#to try and make up for what a jerk he apparently was on dark angel | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fxdizz-y · 9 months

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PiTY Party

A/N ; i saw this little trope with a loser character and i GOT to write it! english isn't my first language so PLEASE bear with me :( SYNOPSIS; Your father decided to take you to a little social gathering with all his fellow alumni, little did you know that certain someone has their eyes on you.

c/w; IT'S LOWKEY BADLY WRITTEN!! eventual smut, age gap, bondage, sex, breathplay, anal, m!sub to m!dom, throatpie, creampie, praise kinks, degradation, sex against the wall, bending over the sink, mirror sex, 'sir' kinks, kinda gay, brat taming, lowkey daddy issues hitting hard, hatefuck turns into love making, threats, s&m, overstimulation, breeding kink, destruction

"Son, we're here." Your father's voice shook you awaked, as your eyelashes fluttered open. Your neck felt sore from the uncomfortable sleeping position as you sat up on the passenger seat, a light groaned escaped your lips when you felt the kink in your neck.

Your hand reached up to rubbed your eye tiredly, before looking out the window. The large familiar cabin was glowing dimly, lighting up the otherwise dark forest.

You can hear laughters and lights conversation sparks from the inside and a small, bubbling anxiety soon start to set in your stomach. God you hated social events.

Your father decided to hosted a little party, to celebrated his promotions or something like that. However, instead of renting a place, he decided to host it at the family's summer cabin. You at first didn't want to go, but your mother too press you on about it, telling you that it might be a good opportunity to have some connections for the future. And your father were practically sulking when you rejected him once.

Not wanting to upset your father furthermore however, you unwillingly stepped out of the vehicle, the cool night air hit you in the face making you scrunch up your nose a bit.

Your father gave you a firm pat on your back as he lightly chuckled, motioning for you to come inside. You took a deep breath before obliged his wish. When you step inside, the anxiety only worsens when you suddenly was bombared with questions and greetings.

You felt small, absoloutly wanting to crawl into a hole and never surface again. However, just as you were about to excuse yourself, your oh ever so loving father just dive right in and dragged you away from the attention.

That's when he introduced you to one of his older colleagues, the man who seems to be in one of his rather late 30s, his brown locks was messy and unkept, as his eyebags look rather dark and heavy, you could almost feel sorry for him. He also wore a large bandage on the side of his cheek, just right at the corner of his mouth. He seems to be twitching anxiously, as his head and hands kept jerking slightly.

You smiled at him, just a soft, simple smile as your father introduced you both to each other. Apparently, they've known each other since high school, as your father had lightly 'teased' or 'joked' with him in the past. But you weren't dumb, you knew what you father did. You shook your head lightly when he wasn't looking and shoot Toby an apologetic look. And he swore he saw an angel. His breath hitched as he shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to hide his shaking hands.

When your father left you both alone to talk, the tension thickens. Toby doesn't know what to do, he have the same social skills of a rock. He just stand there, fidgeting his hands in the pocket, picking the skins off of his fingernails. But after a few seconds, which felt like an enternity, a soft, angelic voice broke him out of the trance he was in.

It was just a simple, awkward "Hi" from you. It sounded so innocent. So pure.. So, so, so sweet.

He needs to ruin you.

"..Nice weather we're having." You tried to strike some small talk with him, as much as you hate to socialize, you know that you had to. Or risk kissing those opportunity good bye.

You shifted your weight to your other foot, and looked at Toby, straight into his pretty, brown eyes. He just nodded. Fucking nodded. Oh well, you tried. You thought to yourself sarcastically.

But before you could leave, Toby spoke up. "So you're... (F/N)'s son..?" He asked, clearly also hating the socializing as much as you.

You nodded, feeling slightly at ease. "Yea, yes I am sir." You replied, standing up a bit more straight and offered him a friendly smile.

Everything seems to stilled for a brief second. You had no idea what you just awoken in him when you call him 'sir'. He could feel his cock twitched in his pants as he muttered a cursed under his breath, as he cough into his fist, trying to play it off.

But how could he? You're such a pretty little thing. Standing there and look up at him with your big, adorable eyes. Unaware of the danger you've just caused. Such a pretty, precious little thing. It's almost impossible to believed that you're the son of the man Toby absoloutly despise. The thought alone made him laughed bitterly.

And the way you tilted your head when he took too long to answered almost made him lost it right then and there. God you were so... delicated. Your lips, hair... everything about you is driving him to the edge. The way your white suit seems to hug your figured make him want to rip it off you. He couldn't helped but trailed his eyes along your curves, and almost groaned at the thought of biting into your soft fleshed, marking you with his bites and bruises.

He felt his pants grow dangerously tight before he quickly excuse himself to the bathroom, leaving you there, confused.

Toby found himself in the bathroom, panting heavily and he thanked whatever existed that the music was so fucking loud, same with the people chatters.

His dick was throbbing in his pants when he freed it with his hand and groaned a bit, clenching his teeth together. He was average in girth, but was slightly big in lenght. Being around 7 or so inches. The color was adorable, the tip being a cute pink color.

He leaned against the sink and scowled, a bit frustrated that he got hard because of his old bully's son.

... His SON.

He suddenly felt a shifted in his mood as a cocky grinned made it way to his face, a dry laughed errupted from his throat as he leaned back, slowly smeering his tip with the precum. God he felt filthy.

He almost felt sorry for you, you weren't even there when things happened. Yet you got your little dense self in the drama, unknowingly. He almost purred at the thought. He wants to wreck you infront of your father.

His eyes wandered to the hampered before he reach into it, seeing a sweater with your name neatly written on the back of the collar. He bring it to his face and give it a big whiff, his face grows redder by the second as sweats starts to form on his body.

His hand started to move again, stroking his shaft as he moaned into your sweater, muffling it.

He fist his cock into his hand in a quick pace, not even bothering to use his spit as lubricant. He kept thinking about you, and imagine you in all sorted of positions. How would your expressions looks like if he drill his cock deep inside you? What sinful sound would you make? God he needed you.

And as if God heard his prayer, the doorknob rattled a bit before opened. He didn't even heard you coming inside until you gasped, startled and is absoloutly flustered at the sight.

He fucking came in surprised. His load shoot into your sweater as he look at you, slightly embarrassed from getting caught. He dropped your sweater on the sink and reached out to you, he expected you to turn away, but instead a flustered smile crept onto your features.

"I.." Toby began, but it seems like his word got caught in his throat. And to his surprised once again, an angelic chuckled escaped through your teeth, and his dick began to throbbed again. You closed the door behind you and lock it with a clicked.

"W- what are you-" He got cut off by you pressing your lips against him, and it didn't take him long to practically melted into the kiss. His hand that was around his dick let go and he slowly slid his big hands down your thighs. He grabbed your ass and hoisted you up, one of his knees between your legs to keep you steady as your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him into a deeper kiss.

He gasped sharply into the kiss when your leg jerked up and grind into his crotch, making his knees almost gave out.

You KNEW he was inexperienced, and that thought alone make all the blood rushing straight to your throbbing dick. The thought of being his first was alluring. You slowly grow impatient before you shift around in your place, and successfully have Toby on his knees. He look up at you with a flushed expression and seems to be slightly puzzled at the sudden position changed. It didn't take long for him to caught on however when your hand slowly grip the root of his hair in a firm grip. He quickly fumbled with his hand to unzip your zipper and your cock sprint out. He swallow thickly and look up at you, and you just scoffed at the sight. He looks so fucking pathethic and eager on his knees. His face was red, and sweat was coating his forehead and running down his chin.

You nodded at him with a raised brow, and he quickly got to work. He slowly swirled his tongue around your tip, making your legs feel like jello. He savoured the taste, licking up any precum that was beaded on the slit of your dick. You buckle up your hips imaptiently, but his rough hands held your inner thighs in place. You let out a low moan as he continue to lick and suck on your pulsating dick, before he finally take the whole thing in his mouth. You grunt a bit, the grip on his hair tightens as you tried not to snap your hips upward into his mouth. He was taking all of this painfully slow, and he knows it.

After all the teasing, you couldn't held it in anymore as you shoved his head down on your dick, not giving the slightest fuck when he gagged a bit. The gagging actually sent a vibration down your dick making you moan a bit louder, as you gently facefuck him. Your mouth start to whispered filthy praises and degrading stuff to him.

"G-god- so fucking warm.." You mumbled, loud enough for Toby to hear and his dick twitched. "Y-you're so pathethic" Scowling down at him, you fuck yourself into his mouth a bit rougher. "Getting o-off.. at one of your colleagues p-ah...arty? To his son nonetheless?" Toby's dick throbs with every words falling out of your mouth as you began to rambles while being deep inside his mouth, drilling your hips against his face.

He let out a few groans and whimpers of his own as he work his tongue around your shaft, greedily sucking you up and desperated to pleased you as you start to pick up the pace, brutally snapping your hips up and grinding in his face before you released deep inside his throat, moaning loudly as your legs began to trembled. He drinks every bit of you up, letting you ride through the orgasm.

After you slowly came down from your high, you pull out of him with a wet pop, whining a bit at the lost of the warmth in his mouth.

To your surprised, it didn't take long for Toby to hook his arms under your legs and stand up, making your head and back hit the wall as you let out a gasped. It's as if he did a whole 180 on his attitude.

He have a cocky smirk displayed mischeviously on his lips as press himself closer to you, grinding his pelvis into yours as he drawled out a groan. He can't take it anymore.

One of his free hand reached up and grabbed his tie, tying your hands together tightly, surely to leave a bruise.

His cold, rough hands travel down to your ass and give it a firm squeeze before his right hand travel up to the inner of your thighs and teasing your aching hole with one finger, making you whine as you squirm around a bit, glaring up at him.

He cooed at your expression and leans down, gently nibbling your neck and whispered in your ears. "Y- You're so..so pretty when yo- you're acting tough." He grins before sucking the skin of your neck, leaving a deep, dark purple mark.

You were still squirming against him and it only get him more riled up as you were practically grinding into his hips. He flipped you over so your back was against his chest and you were bending over the sink. He grab your jaw with his right hand to force you to look in the mirror. He wore a cunning grin as he shoves his middle and ring fingers into your mouth while keeping the hand firmly on your jaw. Drools were dripping down your chin as you gagged around his digits, tears starts to formed in the corner of your eyes. The actions only make him grin wider, as he bend down against you, your ass were right up against his cock.

"You see that camera?"

He asked smugly, before turning your head to look at the phone that was set neatly on a flower plant, making your eyes widen and your cheeks flushed with humilation.

"Do you want your daddy to see how much of a Hure his sonne really is, huh.."

He whispered lowly as he began to nibble your ear. You could only feel your dick start to erected again shamefully as you shook your head rapidly, in an almost pleading way.

"Then suck."

He barked orders at you and you began to swirl your tongue around his digit, sucking his fingers.

"Good, good.. little whore."

He grins and lick up your tears and kiss your cheek, before his other hand went up and grab your throat, holding your head in place and his now wet fingers travelled down to your ass, as he push one digit in and start to stretch you out. That delicious heat began to form in the pit of your stomach again as you gasped and whined at the touch, fueling Toby's egos even more.

"Such an adorable sound..."

He whispered, pumping his digit in and out of your wet hole before adding another one, leaning down and keep nibbling and sucking on your skins, leaving dark purple marks scattered around your neck while your shoulders were adorned with his bites.

"I can't wait to ruin you."

He scowled, as his finger went into a scissoring motion, stretching you out and shivers at the warmth, his dick was twitching and throbbing, begging to be inside of you.

The knot in your stomach tightens up as you scrunch up your face, clenching your jaws tightly. However, it earned a tight squeeze to your throat and you yelped, your eyes widened, He chuckled at your expression and tilt your head up to make you gaze at your reflection in the mirror.

"Eyes up, doll.."

He breathly says before he continue to pump his fingers into you, and added the 3rd finger.

You immediatly whines at the digits being brutally pumping in and out of you, your tongue hanging out of your mouth.

He snickered slightly at the sight before pulling his hand out, making you grunt slightly at the loss.

But it was quicly replace by a shocked yelped when you felt the tip of his dick rubbing against your hole as he pistoned himself and, without warning, snapped his hips forward, moaning loudly into your ears as he bottomed you out. Despite prepping you, nothing could have prepare you as his cock stretch you out delicously, and you could swear you felt his cock deep inside your stomach.

"S-so fuc-fuckin-g.. sh-shit- tight, tight, tight-"

He rambled into your shoulders, completely lost himself into you for a split second.

"-'m gonn- gonna mol- mold my dick into you..g-gonna ruin you for e-everyone else.."

He didn't let you adjust before he slam into you at a brutal speed, your lewd moans that would put a pornstar to shame filled and echoed around the bathroom, mixing with the sounds of skin slapping and a few moan and grunts from Toby himself.

"I'm gonna fuckin' breed this schöner b-junge.."

He mumbled to himself and you felt yourself clenching around his lenght, causing him to cursed in german harshly, his grip against your throat tightens. You managed to choke out a small "S-sir-!" but that only make his grip on you tightens more, slamming his pelvis into you and groaning loudly.

"S-scheiße- cal- call me that again-"

He ordered, grinding his dick into your ass and thrust into you harshly, making you cried out.

