuma

The Voice Demon snaps awake with fire in his eyes and a growl from his throat. He’s been in stasis for what feels like eons but the memory of searing flames and cold wet blood and the razing of Akuma Castle is fresh. His heart aches. A look down and he identifies why: his red shirt is even redder along the center of his chest, and darkness blooms through the fabric in an unsightly stain. He stares underneath the fabric and sure enough, his torso is covered in slashes, though they fade in supernatural speed. This is demonic reincarnation, as expected, the same mind in a new body, the old transfiguring into the new. His blood boils as he watches the lesser lacerations fade into pale skin. The clotted blood reforms, places itself into his open wound, and the skin reseals itself. A fresh patch, an untouched body, a man seemingly unharmed.

It’s nothing compared to the first man fallen in his clan. Shot dead in the temple, an arrow protruding from his brain, pink and red staining the other end of the arrowhead. The young scholar that took up a bow to defend in the castle’s time of need, only for a catapult to sling a boulder directly to their perch, and send them falling to their demise. A woman, well-known by her Kindred for being a second mother to all, and how she went up in flames when the opposing army set fire to her refuge shelter.

Vox was no stranger to combat, and no coward that would allow his clan to fall for his sake while he stood by. He took to the battlefield, sword in hand, accompanied by his most trusted advisor and most capable warrior.

“Be safe,” was all you said before you armed yourself with your treasured naginata, grabbed him for a life-or-death kiss, and launched into the fray beside your lord.

You worked in tandem with Lord Akuma. His sword slid bodies for you to stab through, confirming they would never rise again. But you were only two of 522, and Tokugawa’s troops made short work of the defenseless, the inexperienced, the unprepared.

Blood pooled along your naginata blade, but when you could catch a glimpse of the metal, it reflected the burning of Akuma Castle behind you. You dodged one blade and blocked another, then skewered the man for his sloppy mistake.

Vox fought his own battles, now, as the shogun commanded his troops to target the lord of the castle. His sword caught on the bone of a soldier before slicing another. He snapped his wrist, shaking the two off his weapon, before raising it into a defensive position in time with another attacker.

You spun the naginata in your hands and fell back to reposition. The maneuver forced your enemies to approach, just in time for you to attack first. They dwindled in number. You were no longer the priority. You held your own against another warrior, decorated in medals and a wakizashi in their hands, more seasoned than the last unit you fought against.

The duel was a mind game, littered with fake-outs and feints, neither you or the warrior landing a blow. Their movements were calculated, without an obvious weakness, so you focused on observation. Their slashes were quick and left little room for a counterattack. They stayed in your face so your naginata can’t outrange them. They were mobile, moving low and high, their body contorting unpredictably against the backdrop of your burning home and-

And Lord Vox…!

You screamed his name. One of the bodies, one you recognized, still moving. Bloodied, barely alive, but quiet, behind your lord, raising his blade.

“Behind you! VOX!” You cried out so loud your throat went hoarse, only for blood to pour out of your mouth.

In your attempt to warn your lord, the warrior noticed an opening, and drove their wakizashi through your neck.

Vox spun on his heel at your command and drove his sword clean through the ambusher, only to watch as you fell to the mud. “Reader!”

He howled as a knife drove through his arm, the first good hit against him. You didn’t move. Another katana next. The gash on his leg disabled his movement. The fire against his blade flashed. Your body laid in a pool of your own blood. Tokugawa stood before him and pulled his own weapon back, aiming for the heart. You were dead, and he was no fool, but the sword plunged forward…

Vox stands. The ground below him, concrete. Across from him is a tiled wall and railroad tracks. He turns on his heel, fury in his eyes, ready to tear apart this subway station. “Woah, dude,” the man next to him says jokingly. His beard is turning gray and he’s covered in a worn winter jacket, and stays seated on the ground.

“Piss off,” Vox snarls.

The man is as unbothered as ever, but seems concerned. “No thank you. Er, you good?”

“Good? Why, yes, I’m the very picture of ‘good’.” Vox lowers himself to the man’s eyes. He slams a fist against the wall, next to his head, as his words alight with poison and ember through gritted teeth. His voice burns demonic. “I said, get out of my sight like the vermin you are and PISS. OFF.”

