#Troy’s opening for it and I’m bouncing off the walls at the chance to see him play live

[ragingdumpsterfire]

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#happy brain dump #so it’s been years since I went to a concert #like 10+ #and it’s something I really really miss #I missed out on altj last year and it killed me to not go #but I’m very very very excited to say that I finally decided to treat myself and got a ticket for a show in September #my first concert in forever and I’m ecstatic #Troy’s opening for it and I’m bouncing off the walls at the chance to see him play live #never thought I’d be able to do that and lemme tell you folks #I’m very excited 🥹🥹 #if you hear squealing it’s just me over here #I’m gonna be a big dork and bring one of my prints to give him in case he’s doing any sort of meet and greet #can you imagine me actually meeting him though like hi I forgot my own name anyway i’m a huge fan #leo rambles #oh how I rambled

[tenelkadjowrites]

Kiss of Chaos - Part Two - Seonghwa x Reader (NSFW)

PART ONE HERE.

Summary: Seonghwa takes you to meet fellow coven members, San and Wooyoung. But admitting the extent of your failed spell could end things with Seonghwa before they ever have a chance to truly begin.

Word count: 5,949

Genre and warnings: smut. witch seonghwa with witch reader. fem pronouns for reader. depictions of magick and witchcraft. dirty talk. blowjobs.

Tag list: @thewonderofkpop - @obligatoryidolblog - @iusrene - @billboard-singer - @yunhofingers - @foggyinternetchaos - @multihoe-net - @haruharu-egypt - @maarkcraft - @lilhwahwa - @btsreader12 - @offmymindmp3 - @talkbykhalid - @xirenex - @violetwinters - @jayb17 - @rdiamondbts2727 - @troy-on-sea - @passionloveindividualityempathy

please note this fic is not meant to represent seonghwa or ateez in any way, shape or form. on top of that, this fic and the depictions of witchcraft are not meant to be taken as formal information on the subject and take many creative liberties.

         It is chilly and you are bouncing on the balls of your feet, waiting outside Seonghwa’s place the following night. You are nervous for a few reasons and rattle them off in your head: meeting two more members of Seonghwa’s coven, what might come out if the deity is successfully contacted and seeing Seonghwa after grinding against his knee to orgasm. It is a strange mixture of excitement and anxiety, leaving you emotionally drained and heightened at the same time.

               The front door suddenly opens and Seonghwa stands there, looking cross. Tonight, he is in all black – shirt, leather jacket, jeans. His black hair is pulled up in a slightly messy small ponytail, the rest framing his face. A choker adorns his neck, black with small silver nubs.

               “Why didn’t you let me know you were here?” He demands by way of greeting.

               “I thought I was supposed to wait for you outside.”

               “I was waiting for you inside.”

               “Well, you didn’t tell me to knock.”

               Seonghwa sounds irritated when he replies, “I didn’t think I had to explain the basic function of knocking on someone’s front door.”

               You narrow your eyes, “Alright, chill out. I’m here, aren’t I?”

               Seonghwa shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket, stopping in front of you. The streetlights cast his face in shadow, your pendant thrumming against your chest standing close to him.

               “Yes, you are, little witch.” He says quietly, and his eyes drag up your body in such a way that even though you are in layers, you feel naked in front of him.

               Cheeks burning, you ask, “Are we Traveling?”

               “No,” Seonghwa says to your relief, “We can get to them before curfew. Your skin turns a hideous sickly colour every time we Travel and I hate feeling a twinge of guilt over it.” He takes off down the sidewalk, looking over his shoulder at you, “Come on.”

               Deciding to ignore the remark about your skin, you instead allow yourself to feel relieved at not Traveling. Taking off after him, you walk in silence at a brisk pace for a couple of minutes.

               “What are San and Wooyoung like?” You finally ask, mostly because you want to hear Seonghwa talk.

               “Chaotic.”

               “How so?”

               “You’ll find out soon enough.” He turns sharply suddenly down an alley.

               “What if they can’t help?”

               Seonghwa stops walking suddenly, turning to look at you. “Are you going to ask a thousand questions tonight?”

               “What is your problem?” You snap.

               “Nothing. I have a headache.”

               “Seriously?” You cross your arms.

               Seonghwa’s face darkens for a moment, walking towards you until your back is pressing against the brick wall. Up this close, you can see tiny puffs of air with each breath he takes, the scent of cinnamon is overwhelming, his purple eyes like pools from another planet you could dive in. He brings one hand flat against the wall next to your head, his face close to yours.

               “No, I’m lying,” He says quietly, his eyes scanning your face, “Do you want to know the truth?”

               “Obviously although you’re being quite dramatic about it.”

               His eyes narrow slightly before replying, “I had about a thousand things to do today before we resumed this wild goose chase. Yet the entire day, in the back of my head, I kept thinking about you getting off in my lap. It replayed like a movie. I don’t like being distracted.”

               Pressing off the wall, you get very close to his face, your lips almost touching as you say, “It isn’t my fault that you want to fuck me. So, don’t take your bad attitude out on me.”

               You push past him, both exalted Seonghwa thought about you like that, and annoyed he has to be such a diva about it. After creating some space between him, you turn around.

               “Well?” You prompt, “Let’s go.”

               Seonghwa bites down on his bottom lip, as if to stop himself from making a snappy remark, and resumes walking down the alleyway. In the distance, you can hear a muffled speaker crackle to life announcing the start of curfew. This propels him forward, past you and down the alleyway. The silence settles across the two of you once again as you walk.

               You turn his words over in your head carefully. You like that he was thinking of you today because you also spent more time than you would like to admit reliving last night. The attraction between the two of you is undeniable, but you still have bigger issues at hand outside the hot witch you want to have sex with.

               “Here.” Seonghwa’s voice cracks through your thoughts.

               You stop walking, looking around. There are no doors anywhere, no signs of some business lurking in the depths of the alleyway.

               “Uhm…where?”

               Seonghwa holds his hand out, moving it slowly around the air, as if searching for something. “It isn’t a physical storefront. I told you. It moves nightly.”

               For some reason, you had thought it moved physical locations nightly. Now, you are realizing that the shop moves locations dimensionally. That type of power is something you cannot imagine. You watch Seonghwa silently for a few moments, his hand stretched out.

               You take a step forward, your pendant pulsing. Closing your eyes, holding the necklace, you wander a little, letting it guide you. It isn’t until you almost run into the wall that your pendant jumps violently in your hand. Your fingers touch it, eyes opening.

               “It’s here.” You declare.

               Seonghwa comes to your location, his brows close together as his fingers touch the air. “You’re right,” He glances at you, “How did you figure that out? Just another feeling?”

               “With the help of my pendant too.”

               Once again, Seonghwa tilts forward, one finger touching the pendant gently. It buzzes against his touch. Your breath catches, heart skipping a beat being this close to him. You think about kissing him, the way he tasted like cinnamon.

“This charm is perfectly in sync to you. It’s very unusual to have a piece like that,” With a small shake of his head, he clears his thoughts, “Are you ready? Give me your hand.”

               Your fingers entwine around Seonghwa’s, and you can feel his pulse fluttering underneath his skin. His hands are warm, your pendant jolts, and Seonghwa tightens his grip.

               “This might feel strange.” is all he says and then pulls you forward.

               It does feel strange but not nearly as bad as Traveling. Your ears pop, there is a strange noise like the wind is being sucked out from around you and then you are standing in the foyer of a shop.

               If Hongjoong’s club was overwhelming, the store is as well just in a different way. The shelves are bursting with books about various divination methods, tarot decks, pendulums, and crystal balls in different sizes. A counter with a small register is set on one side, candles of different colours burning near one edge. There are two rooms near the back. One has the door ajar, allowing you to see a small circular table with a large crystal ball and tarot deck in the middle. The other room has just a table, a sheer curtain blocking the doorway. A staircase leads to a second floor, with even more items up there, a single man standing in front of a shelf, one book in his hand.

               There are quite a few people milling around the store, and your entrance with Seonghwa goes totally unnoticed. You become aware that you are still holding Seonghwa’s hand and quickly let go, not wanting to look as if you are desperate. Seonghwa shifts away from you, going over to the counter and ringing a small bell multiple times in the most annoying fashion possible.

               “Do you really –” You start to complain but are interrupted by a voice coming from the second floor.

               “Okay! Okay, I hear you! Do you have to be so impatient?” The loud voice exclaims, slamming the book shut.

               In the next second, he is gone in a cloud of black smoke, only to immediately appear behind the counter. Your eyes widen, trying to take in the fact you just saw a witch powerful enough to essentially teleport like that. You had heard rumors of such power being possible…but to actually see it in front of your eyes…

               The man has black hair, even darker eyes, a mischievous grin plastered on his face, and a tarot card turned into a necklace dangling down his exposed chest due to his lowcut top. When he smiles, it reminds you of a cat getting ready to dive into trouble.

               “Oh, it’s you!” The man looks pleased, “Why are you here?”

               “Wooyoung, I need your help.” Seonghwa says without preamble.

               Wooyoung blinks, noticing you for the first time. “Survived Hongjoong’s drink, did you?”

               “Does this coven have a group chat?” You grumble.

               Seonghwa glances at you, “Well, obviously.” Turning his attention back to Wooyoung, he says, “Is San here?”

               “Oh, you want both of us?” Wooyoung raises one eyebrow flirtatiously before shouting, “San! Hwa is here!”

               A second later, in another cloud of black smoke, a man with a jawline that could cut through butter appears next to Wooyoung. He also has a matching tarot card necklace and an equally mischievous glint to his eyes. You can tell these two are trouble. No wonder they run a shop together.

He looks gleefully at Seonghwa – and Seonghwa, for the first time, smiles brightly. Weird, you think, already used to a neutral or slightly annoyed expression on his face at most times.

               “Hongjoong told us you would be coming by,” San says, “He said you had something interesting for us.”

               “Let’s hope,” Wooyoung drawls, leaning forward and lowering his voice conspiratorially, “Every client we’ve had so far today has been incredibly boring. You know, the usual questions – does so and so love me, is so and so cheating on me, is this rash normal.”

               “Wha –” You start but Seonghwa speaks first.

               “Right, well, this should prove to be more interesting. Did Hongjoong tell you?”

               San looks at you with pity, “Deity spell gone wrong.”

               “Been awhile since we had one of those.” Wooyoung goes.

               “I think the last one was –” San begins.

               “A couple years ago where –”

               “We ended up managing to make contact and have the blockage lifted –”

               “We made a pretty penny off that one. We closed up shop for a couple of weeks and went to the Bahamas.” Wooyoung finishes.

               Your eyes bounce between the two men as if at a tennis match. When they fall silent, you think that if you spent a lot of time around them, you would probably get exhausted quickly. But Seonghwa seems completely unfazed by the rapid communication from the two men.

               “Well, let’s hope it goes as smoothly this time.” is all he says.

               “You do it,” San tells Wooyoung, “I’ll run the register. I hate that cold feeling that comes over when you make contact.”

               Wooyoung pats San on the shoulder, motioning for you to follow. Taking off deeper in the shop, you scan the shelves. Their stock is a lot more varied than yours, much more impressive. Your place is nothing compared to this – but it is still yours, your one part of the universe that gives you stability.

               Wooyoung pushes the sheer curtain out of the doorway, allowing you and Seonghwa to pass through first. Then, he closes the door completely.

               “I’m going to put a magick barrier up, just to be safe,” Wooyoung says, turning his attention to you, “Can you tell me the deity you contacted? That will help me know how strong I should make it.”

               Both men are looking at you expectantly. You shift awkwardly, acutely aware that things are about to get a bit more complicated. You mumble a name.

               “What?” Wooyoung blinks as Seonghwa stiffens and says, “I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?”

               You repeat it again, this time a little louder. No one speaks. Wooyoung glances at Seonghwa and goes, “Hwa, can you help me with the barrier? I think it will need to be extra strong.”

               “Woo, can you give me a moment alone with her?” Seonghwa asks, his voice ice.

               Wooyoung ducks out of the room quickly as if sensing the moment isn’t going to be pleasant, leaving the two of you alone. Seonghwa crosses the small space so that he is directly in front of you, his eyes dark storm clouds.

               “If I had known – if I had known for one second that you were foolish enough to try to contact a protogenoi…no, not just one of the protogenoi but the protogenoi…to try to contact Chaos itself…you must be extremely desperate or a bigger fool than I ever thought.”

               You refuse to back down to his stare. “I did what I needed to do. To communicate with Chaos directly…the power I would receive –”

               “Would be so illogical and dangerous that it would defy reason!” Seonghwa loses his cool completely, “No wonder your magick is blocked! Foolish enough to try to communicate with such a deity! Of course you were cast down for your over confidence! If I had known you tried such a thing, I would never have agreed to help you, no matter what rare item you shoved in my face.”

               You reach for the sleeve of his jacket, fingers pressing against the soft leather. “Seonghwa, I can’t get my magick back without you or your coven. I know I should have told you –”

               “But you didn’t think to be honest, did you?” Seonghwa snaps although he doesn’t pull away from you, “Skirting around the deity you communicated with – I didn’t even think to ask who it was because I didn’t think you would be so daft –”

               Your cheeks flush. “Then go! If you don’t want to help, then leave. I’ll see if Wooyoung can communicate without you!”

               Seonghwa leans close to you, each word dripping venom. “No, little witch, I’m staying but not for you. I don’t want anything happening to Woo when he tries to make contact. If you’re so determined to lead people I care about into trouble, then I have to be around to make sure my coven is okay. But,” He is close enough to kiss you now, his eyes staring directly into yours – he is beautiful in the darkest of ways, and despite the conversation, your heart skips a beat, “I need you to come clean with me right fucking now. If there is more to this story, if you have done anything else stupid in regards to Chaos, you tell me this second.”

               “Why?” You challenge, “You’re leaving after tonight. I don’t owe you anything.”

               Seonghwa presses his lips in a thin line for a moment before replying in a strangled tone, “Just tell me.”

               Your chest is tight, knowing that you could refuse his request. The final secret of that night could remain yours and yours alone. But underneath Seonghwa’s words, there is a hint of promise that he might stick around if you are honest, that the coven might still be able to help you. And on top of that…well, the worst part of all is that you want him to stick around, not just for his help but because your attraction to him is growing more by the second, despite your best efforts to ignore it.

               With a shaky breath, you admit quietly, “I tried a binding spell. To bind Chaos to me. It backfired. I think I got…cursed. Or something. I’ve tried researching what went wrong, what happened to me. But I can’t fix it.”

               Seonghwa’s face goes slack for a moment before rubbing his face with both hands, going completely silent. Somehow, that is worse than a lecture. He turns around, pacing the small space quietly. When he finally does speak, his back is towards you.

               “You tried to bind Chaos to you.” He says, voice devoid of emotion.

               “Yes. Originally, I thought I’d ask for a blessing. I wanted protection and my magick to be stronger. A blessing wouldn’t just protect me but my store too. But then I thought if I even was able to bind a small element of Chaos to me, that would be even more powerful than a blessing…and I wanted that. I want whatever I can get for myself.”

               He seems to chew on this for a second. “Is there a reason you left all this out when you came to me?”

               “I told you. I knew you wouldn’t help. You wouldn’t want to get swept up in something like this.”

               “So, you were looking out for yourself.”

               “I have to. I have no one else to look out for me.”

               “Is that why you attempted such a thing? For yourself?”

               “Seonghwa, I explained this. My shop is all I have. I have no family and no coven. I lose the shop, I lose my apartment, my money, I have no protection. I’d have nothing,” You tentatively take a step towards him, “Have you never been that desperate before? There has never been a time in your life where you had to do whatever you needed to get by?” Your voice cracks and you curse yourself for your weakness.

               Silence fills the room. You wait for Seonghwa to tell you to fuck off and storm out, to tell you that you are a disgusting amateur witch, playing with forces beyond your comprehension. And Seonghwa does go to the door, your heart dropping, knowing that your honesty has cost you the help you needed, and crushed whatever is going on between the two of you.

               “Woo,” Seonghwa calls out into the shop, “I’m ready. Let’s put the barrier up.” He catches your stare and holds up one hand, “Don’t. Don’t talk to me right now.”

               When Wooyoung enters, he goes, “Wow. The tension in here is extremely uncomfortable.”

               “She tried to bind Chaos to her,” Seonghwa says bluntly, “Does that change anything?”

               Wooyoung’s eyes widen, looking over at you, before bursting into laughter. “Oh! Wow! That wasn’t very smart, was it? San!” He calls suddenly, “She tried binding Chaos to her!”

               In the distance, slightly muffled, you can hear San laughing. “Chaos!”

               “Okay, I get it,” You snap, “It was stupid. Can we move on, please?”

               Wooyoung shuts the door again, motioning for you to sit down at the table. As you do so, San bursts in, holding multiple giant black tourmaline crystals.

               “Wait, use these.” He thrusts at Wooyoung.

               “Good idea. The little ones won’t do much for protection, will they?” and the two of them laugh.

               You are starting to feel like the worst witch in the world. In your haste to bind Chaos to yourself, you admit that you did not think it through carefully. But shops were being shuttered at an alarming rate and seeing the empty storefronts had put you in a panic. By the time the curfew started, you couldn’t shake the idea that to simply try something drastic would work in your favour – as long as your intention was pure and came through clearly in the spell, why couldn’t you do it?

               In the aftermath, sitting here as San places obnoxiously large black tourmaline crystals on the table, and Wooyoung and Seonghwa put up the wards, you realize that your mistakes might have cost you everything – your shop, your magick, and whatever is blossoming with Seonghwa. In your desperation, you have made things fifty times worse, and it is only now, having said it aloud to someone else, that it is dawning on you that your mistake was a colossal fuck up. Perhaps speaking the words shattered your delusions that this could be easily solved. Perhaps the silence of Seonghwa when you admitted the binding spell hit you like a ton of bricks. Whatever the reason, you sit there unmoving as there is a flurry of activity around you. San places candles on the table in certain spots, draws elaborate designs out of salt, and then gingerly pats you on the shoulder, a pitying look on his face.

               “If there’s a way to fix it, Hwa will find it.” He says kindly.

               You nod mutely, wanting to say that you don’t think Seonghwa will stick around long enough to fix your fuck up.

               “Alright,” Wooyoung says, sitting down as San leaves hastily – and you don’t blame him, “Ready?”

               Seonghwa sits across from you at the small circular table, still not looking at you. “What do you need from me?”

               “Nothing. I’ll lead it. When I say to hold hands, we cannot break the grip, understand? As soon as we do, any possible connection will be lost.”

               Stirring from your brooding, you ask, “What if we can’t make a connection? Should I sit in the circle even though my magick is blocked?”