"S-fuck- Sir- Pl-pleas-"

Tears streams down your cheeks as he pounce into you, not showing any signs of stopping soon.

Black dots started to invade your visions as your air supply was cut off. But just right when you were about to pass out, he relaxed his grip, causing you to gasped sharply, inhaling that sweet, sweet air into your lungs.

"That- that's it, breathe.. Gut so.."

You felt the knot in your stomach tightens again as he burried balls deep into you, rubbing anf reaching all of your sweet spots you didn't even know were possible.

"Oh, m-meine liebe.. you're being- being such a good obedient little slut"

And you were being forced to watch as he fucking you silly was all so fucking lewd.

He let out a shout as he twitched, feeling himself close as his head jerk to the side, before his dick twitch deep inside of you and he came undone. You were quick to follow as you cum onto the cold marbled sink, letting out heavy pants as your half lidded, glossy eyes glance up at the camera.

#creepypasta #ticci toby #tButobias erin rogers #x reader #ticci toby x male reader #male reader #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby x you #oldermen #tropes #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta smut #smut #mxm #bottom male reader #mxm smut #tobias erin rodgers #toby erin rogers #toby rogers

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edosianorchids901 · 1 year

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The Beauty You Are

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "where the flowers grow"

As soon as he heard the faint sobbing, Aziraphale paused.

After a brief hesitation—he was supposed to be working, after all—he went to investigate. Angels must assist those in need, after all. Perhaps it was an injured human, someone he could patch up before returning to his usual job of writing endless reports that nobody in Heaven read.

He slipped around the boulders, grateful for the dappled shade of slender trees. The sandy ground shifted under his sandals, making a bit too much noise. He winced and tried to step more lightly.

The sobbing figure had been sitting in the shade beside one of the boulders, but they jerked their head up at his approach. The figure was not, in fact, a human.

“Crawley?” Aziraphale took a tentative step closer, then inhaled sharply. “Oh, my dear, what’s happened?”

Crawley’s red hair was darker than usual, dark with blood. Bruises marred his face, and his left eye was swollen almost all the way shut, crusted with tears. “Go away!”

“I… I don’t think that’s the best idea.” Aziraphale sank down to his knees in the sand, throat tight. “You’re hurt.”

“Really fucking observant,” Crawley snapped. He huddled away from Aziraphale, shaking with now silent sobs.

Sympathetic tears rose, and Aziraphale tried to blink them away. But oh, this was awful. Who could have done this? Who would hurt Crawley?

“Did someone try to rob you?” he asked, struggling to wrap his mind around it.

Crawley shook his head, tears dripping to leave little divots in the sand. “Nuh. Didn’t happen up here. I was reporting in, but Hastur didn’t like my tone…”

Aziraphale’s breath caught. He shifted forward a little, pausing when Crawley flinched. “I won’t hurt you, Crawley. I just want to help. May I touch you?”

One golden eye darted to him, full of tears. And then, lip trembling, Crawley gave a tiny nod.

Still, Aziraphale moved forward with caution. Crawley flinched practically every time Aziraphale moved, as if expecting another blow. He cringed away from Aziraphale’s raised hand most, breaths going quick and panicked.

“It’s okay,” Aziraphale soothed. He very gently pushed matted red curls out of Crawley’s face so that he could better see the injuries. And oh, there were so many injuries. “Oh, you poor old serpent. I’m so sorry he hurt you.”

Crawley’s lips twitched a little, as if he’d attempted to smile and failed. “Thanks.”

“Let’s see… Why don’t I heal you up a bit, to start, and then you can come back to the village with me to clean up?” Aziraphale stroked his hair again, aching for him. “I know a miracle could tidy you up, but washing your face might feel nice. And I have some beer, and figs, and a lovely bit of goat cheese. We could share them.”

At first, Crawley gave him a suspicious look. “Why?”

Because Crawley deserved gentleness and kindness. “Oh, well. It’s rather more fun to eat with someone else. You’d be doing me a favor, really.”

Crawley let out a faint snort, apparently seeing through Aziraphale’s ploy, but he nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

“And if you feel up to it, perhaps we could take a small detour on the way there.” Hand hovering near Crawley’s cheek, Aziraphale channeled a healing miracle. Slow and careful, washing away the injuries in the same way that he intended to wash away the blood once they got home. “I know a lovely little spot near here, a place where the flowers grow. It’s so very peaceful, and very pretty.”

Crawley was silent for a while, eyes down as Aziraphale tended to him. “Flowers can actually grow here? S’ not the most hospitable area.”

“Well, much of it is rather too hot and sandy.” Aziraphale brushed his fingers against Crawley’s swollen cheekbone, repairing the damage near his eye. “But I find that even in the most inhospitable of places, there’s beauty.”

That drew a skeptical look. But then Crawley let out a sigh of relief, relaxing. “Oh gosh. That hurts a lot less.”

“Good, good.” Although it wasn’t the most thorough job; bruises still bloomed across the side of Crawley’s face, along with some on his neck and even some on his slender hands. He would likely need more healing later. “Do you feel up to walking?”

He extended his hand, offering. Crawley hesitated, then took it and let Aziraphale help him up.

They walked slowly under the dappled shade, down a little path that Aziraphale had discovered a few weeks ago on one of his lonely strolls. Even with Crawley limping and clearly still in pain, walking hand in hand with him across the sandy ground left Aziraphale with an unfamiliar sense of peace. He’d quite like to do this every day.

The path led to a little shaded area near a trickling stream. Tufts of green dotted the soil, short grasses that waved in a gentle breeze. And nestled among the grasses, delicate little flowers, blooms of yellow and red and white.

“Whoa.” Crawley limped to one of the more vibrant patches and sank to his knees, one arm hugged across his ribs. He still hadn’t let go of Aziraphale’s hand, so Aziraphale knelt beside him. “You were right, angel. This really is beautiful.”

The flowers were beautiful, yes, but that wasn’t what brought tears to Aziraphale’s eyes. No, he was most taken with Crawley’s willingness to trust him, open up to him, even to hold his hand. “Yes,” Aziraphale said softly. “It is.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley

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desultory-novice · 1 year

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I've been reading your various theories/analysis on the Nightmare Wizard and I was impressed what you came up with, given how HAL has given us virtually nothing on Mr. chin man.

It's a somewhat popular headcanon that Meta Knight was created by or at the very least connected to Nightmare, but this came from evidence in the anime canon. I was wondering what are your thoughts on this theory based on game lore?

Hrgh! I LOVE Nightmare! I have so much fun writing him and speculating on him! I mean, whether he's an actual physical, incarnation of the concept of bad dreams or just a once-upon-a-time power hungry Wizard who decided to name himself after the concept... that's so cool?!? It doesn't even bother me that he gets jobbed all the time. It's the POTENTIAL!!

I love his VA, Banjo Ginga, too. This wizard might have a chin the length of a galaxy but he's got a VOICE to back it up!

Now, you said game lore, but I'm going to go ahead and talk HC because, like you said, we know almost nothing canonical about Mr Chin Man, but the chance of a Halcandra connection seems GOOD at least. (Actually, even better now with a parallel version of him showing up in the same game with the Gem Apple Tree?)

So, I strongly HC him as being responsible for Marx (in several ways) but anime-originating or no, I think making him Meta's creator/corruptor is a fun little theory.

It's common to assume Kirby's species just gains wings as a matter of fact (I'm undecided, despite the fact that we have three winged... err, four if you count Zero Two - then again, those are apparently veins?? // why did this never click for me despite the fact that they show it in the END CREDITS?! // so maybe three - members of the "species") but if you start the whole line at Galacta, as a progenitor being or even god, with their unsullied angel wings, there is something "monstrous" about Meta Knight's devil/bat wings. He LOOKS like the "evil clone" despite being more the hero on every level.

(...Once we forget the military coup. Silly tangent, but I saw someone on Twitter make a joke about Elfilis and the Beast Pack forcing the captured Waddle Dees to work the generators and how cruel that's portrayed, when Meta Knight's own ship uses Wheelies for the same purpose! ...Of course, maybe that's just exercise for Wheelies? We don't know if it was mean... necessarily...)

Speaking of Meta Knight and a questionable past, I was thinking the other day about DMK and Marx and since they're the last two of the "You jerks don't deserve to be Dream Friends!" trio - Magolor having proven himself a true friend and worthy ally after an extended trip through hell - and trying to think just what Dark Meta Knight and Marx could possibly have in common. (Outside of Salty French Bread canon (?) where they get along surprisingly well. Then again, everyone in that group is a secret maniac, except Adeleine) This is especially when I step back and remember that DMK is still BASED ON Meta Knight. Meta Knight's thoughts and feelings exist somewhere within Dark Meta Knight, they're just twisted. (And under what grounds would META KNIGHT ever have to get along with/sympathize with/feel camaraderie with Marx??)

.That's a long way to get around to saying I'm actually REALLY fond of Nightmare Knight (...is that a badass name or what?! Also love that his independent play modes are called "Meta Knightmare" Too bad that's a localization only thing, as it would be GREAT fort this theory...) as a splinter HC! I actually have a lot of room for this to fit in my personal/main HC too!

(:cough: since I liked to imagine Nightmare as a former Halcandran Geneticist, this would not even be hard for him, especially if he managed to get ahold of Galacta Knight's DNA. And my Nightmare, who absolutely has a twisted sense of "humor"...

"You COULD have given the Noddies arms, you know." "Ha! They're literally engineered to sleep all day! What possible use would they have for arms? Grabbing a pillow??" :later, Marx, trying and failing to grab a pillow: "...Grrrr...!!!"

...would absolutely see Meta Knight as a consummate warrior and thus, as the "cherry on top" program him with an insatiable lust for battle, "...just like his stabbity-happy genetic predecessor!" Something Meta Knight is constantly trying to combat w/ copious amounts of book reading and fancy sweets... :cough:)

You know, it would be kind of fun, too, if that played into the reason Meta acted so unusual in Adventure. He's on-board with Dedede's plan to stop Nightmare, but he also knows well enough that the stall won't STOP Nightmare and thus, he supports Kirby throughout the puff's adventure.

Or maybe Meta Knight was even fighting his genetic programming/monster nature during that campaign? (Does that happen in the anime, too? Generally decent critters who are monster-fied try to fight the evil inside??) The potential story ideas are endless!

I was told at one point that Marx pulling his MWW stunt out of hunger from the "Spring Breeze" famine was the only way to explain how his game fit in the "plot" of Super Star. But when I think about Nightmare reaching out his long claws to manipulate both Marx and Meta Knight (one last tangent: but Noddies are pink just like Kirby. Both Marx and Meta Night look like them but with a distinct blue(ish, in Marx's case) palette. And who else is those colors??) the fact that you unlock Milky Way Wishes after Revenge of Meta Knight (I lied/another tangent: What IS Meta Knight "revenging" anyway? His defeat? The one he basically engineered in Kirby's Adventure? Weird thing to get upset about...) could also give you a slightly different take on that "storyline." Maybe?

The only thing I DON'T like about this theory is it would potentially make Meta Knight realllllllly old. Centuries, even. And that doesn't matter so much if you throw out the concept of realistic human-esque aging in Kirby altogether (which I sometimes do, because I'd easily take "Kirby is hundreds of years old but STILL maintains a young, optimistic, innocent point of view" over "Kirby is an almighty battle toddler" - We don't know Kirby's actual age, but I've seen some numbers thrown out by fans, and the idea of non-chalantly sending a literal 6-10 year old to do the stuff Kirby puts up with in game makes me uneasy) but in a lot of cases, I think i prefer Meta Knight to be closer to a contemporary with the main gang?

Chalk me up as one of those people that thinks Meta Knight tries his hardest to act mature, to always be seen as the "smartest and the eldest" but is actually a big, huge dork on the inside. Like he decided he would have the role of "group adult" only because he wanted it, not because he did anything to earn it.

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lyon-amore · 1 year

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At first sight /AU!Duskwood Chapter 2

Chapter 1 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Jessy POV*

The concert ended and the usual music remained, with people dancing or drinking. Jessy took the opportunity to sit down with Jake, who was still looking at his phone.

"We've missed you on the dance floor." the girl told him with a smile. "I have heard them from here" answered the dark-haired man "they have been pretty good." "Yes, the truth is that yes" Jessy she brushed her hair to one side of her, with a flirty look ". Hey, are you doing something tomorrow?" "Why? Do you have a problem with your computer?" Jessy screamed inside. It was unbelievable that she hadn't gotten it. "No, my computer is fine, it's just-" "Hey! Hands off!" They heard a girl scream and they turned to look. Jessy recognized her as the blonde girl who had been yelling at the group earlier. A guy was too close to her, bothering her. "Sorry Jessica, I am going to help her." Jake got up quickly. If he didn't like something, it was someone being harassed like that. "Sure, can I ask you-" he didn't give her time to finish the sentence that he had already walked away in a hurry "Something to drink…?" She sighed, left alone at the table. Her plan had failed.

