#someone pea brain said he reminds him of the son he never had like

[celestialices]

QUEST!

Greek Mythology x Haikyuu

Haikyuu!Ensemble x Reader

OVERVIEW. You were just a perfectly normal student at The University of Tokyo, when suddenly a bunch of 'normal boys', as they call themselves, appeared in your life and started to squeeze themselves into your life. Always saying something like "You're a goddess, we need to take you back to Olympus" (you brushed it off, saying that it was just a silly compliment) and even absurd sentences such as "You got Medusa's eyes" and "You're really Medusa's daughter!"

003: PLAN OF ACTION

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Tense.

That's one word to describe the atmosphere in the pantheon right now. Usually, the after ceremony gathering of the Twelve Olympians plus Hades, everyone would be drinking, having fun, and feasting their eyes on humans just for pure enjoyment. Even Hera doesn't know what to say, normally the one talking too much was her, often bragging about her dearest son, Kuroo Tetsuro.

Unlike others, Hermes is rather enjoying himself, sipping his wine every now and then. This day is truly a blessing. Ever since the Medusa incident, Zeus prevented all his might to keep Olympus on track. He had his sons take care of each problem before it aggravates.

Subsequently, Athena grew tired of the silence. Opting to break it, she was about to say what's been bugging her mind, but paused after locking eyes with the mischievous god. "You fancy these situations, don't you?" Athena is annoyed, no doubt.

Like the bastard he is, Hermes only snickered. "Perhaps."

"Hermes, you did something." Athena hypothesized, the wise goddess is somewhat sure of her assumption. Hermes is the most cunning of them all, the amount of times he tried to bring trouble was uncountable. But he was never held liable, taking in the fact that he did a lot of sacrifices for Mount Olympus. He's responsible for a lot of things too, in comparison of the added vigorous deities, he still remains as the best choice.

"Oh," Hermes acted dumbfounded, behaving as if he didn't know Athena will catch on sooner or later. "Did I?" He teased her. Athena isn't easy to annoy. She would rather ignore all the insignificant etiquettes of others than wasting her time expressing wrath. It's useless for pea-brains.

But with the recent events damaging her calm mind, Athena was easily irked, just as Hermes desired. Thinking of punching Hermes just to get over with it, Athena put on a smile. My punch won't hurt that much. She thought.

"Aletheia and her daughter are here." Ares announced while Athena was readying her fist, making the goddess halt and look at the two deities entering the pantheon.

Quivering in fear, Yachi held her dear mother's hand tightly. This meeting could change their lives after all. Bitterly regretting her actions earlier, Yachi reflected on her previous actions. She should've stayed quiet. If only Hermes didn't interfere, she wouldn't have said anything. Now everything is going downhill, because of a possibly wrong vision.

She just got her powers. Something could go wrong with it, right? But that never happened before. Well, Asami's case with Medusa was a first too. How would one be blinded that a mere immortal is living with them? Especially Zeus! It just doesn't make any sense. She's doomed, that's for sure.

Oh, just stop, stop, stop! Everything was too confusing. Yachi's truly conflicted, she just want pull through and move onto another day.

The two goddesses of truth bowed their heads down, showing their respect for the upper gods. “Good thing you made it promptly after we sent off Sakusa.” Zeus said with a smile. Sakusa Kiyoomi, son of Hygieia, currently under the supervision of Artemis. He was instructed to call Aletheia, after all, he originally planned on visiting to Earth after the ceremony. Artemis reasoned that, hence he can’t refuse.

"Shouldn't we call in Asami?" Demeter asked, feeling anxious. No one really knows what will happen. Demeter was only enjoying Asami's companion yesterday, now things are like this. If this doesn't go well, she'll lose another daughter. Oh, how will she just react to that?

"Before we do," Aphrodite finally spoke, standing up from her seat. "I just want to remind you all that we should set our feelings aside. Whatever the conclusion of this discussion may be, think before you act." She reminded.

This wasn't the first time a mortal was blessed by immortality, but requiring the discussion of the important gods of Olympus surely was. Meetings were typicaly in the hands of their trusted sons and daughters, however; this was too major to be dealt by them.

"Bring her in." Zeus ordered.

Three words made the room tenser. Every deity noticed how Poseidon stiffened, his agitation worsens minute by minute. It didn't help when Asami entered the pantheon, looking frightened. Poseidon locked eyes with her, his heart burning in discomfort. He never saw her like this before.

"Well?" Hera asked, raising her right eyebrow. These kind of situations bores the hell out of her. What Hera likes the most is being straight to the point. Just decide if you'll keep her or throw her out, that easy.

Yachi and Asami stared at each other. Yachi’s face was full of regret, asking for forgiveness. Asami only smiled, hoping that it will deliver her message. That it wasn’t Yachi’s fault, she would never blame her.

Aletheia stared into Asami’s soul, widening her eyes after a span of seconds. Yachi looked at her mother’s reaction, instantly panicking. “What my daughter saw is true.”

Quiet. Too quiet.

“Asami is not one of us.” Aletheia dropped the bomb. Yet no one spoke. Everything was back to square one. In spite of the fact that they prepared themselves for the truth, it was traumatizing.

Poseidon wants to protest, but if Aletheia already confirmed it, there was no way it’ll make a difference. Hades was on the verge of asking their opinions, if not accidentally making eye contact with an unoccupied space. He’s got a feeling that someone sneaked in and is currently listening to their discussion, someone being Suna Rintarou.

As he was walking towards it, his intuition suddenly disappeared. That only means one thing, Suna knew he saw him and left straight away. Hades shook his head, someone will be in trouble. Back to the real issue, “Now, what?” Hades broke the silence.

“Well..” Apollo is utterly dumbfounded. It feels surreal, is that even possible for a god? He can’t believe it. He wants to deny it even though it’s no use. “We can just make her one of us, right?”

“I don’t think we should.” Athena argued, eyes travelled to her before you know it. She is always determined, standing by her first decision no matter what happens. “We should presume that the real daughter is there, with Asami’s real parents. Switching them would be a better plan.” After what she said, almost every deity in the room swerved their opinions. Athena is the wisest, her words are always right.

“I stand by Athena.” Ares backed her up. Their opinions about this matter were alike, that’s surprising itself. They never get along; having opposite opinions is common for them. It’s truly shocking that they won’t debate over this.

“We should first check if the real one is alive and well. Before dealing with Asami. For now, I’ll reside her in my place.” Hestia said.

“No. Lock her up in the underworld.” Hera contradicted, studying Asami’s response to all of this. But all she can see in her face is blankness. Huh, Hera pondered, Affecting her already? “Hades would look after her better.”

Hestia frowned, offended by what Hera said. Just as she was about to retort, Zeus spoke up. “That’d be better. Does anyone disagree?” Zeus was emotionless. His voice is laced with seriousness, but it looks like he doesn’t really prefer that choice.

No one spoke up. Seems like they’re still processing what the hell just happened. “I’ve got no complaints.” Hephaestus spoke for the very first time, just wanting to go home. He isn’t really close with Asami, so he doesn’t care, at all. Being in the same room with the other upper gods makes him want to vomit.

“Then that’s it.” Zeus replied straightaway, evidently scared that he’ll lament his decision and change it abruptly. “May every Olympian send their desired deity in hopes of finding the real deity in Earth? Until they bring her back, they can’t come back to Olympus. So, I advise you to think wisely.”

Everyone was taken aback. Today is just full of surprises.

“Everything will be fine.”

Lies. All lies, everything was obviously not fine. His closest friend, the one who's always there for him, is not fine. Regrets piled up in Yamaguchi's heart. Reminiscing to what happened back there, he regrets not doing anything. Those eyes, those eyes crying for help. He should've ran to her, he should've hugged her and tell her everything will be okay even though it won't. Because it was always like that. They’re always like that.

Everything will not be fine!

It's been hours since the big commotion, hours since the supposedly ‘meeting’ of the upper gods regarding the issue, Yamaguchi never heard any news since then. It was new, since every time there’s a meeting, words will circulate fast.

Hearing Hera's last words were only making him more anxious. Human world? The real daughter? That can't be it. He sincerely hopes that Yachi was mistaken. That this was all a big joke. The consequence will not be that bad compared to what can possibly happen to Asami.

Yamaguchi groaned in frustration. "Don't think too much." Hanamaki said, feeling guilty watching his fellow Aeolian suffer from his thoughts.

"Asami made a big impact to everyone, Yamaguchi. I don't think Zeus will throw her out that easy." Mattsun added. Seeing how Asami's close not only to a lot of superior gods, but also to Zeus' heart, he can easily turn her into an immortal like them, and then proceed like nothing happened. He did it a lot, so it won’t make sense if he won’t do it to Asami.

"Don't know. If all of them agree, then that will happen. Just like Shirabu’s?" Hanamaki said, making sure to choose his words carefully. He doesn't want to hurt Yamaguchi, but he doesn't want him to hope either. In a matter of fact, it's 50/50 right now. No one is sure what the outcome of their decision will be. Seeing it's been hours yet there still no rumors, it's better to expect for the worse.

With the two discussing what the outcome may be, Yamaguchi stayed silent. His mind was still replaying what happened in the courtyard, only snapping out when he heard a voice calling out to him. He frowned and looked around, not familiar with the voice at all. Down! Frustration was evident in whoever voice that is.

Yamaguchi looked down, only to see Oikawa Tooru, the mighty son of Athena, waving a hand to him like a fool. Oikawa gestured a wind after seeing Yamaguchi’s furrowed eyebrows.

Confusion immediately disappeared from Yamaguchi's face after understanding what he meant. Using the ability he received earlier, he made a wind current, and brought Oikawa up to the floating palace, Anemoi.

After a couple of seconds, Oikawa arrived, laughing at the enjoyable ride. It truly feels like flying, it might even be better! Matsukawa and Hanamaki looked at him disgustingly, not getting his questionable humor at all. "I have news." Oikawa said, switching to a serious demeanor. "It's about Asami."

The three stiffened. They were just talking about it earlier, obviously not prepared by whatever Oikawa might say. "Where did you get that news?" Yamaguchi asked. Oh how he hoped it's good news, or else he wouldn't know how to react at all.

“Well, I heard it from Kuroo who heard it from Bokuto who heard it from Atsumu who heard it from Suna.” Oikawa sat down the sturdy tree, glancing at the three’s confused faces. "You know Suna? Son of Hades." He asked, his companions nodding at him. “Heard it from him.”

“You could’ve just said that in the first place!” Hanamaki complained.

“Shut up Makki, I’m talking!” Oikawa yelled. "Well, he used his ability to sneak in the meeting. And gathered a bit of what they've discussed. He left after he accidentally locked eyes with his father, so it's not much." He chuckled, only imagining the wrath of Hades in his mind.

"Just get to the point, Oikawa. What do you know?" Mattsun asked, irritated by how chatty Oikawa is. He always get sidetracked, always adding useless information to whatever story he's saying. "The point, okay? The point." Repeating it since he know Oikawa doesn’t know how to listen.

"My Zeus, Mattsun!” Making a dramatic gesture, “I'm deeply hurt. I, the great god of wisdom and creativity, immediately went here after gathering information. Appreciate me first!" Complained Oikawa. Hanamaki can already tell he's lying, knowing his first go-to person is Iwaizumi.

“Oh, great god Oikawa Tooru, thank you very much for blessing us with your presence!” Hanamaki sarcastically praised. Yet Oikawa still loved it anyway. “Now just say it, Oikawa.”

Oikawa’s playful expression was immediately replaced with firmness. “It’s true.” He paused, wanting to be cautious. “What Yachi said.”

A sigh from Matsukawa,

Hanamaki’s startled facial expression,

And Yamaguchi’s lifeless eyes.

Every reaction they gave can tell how sadden they are with the news. “And.. Mother told me that,” Oikawa continued, staring at the cloud, unable to look at their faces. “The Olympians will send out deities to find the real daughter.”

“Well, that was unexpected.” Sakusa Kiyoomi whispered to himself while wandering at the park. “A mortal, huh.”

Silently enjoying his free time away from the deities, Sakusa took time in strolling away. He has plenty of time to waste before proceeding to do his duties, the reason why he came down in the first place.

However, he was absolutely not expecting to bump into someone. His eyebrows instantly met, he was already walking slowly. How can a person be so dumb to bump into him?

“Oh, sorry.”

Oh, sorry? His frown only worsens when they sprinted away after saying their apologies to him. Sakusa gazed at the person before him, the aura is different compared to other humans he interacted with.

It feels like..

Like he’s encountering a..

His eyes widen in realization, still staring at the person who’s almost out of his sight now.

A deity.

Anemoi - The floating castle in Aeolia. It is often where Aeolians are found. It has four temples; Glacithyia, Scortus, Forphyrus, and Aurus. All protected by the Four Seasonal Winds and their children. 

A/N: Hello! If there are any warnings that I should’ve put, please tell me! There are probably a lot of typographical errors, so please forgive me. I plan to edit all the current chapters next week. ^^ The adventure starts now! The next update will probably be next week, since it’s almost winter break. I just wanted to update before my exams begin, I hope I didn’t disappoint.  Thank you for reading!  send me an ask!  If you have any questions regarding the AU, I would gladly answer them. Or even reviews! It makes my heart happy ^^ 

#celestialices #questbycelestialices #questcxx #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu au #hq au #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fanfiction #sugawara x reader #kageyama x reader #kuroo x reader #kenma x reader #oikawa x reader #kunimi x reader #atsumu x reader #osamu x reader #kita x reader #suna x reader #shirabu x reader #tendou x reader #akaashi x reader #konoha x reader #sakusa x reader

[sxfterhearts]

35. [4:28 pm]

➳ pairing: youngjae x reader

➳ genre/warnings: fluff, royal!au, prince!youngjae, lady!reader

➳ word count: 1,496 words

➳ summary: 35. “After you.”

➳ author's note: hello angels! i’m so so sorry for my recent absence, uni has been really busy. here is a youngjae fluff to make up for it! this is my first time writing this au so i’m excited to share this! it was a lot of fun and i got really inspired by nbtm + the wildflowers i saw on my trip :)) have a nice day and week lovelies <333

//

“After you,” Youngjae said breezily, a royal blue, satin covered arm coming up to brush a stray branch aside, clearing the path ahead for you.