The man’s face, once so calm and and sympathetic, forms into a visage of fear. He trembles like a deer in headlights before pushing Vox out of the way and bolting further into the subway.

The subway platform Vox finds himself in is dismal and lonely. It’s dark, with some broken fluorescent lighting, and debris along the ground. The signs suggest the next train isn’t arriving anytime soon.

So Vox wracks his hands over his face, contorted in rage, and screams. When he runs out of breath he inhales and cries out again, ugliness crawling out of his throat, and when he closes his eyes he imagines the ugliness as blood, the splatters that coated your lips as you fell. The wakizashi sword through your neck.

He can’t form words, but the heartbreak is primal. It echoes through the empty station, and when his voice shatters into a sob the acoustics remind him of his mourning. His broken heart tightens, tries to reform itself around the blood of his chest, and only gives him palpitations that lodge in his chest.

Panic becomes him. What else could he be? Vox’s legacy is besmirched, his subjects slain, and most brutal of all, his greatest love gave their life to warn him in futility. He heeded their advice but- but the shaking in his heart, it’s so stifling, he can’t think straight, he needs to sit down- but he was useless to do the one thing you requested, to be safe. Now here he is, another casualty right after you fell, without the grace to even stay a dead lord. In another world, with another chance at life, and the first thing he does is spiral. How pathetic of Lord Akuma. Utterly disgusting. Even after his demonic blood gave him another chance, he’s spending it bawling like a baby, crumpled on the ground of a grungy subway station, his breath so shallow he feels like he’s about to die again.

Misery. He’s too afraid to take in the world around him without the comfort of you, so his hands tangle into his hair and against his tears. Rebirth is nothing to an infernal, but today, the very picture of grief, the Voice Demon has been defeated for the first time in his immortal life.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

#ike eveland x reader #ike eveland #luca kaneshiro x reader #luca kaneshiro #mysta rias x reader #mysta rias #shu yamino x reader #shu yamino #vox akuma x reader #vox akuma #luxiem x reader #nijisanji x reader #luxiem #nijisanji en #4402 writes #necella

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gingersforeverbox · 4 months

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Hi, no one asked for this, but have some Nathan Bateman x Reader headcanons/ drabble ideas

A/n: Howdy, I know it's been a hot minute since I posted something of my own, but I've been a simp for this stupid-genius bastard for a while now, and here is just a dump of the thoughts that are bouncing around in my head about Bitchman himself :)

Fem!Reader x Nathan Bateman btw

Content warnings: Nathan for obvious canonical reasons, the good kush🍃, swearing (probably), suggestive material that is +18 (If I find a minor on my lawn I swear to all that's good that I will tell your parents/guardians that you're being inconsiderate of boundaries Ya lil gremlins), that's all I can think of for now, but let me know if I missed anything! <3

Pretty little homemaker Reader? Yeah. Pretty little homemaker Reader who got to happily retire once they married Nathan and be a domestic, feminine person without care? Even better!

Pregnant Reader where we learn about what it’s like to be expecting with him (spoiler: he is a pain in the ass up until you have to snap at him to be considerate to the person who will give him his child, then he surprisingly gets his head out of his ass to try and be better for you and y'all's child).

Reader and Nate have to go to a gala or some shit for the first time as an official couple then there’s a bunch of questions from the press and coworkers about y'all being together, and he is basically like "Honey, I own the planet, whatever you don't want public won't be public. it's that simple, now let me show you this ice sculpture that looks like a dick if you look at it right >:)"

Stoned Nathan and Reader. She does it for fun, he insists that he’s gonna be chill, but he is such a fuckin nerd that he babbles about how scientifically interesting weed is while Reader is just like “M’kay babe, keep talkin’, you’re cute like this iloveyou” and Nathan kinda just buffers for a minute before then is high as a kite when he realizes "oh fuck this woman makes me feel things and I'm too high to try and hide it iloveyoutoo"

Nathan getting genuinely confused when Reader treats Kyoko with basic dignity despite her being an AI, and Reader basically being horrified with how he treats her and actively goes out of her way to be nice to Kyoko. Does Nathan learn to be nicer to his AI? Does he still treat them like shit and it bites him in the ass? YOU DECIDE!