She began to run her finger through her glass, with a bored look on her face. She thought for a moment about going home. Would anyone notice? That's when she saw him again, her ex. With that girl dancing on the floor. It still hurt. "You're good?" She heard a familiar male voice next to her. She looked up, fixing on the member of the group The Forsaken, Stephan. Curly brown hair peeked out from a hat that he was now wearing. His blue eyes looked at her with concern. "Yeah, just an idiot." she waved. "Ex or boyfriend?" "Ex and of those who cheat." "Okay, so he's on the jerk side." the boy teased. Jessy laughed. And Stephan pointed to the chair next to her. "Can I?" "Yes." the redhead agreed. The young man sat up and extended his hand. "Stephan Connors." "Jessy Hawkins." She accepted his greeting. She didn't know why, but as she accepted it, she felt a rush of warmth. Stephan's smile rubbed off on her. "And what are you doing here alone?" Asked the brunette, but then he corrected himself "I mean! I'm not trying to be a gossip or anything like that, it's just that I've seen you with a bad face and… well… I've been worried, that's all, but it's not because I was looking at you or anything like that!" Jessy found it adorable. It didn't seem like he was really trying to flirt with her, on the contrary. He saw that he really didn't have that intention, because of how far away he was from her when he sat down, as if he wanted to respect her space. "To make a fool of yourself, apparently" she answered honestly ". I had come to talk to a boy, my friend's... brother, who I like, but he has gone to help a girl and hasn't come back." "Really?" He asked something curious "Well, he must be another idiot for not coming back." "It doesn’t matter, I think he didn't like me the way I would" Stephan looked apologetically ". It must seem like a boring conversation to you, right?" "No, not really" he shook his head, leaning on the table ", if you need to talk, you can do it with me." Jessy felt that this boy had to be an angel to endure the sorrows of a girl as boring as her. The truth is that she didn’t want to be the center of attention of her either. She had also worried about him. "What about you?" She asked the young man, who raised his eyebrows in question "You weren't well when you sang either." "Have it noticed so much?" He asked between his teeth, somewhat uncomfortable. "Just a little" Jessy said, gesturing ", but I won't make you tell if you don't want to." Stephan's lip twisted, hesitating. It's not like he wanted to tell her either, but… maybe he could speak it too? "Let's say that in my family, being in a group believes that it's going to ruin my life." "Why? What's wrong with it?" The redhead looked at him strangely "You can travel everywhere, get to know other cultures while you're on tour-" "Exactly!" Stephan smiled, this time sincere "I want us to be able to transmit our music to every corner of this world, while I know, I don't know, Korean food?” he shrugged, not sure what to say. The girl laughed and he followed her. His laugh was nice. She liked hearing him, it was as if she were listening to him sing. "Do you like traveling?" the redhead asked, paying more attention. "Yes, whenever I can, of course" Stephan took the phone out, and began to show his photos of his trips ". Look, here it was in Oslo, Cafe Mono” he began to explain ". It was last year, unfortunately, on this trip I couldn't take Sky with me." "Sky?" "He's my dog, right now he's sleeping in the caravan." He showed his photos of the Golden. Jessy made a gleeful sound at the photos. She adored dogs. "He's beautiful." she said, zooming in to see the animal's little face. "I always try to make him be with us" Stephan put the phone away after finishing showing the photos ", Sophia doesn't usually like to stay with him very much." "And Sophia is..." "She's my girlfriend." Well, something bad that he had.

Jessy dropped the flirty smile and went back to being friendly Jessy. "Don't she like your dog?" She asked curiously. "Let's just say she's always busy making fashion videos, promotions-" "Wait Sophia? The influencer SophWorld?" Jessy began to question, getting excited. "Yes, the same." "My God!" I'm her fan!" She showed the dress she was wearing, with enthusiasm "I bought this dress because she said it was one of the best they had just released." She watched as Stephan made a strange face. Had he been too inappropriate? Maybe she shouldn't have mentioned his girlfriend? "Did you really buy it for her?" Jessy looked at him confused. Was it something bad? She looked down at the dress, feeling ridiculous. Maybe it was too much. "Sorry, I didn't ask in a rude way" Stephan apologized quickly "I'm just saying that because she told me she didn't like that dress, so it seems strange to me that she said she liked in a video." "Does…does she really not like it?" Jessy looked at her dress again. Perhaps she had done the wrong thing in buying it? "Yes, she didn't like it" Stephan answered honestly, ", but I thought it was pretty, I don't know... I don't understand much about fashion, but I like it." The young woman felt her cheeks burn. It disappeared from her mind that the dress had been the worst option she had ever had. Now it was one of the many better choices for that night. And why not? The boyfriend of her favorite influencer had liked her, which was already strange and at the same time funny. "It's funny watching you act" Jessy began "I mean, Sophia had told us that you were a shy guy and that's why you didn't show your face in her videos." "What?" Seeing the look on Stephan's face, she knew she'd screwed up. The boy raised his hands to his face, exhaling hard. Jessy felt that she should have stayed quiet. "Did she really say that to you all?" "Yes" agreed the young woman "well, we knew that sometimes you made your music from the videos, but you didn't want to be because of embarrassment." "Actually I don't show my face so I don't overshadow the video of her, not because I’m shy or anything." Stephan seemed annoyed. She had really said something she shouldn't. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bother you." "No! I'm not upset with you" the boy tried to calm the situation, not wanting to make her uncomfortable ". Don't…worry, it's nothing bad that you said it, I assure you." Jessy nodded, falling silent. Her situation had made her awkward. She felt that she had gotten herself in the middle of a relationship, creating a fight. Something she would never want.

They heard a laugh from behind and they both turned around. Jake was talking to the blonde girl from earlier, something that surprised Jessy, because normally, he wasn't one to talk to people he didn't know. "Is he trustworthy?" Asked Stephan, a little annoyed "I'm worried that my cousin might be annoyed by a slimy guy." Jessy stared at them, seeing how the situation didn't seem awkward at all. Suddenly, she didn't feel anything for Jake. It was as if it had vanished. She looked at Stephan, the way he looked concerned about his cousin. Instead of looking annoying as he tried to, in his eyes it seemed adorable. He really didn't look like a guy who used to get angry. “He's a good guy” Jessy finally answered “, a little weird sometimes like, too serious, but… I assure you, she's safe with him." Stephan looked at Jessy. Her trusting smile calmed him. He nodded slowly, not taking his eyes off hers. Jessy lost herself in his eyes. She knew it was wrong because he had a girlfriend, but she couldn't take her eyes off him.

Finally, he looked away. She didn't want to be the other girl. She had already been through it and she wasn't even going to do the same. It wasn't going with her. "Jessy!" Cleo approached the table "Oh! Sorry! Am I interrupting something?" "No," they both answered at the same time, and they looked at each other a little shyly. "What's up Cleo?" Jessy asked, looking at her friend. "We're waiting for you on the dance floor. Are you coming or what?" "It's just, I-" "Don't worry about me," Stephan got up from his chair, shoving his hands in his pockets, a little awkward "I was leaving anyway, I'm going to the trailer with Sky" He held out his hand to Jessy, to say goodbye ". It's been nice meeting you, Jessy." "Same here, Stephan, I hope you'll get back to acting again soon." Jessy accepted his hand. Again, that warm wave, like the sun. "I hope so, I liked acting here." He said with a smile ". See you soon." "See you soon." Jessy watched him walk away through the crowd. Although before walking out the door, he turned to see her and waved her goodbye. Jessy did the same, with a wide smile. Cleo laughed. "I'll see you on the dance floor then." "Okay, I'm going now." She looked back in the direction of the door. But he was already gone.

She sighed, embarrassed. It was unfortunate that for a guy who was worth it, he had a girlfriend. "I have his phone number if you want." Phil told her, coming over to the table. "He has a girlfriend, I don't want to get in the way." the redhead replied, getting up from the table. "For real?" Phil arched his brow curiously "I'll give them a week." "But what are you saying?" Jessy exalted, incredulous at his words. "Look, we don't get along" his brother began to gesticulate, pointing at each other "so I'm going to talk to you more like a counselor who has seen everything in this bar instead of your brother, that boy's look at you was the look of a guy who really had a crush on someone, and trust me, I've seen way too many looks like that, for example” He turns her around so she's looking at Jake and the blonde girl. Jessy rolled her eyes. Even her brother knew about her little crush on Jake and it seemed that doing that to her was to laugh at her ", look, Jake can't stop avoiding directing his eyes to her lips and she knows it because she can't stop biting her lip waiting for he asks for her number. And believe me when I say that Jake has never looked at her ex-girlfriend or anyone else like that." The redhead exhaled heavily, listening to him speak. He turned her around again and pointed at Thomas and Hannah dancing together ". Thomas looks at Hannah adoringly, looks at that smile of his. He can't change his expression with her, and Hannah loves that he looks at her like that, because she can't stop laughing at every stupid thing he says about her." Jessy pulled away from him with an exaggerated sigh. "Phil, I'm not in the mood for you to show me happy couples…" "Trust me Jessy, I've been watching you and I know there was chemistry and I'm not telling you as a brother." Jessy bit the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. It could be that real or simply, he was teasing her because thay didn't get along.

She preferred to pay no attention and ignore it. As she already thought, she wasn't going to be the one to blame for a breakup.

*Stephan POV*

It had been a year since he had broken up with Sophia. As he did so, his body felt lighter. It was unbelievable that all this time together she had been controlling him without him noticing. He had assimilated the way himself was, being too good. Too naive. Not only the girl's jealousy had destroyed the relationship, but also her lies and her lack of support in what he liked the most: music.

He was lying on the bed, listening to the latest tune he had composed. Sky was also with him, his head resting on his stomach. He petted it slowly and the dog began to wagging its tail happily. Stephan sighed, remembering that concert he gave at Duskwood and where he met that redheaded girl named Jessy. She seemed very nice to him, but at this moment and after a long relationship, he didn't think he was capable of going to see her. He had his principles and being creepy that after being single only a year, he wasn't going to just go after another girl like that. Although… It was thanks to her that he opened his eyes and began to see things he didn't like about Sophia. It was thanks to talking with Jessy that he made it clear to his father that he was not going to change his love for music.

Thanks to his hearing acuity, he heard several footsteps approaching his room. He sat up taking off his headphones, finding Klaus, Ashley, Susy, and Macie standing before him. The four of them with crossed arms. "What's up? Something happens?" He asked, resting his arm on her knee. "And Macie, why are you wearing a mask?" "I've forgotten my medication and I can't get close to Sky." She answered, making a sad face. << Ah, right, her allergy to dogs. >> "Are you going to tell me what happens?" "We've been talking and we're going on a trip." Klaus replied. "Okay, so what does it have to do with me?" "That you're coming with us." Ashley said, as she and Klaus began to pull him by his feet, to get him out of bed. "OK! OK! I'm up now!" Exclaimed Stephan, laughing "But what's wrong with you? I'm fine." Susy leaned against Ashley, looking at Stephan with concern. "Stephan, ever since you broke up with Sophia we've been worried." the girl began to say, and Ashley nodded. The boy ran a hand through his hair, releasing a long sigh. Well, maybe things had changed. He now he was a little more angry with everyone. That everyone wouldn't let him choose for himself. Everyone except his friends and his cousin. And his grandparents, although unfortunately, they lived far away, in California. "Yeah, well, sorry" Stephan finally said ". I feel a little used." Sky moved to his side, nuzzling his hand, for him to caress. What made him listen. "Well, that's going to end" his cousin approached him, leaning on her shoulder "We're going to Duskwood for the weekend! How about?" "Are you saying it for me or for you and that guy?" He asked her, raising an eyebrow. "Hey, in Duskwood it's not just Jake" Macie lowered her mask, offended ", there are a lot of incredible people, I've made friends like Cleo, Richy, Thomas, Hannah, Lilly, Dan, Amy, Phil… Jessy." Everyone noticed it. That fleeting glow when she named Jessy. They started laughing when they saw that she had blushed. "Guys, I want to enjoy my single life." He looked up at Klaus now ". And it's only been a year since I broke up with your sister, doesn't it hurt you?" "Dude, I met you before you met my sister" he put a hand on his shoulder "and you're living in my house, do you think that bothers me? It's her fault, not you." Finally, he lowered his head, resigned. "I agree to go on a weekend trip to Duskwood, but I'm not going to see Jessy!" He exclaimed, looking at everyone as he pointed his finger at them. "We respect your decision." Ashley told him, resting her head on Susy's. In truth, Stephan still didn't understand how he was so lucky with them.

While they were on their way with the car and with a dog on top of them in the back, a tire ended up with a flat. They got out of the car, waiting for Klaus to finish speaking to order a tow truck to the nearest Duskwood garage. "So... a good weekend, huh?" Stephan looked at the girls, who were sitting on the ground leaning against the car. The three looked at the young man with a frown and he was startled, looking away. Better not make them angry.