“No,” You shook your head with a faux frown, refusing. “After you, Your Royal Highness.” Insistently, you rooted your leather high boots firmly onto the ground, not moving an inch.

“C'mon, Y/N!” He sighed exasperatedly, dramatically. Youngjae always harboured a burning hatred for formalities. “I know you liked our old spot at the top of the hill, but I swear you’ll love this place even better. I just want to show you a part of this kingdom that you’ve never seen before!” A glint of excitement flashed across your eyes at the mention of exploring another corner of his family’s vast lands. Sensing that you were about to cave to his request, the Prince hastily interlocked your fingers with his, guiding you through the dense forest just beyond the edge of the Royal Gardens. “Besides, as your host, I ought to bring you someplace that didn’t make you sneeze your brains out every other minute. The canola fields have triggered your allergies ever since you were a child.” Youngjae added.

“But I like the canola!”

Youngjae scrunched up his nose in distaste. “Well, I certainly don’t like explaining to your maids why their precious Lady turned into a swollen, slimy tomato by the end of our evening together and–”

“Okay, fine!” You squeezed his hand to signal your defeat. He couldn’t see your resigned, dejected look, the one that you wore every time he won an argument, but if he did, you’d bet on every single horse in your stables that he would clutch his stomach and double over in boisterous laughter. “You’ve said enough. Point taken.”

Satisfied, the Prince continued to lead you further into the forest. His pleasing, melodic whistles (charming renditions of folk songs, you supposed) were in harmony with the tunes of the lively forest. Your ears could easily pick up on the airy whispers of rustling leaves, the sweet sopranos of chirping birds and the trickling stream singing in an allegro tempo. It was shaping up to be quite an orchestra, with the one and only Youngjae taking centre stage as both lead singer and conductor.  

Throughout the far-reaching kingdom ruled by the Choi dynasty, Youngjae was known as the precious youngest son of the reigning monarchs. The boy made quite a name of himself by gracing those around him with his sunshine smile and bright personality. There were even poems and songs written about the Prince’s ability to shine his brilliant light onto his people’s lives. Many claimed that the Prince had a heart of pure gold, as he would often roam beyond the gates of the Palace, interacting with the locals by personally buying his art supplies from the markets, painting murals and paintings for the young and old, and lending a hand whenever a carriage got stuck in mud or when an old grandpa strained himself while moving large crates of vegetables. The people often muttered under their breaths about how it was such a shame that Youngjae had little chance of claiming the throne, for he was the last in line after his elder siblings. But the Youngjae you knew and grew up with had never set his sights on being King. Ever since spending that first summer in the Palace with his eleven-year-old self, you were certain that he was meant for even greater things. Youngjae loathed politics and diplomacies. He hated pretending like someone he wasn’t, just for the sake of strengthening relations and maintaining peace. All Youngjae wanted to do was to live a carefree life and practice his art.  

“We’re nearly there, My Lady,” Youngjae chirped in his best impression of a maid. “Just have to cross this tiny little stream.” The young royal came to a halt before the gushing stream, his free arm circling around your waist securely.

Your mouth went dry in an instant. The body of water a few steps ahead of you seemed like anything but a tiny little stream; it was fervently licking at the banks, swallowing and chomping up any leaf or branch or insect that stood in its way. You were deafened by the relentless roars of rapidly flowing water, causing you to shrink into his side in search of safety. Petrified, you glanced upwards at the Prince, shaking your head slowly to get your point across. You did not like this, not at all.

“I know you’re scared, Y/N, but I won’t let anything happen to you. Trust me. I’ll hold onto you so tightly that we’ll be stuck together like two peas in a pod.”

“But I… I don’t…”

“You’ll never get hurt, not on my watch.” Youngjae declared resolutely. He knew; he could tell from your shallower breaths and widening pupils that you were afraid of falling in, just like you did five summers ago. You and your brother loved spending time within the Palace’s walls, but you had taken a special liking towards the koi pond right at the heart of the Royal Gardens. Each summer when you returned to the Palace from your home in the Northern Lands, the trees and the flowers and the design of the Gardens would change beyond recognition. The pond was the only thing that remained untouched, year after year.

You used to love sitting by the edges and feeding the koi fishes or testing out your paper boats with Youngjae and your brother. You could stay there for ages, from sunrise until sundown. That is, until you accidentally tripped into the pond and nearly drowned. After that, you avoided it like the plague.

“If you’re really not comfortable with this, we can turn around, no big deal.” Youngjae reminded you in the gentlest voice he could muster. The stream was barely a meter wide, with a large sturdy rock smack bang in its centre, but he knew; he could feel the hesitation radiating off your skin. He was aware of how the minutes seemed to drag into hours as you gasped for air that afternoon, your feet straining and struggling to reach the bottom. Youngjae knew that the memory still haunted you.

Your clammy hands clawed onto his back, your fingernails leaving deep imprints through his luxurious tunic. Sensing his eagerness to show you this new hideout of his, you tried your best to swallow your fears and gave him a slight nod.

“You sure? We really don’t have to.”

“I swear, Choi Youngjae,” You whispered impatiently. “If you don’t move right now, I’m going to change my mind.”

He chuckled at that, all melodious and warm. His laughter felt like a blast of sunshine on a cool spring day, which did wonders to ease your nerves. He wasted no time in holding you close to his chest, similar to how you would position yourselves when dancing side by side in the Palace’s ballroom. “It’s a lot like dancing, really.” Youngjae said, inching towards the very edge of the stream. “You just have to coordinate your steps with mine. We’ve done this before a million times. Now, right foot, oh yes, your right. Okay, ready? Take a big step and –”

Your feet moved in perfect unison. The two of you arrived on the rock in the blink of an eye. “We made it.” You breathed out in disbelief.

Youngjae simply cradled you snugly in his arms for several moments. You relished in the immeasurable amount of security you felt being with him, while he grinned smugly at the sight of you finally overcoming your fear. “I told you so,” He pressed his lips against your ear and whispered.

The rest of the journey only took another five minutes. Before you knew it, you arrived at a small yet breathtaking clearing in the forest. The ground was decorated with a plethora of wildflowers emerging amongst tall grass, specks of white and gold and pink everlastings flooding your entire vision. In the middle of the clearing sat a large rock and a fallen trunk, the ideal place to sit down, catch your breath and take in the wondrous scenery.

Which was exactly what you and Youngjae did for the rest of the late afternoon. You drank from your flask of elderflower cider while inhaling the fragrant, floral perfumes surrounding you; Youngjae chewed on the end of his sketching pencil while also crafting a rough sketch of you in his notebook, resting on the trunk. You laughed and you talked, all while sharing a loaf of buttered rosemary bread you swiped from the kitchens this morning.

Much to your pleasant surprise, you didn’t let out a single sneeze. Not even when Youngjae passed you his sketch for your inspection and placed a white flower behind your ear. This was exactly why he brought you here, he claimed.

He was right. As it turned out, you loved this place the most.

#kwritersworldnet #youngjae fluff #got7 fluff #youngjae fanfic #got7 fanfic #youngjae drabble #got7 drabbles #youngjae imagines #got7 imagines #youngjae scenarios #got7 scenarios #youngjae timestamp #got7 timestamps #youngjae soft #got7 soft #this was fun hehe #got7 #youngjae #choi youngjae #got7 youngjae

[foolscapper]

Spn prompt! I have a HUGE love of incoherent/delirious Sam and panicking/worried Dean, whether it's head injury, curse, blood loss, or dangerously high fever 👉👈

Your wish is my command! It ended up... longer than anticipated... but here you are! Unbeta’d, we die like men. This is weechesters and involves a kid being hurt, so if that’s something that’d bother anyone, feel free to skip over this!

(Posted to Archiveofourown as well.)

Sylvester Sharpe turned from the beat up Ford truck he'd parked on the corner of A Street and Cotton Circle after a voice coolly demanded his attention. The boy  that met his critical stare was about half his age — youthful, maybe somewhere between sixteen or eighteen: dirty-blonde hair; strange old necklace; a charcoal black Led Zeppelin T-shirt, darker with sweat around a neckline littered with holes that implied he really loved that goddam shirt. Sylvester furrowed his brow, put out his cigarette on the lip of a truck bed full of trash and beer bottles and stolen shit he'd been selling to good buddies who know a thing or two about loose lips getting busted, and squinted at the boy like he were pea-sized.

"What?" Sylvester said, the clipped sound one of impatience.

"I said," the freckled boy replied back, terse, "Do they call you 'Sly' around here?"

Sylvester snorted, loose-limbed and careless and ready to move on to the nearest liquor store to get a new pack of Marlboros. He turned toward his open truck door to move along. He said, "Yeah, I'm Sly."

The kid lunged, and they were on ground in a few seconds flat. 

An old man in an ivy cap walking his dog watched as the teenager started to beat the ever-loving shit out of him.

**************** **************** **************** **************** 

You don't mess around when it comes to concussions. Concussions are traumatic brain injuries — sometimes it doesn't feel like that, because you think "oh, well, they just shook some screws loose; they just have some stars circling around their head, and they'll be fine in a few hours". But real life ain't cartoons. 

If there's one thing you could give their old man credit for, it was that he never undervalued a trip to the ER when it came to the safekeeping of his son's brains. Dean had a concussion before, himself. Just before he turned fifteen; got thrown into a wall by a ghost before returning back to their hotel room and vomiting his guts out in a toilet not even worth pissing in. Sam had been about eleven, casting the kindest and most worried shadow over the hunch of Dean's back, rubbing his shoulders and nervously parroting Dad about how he absolutely shouldn't go to sleep, no matter how much he slurred he wanted to.

Dad looked up the nearest ER and drove him down. 

The nurses had to stand there with their mouths in a thin, concerned line while Dean rambled on and on about how he'd caught a Chupacabra in a giant net once in Texas and ganked a vampire last week in Pasadena. And, of course, Dean also asked where Sam was — over and over and over and over — until Sam had to lean forward in his waiting room chair and wave at him, a constant reminder that he hasn't been left behind anywhere. Sam had tired lines around his mouth, then, and worry in his eyes that had been overcast with exhaustion. That's one of the few things Dean could remember about that night. Just thinking, 'Man, Sammy, why you look so tired?'

If he hadn't been so fucking concussed, the answer'd be obvious.

**************** **************** **************** ****************

Stuck in some half-dead town in Nevada in the summer of '95, Dean was more than a little restless; Dad had left them to go wipe a vampire nest a few small towns south, and apparently Dean hadn't been "big britches" enough to handle a hunt of that scope yet. Which was total horseshit, because he was sixteen; he could outdrink any old chump at the bar and he'd gotten a kill list so long that it rivaled a suburban mom's grocery list. 

They settled into an apartment with no furniture save for a two-seated couch and some mattresses — and exactly two months worth of rent covered with no plans to renew — but at least it also had a television with a few channels, too. Sweating from the heat, he traded the urge to hunt with the privilege of kicking up his feet and watching The People's Court. School had ended an hour or so before, but Sammy'd stayed behind for some extracurricular club he'd been practically vibrating to join, and Dean had no plans to shoot it down while Dad wasn't around to comment on it.

There was a small struggle at the front door to unlock it, and Dean listened with a quirked eyebrow.

"You forget how human hands work, Stuart Little?"

The door creaked open a fraction in response, and then stayed that way for a moment. Through the sliver of open air, Dean heard a small sob that made his stomach fall through the couch, and as he swung himself up onto his feet Sam walked through the door and nearly right into him — it was easy to see why, because his right eye was completely swollen shut, purpled and shiny. Dry blood clung under his nose and matted one side of his head, and he swayed on his feet when Dean's hands jolted out to grab his shoulders.  The kid's backpack was nowhere to be seen. Probably dropped and abandoned.

"Sam. Sammy." His hand reached to touch, and he found the bloody, clumped hair hid a lump the size of a golf ball, split and oozing. The kid shuddered with pain, and tears continued to leak down one side of his face. The fear mutates and splits off, leaving a new, fresh wave of emotion: fury. This isn't a monster. These aren't claw marks or some bruise caused by a furious ghost. Some punk-ass kids must have jumped him at the school and left him like this. And his brother walked all the way back here like that. He would even bet they aren't Sam's age. Sam wouldn't have let them do this without a hell of a fight.

He could barely stop the snarl of his lips, the cold calmness. "... Sam, who did this?"

"I don't..." Sam licked his lips, looking around like he wasn't sure where he was. Garbled words took time to form with a tied tongue. Dean could bet if he peeled the other eye open, the pupils would be mismatched in size. "I don't remember. I'm... I don't know. Dean."

The fury had to wait. He moved to walk Sam to the couch, planted him there and squeezed his brother's shoulder; another cold wave of outrage washed over him when Sam winced in pain, like something was hurt there, too. "It's okay. It's okay, little brother, just don't move. I'm going to clean you up, and we're gonna — get you to the urgent care. You hear me? It'll only take a minute."

He got the first aid from the bare kitchen cabinet, dug around for all the things he'd been familiar grabbing any time Dad had gotten his bell rang. He fumbled with the supplies with all the grace Sam had opening the front door. Uttered a sorry before he carefully pressed the gel icepack to Sam's eye. The other eye locked onto him, red and wet, glazed with delirium.

"Dean," Sam wept, and Dean had to focus hard to make out what he was saying: "Dean, I think I'm dead... I tried to find help, but nobody — nobody stopped... I think they can't see me. I think I'm a ghost."

Jesus. Yeah, the kid was concussed. Bad.

"No way. Not my little brother. Never gonna let that happen." His smile was strained as he grabbed Sam's wrist and raised the hand to the boy's own face. "Ghosts aren't big on crying, right? The salt would burn like a bitch."

"Dean..." 

"Yeah?"

"My ears're weird... Sounds weird," he admitted weakly, like he'd done something wrong. 

"It's okay, dude. You're concussed."

"... Oh." Sam sat for a moment. Looked around the small, unlived space. The People's Court was moving into a commercial. "Dean... Don' tell Dad. Don't tellem I messed up."