Bossy!Reader who is one of BlueBook's communications experts, and he can't wrap his head around the idea of Reader, the same lady who doesn't hesitate to call one of his ideas bad-shit crazy, being the same lady who easily schmooses his business partners for him until he sees her in action at a conference they both have to attend. Nathan then realizing that he likes his organic women to be a lil fiesty.

*forewarning that this one is a little self-indulgent:* Nathan and a Psychologist reader? I would pay Money to watch those two bicker about everything. like come on, Nathan's fuckin' nuts and Reader deals with emotionally/ mentally troubled people for a living. Just imagine BlueBook deciding to assign him a psychologist since he lives in the middle of nowhere all the time, and Reader taking one look at him and being like "Oh, he's not just a narcissistic rich man, he's a narcissistic rich man with a literal god complex.... interesting :)))" then proceeding to actually help him regardless. Bbgorl wouldn't know what hit him.

That's all for now folks, as you were 😊

....psst, hey, if anyone is interested in reading something with any of these ideas I would happily see what I can do to make a lil somethin'-somethin'. Also, if you wanna take a stab at writing any of these, all I ask is that you tag me so I can get some credit and so I can see y'all's awesome work <3

#Seriously though I'm REALLY considering making the last one #even though I want to do all of them #but that one would itch my brain right #nathan bateman #nathan bateman x reader #ex machina #my stuff

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warrior-cats-rewritten · 4 months

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In the season of the holidays, let's talk about the Clan Culture of Gift-giving!

There are many different kinds of things that Clan cats give each other as gifts. I will show some of the different categories, feel free to ask about anything in them.

Flowers (for all intents and purposes, most flowers are no longer toxic to cats)

Flowers are a very common gift amongst the Clans. Different flowers also have different meanings. Lavender is given as a general "wishing you peace" as the scent has a calming effect. A rose is seen as a VERY bold gift, as they are mainly found in Twoleg gardens, and posses thorns. Stems, petals, and leaves are all seen as gifts themselves, but all parts of a flower have the same culture.

Scorchfur brought Snowbird tulip petals while they were courting. Quite brave and romantic since they come from Twoleg gardens!

Tree brought Needlekit and Rootkit daisies while they were small. Oops, that's a gift younger cats tend to give older cats. Thankfully they liked the smell.

Palebird liked giving heather to Woollytail, which is seen a nice, generic gift in Windclan. In any other Clan, it is pretty much seen as just friendly. Heather flowers were Woollytail's favorite though,

Generally, they are given to from any cat to any cat, but have their own meaning unlike human flower language.

Stones/Shells

Since shells are nearly Riverclan exclusive, I'm gonna throw them into this category.

Stones are seen as adult gifts. You don't give them to kits, they are given to fellow warriors. If a mentor gives one to their apprentice, it is seen as a HIGH compliment. Longtail gave a lovely smooth pebble from the river to Swiftpaw. Cloudtail buried it with him. Rainwhisker gave a jagged little stone to his friend Spiderleg, which he uses to help cut up mushroom pieces, good useful gift!

Shellheart, true to his name, gave shells to Rainflower while they were courting. She threw them all out when they split up. Crookedjaw gave a shiny shell to Willowbreeze when they got together. Silverstream kept it and it is now in Blossomfall's possession, as Blossomfall is Silverstream's daughter now.

Berries/Mushrooms/Nuts

Snacks! Snacks are great gifts! Anyone can give these out to anyone, and some have basic messages. They quite different from straight up meals. They are very often given from parents to children, especially nuts.

Acorns are very common in Thunderclan land, and Squirrelflight liked giving them to The Three for them to eat and play with.

A large beech nut tree grows on Riverclan land, close to their Windclan border. Beechfur would leave small piles of beech nuts for Gorsetail to find and give to their kits.

Mushrooms are more mature, since they have tastes that young kittens may not enjoy. They are most common found in Shadowclan's beautiful marshy land, but grow in other areas too. I'll be doing a post on the different mushrooms that grow in WCR. FOR ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES THE MUSHROOMS USED IN THE STORY ARE NOT TOXIC TO CATS.

Toadstep made fried mushrooms (beefsteak mushroom) for Featherpelt during an Aftergathering while she was pregnant.

Berries are also incredibly popular! Whether for fur dye, food, or bait for hunting, every cat is happy to get gifted berries. They are most popular to give to cats you are either kin with or have mentored/been mentored by.