When the tow truck picked them up, it dropped them off at Roger's Garage. Both boys entered the workshop and when Stephan noticed who was at the counter, he felt that he wanted to run out of shame. Jessy also looked at him in surprise. A slight blush appeared on her face. "Hello?" Klaus waved his hand in front of her, who didn't take her eyes off Stephan. "The tow truck brought us to fix our car." "Yeah, wait a minute" the girl finally spoke ". You can head through that door to talk to the mechanic about the situation." "Okay, thanks." He looked at Stephan and winked at him ". You wait for me here." "Klaus-" Stephan started to speak, but he was already gone. He avoided looking at Jessy, awkward. He really didn't want to see her again so soon… Well… As far as he was concerned, maybe a little more time after he had everything figured out? "What a coincidence that we met here." Jessy said with a smile. "Ah, yes." Stephan replied, still not looking at her "How…how are you?" "Well, same job, same people" the redhead began to say ". Anyway, I can't complain, and you?" "Well" he scratched the back of his neck, uncomfortable ", a lot has happened, really." "Let me guess" Jessy's eyes narrowed, as if she were trying to read his thoughts. Stephan chuckled when he saw her "You've traveled to Korea and you've finally tried their food." "Almost" he laughed a little louder now ". I've said goodbye to all the bad things in my life." "Really?" The young woman blinked in surprise "That's great!" “Yes, I was tired of being used” he said, tapping on the counter “after talking to you, I actually felt a lot better, so I left Sophia and told my father to leave me alone with my music." Jessy went pale. It wasn't what she wanted, to be guilty of breaking off a relationship. "Hey, I'm so sorry, I really didn't want to get into your relationship." Jessy said quickly, uncomfortable now with her. "No! It was actually a great favor that you did me!" Stephan exclaimed, calming her down "I think… I needed someone to notice for me to open my eyes. I thank you very much Jessy." He smiled sweetly at the girl. Jessy swallowed hard as she heard him speak gently. Stephan, just lost himself in her eyes. He was still too early. "And..." Jessy cleared her throat, shy "Are you going to be in Duskwood for the weekend or were you just passing through?” She asked more hopefully than curious. “I've been…” Stephan grumbled under his breath, though more humorously “Literally dragged out of bed to come here." Jessy laughed and Stephan joined her. "Well, if you want, tomorrow we'll be at Bar Aurora" the redhead began to say, tapping the pen on the counter ", it will be a pleasure if you join us." "Will Macie be with Jake, are you sure that's not a problem for you?" Stephan remembered that she liked Jake and worried if that would make her uncomfortable. Jessy shook her head, tucking her hair behind her ear, smiling at the boy. "No, that's a thing of the past" she replied, still smiling at him ". The truth is that I like Macie, we have become great friends." "Okay, so I shouldn't put myself between the two of you so you don't fight over a guy." "Or you can get in the way to sit next to me…" Jessy confessed, shyly. "That... That doesn't sound like a bad idea..." Stephan answered. Jessy gave a shy giggle, blushing again. "You said you broke up with your girlfriend" Jessy began ", so I don't want to take advantage of the fact that you're single now." "Are you kidding me? I was thinking I wouldn't take advantage of talking to you again because I thought you'd think I'm one of those filthy guys." They laughed again. They felt pretty ridiculous. "Well, we don't have to hurry either" Jessy replied ". We can start getting to know each other, is that okay?" "Perfect for me." "Wait." Jessy took his hand and with her pen, wrote down her phone number ". So that you let me know if you're going to the Aurora." Stephan noticed the number and smiled. It was like those romantic movies. He immediately took out his phone and, in front of her, decided to send her a message. "Well, you already have my number." he told her with a smile. The young woman nodded, seeing the message from him. She sent him a message, and they both looked at each other with a charming smile. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stephan See you at the Aurora Jessy 👋 ❤️

Jessy I'll be looking forward to it Stephan 😊 ❤️

The End

#duskwood #duskwood jessy #duskwood male mc #duskwood mc #duskwood jessy x mc #duskwood everbyte #everbyte #everbyte studio

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mlobsters · 4 months

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supernatural s14e3 the scar (w. robert berens)

all right, here's hoping i can get through this today. tail end (knock on wood) of a bad migraine but i can listen to things with headphones now and not feel horrendous so maybe?

lol just stab him with the archangel blade somewhere non-lethal, see what happens, there's an angel test for ya. still bothered that they apparently have no desire to truly confirm michael isn't playacting dean? whatever

DEAN It’s just every time I think about it, you know. It's like a nightmare. I mean I can’t eat, I can’t sleep - it’s always just there watching me. SAM Dean, it’s just a beard. I’ve been a little busy lately.

absolutely have seen gifs of this whole bit a bunch of times. why is sam's beard watching you while you sleep, the perennial question (has enough time even passed for them to try to sleep? :p)

DEAN So, I’m good. I’m just really, really, happy to be... home.

i watched until this scene when i started this episode a couple days ago and noped out. their home being taken over by all these people continues to give me the heebiejeebies. granted their home is massive and more like a work space than a home, so it's more like it's getting used like it was designed, but they've been so isolated forever basically this is just a lot. (also i'm a jealous asshole in some ways and i'm like oh dean's gotta share sam with all these people now? lol 😬)

why's bro always getting weird scar things on his person? the hand print, the mark, whatever the fresh hell this thing is

is it the spear of destiny lance of michael whatever business. doesn't seem nearly wide enough to account for his scar. wonder if this is another episode by that different editor (john fitzpatrick on imdb), reminiscent of those visions of jody dying in 13x09. ding ding ding, it is indeed the same editor. funny. last episode he did was 13x21

speaking of, hey jody! even though i just referenced the episode with her in it i forgot about the whole kaia / dark kaia thing -_-

JODY No, no. I have video surveillance going down at the fair, Claire practically sat shiva down there. There’s been nothing.

shiva reference #3 (7x10 and 8x16)

cas conveniently has to stay back to fix rando hexed girl, so dean and sam can have some arguments on the way to jody. after dean upset jack too of course by refusing to let him go with. which i think was the right call but, you know. do it less dickishly.

SAM C’mon man, this isn’t a joke! Something huge happened and you won’t really even talk about it. Look, this whole Michael thing: we need to deal with it. DEAN I’m going at 80 to deal with it. How can I be running from something when I’m RACING toward it?! SAM I know, kinda your thing. DEAN Ok. SAM I’m just saying. You said you let Michael in, then bang, you’re back in a blink. But for me, you were gone: for weeks. I didn’t know if you were alive. I just need you to talk to me. Slow down so I can catch up. DEAN Call Jody, let her know we’re almost there.

way to talk about your feelings, sam! way to be a jerk, dean. both being able to open up at the same place and time has never been their strong suit. honestly don't have the wherewithal to even ponder why dean's being like this

LOL very cute. like the little "see dean, people do like the beard!" from sam. also cute little exchange where dean rolls his eyes about sam knowing a serial killer fact and sam makes the wtf bro face

very special episode where jack realizes he can Be Useful in other ways than a rock 'em sock 'em hunter? helping with the hexed girl

DEAN We’ll make better time if we split up. SAM No, Dean we’ll be safer if we stick together. JODY If I get a vote, I’m in team stick together. DEAN Fine.

man i do not enjoy dick!dean :p he gets like this sometimes and i wanna smack him. use your words, asshole, instead of taking whatever out on everyone else

no one was expecting dark kaia! oh, how i do not care. sorry, girl.

LORA Is that your Dad? JACK One of them, yes.

can i say again i really appreciate how they make it textual that sam, dean and cas are all jack's fathers. it's just nice. doesn't have to mean anything outside of their relationship to him, regardless of their relationships with each other. as it should be

JACK Do you have parents? Or someone we can call? LORA My mom, but she probably hates me. JACK Why? LORA Because I left, I ran away. I hated school, I hated our crappy one star fleet town and I hated her rules. I was sick of being treated like a kid. I thought I could make it on my own but then I met her.

lol this show can be so literal when it wants to make a parallel to a victim of the week and a recurring character's situation. literally laughed out loud when she started "because i left"

i'm sure the giant necklace gifted by the evil witch is unrelated. i keep looking at her (false) lashes. they're pretty but a little unexpected in the locked up by a witch situation

SAM Or it could have been Michael. C’mon, three vamps in Sioux Falls and not a single civilian death. That’s not an accident. I think they were hunting her. DEAN Why? SAM I think because Michael sent them to finish what he started.

trying to remember what michael had to do with kaia and drawing a huge blank, clearly retained almost nothing of her storyline. imagine how bad i'd be at keeping track if i didn't write these posts.

back when i was watching game of thrones (as it aired so i'd get a week to process between episodes) i would always read recaps/reviews after the episode because they were so densely packed and i knew i missed stuff, but i dunno, i just don't want other people's takes muddling up my feelings about this show in particular. more personal investment or something in it (it's also a *lot* more straight forward, it's just got the overloaded plot/characters syndrome past the first handful of seasons)

did not manage to watch this in one sitting so we're day 2 but i think (knock on wood again), demon migraine was smushed into 2 days instead of 3 and is gone

'squatchin

way dean is acting reminds me of a little how he was acting, and how i expected him to be acting, directly after purgatory. bro is pissed and gonna make it everyone's problem

losing my mind, just take the necklace off the girl -_- as she writhes around with this giant bauble flopping around where she's actively mummifying

JODY They have a right to know but I can’t. I promised Claire human cases are mine, but anything "monstery" I’d loop her in: this. God. Claire’s been doing so good. I mean anything connected to Kaia, she’s a powder keg. First loves strikes quick, and then to lose it like that.

couldn't remember if that was a thing that we knew about or not lol seriously, brain.

JODY Well, you two are having a time of it. SAM Yeah, he’s working something out and he’s working it out alone. The only thing I know is he’s not ready for this case. JODY Maybe. Maybe he needs it.

maybe he needs it but also him haring off (practically) alone with not enough information rarely ends well. nonetheless, glad jody's here to support them. my favorite family dynamic on the show, and the one that i don't feel like i need the text convincing me of. it's just there

DEAN That pig sticker she’s hiding, it is the only thing that we know that hurts Michael. I’m gonna do whatever it takes.

literally just raised my hand. um hello, what about the archangel blade?? do we not have one anymore?

JACK Lora’s life force: it’s in here. CAS Jack, are you sure? JACK No... (he smashes the pendant and green smoke twirls its way in to Lora’s pendant and she comes to life.)

this is so goofy :p

SAM Wait a second: you’re a dreamwalker, too? Your powers, they connected you. DARK KAIA Our whole lives, what she saw, I saw. I know where it comes from your anger, your impatience: itvs fear. You’re scared and you’re weak. DEAN Alright, shut up! DARK KAIA Michael hurt you. He hurt me too.

i mean, everyone is doing a good job acting-wise but this is just. ridiculous. so is dean mad because he's feeling guilty about what michael did while using his body against his will? that probably should have been incredibly obvious, i'm just so not connecting with this story 🥴

SAM So Michael wants the spear because he knows it can hurt him? And that’s why his monsters are coming after you?

okie dokie

jody sure gets pretty serious injuries a lot? how about pop back to the bunker so cas can just fix it :p like the... broken leg? was it? hmm, guess it wasn't healed magically there either

from 11x12 JODY Oh, it had to be the leg. I'm gonna need bionics.

DEAN Jody. JODY Dean Winchester, you have nothing to apologize for. DEAN How is the arm? SAM You sure you don’t want a ride to the hospital or… JODY I’ve driven with a broken arm before. I’m more worried what I’m gonna tell Alex when I get there. And then once I get home… SAM Claire. JODY I’m dreading those consequences. She’s got to know, she’s got to know that Kaia’s killer is still out there. SAM You alright? JODY It’s just seeing her face again. Raising three hunters and fearing every day that I might lose one of them. I didn’t even really get a chance to know Kaia before she died - just feel like I already lost before I even ever began.

again, well acted but this is a stretch emotionally, for me

CAS Well, Jules is off. She’s taking Lora back home to her mother. Jack, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I know that you have been going through a lot lately:. We’ve all been going through a lot but it’s no excuse. I just haven’t been there for you: not the way I should of. JACK Cas, it’s okay. CAS Well, what you did today made me so proud. You know, learning to hold your own in a fight without your powers. That takes time and training, but today you proved that you have the mind of a hunter and the heart of a hunter. I was thinking, erm, I’ll talk to Sam and Dean, but maybe-- maybe we could go on a hunting trip -- I mean if you want to?

good sentiment but oh so cheesy -_-

JACK (coughing) Yes (coughing again) Sorry. CAS You ok? JACK I’m fine: I’m human now. Must be getting my first cold. CAS Well, I’ll make you some soup then.

LOL not ominous at all. i'm sure it's fine. not a plot relevant illness, just a garden variety cold!

DEAN I put us all in danger today, stupid danger. SAM Dean. DEAN You were right. I just didn’t want to look at it, what Michael used me for. I just wanted to race ahead. You know, skip to the end of the story the part where I get the weapon and I take out the bad guy. The part where I kill Michael. SAM Yeah, I know. DEAN You know I said yes to him because I thought: it was stupid. I was stupid. SAM Dean, you did what you had to do.

just following directive number one, keep sammy safe

DEAN And it wasn’t a blink. I got possessed: I made it sound like that but it wasn’t. I don’t remember most of what Michael did with me because I was under water. Drowning. And that I remember. I felt every second of it - clawing, fighting for air. I thought I could make it out but I couldn’t: I wasn’t strong enough. And now he’s gone: he’s out there putting an army of monsters together. He’s hurting people. That’s all on me, man. I said yes. It’s my fault.

i know i've talked about the moral calculus of it all, the number of people they saved vs the number they've gotten killed by their decisions, specifically to save each other (insert enraged noises that my blog is nigh on unsearchable so who the fuck knows when i actually talked about it). sam more directly gets a lot of credits i think from preventing the (first) apocalypse by jumping into the cage, puts them all in the black possibly indefinitely :p but how many people died because dean killed death to save sam and sam needed to save dean by removing the mark and letting out the darkness. from dean stopping sam from dying to finish the trials and closing the gates of hell.

not even sure what i'm arguing here. get over it, bucko? you've done worse? lol i don't know. round and round we go. we've been down this road too many times and i'm tired. yeah, he said yes. he thought he could make deal with michael that he'd uphold, and he didn't. and we're always gonna swim around in dean's neverending crushing guilt

jack's got the (magical??) consumption apparently

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#supernatural #spnwatch #spn 14x03 #robert berens #john fitzpatrick #spnwhinge

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immortalecstasy-blog · 1 year

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Ashes To Angels 18+

Chapter 02/31 Pairing: Eddie Munson / Chrissy Cunningam

The last thing Chrissy can remember is bumping into her high school crush, Jason Carver, at a bar. But apparently that was nearly a year ago? She has no memories since then. But it seems like all her dreams have come true. Dream business. Dream body. Dream fiancé.