Dean pressed a palm to Sam's chest, his thumb gently rubbing the hill of his collarbone to soothe him. Usually about now they'd be wrestling over some stupid fight, or he'd be getting him into a headlock to test his reflexes, or Sam'd be throwing pencils at him for interrupting his train of thought at the kitchen table.

"You didn't mess anything up. I promise." It was a Herculean effort to keep his hands soft and caring, because all they wanted to do now was rip someone to pieces. He was gonna. As soon as Sam was good, he was gonna split his knuckles knocking someone's teeth out. He was gonna paint the dirt with it. Gonna blacken both eyes and bleed both nostrils and break a few things in someone's body.

... But only after making sure Sammy'd be alright.

Sam was missing a backpack and about forty bucks in money he'd earned from mowing lawns for the balding, dorky librarian living across the street. That same librarian ushered the boys into the back seat of her Sedan and made a beeline for the nearest ER. With Sam leaning against him, his knobby elbow jutting into his ribs, Dean answered a question nervously asked from the driver's seat.

"I don't know who did it. But I'm real good at hunting down whatever I got to."

**************** **************** **************** **************** 

There was a gratifying sound of Sylvester's skull hitting the side of his own truck after Dean threw him into it headlong. Storming forward, he doesn't hesitate to pick Sly back up by his flannel jacket to do it all over again. "Taking from the grown-ups not good enough for you?! You think you can fucking steal from kids, huh?! Think you can beat up some kid a third your size, huh?! You fuck—"

Wheezing, Sylvester tried to drag himself up into the driver's seat of his truck, a feeble effort to escape his punishments. A small crowd from a barbershop across the street formed, but kept their distance — older ladies mostly who knew better than to put their hands between a dog fight. Dean ignored them to grab Sylvester by the front of his collar and hoist him a foot up from the seat he'd slumped on. Their faces were inches apart, so that he could look into hazel eyes seeing red. "If I ever see you again, I'mma kill you. Do you understand? Do I make myself clear? I'll sleep like a baby after."

Sylvester didn't reply, but he did moan in pain, and Dean considered that an answer. He dropped him and stepped over his heaving chest with dust-stained boots to retrieve a backpack out of the truck bed. Then he reached into the man's jean pocket with swelling knuckles, digging more than forty dollars out of the billfold he finds there and shoving the wad into his own pocket. Then he chucked the rest of the wallet across the unleased dirt field. 

"Go fuck yourself," Dean said finally, and left just as he'd come.

**************** **************** **************** **************** 

Dean and Sam could barely fit on the apartment's couch together, legs crammed together under a quilted blanket while the television had cast an ever-changing glow over them. Sam's face was still a mess of Dean's least favorite colors, but now he could see both of his eyes, and that helped loosen the knot in his stomach. John had been called from the ER, told the story from front to back, and he filled the teenager with grim vindication when he complimented Dean's recent successful hunt. 

The verdict: a 24-hour observation in the hospital, during which John Winchester strode in to keep vigilant watch over Dean as he kept vigilant watch over Sam; he hadn't stopped watching him since they'd gotten home after, either. Dean could hear his father's snores through the door into the one bedroom. Who knows when the last time Dad slept had been; he'd come straight back from the end of the destroyed vamp nest, no pitstops. 

"... Dean?" Sam asked after him, wearily. If he had a nickel for every time the boy said it today, he'd be a millionaire. But there was an awareness in Sam's eyes this time that had been frighteningly missing earlier, as he stared at him from across the short couch. In the ER, it had taken a lot of coaxing and promising that Sam wasn't as dead as he'd thought he was, and now Dean was very confident he finally believed it a day late and a dollar short.

"Yeah?" 

"Your hands."

He glanced down at the bruised, scraped up knuckles, and just shook his head at the sight of Sam's apprehension; he hadn't told Sam exactly what happened, but his brother was smart. Smarter than most people who came and went in their lives. Smarter than Dean had ever felt he could be. He sighed as he flexed his hands. "Don't worry. I'm not going to jail for murder or anything. Just... rest, okay?"

Sam's chin sunk into the blanket. Not appeased, but relenting. 

The battered kid mumbled, "You're the one who looks tired," then he smiled in that way that made Dean regret his bleeding heart. Dean's mouth opened for a moment, then closed. He played it off as best he could, but the rough emotion in the way he glanced aside and rubbed a hand down his mouth  was hardly subliminal. "Yeah, well. Sometimes worrying too much is exhausting, dude."

Sam bit his lip. "I'll try not to worry you as much, then."

Dean reached out, patted the bony knee near his.

"... I might have to hold you to that."

But really? He would never.

#spn #supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #weechesters #preseries #spn prompts #spn fanfic #hurt!sam #hurt/comfort #warning for injured child!!!

[zankivich]

The Arrangement: CEO’s Son/Dom!Shawn x Black Sub Reader Chapter 2

A/N: I can’t promise all the chapters will come this quick, but I am inspired and I think I’m in love with these characters. I’ve never done a cocky character before, so I really want to try and tap into something interesting here with Shawn. Maybe I won’t who knows. Let me know if you like though? 

WARNING: smut. sex toys. public masturbation (kind of). orgasm denial.

*Shawn’s point of view*

She crawls out of his bed in the wee hours of the morning, at least for him. He wakes up long enough to tell her she’s free to use the shower and whatever else she needs. He can tell by the look on her face that she’s surprised at the gesture. She really thinks he’s a complete and total dick. But it’s the crack ass of dawn and he doesn’t have the emotional capacity to argue with her yet, so he rolls back over to go to bed.

He wakes up again to her heels clacking on the hotel room floor. She reaches over the bed in search of something, maybe her phone, and he tugs her down on top of him. She doesn’t seem nearly as happy about it as he is.

“Let me go! I am so late. I was supposed to be at work an hour ago.”

He skims his nose along her neck, happy to see that the hotel soap didn’t rid her of her own personal scent he’d grown obsessed with the night before.

“You’re the boss, you can go whenever you want.”

She pushes against his hold and he lets her for now, much more excited to watch her then fight with her.

“That’s not how I run my shit.” She snorted putting in an earring that must have slipped out when he was making her scream his name the night before. “This never happened by the way.”

He chuckled. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. That was a mistake, a big huge mistake. Your dad would have my ass and ruin my career. We both know it.”

It pisses him off far more than he has any right to. He used his dad freely for the connections, the money, the access to anything he ever wanted. But the second his dad became an inconvenience, he couldn’t beg for enough distance. This woman, with all her thick ass thighs and musical moans, was so much more than he ever could have expected. And he wasn’t about to let his dad ruin that for him.

“A mistake yea? Which orgasm? The one with my tongue, or the one with my fingers, or the one against the headboard? Just wanna make sure I’m on the same page.” He muttered.

Her eyes turned to slits and she leaned over him before shoving him back down to the bed with a very pointed finger.

“Listen here jackass. You do not get to use what we did last night against me.” She hissed.

“What the fuck would I wanna do that for anyway?! Jesus, we should keep fucking just so you can calm the hell down every once in a while.”

“Not likely. Bye Shawn.”

Her braids cut through the air as she leaves the room just as quickly as she entered it. He collapsed back against the pillows and let his hand travel along the tender spots where she’d sucked at his skin the night before. He could still taste her. Could still hear her. And his body absolutely betrayed him as a half chub began to form in his boxers. No one had ever given him what she had the night before. She had let him take the lead, had given herself over to him completely and fully. He was always dominant in bed but never with someone who gave off such opposite energy. She probably should have been the one bossing him around, and yet she had placed a lot of power and a lot of trust in his hands.

His half chub turns a little fuller the more that he thinks about her and he lets his fingers crawl beneath the covers to deal with it. He hadn’t jerked off over a woman, let alone a hook up, in years. He could think about the ramifications of that later. Not now. Not when he’s got the feel of her lips in his brain.

***

He heads past Tiffany’s desk to get to his dad’s office, but stops for a second when she gives him a look. Tiffany was probably the only reason his dad was able to get dressed every morning. She knew every detail of every minute of his day and she kept him directly on schedule at all times. It’s probably the only reason she wasn’t fired, cause she sure as hell isn’t sleeping with him like the other ones in the past. He likes her. She’s maybe the only person in either of their lives that doesn’t take any bullshit, even if she does have a little soft spot for him.

“Hey Tiffany. You’re looking radiant as ever this afternoon.” He grinned, leaning against her desk.

“You’re late.” She said flatly. “He was expecting you hours ago.”

“Yea, I had a bit of a late start today.”

She lets her eyes glide over him and stares blatantly at a hickey on his neck he hadn’t bothered to try and hide.

“Sure. I suggest you get your ass in there. He’s on one today.”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “Sounds good. Thanks, Tiff.”

When he walks into his dad's office, he’s already screaming to some poor bastard on the phone. So, he heads straight for the fridge and grabs himself a water to wait for the tides to turn against him. It doesn’t take long.

“Well if it isn’t my son, my one and only, the kid I’ve given everything to at every waking moment of his life! How kind of you to join me!” Manny sneered.

He took a seat on the other side of his father’s desk, plopping down into one of the not so comfy chairs he had there.

“Nice to see you too daddy-o. What’d I miss?”

“You missed the first goddamn meeting with the directors I asked you to come to!” His dad roared. “What did I say, Shawn? Enough of this childish bullshit. I gave you that pony show last night so that you could start taking things seriously, so that you could start taking your future with this business, seriously!”

“I fucking forgot okay. My bad.”

“It’s always your bad, dammit! Enough is enough. Everyone with a brain the size of a pea knows you don’t deserve a position in this company, the least you can do is make the nepotism a little less obvious. The least you can do is make the first goddamn meeting with the people who help fund us!”

His dad was definitely going to have a heart attack by sixty. It was just a given at this point.

When the yelling and the screaming doesn’t work, and it never does, his dad as an innate ability to switch up his approach. His dad was a vindictive bastard at heart and no one, absolutely no one bore the brunt of that the way that Shawn did.

“You want to touch music ever again?” He asked, his voice quieter than it’d been since Shawn stepped into the room.

His whole body locks up, and his eyes harden as he stares at him.

“This is all you got. All those demos, all those melodies? They belong to me. This is what you get okay? And if you don’t start treating this business with some dignity and respect? I’ll let one of these other yahoos take over the company and you’ll be shit out of luck. Do I make myself clear?”

His shoulders completely slump and the feeling that he seemed to have within him at all time came roaring back infinitely. The inadequacies. The powerlessness. He was nothing. Nothing. And never would he be anything that his father hadn’t already determined him to be. That’s just the way it went. It was the way the cards had been dealt for him. No use in fighting it.

“Yea, dad. I understand.” He muttered getting up out of his seat.

“Have Tiffany share the notes from the meeting you missed today. I want you here tomorrow at nine am. You’re going to follow me around to my meetings, get the lay of the land.”

There was no arguing so he just headed for the door instead.

“Oh and Shawn?”

He sighed but turned to face his father again. “Yea?”

“Try to not to let whatever whore you’re with next time make it so obvious. We’re better than that.”

No use in fighting it.

“Yes, sir.”

***

His shoulders are so tense that he can feel the knots forming along his neck. It’s the stress that always comes when his dad lays down the law and reminds him of where he’s at in life, where he’ll probably always be. They could say money buys you happiness all damn day long, but he hadn’t been happy. He hadn’t been happy in a really long fucking time. He’d tried just about everything. A five mile run. Had played the guitar until his fingers were sore. It isn’t until he tries to jerk off and that vision of her appears in his mind again, the way she had flicked her braids over her back, the way she had gleamed with sweat. It’s not until then that he really has to contemplate what the entire hell is going on with him, because he’s never thought about a hook up like this. Ever.

He stares up at the ceiling with another fucking boner starting in his pants. Fuck contemplation. Where had that ever got him?

“Thank you for calling Miss y/l/n’s office. This is Tianna, how may I help you?”

He peered over at the clock on his bedside. It was after eight o’clock. Way past working hours. He had a feeling wherever y/n went so did she.

“Tianna, darling.” He hummed. “She working you into the ground over there?”

She immediately snorted. “We’re doing just fine over here Mr. Mendes. How can I help you?”

“Please, call me Shawn.”

“Call me stupid. What do you want?”

Tough crowd in that office, really.

“I need to schedule a meeting with her. It’s work related. My dad needs her.” He lied.

“Uh Huh...and just what is it that your dad needs that he’s sending you to get at eight o’clock at night?”

He rolled his eyes up at the ceiling. “Look he’s having me take over some accounts to get the lay of the land. I’ve got two artists playing jingle ball alongside her artists. We want to talk possible on stage collaboration.”

And they called him dumb.

“Hmmm...well, she’s very busy.” Tianna drew on.

“Yes, I’m sure she is. If I was to come to her office right now though I’d assume she’s not exactly having meetings now is she?”

“If you came to her office right now I think your little spiel about ‘on stage collaborations’ might look more like a booty call.”

He chuckled. “But if you help me out with a little something, then I could maybe help her out with a little something, and we can all be a little happier.”

“You white boys always thinking your dick can cure cancer. Get off my phone.”

“I think if you didn’t want me to come, Tianna? You would’ve hung up already. I’ll see you in twenty.”

It was that kind of relentless optimism in life that had gotten him to where he was today. Here’s a hoping it struck one more time.

***

y/n point of view*

You’re sat at your desk trying to figure out what it was about the age of twenty that seemed to make your artists lose their ever loving mind. One of your up and comers was found outside a bar as three am drunk off his ass and now you had to face the casualties. There’s a tension thick and firm in your shoulders and rolling down over every individual vertebrae in your spine. You were stressed, had been all day, and it didn’t look like that was going to change anytime soon. You rubbed your fingers against your temples and reached for your phone to tell Tianna to maybe order you some dinner, and then head home for the night. No use in both of you being miserable.

“Hey Ti’. I’m gonna be late again. Could you order me something? No mexican please, maybe something from that asian place with the dumplings?” You asked softly. “You can go home straight after.”

“Sure thing, girl. There is something I wanted to run by you though--”

“Oh not tonight, Ti. I’m swamped. Just the food, and that will be all.”