Puddleshine likes to give sloe berries to Shadowsight, as a bush grows on the Thunder-Shadow border.

Strawberries grow near the Wind-Thunder border, and strawberries are Leafpool's favorite snack, so Squirrelflight does her best to get lots for Leafpool, and got some for the Three.

Snowtail likes to give lots of blackberries to his mother Speckletail, as blackberries are both their favorite.

Feathers

Feathers are a lovely gift! They are often used in nest building or as toys for kits. (Or, if you for some reason make the hike up the mountain to the Tribe Of Snowy Peaks, used in sculptures) (except eagle feathers, which are only for nesting because of their stiffness being perfect for keeping nests together)

Note: You do not give Cuckoo feathers as gifts. Ever. It is seen as incredibly disrespectful. They are NOT gifts.

Icecloud likes to give robin feathers to her mom and dad, she makes sure they have nice nests, and knows that Dustpelt really likes the colour of them.

Ivypool found a large crow feather once and gave it to Blossomfall, who especially appreciated to softness while recovering from having their kits.

Tigerclaw gave Firepaw cuckoo feathers, because he knew Firepaw wouldn't know what they meant.

Clay

Clay pots, bowls and plates are all very good things. Most often given to Medicine Cats or Cooks since they get the most use out of them, they are the most frequent recipients. Each is very unique and has a different vibe.

Briarlight made a small plate for Jayfeather while she was in recovery, using her claws to make lots of different textures.

Bristlefrost made bowls for Rootspring and Shadowsight, they both still have them. They have her pawprint in the middle.

Curlfeather made Frostpaw lots of bowls, each with curly, looping designs on them...

Wood

Woodworking is difficult, but since the discovery of Fire, was revamped with woodburning. Tools and decorations are made, but while decorations are for anyone, tools are not for apprentices (aside from inheritance).

Pieces of wood are cut with sharpened stones and bone tools, then shaped as best as the WCR cats can get them.

Tools are important to the Clans, and inherited and passed down until the tool breaks, to which it must be replaced by the cat who broke it. Tools are a very high-value gift and a huge honor to receive.

Ashfur gave Ferncloud a small decoration, he burned a small pattern into it for the nursery to smell nice. She threw it out after his death.

Breezepelt gave his first litter (Smokehaze, Brindlewing and Needletail) their own tools when they were apprentices, despite the pushback he got.

Food/Meals

Food is always an amazing gift, especially when you know someone's favorite meal. You can always expect a meal gift if you are close with a cat who likes cooking, such as Sparkpelt, Strikestone, Featherpelt, Firefern, and Graymist.

To apologize to Daisy, Spiderleg made her favorite dish: scrambled egg. It was burnt in one part, undercooked in another, and not enough shell was in it, but Daisy told him it was the best meal she had ever had.

Spicy Chub Soup is Hawkfrost's favorite meal, so his daughter Cloudsnap learned to make it for him whenever he looks stressed out.

Squirrelflight makes Fried Squirrel for her family members, often drizzling it with honey as well.

All in all, giving gifts is done all year round, but a lot of gift exchanges happen at Gatherings or Aftergatherings.

Happy Holidays, whatever you celebrate!

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daughter-of-melpomene · 2 months

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𝗔 𝗪𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗘 𝗧𝗢𝗡 𝗢𝗙 𝗪𝗜𝗭𝗔𝗥𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗟𝗗 𝗣𝗟𝗢𝗧 𝗕𝗨𝗡𝗡𝗜𝗘𝗦

So, I’ve been reading a lot of Wizarding World OC fanfics lately, mostly on Wattpad, and have since fallen back into a rabbit hole of thinking about this amazing universe. Harry Potter was one of the very first fandoms I was in, and despite everything and how much I despise and renounce She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, I still love it and I don’t really think I’ll ever stop.

Anyways, as a result of my falling back into my love for this universe, I wound up creating a whole load of plot bunnies for assorted eras, and I thought I’d share them with you guys! I probably won’t wind up making formal intro posts for all of them or anything, but you guys are definitely free to ask me questions about any of them if you want, and I really hope you like my new babies!!

(Tagging my Wizarding World moots @luucypevensie, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, @manyfandomocs, @cecexwrites, and @ginevrastilinski-ocs - really hope you guys like these ideas!!)