Except Rockstar Eddie Munson (Yes, that one!) is turning everything into a nightmare – because he seems to think they’ve been seeing one another for the last six months, and if his knowledge of her body is anything to go on… he may just be telling the truth.

What the hell has been going on in the last year?!

Please see AO3 'Additional Tags' for WARNINGS / More Chapters All Available Already on AO3.

It’s a huge cliché to start a chapter off with someone ‘waking up’. Especially the main character. Especially this one. But here we are, watching Chrissy Cunningham wake up.

The first thing she was aware of, is that everything hurt. Not the all-consuming agony kind of hurt, but the dull throb of continuous low-level ouch that has you walking on eggshells trying not to set off a spike. As if her blood had been replaced with something thick and heavy. Molasses maybe.

She felt something on her face and experienced a blind moment of panic – like when you misjudge a step and your whole-body tenses with the knowledge that you fucked up. But then, like when you manage to right yourself before you fall – she figured it out. She could hear beeping; could smell bleach and blood. Could hear a hum of chatter and footsteps. And she realised she was in a hospital.

She tried to open her eyes, but the stark ceiling light was painfully bright, so she reached for the straps around her face instead, jerking a bunch of wires and tubes plugged into her hand.

“Hey, hey, Chrissy? Your mask has to stay on, okay babe?”

Chrissy? Who the fuck is—oh, wait, no, yeah. Me. I’m Chrissy.

Chrissy groaned, filtering through her sluggish brain to place the voice as she finally managed to remove the mask from her face. The hospital smell increased, and she tried to open her eyes again, more carefully this time, peering out from behind the protective tangle of her lashes.

The brightness dimmed as a silhouette blocked the overhead light. She couldn’t make out his features at first but as her eyes adjusted he slowly came into focus.

She wondered if she was dead. Because no way do they make them that pretty on Earth. He looked exhausted, haggard with worry, and he had absolutely no right to be looking like a fucking heavenly apparition with bags that dark under his eyes.

“You’re awake.”

Yeah, no shit Saint Peter.

It took a few attempts, but she eventually managed to convert the most pressing thought into very croaky words.

“What happened?”

“They’re saying you fell. Busted up your elbow pretty good, dented a few ribs. You… you hit your head pretty hard.”

I fell? Chrissy thought, frowning. Picturing herself flat out on dirty concrete. Okay, that’s ‘what’…

“Where am I?”

“Saint Paul’s.”

“I’m dead?!” Chrissy blurted out in a panic. A hand quickly covered hers, warm and soft.

“No, no, the hospital.”

The man gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as she processed this, deciding what it was she needed to know next. Question Three. Is that her last question? Did you only get three? She couldn’t remember. But she knew she had to figure out the most pressing thing next.

“Who are you?”

“W-what?”

His fingers squeezed hers again, but it’s not in reassurance this time, it’s a reflex. Sharp, brief, scared. His eyes were blown wide, his pouty mouth had fallen into a perfect ‘o’ – he would look comical if it didn’t look like Chrissy had just ruined his life.

“It—It—Babe, it’s me. Jason.”

Jason? No. That wasn’t ringing any bells. But then, her head felt like someone had rung her like a bell. Chrissy could see the agony in his eyes and knew this wasn’t some kind of prank. She wondered if she should play along, save him from the panic.

But then she’s dragged back into the void, and he’s forgotten.

Someone else is there the next time Chrissy comes around, a mess of dark curls. Her joined-at-the-hip best friend, Nancy. Chrissy was hurting even more than the first time she’d woken up, as if that was even possible.

Nancy was sat in the chair by her bedside, staring off into the distance, her hand cupping her chin.

“Hey…”

Nancy startled, her head whipping around as she lunged forwards to take Chrissy’s hand.

“Hey. How you feeling?”

“Like I got into a fight with a sixteen-wheeler.”

“Stay here, Suzie told me to get her when you woke up again.”

Chrissy laughed, and it hurt like hell. “Stay here? Damn, I was planning on going for round two.”

Suzie – who turned out to be her doctor, was in the middle of rounds but sent a Nurse who quizzed Chrissy until she felt dizzy. Full name, birthday, mother’s maiden name, the alphabet, a whole array of shit Chrissy then had to try and drag up from her sluggish brain.

“Do you know the date?”

Chrissy frowned, thinking hard, “Um… September…?”

“August.” The nurse replied with a wry smile. Chrissy’s frown deepened and she shook her head.

“She means August.” Nancy said from the bedside, “Don’t you Chris?”

Nancy came back into Chrissy’s line of sight and nods at her seriously, like it’s really important that Chrissy agrees with her. Except it’s not August. Because it’s September. Her mum’s birthday was at the start of September, and they had a family meal planned to celebrate. Nancy was going.

“Do you know who this is Chrissy?” The nurse asked, pointing at Nancy. Chrissy studies her more closely, noting the red-ringed eyes and flyaway hair.

“Nancy, what happened?” Chrissy asked.

“See. She knows me. She’s fine.”

“And can you tell me Nancy’s last name?” The nurse continued.

“Wheeler.” Chrissy snapped impatiently, “Nance – what happened?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” The nurse pushed instead.

“We were at the bar. The Hideaway… What happened?”

“You had an accident.” The nurse explained. “A nasty fall.”

Chrissy huffed impatiently; she knew that bit.

“A rough fall down some stairs. Can you tell me what you’ve been up to in the last few days? Before you went to the bar?”

“Wh… I don’t know, it was the end of the semester, all the days blur into one…”

“Semester?” Nancy asked, sitting up straighter.

“Yeah?”

“What happened at the bar? What were we talking about?”

“Wh—I—I don’t know. We were hanging out – you, me, and Barb – celebrating, and then Jason started talking to me and I… I spent most of the night with him.”

“What were we celebrating?” Nancy pushed. She seemed so stressed out that Chrissy tried to give her a reassuring smile.

“Moving back to Hawkins…”

“That happened last September.” Nancy whispered.

Chrissy almost laughed, but the look on Nancy’s face told her this was not a joke.

Nancy seemed even more alarmed when Chrissy didn’t recognise the doctor when she finally finished her rounds and made an appearance.

“Can you tell me what my name is?” She asked as she approached. Chrissy gave her an incredulous look. Even if she had perfect eyesight she wouldn’t be able to read the little nametag from here. “No…?”

“Why doesn’t she remember you?” Nancy demanded of the doctor.

The doctor gave her an admonishing look and turned to examine Chrissy, reviewing her chart and the notes from the nurse’s interrogation.

“Calm down.” The doctor told Nancy, before smiling at Chrissy. “Chrissy, do you remember anything else after your night at the bar?”

Chrissy shook her head, “You guys are really freaking me out. What’s happening? Did I drink too much?”

“You’re had a head injury. Sometimes, with head injuries you can experience some degree of amnesia.”

“She doesn’t have amnesia.” Nancy protested.

“Don’t panic.” The doctor re-assured, pushing her glasses up her nose, “There are many different types and degrees of—”

“She’s awake?!” Came a voice from the doorway.

Jason was there, practically bursting through the door. Worry creasing his otherwise Adonis-worthy face. Chrissy couldn’t understand why he was there.

She’d had the biggest crush on him all through high school, but he’d never really paid her any attention. Other than a few short conversations in the hallways, their evening at The Hideaway had been the first time they’d really spoken.

“Sir, it’s family only.” The nurse protested at his entrance, as if Nancy wasn’t sat right there.

“I am family.” He growled, his face twisting.

“It’s okay.” The doctor told the nurse, waving a dismissive hand.

Chrissy watched Jason’s face relax as he came closer, staring somewhere around her middle. Chrissy flushed, very aware of the unflattering hospital gown and totally in the dark about the state of her face or hair.

“I’m her fiancé.” He told them.

Nancy’s head span around so fast it was like she’d been possessed by a demon or a very dramatic owl, Chrissy followed their gaze down to her hand, her ring finger was empty.

He seemed to notice her gaze.

“It’s on the nightstand. They removed it for some of the tests.”

Chrissy turned to look at the nightstand, where a giant diamond twinkled merrily. Her whole world was spinning and if this was some sick joke they all needed to stop it right now.

“Nance, this isn’t funny.” Chrissy whimpered, begging her friend to drop the act, but Nancy doesn’t pull back a curtain to reveal the cameras, she just looks back at her, her expression a perfect reflection of the terror Chrissy could feel creeping up from the balls of her feet and up her legs into her stomach.

“Baby.” Jason whispered, “You don’t remember yet? What happened?”

“She doesn’t remember.” Nancy snapped coldly.

Chrissy felt like they were all rushing ahead, and she was seriously falling behind. “Fiancé?”

Jason looked puzzled just for a moment before everyone filled him in. Chrissy got wheeled away for a dozen more tests, MRI, CT, EC… something, a whole bunch of acronyms.

Jason was asleep in the visitors chair when she was finally allowed to go back to bed. Nancy was nowhere to be seen.

Chrissy was worn out from all the tests. Lost and confused as to why the last year seemed to have disappeared from her memory and why there was a huge fucking rock that belonged on her finger, apparently given to her by a guy that – in her mind – she literally spoke to properly for the first time yesterday. She might have crushed on him for years, but up until last night she had been pretty sure that she hadn’t even existed to him.

She can’t help the tears that start rolling down her cheeks once she’s back in bed, and despite trying to stifle them to avoid the embarrassment of waking up the totally hot Jason, she either fails in her attempts or he’s a really light sleeper, because he’s out of his chair and hovering over her, stroking back her hair.

“Chrissy, babe, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. I don’t understand.”

He hushed and soothed, and Chrissy closed her eyes, turning her cheek into his hand. He was so warm, so nice. She’d been so excited for him to talk to her, the conversation had flowed so beautifully between them, the hours had felt like minutes and when the bar closed she hadn’t even been tired. When he’d asked when she was next out, it had felt like he was maybe asking her out, but she’d assumed that was wishful thinking. Clearly that must’ve happened, and then some. She was just glad that she had at least caught that one night’s memory. Enough to trust him and draw comfort from the hand on her cheek.

“Try to get some sleep.” He suggested, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, “I’m going to be right here, okay?”

Chrissy nodded as his thumb ghosted under her eyes to mop up her tears and let him tuck her into bed like she was a child. When he went to sit down she reached out and grabbed his hand.

“I don’t…”

He nodded in understanding, hooking his chair with one foot to pull it closer to the bed so she could still hold onto him as she drifted to sleep. But as soon as she rolled onto her side her ribs screamed at her and she gasped, rolling back onto her back with a cry.

“Are you okay?! Do you need me to get the nurse?”

“I’m fine.” Chrissy gasped. “I’m just… oooh, it just hurts on my side, that’s all.”

He dragged his hand through his hair, looking physically sick with worry.

“I thought I’d lost you. It’s been hell. You’ve been incoherent for days; I was so scared…”

“I’m here now.” Chrissy reassured him, “well, most of me, I guess.”

She reached over to the nightstand, scooping up the engagement ring and then holding it out to him.

Beaming, he slid the ring back on her finger, toying with it, and his frown slowly morphed into a small smile.

“I love seeing this ring on your finger. Seeing you wear it.” He told her, looking up from her hand and into her face.

“Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

Chrissy grinned, “About how it happened.”

“How?” Jason asked, bringing her hand to his lips, and kissing it. “I’m a lucky bastard, that’s how.”

“No, I mean…” Chrissy started, but then shook her head, “Lucky to be engaged to a girl with a bust-up face who can’t even remember dating you?”

Jason laughed, his eyes crinkling. “I’m sure I can use it to my advantage somehow.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I can remind you about all the foot rubs, and homemade dinners, the flowers. Babe, I’m the world’s greatest boyfriend.”

“Mixtapes?”

“Huh?”

“How many mixtapes have you made me?”

He paused. “Okay. I admit I haven’t ever actually made you a mixtape.”

“And I accepted your proposal?” Chrissy scoffed.

His smile softened as his thumb ghosts over the back of her hand. “I love you, Chris.”

She could tell he meant it, and even more surprisingly, she could feel it in her chest. Like it was a fact she just knew even if she couldn’t remember how it got there. But she didn’t know how to reply. She did’t know him, even if she did know him. It just…

“It’s okay.” He told her gently, “I know you don’t remember. I can just win you all over again.”