It was a bit of a bitch move, but you and Tianna had navigated these waters time and time again throughout your friendship. She let you be when you were stressed, but never let is pass. She’d always call you out eventually. You were pretty good at navigating professional and friendship. Also, you wouldn’t last a day without her, and both of you knew it.

It’s another hour before you hear movement outside your door. You assumed Tianna had given the delivery guy your office number, so you slide from your chair still barefoot and went to grab your meal.

He’s standing on the other side of your door with your food in his hands and that dumbass smirk on his face that you had practically licked off the night before. The worst part was the rush of feelings that flooded your stomach with him there. There wasn’t nearly enough irritation and annoyance as there was a fluttering and a heat. You had seen what he could do after all, and your body was already attuned to such things. Dumb.

“Oh what the hell!” You groaned snatching the brown paper bag from his hands. “How did you get up here?”

“Hey, don’t get mad at me! I told Tianna I was coming.”

Shit. She’d tried to warn you too. You were an idiot and a bitch. Lovely.

You reached straight for your dumplings, not having the capacity to deal with your six foot two headache before you dealt with your hunger problem. You popped a squat on the edge of your desk and looked at him between bites. No suit today. Instead he was wearing black skinny jeans that looked like they’d been painted on. He was wearing a cardigan that looked particularly fluffy and a white t-shirt. You noticed there was a difference in the way his eyes looked then what you remembered. They were duller. They weren’t nearly as alive as they’d been when he was making your body sing for him the night before. Hell, he hadn’t even looked this dead at the banquet. He looked tired, beat down. But, that wasn’t supposed to matter to you. Right?

“Why are you in my office right now?” You asked.

He stalked a little closer, choosing to sit on the arm of the chair beside your desk so that his legs could slide closer towards yours.

“I thought you’d be a little happier to see me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And why would you think that? I told you what happened last night never happened. And you agreed.”

“I didn’t agree. I said I wouldn’t tell my dad.” He corrected.

“Whatever. You don’t hook up with the same woman more than once anyway. We both know that.” You shrugged reaching for another dumpling.

“Yea, I--I know. But, I think we both know last night wasn’t a normal hook up.”

You crossed and uncrossed your legs paying special attention to chewing each bite of food before you swallowed it, as you worked to compose your face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh you don’t do you?” He hummed dipping his head to catch your eye.

He got up off the chair taking the two steps to be far too close into your bubble. You wondered idly if his lack of understanding of personal space came with the privilege of being rich, or the privilege of being attractive, or if was that whole male privilege thing instead. When his hands settled on either side of you on your desk, you settle on it being some kind of combination of the three.

“You’re gonna tell me I didn’t treat you good last night?” He whispered nose skimming along your neck. “That I didn’t touch you in ways you’ve never been touched before? That I didn’t have you cumming for me like a fountain?”

Your thighs pulse needily, but when you go to squeeze them together, he’s already standing there between them so that they wrap around him. His fingers trailed to your thighs and the sensation was so familiar, so right, that you found yourself leaning more into his space.

“I’m not asking for your hand in marriage. You’re stressed. I’m stressed. Just let me come over every now and again and knock you into a wall for a few hours. I think it’s a worthy transaction for the two of us.”

He was such an asshole. God, he was such an asshole and the assholery came off of him in waves. But he made you wetter than a faucet and he had big hands that felt so good when they were shoving you wherever he wanted. When you woke up that morning you had felt infinite relief. You hadn’t wanted to leave the warmth of the sheets behind. It was your first time being late since you got food poisoning three years prior. You had wanted to stay. And that was the second you lost.

“There have to be rules.” You sighed in defeat.

Shawn only heard yes and begun to tug at your jacket off your shoulders, his stupid lips doing this incredible thing on your neck that you really wish you hated.

“No one can know. It can only happen at night time.” You begun and paused to moan as he sucked at your collarbone. “It only happens at my apartment building or yours.”

“God I’ve really gotta gag this beautiful mouth.” He groaned reaching up to silence you with his lips.

Somewhere along the way you figured out that you were always working to have the upperhand, always fighting for power. And you figured out that you didn’t need that with Shawn. Once you realized that he wasn’t going to use it against you, that allowing him to be dominant was only going to result in your pleasure? You were able to let go. And when you let go, the pleasure was infinite.

Your chinese ends up on the floor. So does you dress as he very quickly breaks one of the goddamn rules and bends you over your own desk instead.

“God, this ass. I could write whole songs about it.” He muttered. “Spread your legs for me.”

“M--My desk.” You stuttered trying to be reasonable when your mind wanted anything but that.

“Spread them, or I’ll tie them open.”

Jesus.

You moaned softly into the hardwood, letting your legs drape open  against the side of the desk. His fingers mapped out your body, melding to every curve, and keeping you on high alert. Not being able to see him only made you want him more. You could hear the sound of his belt clanking as he undid his jeans, could smell that he was hot for you as you were for him. And that’s all that mattered.

“You’re so tight for me. Christ.”

He plunged inside your body like no one had ever before. Like maybe he hated you, or like maybe your pleasure was the only thing that mattered to you. His hips were hard and punishing. His hands gripped your hips like a gentle caress mixed with a punishment. It left you distorted, left you hot and bothered and completely absorbed in everything that he could make you feel with such startling precision. This wasn’t just him using your body to get himself off, this was something that occured in unison. For every second he spent chasing his own high inside you, you continuously found your own pleasure from him. It was infinite and all consuming. It was more than enough to keep you coming back for more.

The desk quaked on its legs, your papers flew everywhere, and still his fingers are grabbing at your ass like it’s his. And in that moment, it is. In that moment you’d give him everything one a silver platter if he asked for it. But, he doesn’t. He takes and he takes and he gives it all right back to you ten fold. You feel that familiar tightening in your stomach and your eyes clam shut. You’re at a total loss for how your orgasm could possily come this quickly and this intensly,  but here the fuck you are.

You reach back for his wrist on your ass and cry out into the wood of your desk as he only moved deeper within you.

“I’m gonna cum.”You whimpered.

“Not yet.”

You shook your head a tremble beginning in your legs.

“No I--I’m gonna cum! I can’t.”

His body leaned over you, caging you in and his lips found their way to your ear.

“If you cum without my permission? I’m gonna spank your ass so raw, you won’t be able to sit for a week.”

“Oh my god.”

The desk jerks askew and Shawn just slows down his thrusts in favor of digging deep into your body. And your back loses its arch as you turn to actual liquid in his hands.

“Fuck! Fuck! Shawn!”

“You’re fucking dripping for me. Take it. Take all of me. Make yourself cum.”

You grab at the papers on your desk and your eyes roll back in your skull once again. There’s a squelching sound every time you pushed back against his hips. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. You’re fucking exploding. What a fucking arrangement.

***

Work goes a little differently in the coming weeks. You yell a little less, smile a little more, and don’t find yourself constantly rubbing that spot in your neck that seemed to absorb every ounce of stress you ever had. And it’s not about Shawn. It’s definitely not. It’s just the regular sex. It could have been anyone, really. It just helped that this someone was good with knots and his hips. After the initial fuck up, you stuck to the rules. Only his apartment or yours. Never during the day. He didn’t come to your office, and you sure as hell didn’t go to his.

It wasn’t exactly meaningless sex. It was purposeful sex. You each had a goal, a build up of tension, that you needed eased. Doing that together just seemed to make a little sense. It was easy. It wasn’t complicated. And that’s what you loved. Not the person. Just the act. It was dirty and hard and sometimes painful, and you loved it. He seemed to find every kink you had, even the ones you hadn’t thought you had, and laid them all out with sparkling clarity. You couldn’t help but think back to the first time after your agreement when you’d stepped into his apartment.

“Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? I think I’ve got wine, water, and a juice somewhere.”

You were confused, plopped off your heels and headed for the shockingly white couch.

“Uh, do we need drinks for sex?”

He snorted. “What you, the most talkingest person I’ve ever met, thought we were just going to jump into things without talking first?”

“Well...yea. Kinda?” You murmured, now feeling a little indignant.

He took a seat next to you on the couch, crossing his leg over his thigh and turning towards you. The proximity alone was enough to get you a little bothered.

“Look I...I want this to be good for the both of us. And I want it to be safe. I want it to be consensual at all times. And to do that we really need to talk, okay? We’ve gotta set up what we want this to be. What we both want this to be.”

It’s a lot more endearing a lot softer than you expected. And you didn’t know how to justify this image you continued to have of him, with all the things you kept learning about him. He really made it hard to hate him sometimes.

“Okay.”

“Okayyyy. Well, why don’t you tell me something you don’t want, and I’ll do the same. And we’ll start from there.” He coaxed.

“Well I’m not doing no race play shit, that’s for damn sure!”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “What kind of a guy do you think I am?”

“A white one.” You blinked.

“Funny. No race play. Got it. I like to be dominant, but there’s some shit I won’t do. I won’t do anything until you bleed. I love slapping your ass as much as the next guy, but I’m not gonna do it to the point of pain over pleasure. I’m not gonna hit you, and I’m not gonna do any of the bodily fluids besides semen.” He explained calmly.

You bit your lip. “So you uh...you’ve done this before huh?”

He nodded softly. “I have. And you haven’t. That’s okay. I’m more than willing to teach you.”

“Okay...so is it like a dom and sub relationship?” You asked hesitantly.

“It doesn’t have to be that if you don’t want it to. Sometimes adding a label on it makes it more scary than it needs to be. This can still just be a hookup. Are there other things you don’t wanna try?”

“I don’t really want to be called anything derogatory.” You admitted. “I liked the rough parts. I liked...doing what you asked me to. I just don’t want to feel demeaned if that makes sense.”

You felt very out of your element. Again, you weren’t the expert in the room. He was. And you just had to trust that he was gonna do the right thing for the both of you. Only because, so far he actually had.

“Of course. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed yet but I’m not just here for my pleasure, y/n. Half of what I get out of it is making you feel good. That’s what I want to do.”

It was hard to look at him when he spoke like that. The softness, the earnestness. None of it made a lot of sense to you. And you didn’t like how your body reacted to it, how easily he could draw you in like that. So you reached for him, lips and teeth and fingers on the back of his neck. And he pulled you into his lap with such ease. It made you melt. You were kind of fucked. But it was okay for now.

“So you’ll be in LA through Sunday for the awards. I have you back here Monday afternoon. I moved all your meetings to Tuesday so you could rest up a little bit. And then it’s time to prepare for the MSG shows for Khalid.” Tianna rattled off.

You were listening. You were a hundred and fifty percent listening. And you weren’t at all squirming in your seat. Nope.

“S--Sounds lovely. Can’t wait!”

She did the black mother squint and lean at you, so you forced your hips to calm the hell down in your seat.

“What the hell is up with you?” She asked.

Your eyes widened. “Cramps! A real son of a bitch, aren’t they?”

“Cramps? You want me to get you some mitol?”

“No thank you, I already took some. I’m gonna work on the proposal for the new marketing campaign with nike and then I’ll take lunch okay?”

“Sounds good chief, holler if you need me!”

You watched with painstaking eyes as she slowly left the room before finally allowing you to collapse and reach for your phone. This was too much. This was the worst idea ever in the history of ever.

“Hello?”

“Turn it off. Turn it off right now, Tianna probably thinks I’m a mad woman!” You sighed shakily.

Shawn chuckled. “Nice to see you too darling. What did I say last night?”

Your eyes fluttered shut as you thought back to the look in his eyes when he’d pressed the egg shaped device between your legs.

“If I don’t wear it all day then I’m not a good girl.”

“Exactly. And what do good girls get to do?”

You bit your lip unable to stop the rocking of your hips. “Good girls get to cum.”

“That’s right. Do you wanna cum y/n? Do you deserve to cum for me?”

“Y--Yea. Yes, please? I--I wanna be good. I wanna cum.”

Sure enough the damn vibration increased and your thighs began to quake. You whined desperately canting your hips up for something that wasn’t there. Something that was probably a good forty-five minutes away from you by subway. And lord knows Shawn’s ass had probably never been on the subway.

“You make the prettiest fucking sounds.” He sighed. “I wish I didn’t have this meeting, or I’d come right over there and make you fall apart all over my cock.”

“A meeting? What meeting?” You asked desperate to keep your mind off the quaking beneath your skirt.

“My asshole of a dad is having me meet with investors for this new Madison Beer look-alike he just signed. They’re already trying to figure out how to maximize sex appeal. She’s seventeen.”

“That’s disgusting. You have to know that’s disgusting.”

“Of course I do. And you have to know better than anyone that I don’t really have a choice in the matter.”

You rolled your eyes up at the ceiling. “You’ll destroy that girl before she even gets a chance to figure out who she is, what artist she wants to be.”

“Yea well my father isn’t in the business of letting artists decide who they wanna be.”

It’s a little more honest than you’re supposed to be with each other. A little moment, where you let the facade slip. Where you’re not just two people fucking. Because you’re both in the same business, the same industry, and there’s something that allows you both the ability to know more than anyone else ever could. And that makes it a little hard.

“Are you coming to mine tonight?” You hinted, trying to get this thing back on track.

“Yea. I uh I’ll be there around ten.” He cleared his throat, base continuing. “I want you to keep it inside of you all day. And if you’re good. If I’ve decide you’ve been good, then I’ll let you cum tonight. Maybe I’ll even let you ride my thigh”

A moan escapes your lips that had no business coming out in the open like that. You had never even mentioned that his thighs sort of made your mouth water, nor that you’d even thought about rubbing your pussy all over them. That just seemed to be another one of those things he picked up on without you having to say it.

“Fuck. Okay, okay I’ll be good.”

“Good girl. I’ll see you at ten.”

You collapsed back against your chair again as the phone call ended. 12 hours to go. Shit.

***

You were lying on the bed withering. It’s the only way you could describe what it felt like you were going through. You felt like you were in heat. The room was sweltering. Your thighs had been pressed together for the past hour and it wasn’t getting any better. You needed to cum. God you just needed to cum. About twenty minutes ago, that bastard had moved it to the highest setting. You were dripping at this point.