               “Yes, don’t worry about that. Between Hwa and I, we will have enough magick to power the ritual. The truth is that you should be prepared for us not to be able to make a connection at all. The deity you tried to bind is extremely fickle and works in ways beyond our understanding. The chances of contacting it are slim to none.” Wooyoung explains.

               Of course, you think glumly. Wooyoung asks everyone to close their eyes and focus on Chaos. It is similar to how you started the binding spell and gives you a feeling of déjà vu. As you focus on Chaos, you can hear Wooyoung chanting in a soft voice, lighting the candles on the table. After a couple of minutes of this, Wooyoung reaches for your hand, and Seonghwa holds your other. Since you are blocked off from your magick, you have no clue if the ritual is working. Like San complained about earlier, the temperature drops rapidly, and in a minute or so, your teeth are chattering. To your surprise, Seonghwa gives your hand a squeeze.

               This goes on for some time, the only source of warmth on your cheeks coming from the candles. Wooyoung chants quietly the entire time but nothing happens. After what feels like an hour, Wooyoung releases his hold on your hand, ending the ritual. It is difficult to tell because you don’t have your magick but you feel confident that the spell didn’t work.

               “No luck, sorry.” He says apologetically, “The temperature dropped which means Chaos came by at some point but had no interest in reaching back out. And they are too powerful for me to try to compel them, or demand they communicate. It’s too dangerous.”

               You open your eyes, adjusting to the bright flames in front of you, disappointment settling across your chest.

               Seonghwa speaks first, “It was a long shot after we learned the deity and the fact she tried to bind it. I appreciate you trying.”

               “You should go to Mingi and Yunho,” Wooyoung suggests.

               “Who are they?” You ask curiously, “More members of the coven?”

               He nods, “They study all sorts of magical theory, deities, always have their noses in books. They love collecting those dusty old tomes, pride themselves on the collection. They might have information that neither San nor myself have,” Wooyoung yawns, “I fall asleep just at the thought of going there.”

               Seonghwa is silent, so you merely thank him. You have no clue if Seonghwa has any intention of helping you speak to Mingi and Yunho, and you don’t want to discuss that in front of other coven members.

               After saying thank you and good-bye to Wooyoung and San, you trail after Seonghwa, leaving the shop and ending back up in the alleyway. The tension between the two of you could be cut with a knife.

               “Well,” You say awkwardly, “I should try to head back to my place. If I time it right, I could get there in between patrols.” Seonghwa doesn’t say anything. “Alright…thanks for the help.” You say lamely, unsure how to end the conversation when it could be your last with him.

               “My place is closer,” He says suddenly, “Just crash there again.”

               “Uh…are you sure?”

               “I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t sure.” He says curtly.

               “Right…but I mean…I just assumed. With what I told you. That you don’t want to be around me anymore.”

               “Let’s not talk about this right now past curfew. Come on.” Seonghwa says and takes off down the alley.

               You blink, slightly confused and more surprised, and take off after him.

*

               As soon as you get back to Seonghwa’s place, he is in the small kitchen, making two drinks. You watch him silently as he mixes them. Having shrugged out of his leather jacket, you know you should stop checking him out in the thin fabric of his long black shirt, but it is an impossible feat. Maybe this would be easier if he wasn’t so hot.

               You lean back against the counter across from him, taking the drink when offered. Seonghwa looks at you in such a way that makes you feel undressed – but surely, you must be misunderstanding. He isn’t thinking of you like that now, not after what you admitted.

               “I have been.” Seonghwa says suddenly.

               “What?” You ask, confused.

               “That desperate. What you asked me earlier,” He takes a sip of the drink, not looking at you, “As much as I want to tell you that what you did was ridiculous – and don’t get me wrong, it was – I can understand what drove you to it.”

               You weren’t sure what you were expecting but somehow it wasn’t this. “So…” You trail off, trying to think of what to say next, “Will you at least let me know where to locate Yunho and Mingi?”

               “No, little witch,” Seonghwa replies and your heart drops, “I’ll take you to them myself.”

               Your eyes widen slightly. “You’re still going to help me?” You ask incredulously.

               “Despite all logic and reasoning telling me not to, yes, I will,” He hesitates for a moment, “I really want that Bowie’s Eye, you see.” Somehow, the words ring hollow but you don’t push it. Whatever desperation Seonghwa has felt previously in his life, it is enough for him to be empathetic to still help you.

               “I appreciate it,” You say honestly, “Really.”

               He holds up one hand, “Don’t thank me. I told you. I only want the Bowie’s Eye. And what you did is still utterly foolish. To think you could bind Chaos to you…to believe that even a fragment of such a being could be tied to you…” He sighs. “Lecturing you is pointless. What’s done is done. I understand the desperation and I want the Bowie’s Eye. That’s that.”

               “Right.” You decide it is better to drop any appreciation – it is clear that Seonghwa is in no mood to truly probe why he wants to keep helping you.

               Taking a swig of the drink, he places the glass on the counter, “You’re a real pain in my ass, little witch.”

               You hesitate for a moment before going, “Is that why you can’t stop thinking about me?”

               Something flickers past those purple eyes of his, but it is impossible to read. Instead of replying, he reaches out, tugging you towards him by your waist, your drink forgotten on the counter.

               “Don’t push your luck,” He growls as his hands snake down your hips, waking up every nerve in your body, “You know, anyone else would be grateful to do something so amateurish and still receive my help.”

               The desire between the two of you, which had been spiking and dropping depending on whatever stressors kept popping up, now is unchecked, spilling out and making you feel as if stepping into a fog. You know yourself well enough to be aware that all logic and reasoning is about to leave your brain.

               “I’m grateful,” You protest, your hands pressing against his chest, feeling the muscles underneath, “I can prove it.”

               Are you imagining it or does Seonghwa’s breath catch for a split second? Deciding to press his buttons, your hands travel down his chest to the front of his pants, tugging on his belt. “What was it that you said last night? You wanted to see me with your cock in my mouth?”

               “I also think I said something about you being my personal whore,” Seonghwa remarks lightly but his heavy breathing betrays him, “Which now, given the circumstances…” He trails off when you unclasp his belt, unzipping his jeans. “I guess I don’t have to even ask because you’re such a slut.”

               The desperation for Seonghwa is more than usual, given that the previous night both of you remained fully clothed. On top of that, you assumed after admitting why the spell was such a disaster, he wouldn’t even want to talk to you anymore, never mind do anything sexual. You are in no mood to play coy, not after thinking about him since grinding against his knee.

               Dropping to your knees, you rub Seonghwa through his jeans, listening to the tiny sigh that escapes his lips. “I’m not in the mood to be teased, little witch.” He says in a strained voice.

               “I don’t feel like playing coy either,” You reply, giving a tug on his jeans and boxers just enough so that his cock springs free.

               The sight of Seonghwa rock hard practically makes your mouth water. There is something dirty about being in the kitchen with him like this and when you wrap your hand around his cock and hear him groan quietly, it is difficult not to lose your cool and take him in your mouth immediately.

               Spitting on his dick, you begin to jerk him off slowly. Seonghwa leans back against the counter, his hands gripping the edges, curling around it. Pressing the tip against your lips as you stroke him, you take a moment to enjoy the sound of his heavy breathing. Then, you flick your tongue against it, causing Seonghwa to groan.

               Looking upwards at him, your eyes lock as you wrap your lips around the head of his cock. Over the course of the night, Seonghwa’s ponytail has become messy, more stray hairs framing his face, his lips parted slightly as he breathes heavily. He swallows hard, his choker momentarily tightening against his neck. You swirl your tongue around the head, enjoying the fact that you could make such a powerful witch be so turned on simply by touching him like this.

               As enjoyable as it would be to tease him, you are too impatient. You push more of Seonghwa in your mouth, eliciting a groan from him, your tongue pressing against the underside of his shaft.

               “Take off your shirt,” He says breathlessly suddenly, and who are you to refuse a man you want this badly?

               Tugging off your shirt, tossing it to the side, leaving just your bra on, you take Seonghwa back in your mouth, your lips stretching around his girth. You can feel his gaze on you as you suck him, your cheeks hollowing as you bob your head on his cock. His precum bubbles at the corners of your lips. The only sound in the kitchen of his moans and your slurps against his dick.

               “L-Look up at me,” His voice is a piano wire about to snap, and you obey, “Do you have anything to say for yourself after tonight?”

               You hum around his cock and Seonghwa gasps, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. You slide him out of your mouth with a soft pop, his tip against your lips when you speak.

               “You want me to apologize?” You ask, “I don’t do apologies. But I can make you cum and that will be just as good.”

               You drag your tongue down along his shaft, stroking him as you switch to sucking on his balls. Seonghwa reflexively bucks his hips, a ragged groan tumbling from his lips as you jerk him off while working your tongue against his balls.

               “Is this what you wanted?” You ask in between licks, “Is this what you meant by being your personal whore? Even though you were furious with me earlier, you still couldn’t turn me away because you were desperate for me to suck your cock.”

               “Oh, so you’re doing me a favour?” Seonghwa asks in a strained voice.

               Instead of replying, you take Seonghwa back in your mouth, seeing how much of him you can take until it is too much. As you do so, Seonghwa groans, his head rolling back, lips parted in pleasure, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the choker. His cock is buried in your throat, precum and spit mingling together as you suck him off. Just to tease him, you reply with a curt yes but the word is garbled due to his cock in your mouth. He moans at this, chest rising and falling quickly, and you know that you would be able to make him finish soon.

               So you continue to talk – telling Seonghwa he was frustrating you in the alley, that you thought he was going to leave when you told him what you did with the spell, that you hadn’t realized how much he wanted you to stick around, and that you wanted him just as much. But the words are pure gibberish as you blow him, nothing but vibrations against his cock that are quickly driving him to his limit.

               Seonghwa’s head rolls forward, panting, his tongue poking out a little from in between his lips as he looks as if he could devour you in that moment – and you would let him. With one final roll of your tongue across the tip, he lets out a loud grunt, jerking his hips forward. You pull him out of your mouth as he cums across your tits, spilling his load, his eyes screwed tightly shut, letting out small moans. You like the way Seonghwa sounds when he cums – music to your ears, music belonging only to you tonight.

               As he comes down from his climax, you clean yourself up, shrugging back into your shirt. It is as if around him you have trouble controlling yourself. All you want is Seonghwa, and every other thought leaves your head when he is too close. Your underwear is sticking to you from being so turned on from blowing him but before you can even hint at him touching you, Seonghwa is already giving a small shake of his head.

               “No, little witch, I think I will let you stew in it tonight. I mean, you did withhold important information from me after all,” His long fingers go underneath your chin, tilting your face to look up at him, “Do you really think you deserve to cum after that?”

               You know that Seonghwa is teasing you, just like the other night where he didn’t remove your clothes or touch you at all to make you climax. You know he wants you to pout and whine but as frustrated as you are, you don’t want to give him that satisfaction.

               “Of course, I understand.” You say simply and for a split second, disappointment crosses his features, making you feel smug. “I guess we should get some sleep.”

               Seonghwa, who clearly looks torn between teasing you more, or accepting that you aren’t going to bite the bait, merely shrugs, straightening up. His face settles back into his usual slightly haughty expression but it is a façade and you both know it.

               “I think I know the way to the room,” You say coyly, “Good-night, Seonghwa.”

               And you leave him alone in the kitchen, the push and pull between the two of you growing.

PART THREE HERE.

#ateez fics #ateez smut #seonghwa fics #seonghwa x reader #kiss of chaos #kpop fic

[donablue]

this particular store is usually deserted around this time of day, so anto is always a little thrown on the rare occasion when he finds someone else there when he walks in. but this time it's a familiar face that wheels around to face him, surprise taking over it before he's greeted with a loud, "anto!"

"what's the story, champ?" he makes his way over to posy and bumps his arm into her shoulder. she bumps him back and anto stifles a small laugh at how it's less of a bump and more her bouncing ineffectively off his arm.

"wig shopping! i am not liking this one anymore," posy explains, absently gesturing at the pink wig currently on her head while she turns back to the mannequin heads displaying the range of wigs. she shoots him a glance out of the corner of her eyes. "what is being your story?"

he could say anything. and yet he opts for the truth. "last storm knocked one of my earrings loose, so i'm in the market for a new pair."

judging from the quirk of posy's eyebrows, she hadn't been expecting him to actually explain himself. he hadn't expected it either, really, but there's always been something about posy that settles him enough to offer up bits of honesty that he wouldn't afford anyone else.

when she doesn't reply, anto moves away to browse the lines of jewelry along the nearest wall. he's about halfway through the first display before posy speaks up.

"can i be choosing them for you?"

she's no longer looking at the wigs and is instead staring at him, looking borderline excited already.

"well, shit," he mutters to himself under his breath. anto knows he's going to give in but he gives himself the illusion of thinking it over for a beat before his shoulders sag and he lets out a sigh. "yeah, alright. nothing pink, though, alright?"

brilliant smile fixed on her face, posy hums her acknowledgment and runs to his side. her focus turns intense as she mulls over the displays in front of them, considering every piece carefully before she moves onto the next, and anto has to fight back the fond twist of his lips.

waiting patiently next to posy, his gaze flicks back and forth between her expression of concentration to the jewelry cases until she says, apropos of nothing, "i have never been thanking you."

"what–?" anto balks. "the fuck do you have to be thanking me for?"

"for not cheating at the duel. or, i guess, not totally cheating at the duel."

thinking about the duel still leaves a sour taste in anto's mouth. it makes his temple ache with the phantom pain of a bullet ripping past, just barely avoiding killing him outright.

"it was nice of you to be giving him a chance to fire back," posy continues, not having stopped to look up at him.

"he shot me in the face, posy," he grumbles, not caring how petulant it comes out.

"i said it was nice, not smart," she clarifies, and anto is torn between laughing hysterically and snarling.

he settles for bristling, shoulders hunching as he huffs out a harsh breath. "should've killed the bastard when i had the chance."

"grognak would never have forgiven you," posy states matter-of-factly, "and troy is being my best friend, so i'm happy you didn't."

nostrils flaring as he mentally flinches away from thinking about what grognak would have done if he'd actually killed troy, anto grunts and deflects, "yeah, well. i've done worse before. wouldn't have been the first time, or the last. all part of the job description, posy."

silences settles over them for a minute, and anto is pretty certain that posy's eyes don't move from the same set of earrings the entire time. that is, until she turns to meet his eyes and surprises him again.

"i killed someone too."

eyeing the woman skeptically, anto leans his hip against a display case and crosses his arms. "you? you, posy, have killed someone?"

"i have!" her stare is defiant and anto is reminded once again of why he's fond of her.

"just the one?"

"as far as i am knowing, yes," posy replies.

the cryptic answer makes him narrow his eyes at her until posy admits, "i suffered the blunt force traumas from having my face beaten in with a flashlight, so i don't remember. but thomas says it was to protect peoples! captain planet was stabbing people on the pier! i don't know why he died, i was only hitting him once with my flashlight!"

the distress on her face is too much for him. placing a hand on posy's shoulder, anto gives her a small shake and ducks down to look her in the eye.

"no offence, posy, but accidentally killing someone isn't the same. what do you know about being a gangster?"

"oh!" somehow, that seems to distract her from the turn the conversation had taken. she turns on her heel and darts towards the back, presumably into one of the changing rooms, leaving him to stand alone in the middle of the store without a response.

he can hear her rustling around so he goes back to browsing the shelves. watches, earrings, glasses, bracelets, necklaces, all easy enough to pluck from their stands and stuff into a pocket when he finds something he likes or deems good enough to sell off. a glimmer catches his eye and he turns to inspect it. there's a pair of earrings that look like they might be real amethysts, judging from the locked case enclosing them. with a glance over his shoulder, anto sets to picking the lock, smirking to himself when it pops open and he can snake a hand in to snatch the earrings. the case is closed again and the jewelry is safely in anto's hand when the sound of a curtain being drawn back reaches him, and he smoothly tucks them away into his jacket pocket, moving to greet posy when she comes out.

whatever he'd been expecting, he's not prepared for the sight of posy striding over to square up to him in her new outfit. it's not plain, but strangely muted compared to the other clothes anto has seen her in. her hands settle on her hips and she straightens up to her full height, puffing her chest out proudly.

"i am a solo dolo but i have respect all over the 'hood!" she declares, and anto's eyebrows shoot up his forehead.

"that right?"

he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling, but his disbelief must come across loud and clear in his tone because the next thing he knows, posy is flashing him a grin and has her gun trained just to the left of him. "what is up, motherfucker?" she chirps.

his resolve cracks and laughter startles out of him.

it's not often that something reduces him to tears of laughter, but he doubles over and laughs until he can manage to straighten up, breathless and sporting blurry vision. "jesus– fair play, then. who taught you that one?"

"the ballas gave me gangster lessons," posy elaborates, grinning widely as he allows himself another few chuckles. "we've been killing, slicing, and gangbanging."

that sets him off again.

"they let me paint maxwell purple! steven thought i joined the gang, but i am thinking they are being liking me. like abdul with the vagos!" she explains further, watching him as he leans back against a display case to catch his breath.

"explains the purple wig." he jerks his chin in the general direction of her head, hand coming up to clutch at his ribs where he feel a faint ache. his eyes drift down to where her gun has come to rest against her side and he arches an eyebrow after a beat. "that a diamondback? what do you need that kind of firepower for, eh?"

posy spares the weapon a glance before she tucks it back into her jacket. "troy gave it to me. or pillbot. they both gave me one, it is being for protections. one of them got stolen though."

sobering slightly, anto nods, recalling the abridged version of events she's told him before. he tucks the first question that comes to mind, and the accompanying prickle of curiosity to know where troy would have gotten a diamondback from, away. "you let me know if you need something else, got it? don't want you walking around without a strap."

there's a long pause that nearly makes anto fidget with how intently posy stares at him. the moment abruptly ends and she rewards him with a sunny smile. "okay! peace, pimp!"

she's already made her way back into a dressing room by the time his stunned silence gives way to another bout of raucous laughter.

they don't spend long in the store after that, with posy quickly settling on a new blue wig and moving onto insisting he get a matching pair of stud earrings for himself. despite himself, anto caves. he buys them.

he's securing the backing of the second earring into place as they step back outside. when his hands fall back down to his sides, posy looks him over and gives him an approving nod. he returns the favour, making a show of inspecting the look of her new wig before nodding gravely. "right deadly," he announces.

"right deadly," posy returns with another nod.

his chest warms and, for a second, he allows his face soften.

posy moves towards her car, a little thing that he's seen a few times which, sure enough, has been painted puple.