Win me? Chrissy thought, a little perturbed by his choice of words even if she admired the sentiment.

“You’re tired.” He reminded her, “Get some sleep, okay?”

When she woke up the next morning, it was to the sound of talking. It was the doctor she was supposed to know who woke her up, Dr Bingham.

Nancy was there again, and Jason.

Retrograde Amnesia

That’s what it was called. Apparently there was a high chance her memories would come back in time. But it could be hours, weeks, even months.

“So, you still don’t remember this? You don’t remember me giving it to you?” Jason asked, lifting up her hand and dazzling them all with the engagement ring.

Chrissy shook her head sadly.

“Yeah, when did that happen anyway?” Nancy demanded hotly, but Chrissy could barely focus on her best friends’ questions, too busy trying to remember. Maybe he was down on one knee? But… no. The ring means as little to her as the Doctor she apparently knows.

They were all told that the best way to kick-start her memory was for her to resume life as normal, but that wouldn’t happen until all the tests came back and Chrissy was cleared to leave.

Jason was loathe to leave her, but his phone was ringing non-stop, and he guiltily explained that he ran his own business, a gym, and had left a rather clueless friend in charge.

“I remember that. You telling me you owned a gym.” She told him with a bright smile.

That made him even more reluctant to go.

“It’s okay.” Chrissy reassured him, “No, really, you should go. Nance is here. I’ll be fine.”

Jason had nodded distractedly, still looking torn as he left.

The remainder of the tests eventually came back, Chrissy was cleared to leave after thirty-six hours of observation and more tests, and with the caveat of several follow up appointments and check ins.

Nancy brought her some clothes to go home in if she was ever released, and Chrissy was surprised to find she didn’t recognise any of them.

“How’d you sleep?” Nancy asked her.

“Like a baby.” Chrissy lied.

“Really?”

“Well, in the getting woken up every two hours way.” Chrissy joked, picking up the clothes.

“Are these yours?” Chrissy scoffed, knowing there was no chance she would ever fit in Nancy’s clothes. Although, these ones did look a little big for Nancy.

“No, they’re yours.” Nancy told her. Chrissy frowned, pulling open the waist of the jeans to view the tag, Size 10. That was impossible. Chrissy was a size 16 on a good day.

Chrissy rolled carefully onto her side, weary of her ribs, and then pushed herself up into a sitting position.

“I brought your toiletries and stuff too, I thought you might want a shower.”

Nancy said it nicely, but the little nose wrinkle told Chrissy this was less of a suggestion and more of a demand.

Chrissy hobbled to the shower. The first thing she noticed when she looked in the mirror was her face. Oh god! My face….! There was an awful bruise on her cheekbone, snaking up under her eye, another on her forehead. Both were black and purple and horrible. Then she noticed her body.

She was… thin.

Chrissy had never been thin in her life. She’d never been obese either, but she’d always been plump, even with her mom’s constant nagging and dietary suggestions. Bruises aside she looked… she looked amazing. She stared at the body in front of her, tears of gratitude rolling down her cheeks.

She showered carefully, and when she was squeaky clean, dried, and moisturised, she turned to the clothes Nancy had brought her with excitement bubbling in her very flat tummy.

They fit. Not even the tight fit of her size 16’s. They weren’t even snug. She’d gone down two cup sizes, but that didn’t even factor in here. She was staring at the body she had longed for – had dreamed of – for years.

She wondered if Jason’s gym had had anything to do with it, and the excitement bubbled over again. The night she’d met him – apparently a year ago – she’d struggled to understand why he was interested in her, why someone that beautiful, that charismatic, that charming, would’ve wanted her.

Looking at herself in the mirror now, the ring on her finger suddenly seemed a lot less confusing.

#hellcheer #hellcheer fanfic #eddie x chrissy #eddie munson x chrissy cunningham #eddissy

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queerchoicesblog · 2 years

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A Star Is Born (Chapter 1, TSHOEH)

So, folks, this is the very beginning of my Celia St. James POV TSHOEH fanfiction series. This is pretty much of an introduction so, if you like this, stay tuned for chapter 2: the rehearsals of Little Women are on their way and so is the encounter that will change Celia’s life. I don’t have to spell it out, right? 😉

Hope you guys enjoy it and, if you do, consider reblogging it: a little gesture, a huge help to spread the word!

AO3 Link

I don’t think I will ever forget the day I got a call from the Sunset Studios for the new Ariel ‘s movie.

One morning in May I was unpacking boxes in my new place, a nice apartment in a rather fancy but not too pretentious neighborhood of Los Angeles, when Viola, my help, announced me I had a producer of Sunset holding the line for me.

I mean, I was kinda expecting this to happen.

Everyone had been so impressed by my performance in Winds of War, a tear-jerking war-period drama, earlier that year: I didn’t get an accolade nor a nomination for it but the audience and the folks in the industry went wild for me. A review signed by an influential critic recited: “Who knew a teen girl could not only look plausible in the role of a courageous widow and mother but also nail the depth of it? Well, Celia St. James did it and effortlessly, stealing the scene to seasoned professionals. So, remember this name, folks, because I have a feeling it won’t fade away anytime soon: a star is born”. I still cherish a copy of it.

I would be lying if I say I wasn’t on cloud nine for my success: my heart suddenly filled with an ambition so far unknown to me. I did it at last, this was my ticket to the top, I felt it with every fiber of my being and it went all back to me: I had practiced hard with my scout, I had studied the Method and fought with my family to be an actress. I had left my life in Georgia behind for this. I jumped on a plane to Los Angeles and never looked back, no regrets, because I knew this was the life for me, no matter if I succeeded or not: I just had to try. I wanted so badly to send a copy of the magazine officialising my triumph to my parents and sisters but I refrained. They didn’t notice nor care or maybe they simply ignore it as a piece of irrelevant news involving their very disappointing daughter; only my brother Robert called briefly to congratulate.

So, I must confess that the call from the Sunset Studios didn’t exactly surprise me. If anything, it flattered me because it meant that studios were truly engaging in a bidding war for me now: if the audience love you, if critics love you, you’re a golden goose and everybody wants you. Apparently, the rampant Sunset Studios prevailed and I was about to go freelance.

I took a deep breath before picking up the phone.

“Hallo?”.

“Hi, Celia! It’s Harry Cameron, exec of Sunset Studios here. Do you have a moment for me?”.

I had seen him around town, in the hotspots where celebrities gathered. He was young but God knows if he wasn’t making a name in Hollywood. Not even thirty and already a mogul: that guy had blood and ambition flowing in his veins. So, he was the guy I needed.

“Sure, Harry. Can I call you so?”.

“You can call me however you like: you’re a rising star, Celia”.

He had read the review, I thought, and I smiled against the phone.

“First of all, let me tell you one thing” he continued. “How dare you make me cry a river in the dark of a theater? I have a reputation, you know”.

“Well, I don’t think I’m truly sorry about it, Harry, because I doubt you are calling me just to blame me for making you cry” I said, summoning all my confidence. “Am I wrong?”.

He laughed on the other side.

“I like your attitude, Celia. Scratch it, I love it and I adore you!”

That man could charm anyone, I smiled to myself.

“Well, dear Celia, I was wondering…could you do it again?”.

“Do what?”.

“Be your memorable self and make the whole world cry with just one look”.

He took a dramatic pause, which I wagered was calculated from the very start.

“But for us this time. In Little Women”.

I had heard of this project, it was the rumor of the town: the new picture of Ari Sullivan was bound to be a guarantee hit at the box office. I mean, nobody can never know for sure but with all the buzz around it even before the beginning of the shootings it was pretty clear that it would have been a big thing. And I had to be a part of it.

“Little Women, huh? Well, why not?” I pretended to act nonchalant: never make them understand how much you really want it.

“Tell me yes, Celia, then? And stop by at my office tomorrow…let’s say 11.30 am?”.

——————————-

Of course I went meeting him: I wasn’t stupid, I knew we have to seize the moment before it’s too late. Carpe diem, right?

Harry greeted me with a dashing smile and a firm handshake, guiding me into his office where Ari Sullivan was waiting for us. I had heard rumors about him, the lascivious kind of rumors, and by the way he looked at me, better stared at my chest and legs as I shifted and crossed them told me each one of it was true. I swallowed down the sour disgust I felt for that man.

Predictably, Harry did all the talking: he had always had charming ways that suited the industry marvelously. He joked, flattered and explained everything in great detail.

They wanted to cast me for Beth. I’d suspected that it was the role they would offer me: it made sense after my tearjerker role in the war drama but I had secret hopes of my own. I knew they had plenty of Sunset Studio actresses to appear in their movies by contract, audience heroines like Ruby Reilly and Joy Nathan. I knew all of this but I was hoping to have been at least considered for the role of Jo: I loved her and well, I wanted to play the same role my idol Katherine Hepburn once starred in.

It was clear, though, that the thought of giving me that part never crossed their minds as soon as they dropped the name of the lucky leading pick: Evelyn Hugo. What a fool I had been to think I could stand a chance against her! I mean, I had seen a few movies of her and in my opinion, just like Ruby and Joy, she wasn’t that good but she was the wife of Don Adler and everyone loved her. Well, the last part didn’t seem hard to get and subscribe to: maybe Evelyn lacked a little finesse in her acting skills but she was born for the camera. She was the most beautiful woman I - and surely the world too - had ever seen with her unique odd beauty, a mix of exotic and quintessentially American. Her sultry smile was a promise of Heaven. In addition to that, she had won the Audience Appreciation for Best Rising Star last year. She was on top of the world.

Of course, they would cast her for Jo. So, I put on my best professional smile and graciously accepted my defeat against a diva yet out of my league. We must pick our battles and I knew all too well that I couldn’t win against such a gorgeous Goliath.

“I’ll be your Beth, Harry, Mr. Sullivan. I can’t wait to get started”.

Harry smiled at me, falling back on his chair.

“That’s the spirit, Celia! We’re incredibly happy to have you on board, huh, Ari?”.

He simply nodded, lightening up a cigar. I hated the smell of cigar so I decided to focus on Harry’s enthusiastic speech to help me deal with it.

“With Ruby, Joy, Evelyn and now rising star Celia St. James we have a dream team at our arrow, I’d say” he was saying.

“Hope I will fit in” I commented, shy.

Harry looked at me for a moment then leaned closer over his desk.

“You will, Celia. Don’t worry about that”.

And he winked at me, as if we were old pals.

#the seven husbands of evelyn hugo #tshoeh #tshoeh fanfics #celia st james #harry cameron #wlw books

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uncouth-the-fifth · 3 years

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Happy 100 followers🥳🥳🥳

Can you write a fic w the prompt 371 with Robin and a shy shy VERY SHY s/o??🥺🥺🥺

I like that most of your fics have an of confidence to y/n but I'd rather have her extremely shy pls

371. "You have a voice and body like an angel. I'd fuck you from behind, but then I wouldn't get to see those pretty eyes," with Damian Wayne.

ugh, i never realized that before! almost all of my readers are super confident, so i should try and mix it up more. thank you for the prompt!! happy 100 🥳 some sex pollen fun for u!

After hours of blood testing, surveillance, and fear, Damian was finally released to go home with you. Poison Ivy was officially in custody. Though Damian was confident that she hadn't dosed him fatally during their latest battle, Dick and Tim had coaxed him to take the precautionary tests anyway. Ivy’s usual toxin came up, which they had dozens of cures for in the cave. Bruce let him return home after being dosed with one, but asked that you keep an eye on him - not like you wouldn't already.

You could sense how tired Damian was. The fighting had lasted through the night, so the testing had brought you both to morning. The moment you shut the door of your apartment, you touched Damian's back. "Tell me if you feel any different, okay? I'm worried about you."

"I'm immune to hundreds of varieties of poison, beloved," Damian scoffed, shoving off his coat. He planted a soft kiss on your temple. "You don't need to worry."

"...I'll do my best," you replied, wary.

You had some things to do around the house, so you asked Damian to crash in the living room instead of the bedroom to keep him in sight. The night's events had apparently rattled him, because he twisted and turned under his blanket, grunting to himself. An hour passed with this routine. Damian would sigh and struggle to fall asleep, and you'd pause your tasks to run your fingers through his sweaty hair. He was only relaxed with his head in your lap, curling his cheek into your touch and blinking slowly at you.

"Talk to me," he murmured.

"About?"

Damian closed his eyes under your hand. "Anything. I... like your voice." He hummed to himself, brows gently furrowed, "...And your hair... your eyes..." he swallowed, "...your body."

Rendered bloodless by the compliments, you couldn't help but comply with Damian's request. It was always hard for him to fall asleep, and even harder for him to sleep well, so your heart ached for him. You talked about anything you could think of. What chores you had to do this week, how little you wanted to do them - bland things, like the dishes and clothes shopping. When you got to the part about the bras you were thinking about getting, Damian perked up.

"What kind?" He cleared his throat.

"Something cute," you shrugged. "You, um, r-ripped my favorite lace one, so I'll have to find something more durable? Something that looks just as nice."

"Mmn..." Damian's voice was thick with something dark. He sat up suddenly, turned over on his hands, and faced you on his knees. One broad palm squeezed the softest part of your thigh. “I adore you in lace,” he panted, pupils huge and black as the night sky, “the way those tiny panties wrap around your hips... I-I can’t resist myself. Just thinking about you in those cute little clothes makes me want to fuck you like an animal...”