He let himself into your apartment, the directive to leave your door unlocked making a lot more sense when you were practically grinding into your sheets.

“Fuck, I can smell you.” He hummed. “You miss me?”

“I need to cum. Please, Shawn. Please.” You started rambling immediately.

He proceeds as if you’ve said nothing. He starts with his watch, slipping it over his wrist to set on the nightstand. His rings and bracelet join the party as well. Then it’s his jacket and the button up. You listen to the metal clink of his belt and it make your eyes roll back in your head knowing that you’ll finally get what you’d been waiting on forever. The excitement is in your chest and between your legs. The want that you have for him curling up like a ball in your gut. He knows exactly what he does to do, and it makes you hate him and want him all the more.

It feels like hours before he joins you on the bed. And when he does, he just stares at you for a while. His eyes roam over your hips and your cheeks and the arch in your foot and the stretch marks near your belly button. It’s so specific and so intimate that you can only watch him watch you. He turned off the vibrations, but somehow you’re only now just noticing. Sometimes when he looks at you like this, you don’t know how to respond. Can never decide what the look in his eyes means. And you wonder if he knows either.

He blinks and the look vanishes, and back is this look that says, “I’m going to devour you for all that you are.”

“Come sit on my lap, baby girl.” He whispered.

You move on shaky legs, crawling onto your knees to where he sat at the edge of the mattress. His fingers slip between your legs, your hands falling to his shoulders as he tugs the vibrator from inside you. You’re a whimpering mess, and he just fucking smiles at you and tugs at your hips. Your lips touch his thigh and you have to hide your face in his neck to keep from cumming right there.

His fingers reach for your ass, digging deep into the flesh, as his lips touch your ear.

“I’m gonna let you ride my thigh until you cum. It’ll be the only time you get to cum until the end of the night, so I suggest you make it count.”

You whined softly arms wrapping around his neck in desperation.

“I’m so sensitive.” You whispered.

He tilted your hips down with his hands on your hips resulting in your clit brushing against his thigh with purpose. You practically sobbed.

“Oh my god!”

“God, your fucking voice.” He grunted. “Ride my thigh.”

There’s no need for lubricant of any kind because you’re soaked to your very core. It saturates his thigh until your gliding easily against the flesh. And it’s so fucking hot. It feels so fucking good. You couldn’t control the way that your hips fluttered and twitched against him with every push of your hips. Every slide had you gasping his name with recklessness. Just the way he wanted you. Desperate. Needy. Submissive. And you thrived in it.

He tensed his leg, making his thigh firmer, and you fucking lost it. Your fingers turned to fists in his hair just to have something to grip onto as you rode him for all you were worth. His hands on your hips helped move you faster and it made the knot in your stomach tighten and tighten until it snapped with ease.

“That’s it. That’s so good. Cum for me like a good girl.” He demanded.

You cried out into your apartment, back arching as your orgasm ran through you like a tidal wave. His thigh became drenched and your heart hammered heavily in your chest as you collapsed in his arms like the mess he turned you into.

“Fuck.” You moaned desperately. “Oh my god.”

“Feel good?” He hummed. “What do you say?”

“Thank you. Thank you for letting me cum.”

“You’re welcome. Now go pick out a toy to keep yourself occupied with.”

The second that Shawn found out you had a pretty impressive arsenal of toys for yourself, he had taken full advantage. You quickly discovered that your favorite scenario was the gspot stimulator that did some amazing, amazing things. You liked it most because it seemed to drive him crazy when you lost control, when you were just barely holding on to a thread for him. You got off on his pleasure, and he got off on yours. It was a beautiful endless cycle.

You go to lay back against your blankets, only for Shawn to join you sooner than normal. He took the toy from your hands and sat it down by your hip. His fingers trailed between your labia, thumbing playfully at your clit. He looked at you as you did it, eyes dark and hooded and hot. You were in for a wild as night tonight.

“I’m gonna put this in. I’m gonna fuck you with it. And you’re gonna wanna cum. But you’re not going to. Not until I say, do you understand?”

You rolled your hips incessantly and sighed. “Yea.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

His fingers were rough and calloused, an incredible sensation against your smooth thighs. You felt his curls tickle your stomach as he leaned down to test your wetness with his lips. A groan made its way past your lips as he kissed at your clit. Before you could even begin to move your hips, he was pushing the toy inside of you and flicking the switch on.

“Mmmmm,” You hummed. “Feels good, Shawn.”

He twirled the stem of the vibrator manipulating the toy until it rested directly against your gspot. And that’s when he turned it to the highest setting.

“Oh fuck!”

“Feel good?” He chuckled teeth hitting your inner thigh.

“Y--Yea. Holy shit yea.”

He peered up at you from between your legs and proceeded to kiss, lick, and suck at the skin of your thighs. His fingers wrapped around the vibrator and started to thrust it in and out jaggedly. Your fingers dug into the sheets and you bit at your lip as he played you like a fuckin violin. The egg shaped toy slid in and out hitting the tip of your clit on every outward stroke. You whined and tilted your hips down trying to get more pressure.

He frowned up at you, teeth biting down into the flesh of your thigh before he soothed the mark with his tongue.

“Don’t do that. Be good for me.”

“I need it.” You sighed. “Please, Shawn.”

“What do you need?”

“Your tongue, your fingers--anything. Please?”  

“You want my tongue?”

“Yea. So bad.” You whined. “Fuck Shawn, please!”

He maneuvered your leg over his shoulder tongue pointing between his lips to hit your already engorged clit. The dampness of his tongue was heavenly against your aching flesh, but in combination with the still rampant vibrator it was so much more than that. It was completely and utterly too much. The coil in your gut grew hotter and tighter. Your toes curled. Holy mother of god.

“W--Wait! Wait I’m gonna cum!”

His hands did that thing where they locked into your hips, pushing you firmly down into the bed as he continued to suck you for all you were worth. You fist your fingers in his hair and threaded your legs around his back fully and deeply prepared to ride your orgasm out. Just as you were about to fall apart, muscles tensing and aching for release, it all disappears. He lets your clit slip from his lips and takes the vibrator out leaving you to pulse and thrash against the sheets.

“Fuck!” you grunted, thighs squeezing together involuntarily.

“Ah ah ah.” He hummed pulling them apart with ease. “Let me look at you. See the way this perfect cunt twitches for me. Shit, y/n. You have no idea how fucking pretty you are.”

You peer down between your legs watching your muscles clench anxiously around nothing. You can see yourself glisten from where you are, can only imagine how much better it must be from down there. There’s no room to think about it for long before he’s running the flat part of his tongue along your entrance in search for any juices he may have left behind.

Drool oozes past his lips, and he runs his thumb into your clint to spread it around. And then the vibrator is back in his hands, but instead of slipping it inside you, he presses it right up against your clit instead. The vibrations are rapid and loud hitting at every nerve ending in your already thoroughly soaked core. There’s no need to grind against it because he’s pushing it so tightly against you already, and when he flicks it beneath your hood so that it touches just barely at your actual clit, you’re done for. It’s right back where you were not even sixty seconds prior.

Your nails dig into his wrist and your back arches in desperation.

“Please! Please!” You gasped. “Let me cum!”

He shook his head not letting up on the pressure at all.

“You don’t order me. I’ll let you cum when I’m ready.”

Tears form in your eyes. It’s the denial and the pleasure and the cusp of pain that might just drive you over the edge if he’d ever fucking let it happen. You didn’t know the act of not cumming could feel this good, could make you feel this desperate. He pushed your body places that it had never been, made you feel things you had never felt. And he thrived on what it did to you. He thrived on your hips pushing back against him, on the moans that rung out from your throat. Every response seemed to fuel him even further.

Your legs begin to twitch again, screaming for ecstasy when a knock rings out on your apartment door, bringing everything to a crashing halt.

“You expecting company?” He asked, vibrator still very much in tact.

You shook your head, bottom lip destroyed by your teeth at this point.

“No. No one.”

They knock again.

“Are you sure?”

“You know I really can’t focus on anything but my clit at the moment!” You huffed.

The knocking continues, a little more aggressively this time, and Shawn finally rolled his eyes and pushed the vibrator back into his rightful position against your gspot.

“Don’t move. And you better not cum while I’m gone.” He ordered.

*meanwhile at the door*

There’s a guy at the door in a suit with his arms crossed in a semi intimidating fashion. Shawn’s half naked with one of the strongest hardons of his life hidden behind the door, and he’s a little confused and annoyed at the interruption.

“Hi. Can I help you?”

“Is Miss. Y/l/n here?” The guy asked.

Shawn raised an eyebrow. “Who’s asking?”

“I am sir. We got a disturbance call, and I’m checking to make sure things are alright.”

“Oh….Oh! Yea, no I understand why you might have gotten that call but I assure you things are fine here.” He snorted.

“Yes, well I assure you just as soon as I see her alive and well, I’ll take your word for it.”

The shit he went through for sex.  

“Look dude,” He sighed pulling the door open to reveal the sheets bunched awkwardly around his very naked waist. “She’s not in any pain she doesn’t want to be in. We’ll try to keep it down.”

“I’m sure that might be, but we take our jobs very seriously here and I’ve yet to see y/n, so I’m afraid I cannot leave you alone in an apartment you don’t live in.”

He rolled his eyes and turned to call into the house. “Y/n! Will you please tell the not so nice security guard than I am fucking you, not killing you!”

“SHAWN! IF YOU DON’T GET YOUR DUMB ASS FROM IN FRONT OF MY DOOR!!”

“Anymore questions?” He asked the guard politely before closing the door in his face.

*Meanwhile back in the bedroom*

“You better have been fucking joking.”

He dropped the sheet from around his waist and wrapped his fingers around his dick working himself back up to peak hardness.

“Not at all. But I’m not done with you yet. Be a good girl and lie back.”

“But Shawn--”

“Be a good girl and lie back and I’ll let you cum on my tongue before I fuck the shit out of you.”

You lie back for him. Duh.

If you wanted to buy me a Kofi so I can not be poor that would be dope. 

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[southside-vixen]

Fire and Ice (Sweet Pea) 8

Chapter 8. In Your Dreams

AO3

Adrianna Rivera has just made a difficult move from Arizona to the southside of Riverdale. With the history of her life in Phoenix behind her will she be able to find a new family in the Southside Serpents? Or will a certain tall, dark, and rage inducing Serpent cause issues?

The next morning Adria was still wracking her brain trying to figure out what went wrong last night. Tormenting Sweet Pea had always been fun, and easy for that matter. He would get on her nerves and she would return the favor twice over. But last night was different and she couldn’t quite figure out why. Toni hadn’t brought up her exit last night which led her to believe Sweet Pea didn’t say anything about it either.

Then again, why would he?

“You doing okay over there?” Toni asked, her head propped up on her arm. She looked like she was fighting off a hangover, not unlike Adria “You’ve been making faces at the ceiling for a half hour.”

“I’m fine.” She replied, not taking her eyes off the spackled ceiling. She couldn’t figure out why anyone would use spackle. The texture just made the ceiling look pointy and off. “I think.”

“Do you…want to talk about it?” Toni asked, tentatively. This was the first time she’d seen Adria so off. Ideas flew through her head. She watched Sweet Pea exit the bar with Adria over his shoulder. Maybe something happened when he brought her home.

“Not really.” Adria didn’t quite know what was wrong herself. Only that something felt fundamentally wrong. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

The following week went by the same as usual. Adria was back to herself minus the nagging part in the back of her brain trying to figure out what the issue was. It was Wednesday when the announcement happened. They were closing Southside High down for good.

The reception to the announcement was mixed. Half the students would be going to Riverdale High and the other half would be going to other schools in the district depending on location. Sunnyside Trailer Park was in the area headed to Riverdale. Surprisingly enough Sweet Pea and Fangs were ecstatic, Toni was fairly excited as well. New books, new classrooms, actual working computers. All perks of the new school. Although Adria enjoyed being able to underachieve she was looking forward to having bathroom stalls with doors on them.

Adria walked out the front doors of Southside High, bidding a mental farewell to her makeshift home after everything fell apart. Toni sat on the front steps with Jughead, the two lucky assholes had a free last period.

“Oh hey, Ads.” Toni smiled “I was just reading Jughead’s new work. He wrote it on his new typewriter that Betty got him” she flashed Jughead a look before looking back at her friend

“I said no comment.” Jughead sighed, letting out a small chuckle “How have you been Adria? It’s been a while.” It had. She had seen Jughead around but he seemed preoccupied and they hadn’t really talked since the library.

“Good and bad. Kind of sad this place is closing down since it was starting to feel like home, but then again clean bathrooms so who am I to complain?”

“What, hold up. What?” Toni looked shocked, it was entirely possible they didn’t hear the announcement since they were outside for last period.

“Woo!” Adria wasn’t able to say anything before Sweet Pea and Fangs burst through the door with a group of Serpent boys behind them “Say goodbye to this hellhole!” Sweet Pea laughed

“Where are we going to go then?” Jughead looked confused, he had been at Southside even less time than she had so it had to be more jarring for him

“Riverdale High.” Sweet Pea explained “Along with Topaz, Rivera, and pretty much everyone else at Sunnyside. Think of all those Northside heads we’ll get to knock” He and Fangs started throwing mock punches at each other and Adria couldn’t help from roll her eyes. Toni seemed to have the same sentiment.

Jughead however seemed more than shocked. Like this was the last thing he could have wanted. Odd since she could have sworn Toni told her that he transferred from Riverdale. He could just fall back into place.

Toni opted to continue hanging out with Jughead to help him read through whatever thing he was writing this time. Adria rode home with Fangs and bid each other goodbye at their front doors. Not like that would stop either of them from bothering the other later if they felt like it.

“Ness?” She shouted to no response. She checked out the window again and sure enough her car was in the driveway. She searched the few rooms that the trailer contained and found nothing. Adria took a deep breath and braved the descent down to the basement, spider webs and all, to find Ness and FP.

“Adria!” She looked up from her work, startled to see her niece “You shouldn’t be down here. If social services finds out…”

“Relax, Ness. I’m not a narc” she scoffed “Just here to tell you the news.”