FANTASTIC BEASTS ERA —

Charlotte “Charlie” Fairweather; pureblood, (former) Hufflepuff, poly Newt + Tina ship. Newt’s best friend from Hogwarts who shares his love of creatures and dropped out after he got expelled to follow him in his travels. Seen as the father of all the creatures while Newt’s the mom, and has a special bond with the Mooncalves. Total sassy sweetheart who has a heart of gold but also doesn’t take crap from anyone, and also a distinguished bisexual who’s very proud of herself for landing people as awesome as both Newt and Tina.

Amelia Jameson; half-blood, (former) Horned Serpent, poly Jacob + Queenie ship. American witch who works in the Wand Registration Department and is Tina’s only friend at work, and winds up getting pulled into the whole crazy adventure because of it. Incredibly intelligent and good at reading people, but never became an Auror because she was too scared to put herself into danger. Has had a work crush on Queenie for years, but never thought anything would come of it until she got to spend more time with her and wound up also developing feelings for Jacob (which causes her a great deal of panic for something that winds up having a happy ending).

Sylvia “Sylvie” Miller; pureblood, (former) Wampus, Bunty ship. Tina’s Auror protégé once she gets reinstated in the second movie who gets assigned to shadow her in her hunt for Grindelwald. Doesn’t see what Tina sees in Newt at all but then becomes a total hypocrite by falling head over heels for Bunty the moment she sees her. Kind of closed-off and over everything all the time, but also a secret lesbian disaster. Incredible when it comes to defensive magic and shield charms.

RIDDLE ERA —

Ptolemus Lovegood; pureblood, Ravenclaw, Tom Riddle ship. Exists in an AU where Tom never becomes Voldemort. Luna’s ancestor who definitely lives up to the Lovegood name, very dreamy and a bit odd, but an incredible artist who creates amazing magical paintings and sculptures. A bit naïve because he mostly lives inside his own head, and gets made fun of a lot by other students. Tom originally gets into a relationship with him because he thinks he can manipulate Ptolemus into helping him in his schemes, but he winds up actually falling in love with him, and Ptolemus slowly helps him overcome his anger and the darkness inside him. Basically this guy is Luna about fifty years in the future, and a bit of a manic pixie dream boy, but we love him anyway.

Sera Malfoy; pureblood, Slytherin, Orion Black ship. Everything you would expect a Malfoy to be - cold, cruel, and arrogant - but never to be made the heir to anything because she’s a woman, which she loathes. Plenty of people at Hogwarts desire her for her beauty, but she never deems anyone good enough for her. Has an on-and-off affair with Orion while he’s already betrothed to Walburga, which is super toxic and messy since Sera is mainly using him to try and get him to drop Walburga so she can be head of the Black household and Orion just wants to have the victory of sleeping with the girl everyone at Hogwarts wants. They actually wind up developing a sort of twisted connection, but break their affair off once Orion and Walburga officially get engaged. Eventually killed by Walburga after she finds out that Sera and Orion slept together one more time after they were already married and Sirius and Regulus were kids. After he moves back into his childhood home, Sirius finds a letter his father wrote to Sera but never sent, and a wrought-iron rose with a snake wrapped around the stem that she gifted him.

MARAUDERS ERA —

Orla Byrne; half-blood, Hufflepuff, Mary Macdonald ship. Daughter of a single mother who doesn’t find out her father was a wizard until she gets her Hogwarts letter, so she knows basically nothing about the wizarding world. Bonds with Mary over being Scottish witches trying to figure out this new world together, which eventually leads to them becoming cute girlfriends. Super sassy for a Hufflepuff and prone to using a lot of curse words. Also becomes besties with Mary’s band of other Gryffindor girls, but also becomes pretty tight with the Marauders, which annoys Lily before she starts returning James’s feelings.

Evelyn “Evie” Prewitt; pureblood, Ravenclaw, Narcissa Black ship. Middle child of that era’s Prewitts - Molly’s older sister and younger than the twins. Almost sorted into Slytherin and definitely showcases it - very ambitious and wants to be a politician. Meets Narcissa after they get paired together for a Charms project and start something of a more-than-friends thing, but they break it off after they graduate and Narcissa marries Lucius even though they genuinely love each other. Evie becomes a high-ranking politician in the Ministry of Magic eventually and never marries anyone else, and they wind up reconnecting and getting back together after Harry defeats Voldemort and Narcissa divorces Lucius when he goes to prison.