"it was nice to be seeing you without... um. yeah!" she calls out once she's seated behind the wheel.

the corner of his mouth twitches up into a half smile as he fills in the blanks himself. "sure, look, we'll link up later, yeah? i've some stuff to sell."

he's about to turn away and head back to the shit car he'd stolen to get here, but he stops to consider briefly before jogging over to the driver's side of posy's car right as the engine comes to life. crouching down and rifling through his pockets, anto finds what he's looking for right as posy rolls the window down with a curious expression. reaching into the car and tugging one of posy's hands towards him, he deposits his favourite set of brass knuckles into her open palm and folds her fingers over it.

"easier to hide than a gun," he says by way of explanation and leaves it at that before he dashes away.

her excited "oh!" is easily heard and anto allows himself a pleased grin as he slides into his stolen car and promptly throws it into reverse, honking twice before he speeds away.

#i just think..... that they should be friends #and that posy should be trying to get anto to wear more colours #anyway this one goes out to tumblr user trognak bc posy our beloved #anto murphy #posy florian #anto: every good gangster has at least one set of knuckle dusters #donablue.exe

[softlyblues]

30th April 1876, Paris

Very little from the exhibition actually sells, because this is before they are very much in vogue, and Manet is still young with a spring in his step, and Renoir still follows Monet with hope in his eyes and a brush behind his ear. It is 1876, the second Impressionist exhibit in Nadar’s studio, and they are all young and full of vigour, skin so thick as to shrug off criticism because what would they know?

L’homme Distrait is a painting in the corner of the room, below a collection of Renoir’s studies of water. People’s eyes pass over it, oddly put off, although there isn’t much wrong with it. At first, anyway.

It is by a young man named Alfred Sisley, and it is odd because Sisley is known (already) for his landscapes. It is a very small canvas, all light and the spill of shadow,  the press of a hand against a pillow, the fall of hair along bare shoulders, a shirt slipped down to cup the upper arm, to reveal a smattering of intimate freckles along the back of the neck, trailing ever-downwards. Morning sun spills through the window the figure looks out of, and his face is hidden by the picture, captured from behind. His fingertips press into the pillow, clutching a little of the fabric, and what little the viewer can see below him shows bare feet tucked underneath bare legs, a tantalising peek at whatever else might lie beneath. It is tender.

Three paintings are sold, at the second Impressionist exhibit, although the publicity is a lot greater than that of the second. Two are sold to an art collector from Normandy, who has felt the way the wind is blowing -

And the third is sold to the strange man in the old-fashioned suits, who came every day of the exhibition to stare at the Sisley painting in the corner, an odd look of yearning in his eyes, his hands neatly tucked behind his back as though he doesn’t trust himself not to touch. He pays in cash and vanishes.

☼

2nd September 1889, London

Aziraphale does not have many houseguests, but he makes an exception for a few of his favourite people. It is just before the decade turns, and Oscar cuts a pompous figure lying on his chaise-longue with a wine glass hanging from his hand, but he’s a lonely soul and his young man - his Alfred, an undergraduate at Oxford just turned twenty - is chasing him. Oscar comes to Aziraphale to complain, wryly, that young men will chase without any of the idea the hurt they can cause, and Aziraphale is there with wine and an ear to lend.

“That painting,” Wilde says, waving a hand at the corner, “Often I’ve wondered about it. My tongue is too loose, but my friend - yours is too tight.”

Aziraphale doesn’t have to turn to know which painting Wilde refers to; over the years, he’s wondered if he should discard it, but every time he tries to his hand stills. “I found it in the Impressionists,” he says lightly. “A trifling thing.”

“An odd choice of subject matter for the air-silly men, surely,” Wilde says. He can be astute when he wants to be, damn the bastard.

Aziraphale shrugs. “I thought it was unique, and Sisley was only too glad to sell.”

“Do you know who the sitter is?”

“No,” Aziraphale says.

Oscar’s eyes, mostly full of self-pity, swell with gentle laughter. “My friend - you never did learn how to lie.”

“I don’t know him,” Aziraphale says, “I - I know his name.”

“Oh?”

Aziraphale fills his glass, and then Oscar’s when he holds it out. “His name is Anthony,” he says steadily, and wills his voice not to tremble overmuch, “But we have - that is to say, I do not see him anymore. I haven’t in a long time. I saw the painting at the exhibition and it seemed like I ought to buy it, although I never told Sisley my name and I cannot imagine Anthony would be too happy to know I bought it.”

Wilde laughs. It isn’t a very happy laugh. “You and I,” he says, and tips the edge of his glass against Aziraphale’s, “Must be the most miserable men in all of England. Our lovers run away.”

Aziraphale doesn’t disagree.

☼

And On The Seventh Day, He Rested

That is not even close to how it begins, but it is a view of things from the other side of the mirror.

Crowley doesn’t remember his life before the Fall, only that he must have had one, and that he must have had a good reason for leaving Above and going Below. He remembers the pain of it, of everything burning and the feathers on his wings scorching black with the heat, a God angry at the rejection of one of Its children. Crowley remembers screaming, and then blackness, and then Hell.

He hadn’t liked Hell at all. When they asked for volunteers to tempt on this new experiment God was creating, Crowley had jumped at the chance, back when he was still just Crawly and nothing much separated him from all the rest of the poor bastards down there who had just wanted to know why.

And he got up there and found out that the world was open and airy and beautiful, and things smelled of peaches, and Eve was nice to him, stroking a finger along his scaly back. “You’re pretty,” she tells him now.

This is how it begins.

“I will call you a snake,” Eve tells him, and Crawly rears up all proud of himself, because he has a name someone else has given him and it seems to fit him as though it always has. Like a glove. “You are a snake because of the hiss you make.”

To make her happy, Crawly does it.

Her laugh is beautiful, and he is proud of himself for making it - that is something he has done himself, created all on his own, and it feels so good to create joy in the air, especially for Eve. Crawly likes her ever so much more than he likes Adam, who is a bullyish man, stomping about the garden and forcing names on things that don’t suit them at all. A part of Crawly wonders if Adam will be happy about snake.

“Hello.”

It is a few days later, and Crawly is testing out his other form, sitting on the wall of the garden and swinging his legs over the side. He’s eating an apple. It’s green, juicy, running down his chin, full of good flavour and a sharp bite, and this is why he volunteered - because there are no apples in Hell.

“Hello,” something says again, and a vision all in white settles beside Crawly.

Crawly scrunches up his nose. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m a Principality,” says the angel, almost apologetically. “I think I’m meant to be guarding Eden from temptation and things like that? It’s all quite exciting. I’ve been speaking to Adam, a lot.”

“Good,” Crawly tosses his apple over the wall, where it rolls into the barren sand.

(And why is Eden the only place of life? What has made it special?)

(Something takes root.)

“You’re the temptation, then, I gather,” says the angel. He is quite pretty, objectively, a spray of short white hair over an amicable face, a sharp little nose and bow-shaped lips. His robes fall to his ankles, suitably demure, and his hands are folded in his lap as though he’s awaiting a lecture from God Itself.

Crawly shrugs, and feels very sinful. “I’m the temptation.”

(Later he thinks this is part of the Holy Punishment. It must be. To love, and to never be loved in return - a black hole, a void in reverse, giving and giving and never receiving. This is the last and first joke, by a God cruel enough to laugh at it, placing the one thing Crowley wants in front of him and saying: this is not for you.)

“You look very benign,” the angel says, like an apology. “I - oh! I’m very sorry. I’m Aziraphale, Principality. Your name can’t just be temptation.”

“Crawly,” Crawly says, going scarlet at the saying of it aloud. “Although I’m thinking of changing it.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you,” says Aziraphale politely, and Crawly thinks oh so this is what it’s like to see the sun rising.

He doesn’t mean to tempt.

Truly, he doesn’t.

“Oh, snake,” whispers Eve one golden night when the sun is hanging over the sky, a guest that refuses to leave, “I am so sad, and I don’t know why. I wish you could speak to me, snake - sometimes it feels like you’re my only friend.”

Her and Adam sleep at opposite ends of the Garden. Eve curls beneath a bush, her hair bouncing over one breast, and shivers in the cold; she has nothing to clothe herself in, and even in the desert the nights are freezing. Crawly can’t imagine surviving with warm blood in his veins, instead.

You are my dearesssst friend, Crawly hisses, his tongue flickering out to brush against her cheek. He can’t help it - and anyway, Hell would tell him if he was doing anything truly wrong. Right.

“He hurts me so,” Eve says. Water pools underneath her pupils, and spills over her cheeks, and when Crawly bumps his nose against it he tastes warm salt. “I wish he didn’t, snake, but he does, and he expects me to forget and be his wife. Loving. I love him, and he says he loves me!”

Love is cruel, Crawly says to ears that cannot hear him. As though he knows anything.

“But if he loved me he would be kind.”

Crawly is silent, but his eyes are drawn to the tree in the centre of the garden, and he wonders… all he wants to do is help.

“I wish I knew! For good or ill, I wish I knew!”

And Crawly wraps around her shoulders, and whispers in her ear, and Eve hears.

They leave soon after that.

But Aziraphale gives them the flaming sword, and surely that must count for something? Something meant for good will turn out badly, but something meant for good might still work the way it was intended.

Crawly leaves, belly flat in the sand, and behind him an apple tree takes root, and a single Principality takes flight, dove’s wings in the burning blue of a sky too new to be clouded.

☼

Summer 1194 BC, Troy

The funeral is solemn. The sight of the pyre, hot and sticky in the air of summer, makes bile rise in the back of Crowley’s throat, although he hides under the wraps of a mourning widow in the crowd, unseen to most everyone - he doesn’t want to be bothered, doesn’t want to be talked to.

What a fucking waste.

He is present at the council, too.

“The boy asked for his ashes to be mixed with-”

“But that’s it. He is just a boy, and a war hero, and that other-”

Crowley adds his voice to the chorus. “Achilles is a hero,” he says roughly, dressed now as a war general and not a widow, “And a hero deserves to have his last wishes honoured, does he not? Come to your senses! Would any of you, any of you, wish to be buried in a way not of your choosing?”

For a brief second he holds the sway of these powerful men, men who have grown powerful by getting rid of the caring. He can see them considering. But -

“Achilles was a war hero,” says someone roughly, in a voice much stronger and less stricken than Crowley’s, “And Patroclus was nothing but a man in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was Achilles’ one blind spot, and we can forgive the man, but we cannot let this continue past his death. Patroclus was a murderer.”

“Let them be,” Crowley says, one last attempt, “Let them be.”

He is shouted down.

“Hello,” Aziraphale says softly.

Crowley is sitting by the seashore, already deep into his cups with no sign and no intention of slowing down yet. “Hello, angel,” he says gloomily. “Come to gloat?”

To his surprise, Aziraphale sits down beside him, rather heavily. The two of them tend to avoid each other, still, even with all the awkward camaraderie of the ark and the garden and the following the Israelites around their sorry mission - Crowley just can’t get past it, somehow, the way Aziraphale looks. The way he moves. The way it strikes a yearning in his heart.

“Gloat?” Aziraphale sounds injured at the very thought of it. “I thought - I thought they would let them rest. They were so young.”

Wordlessly, Crowley passes the wine over. “It was Pyrrhus, in the end, who swayed them. I think he was embarrassed by it all. Patroclus-”

“They were in love,” Aziraphale says softly.

Crowley looks across, although he tries not to.

(When he meets Aziraphale, he tries always to look away, because the sight of the angel brings him such unbearable pain, deep down in his heart where he can’t heal it away. Aziraphale is always ringed in a peculiar light that doesn’t glow, as though Crowley’s eyes can see what Crowley often forgets; that Aziraphale is a heavenly body, and Crowley is not.)

Aziraphale is dressed like a foot soldier resting, half in uniform and half out, his undertunic white, a little smeared with sand. His hair is the same as it always was, because he doesn’t seem inclined to change as much as Crowley does, and the straps of his sandals are done a little messy. He is crying big, fat, ugly blobs down his cheeks, two streams meeting at his chin and dripping off to plop on his hands. “They were in love,” he says again, “They didn’t deserve it.”

“Oh, Aziraphale,” Crowley says. He tries to say something else, and then stops.

Aziraphale passes back the wine. “They didn’t deserve it.”

“Deserving has nothing to do with anything,” Crowley says before he can stop himself, “Nobody deserves what they’re given. You should know that by now.”

Oh, and does he feel like a heel when Aziraphale turns blue-stained eyes on him. “How can you say that!”

“All those people who drowned to make a new world. Those children, those babies,” and Crowley is only letting himself say this because he’s drunk and bitter, “All those people who died for Its purpose - did they deserve to drown? Did Noah deserve to live? Does Pyrrhus deserve to continue when Achilles is gone? Did Patroclus deserve to die? None of it has to do with who deserves anything. It’s all a game, angel, and all we are is another pair of playing dice.”

“You don’t believe that,” Aziraphale says. He sounds hurt, beyond hurt.

Crowley digs his fingers into the sand. “I have to believe that,” he says. “Because if Achilles deserved to die, if Patroclus deserved to die, for nothing - just for being in love - then nobody deserves to live at all.”

“Crowley-”

He’s done talking. He doesn’t want to talk about love with Aziraphale, on a beach, the smell of burning body drifting down the wind, Patroclus trapped and Achilles sent to the heavens, Troy falling and soldiers revelling. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, and perhaps he sounds so small that Aziraphale listens.

Although they only have one jar, the wine never runs empty, not until the sun rises and Crowley turns beside him and sees only marks in the sand where an angel should be.

☼

Autumn 570 BC, the Leucadian Cliffs

The woman on the cliff is a small, white-haired, bent-over lady, who holds herself with the poise of a woman who knows she was once beautiful beyond compare. She does not cry.

Crowley is here, but Aziraphale he hasn’t seen in almost a century.

“My love,” she says to him. “I miss you ever more by the day.”

Crowley reaches out, grabs her by the shoulder; in this body, a young woman from Lesbos itself, the strongest thing about him is the red of his hair. His translucent hand goes right through her. “Please, my love,” he says, in a voice high and flute-like. “Don’t do this.”

Sappho smiles at him sadly. “You are but a ghost,” she tells him. “The ghost of my one love. Claudia - Claudia. When I die I will see her in Hades, and that will be more gift than this - this existence on a rock.”

“Please,” Crowley says again.

(He has been discorporated for the last five years, the female body he liked so much, killed by a lingering disease, but he hasn’t yet had the courage to go Below to ask for a new body. And so here he is, hanging around the woman who fell in love with him, avoiding the angel he’s fallen in love with by a haunting. He wishes he couldn’t. He wishes she wouldn’t.)

“My Claudia didn’t love me, truly,” Sappho says. She’s still beautiful now, and Crowley sees her as the small, vibrant woman she was and is - black hair wrapping around her waist, blue eyes strong and seeking. “My Claudia loved another, but she never would tell me who. Would you tell me, spirit? Before I die?”

“I’ve given my heart to an angel,” Crowley confesses. The sea hits the rocks below, and almost drowns him out. “Please-”

“And the angel is well deserving of it,” Sappho says.

She doesn’t scream, on the way down. She only smiles.

Is this what Crowley deserves?

☼

21st April 33AD, Golgotha

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Crowley replies, and it should be a joke but John is sobbing on the grassless ground and Aziraphale’s bottom lip is wobbling and all he can hear is Mary wailing for her son. Her son. Not anybody else’s. What’s the point in a father that never shows up?

Aziraphale’s hand touches his arm, and Crowley tries not to startle; instead, he turns his palm up, and Aziraphale’s falling fingers touch Crowley’s, and then their hands are linked without either of them quite knowing why.

Crowley doesn’t let go. Neither does Aziraphale.

“I tried, you know,” Aziraphale says dazedly. “I think it was the wrong thing for me to do - but I met him in the desert, just before he came here, and I told him he could have all his Father’s love if he just - if he didn’t-”

“Ineffable,” Crowley says, voice dull. “I met him in the garden. I told him not to do it. I told him he could have the world, he could have John if he wanted, and he said he couldn’t. I tried.”

Three years ago, and Crowley is in the crowd, when Jesus meets John, and just as the clouds part for the dove he sees Aziraphale on the other side of the river. Aziraphale smiles at him, a look altogether too fond although they have been working more together these days, less likely to fall apart, and John touches Jesus very gently, as though he might break.

“My lord,” he says.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says, on the other side of the river now as though he’d always been there, and if he speaks in the same tone as John he prays (hah) that nobody notices.

Aziraphale is smiling. “They’ve found each other, Crowley! I always knew they would. Oh - oh, it can’t go wrong. He’s the one, you see?”

John follows Jesus through Israel, and Crowley and Aziraphale follow in turn, part of the faceless crowd that grows every time Jesus goes to speak. He preaches on mountains, on boats, in towns, in villages, by wells, in the countryside, by grass that no longer grows, and John supports him and helps helps baptise the converted and Crowley watches him fall in love. It is beautiful to watch.

They collect the forgotten, on the way. Peter, skinny and young and growling in displeasure; James and the other John, fishing boys who drop their nets, Phillip, Thomas, Matthew, the other James… Thaddeus, Simon, Bartholomew. All too small, all too young, all full of fervent faith. He and Aziraphale meet often, in this time.

It feels like the end of the world is coming.

“John loves him,” Crowley says. They’re sitting on the top of an inn where Jesus is preaching, on the roof where nobody will disturb them.

Aziraphale is eating olives very daintily, his lips wrapped around each one. He looks divine. “Jesus loves him too, I’m sure,” he says like he’s never had cause to doubt it, “They pair of them are - well. Made to be together. I was speaking to John in the last house they were at, and I’m glad for him. I think Jesus feels the strain.”

Crowley relaxes, looks into the starry sky. John loves Jesus. Jesus, the Christ Child. John, the man. “They seem very happy. That can’t last.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale sounds so disapproving, “I do wish you weren’t such a cynic about love.”

I’m not, Crowley thinks. “I’m not,” he says.

Aziraphale laughs and pats Crowley’s knee, a single spot of burning warmth. “You always have been, my dear, ever since I’ve known you.”

I’m trying to convince myself, not the rest of the world.

Crowley doesn’t say that bit out loud.

And Judas comes later, the youngest of them all, sixteen and wary, round brown eyes under curly hair, robes that don’t reach his ankles and feet dusty with dirt that isn’t ever properly washed. Crowley sees him and thinks you poor child, and he sees in the way Judas looks at Jesus that there is love, too, with no hope of ever being returned.

John the Baptist kisses the Emmanuel under a fig tree by moonlight, with Aziraphale and Crowley the sole watchers, strolling along the gardens. “Oh,” Aziraphale says softly.