Ness looked at FP and then back to Adria “Well since you two haven’t formally met, FP this is my sister’s daughter Adria. Adria, this is FP. Leader of the Serpents.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you Adria.” FP came over and shook her hand “All good things I promise” he let out a bit of a chuckle

“Likewise” Adria smiled back “I know your son from school.” Adria turned back to Ness “Speaking of school they just announced that effective immediately everyone at Sunnyside is to be transferred to Riverdale High.”

FP let out a heavy sigh “That’s my cue to leave. I’ll need to talk to Jughead about all this, he won’t be happy. I’ll talk to you more about business later, Ness.” He turned to make his exit “It was nice meeting you Adria”

“You too”

Just like that FP disappeared out the door leaving only Ness and Adria. “How do you feel about all that?” Ness asked “I know it’s a lot of moving around in a short period of time. Riverdale high isn’t too bad of a drive. Definitely not walking distance though.”

“I’ll ride with Fangs like I usually do when I don’t walk with Toni. I’m sure Toni can get a ride with Sweet Pea.” Adria shrugged.

Ness laughed “The parents definitely won’t like all the riff raff riding in on motorcycles to corrupt their perfect children” she rolled her eyes “Just prepare yourself for some backlash. It’s not you, there’s just a lot of tension in this town between the north and south side.”

“So I’ve been told” Adria leaned up against a table “I’ve survived worse gossip about me I’m sure.”

“I’m not too worried, you’re tough as nails. Just like your aunt.”

---------------------

The next morning Adria stared at the outfit she picked out for the first day at Riverdale High. She glanced over at Toni who was sizing herself up in the mirror, looking equally nervous.

“This is going to be terrible isn’t it?” Adria asked

“Most likely.” Toni let out a heavy sigh “I’ll be surprised if one of the guys doesn’t get himself suspended today from getting in a fight.”

Adria threw on a high waisted denim skirt, an old serpent tee that she tied at the bottom, and a pair of old motorcycle ankle boots before throwing on the worn down leather jacket Ness gave her.

“Let’s get this over with then.”

The ride to Riverdale High didn’t take nearly as long as she would have liked but at least she arrived with Fangs, Toni, and Sweet Pea. They met up with a few other Serpent teens in the parking lot and all walked through the doors of Riverdale for the first time together.

The day went about as well as she hoped. A few of the students set up some sort of welcome desk for locker assignments and class schedules. However it didn’t take long for the real Riverdale High to show its ugly head.

“Here’s the school spirit I so fondly remember” Jughead said from beside them. Coming down the stairs was a tall red headed girl, dressed head to toe in red followed by a brawny brunette boy and a group of cheerleaders and boys in letterman jackets.

“Reminds me of how I used to be in Phoenix.” Adria whispered to Toni

“Cheryl.” The girl leading the welcome table said, the same one from the night at Karaoke who ran off “No one invited fascist Barbie to the party.”

The red head, Cheryl, smiled back at her “Wrong, Veronica. No one invited South Side scum to our school” she then turned to face the Serpents “Listen up Raggamuffins. I will not allow Riverdale High’s above average GPA to dip because of classrooms overcrowded with underachievers.”

Adria could feel the rage coming off of Toni, it was starting to seem like she would be the first to start a fight and not any of the guys. But Adria would be right behind her. She had never been in a fight before but that wouldn’t stop her from backing up her best friend.

“Why don’t you come over here and say that to my face.” Toni stepped forward to close this distance between her and Cheryl. Adria fell right in line beside her.

“Happily, Queen of the Buskers.” Cheryl closed some of the distance herself

“Okay everyone. “ The red head known as Archie stepped in between the two “Let’s just put our Northside-Southside differences aside.”

“Did you forget” The brawny brunette standing next to Cheryl stepped in “That these greasers were at your door ready to kick your ass?”

“We’re happy to finish what we started” Sweet Pea stepped in, looking for his own fight.

“We’re not here to take orders from someone who waved a gun around in our face” Adria interjected, starting to feel her anger swell up as well. It wasn’t long ago that she would have been Cheryl. A queen bee ready to step on anyone who didn’t worship the ground she walked on. It sucked being on the other side of it.

“That’s enough pomp and circumstance.” The man who she assumed was the principal stepped into the hallway “Go to class. Now.”

Soon enough everyone started dispersing, but Adria looked at Toni. Where were they supposed to go? They never even got their schedules.

When everyone finally figured out where they were supposed to be, they all went their separate ways to their first class. Adria was cursed with having math. Sure enough, people stared at her and the other serpent in her class. They not so quietly whispered and passed notes and she was already over it. She wasn’t sure how she would tolerate a day here let alone the rest of high school.

The minutes ticked on until they turned into hours and by the time lunch came she met up with Toni, Fangs, Jughead, and Sweet Pea in the student lounge. Thankfully there were only a few Northsiders scattered about and most of them she recognized from the registration desk that morning.

They were making casual small talk about classes and the like until the girl named Veronica appeared with a large smile on her face. One that very much looked forced.

“We haven’t formally met. I’m Veronica Lodge” She held out her hand to Toni, who shook it

“Of the Park Avenue Lodges” Jughead interjected, making himself sound hoity toity.

“Toni. Topaz.” Toni said, forcing herself to smile a little as well

“Ah like the gemstone.” She smiled again “And you are?” she held out her hand to Adria

“Adria Rivera. Of the Mexico City Riveras.” She attempted to mimic Veronicas tone as she shook her hand. Veronica’s smile faltered for a moment, while the other Northsiders around her were clearly frowning. She could feel they were slightly afraid of her now. Good. Let them be.

“Adria. I’ve heard about you from Betty.” She said.  Jughead must have told Betty about the dangerous cartel girl. “Seems we have a lot in common. My dad just got out of jail.”

Adria raised an eyebrow. She’d have to ask Jughead about that later.

“Well..” the girl beside her started “Im Josie…formerly of the Pussycats…now just Josie.” Her sadness was apparent. Although Adria wasn’t sure if the Pussycats were a band, some sports group, or even some sort of weird gang.

Then again she hung out with kids in a gang called the Serpents.

“All of you. Out here immediately” She didn’t even notice the principal come in but his voice sounded serious. And angry. The lounge filed out to the front hallway to notice a snake tag over the school seal. The Serpents looked at each other confused. It couldn’t have been any of them.

“As you can see Principal Weatherbee” The brawny brunette from earlier said “They have to tag their turf.”

“Can you be any more transparent, Reggie?” Veronica groaned, clearly annoyed with the situation as well. The boy nodded at her after a second of thought. Adria wasn’t sure if he knew what transparent even meant.

“That’s it. From this moment on there will be no gang activity.” Weatherbee was firm “All gang paraphernalia including Serpent jackets are banned.” There was some protest coming from the crowd behind her “And all tattoos are to be covered. Anyone who doesn’t comply will be suspended.”

Adria supposed it couldn’t get any worse.

-----------------------

After school they all went to the Wyrm to try to decompress. Classes were definitely harder and the teachers actually expected something of them. The stares and blatant hostility toward them wasn’t helping either.

Toni and Jughead were arguing about the new school circumstances while Sweet Pea played arcade games. Adria didn’t catch much while she stared into her social media accounts but something about ‘discrimination’ and ‘what’s next, mind control?’ She could practically hear Toni rolling her eyes.

She continued to scroll through Fangs’ snapchat which had some brief pictures of him hanging out with the girl from FP’s retirement party. It felt like soon she would just be left with Sweet Pea since Toni was hanging around Jughead more and more.

She contemplated finding her own ‘special friend’ but dismissed the thought almost immediately. No one here caught her eye. Sure there was no shortage of good looking guys at school and in the Serpents but no one sparked her interest. Maybe she was just cursed to be alone.

“Guys, I gotta go. My dad’s calling.” The strange number showed up on her phone again and her eyes immediately lit up. At least she still had one man in her life. Adria waved the group goodbye and talked to her dad on the walk home. Of course it was more bad news. The prosecution was dragging everything out to find more evidence and he still wasn’t any closer to getting out. His lawyers were working overtime and it seemed like the state was throwing everything they could at him. It was apparent they were making an example of him. They couldn’t touch any of her uncles in Mexico so they would show them what happens if they screw up on US soil.

It was completely unfair and Adria was suffering for it. The initial hope of being back home before the spring was gone. She was quickly losing hope that she would even make it back before she was 18. Although she had friends here now so surely it couldn’t be that bad. But the more she wanted to be here with her new friends the worse she felt. This wasn’t her life.

------------------------

Hours passed since her phone call with her dad left her with more bad news. Ness hadn’t returned home yet so she resigned herself to eating frozen potato skins and watching the home improvement network.

“That paint color suuuuucks.” Adria groaned, taking a sip of whatever awful beer Ness had in the fridge. She let out a deep sigh “This is more fun with Fangs.” She flipped through a few more channels, shoving potato skins into her mouth. At least with Ness and Toni gone she didn’t have to worry about how she looked.

Her channel flipping was interrupted by a knock on the door. The knock alone was concerning enough. Ness and Toni didn’t need to knock since they both had keys. She was also pretty sure last time Fangs showed up he just walked in. Did Sunnyside have girl scouts? There was an abundance of weed downstairs. Some samoas and tagalongs would go well with the munchies.

Adria shook the crumbs off her shirt and answered the door. Unfortunately for her the person there was far too tall to be a girl scout.

“Hey. Can I come in?” Sweet Pea asked. Adria sized him up, trying to figure out his motive. She couldn’t think of any reason why he would show up without Fangs forcing him to.

“Ness and Toni aren’t here.” Adria explained

“We need to talk.”

Adria’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but for some reason she let him in anyway. The pair stood awkwardly in the living room as they waited for the other to say something. Anything really. The silence was quickly driving her crazy. How many beers did she have again?

“Sweet Pea, why are you here?” Adria rubbed her temples

“FP’s party the other night. You were acting weird so I came to make sure everything was okay.”

Surprising. Very surprising.

“Yeah, I’m fine. No need to worry about me.”

He stopped for a moment and just stared at her before letting out a small sigh.

“Okay enough with the bullshit. We both know why I’m here.” Adria raised an eyebrow at him before he continued “I see the way you look at me”

She was immediately taken aback. She opened her mouth to speak but immediately shut it again. What in the hell was happening?

“I have no clue what you’re talking about. I don’t look at you any different than Fangs or Toni” She argued

Lie.

Sweet Pea let out a small chuckle and moved a few steps forward. Adria struggled to maintain the distance by moving a few steps back

“You mean all this time I haven’t been catching you staring when you think I’m not looking?”

“Let’s get one thing straight, I don’t stare. Maybe you’re delusional because you’re the one staring at me.”

Lie.

The distance continued to close and Adria felt herself up against the wall with nowhere left to go. Why did the trailer have to be so damn small?

“So you’re saying that you don’t want me right now?” He stood maybe a foot away from her at this point, the glint apparent in his eyes. Adria felt her heart rate pick up the pace to the point where it felt like it was ready to beat out of her chest.

“Not in the slightest.”

Another lie.

“How is it that you come from a family of liars and I still can’t believe a word you’re saying right now?” He moved to brush a piece of hair that fell in her face. Carefully tucking it behind her ear, letting his hand linger there. He knew exactly what he was doing and it was driving her crazy.

“That’s because-“

She was immediately cut off by his lips on hers and the flood gates broke. Adria wrapped her arms around his neck and entangled her hands in his hair. She needed to be as close as possible. His tongue grazed against her bottom lip and she immediately let him in. Why did she fight this for so long?

She felt him smile before he pulled away and looked down at her.

“I bet you wish you weren’t going to wake up now.” His smile was as confident as ever

“What?” She asked

------------------

Adria shot up in her bed as her alarm went off. She looked over at the clock. 7 Am. She immediately collapsed back into bed and shoved the pillow over her head, letting out a small muffled scream. This couldn’t be happening.

Adrianna Luz Rivera does not catch feelings.

#sweet pea #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea x oc #riverdale #fanfic #fireandice #holyshitimfinallydonecrossposting #thank god #slow burn

[auradonuniversity]

Meet The Addict. They’re the child of Alice Liddle, a recent graduate of Auradon University and hails from Wonderland. Some say they look like Austin Butler and they’re TAKEN.

Name: Orion Skye Liddle

Age: 23

Pronouns: He/Him

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Occupation: Sale Associate at an Art Studio

Clubs and Sports: Sculpting, Painting, Students Keeping The World Clean, Vice President of Rho Sigma Nu

Major: Art

Biography

Son of a rather creative minded woman, Orion grew up in an environment where he was given complete freedom to explore whatever he dreamed of. Wonderland was full of things people couldn’t understand unless they’d taken the time to visit, and one day it’d ultimately be all his seeing as he was the one and only child of Alice Liddle. Bright colors, mind bending sights, and cooky characters were common to the young blonde and by the time he was a teen it was practically normal to him. His mother was never one to limit her son, she wanted him to be happy no matter what, and he was undoubtedly babied in the best of ways by the blonde. Always encouraging him to explore the depths of his mind, to find purpose in adventure and experiment in ways to expand his horizons, it didn’t take long until he dabbled in things that did just that for him.

His imagination had always been expansive, often getting lost in his own thoughts, it only grew as he got his hands on some mind altering substances. His first dabble in drugs, which were pretty common and easy to find out in Wonderland, was at the ripe age of fifteen. As soon as it hit his system, it was as if his brain said ‘thank you for introducing me to this new thing’ and went wild. Since that day, he was addicted to the way his body felt, the way his mind opened in brand new ways and he was able to go to places he’d never thought was possible. In his mind, these things weren’t bad because they made him feel so good.

Already a rather creative and imaginative soul, the drugs led him to something that he’d always been intrigued about since he heard the story of his mother. Painting. While it was a rather grim detail, sprung from painting the roses red in the Queen of Hearts garden, something about it put him at ease. Creating something, the feeling of getting his hands dirty and pouring his soul onto a canvas, it sent a surge through him. Mix that with an amazing trip from whatever substance he had in his system, and he was rather talented, his mother filling their large estate with pieces from her son. So what if he was a little reliant on things to give him a rush, the empty feeling when he wasn’t on something could be easily remedied if need be, and he wasn’t harming anyone.