Nina Grey; half-blood, Hufflepuff, poly James + Lily ship. Daughter of a pureblood mother and Muggleborn wizard father, has been in ballet classes since she was really little, wanted to be a prima ballerina before she got her Hogwarts letter. Still regularly uses the Room of Requirement as a dance studio to practice her dancing, which is how she meets James when the Marauders run into the Room trying to get away from Filch after pulling a prank. Meets Lily after she sees James and Nina talking and approaches her to tell her to stay away from him, and they become friends, only for James to realize that he’s falling for Nina as well as Lily. Nina has already developed feelings for James and gains them for Lily as well the longer they’re friends, and Lily winds up realizing that she loves Nina about the same time she starts to return James’s feelings, so it’s kind of a whole mess, but they do all end up together in the end. Nina’s a total sweetheart who loves tea and reading and always wears ballet flats - basically she’s very soft-girl core and I love her.

Zachary Alonso; Muggleborn, Gryffindor, Remus ship. Son of Mexican-American Muggles/No-Majs who moved to the UK shortly after his tenth birthday, so he gets his Hogwarts letter instead of going to Ilvermorny. A bit of an outcast in his own dorm room for his first few years at Hogwarts since the Marauders are so close, but becomes friends with them in fourth year after he helps them pull off a prank. Becomes a lynx Animagus with the rest of the crew and gains the nickname Sharptooth. Only gets together with Remus towards the end of seventh year, but they’re a very sweet couple. Kind of a stereotypical Gryffindor - never backs down from a challenge, always wants to protect people, and would do very nearly anything for the people he cares about.

Clarissa Yeng; half-blood, Slytherin, Marlene McKinnon ship. Daughter of a wealthy wizarding family who are just outside of the Scared Twenty-Eight and who have sort of fallen from grace after her father married a Muggleborn witch. Determined to restore her family’s reputation, so she acts like a prime pureblood Slytherin, cold and ruthless and proud. Develops something of a rivalry with Marlene over outdoing each other in the Gryffindor-Slytherin shared classes that eventually turns to secret makeout sessions and, later, genuine romance. Naturally brutally honest and not very expressive, but also really touch-starved and craves genuine love and genuinely tries to be a better person once she and Marlene get together.

GOLDEN TRIO ERA —

Mariela Gomez; Muggleborn, (former) Thunderbird, poly Sirius + Remus ship. Transplant from America who becomes the new Muggle Studies professor in the Trio’s third year and winds up becoming very close to Remus. Winds up following him to the Shrieking Shack to help free Sirius and is kind of hurt upon seeing them interacting and realizing that they’re still in love because she was sort of developing feelings for Remus, but keeps in touch with him after he leaves Hogwarts and helps Sirius while he’s hiding out in his cave, and realizes she has feelings for both of them. Joins the Order once it gets back together and has a whole proper confession with her two boys right before the Battle of Hogwarts, and they officially get together after (because of course Sirius and Remus live, what do you take me for?). Incredibly caring and would do anything to protect her students, but also has no tolerance for people who are assholes to her or anyone else about being a Muggleborn - she winds up taking a lot of points off of Slytherin and makes an enemy of Snape because of it.

Lunella “Luna” Warbeck; pureblood, Ravenclaw, Marcus Flint ship. Daughter of the famous witch singer Celestina Warbeck, and is the exact opposite of her mother, very quiet and withdrawn. A very talented singer, however, and writes her own songs which are all really lovely. Meets Flint because she likes to sit in the Quidditch stands to write and winds up accidentally sitting in on a whole Slytherin team practice before anyone notices her. Gets accused of spying for Ravenclaw, which of course she isn’t, but Flint still invites her to the next practice as a way to show off and stick it to Ravenclaw, and then keeps inviting her and interacting with her until they eventually develop feelings. She winds up making him a better person and stopping him from joining the new Death Eaters after Hogwarts, and they actually get to have a happy ending together.