Crowley wonders what it is like to do that - to do as John does. Cup his lover by the cheek, a thumb under the jaw, tip the face up so lips can meet, eyes brushing shut and eyelashes tangling, hair mussed, robes slipping from their fastenings, the sounds of two young people in love drifting over the air.

He looks at Aziraphale, and wonders if he’s thinking the same thing.

Judas finds nobody, in all their three years of wandering. Crowley wills him to, most desperately. Love is not what you think it is, he tries to say without saying, but Judas doesn’t want to hear.

Which brings them to this hilltop, this place, John beating his fists against the ground and weeping apologies to a God who planned this all along.

“We both tried to do the same thing,” Aziraphale says, as though in a daze. “I wonder - does that make me good, or you evil? Is this the good outcome?”

“You cannot look at this and tell me this is good,” Crowley snaps.

On the cross, Jesus has long since stopped making noise, and the sight of his body makes Crowley feel a little sick. Surely one human shouldn’t have that much blood in them; surely one human shouldn’t look so twisted, so wrong. The thorns have torn the skin on his scalp, and the blood has run down his face, down his cheeks, like some sort of awful parody of tears. John is screaming. It is the only sound in the world.

“I can’t believe God would ever,” Aziraphale says, and stops, and his face is twisted in anguish, “I mean - this is so awful. There must be a good purpose behind it. There must.”

Otherwise what is there?

“He truly loved him,” Crowley says softly. “And now he’s dead. What will John do now?”

He can’t wait to hear Aziraphale’s answer - he doesn’t think he can bear it. It’s the work of a second to slip into the skin of a snake, the animal Eve loved the most, and to slither away under the scrubby apple tree clinging to sand to survive.

☼

14th February 1212, Cologne

“This is foolish,” says Crowley. He doesn’t have to look to know Aziraphale is beside him.

“Crowley-”

“They are children, Aziraphale!”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, and he sounds broken. He’s dressed like a German shepherding man, this time, and it oddly fits with Crowley, dressed as he is like a minor noblewoman from the Rhineland. They blend into the crowd here, listening to the child Nicholas speak, shaking his tiny fist in the air. Encouraging his crowd to war.

The cheers are high-pitched, because not a single voice among them has broken. The crowd must be thousands strong, tens of thousands, all whipped up into holy fervour by the dreams of one child, and now they’re going to march to war.

“They are children,” Crowley hisses. “You can’t talk to me about the ineffable plan. Not now. Don’t have the gall to speak to me about that.”

“Come with me,” Aziraphale says. His hand wraps around Crowley’s, like they did at Golgotha, and holds him tight. “I can’t do anything, and I can’t watch any longer.”

Aziraphale miracles them away to a quiet mountain in the southern part of the world, somewhere that will be found by Columbus in a little bit, somewhere that the native people call only home. This mountain is remote, tall, and huge trees spread their branches over the top of it, casting shadows that protect the pair of them from the watchful eyes of the sun.

As soon as Crowley balances himself from the miracle performed, Aziraphale is letting go of him and pressing his hands to his eyes. “They’re all so young,” he’s shouting, and he sounds angry. “So young! What do they know of the Holy Land!”

It almost frightens Crowley - he’s used to Aziraphale explaining it all away, calling it ineffable, saying it’s part of the Plan, and to have this -

This uncertain Aziraphale -

Crowley’s heart aches for something he’ll never deserve.

“Angel,” he says, and catches Aziraphale by the wrists, prying his hands away from his eyes, “Aziraphale - oh, don’t. Please don’t.”

Aziraphale’s eyes are rimmed in red. “They’re all going to die,” he whispers. “What are we going to do?”

Crowley doesn’t say there’s nothing they can do, because Aziraphale surely knows that, and it would hurt too much to say. He just keeps holding Aziraphale, underneath a wide and spreading tree, and curses Above and Below until he’s sure to be blue in the face, until he can curse no more.

He doesn’t know when they sink to the ground, only that they do, and Crowley can do nothing but sit as Aziraphale wipes wet eyes on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” he sniffs. “I never meant for this to happen.”

“You had nothing to do with it,” Crowley says, and he says it as though it’s fact.

(Although in truth, he’s had very little to do with Aziraphale this past decade; he just assumes, and knows he’s right to do so, that Aziraphale would never do anything that would lead to something like this.)

“But he’s doing it in the name of God,” Aziraphale’s voice sounds wet.

“Angel,” Crowley says, and cynicism makes a home in his heart even though he doesn’t mean it to, “You know as well as I do that God has nothing to do with what happens down here.”

He sits, and lets the angel wring himself dry of the tears. All the same - it is a long time before they go back to Europe.

☼

in between, always, everywhere

Crowley learns from humanity, the lessons he’s been taught himself since before time began. Love is patient, love is kind… love is cruel, love is blind. He and Aziraphale meet and tangle, and hold hands, and once Aziraphale holds him by the cheeks and kisses him drunkenly on the forehead. They are wrapped together, and the world seems far too small to hold the both of them.

Crowley loves him. Nothing more, nothing less.

Aziraphale is beautiful, and in his laugh and his smile and the crinkle of his eyes Crowley finds a very particular peace. He can live without having the love returned, so long as he gets to exist around him.

He tells jokes, and he likes fine wine, and he reads poetry, and he never stumbles on quotations when he’s drunk. He goes very fast and very slow, all the time, flitting from country to country and then staying in one village for a hundred years. He does good deeds and bad deeds, and when he sees Crowley after a long absence, his eyes soften and his mouth opens and he says oh my dear, i’m so glad to see you! and something inside Crowley’s chest grabs him tight. Holds him. Vice-like, it says You Love Him and stubbornly Crowley refuses to listen.

Love is patient, love is kind. Crowley watches Aziraphale eat, watches him flirt, watches him be as cruel and dismissive as the harsh sting of a winter morning, watches him pour blessings like water to a flame, and watches all the while.

Nothing more, nothing less.

☼

5th October 1589, Cornwall

The wedding isn’t a very happy one. Crowley hovers in the crowd, wrapped in his shawls, and watches the bride walk down the gravel path to the church, her face stormy, the bruise on her cheek stroking the skin there like the kiss of a mother. The groom is inside, and walking with a limp.

This far South, the Romans and the Christians after them were pretty successful in wiping clean the slate of Celtic spirit, which Crowley finds quite a shame. He always enjoyed the spirituality of the druids, the manic chanting, the fun behind the myths - but he can’t quite complain, either, because the Celts haven’t quite as much fear of demons as the Christians. The Celts would have befriended him.

Still, in Cornwall the old ways cling on a little, and the wedding is between two peasants without a single bean to their name, and no need to care about the Christian path. The couple are Bakerson, Robert and Millie, and they are marrying through an arrangement with their parents, so somebody can inherit the small village bakery and the farm that goes with it. The Bakersons are a wealthy family.

“Poor girl,” says a voice in Crowley’s ear, and before Crowley can jump Aziraphale’s hand grabs his wrist. “It’s only me, dear.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley manages. “I-”

“She was in love with the tinker,” Aziraphale says sadly. He’s wearing the clothes of a travelling gentleman, and looks quite out of place in a crowd of peasants and their cousins; all the same, nobody looks at him twice. A simple miracle.

“I know.”

“He was in love with the bootboy.”

“I know,” Crowley says again. An odd bitterness fills him. “I’ve been here for almost ten years, angel - I know these people. I was trying to let her run away with the thrice-damned tinker, much good it did them, and the bootboy was never meant to get cold feet.”

“Temptation,” Aziraphale says disapprovingly.

“I tempted them to nothing,” Crowley says. The church bells ring. “I only tempted them to forget the wills of their parents and do what their hearts told them, and look what that got me.”

“Honour thy father and mother,” Aziraphale quotes. In his mouth the commandment sounds soft and gentle, like something to encourage.

Crowley feels ill. He is gone before Robert and his new bride emerge, glowering in the light of a new day, although Mr Fell stays in the village a while longer, and for a long time their little community is blessed with incredible good fortune - the travelling tinker man stays several months, next time he visits. Miss Crow, though, is never seen in the place again, and rumour has it she was herself a spurned lover, and something happened between her and the fine gentleman. Mr Fell will never confirm nor deny, but he looks awfully sad when she’s brought up.

☼

1st December 1801, London

They are drinking in Aziraphale’s bookshop - drinking rather expensive wine - and Crowley is so, so tired.

He gets like this sometimes. Tired of existing maybe, without a break since the world first began, tired of loving Aziraphale for so long and knowing this is all he’ll ever get in return, tired of living in a world that was never designed for him to exist in. This is why sleep is the only real human indulgence he goes in for. He needs to rest.

“You need to drink,” Aziraphale hiccups, and splashes more wine into the cup in Crowley’s hand. “You look so cold, my dear, you need to drink!”

“I don’t really think I do,” Crowley says, but he does as he’s told. Does what Aziraphale wants.

(Hah!)

They’re drinking a very fine whisky; Crowley’s spent a lot of time in Scotland, and has developed quite the taste for it, orange fire down his throat. It burns. Aziraphale doesn’t like it as much, says he prefers the wine and port and drink of southerly places, but Crowley likes alcohol made only to keep you warm at night. Either freeze, or drink fire. Either way you end up dead.

Aziraphale winces when he next takes a drink, but he doesn’t say anything. Crowley watches him out of the corner of his eye, as he always does, otherwise he’d miss it.

The bookshop is a new addition, one that has arrived since the last time Crowley saw Aziraphale - although that was a very long time ago, almost half a century. Seventeen-sixty-three, when Aziraphale had been sent by heaven across the water to one of those continents untouched by human hands yet, when Crowley decided to wander over to Ireland on sabbatical. Fat lot of good that had done him. United Irishmen? Hah.

But the bookshop suits Aziraphale down to the ground, it does. He’s always been a lot more rooted to places than Crowley, who prefers to be on the move, through the change… Aziraphale likes to pick a place and settle into it like  a mother hen ruffling into a dirt bath. Cooing. Content. And this way, Aziraphale has his collection to hand without anyone trying to burn him for witchcraft, which is always a plus - considering.

A drunk finger lands on Crowley’s knee. “Stop thinking,” says Aziraphale with the gusto of the happily tipsy. “You think too much. Stop it.”

“I can’t help but think,” Crowley says, even as he takes another deep slug of the whisky.

“Ridiculous. Should be against the law.”

“Thinking?”

Aziraphale nods. “Precisely.”

But none of this helps the fact that Crowley is still so very tired, and all he wants to do is sleep for a hundred years. He wants to stop loving Aziraphale. It hurts too much, and even more because he knows there is no reward - there is no breaking point, no place he can hit that makes everything alright. He just loves and sinks and keeps loving and sinking, and Aziraphale shines with all the brilliance of a thousand suns and that’s all Crowley will ever be, right up until the end of the world.

“Angel,” he says, and then stops, shocked at how cracked and broken his voice sounds. “Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale looks briefly alarmed. “My dear boy-”

“I’m very tired,” Crowley says, a little lamely. “Do you mind if I skip out on the after-drinks?”

“No, no, but-”

“I’m tired,” Crowley says again.

None of this helps that, even in the breaking point, he knows he’ll never stop loving Aziraphale. This is as low as he’ll ever go, and even then -

And even then -

It never ends.

☼

the first day of the rest of the world, London

“Where did you get that painting?”

Aziraphale had spent the night after the apocalypse in Crowley’s flat, where they’d shared the bed and stayed up all night, each convinced the other was asleep, wondering how on earth to proceed without making the other feel uncomfortable. Now, though, they’re in the bookshop with some tea and buns, because nothing feels more solid than a scone with butter and jam on the top.

(Crowley refuses to mention which way round. He doesn’t want to anger the Cornish.)

“What painting?” Aziraphale stops with his cup halfway to his mouth, looking a bit confused.

“That one,” Crowley nods towards it. In truth, he recognises it well enough, even though it’s been over a hundred years since it was painted; Alfred was such a lovely man, so accommodating, and Paris in the 70s (no, not those ones) had been such a friendly place. Full of so much - newness.

He’d only woken up to refresh himself, really, because sleeping for almost a hundred years does take it out of you, and by chance he’d wandered onto the streets of Paris and found himself in a bundle of men in black hats, all talking very excitedly about colour and light and how absolutely mad it was that nobody would let them in. It had all been rather fun.

“Anthony,” Alfred had said, a little breathless, “Won’t you let me paint you? I have excellent studio light, and you beg a painting. I can see it. Please?”

“Oh, if you must,” Crowley had said, as though it meant nothing.

It had been nice, the kisses. Very soft. Alfred loved him and didn’t seem to mind that his Anthony was detached, because it was Paris in the 1870s and you took what you could get and you didn’t care about the secrets everyone was hiding. It had been nice.

So  -

“Where did you get it,” Crowley asks again, in the now, after everything.

Aziraphale looks a little flustered. “I - it was in Paris, you see, and it was almost going to be seventy-five years after I’d seen you… you remember that sleep you took, all of the nineteenth century, and I - well, one of my friends, a sort of… he was a confidant, you see, Oscar and everything, and he mentioned this delightfully odd art movement in Paris, and so I went. Sisley was very… delicate. And that awful art critic was there. And-”

“Did you ever learn who the sitter was?”

If possible, Aziraphale looks even redder. “Um. Sisley never said-”

“But you know,” Crowley says. “You recognised it.”

“I hadn’t seen you in almost a century!”

Crowley shrugs. “I told you I was tired.”

“And then I saw you in that painting, so of course I was going to buy it,” Aziraphale looks almost angry at him now. “Alfred Sisley! And of course, when I asked where you’d gone he said he’d had his heart broken by you and he had no idea. I spent all that time looking for you, and then-”

“I was asleep.”

“You could have told me!”

“I did,” Crowley says, watching Aziraphale get more and more frantic with a sort of wild confusion, “I said I was tired, and that I was going to bed, and I’d see you in a bit. I thought… I didn’t think you’d mind at all, really.”

“Mind!”

“Uh.”

“Of course I would mind!” Aziraphale doesn’t often raise his voice, never mind making the sort of shrieking yell he is now, so when he does it makes Crowley shut up and listen. “Crowley - you idiot! Of course I would mind, you frustrating, ridiculous, stupid-”

“I did it because I was in love with you,” Crowley says.

Silence.

“I was in love with you and I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I went to sleep. For a long time. I thought when I woke up I would be over it.”

Silence. There’s a blob of strawberry jam on Aziraphale’s nose, where the scone he was eating had obviously proven a bit too unwieldy.

Crowley finishes his cup of tea and sets it on the table, very deliberate, and quite loud. “And that’s the end of it,” he says, “And I hope there’ll be no more. Any scones left, or did you eat them all- mmf-”

Aziraphale is not a good kisser, and neither is Crowley, because until very recently both their Head Offices looked down on immortal beings going in for sins of the flesh. That doesn’t matter. That doesn’t matter at all, because they’ve both waited for far too long for it to be anything other than a good kiss.

“L’homme distrait,” Aziraphale says breathlessly, a little while later. “I always wondered - the man, distracted by what?”

“You shouldn’t need to ask,” Crowley says. And kisses him again, because he can.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #crowley/aziraphale #good omens fandom #yearnposting #crowley & aziraphale through the years #love u #self #own fiction

[littlesparklight]

The Eagle Standard

You know when you read something and an idea pops into your head and refuse to go away? This is that. Luckily it’s something short and sweet, and  while I vastly prefer a more or less consensual and reciprocal interpretation for Ganymede and Zeus and I'm not much for no powers/all human AUs because that's boring, I found a late Classical Latin writer who wrote some philosophical allegories of the myths and this idea wouldn't go away. Ganymede's kidnapping is turned into a spoils of war situation and the eagle is a battle standard and since I'm always here for spoils of war, here we are. I entirely blame Fabius Fulgentius and his Mythologies for this.

In a version of the past where the Olympians are leaders among the Achaean people, Troy struggles against invaders... and loses one of its most treasured princes, not to death, but to enemy hands. 

***

Ganymede had not truly expected to last very long when he'd been obliged to arm himself and join the battle against the Achaean horde. Hunting he could do, but against human foes his thoughts turned to knots in how to best defend himself; too slow, too careful, too thoughtful. His father had told him to remain in the chariot, to take advantage of fleet horses and the protection of speed and a physical barrier, had told him to not take spears, but wield his bow.

He'd done as King Tros had commanded; he'd used his bow and arrows, and he hadn't left the chariot.

At least he hadn't until his charioteer had been taken by a spear and he'd barely had the time to grab the reins before the uneven, corpse-strewn ground upended the chariot, sending both horses and prince crashing to the ground. The horses screamed, and Ganymede, right before he hit the ground and heedlessly rolled, knew their legs had been broken. They were good horses, and he felt sorry for them, but it wasn't a thought that lingered long. His breath driven out of him with the impact, he bounced once, only saved from his head caving in when he slammed head-first into a large rock by his helmet.

"Shit---!" Groaning, he rolled up on his elbows, his vision swimming as it slowly settled and head ringing, unable to see much of anything - the dent the rock had made had driven the rim of the helmet lopsided and down over one side of his face. Taking off the helmet might be a death-sentence. Not taking off the helmet was tantamount to the same, when he wouldn't be able to avoid any attacks that he couldn't see. He struggled with the straps of the helmet and tossed it away just as a spear came down. Rolling to the side, wide-eyed as the spear drove into the ground far too close to his head for comfort, Ganymede struggled to his feet. He wasn't quick enough to avoid the huge hand that snatched him up, trapped him against the inside of a shield.

It would have been easy to kill him, like that.

There was a sword pressed against the unprotected hollow of his throat, for he'd forewent the heavier panoply armour for lighter mail, and the gleam of sunlight on bronze nearly blinded him before a shadow fell over him. The sword wasn't moving. His heaving breath was making the wicked point scrape against his throat, but the sword was otherwise not moving. Bewildered, Ganymede looked up, squinting against the sunlight just barely glittering above the edge of the standard that'd thrown the shadow over him and the warrior about to kill him, and met gray eyes cast into dark shadow by the edge of the helmet the man wore.

"Um..." Nothing else came out, the words drying up with his throat, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, as much for the heavy, piercing stare as for the realization of what was painted on the banner still affording them shadow from the punishing sun.

An eagle.

Ganymede glanced up at it again, fluttering in a gentle spring breeze and making the eagle seem to fly against the blue sky, then slowly looked back down. Still up, for all that he was tall among his people; the man aiming his sword at his throat was taller still, broad and tall like Mount Ida herself, it seemed like. His short, dark beard was spattered with mud and blood, but his mouth wasn't caught in the snarl or vicious smirk Ganymede would have expected it to be. It was surprisingly soft, revealing it sweetly generous - not a word he would have thought to apply to the Achaeans' high king and greatest general.