Now, a senior at Auradon, a lot of people around campus don’t really know him all too well. Mostly because he’s always lost in his own thoughts, giving off a rather silent and brooding manner to those who don’t know a thing about him. He goes to parties, he’s active in the community, but he doesn’t talk all too much unless approached. Not that he means to be that way, because the minute you talk to him, it’s quick to see that’s his not as intimidating as he lets off. He’s a pretty great at holding a conversation, so much so that he could talk for hours depending on the topic, but not many approach the tall blonde do to the far off look in the blues of his eyes. The future is rather scary to him, knowing he’ll be in charge of Wonderland at some point, and he knows soon enough he’ll have to come to terms with it. But for now, he just wants to have a good time and finish up his year with some fun. It’s just tough when finding a good dealer around Auradon is such a hassle.

Character Traits

positive: imaginative, passionate, venturesome negative: dependent, impulsive, spacey

Headcanons

Most people call Orion by his nickname, Ry. He feels like his full name, while unique and creative, is a bit much. While he adores his mother and her ability to have an imagination so wide that it was passed down to him, his name had always been a little flashy for his laid back demeanor. So he had people start calling him Ry, short for Orion, when he was a teen and it just stuck luckily.

The first time he picked up a paint brush was when he was twelve, it was a project given to by his mother because she wanted him to give the kitchen a little more color….even though it was already a nice shade of blue. She wanted more, more life, more vibrancy, so she enlisted her her “little helper”. Something about the feeling of making something was exciting to him, and when he started painting, he instantly fell in love with it. Of course, when he told his mother, she was thrilled and got him everything he needed to explore his artistic side.

Most of the drugs he’s taken have just been mind altering ones, acid and LSD being the main ones he adores, but since it’s harder to get his hands on he is usually pretty high from smoking. While it’s not as effective as the other drugs, which he of course can still get his hands on with a bit of work, at least it keeps him from feeling entirely empty.

The boy has a fair amount of tattoos, most of which he got when he was out of his mind, but each tells a little bit about the boy. Small little potion bottles, one of his mother’s signature over his heart, a time watch down his forearm, just to name a few. All gentle reminders of back home in their various ways.

Connections

The Effervescent: The term two peas in a pod was probably created to describe The Addict and The Effervescent. Attending numerous tea parties together as children, and running around Wonderland having the most splendid adventures, it’s no surprise that the two are the best of friends. So close they can practically read each other’s minds. Often speaking in riddles, most of the students at AU think the duo are just crazy, as opposed to living on the same wave length.

The Fervour: The Fervour is the child of The Queen of Hearts, and from history alone you’d think the grudge The Addict holds towards them would be huge... you know, considering The Fervour’s mom tried to literally behead The Addicts’. But one thing you learn growing up in Wonderland, is that almost everything is trying to kill you one way or another, and it’s pointless to take is personally or hold it over one’s head. Especially someone who wasn’t even born at the time of the act.

The Artisan: The Artisan is one of the better students in the Senior class, so of course they were assigned to show around a handful of the new transfer students. In their group, was The Addict. While the tour was painfully boring, the two hit it off almost instantly. They have a similar sense of humor, so any jokes that were thrown weren’t missed, and it seemed they also have a few classes together. They’re not best friends, not even close, but they’ve come to enjoy each other’s company.

#austin butler #austin butler fc #skeleton rp #bio rp #disney rp #oc rp #royal #taken #takenr

[onceuponamirror]

rating: T

summary: Jughead was supposed to be the one that got away. He wasn’t supposed to feel the flames licked at his feet, the rattling sound of a snake moving through grass; rubber on the road, blood on the tongue, a whispered eulogy to the quiet little boy who just liked his books.

Or, he gets himself in over his head with a bet and a drag race, it’s the first time he sees his girlfriend since she’s broken up with him—and he doesn’t know what he’s feeling, except that he’s feeling it all.

notes: about the amount of angst you might expect, but not all is lost. based on spoilers, speculative for 2.06. working through some of my thoughts in fic form. 

read above on ao3 or below the cut. pretty please drop me a review if you do! x

A drag race.

Like a fucking idiot, he had agreed to a drag race. And, well, there were a few problems with that.

One, he doesn’t have a license. This one is probably the least of his worries, given his new affiliations with certain notorious gangs. And he technically can drive, if one counted slapstick attempts at it at midnight in a grocery store parking lot.

Two, and rather much more glaringly, he doesn’t have a car.

Three, and the one that didn’t necessarily get him into this mess but certainly did not fucking help it along, he definitely shouldn’t have ever told his father about the Serpents.

But—he’d find out soon enough, and Jughead had thought it was information better delivered personally. He had expected the reaction he received; he just didn’t expect the consequences.

His father, who told another father, who told his son. Who felt it was his place to make sure Jughead didn’t do anything stupider—rich, coming from the guy who turned himself into a viral epitaph. Who had gotten annoyingly good at hiding in the shadows, who had followed him, who the Ghoulies had smugly demanded be Jughead’s passenger in said race.

Why did he tell his dad? Why did his dad have to tell Fred Andrews? Why—

He knows why.

In lieu of his words, his father had banged a loud fist against the plexiglass separating them in prison. Jughead had watched the way that fist had sort of melted, weary, witheringly, his fingers slowly spreading out against the windowpane and dragging down it like a last breath.

His father, unshaven, his eyes red.

Disappointment.

And he knew why; Jughead was supposed to be the one that got away. He wasn’t supposed to feel the flames licked at his feet, the rattling sound of a snake moving through grass; rubber on the road, blood on the tongue, a whispered eulogy to the quiet little boy who just liked his books.

Jughead had steeled himself for all of that, perhaps even figured that his father might call someone, try to stop it, maybe even expected that it would be the Andrewses—he just didn’t think it would work.

Jughead still doesn’t know how, and he sure as hell doesn’t know why, but maybe it’s the fact that golden boy Archie Andrews, onetime-perhaps-longtime-owner-of-Batman-pajamas, general Spiderman theologian, just can’t help himself from girdling into his superhero pants and trying to save the day.

And now, Reggie glares at him from across the shop room, in the high school that seems now so far away.

Attempting to ignore him, Jughead moves forward towards the popped engine, prepared to see what kind of machinery he has to work with. Granted, he doesn’t know much about cars, just what Betty had—

He cuts that thought right off, furious it even dared to appear.

“Not you,” Reggie barks at the same moment, looking murderous. “I don’t want your little snake hands in the engine.”

“Snakes with hands are called lizards,” Jughead growls under his breath, attempting to count backwards from five. “And newsflash, Reggie, I’m going to have to touch the car at some point, if I’m going to drive it.”

“That so, Ponyboy? I can still change my mind,” Reggie sneers, his lips thin. He jumps up from his slouched post against another car, looking ready for a fight.

“Hey, hey,” Archie interrupts, both of his hands pressed out into the air, as if up against two invisible walls. “Come on guys, we’re all on the same side here. For now,” he adds pointedly, as Reggie’s mouth opens with a snarl. He faces Reggie fully. “We don’t like the Ghoulies any more than they do, remember?”

They, Jughead hears, as a little inch of pain flares across his cheek, at the spot where Sweet Pea’s brass knuckles found purchase.

Years and years of Reggie and his yolk’s us vs. thems and it never truly felt real until Archie called him a they. He is they. He is finally the other his whole life was prophesized to become.

And that’s what you wanted. Or at least what you chose, he reminds himself, straightening and meeting Archie’s eye now. “Enemy of my enemy,” Jughead summarizes tersely, unable to hold the gaze and quickly turning back towards the engine.

“I still don’t want him touching the insides,” Reggie snaps, and Jughead throws the rag over his shoulder across the room in frustration.

“Well then what the hell are you proposing, Schrodinger? How can I simultaneously be inside the car, driving it, and never touch it? Any other theoretical paradoxes you want me to take a whack at?” Jughead bites out, his patience, already so long tested, feels perilously thin, limply dangling around like the bare stem of a dandelion with all the wishes blown off it.

Reggie’s mouth opens and closes, his lip curled. He fidgets so that his arms re-cross, clearly without an answer. After a moment, his eyes slide over to Archie for assistance.

“Betty,” Archie sighs, more to himself than anyone.

“Forget it,” Jughead says immediately, his skin suddenly feeling hot and sticky and clammy and he feels the way Betty looked right before he kissed her for the first time, her brain whirring, her eyes wide, on the precipice of— “This isn’t worth it. I’ll find another ride.”

He makes it about a second before he hears Archie’s footsteps quickly after him, and a moment later there is a wall of letterman blocking his exit strategy. “Get out of my way,” he says, a ticking in his cheek.

Archie stares at him, and for a moment, Jughead might swear there’s something very, very wrong with his expression. Raw, to the point of pity. Not quite regret, but bit and swallowed down, like a secret, a warring thought.

And then it’s gone.

“I’m terrible at shop. This car, and Betty, are our best options,” Archie says, in the matter-of-fact voice he always uses when he hasn’t actually thought anything through.

“Our?” Jughead repeats dubiously, a scoff bubbling up like acid. “Our? Archie, there is no our. It’s just the Serpents, and me. My neck on the line. I’m the one who made the deal. You were just—just—there!” He sputters through the last bit, anger running up his neck and clouding his thoughts.

“Yeah, I was. And I’m part of it now, whether either of us like or not. So we need to win. And I don’t know a lot about cars but I know that one’s fast,” Archie counters, throwing a splayed hand out towards the sleek black Camaro. “We’re not going to do better than this. I’ll go talk to her, okay?”

Whatever modicum of logic had been building in his head clutters to the ground like proverbial Jenga.

“Perfect,” he growls, his hands flying up around his face. “Yeah, yeah, you go talk to her. She a-a-always listens to Archie, right? She’ll do a-a-anything for Archie.”

He doesn’t recognize his own voice.

Even out of the corner of his eye, he sees Reggie’s head dart up, tuning in on the conversation.

Archie blinks, that earlier, pitiful look returning, and he fucking hates it. “Jug—”

“Why do something as cliche as break up over text when you can send a former crush, right?” He says bitterly, stomping away from Archie and back towards the car, for he has nowhere else to go with his once-twice-lost-best friend still blocking the exit.

The faraway look in Archie’s eye grows, and it appears as though he’s trying to find something to say, but the words must burn out of him, because he deflates and shoots a withering look at Reggie. “Make sure he doesn’t leave,” he says firmly, and Reggie rolls his eyes, but appears to take it as an order.

And then Archie is turning on his heel and disappearing down a school corridor, off in pursuit of the absolute last person Jughead wants to see.

There’s literally no point in sticking around, he tells himself, and immediately makes for the door.

“Not so fast, Baby Driver,” Reggie tuts, pushing himself off from his perch, his arms swinging.

“What are you gonna do Reg, slam me into a locker? Dump out my bag? Rip up my homework?” Jughead presses dubiously, but much to his surprise, Reggie has cut around him and dug one hand into his chest, shoving Jughead back a step.

“Always knew you were a little punk,” Reggie replies in an odd, strained voice, like perhaps that, for all his years of bullying and taunting, this is the first time he truly doesn’t know how he feels about him. Something straddling the line of I feel sorry for you and I want to punch you in the face.

“Yeah, well, finally decided to live up the aesthetic,” Jughead returns curtly. “Let me pass, Reggie.”

“Archie said to stick put.” He smiles below the eyes, clearly relishing in his role as enforcer.

“Didn’t realize you were his lackey. Thought you were the team captain,” Jughead mutters, hoping a little bit of manipulation of a jock’s ego will get him out. He starts to get a little nervous when Reggie looks briefly frustrated, but doesn’t budge from his post. Another couple of seconds pass, and Jughead begins to pace.

He can’t be here when Betty arrives.

His last memory of her is at Pop’s, the whispered wish to run away. The way she’d clung to the kiss and beamed at him from over her shoulder. A face so at odds with the words Archie had thrown at him; the words Jughead had known to be true.

He knew he couldn’t have her and the Serpents, and he’d already chosen by the time the axe fell.

Greater good, he’d reasoned. The Serpents were running wild with people like Sweet Pea in charge. They were talking about bombs. Greater good. Of all people, couldn’t Betty understand that?

Apparently not.

But.

Romeo and Juliet, she’d offered tearfully. With a happy ending.

“Get out of my way,” he barks at Reggie, his heart fluttering madly against his chest, a bird feverishly looking for an exit, rustling wings he can hear all the way up to his ears.

“You’re gonna have to—” But Reggie doesn’t finish the sentence, because the door swings open, and through it materializes Archie, and a moment later, Betty.

Jughead’s first two thoughts make absolutely no sense together.

One, she is still beautiful.

Two, she looks terrible.

She is always beautiful, he reasons, and always has been, long before they were anything to label—but even on the moments where she was anguishing over Polly’s disappearance, edging closer and closer to truth and becoming more frazzled and frayed for it—she never looked like this.

Something is very wrong, he thinks, well before he can help it.

Her hair is loose in a limp bun, uncharacteristic locks of blonde falling against her forehead. Long gone seems the perky, bouncy ponytail he used to catch himself following.

Her eyes, normally so luminous and green and filled with the book of her that he grew up reading—are empty and dull, purplish bags slung low underneath, little hammocks of sleeplessness that he has never once in sixteen years seen on her face.

Her head is bowed, and slowly rises to meet his attention. Betty’s bottom lip immediately quivers and she sucks it between her teeth as her eyes dart away and onto the car.

She walks past him, books squeezed tightly against her chest, her knuckles wrapped so firmly around the covers that he can see them burning white. His instinct is to reach out and uncurl each finger one by one and hide a kiss there, and the memory of such lashes through him with a searing pain.

“This is a nice car,” she says softly, in the direction of Reggie.

Her voice, much like her eyes, is listless.

It doesn’t make any sense. If this is what she wanted—if she was so ashamed of him, if she was the one who pushed him away—her, of all people, after all honesty he’d shared, after all abandonment issues aired like dirty laundry swaying on the line—why does she look so miserable?

His gaze bores into her, trying to riddle through it.