“D-Damian!” You yelped. He’d never said anything like that to you before. Stunned words popped into your mind, but his hands caressing under your waistband made it impossible to speak.

“Say my name like that again,” he hissed. Damian crawled over you like a panther, dark and sexual. One huge hand viciously pinched your jaw and squeezed it. “You have the voice, the body of an angel - I’d fuck you from behind, but then I wouldn’t get to see those enchanting eyes.”

You braced your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his nude back. It was embarrassing how wet you were at just a little praise. “Damian... t-the toxin, it could be—”

All the energy in the world seemed to surge into him. Damian’s plump mouth kissed and nuzzled your neck. “I took the antidote already. Don’t worry, my love.” The fingers playing with the edge of your pants suddenly plunged in, cupping your damp, clothed core and practically singing, “This is only a side effect...”

His warm tongue drew and sucked circles into your throat, which instantly melted into his touch. You should be trying to be reasonable, but the power of Damian’s voice washed over you like a spell, and the slow, methodical press of his fingertips to your clit sealed the enchantment over you. Damian had you captured.

“Won’t you be a good girl and help your boyfriend feel better?” Damian drawled, wetting his fingers in your cunt. “I need you, Y/N... p-please, I’m so hard for you...”

He wasn’t lying. As your dance slowly reclined deeper into the cushions, you could feel his cock hardening against your leggings. Damian pulled himself out only when he knew you were watching, and pumped himself slowly, poorly, like he couldn’t bare to do it without you. Your cheeks burned with heat. You knew from experience how good Damian’s cock felt in hand, the weight of it meant for your touch and your touch alone. You drifted your fingers around him and Damian mewled, thrusting so hard into your touch that his sweatpants fell around his legs.

“C’mere,” you relented, and Damian crashed his lips so deeply to yours that it flattened you to the couch.

He tore down your leggings so you could wrap your legs around his middle. Damian pulled your bodies flush and curved his back, giving you both room to enjoy how you jerked the other off. With a throaty moan against your tongue, Damian sawed his cock between your folds and into your fingers, wetting the fabric of your panties. A boiling wave of heat locked your legs in place. Madly, Damian rolled his thumb around your clit, his voice keening into your ear with every circle, “So fucking beautiful... So fucking good for me...”

His enthusiasm made you desperate. Spitting a foamy circle of drool into your palm, you coated Damian’s sensitive shaft and lathered him as best you could. Damian’s jittery hips did most of the work, bucking his cock into the soft, sticky tunnel of your hand. You kissed like you were fighting, biting at the other’s lips and claiming each other's mouths with wide swipes of your tongues.

If you upped your pace, Damian would meet it. When you pumped him faster, Damian snapped your panties to the side and melted his fingers inside you. That was as coherent as the touching got. Everything else was primal instinct, wanting to touch and wanting to be touched. Damian’s free hand caressed your belly, grabbed your thighs, groped your breasts through your shirt, spasming for every inch of skin it could find. His mouth was the same, wildly claiming your moans until his lungs burned.

You came together, laboring for breath and trembling from head to toe. Damian pushed your shirt over your belly and came across it with unrestrained bliss, and you squeezed around his fingers, wound up like a toy box until Damian set you free.

But just as soon as his fingers drew away from your cunt, they closed around your thighs, pushing your knees against your chest and spreading your legs for him. The toxin’s side-effects had a greater hold on him than you thought - Damian was still rock hard, his girthy, wet tip playing with your pulsing folds.

Before he filled you, Damian uttered a single low order:

“Moan for me.”

#damian wayne/you #damian wayne/reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne smut #damian wayne x reader smut #damian wayne #user uncouth

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chocolateheart · 3 years

Text

Door number 12

Title: Door Number 12

Word count: 7937 (I know, I'm sorry)

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: A noisy neighbour is bringing you a lot of emotions. What if this bubbling tension and frustration will finally find their way out?

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex (please, wrap it before you tap it), creampie, fingering, handjob, pinning to the wall, clothes tearing, biting, scratching, a lot of kissing, strong eye contact, sex noises, tension, some swearing, noisy neighbour, arguing, stealing food, property damage, I don't know, porn?

Bingo Square Filled: Neighbour AU for @spnmixedbingo

A/N: Yes, another porn. Please, don't judge me, I couldn't help it. I won't say much, that fic just sorta happened. I hope you'll like it! Enjoy babes!

A/N: As always huge huge huge THANK YOU to my dear beta, angel and Queen @winchest09 for giving this piece a look. Love you Tabbs <3 Still, mistakes are mine!

A/N: The gorgeous divider designed by incredibly talented @talesmaniac89 <3

Throwing your bag on the counter along with your keys, a deep sigh left your chest. You numbly looked around your apartment as you began to take off your jewellery. Why did this place always look like a pigsty every time you got back home? Your necklace and bracelet joined your bag when you tossed them to one side as a yawn escaped you.

This day was exhausting, to say the least. Maybe your work wasn’t that demanding but sometimes it was just tiring to the point where you wanted to cry. After shrugging your jean jacket off, your feet took you to the couch and you just collapsed down on it with a pained grunt. Your body was stiff and aching, your head was pounding from pain and as soon as you felt a pillow under it, your will to stay awake had started to fade. You knew you shouldn’t take a nap now as there was still so much left to do today, but for god's sake, it was Friday evening and you had been working for the past 5 days at top speed. An hour of rest was something you definitely deserved.

Without standing up, you lifted your hips to take off your jeans and wrapped yourself in the blanket you always kept on the couch. Relaxing your body with a deep breath, you closed your eyes, already halfway to dreamland. But as soon as you felt yourself drifting completely, a loud sound of guitar suddenly sounded in your ears, making your eyes snap open.

No, not again!

Fisting the pillow, you felt the anger growing as you knew exactly where the loud rock music was coming from; recognising the band as AC/DC. When the volume increased, you hid your head underneath the pillow, desperate to cut off your aching skull from the noise. But it didn’t work, the sound still bleeding through the cushion. It didn’t take you a minute to shoot up on straight legs and pull on your sweats while marching towards the front door.

Mumbling inappropriate words, you entered the staircase for your building and immediately went down; hearing the power of the music increasing with every step you took. You found yourself on a floor below, with your jaw and hands clenched, eyes glued to door number 12 as you approached it. Once you stood in front of it, you lifted one of your fists and hit the hard on the wood a few times, ready to murder the person on the other side. Of course he made you wait till the song ended, causing you to repeat the punching a couple of times.

When the door finally opened, you were fuming with anger, eyes shooting lightnings towards the tall man on the opposite side of the doorstep.

"I swear to god, Winchester," you hissed through gritted teeth, a loud melody almost muffling your words. "If you won't turn that down, I will physically harm you." Your threatening pulled a laugh from him which only acted as another oil drop to the fire.

"Sweetheart you can't do anything to me," he said, leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed on this broad chest. "Besides, I don't understand what your problem is." Dean shrugged as if nothing had happened, making your brows shoot up.

"You don't understand?! This music is driving me crazy!" You took a deep breath and while not breaking the strong eye contact you had with him, you started to enlighten him on what exactly was wrong. "I’ve had a terrible day, no, week actually. Everything hurts, my head is pounding and this music is shaking my walls which in turn, is not letting me sleep. So if you could be so nice and turn that off because I swear on what's holy, if I lose my goddamn mind, your name will be the first one I'm gonna mention once they ask me how I ended up in mental hospital." Words just slipped out of you in one unbreakable line and you took shuddering breath after, composing yourself.

However, the smug smirk didn’t leave your neighbour's face; he didn’t give a damn about your monologue. After you finished, he only put a hand on your shoulder and delivered his response.

"It's a Friday evening and we live in a free country. There’s no rule saying I can't listen to loud music, unless it's lights out. What's more, you're the only one who can't stand this, I don't see anyone else coming here to complain, so maybe the problem lies in you, not in me," he simply said, as he flashed you a fake, sarcastic smile and closed the door. But not before saying, "have a nice evening."

You looked up to the ceiling, asking for patience but the frustration and anger were huge. You growled, kicked Winchester's door with your socked foot and cursed, feeling pain going from your toes to the tibial bone.

On your way back to your apartment, you were mumbling out every possible, offensive name that came to your mind when you thought about that green eyed man. Your relationship had been heated ever since he moved into the building. He made your blood boil. Loud music, meetings with his friends, watching movies on full volume on his surround speakers after dark in the middle of the week, noisily cooking at midnight; even his one night stands apparently had an unfulfilled opera career.

You were having a battle with Dean, on average, twice a week. Knowing you weren’t the only one who couldn’t stand his behavior, you asked others for help, but Dean’s charm was way bigger of an opponent than you had expected. He could just use a sweet smile, say a few, flirty words with this deep voice and Ann from the end of the hall would walk on wobbly legs with stupid smile on her face for the next four days.

You couldn’t really blame her, the man was ridiculously attractive but you were looking past it. Dean was an annoying asshole and the only reason you had not yet clawed out his eyes was the fact that visiting the jail wasn’t exactly a wooing thought.

Shutting your door behind you, you leaned against it and ‘Sweet Child O’ mine’ came on. You growled once again, hit your wooden barricade with your head and looked down, trying to find calmness in your floor. Once you stopped radiating fury, knowing that the person below won't let you rest for at least two more hours, you chose the second drawer in your kitchen, searching for painkillers. If you were being made to stay up, you were gonna be productive. Swallowing two aspirin, you decided to clean the place so you could focus on college work tomorrow.

If only you could actually focus on college work.

After waking up at 8 am the next day, you opened the window on your way to the kitchen, craving coffee. It wasn’t normal for you to get up at this hour on the weekend but your finals were coming and you had way more work than you expected.

Thankfully, the weather outside was pleasant; the sun was already shining, creating morning shadows and the soft wind streamed inside your apartment, tickling your ankles as you sat at the table, eating breakfast. The smell of spring made you smile, always bringing back good memories. After the meal, you didn’t bother to change your pajamas for the actual clothes and you just took the laptop to start working on your college sheets. You were sitting with one of your legs bent, heel leaning on the chair, messy bun on your head, sipping on the second coffee while listening to the birds singing happily outside. Words were flooding out of you, making you feel certain that it wouldn’t take you long to be done with your essays. But that blissful moment was cut short when a loud rumble of a car’s engine resonated under your building, causing you to jerk in your chair and almost spill your drink.

Recognizing it straight away, you looked up, trying your best to not get angry again but as the sound of his loud engine revving l continued, you smacked the table with your palm and stood up. As you leaned on your window sill and gazed out, you spotted black, slick Chevrolet with the driver's door, trunk and hood open. Tools were scattered around the vehicle, a jean clothed leg was sticking out from the inside and you greeted your teeth, knowing who that was.

“Hey!” you yelled out, not caring if probably half of the residents could hear you. “I’m trying to study here!”

Dean peeked out and up at you, smiled and got out of the car, leaning his elbow on the hood in a nonchalant way.

“Good morning to you too,” he said and flashed you the oh-so-charming smile.

“It would be good if you didn’t interrupt it with your loud junker,” you spat back, leaning on the window frame and smiled when his face fell; he hated it when someone insulted his Baby, and you were very much aware of that. “Now, could you please lower your generic volume because I have a lot to do and you’re the last thing I want to deal with today.”

“Nobody tells you to. I’m minding my business, you go mind yours, I ain’t stopping you.” He gestured towards you with his grease covered hand.

“No, but your car is making noise that shakes all the dishes in my cabinet.”

He just shrugged and you narrowed your eyes, seeing that he didn’t care about whatever your problem was. “Then I suggest closing the window.”

After saying that, he dived inside the vehicle and seconds later you heard the strong twang of a guitar. Again. This man was very successful in making you hate rock music. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, stopping yourself from throwing a flowerpot at him; only because it was a very nice pot and you were emotionally attached to it.

“I need fresh air! I’m not gonna close the window! Turn that off!” you screamed, but he only frowned and pointed to his ear.

“Sorry sweetheart, can’t hear you!” You could see the smile dancing on his lips and you really wanted to break something on his head. “The music is too loud!”

Clenching your jaw you gave up. Another defeat, but it wasn’t the war you lost; it was just a battle and he was yet to feel your comeback. Showing him your middle finger, you closed the window and went to the bathroom, not being able to hear the soft chuckle that left him.

Maybe to an outsider, Dean’s behavior wasn’t such a big deal, but the longer he acted like that, the more annoying and tiring it was becoming. You couldn’t focus on basic activities because he was giving you a headache in various ways and for some reason, you couldn’t just talk it through with him. Every attempt at trying to get to an understanding with him, ended up with a fight.

Winchester was just a pain in the ass.

Thankfully, he vanished before noon; his car was gone and there was a blissful silence that you made the most of, and finished the majority of what you had to do.

Surrounded by papers and books, you were sitting down on your fluffy carpet, leaning back on your couch, typing away on your laptop. Glancing at your clock again, you frowned. It’s been almost 85 minutes since you ordered pizza; your stomach was rumbling, unhappy with the fact of still being empty. Finding your phone, you dialed the pizza parlor’s number once again. Standing up, you stretched your muscles and looked outside, watching the sunset sky as you waited for someone to pick up. Finally, the lady’s voice spoke to you down the line, asking you how she could help.