Because that was the only one this man could be, sporting an eagle on his banner and probably on his shield. It wasn't like Ganymede could see to confirm the latter, pressed against the inside curve of it as he was, trapping him between the shield and the armoured chest of King Zeus. Still the sword didn't move, and Ganymede, slowly, frowned. Glanced down to the bloody bronze length angled between them, feeling the sharp tip of it pressing in against his throat but no further, and back up. Licking his dry lips and taking a deep, shuddering breath, trying to ignore the way those gray eyes darkened as they followed the track of his tongue and stayed on his lips as he finally found his words again.

"Are you going to kill me any time soon, or take me hostage for the rich treasure my father will be willing to give for my return? I should think we're starting to look ridiculous."

Gray eyes widened, then narrowed, and Ganymede stuck his chin out, expecting death this time. Around them, men moved, though a couple were standing with spears and swords at the ready to keep any surprises away from their king, and Ganymede wasn't particularly reassured to know he was now firmly behind enemy lines. But he wasn't yet dead, and if he got the chance to reveal who he was (which might have been a surer thing if he hadn't spoken out of turn), then he might yet see the inside of Troy's walls again. The sword disappeared, heavily re-sheathed with a thump against the scabbard, and Ganymede opened his mouth, about to reveal what should hopefully save him, what he needed to to hopefully ensure both spear and sword stayed away from his very vulnerable body.

Breath and words both choked up into a startled gasp when the rough hand which had held the sword grabbed his chin instead, yanking his face up. A thumb rubbed away the mud that'd coated his chin and cheek when he was flung from the chariot, rough at first, then gentler. A caress, almost, and that wasn't a fit action for a battlefield. Or at all, by an enemy!

"What---"

"Demand ransom and then have to go through the effort of razing the city to get you back, when I could take you to my tent and then take all the other treasures of Troy I might want?" the king's voice was a slow, dark rumble, thoughtful almost as he tilted Ganymede's face this way and that, and suddenly Ganymede was a lot less afraid of dying than he was of the implication of other sorts of swords eager for his flesh. The king's fingers on his chin weren't cruel so much as they were firm, denying him any chance to look away, though that was a tricky prospect regardless; he felt as speared by the look in those pale eyes as he might have been by the sword the Achaean lord had sheathed.

"You can't just---" Even just talking was hard, as firm of a grip as Zeus had on his chin, and he silenced Ganymede by harshly shaking his head for him.

"I can't?" Danger, there, and Ganymede swallowed, staring wide-eyed up at the man. Grunted, startled, when the shield arm pushed into his back and he was pressed flush against the broad chest. The king was truly a monster of a man, as tall as he was, outstripping anyone around them. "I think what I can't do is waste youthful beauty as this, Prince Ganymede. I'd heard the tales, of course, but it seemed to me they would have to be greatly exaggerated. I see they were not."

The thumb was gentle again, and Lord Zeus shifted his grip so it could brush over Ganymede's lips. Hot, nervous breath puffed against the calloused thumb, and Ganymede, one hand squashed between them, tried to push against his chest. It was like trying to move the walls of Troy.

"That--- that's not..." Flushing, against himself and because of the touch as well as the words, Ganymede floundered for something to say, something to do - anything that would make more sense than this, than the half-shielded stare that seemed to be stripping him bare despite both armour and clothes in the way. He wasn't unfamiliar with that sort of praise or the lust, but it seemed utterly ridiculous that it should matter here, right in the middle of battle. "You and your men would be better served by demanding ransom, my lord. My father will give much---mf!"

The cheek pieces of Zeus' helmet cut into his own smooth, bare, unguarded cheek as he was kissed, tasting bronze, blood and liquid heat. He couldn't move; the hand on his chin was too firm, and the tongue in his mouth was too much. Ganymede's knees wavered, and he would later insist surprised reflex was what had him even attempting to kiss back, and that the heat of battle was what made his body surge.

His flailing left hand, free where his right was not, landed on the hilt of the king's sword. He gripped it, awkward due to the angle, and yanked it out. Well, halfway. Laughter, loud and incredulous, was first swallowed by the kiss and then rang in the air as the king pulled back and swiftly gripped his hand, twisting until Ganymede let go of the sword with a flinch and a breathless whine, quickly smothered in his embarrassment.

"No ransom would be worth what I can get from you, my prince," Zeus said as he snatched both of Ganymede's wrists in one hand, squeezing until the boy flinched again, "so I believe I'll take you much like I'll be taking the rest of Troy's treasures; as my due as spoils of war."

A look wandered over his body, though there wasn't much bare skin to see with greaves and the fall of tunic, the armour that covered his forearms; Ganymede still felt bare and flushed again, though any protest he might have intended scattered as the king let go, shoving him forward into the waiting chest and arms of one of the warriors lingering around the eagle standard.

"Take him back, unharmed. If anyone touches him I'll have their head."

A chariot came up, and by the eagle painted to the side of it, it must be the king's, too. But it wasn't the king who got into it, but rather Ganymede and the warrior yanking him up into it, to get him back to the Achaean camp as quickly and safely as possible. Ganymede tried to struggle, though while this man was actually a little shorter than the prince, he was stronger and knew what he was doing; a foot hooked around one of Ganymede's and an arm around his chest trapped both of Ganymede's arms there, and it didn't matter how he tried, he was stuck.

As the charioteer set the horses off into a gallop, Ganymede watched the fluttering eagle standard mark the Achaean warlord's position and progress on the battlefield, and beyond that, on a hill that grew all the more distant by the second, Troy's walled citadel. Swallowing against his dry mouth and a whisper of unsettling wooziness probably from knocking his head on that rock when he'd fallen off the chariot, Ganymede had the sinking feeling that would be the last he'd see of his home.

#greek mythology #ganymede #zeus #i don't know #i just had to write it #lightart

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

Missing Her - Part 3

Dean x Reader

Dean x Reader; Sam Winchester, Ellen Harvelle, Jo Harvelle, Jim (OMC), Ollie (OFC)

Series Summary: Dean is on the verge of going to Hell, and Sam is reaching out to an old friend who he thinks holds the key that could change Dean’s future. When they get reunited, a long kept secret comes out, that can’t stop him from going to Hell, but it changes everything for him when he returns. Seeking out the woman he loves and getting back what he lost, while still managing to stop Lillith from breaking the seals may be more difficult than he thinks.

Part One | Part Two

Warnings: Language, Canon Divergence, mild violence

Words: 6.9K

Everything Tags: @sorenmarie87 //  @lefthologramdeer // @rockyhorrorpictureshowstyle // @his-paradox// @letsby

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Dean crouched in front of Ollie, meeting her curious green eyes with his own. They examined each other for a moment, and it wasn’t until Ollie smiled, did you realize you were holding your breath. He held out his hand in greeting, his lips formed into a crooked grin also very similar to hers.

“Hi,” he said and shook her little hand gingerly. “I’m Dean. I’m—uh—an old friend of your moms.”

“Hi,” she replied shyly, and looked over at you unsure of what to do or say next. You nodded slightly, trying to encourage her with just the look. Ollie understood and turned back to him. “Nice to meet you.”

“Your mom told me a lot about you. I’m really excited that I finally get to meet you,” he said, releasing her hand and standing back up. He glanced at you before looking over at Jim who was quietly seething beneath the surface. Ignoring him, his attention went back to Ollie whose head was tilted to one side taking him.

You knew that look on her face all too well. She was trying to figure out what to make of him, but with Jim hovering, she instinctively knew better than to show too much interest.

“It was nice to meet you, too. I should go get my books, we have to get to the library.”

“Yeah, we really should get a move on, honey,” Jim encouraged in his best happy-dad voice, fooling no one, but Ollie.

“Hey, uh, maybe Dean could help you find them. I need to talk to dad for a second, anyway.” You turned your gaze to Dean. “They may be on the top shelf of her closet, and she can’t reach. Do you mind?”

“No,” he replied quickly and looked to Ollie. “Is that okay?”

She shrugged and nodded.

You smiled your best happy-mommy smile and sweetly pinched on her cheek. “Thanks, kiddo.”

“I’m great at hunting things down,” Dean teased, catching your eye roll and smirk from the corner of his eye. “Come on kiddo, lead the way. Let’s go find your books.”

--

Dean drew in a shaky breath as he followed Ollie up the steps. It wasn’t like he didn’t imagine this moment; he had many, many times ever since (Y/N) told him about her before he went to Hell. Now that it was here though, he felt more nervous than he ever did facing any monster or situation, including Hell.

Most nights, he would try to imagine different scenarios in which he would be face-to-face with her, and each one ended with something he never thought he’d get… a hug from his kid. He wondered about her constantly—what did she like to eat, what shows did she like, what was her favorite book, did she like cars or rock music? It was a constant stream of consciousness that he didn’t have any answers to, until now.

Though he’d been at (Y/N)’s house since last night, he never thought to go in and look around Ollie’s room. When he followed her in there and saw the décor, he knew, without a doubt, that Ollie was very much his daughter.

The room was tidy, and if he didn’t already know, he never would have thought it was a little girl’s room. It was painted a light gray with pale blue accents. Along the walls, instead of princesses, makeup and dolls were posters of dragons, superheroes and video game characters. There were assembled Lego sets that adorned the book shelves and a large plastic set of drawers that had stickers of the small building blocks all over it.

“You’re a fan of Legos, huh?” he asked, his eyes trying to take it all in.

“I love them. That’s why my dad and I have to get to the library. Two Saturdays a month is Lego club and today I am building the plans I drew up.”

“Whoa, you made your own plans? What did you make?” he asked as she opened the closet door for him.

“I made blueprints to build my own Batmobile,” she shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “Those dummies Troy and Scott said I couldn’t do it. So, I did it to prove I could.”

Internally Dean was screaming with excitement, joy, pride and a whole other host of emotions. Externally he simply nodded in satisfaction and resisted the urge to praise her with ���That’s my girl’.

“I bet your Batmobile is gonna blow them away. You know, I happen to know a lot about cars. So, if you need any advice, feel free to ask,” he said and reached up to the top shelf of her closet, grabbing the small stack of books. “These the ones?”

“Yup,” she said, taking them from him. “Thanks!”

“So, you like superheroes too, I see,” Dean said, gesturing towards all the posters. “Who’s your favorite?”

From her expression, Dean could see Ollie considered this a very serious question. “I dunno. I like Batman, a lot.”

“Batman, huh?”

“Yeah. Why? You don’t like Batman?” her small features wrinkled into a disbelieving expression.

“No! I love Batman. I actually think he’s the coolest. I mean, he’s got a great car, right?”

“Yup!” She bounced over to her desk and opened the top drawer. Returning to Dean she handed him a piece of paper. “That was my first drawing of the Lego Batmobile. Its not great, but it was a try. Mom says you gotta keep practicing.”

Dean took the paper, examining her petite handwriting and smiled when he saw a little heart over the “i” in Batmobile at the top of the page. The moment he was having with her was so easy going, and he never wanted it to end. At the same time, there was a part of him that felt anxious and unsure. He thought about the years he’d missed; the ones (Y/N) raised her, alone and then with Jim. There was so much he wasn’t there for; so many things about her he didn’t know.

Dean wanted to, more than anything. He decided right there that he would do anything to keep that little girl in his life.

He could feel her staring at him, so he smiled and handed her back the paper.  “Your mom is pretty smart.”

“Sometimes,” she shrugged again, taking the paper and returning it to the drawer. “She just likes to nag me about eating healthy stuff.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh. “You know, I have a brother, and he does the same thing to me.”

Ollie just rolled her eyes dramatically and shook her head. “Ugh, family,” she groaned.

She gathered up her books and headed towards the door. Dean took her lead and just as he was about to turn off the light and close the door, he paused and took another look into his daughter’s room. He could feel his heart rate start to increase, and a swell of stuff he didn’t want to be feeling as he headed back down to where Jim was.

He didn’t want Jim to catch him off guard, and he certainly wasn’t going to let him ruin his chances of getting to know Ollie.

--

When they were clear of the room, you turned to Jim who looked as if he may blow. His face was bright red, and the vein engorged in his neck. “You must be so fucking happy now, huh?”

“Jim. Stop. I told you this could happen.”

“Not like this.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and felt the defensive anger rising. “I didn’t invite you over. You certainly didn’t call first.”

“Olivia needed her books, (Y/N). I didn’t realize I needed to call first. I certainly never thought you’d have him here, and to spend the night no less. Real nice, by the way.” The bite in his words felt as if he spit in your face. Angry and resentful, that’s how he turned anytime Dean’s name came up in the years since you met him.

“What makes you think he spent the night?” you challenged.

“Please. It’s early enough. No way he just arrived, and you happened to have all this food cooked. I’m not stupid. Naïve, yes. But not stupid.”

“Naïve? Ha! You’re not naïve, Jim. You always know exactly what you’re doing and what’s going on. Look, I don’t wanna fight. I wanted to talk to you about changing weekends. Since he’s here, I want her to—”

His cell phone started ringing and he held up a finger to stop you. “It’s work. Hold on.”

The imperfectly perfect timed phone call gave him an out to leave the room to talk to his assistant, but also time to come up with an excuse as to why he wouldn’t switch weekends with you. You could hear bits and pieces of his conversation, but even in fragments you could tell he wasn’t happy.

“…fix it! I’ll be there shortly,” he barked as he walked back into the kitchen, furiously hitting the end call button and shoving the phone back into his interior coat pocket.

“Everything alright?” you asked, knowing it wasn’t. But goading him was something you couldn’t pass up when he was behaving like an idiot.

“Peachy,” he growled. “You get your wish, we can switch. I have to head into the office and I won’t be back until late.” The resignation on his face gave him a seasick appearance and giving you a smug sense of satisfaction. Sometimes it was hard to look at him and imagine that you once loved him enough to marry him.

You went to say something but froze when Jim took two hulking steps towards you, positioning himself directly in front of you and his finger in your face.

“I swear to God, (Y/N), he’s NOT to stay here while Ollie is in the house. If I find out that he did—”

“Whoa, everything alright in here?” Dean asked from the doorway to the kitchen.

Jim immediately backed off and pulled his lips into a tight, thin line. Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, he turned to face Ollie, a sudden, wide grin across his face. “Everything’s fine. Just bummed I can’t take you to the library after all, honey. I’m sorry.”

Ollie’s face fell. “Why?” she whined, her bottom lip starting to pout. “We’re gonna miss Lego club!”

“I know, honey, I’m sorry.”

“Ollie, we can still go. I’ll take you.”

“You won’t be ready in time! We have to be there soon and you aren’t even dressed. It’ll take you forever to be ready.”

Dean couldn’t help but snort a laugh then reeled it in when he saw your expression. “Well, how about I take you and your mom can meet us there when she’s ready. This way you aren’t late. Is that alright?”

Jim was about to answer, but Ollie’s face perked up, elated at the idea. “Yes! Can he, mommy, pleeeease?” Her little hands were clasped together in hope and when you agreed, she pumped her fist into the air as she leapt from the stool.

“Well, I don—” Jim started but stopped when Olivia hugged him, completely oblivious to his objections. “Bye daddy! Have fun at work, I’ll let you know how it goes!” She released him and turned to Dean. “Come on! We gotta go now or Troy and Scott will get the best set of Legos! I’m gonna get my shoes on. Come on, Dean!”

The vein in Jim’s neck looked dangerously close to erupting, but he managed to hold himself together. The energy in the kitchen was heavy and tense. Dean glared at Jim with a satisfied smirk before he walked over towards you and rested his hand against the small of your back.

“You sure?”

“Yes, its fine. She’ll tell you how to get there, its only a few blocks away. I’ll meet up with you soon. Just need to shower quickly and get dressed.”

He nodded and leaned down to kiss you, despite feeling the daggers Jim was throwing at him from across the room. “I’ll text you when we get there.”

“Have fun, okay? I’ll see you soon.”

Dean went to leave the kitchen and you thought he would just breeze through, knowing that Ollie was waiting for him. Instead, he paused in front of Jim, and when he turned to face him, Dean seemed to realize then just how much bigger your ex-husband was. Unphased by his looming presence, Dean boldly stuck out his hand to Jim and smiled.

“We haven’t officially met. Dean Winchester,” he said, a look of slight amusement on his face. Without saying a word or shaking his hand, Jim pushed past Dean and left the kitchen. He mumbled something to Ollie who was waiting by the front door before you heard the screen slam against the frame. “Nice guy.”

“Yeah, he’s the best,” you said flatly and exhaled the nervous energy that had been building.

“You wanna tell me what I walked in on before?”

“Dean! Come on!” Ollie called from the foyer.

“Later. Go… take your daughter to the library,” you said and pursed your lips into a satisfied smile. “I’ll catch up shortly.”

A trifecta of thoughts and emotions played out across his expression in a matter of seconds. “My daughter,” he mused quietly, biting on his lower lip. He winked at you before leaving to grab his shoes and leave for the library with Ollie.

--

It wasn’t more than thirty minutes later that you arrived at the library. After a very brisk shower and a quick clean up of the kitchen, you drove the three blocks to the local library and parked along the curb right behind Dean’s car.

Seeing it there still caught you by surprise. Just having Dean around again had been enough to spin you out, but the way he came back… fully and with love in his eyes, made it easier to handle the idea of him in your life again.

Once you made your way inside the library’s all-purpose room, you caught sight of Dean and Ollie sitting at a table in the corner of the room. Their heads were both intently staring at the table and sorting through the Lego pieces. You noticed they were both deeply buried in concentration, Ollie’s tongue peaking out of the corner of her mouth, and Dean biting down on his lower lip. The resemblance they shared was striking, both in physical features and mannerisms.

Seeing them sitting so close together like that for the first time, made your eyes wet. It wasn’t a sight you thought would ever be seen. Dean and Ollie, together… a dull ache grew in your chest, but it was warming and not empty. In fact, for the first time in a very, very long time, you felt nearly complete.

“Hey guys,” you said with a big smile on your face, as you sat at the table. “How’s the Batmobile?”

“Oh, we scrapped that, mom,” Ollie replied casually as she moved the black Lego pieces around the table.

“How come? Your blueprints were awesome!”

“Have you seen Dean’s car?! Its so cool! I wanted to make that instead!”

Shocked, you looked over at Dean whose face was downright beaming with pride. His eyes were soft with the love a father should have for his daughter, and he just shrugged. “Who am I to say no to that?”

“I think that’s pretty damn cool,” you said and leaned over to kiss Ollie’s hand.