What if she regrets it? He thinks, in a childish, rushed voice. Did her mind change? Does she know about Toni? Shit, Toni.

It brings reality down hard on the feverish spot of hope taking form under his skin—even if… Well, there was no coming back. He’d let Toni kiss him, kissed her back even, let himself be lost in someone wanting him, accepting him, admiring him.

For every time he’d ever cringed over Archie’s wandering eye, every time he’d stashed the word fuckboy in the back of his thoughts, Jughead had gone and taken what someone could give him even as his chest beat out a staccato to another name.

His shoulders slacken. Numbly, as if from another vantage point, he watches himself watching her, tracing the movements as she sheds her coat and deposits her books onto a table. Betty’s motions are slow, ghost-like.

Something is very wrong, he thinks again.

“Engine looks fine,” Betty says a moment later, her head underneath the hood. She reaches up and rubs her cheek, leaving a spot of oil that he can’t help but find adorable. Stop it.

“So are we good to go?” Archie says, coming up next to her and peeking inside for himself.

“Um, there’s one gasket screw that’s a little loose. Nothing that I think would really be an issue, but I can tighten it up for you just in case,” Betty sighs, looking over at Reggie. She seems to be trying very hard to keep her eyes from Jughead, but as he’s standing next to the football player, they shift slightly onto him, almost unconsciously.

They quickly dart away.

“You know, it’s hot when a girl knows her cars. You can always take a look under my other hood, if you ever wanted,” Reggie says, in a slick voice, sliding closer to her alongside the worktable he’s now leaning against.

Jughead can’t believe what he’s hearing. She can’t be single for five minutes without Edward Sleazy Hands finding an innuendo to throw her way?

He knows he has no leg to stand on, especially given the problem with Toni and the lack of attempt he’s made to stop it before he hurts her too, but that doesn’t mean he has to stick around and watch this unfold.

Before he can go, however, Betty glances over at Jughead once more, her eyebrows in a knot, and his mind empties of rage. He tries to focus on the spot of car oil on her cheek. Tries to think about anything but the fact that the girl he loves is already a memory.

“Down, Reggie,” Archie cuts through his thoughts, breaking the moment for all of them. Jughead can’t decide if it makes him angrier than grateful. He wonders why Betty didn’t shut Reggie down herself—he thought she’d gotten better at standing up to that. But she just curls further inward, as if already having mentally checked out.

Reggie’s eyes flick onto Jughead for a moment and then he puts his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, jeez,” he mutters.

The ringing of the school bell spares them another round of awkward staring around the circle, and Reggie starts to gather his things.

“Come on Andrews, we got practice. I trust Betty with the car,” he says, shouldering into his letterman jacket. Archie doesn’t move, glancing at Betty nervously. “You can’t miss your first day back or Weatherbee might cut ya again, bro.”

“Go,” he hears Betty say softly. “I’ll stay and finish this.”

“You don’t have a paper deadline?” Jughead asks before he can help himself. It’s a Friday at 3:30—normally, Betty would be running around in a tizzy trying to finalize bylines, not offering to do someone’s favors.

Betty stares at him, her teeth swiping over her bottom lip once more.

“Archie,” Reggie urges, pushing on his arm, when he still doesn’t move, watching the two of them carefully. “Cannot—be—late.”

“Go,” she says again, and then the two of them are at last gone. He is alone with Betty, and although he’d like nothing more but finally grasp his opportunity to flee, he finds his feet rooted to the spot.

“You don’t have a paper deadline?” He repeats, for lack of anything better to say.

“No,” she says, after a long moment. “Um, the paper’s on—well, it’s on hold. For now.”

He gapes at her. “What?”

“He didn’t want—” She starts to say, and then her eyes widen, and her mouth snaps shut. “It was just too much for one person’s plate,” she explains quickly. “Until I find another writer, I couldn’t…”

She trails off, and the words unsaid hang between them.

Jughead blinks as she turns and buries her face in the engine; watches as her shoulders shake and shudder almost imperceptibly.

And despite how hurt and angry he still is, despite the hammer banging down a name he doesn’t want to deal with, he thinks once again that something is very wrong, and makes his choice.

He moves to stand beside her, unsure what to say at first.

“Betty,” he murmurs, his voice choked around the word. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

Slowly, her head rises, looking up at him. Her eyes are still blown and still broken. She looks, unmistakably, on the verge of tears.

“Everything,” she whispers tremulously. “Everything is wrong.”

Up close, he can see much more purple under her eyes.

Betty opens her mouth to say something else, her gaze roving over him and glossing over, looking absolutely nothing short of tortured—and then her phone rings.

Blaringly loud and jarringly poppish, some kind of jangle of yesteryear, they both jump back from one another. He hadn’t even realized how closely they’d moved together, but now she’s scuttling far away from him, grabbing for the buzzing and singing phone shockingly fast.

She buries it against her chest and hastily gathers her books and jacket. “I have to go,” she says in one breath, and he’s sure there’s something sliding down her cheek because he can see water trying to mix with the stain of oil there.

Oil and water, he thinks bitterly, watching her go, not bothering to call her name.

It’s an apt metaphor for the two of them, and he hates it. Hates everything. Hates himself for thinking it, hates her for abandoning him when she’d assured him things would be okay.

And yet, blindly, furiously, stubbornly, like a candle he can’t blow out, knows it’s not hate at all. Never could be.

He stares after the place where she disappeared, and thinks it to himself once more. 

Something is very wrong.

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #betty cooper #jughead jones #i hate that i love writing angst #but i also got to do some reggie/jug banter which #is forever my fav #fics

[kittykat-creations]

It’s Just Me, Myself, And I

My Mitosis AU crossed with the AU where Fidds and Ford fall through the portal together, and smushed together with a Ford from another universe.

Ford walked swiftly through the plaza, dodging aliens in the crowd. His eyes swept from one stand to the next as he searched. He had been doing this for three years now, and while there was still definitely a lot to learn, he had become very adept at identifying edible (for him) food.

Just as he came across a cart of strange-looking fruit, a small but strong force slammed into his leg. In a panic, he reached to pull his gun from his waist and shoot whatever had attacked him, but when he looked down, the something looked to be like... a tiny human?

A tiny, extremely familiar human.

Ford's eyes widened in shock. Same brown hair, same glasses, same six fingers- what was a six-year-old him doing in the multiverse?

His brain slowed down a bit to process that the small him was blubbering and sobbing and extremely terrified, it seemed like. Although this didn't help much; Ford only stood there, having no clue what to do.

He was definitely panicking at this point. And the breathing exercises he had learned certainly weren't helping very much- if at all.

Thoughts ran through Ford's mind, of what could happen to Junior if they didn't find him in time, each even worse than the last. He could be captured. He could be kidnapped. He could be sold. He could be killed.

He tried to not let any of this show- Fiddleford was definitely anxious as well, and Ford freaking out would only make him worse. Ford just needed to focus and find the tiny clone before something bad happened.

"A-Ah don' see him a-anywhere, Stanf'rd," Fiddleford gulped. "W-what if-?"

"No; no what-ifs," Ford said sternly. Mostly because he thought he wouldn't be able to handle them himself. "We need to focus on finding Junior, Fiddleford. Ok? I know you're anxious- so am I- but breaking down like that won't help us at all."

"O-ok," Fiddleford nodded, but still shaking heavily. As they searched throughout the crowd, they began to hear loud crying and instantly went to follow the sound, recognizing it as Junior. They found him standing near an alien fruit cart, sobbing loudly.

"Junior!" They both cried, hurrying over to the boy. Junior stopped bawling and reduced to sniffs and hiccups as Ford and Fiddleford kneeled down to look him over.

"Are you ok?"

"Are ya hurt?"

"For Tesla's sake, Junior, you can't just wander off like that!"

"Ya nearly scare us half to death, hun!"

"S-sorry," Junior sniffed as Ford held his face and turned his head a bit, looking him over for injuries. "I-I didn't mea-mean to..."

"I know," Ford sighed, pushing Junior's hair back to kiss his forehead. He then passed him to Fiddleford, who quickly pulled the boy into a tight embrace.

"We thought we lost ya, sweet pea," Fiddleford murmured. "Ya really can' scare us like that..."

Ford spotted a pair of boots nearby, shuffling back and forth, and stood up to face the person- only to be met with his own face. He blinked in shock, and the other mirrored him. His hand twitched at his side slightly.

"Who are you?" Ford asked. Fiddleford kept his eyes on the other Ford as he pulled Junior into his arms and stood up. Junior clung to his dad's coat, hiding his face a bit, but still watching the interaction.

"My name is Stanford Pines," the other man said.

"...I'm Stanford Pines," Ford said.

"Infinite possibilities, infinite dimensions, hun," Fiddleford said softly. "Infinite yous."

"H-he's right," the other Ford said. "Although I've never exactly met another version of myself before now."

"Neither have I," Ford agreed. "Well, at least from another dimension." He cupped his chin and mumbled to himself, "Does he count as 'another version'?"

"Ah don' think so," Fiddleford mused. "He's just a copy'a ya- but smaller."

"Who, Daddy?" Junior asked.

"Er- no one, sweetheart. Don' worry about it."

The other Ford looked confused. However, he didn't have time to ask questions before a squad of what seemed like alien cops appeared, shouting for them.

"Stanford, what did you do?" Fiddleford yelped.

"I didn't do anything!" Both Fords cried. The three men looked towards Junior, who was nibbling on a fruit resembling an apple. The boy froze and looked around at the others, seeming confused but understanding that he was in trouble- for some reason.

"What?" He asked. Ford sighed and pinched his forehead.

"Remind me to teach you about stealing," he said. He looked towards the cops, who were quickly weaving their way through the crowd. "But not right now. We need to get out of here."

"Um- mind if I tag along?" The other Ford smiled sheepishly.

"Fine, yes, let's just get out'a here!" Fiddleford said. Ford took his hand and pulled him along as they ran, the other Ford hurrying to keep up. The dodged and weaved through the plaza, passing by the crowd of aliens rather quickly. Unfortunately, the cops were just a bit quicker, and were closing in on them.

"We have to get out of this dimension!" The other Ford yelled.

"Yes, excellent idea!" Ford agreed, pulling out a small handheld device. The arrow on the screen spun a bit as he tinkered with the dials, but finally it stopped, pointing northeast. "That way!"

The group changed direction, following the arrow to a crackling hole in the dimension.

"How do we know they won' just follow us through?!" Fiddleford asked.

"It's too weak to allow multiple groups through!" Ford explained. "Once we go through, it's done! But we have to get through it together, or someone will be stranded here!"

Junior looked at his dads' joined hands, then at the other Ford, and offered him a hand. The other looked a bit startled, but took his hand just as they reached the tear. The group fell through together, and the other Ford could feel the tear close on the corner of his coat, slicing off a small piece. The group fell into a pile, panting.

"Well... that worked," Ford said.

"Ah think Ah bruised somethin'," Fiddleford sat up and rubbed his lower back.

"Sorry," the other Ford frowned and stood up, dusting himself off before helping Fiddleford up.

"I feel weird," Junior said, standing beside his original as he picked himself up.

"What sort of weird?" Ford asked. Junior looked up, noticing his hair was hanging upwards. He giggled, patting it down, but it just went back to its shape.

"Hm. Interesting," the other Ford said, looking around. Everyone's coats were bundled up towards their heads, and everything else around them seemed to be standing on edge. "We seem to be in a sort of... upside-down world."

"What's odd is that gravity seems to be working that way," Ford pointed up- down? "but we're not falling."

Junior jumped to reach his father's arms, only to shriek as he began to fall towards the sky.

"Junior!" Ford cried, quickly grabbing him before he could fall too far. The boy whimpered and clung tightly to Ford.

"Well... that might answer that question," Fiddleford spoke nervously. "There must be some kind'a connection ta the ground- but if ya ain't touchin' it er somethin' connected ta it, you'll fall..."

"Got it. No jumping," the other Ford said. "It also looks like it's becoming dark."

"I say we stick together for the night," Ford said. "But come morning, we should probably split up."

"Go our separate ways," the other nodded. "I agree."

Ford looked around the clearing, watching the others. The other Ford and his Fiddleford sat across the fire pit, holding each other as they stared at the fire. Ford felt a weight in his chest as he thought of his own Fiddleford; what had happened to him?

His thoughts shifted from Fiddleford to the third person present- the small child, curled up in the other Ford's coat as he slept at the base of a tree. He still hadn't learned the story behind the young boy.

"So," Ford cleared his throat, catching the other two's attention. "The, ah, boy- Junior, was it?"

"Yeah; that's Junior," Fiddleford nodded.

"Right- how-" he struggled with his words. "What... happened there...?"

"Junior..." the other Ford rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "First you have to understand that I don't regret a thing, about how he came about."

"Ok...?"

"I'm going to be blunt- he was an accident," the other Ford began, quietly. "I was working on a machine- a cloning device. It would take any organism and clone it, to exactly how it was as an infant. Same DNA and everything. I... I fell in."

"You- you fell in?" Ford looked shocked.

"I tripped, ok?" The other turned red. "I-I didn't mean to- by the time I got out, the process had started, a-and I hadn't yet put in a way to reverse it. And... Junior came out two days later."

"An' yet it took you nearly a year ta come out," Fiddleford mumbled jokingly. The other Ford shoved him playfully.

"So he's a clone..." Ford nodded.

"Yes- but we haven't really told him yet," the other Ford said. "I-I want to wait until he's older- so just... please don't say anything?" He looked almost pleading. "Really. I-I love him like a son, I do- I-I don't want him growing up thinking he has to be exactly like- like me."

"I won't say a word," Ford promised. "But... I-I don't know, isn't it a bit strange? Raising... yourself?"

"I'll admit, it was odd at first," the other rubbed the back of his head, "but honestly, now? Most of the time, I forget he's even a clone. He's just... Stanford Junior. My son."

He smiled sheepishly.

"Alright," Ford chuckled softly. "I won't say anything. I promise."

#gravity falls #mitosis au #traveling aces au #stanford pines #x3 #fiddleford mcgucket #stanford pines junior #fiddauthor #multiverse