Hecate Lovegood; pureblood, Gryffindor, Fred ship. Luna’s older sister, but instead of getting bullied, goes mostly ignored by Hogwarts’s population. Autistic and only semi-verbal, so she rarely talks, and has a talent for creating enchanted jewelry. Makes friends with the twins after she lies to help get them out of trouble for a prank and abruptly becomes kind of a popular by osmosis, with a bunch of people wanting to buy her jewelry. Stays at Hogwarts after the twins drop out, but when they open Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes they offer her a whole section to sell her jewelry. She and Fred officially get together after the Battle of Hogwarts (because he lives, of course). Very much like Luna in terms of personality, but also a bit more snarky than her when someone’s being a bellend.

Zain Ahmad; half-blood, Hufflepuff, Oliver Wood ship. Hufflepuff Quidditch captain who has been Quidditch rivals with Oliver since they both started playing. Possibly the grumpiest and most sarcastic person to ever get into Hufflepuff, but still an amazing captain who’s loved by all of their players. Has the classic rivals-to-lovers thing with Oliver, but retires from Quidditch after they graduate and takes a job at the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Kind of an asshole with a heart of gold, doesn’t really show they care but always goes out of their way to do quietly nice things for people and would die for those they care about.

Nova Brackley; Muggleborn, Slytherin, Draco ship. A total outcast in Slytherin by virtue of being Muggleborn, but doesn’t really give a shit and can very often be seen flipping off their housemates. Incredibly talented at healing magic and sort of becomes Madam Pomfrey’s apprentice starting third year, and first meets Draco when they’re healing up his broken rib from a Quidditch game. The two of them bicker a lot because Draco feels like he has to be mean to them to keep up his reputation and Nova is not willing to take any of his shit, but they actually wind up falling in love eventually. They break up briefly after Nova can’t stop Draco from following his family into the Death Eaters (some of Draco’s angst in the sixth movie also comes from missing them), but they reconnect after the Battle of Hogwarts and eventually get back together, and Nova becomes a Healer at St. Mungo’s. Nova is basically Rosa Diaz incarnate, stone-faced and tough and not giving a shit what people think of them, but they’re also pretty funny and sweet once you actually get to know them, and they’re incredibly loyal.

Godric Marshe; pureblood, Gryffindor, Cedric ship. Named after Godric Gryffindor, of course, but very definitely doesn’t live up to his name because he basically has Neville’s relationship with magic, except his never gets better. Kind of an outcast and gets bullied a lot, and when Cedric approaches him after he’s been crushing on him for years, Godric definitely thinks it’s either a cruel joke or just the Hogwarts golden boy taking pity on him and trying to do the right thing. Rejects Cedric’s attempts at friendship for the longest time, but eventually they genuinely become friends and boyfriends later. Very quiet and insecure due to his lack of magic, but an amazing writer who slowly comes out of his shell thanks to Cedric and eventually becomes a novelist.

Allegra Pennyworthy; pureblood, Slytherin, Neville ship. Daughter of the Sacred Twenty-Eight but supports Muggleborns and doesn’t give a shit about doing what her family wants, and is something of an outcast from Slytherin because of it. Offers to help Neville in Potions since it’s her best subject, and falls him love with him through that. Eventually becomes Hogwarts’s new Potions professor when Neville takes over Herbology. A total badass, fierce and protective and cunning and never afraid to speak her mind; Neville both adores her her and fears her a little bit, and he’s basically the only person she lets herself be soft around.

Penelope Barker; Muggleborn, Gryffindor, Cho ship. A she/they partner for Cho because she deserved better. Technically Muggleborn, but was adopted by a wizard couple when she was a baby so they’ve always been familiar with the wizarding world. Much more focused on playing Quidditch than on academics, but is still best friends with Hermione and generally relies on her tutoring to pass her classes. Falls in love with Cho pretty much the very first time they see her on the Quidditch pitch, and spends years pining over her until they get to talking at the Yule Ball (Cho went by herself instead of with Cedric), and follows her into Dumbledore’s Army the next year until eventually they kiss after a meeting. Becomes a professional Quidditch player after Hogwarts, on the same team Ginny leads. Incredibly sweet but also super awkward and clumsy off of the Quidditch pitch, regularly tripping over her tongue and her own feet. Becomes a godparent to Hermione and Ron’s kids.

Aaaaand that’s all, folks! Holy shit, this is a lot (😅). As I said, not all of these babies are gonna get official intro posts or anything like that, but you’re always free to ask me whatever you want about any of them!! <3

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