“Mooom, stop. Troy and Scott are watching!” She jerked her head away and gave a hesitated, yet quick glance over to where her rivals sat. You stifled a laugh as she narrowed her eyes at them, trying to look threatening.

“Oh, sorry…” you apologized and held up your hands. “I’m going to go see when sign ups are for the next session and leave you guys to it.”

“Good idea,” Dean said, with his most serious face. “The little lady and I have some major work to do.”

You caught his gaze as you stood up and found that you were still able to have a silent conversation with him just through expression.

You alright?

Of course, I got this.

He winked, and you left them to their business.

--

“Well?” he asked tentatively.

Ollie narrowed her eyes and examined every inch of their Lego car and put it back on the table. She met Dean’s gaze and smiled.

“It’s perfect.”

A satisfied smirk graced her small features. Dean registered it as his favorite expression he’d seen from her, yet. He was trying to take note of every little thing he could, unsure if this would be his only day with her. Though he already knew he’d fight like hell to make sure it wasn’t.

“You sure? We have time for improvements.”

“Nope. Its good. I don’t even care if we win, I think it’s awesome,” she replied with awe.

Dean leaned back in the chair and just watched his daughter; he was completely enamored and was beginning to understand why parents would go to any lengths for their children. Dean knew he would do anything for Ollie. Whatever it took to make her safe and happy; he would do it without question or hesitation.

He felt someone watching and looked up, skimming the space and finding (Y/N) standing in the doorway, just watching them. She was leaning against the door frame, with one foot kicked over the other and her hands clasped together. Her head was rested lazily against the frame as she gazed at them dreamily.

Dean’s lips twitched a quick smile when she mouthed the word ‘hi’ to him. He didn’t reply, but he was hit with a blast of memories, old feelings, and some new ones. So much had changed in twenty-four hours, he was having trouble believing it was all real. He should be with Sam chasing Lilith, stopping her from breaking the seals. And he would be, soon. This time was too precious to pass up, and even the angels would have to understand. One day off the mission wasn’t going to break the world, and if it did, it was worth it. Getting to spend the day with his daughter and the love of his life was worth pretty much anything.

Dean pried his eyes from (Y/N) and brought them back to Ollie. He didn’t realize that she was watching him, watch her mom. She looked back and forth between them, then settled her gaze on Dean.

“Do you like my mom?” she asked casually.

“I do.” Dean’s voice stayed steady, but inside he was a bundle of nervous swimming in uncharted territory.

“Will you be nice to her?”

“Absolutely. The nicest. I love your mom a lot, Ollie,” he said and really held her gaze. The way her green eyes watched him, made him feel a real connection with her for the first time.

After a minute or two, she came to a conclusion. “Ok. You can date her.” Ollie paused and glanced over at her mom who was now talking to one of the other moms. “’Cause I think she likes you too.”

Dean felt a flutter of boyish nerves rumble in his stomach. “Oh yeah? What makes you say that?”

“She never lets boys sleep over. Not since daddy left. She let you sleep over, and she let you take me for a ride without her. That’s neeever happened before. Not even with her friends from work. Well, except Auntie El. I can go anywhere with her.”

“That’s right, I forgot you know Ellen,” Dean mused, still partially shocked at everything that was happening. “I haven’t seen her in a long time. How is she?”

“You know Auntie El?” Ollie exclaimed, so excited she nearly jumped out of her seat.

Dean laughed. “I do. Very well, actually.”

“I love Auntie El, and Jo. Mommy and Jo used to hang out a lot together and play darts. Auntie El and I used to watch them and make bets with candy on who would win.”

“Let me guess, Jo?”

Ollie giggled and shook her head. “Nope. My mom is awesome at darts. Jo used to get so mad!” She put a hand over her mouth and snickered.

“Well, maybe I can convince your mom to take a road trip there soon to visit. Would you like that?”

“Hell yeah!” she replied, causing Dean to choke on his laugh.

“Are you allowed to say that?”

“Mom says language and sarcasm in moderation,” she admitted with a shrug.

“I said it before, I’ll say it again. You got yourself one smart mom.”

Before Ollie could respond, time on the building part was called and Mrs. Pixley, the librarian in charge of the club, went from table to table examining the work done by the kids and their parents. When she reached Ollie and Dean’s table, she was slightly taken aback to see someone unfamiliar sitting there.

“Hello Olivia, who is this you have with you today?”

“This is Dean,” she said, and clapped his shoulder amicably, “he’s my mommy’s special friend.” She gave the woman an over-zealous, animated wink.

Dean blushed and laughed nervously. “Kids? You know?” He cleared his throat when he saw she either didn’t know, or just had no sense of humor about it. “Nice to meet you,” he said and held out a hand.

She shook it and gave him a polite smile as she quickly retracted her hand. “Yes, nice to meet you,” she said flatly, then turned back to Ollie. “Where’s your dad today? I do so enjoy chatting with him.”

“He had to work, and my mom wasn’t ready, so Dean brought me. We made a way better project then the Batmobile.” She picked up the car and handed it to Mrs. Pixley.

“Oh, well, isn’t this fine work. You’re very creative, Olivia.”

“Thanks! It was so much fun!”

“Well, that’s what really matters, isn’t it?” Mrs. Pixley asked with a fake smile as she put down the creation.

Dean didn’t like her one bit. There was something off about her and though he couldn’t put his finger on it, the simple fact that she liked talking to Jim was enough to raise a red flag.

Mrs. Pixley walked away back towards her desk to decide the winner of the build competition. It took her only a few minutes to come back and call everyone’s attention to the middle of the room.

“Everyone did such a spectacular job, and it made it very difficult to pick one winner. Everyone will be able to pick a prize from the treasure chest because of the hard work, dedication and concentration you have put into what you created. Our overall winner will also win a gift card to the Sky Zone Trampoline park. That winner is, Troy for his model of the Batmobile!”

Dean’s heart sank for Ollie, who looked like she had just been knocked over. Her face fell immediately, and she cast her eyes to the floor. He looked up for (Y/N) who was starting to approach after hearing that Ollie didn’t win. Dean waved her off and gave her another wordless answer, I got this.

“Hey,” he said, slapping his palm to his knee, “so what if Troy won. You built a damn cool car.”

Ollie looked up and Dean was surprised to see the girl wasn’t about to cry. Instead, he found steel in her gaze and frustration in her body language.

“Oh, I know. Our car was the best. I’m mad because Mrs. Pixley wasn’t fair.”

“How so?”

She shrugged. “If dad was here, I would have won because she likes him. Always making those eyes at him, like you do with mommy.”

Dean snorted a laugh. “Gotcha. Well, we could lodge a complaint. We gotta find the library board, go straight to the top! The President of the library, if we have too,” he teased.

Ollie laughed and it light up her entire face, right along with Dean’s heart. How was it possible to love someone that much in such little time?

“Hey, so do we get to keep these?” he asked, picking up the car.

Ollie nodded.

“Awesome. Can I keep it? I’d love to have this with me when I’m on the road. Something to remember you by.”

“Sure,” she said, “you can keep it. I’m gonna build another one when I get home. Then we’ll having matching Lego cars! I got some improvements in mind.”

“Kid, that’s the best idea I’ve heard in forever.”

Dean got Ollie settled in the back seat and met up with you at the trunk of his car. It was the first moment you had alone with him since Jim and Ollie showed up at the house that morning. You were still getting used to the idea of him being around and being around Ollie most of all.

“Hey,” you said, and smiled when he immediately reached out and pulled you into a huge. “You alright there, big guy?”

“Holy shit, kids are…” he exhaled deeply and kissed the top of your head. “What a morning.”

“You ain’t kidding. I wanted you to meet her, but that was… I don’t even know. I’m sorry Jim was an asshole.”

“Yeah, what was that about? I get the guy doesn’t like me, but in front of her?”

“I think he wanted to mark his territory,” you shrugged.

Dean’s face wrinkled in disgust. “Oh, ewe, why?”

“Sorry,” you laughed and reached up to kiss him. “Forgive me?”

“Mhm, you’re lucky you’re cute, you know that?”

“I do. You know what else, though? We never did get to eat that big ass breakfast, and I’m starving. Feel like going for lunch?”

“Yeah, absolutely. I can definitely eat.”

“Good. So, before we get in there, how did it go with Ollie?”

“(Y/N), she is an amazing kid. I was in constant awe of her.”

“I am too. She’s pretty great.”

“You both are,” he said, softer now. This time he bent down to kiss you, letting his lips linger on yours. A knock on the rear window caused you to both pull away.

Ollie rolled her eyes and shouted from the backseat. “Come on you two! You can kiss later! Let’s go eat!”

“Jesus, she really is mine, isn’t she?” Dean teased and walked around to the driver’s side of the car.

“Dean, you have no idea…” you said and climbed into the passenger side.

--

Lunch was at yours and Ollie’s favorite diner. After the meals had been ordered, they told you about the parts of the building competition that you missed. Dean and Ollie chatted casually about everything under the sun. As you watched them talk, you were filled with an overwhelming feeling of admiration for both. This is how things should have always been.

The waitress brought the food, and as you ate, Dean asked Ollie more about school, what subjects she liked—science and history—and she asked him about what he did for work. Dean hesitated and looked to you, unsure of what to say.

“Remember how I told you Aunt Ellen works with people who go out and help people with problems that the police can’t handle?”

Ollie nodded.

“Well, that’s what Dean does, too. Him and his brother, Sam, they travel all around the country to help people.”

“Oh,” she said, and got quiet.

You and Dean shared a pensive glance. Ollie was just pushing food around her plate, and her expression told you she was deep in thought. You passed Dean a facial shrug and went back to your food.

Ollie waited another beat and seemed ready to say what she wanted to. “Mommy, I wanna ask a question, but,” she paused, looked at Dean and began to chew on her lower lip.

“But, what?”

“I’m not sure if its appropriate,” she said the last word slower, to make sure she got the pronunciation right.

“Its okay, Ollie, ask whatever you want too.”

“Okay,” she inhaled, then exhaled slowly. “Is Dean my bibliolgical daddy?”

You couldn’t help but let a little chuckle out at her mispronunciation before you could reign it in and respond to her sudden, and somewhat surprising question.

“You mean, biological?”

She nodded. You passed a look to Dean, who was clearly taken aback by her question. He looked a little pale for a moment and grabbed his drink to take a long sip of his soda. Nervous or not; ready or not, it was time she knew.

“Yes, Olivia. Dean is your biological dad. How did you know?”

“I look like him. We both have freckles and green eyes.”

“That’s it?”

She shook her head but cast her eyes away from your gaze as if she had done something wrong.

“What is it?” you asked, putting down your fork and stretching your hand across the table to her.

“I remember hearing you and daddy fighting about Dean once. I heard daddy say something about him being a sperm donor. I didn’t know what that meant then, but I looked it up on Sally Sutton’s phone.”

Dean nearly choked on his drink. You closed your eyes and slowly shook your head. “Honey, you can ask me, you don’t need to look stuff like that up on Sally Sutton’s phone. Why does an eight-year-old have their own phone, anyway?”

“Moooom,” Ollie groaned and sighed.

“Fine, whatever… getting back to the point… I’m sorry you heard us fighting, I know we did that a lot. We still do, but we’re trying to be better. As far as Dean goes, he and I hadn’t seen each other in a really long time. But recently he came back to town and I told him about you.”

“I didn’t know—” Dean started, his voice raspy before it broke. “But its not your mom’s fault. Things just happened, back then. The important thing is that I know now.”

Ollie looked at him, but differently than she did before. Maybe she was trying to find more of herself in his face, or maybe she was trying to decide if he was an alright person to be her dad. Whatever it was, it was very different.

“Ok,” she said finally before going back to eating the food, instead of picking at it.

“Ok?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, you can be my dad. My biblio—real—dad.”

Dean didn’t even bother trying to hide his smile. “I can?”

“Sure. You’re cool. You like my mom, and you like cool stuff like Batman and Legos.”

“I’m cool,” he repeated, very proud of that fact.

You snickered at his expression before turning back to your daughter. “Ollie, do you have any other questions? Whatever you’re thinking, I want you to know you can tell either of us.”

“What does daddy think?” she asked.

“About what, exactly?”

“Dean.”

“Well,” you started and paused to give Dean an apologetic look. “I can’t speak for Daddy, Ol, but, if I were to guess, he’s probably not thrilled that Dean is back in my life. In our lives.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” you lied. You knew why but you weren’t going to bad mouth Jim to her. Regardless of who he was becoming, Olivia still loved him. “You may have to talk to him about that.”

“Ok.” She seemed at peace with your answer and continued her lunch. “One more question. What can I call you?”

Dean stumbled over his words in trying to answer her question. “Uh, well, I guess… whatever. You know, whatever your comfortable with. Dean is fine… Dad is ok, too,” he trialed off. “Pa—papa?” he said, uncertain, and immediately shook his head no. “Maybe not that…”

Ollie didn’t respond, she just nodded. The table got quiet, but only for a moment. Your cell phone began ringing and once you fished it from your pocket, you saw it was Jim. Sliding from the booth, you held it up to let them know you were going to take the call.

Walking away from the table, you heard Ollie and Dean slip into a conversation about Batman and pressed the answer button, bringing the phone to your ear.

“Hi Jim,” you answered.

“Where are you?”

“I’m great, thanks! How are you?” you continued, ignoring his demanding question.

“(Y/N), I’m not in the mood. Where are you and Olivia?”

“We are eating lunch at the diner. Why?”

“I want you to bring her back to my place when you’re done. Work was a bust, so I’m home and I want my weekend with her.”

You sighed, loudly. “Come on, Jim. Don’t do this. You can see her after school on Monday.”

“No, I want my weekend.”

“You’re behaving like a child,” you admonished, trying to keep your growing frustration in check.

“Do not fucking start with me. She’s my kid, too. I want my weekend.”

You lowered the phone from your ear and took a few calming breaths before responding.

“I really wish you would just be reasonable. She’s having fun, Jim.”

“Bring her to my house, or I will remember to tell my lawyer that you have a wanted felon staying in your house.”

Your blood ran cold and you realized just how low he would sink to get what he wanted. You figured he had done research on Dean, but had no idea exactly what he would find.

“Fine. I’ll bring her to your house tonight. But tomorrow is Sunday and I want her home by five,” you said and hung up before he could respond. You looked down the other end of the diner where they were talking and laughing together. The idea of breaking that up hurt your heart, and you knew it would hurt Dean’s, too. But, to avoid a bigger argument with Jim, you were going to have too.

Sitting back down in the booth, you tried to swallow down the disappointment that coated your tone. “So, change of plans. Dad is done with work and wants you to spend the night at his place, after all.”

You saw Dean’s expression fall from joyous to pissed in no time at all. Even Ollie seemed disappointed.

“Oh,” she said simply, and looked back to Dean. “How long are you staying for?”

Dean passed a look to you, as if you could answer her. You just shrugged and relayed through your expression that was entirely up to him.

“I don’t know, how long do you want me to stay?” he asked, leaning forward on the table.

She shrugged, and suddenly seemed like a very young, little girl again. “Maybe, forever?”

You had to turn your head from her, so she didn’t see the wetness that stung at the corners of your eyes. Dean struggled with his own feelings for a moment. He was able to pull them back and smile at her. “That sounds damn good to me, kid.”

--

After a round of chocolate cream pie for dessert, and a stop at the park to swing on the swings and monkey bars, you and Dean were pulling up to Jim’s house to drop Ollie off. Dean put the car in park but didn’t turn off the engine.

“Probably best if I stay in the car,” he said quietly before turning to face Ollie in the back seat. “I had a great first day with you.”

“Me too,” she smiled and leaned forward, hugging him from behind. He hugged her back and flashed to those dozens of day dreams he’d had; then realized he never imagined a hug like that, that somehow made it even more special.

“See you soon, okay?” he said giving her one last squeeze.

“Yeah!” she smiled and hopped out the backseat.

You gave Dean a wink and opened your door. “I’ll be right back.”

Taking Ollie’s hand, you walked her to the front door. Giving her hand a squeeze, you kissed the top of her head and paused outside of the front door.

“I love you, Olivia. You handled that pretty great.”

“I kinda knew when I saw him. I just needed to be sure.”

“You’re one smart kid,” you said with a wink.

“Like Dean says, I got a smart mom. Guess it comes from you.”

You chuckled and hugged her tight. “I guess it does.”

Just as you were about to ring the bell, Jim pulled the door open and both yours, and Olivia’s smile faded. Jim looked ragged, his features drawn, circles under his eyes, and his hair mussy.

“Wow. Rough day at the office?” you asked, teasingly, but he didn’t respond with humor.

“Yes,” he said simply and turned to Olivia. “Have fun at the library?”

“Yeah! We didn’t win, but we made a cool car,” she said, walking into the house. You followed her in and seemed to raise the same question Olivia had at the same time. “Where’s Max and Cody?”

“Oh,” Jim responded, he looked around, slightly confused. “Uh, Max and Cody… the dogs… they are outside.”

Olivia shrugged but you could tell she was bothered by that. The dogs always greeted her at the door. She took off her coat and hung it on the hook, then took off her shoes before walking back towards you for another hug.

“I love you mommy, see you tomorrow. Can I go watch tv?”

You and Jim both nodded and she scurried off towards the tv room. You knew it was just an excuse for her to go check on the dogs. She loved those dogs something fierce.

When she was out of ear shot, you cleared your throat and resolved to tell Jim the news you dreaded to have to tell him.

“So, you should know that Olivia knows Dean is her biological father.”

The flash of anger that came over his face, made you take a tentative step back towards the door. You’d see him lose his temper throughout the years, but this was like nothing you’d experienced with him before. The only thing that made you feel better was how close you were to the screen door and a chance to bolt.

“What?” he growled, taking a few steps closer. “How?”

“She asked, Jim. I wasn’t going to lie to her.”

“She asked? Bullshit. There’s no way she would know unless you told her.”

“I didn’t tell her. She flat out asked. Ask her yourself.”

His nostrils were flaring, that signature vein popping from his neck, and his face red with anger. “You’re such a meddling bitch, you know that?”

That’s when he grabbed your arm and shoved you back into the open front door hard enough for your head to bounce off the vinyl just to the side of the door knocker.

Dean watched (Y/N) and Olivia walk hand-in-hand towards the house, and he smiled. Despite all the chaos of what was happening with his hunting life, his personal life was finding a direction that he never thought possible. Just the taste of it that day, was enough to make him crave it more.

He reflected on their day, and casually glanced in the back seat where Ollie had been throughout the day. That’s when he noticed she forgot her take-out piece of pie. Much like her old man, she had trouble deciding on which to get, so he got her the second piece to bring home.

Grabbing the box, Dean hopped out of the car and started walking to the house. As he got closer to the front door, he could see Jim and (Y/N) inside. He hesitated for a moment, when he read Jim’s expression and body language. When he saw the man start approaching (Y/N), he took the last few steps at a jog. Then, when Dean watched Jim push her forcibly up against the front door, he dropped the pie and ran.

Dean threw open the screen door and was about to draw his arm back to punch Jim in the face, when he saw Ollie was at the end of the hallway. Her eyes were huge at what she was watching unfold.

(Y/N) noticed her, at the same time Dean did.

“Jim!” she yelled and looked back at Olivia.

Jim saw the girl standing there and released his grip on her. Dean grabbed (Y/N)’s sleeve and pulled her to stand behind him. His fists clenching in and out, ready to pounce on the man if he tried to pull something else. When he spoke, his tone was calm, cool and collected.

“Hey, Ollie. Change of plans again honey, sorry,” Dean starred Jim down, challenging him to contradict what he said. “Get your shoes and coat back on. Daddy Jim isn’t feeling well after all and needs to sleep it off. You’re gonna come back home with us.”

Jim didn’t say a word, but he held Dean’s glare with a seething anger burning in his dark eyes. (Y/N) moved out from behind Dean and went down the hallway to take Olivia’s hand.

“Come on baby, let’s go home for tonight, okay?”

She just nodded. When she passed Jim, she grabbed her shoes and coat, then looked up at him with sad eyes and simply said, “Night daddy.”

(Y/N) walked her out of the house and out to the idling Impala. Dean stayed behind a moment and when the girls were safely in the car, he took a few steps to close the distance between him and Jim.

Jim didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. Dean leaned in closer, his voice low and raspy. “If you ever touch her again… I’ll break your face.” Dean turned and left the house, letting the screen door slam behind him.

“Yeah, you do that, pal,” he mumbled as he watched him go.

Jim waited until Dean got in the car and take off down the road. He inhaled deeply, and slowly closed, and locked the front door. He walked down the hallway towards the tv room, where the sliding doors opened into the back yard. Opening the door, the two, large golden retrievers ran into the house, jumping around and excited to see Olivia, whose scent was all over the room, but she wasn’t. Confused, the dogs looked at Jim and whined as they sat and pawed at him.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” he asked them. “Fuckin’ Winchester made her leave, take it up with him.” Jim’s eyes flashed black at the dogs, who laid down and whined louder as they hid their faces from the thing living inside their master.

“Don’t you worry though, I’ll get the little brat back.”

#Dean Winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader insert #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfic #spn fanfics

[vgckwb]

Danganronpa: Away Chapter 3: Only Human (Part 1)

Computer Lab: The Night After the Second Class Trial

“Why does it say ‘Phase 2’?” Asked Tammy

“How am I supposed to know?” asked Monobird. “I don’t work with him.”

“I mean, I guess not” said Tammy. “Ugh.”

“It’s OK,” said Monobird. “We have Cassy and Justin. Maybe they can figure it out.”

“Yeah, but who knows how many of us will still be alive by the time that happens,” said Tammy.

“...I know it’s scary” said Monobird.

“That’ a generous way of putting it,” said Tammy.

“But we have to hold out hope that things will get better” said Monobird.

“But will things be ‘good’ ever again?” asked Tammy.

Monobird looked at her. “...that is something you have to figure out on your own.”

Tammy yawned. “I should probably go to bed.”

“Good idea” said Monobird. Tammy left. “Of course. She’s still a child. They all are. And four of them are dead already.”

Zooming in on Monobird’s eye, the scene changes to a monitor in a dimly lit room where a police officer is staring into it. He then says “...I’m probably not the first one to say this, but if I ever meet The Ultimate Killer, I’m going to make him pay.”

Meanwhile, out in the hall, Tammy yawns again. “I should have gone to bed sooner. Oh hey, there’s Justin. Why is he heading downstairs? Oh well.” Tammy  went back to her room.

Earlier, in Justin’s room:

That night, I had the courtroom dream again. The smiling dream. The smile was as creepy as ever. However, I saw a table. On the table was some peculiar things. There was some broken glass, a pair of wire cutters, a pair of gloves, and a bloody knife. Again I protest in vain that I shouldn’t leave. I am being taken away anyway. I am pointing. Am I pointing at the table?

“AH!” I wake in a sweat. “Is this going to happen every time something terrible happens?” I say. I try going back to sleep, but I can’t. “Well, it worked last time,” I said. I got out of bed and I made my way to the art room. I got out some clay and made two figures, one for Troy and one for Rachel. I then went back up to my room and slept.

I wasn’t woken to the sound of Monokuma’s announcement playing, but a voice screaming in the halls. “EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY!”

Without thinking, I get up, put some pants on, and walked out to see Cassy in a panic. “What’s the matter?” I asked.

Cassy said “Well, first off, Justin isn…” Cassy stopped, as her face turned red. “Why are you here?”

“Because it’s where I sleep?” I said.

“But why aren’t you in the art room?!” she snapped back.

“I guess I had the energy to make it back” I said. “I only made two statues this time.”

“Oh… Well, there’s still the matter of Sophie.”

I was now worried “What happened?”

“She’s not in her room!”

“Well, let’s see if we can’t find her” I said.

“I already found her” said Annabelle.

“Huh?” said Cassy.

“She’s in Rachel’s room,” she said. “Sleeping like an angel.”

“Oh…” Cassy’s face grew even more red.

“I guess that makes sense,” I said. I looked at the clock and saw it was around 6 am. “How are you people awake?”

“I’m usually up early to get a head start on the day’s news” said Annabelle.

“And I like to wake up this early just because” said Cassy.

“Well, you do you, I guess” I said. “But since there’s no emergency, I’m going back to sleep.” I returned to my room and passed out.

I woke up to the morning announcement. “Ugh, I’m going to be so tired today.” I got out of bed and got ready for going out. I made my way to the dining area. Everyone was silent. What happened yesterday was horrific to say the least, so I wasn’t surprised.

What I was surprised with was who broke the silence. “So, um, do we have any ideas on how to get out?” Sophie asked. We all looked at her. “It’s just, we kind of discuss these things…”

“No, she’s right,” said Duke. “We can’t keep feeling so down that we don’t find a way out. So let’s spitball here. I’m thinking of making a chemical compound that we serve to Monokuma. It will short circuit him, and hopefully the whole system where we could just walk out.”

“Well, he’s not going to accept it now, dumbass” said Buck.

“Oh, yeah, that’s a good point,” said Duke.

“Do you think that dowsing Monokuma counts as attacking him?” asked May.

“Well, if it is, then let me do it,” said Jay. “I may have the best chance of being gunned down by those security cams. Besides, since I’ve lost Troy already, I’ve got nothing left to lose.”

Right, Jay is also hurting as well.

“Do you idiots actually think that would work?” said Monokuma, popping up again.

“Oh, what do you want?” asked Andy.

“Wow. Blunt” said Monokuma.

“Well, I’m sorry I don’t have candor when talking to a psychopath who has killed four of my friends in the past week,” said Andy.

Wow, he's not taking any shit.

“Technically, I’ve only killed two of them,” said Monokuma.

“No, you killed four” said Andy. “I don’t care if someone else killed Maria, or Troy, you are the reason they are dead.”

“Am I?” asked Monokuma. “I just laid the groundwork. You all said you wouldn't do it. And yet two of you did do it. Maybe because you freaks are selfish, greedy monsters who care only about themselves.”

“Well, if we’re going to start insulting each other like children,” said May, “I’m rubber, you’re glue. Everything you say bounces off of me, and sticks to you.”

“Cute” said Monokuma.

Freaks? That’s new.

“Why are you here?” asked Cassy.

“Ah yes” said Monokuma. “I have finally finished reservations on the first floor. I would like you to come and see what is in store for you. Your killing possibilities will go way up.”

We all walked out to the first floor wall. “Are you ready?” Monokuma asked. He put a key in the lock and unveiled what remains of the first floor.

“Wow” I said.

“Thank you,” said Monokuma. “Finally, someone appreciates my work.”

“Are you telling me you built all this?” I asked. “We you the Ultimate Architect and you hated it?”

“What, NO!” aid Monokuma. “I renovated this place.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t build it.” I said.

“IT STILL COUNTS!” screamed Monokuma.

“Whatever” I said. “Let’s just look around.”

There were a few new rooms to explore. I began with the big room on the left. It was a science room. In there I saw Duke pouting. “If only this room was open last time…” he said. “Troy might still be alive.”

“Um, are you OK?” I asked.

“GAH!” said Duke. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“I was in front of you the whole time…” I said.

“Well, I didn’t see you” said Duke. “Although I was lost in thought. Whatever. What do you want?”

“Well, what do you make of this room?” I asked.

“What do I think? It’s a science room. It’s glorious” said Duke. “Man, if this room was available earlier, my plan of drugging someone with a chemical that gives the illusion of death and then leave.”

“Oh...”

“Do you think he did this on purpose?” Duke asked.

“Well, if I’m being honest, no” said Monokuma, showing up again. “Although, I’m glad it worked out that way. Otherwise my plan would stop working.”

“You know, for someone who fancies themselves as ‘The Ultimate Killer’, relying on luck doesn’t seem to suggest that you are the best at killing” said Duke.

“Well, remember, he wasn’t actually ‘The Ultimate Killer’,” I said, “he was something else that he hated so much that he resorted to killing.”

“Maybe he should have stuck to that and not half ass this whole killing thing” said Duke.

“You know I can hear you” said Monokuma.

“Whether or not you are actually here, you can hear us,” I said. “It still doesn’t change the fact that this part of your plan was half baked.”

“Well, I’m still a successful killer, aren’t I?” said Monokuma. “I planned everything methodically.”

“Not so methodically that the police interrupted your plan by bringing us here instead of going to actual Hope’s Peak” said Duke.

“Yeah, which you yourself alerted the police that you were doing this,” I reminded him.

“Well, I’m still getting results” said Monokuma. “And RESULTS are all that matter to you Ultimates, now aren’t they?”

I interjected “Actually, my grandpa always said ‘a true Ultimate is not measured by results, but by action.’”

“Yeah, well he’s DEAD!” screamed Monokuma and he pounded his fist on one of the tables, collapsing it. There was a hum coming from Monokuma and then his head popped up. “Oh, I’m sorry, I'm not always in control of my actions,” he said.

He started to fix the table he just destroyed. “What do you mean by that?” I asked.

“Oh…um...well…” said Monokuma. “Fine. I was told not to tell you this, but sometimes the Ultimate Killer controls me. However, I have an override feature when things get too heated.”

“Like, he talks for you?” asked Duke.

“Talks, moves, everything” said Monokuma. “Although, 95% of the time, it’s lovable old me in here.”

“You’re not much better” I said.

“Aww, why do you say that?” said Monokuma.

“Cause you still want us dead” I answered.

“Oh, yeah. That thing” Monokuma said. “Well, like I said, I’m a tool. In use by the Ultimate Killer. I don’t really have control over that.”

“So, you're saying that if we met in different circumstances, we could be friends?” asked Duke.

“Well, no, I was built to kill” replied Monokuma. “Unless you’d be fine with me killing other people.” We both stared at him not amused. “OK, fine, I get it. You guys don’t like killing. Anyway, your stupid table is fixed.”

“Is the Ultimate Killer going to be mad that you told us this?” I asked.

“Eh, he’s told you more revealing stuff” said Monokuma. “What’s the worst that could happen? Anyway, seeya.” He left.

“Well...that was something” said Duke. “I think I’ll take a look around here some more. You know, see what I can gather from this.”

“OK then” I said. I looked around and saw that Tammy was also in here. “Oh, uh hi” I said, nervously. “You saw that, right?” She nodded. “Um, are you alright?”

“Um...maybe…”

Translation: No. “Um, do you have anything you want to say?” I asked in a calming voice.

“Well...I do, but I also want to share it with Cassy. Can you bring her back here so we can talk?”

“Sure” I said. I left to see where everyone else was. I entered the room across the hall. I was surprised to see it was essentially a weapons room. “It’s just one surprised after another.”

“Oh, hey Justin” said Pierce. “You don’t look great.”

“Yeah, I didn’t sleep well, and Monokuma just exploded on me” I said.

“Oh? What happened?” Pierce asked.

“Well, he showed up while Duke and I were talking. So, we decided to get under his skin” I began.

“Like you do.”

“So, we may have pushed him a bit too far and he smashed a table.”

“Oh, that’s...not great.”

“Yeah, but then he told us that the Ultimate Killer himself was controlling him at the time.”

“So, the Ultimate Killer can control Monokuma sometimes then, eh?” said Pierce.

“Apparently” I said. “So, what did you find out about this room? Why is there an armory in here?”

“We’re not sure” said Jay.

“We think this was an indoor target range, but there appears to be no targets” said Andy.

“...Were you two in here this whole time?” I asked.

“Yeah” said Jay.

“...Man, I’m tired” I said.

“So, former target practice area then?” Pierce asked.

“Well, based on all of this room back here with nothing in it” said Andy.

“And the fact that all of these weapons can be fired or thrown” said Jay. “Like guns, arrows, spears, axes, they even have slingshots.”

“And I assume that all of these weapons were provided by the Ultimate Killer themselves” I said.

“Probably” said Andy.

“Great, just what we need: MORE tools to kill each other with” I said.

“Exactly” said Monokuma, popping up again. “Oh, you were being sarcastic.”

“Of course I was” I said.

“So, who’s in there now?” asked Pierce.

“Why, it’s ME! Monokuma” said Monokuma. “The Ultimate Killer will continue to be locked out of direct control for another 47 minutes.”

“I see,” said Pierce.

“Can you just go now?” I asked. “I’m too tired for this.”

“Sure, but how did you expect school would go?” asked Monokuma. “You gotta wake up early.”

“That fact that you treat this like school still amazes me,” I said.

“Yeah, but you’d still have to wake up early even if we were going to actual school” said Jay.

“Hope’s Peak is open ended” I told him. “I wouldn’t have to wake up before noon.”

“Yeah, it isn’t” said Andy.

“How would you know?” I asked.

“Because I’m the Ultimate Trivia Master” said Andy. “I look these things up all the time.”

“...Motherfucker” I said, under my breath.

“Well, anyway, it seems like I’m not needed here anymore” said Monokuma.

“You’re ever needed” said Jay.

“Toodleoo” Monokuma said, disappearing again.

“I swear, every time I think ‘this isn't too bad’, he shows up,” I said.

Pierce said “I would say ‘it could always be worse’, but I don’t think it can get much worse at this point.”

“Well, assuming we can get out at this point, losing only a quarter of the people we came in with wouldn’t be the WORST hostage situation” said Andy.

“It’s still not great,” said Jay.

“I know” said Andy.

I left to see what was down the hall. The hall was filled with a bunch of loose stuff that assume would go to the gym. “Why is all of this here?” I asked myself.

“To explain” said Monokuma, showing up again.

“GAH!” I said.

“You see, not everything we wanted to bring for the gym could fit reasonably in the storage room of the gym” Monokuma explained. “We have a tendency to overpack, you see. So, we just left it in this hall. It’s close enough to other exercise equipment anyway, so we figured ‘what the heck?’”

“Please stop saying ‘we’” I said. “I get that you want to distinguish yourself from the Ultimate Killer, but it’s kind of creeping me out.”

“Yeah, I see your point” said Monokuma. “Besides, that sounds like something some other villain would do. I need to be original.”

“You know what would be original for a villain? Letting us go” I said.

“Are you kidding?” said Monokuma. “The face-turn is done by plenty of villains.”

“Yeah, but all of those villains were sympathetic” I told him. “You’d still retain your whole unlikable charm while doing the right thing.”

“Hmmmm. As tempting as that sounds, I find it more fun to just watch you all die one by one” said Monokuma.

“Well, I tried” I said.

“And an Ultimate is measured by their actions” said Monokuma. “That’s what you said, right?”

“...Yeah, but how did you know?” I asked.

“Just because I’m not in control, doesn’t mean I can’t hear” said Monokuma.

“Duly noted” I said. Monokuma left.

I went to the end of the hall and I found two rooms. One labeled “Girl’s Locker Room” and one labeled “Boy’s Locker Room.” I went in the Boy’s locker room and had a look around. I saw that each of us had a locker designated to us. I opened mine up to find a swimsuit. Not just any swimsuit though; My favorite swimsuit. Red with a black stripe on each side. “OK, THAT’S creepy.” I saw a sign that said “No casual clothes or Monopads in the pool area. Also, everyone has to shower before entering the pool area.”

“Guess I have no choice,” I said. I put them on and continued. I found the showers and used them. I went further and there was a door. I opened it and I found the pool area. “”Bout time you showed up,” said Buck. It was weird to see him without his sunglasses. His swim trunks were green with outlines of basketballs on them “I was worried you’d never show up.”

“Why did I need to show up?” I asked.

“We need a ref” he told me. “And you’re it.”

“Ref? For what?” I asked.

“Water basketball” Buck said, like that was totally a normal thing.

“Water basketball?” I said.

“Look, I know it’s odd, but it’s fun,” said Buck. “And I knew you’d stop by eventually, and I don’t want you to be sore in the morning, so I volunteered you to be the ref.”

“Umm, thanks?” I said.

“Great” said Buck. “Follow me.” I followed him to one of the pools. It was then I noticed how large the pool area was. There were two water slides, a lap pool with 12 lanes, a hot tube, a sauna, and like three other pools. It could be so easy to get lost in here. “Hey, he’s here.”

“Great!” said May. “Let’s get started.”

I only saw May, whose swimsuit was a red and orange two-piece, where the top looked like a sports bra and the bottom was shorts, Annabelle, whose swimsuit was an aquamarine one-piece, and Elliot, whose swimsuit was a pure white two-piece. “Where are Sophie and Cassy?” I asked.

“Sophie is in the sauna” said Annabelle. “As for Cassy, well…”

“She’s investigating the area, so she couldn’t be our ref” said Elliot.

“I see…” I said. I might as well see what this is about. If Cassy finds anything she’ll tell us. “Well, OK then, let’s get started. What are the rules?”

“Just like regular basketball, but in the water, so we don’t need to worry about dribbling” said Buck. “Also, I added some house rules.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“Because Buck here is the only one who’s played water basketball,” said May. “He has an unfair advantage.”

“That, and it’s just the four of us playing” said Elliot.

“So, I’m on Buck’s team to even things out,” said Annabelle. “I’m not that athletic, but I can do some things.”

“Basically, the two rules in play is that the ball has to at least be passed once, and a team can’t score over 10 points without both players at least scoring once” said Buck.

“OK. Sounds fair enough” I said. “And how long are we playing?”

“I was thinking just 30 minutes,” said Buck.

“Seems reasonable” I said. “OK, then, let’s begin!”

They got into position. I started the clock and they went for it. Water basketball is actually really engaging. The water adds some depth that wasn’t there before. It looks so stylish. Of course, Buck was styling all over the place and getting points left and right. But the rules were helpful. May and Elliot managed to score a fair amount of point. And even Annabelle scored some points. It was really charming. However, due to the nature of these things, Buck and Annabelle won.

“And that’s game,” said Buck. “56 to 50.”

“Hm” said Elliot. “Good game, but still.”

“Yeah, THAT WAS AWESOME!” said May.

“I’m just impressed with how well I did” said Annabelle. “I’m going to see what else is here.”

“Yeah, I’ll come with you,” said Elliot.

“Well, I’m probably going to do some laps in the lap pool,” said May.

“Want to compete?” asked Buck.

“Not really” said May. “I just want to see if I can beat my personal record.”

“Fair enough. I’ll just hang out here then” said Buck.

“I should go too,” I said. “I need to find Cassy.”

“I bet you do” Buck said, suggestively.

“Seriously, why do people think we should go out?” I asked.

“Because you should” said Buck.

“Whatever” I is said. I left and decided to check on Sophie in the sauna to see how she was holding up. However, it seems I wasn’t the only one to think that, because as I went in there, not only did I find Sophie, who was wearing a green two-piece with olive green accents, I also found Cassy, who was wearing a dark purple to-piece swimsuit with a pink frilly skirt-thing on the bottom half. “Oh. Hi” I said.

“Oh hey Justin” said Sophie. “What’s up?”

“Well, I just wanted to check on you quick” I said. “You know...since yesterday…”

“Right…” said Sophie. “Well, I’ve just been thinking in here. About Rachel. And Troy. And Roman. And Maria. And I realized that what I did was wrong. Me just giving up like that some that everyone else could be safe. The Ultimate Killer has taken away so many people. Now that I see that I don’t want to be just another person he takes away, and cause harm to anyone else. I want to fight him. I want to beat him.”

She’s gone through so much, and yet on the other side she’s still standing. Rachel, if you could see this, you would be proud.

“Well, I should go, my time’s almost up,” said Sophie.

“What?” I said.

“She means in the sauna” said Cassy. “Look.” She pointed to a sign that said “CAUTION: Please do not spend more than 1 hour in the sauna.”

“I see,” I said.

“Well, see you later” said Sophie.

She left and it was just me and Cassy. “Sooooooooooo, what’s up” said Cassy.

“Well, actually, Tammy has something she needs to tell us,” I said. “But she won’t talk to me without you.”

“Why not?” asked Cassy.

“She seemed scared” I said. I explained what happened with Monokuma.

“Oh,” said Cassy. “OK then. Let’s go.” We left the sauna and went back to our respective changing rooms and met each other outside the pool area and headed towards the science room.

We met Tammy, who asked us “Why do you smell like chlorine?”

“Well, we just got out of the pool,” I said.

“There’s a pool?!” Tammy asked, excitedly.

“Tammy, what is it that you wanted to tell us?” asked Cassy.

“Oh, right. I’ll worry about the pool later” said Tammy. “Anyway, last night, after the trial, I decided to look into what Monokuma told us about those devices that would make us forget things. I looked into some of the protected file and I managed to find the device he was talking about.”

“But he never got a chance to use it,” said Cassy.

“Well, I just wanted to see what he was planning” said Tammy. “Plus it might give me insight on how some of the Ultimate Killer’s tech works so I could figure things out faster. But before I got a chance, I saw something.”

“Saw what?” I asked.

Tammy fidgeted nervously. “Well, the blueprint was labeled ‘Phase 2’” she told us.

“Wait, what does that mean?” said Cassy.

“I don’t know” Tammy said. “But maybe the Ultimate Killer already did something to us.”

“But how?” I said. “We got moved before we could enter the school.”

“Hmmmm. It's worth thinking about” said Cassy. “Thank you for finding this. Now, if you don’t mind me asking, why did you want both of us?” Cassy asked.

“Oh, um, ya see” stammered Tammy. “Ho boy, this is awkward.”

“What?” I asked.

“So, you know how my dad was arrested?” said Tammy.

“Yeah” I said.

“Well, soon after my mother became distant. She was there, but she wasn’t really there” Tammy continued.

“Go on” said Cassy.

“So, for the first time in a long time,” said Tammy, “I feel like I have parents in the two of you.”

Both mine and Cassy’s face turned beet red. “Oh,” I said.

“I know it’s stupid,” said Tammy, “but that’s just how I feel.”

“It’s OK to feel like that” said Cassy. “It’s important for people to have someone to depend on. I’m glad you can trust us.”

“Really? Thank you!” Tammy said, giving Cassy a hug. After a second of shock, Cassy hugged back. They broke the hug and Tammy said “Well, I’m going to go swimming now.” She left.

“So, what do you make of that? I asked.

“I genuinely think it’s sweet” said Cassy.

“Wha? No. About the whole memory wipe device being a ‘Phase 2’” I said.

“Oh. That” said Cassy. “Well, I might have something. But I don’t know for sure.”

“Really, what is it?” I asked.

Cassy looked at me. She told me “I’m very unconfident in this evidence as of right now. I don’t even know if it means anything yet. I’d like to wait and figure it out some more. ...If that’s alright with you.”

I sighed. “I guess do what you think is best” I told her. “But just know that two minds are better than one, and we are on a timer here. I know speed isn’t your strong suit, but the sooner the better.”

“I get you,” said Cassy. “It’s not a matter of if Monokuma gives us another motive, but when. Still though, I don’t know what to make of this evidence yet. It could be nothing even. I’d rather have you focusing on what we know for sure than something that could be nothing.”

“Understandable” I said. We just kind of hung around until dinner time. Afterwards we all met up to eat. Cassy and I explained everything we learned that day to everyone.

“Oh MAN!” said May. “That’s some heavy stuff.”

“Yeah. It’s weird enough that he’d try to wipe our memories,” said Jay, “but to know he might have done something else on top of that? That’s disturbing.”

“I agree, that shit’s wack” said Buck.

“Wait a tick, I just thought of something” said Annabelle. “If he had this all planned out, is it possible that he planned out the motives as well?”

“Well, it seems possible, yes,” said Cassy.

“So, couldn’t Tammy also find those motive plans?” Annabelle asked. “So that we can properly defend against them.”

“Unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that” said Monokua popping out again. “The Ultimate Killer may have planned a lot, but the motives are provided by yours truly. And as such, there are no records of them, until I think of them and announce them to you.”

“So, YOU think up these motives?” I asked.

“Yes” said Monokuma.

“Do you run them by the Ultimate Killer before telling us?” I asked.

“Of course” said Monokuma. “And he OKs them all before I tell you.”

“And what if you don’t agree on the fundamental idea of a motive?” I asked.

“Just what are you getting at?” Monokuma asked, annoyed.

“Well, I just think that maybe the last motive wasn’t as pure as it was intended” I insinuated.

“Wait, what do you mean?” asked Andy.

“Yeah, what do you mean?” Monokuma said, intimidatingly.

“Well, it’s just that the night of Troy’s death, I saw someone among the police who was dressed in black from head to toe” I clarified.

“Did they have guns hidden under their petticoat?” May asked.

“I think that that was the Ultimate Killer” I said. “And he was going to kill whoever walked out into police protection.”

“Oh my,” said Monokuma. “That’s a charged accusation. Do you have any proof to back this up?”

“Well, ya see,” said Jay, “this guy is the Ultimate Killer. And he trapped us in here to kill us. So, it seems likely that he would try to kill us once we got out. So the burden of proof is on you. Now tell us, why would the Ultimate Killer NOT try to kill the children he’s been trying to kill in a horrific way.”

Monokuma looked stunned. “Oh. Well, if you put it like that…” said Monokuma.

“So, the whole last motive was a lie?” Sophie asked.

“Well, not a lie, per say said Monokuma. “It’s entirely possible to protect yourself from the Ultimate Killer, eve if he did sneak into the police vehicle you were in. Just not likely for some of you, I suppose.”

“And if Monobird were to tell us this, we’d have no reason to consider the motive anymore,” I said. “So you would have to cancel the motive.”

“Grrrrrrr” growled Monokuma. “Well, no matter. I’m already thinking up a new motive. And THIS time, there won’t be any of this roundabout, technicality stuff. I want to see you guys play the game!” Monokuma disappeared.

“Well, that was weird,” said Jay.

“What about him ISN’T weird?” said Tammy.

“Well, at least we have something to try and work with” I said. “We know that there is some friction between the Ultimate Killer and Monokuma. We just need to figure out how to take advantage of it.”

We finished eating. I was tired, so I decided to go to bed after dinner, but first, I stopped by the MonoMono Machine. I put some coins in and some interesting things came out.

The first thing of note that came out was a big book about the countries of the world. “This seems peculiar.” The next thing of note that came out was a packet of Lightning Gum. “Now that seems weird.” The final thing of note that dropped was some pool toys. “This could be cool.”

I was on my way to my room when Sophie stopped me. “Um, uh, Justin” she said.

“Yeah” I said.

“Did you make figures of Troy and, um, Rachel last night?” she asked.

“Yeah” I replied.

“Do you mind if you show them to me?” she asked.

“Oh, uh, sure,” I said. I lead her to the art room. I showed her the statues I made. “What do you think?” I asked.

“Well, they look good,” she told me. “I can tell you put your heart into it. I’m sure that if they could see it, they would love it.”

“Thank you” I said. I decided to reflect on those we lost yesterday.

Troy. A man of honor. He was always willing to help anyone. He was colorful, but that made him all the more real. He wasn’t pretending to be anything he wasn’t. I’m sure he could have been a good hero if a foul villain didn’t torture us like this.

Rachel. She was a very wonderful person. Always there, looking after Sophie. She was calm, even in the darkest of situations. She wasn’t afraid to open up when the situation called for it though. Though she can no longer look after Sophie, she trusts us to do so. And I’m not about to break  that trust.

Sophie yawned. “Well, I guess I’m off to sleep,” she said.

“Are you sleeping in Rachel’s bed again?” I asked.

“Oh, so you heard about that?” she said. “I’ll be in my own bed. I just felt like I needed to do that last night.”

“I understand” I said.

“It...felt warmer,” she said. “I needed that. Well, good night.” With that, Sophie left.

I left soon after and headed to my room. I got into bed and thought about what was happening. Despite all of the death and being held against our will, we were all trying to make the best of the situation. We were all trying to find a way out and trying to have fun. We were growing as people. I guess it’s like grandpa always said: “An Ultimate isn’t measured by results, but by actions.” And it’s those actions that will ultimately take down the Ultimate Killer. I just know it. It’s not a matter of if, but when.

#danganronpa #danganronpa fanfiction #Danganronpa away #Justin #Cassy #Tammy #Duke #Jay #Andy #Pierce #Buck #May #Annabelle #Elliot #Sophie #Rachel #Troy #Roman #Maria #Monokuma #Monobird

[builder051]

How about they are still too early in their relationship to really know the signs of when the other is feeling badly, so they’re on a date, and one is feeling really shit (fever, nausea, headache) and the other one doesn’t pick up on it until the sick one darts away to the bathroom but can’t *quite* make it. And the other one is all “OH SHIT I DIDNT EVEN KNOW YOU SHOULD HAVE SAID SOMETHING WHAT CAN I DO TO HELP OH MY GOD”

Ok, so I debated making this part of the Jax Beach arc, but I decided to leave it as a stand-alone, even though it’s a part of that whole canon.  The arc is going to be about a lot more than just the Mark/Troy relationship, though it will feature heavily.

This is also the best prompt ever and I love it and I loved writing it.

_____

They meet at a coffee shop in Orange Park.  It’s out of the way for both of them, but Troy has a feeling Mark doesn’t want to risk running into anyone he knows.  Troy spent most of high school and his stint in college doing the same thing, so he doesn’t mind.  He puts on white-rimmed sunglasses and drives his mustang with the top down, enjoying the wind ruffling his hair.

People turn and look when he pulls into a parking spot, and Troy’s casually embarrassed.  He’s gotten used to the stares.  His hair and his car tend to attract them, not to mention his stump arm, but today he’s glad he looks good.  He knows he’s blushing, though as he opens the door to the café.

Mark’s already sitting at a table, playing with his phone and bouncing his knee.  Troy takes an anticipatory breath and walks around the long way so Mark has a chance to see him coming.

“Hey!” Mark says, his face lighting up when he sees Troy.  “How are you, man?”

“Hey, good,” Troy replies.  “Nice to see you.”

“Yeah, you too.”  Mark seems the slightest bit nervous today, and it strikes Troy as odd after he’d been so calm when they’d met at the brewhouse.  But Mark had been drinking then, and first dates are always awkward.  Especially when you really like the other person.

“Have you ordered yet?” Troy asks.  Mark doesn’t have a cup in front of him, and this doesn’t strike Troy as the kind of place where orders are brought out to tables.

“Not yet.”  Mark stands and reaches into his back pocket for his wallet.

“Hey, it’s my treat today,” Troy says.  “After the way things happened last time I saw you, I think I owe you one.”  He tries not to cringe at the memory of being sick in the bathroom while Mark waited for him outside the stall.

“You sure?” Mark asks.

Troy nods.  “Of course.”  Date or not, a cup of coffee is meager repayment for the kindness Mark had shown that night.

“Thanks,” Mark says, following Troy to the counter to order.

“I’ll have a sweet tea,” Troy says.  It’s his usual, boring order.  “And…” he turns to Mark.

“Uh, just a green tea for me.”

The barista turns to get the drinks, and Troy asks, “Really?  I thought you’d be more of a coffee guy.”  He’d honestly expected Mark to go for something like a mocha.

Mark shrugs.  “I like to mix it up, I guess,” he says.

“You want a scone or something?”  Troy gestures toward the glass-fronted case of baked goods.  “Don’t feel like you have to skimp.”

“I’m alright.  But thanks.”

The barista places a glass and a mug on the counter.  Troy pays, and he’s about to ask if Mark would mind carrying both while he wrestles with his wallet, but Mark’s already holding the two cups.  “Thank you,” Troy says as they head back to their table.

“No, thank you.”  Mark slops some of his tea over the rim of the mug as he sets it down.  “Shit,” he mutters.  “Sorry.”

“No problem.”  Troy pulls a napkin from the dispenser on the table and dabs at the spill.  He scoops the soggy paper between his hand and his stump and rises to throw it away.

“Thanks,” Mark says again as Troy takes his seat.

Troy smiles.  “So,” he says, eager to get out of the circle of thank yous and you’re welocmes.  “Did you work today?”

“Yeah.”  Mark nods.  “It was a totally normal, boring day,” he says.  “I don’t know why it wiped me out.”  He laughs and lifts his mug.

“What do you do?” Troy asks.

“Software,” Mark says, swallowing and returning the cup to the tabletop.  He hovers his hands in the steam as if warming them.  “Engineering, I mean.  Software engineering.  At Skyline Integration?”

“Wow.  That’s…really neat.”  Troy sticks a straw into his cup. He drives past the massive chrome and glass Skyline building three days a week on his way to the call center.  He can barely believe he’s on a date with someone as well-appointed as Mark.  Handsome, funny, and obviously smart.  Probably wealthy, too.  Though that’s beside the point.

“It’s actually really boring,” Mark admits.  “Crunching numbers… I don’t get to see the finished product, so it’s all just code.”  He looks down at the table, then asks, “What do you do?”

“Um, well,” Troy starts, now a little uncomfortable about his lack of education and packed part-time schedule.  “I’m an insurance agent, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Three days a week, right now,” Troy clarifies.  “My schedule changes, but I answer calls for health insurance.  Then I do my other job the other two days.  And on Saturdays sometimes.”  He’s even less inclined to bring up the fact that he’s also a receptionist, now that he knows he’s talking to an engineer.

“Hm,” Mark says.  He still looks interested, but his expression is glazed.  He might be sweating, too, but it could just be that he’s drinking hot tea.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t say it’s all that fun either,” Troy says with a nervous laugh.  “But I know I’m helping people, so…”  He shrugs.

Mark nods.  Then he jumps to his feet.  “Hold on just a minute…”  It comes so quietly Troy’s not sure he actually heard the words.

“Yeah, alright,” Troy says, concerned.

Mark walks stiffly toward the bathroom at the back of the café.  His uncomfortable posture lines up with his subdued mannerisms and bland drink choice, and Troy’s heart sinks.  If Mark’s not feeling well, Troy can only imagine he’s caught the same bug he’d dealt with himself last week.

Mark’s almost at the bathroom door when he stops in his tracks, his shoulders hunching forward and his head bowing.  The entire coffee shop goes quiet as Mark retches, and the sound of liquid hitting the floor is roughly the volume of a sonic boom.

Troy launches out of his chair and puts his arm around Mark’s waist, in such a hurry to get him to privacy that he doesn’t worry about touching Mark’s hand with his stump.  “Alright, let’s just go in here,” Troy murmurs, grateful that the bathroom is single-occupancy.  He locks the door behind them.

Mark manages to get over the toilet before he throws up again.  Troy keeps his arm around his waist while he pats his shoulder with his hand.  “Ok,” he soothes.  “You’ll be ok.”  Mark heaves up another slew of stomach contents, and Troy looks away, examining the shape of Mark’s curls instead.

When he’s finished, Mark leans to sit against the wall, breathing raggedly.  He wipes his forehead with his hand, and Troy fumbles to get him a wad of toilet paper.  Mark nods in thanks, and Troy sits beside him.  By a whim of the cosmos, the arm closest to Mark is his left, so Troy pushes insecurities aside and rests his stump comfortingly on Mark’s knee.  Now that they’ve both been ill in the whole two times they’ve met, the usual awkwardness of a new relationship seems far gone.

“I’m sorry you’re not feeling good,” Troy murmurs.  “I bet you caught it from me, too.  You could’ve cancelled.”

Mark shrugs.  “I thought I was alright,” he croaks.  “And I, uh.  I really wanted to see you.”

“You still should have said something,” Troy says.  He wonders if he’d be overstepping his bounds if he felt Mark’s forehead.  Warmth seems to be radiating off him.  He decides to take the risk and softly presses the backs of his knuckles to Mark’s cheek.  The fever is obvious.  “How about I drive you home?” Troy suggests.  “Do you feel like you can make it ok?”

Mark slowly nods.  Then smiles.  “You’ll stay for another cup of tea, right?”

“Yeah.”  Troy smiles back.

#jax beach crowd #my ocs #Troy DeHaven #mark acosta #sickfic #emeto #emetophilia