“Hi, I made an order from you and I still haven’t received it? It’s been over an hour,” you explained politely, scratching the back of your head.

You didn’t like situations like that; delay was understandable, but it had been way too long. However, you hated to call someone out, you never wanted to make someone’s job harder than it already was. Giving your address to the lady so she could check where your food was, you spotted the black vehicle under the building and your brows shot up. He was home and it was still quiet; it wasn’t normal.

“Miss, the system says your order was delivered and we have a confirmation of receipt.” You frowned hearing her words as what she said was impossible.

“Are you sure? There was no delivery here.”

“Yes, I’m positive. It says someone picked up the order twenty minutes ago.” Pinching your nose, you took a deep breath.

“Could you check the address precisely, please? Maybe your driver made a mistake?” you suggested being already sure someone else got your food.

“Rosenhouse Street, building 4, apartment 12,” she read and the last number made you flinch.

“Apartment 20,” you corrected her, but she denied.

“No Miss, the order was picked up by apartment 12.” And just like that the level of your anger reached three digits in a second.

“Okay, thank you so much,” you murmured and disconnected the call without a goodbye, already storming halfway across your place, getting ready to leave.

Slamming the door, you took a very well known path downstairs and you banged on number 12 as soon as you stood in front of it. Feeling the urge to punch the person who was supposed to open, you inhaled deeply, clenching your teeth. Just... keep it cool, Y/N.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” you growled the second Dean came into your view in his domestic clothes, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie.

“Whoa, what?” he tilted his head with an uncomprehending look.

“Listen,” you pointed a finger at him. “Loud noises, annoying car, your mean behavior, fine, okay. Screw it. But stealing food? That is childish. Can you go any lower?!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, sweetheart,” he said with a smile dancing on his lips. “What food?”

“My pizza,” you muttered through your teeth.

“Oh, right!” He smacked his forehead, acting like he just now understood. “Yeah, pizza was great.”

“You stole it!” you exclaimed, a little too high pitched.

“No I didn’t,” Dean stated, giving you a small, I-know-better smile.

“Yes, you did. I ordered it and you just pocketed it!” You really wanted to stamp your foot like a little girl to tick your fury.

"No sweetheart, I didn’t," he said, crossing his arms and straightening his back so he could tower over you, making you look up. "The guy came in with pizza, said he's supposed to bring it here, so I paid for it and ate it."

"Oh! Because it's normal to pay for the food you didn’t order and keep it to yourself. And stop calling me sweetheart!" You puffed out irritated, making him smirk.

"You're cute when you're angry." Your face fell and you felt your palm itching. What would he do if you slapped him?

"Dean," you warned him but he chuckled.

"No, seriously." He reached to your forehead, wanting to brush it with his finger. "You have this cute, little wrinkle in the middle-"

"Don't touch me." You smacked his hand away and pointed a warning finger straight into his face. "One more action like this and you're gonna regret it," you growled out and walked away.

"So it's threatening now, huh?!" he called after you, coming out to stand in the hall.

Before you stepped on the stairs, you turned around with such a force, that your hair flipped over one of your shoulders and you showed him your middle finger. Hearing his low laugh bouncing on the wall, you scoffed annoyed as you stomped loudly going back upstairs. You swore that if you were supposed to become a murderer one day, that this man was gonna be victim number one. This whole 'lets annoy her' process would be great fuel for you to slice that slender throat of his.

Shutting the door again, you walked into the kitchen, dived in the fridge and decided to stuff yourself with pancakes. Screw Dean and his pizza, you were not going to give him satisfaction with ordering anything else tonight.

“So, he’s a confident man,” Jo stated after you told her about Winchester’s behavior.

You came to Harvelle's to grab something for Sunday dinner; they had the most delicious menu in the whole town and no one could change your mind. You were sitting with a blonde girl at the table, outside their restaurant, sipping on some light drinks Ellen had prepared for the two of you. Ash was already working on your meal in the kitchen while Jo was taking her break so she could sit with you and listen about your neighbour under the floor. It took you way longer to describe everything and you felt kind of bad for that. You weren’t the type who whined about such things and forced friends to hear about your bullshit, but now you were desperate to get it all off your chest.

“Confident asshole,” you corrected her, “I just wish he could finally get his ass kicked, you know? I can’t live with this man! He’s an arrogant, offensive, little, annoying dickhead!” you said, crossing your arms on your chest.

After a few seconds of silence, you looked up at Jo. She was watching you, clearly trying not to smile; her lips were twitching and small dimples had already appeared. You knew her long enough to know that she was all ready to tease you about this whole situation.

“What?” you barked at her and she lifted her hands in defense.

“Nothing!” She shrugged. “Just, your relationship with him seems to have been… rough since the very beginning.”

“It is! I really wanna punch him!” Jo lifted her brows, a smile breaking on her face.

“Just punch him?” The suggestion was shining in her eyes and your shoulders fell down at the subtext.

“Jo!” she started giggling when she heard your resigned tone. “Just because I’m having a heated exchange with a hot guy doesn’t mean that I wanna fuck him!”

“Oh, so you think he’s hot?” she asked innocently, taking a sip from her glass.

“Yes, but he’s an idiot and I would never let him in my panties, come on,” you scoffed as you rolled your eyes. The last thing you would ever do was having sex with this man.

“Sure.”

And you knew Jo didn’t believe you. To be honest, if you thought about it really, really hard, you weren’t sure if you believed yourself…

The door opened and Ash came out with a smile, your food packed in a thermal box.

“There you go, girl. We do not accept any complaints,” he said, winking at you and you chuckled, taking the meal from him.

“Thanks, Ash.” He saluted you and vanished as quickly as he appeared. You glanced at your phone laying on the table and sighed seeing the time. “Okay babe, I’m gonna go. School’s calling and I bothered you enough anyway.”

“Oh stop it, you’re not bothering me, don’t be stupid,” she said smiling, and hugged you tight. “Text me when you get home.”

“Sure thing.” You winked and walked backwards, watching her disappear inside the RoadHouse.

Smiling to yourself, you turned around and crossed the street. At first your thoughts were filled with Jo who could always put you in a good mood but then they gradually transitioned into someone else.

You didn’t know if it was your overworked system or what Jo had teased you about that caused Dean to stick inside your mind, but you wanted to scream; it was like he had nested in there. Not only was he disturbing your living space, but he was now invading your mental space as well. What’s more, it wasn’t exactly hard to not think about him in a nasty way, and you hated it. The truth was that he was attractive from his fluffy hair to his toes, and more than once you had caught yourself daydreaming about his hands and mouth on you.

You couldn’t help it. The way he looked was not fair and Jo made you realise that if not for his attitude, you would have slept with him a long time ago. Thankfully, in the moments you felt weakness for him, he was doing something that pissed you off to the point where you wanted to bite his head off.

You really wanted to get even with him, you had to bounce the ball. The need to bite back was so big that you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw the paint store. The bulb in your head flickered on and a devil smile angled your lips. Maybe it was a bad idea, maybe it was childish, maybe it was crossing the line, but you had suffered enough thanks to this jerk.

Buying one can of pink chalk paint, you were muting your common sense that was currently shouting at you. As the saying goes - you only live once. He wanted a fight? You were going to fight. He started to play a strong hand? You were going to do the same. He thought playing with you like that was fun? Well, you were gonna have some fun too. Besides, he wouldn’t realise immediately that the paint would easily wash off, but seeing him panic thinking that his car had been defaced was revenge enough.

With a few last strokes of a paintbrush, you were finished. Straightening your back, you looked down at your work and smiled, satisfied with pink flowers you had drawn on the black surface. They were a nice contrast and you really liked the shape. In all honesty, it kinda burned you to paint this four wheeled beauty, but it wasn’t your fault her owner was a douchebag who deserved a lesson.

The impala was parked in her usual spot, next to the building that was mostly asleep. There were no cameras and due to the late hour, the chance of someone spotting you was small. Besides, you were just a hooded figure, no one would recognise you anyway even with the dim light from a lonely lantern. It was risky, but you were too far gone in your revenge to care. It had been done and you wished you could see Dean’s face in the morning.

Gathering your things you looked around, checking to see if there was anyone you should avoid and you got back to your apartment. After closing the door, you took off your clothes, staying only in leggings and a t-shirt, and decided to make some tea. You had this weird energy bubbling inside of you and it would be a waste to not use it on college papers. Getting comfortable on your couch you started going through materials for one of your projects.

Not expecting any visitors, you jumped slightly while hearing a rapid knocking on your door an hour later. You frowned and stood up, finishing your tea on your way to the entry. What you saw on the other side almost made you smile like an idiot. Dean was boring into you with his eyes; if looks could kill, you would surely be a beautiful corpse by now. His chest was rising and falling heavily, jaw clenched to the point his cheek was twitching and you could see the slight blush coloring on his face. He was wearing his leather jacket but was also in sweats so you assumed he was about to make a quick grocery run or something.

“What the hell?!” he growled at you before you could say a word. Ohhh, he was angry.

“What?” You shrugged innocently, ignoring the weird chill that ran down your spine after hearing the vibrations of his tone.

Dean took a deep breath, doing his best to not shout out. “I wanted to go get some beer and burgers, but guess what. Someone screwed up my car. And you know what? I think it was you.”

He pointed a finger at you, holding keys in his hand. You laughed and leaned on your doorframe, ready to confront him. Satisfaction already tickled your insides, but there was one thing that you had to admit - he was hot when he was angry.

“You really think that I have nothing better to do than mess up your car?” you asked, amused by his flaring nostrils.

"Don't you fucking dare play with me like that," he said firmly, not wanting to yell. "Do you know it's property damage? You broke a law and I can easily get you in trouble."

He was fuming with anger and you were sure that if it was possible, there would be smoke coming out of his ears. You smiled and stood your ground, finding it adorable how he thought he had anything useful against you.

"You have nothing on me. No proof that I was the one who defaced your car," you started, taking two steps to stand inches away from him. "Call the cops and I'm gonna tell them all about the nuisance, the stealing, manipulation and manifestations of aggression all coming from you.”

You stared straight into his eyes, a smart smile not leaving you even for a second; feeling confident in your words. Maybe he had a point, but you weren’t empty handed. You could get punished for what you did and so could he.

“What is your problem, Y/N?!” he asked, pinching his nose, clearly irritated with you. “You keep whining, making problems out of nothing and now painting my damn car?”

“You’re not letting me live in peace!” you raised your voice. “Your loud music, loud car, loud tv, loud you in general! I can’t sleep, I can’t study, I can’t do anything because you’re always there to disturb me!”

“Then leave!” he suggested, raising his tone as well. You were taken aback; lifting your brows you blinked a few times. Was he joking?

“Leave?! Are you kidding me now?! This is my home and just a friendly reminder, I was in here first so maybe you should back off!”

“But you’re the only one having a problem with me!” he yelled, spreading his arms, highlighting the obviousness of his argument.

“Because you’re a manipulative ass! You use your charm, this fucking smile, your shining eyes, and nice language, and the whole building is yours! Even Ian from the 4th floor and he doesn't even like people!”

“Ian is a cool guy!”

“Good!”

You took a breath and opened your mouth to say something more but no words came out. Again, you were convinced that there was no way to come to an agreement with this guy. Further arguments were pointless. Looking at him you shook your head and brushed your hair to the back. The soft smile and look you gave him next, made him frown a little.

“You know what? Fuck you,” you said simply and went to close the door, but his retort didn’t let you.

“You wish.”

Freezing, you locked your eyes with his and in a split second, something shifted in the air. The atmosphere got thick and the tension you had been building for months, now came into play, kinda taking you both by surprise. Dean felt it too, you could see his expression changing. He was trying to read you, trying to understand what was buzzing between you. A part of you wanted to explain it, to show him that you already knew it was sexual tension saying ‘hi’, but as soon as you realised that, you swallowed and forced your rational mask back on.

Shaking off the urge to take steps towards him, you scoffed and sending him one last look, you shut the door without saying anything. Taking two deep breaths, you leaned your forehead on the wooden barricade and closed your eyes.

There was no way in hell you would give in and break. He had everyone else in his fist, but not you. The only person that didn’t fall under his spell, the only one that didn’t let your craving inside take better of you. Dean was still your enemy and a pain in the ass; it was a matter of honour and dignity to stay away.

However, soft knocking made your eyes snap open. No. Darting your head from the door you looked at it, knowing who was behind it but that didn’t even register when you pulled on the door-handle. Dean was supporting his body on his arms that he had placed on both sides of your door, blocking the way. He was looking at you intensely, his breathing quicker than moments ago.

You could see the exact second he made a decision. You knew he was going to do something he shouldn’t and yet, you let him close the gap between you and crush his mouth to yours, cupping your cheeks at the same time. The force he hit you with made you take steps backwards, encouraging him to come in and turn you around so you could unconsciously close the door. His grip was firm, long fingers digging in your neck as hot lips forced yours apart. But your stubbornness caused you to push him away, breaking the connection.

The look you exchanged was a mix of emotions; hate, passion, frustration, lust, confusion, hesitation. This was something completely new for you; needing him was unfamiliar, strange, but at the same time stronger than anything you had felt before when it came to Dean. There was this quiet voice telling you that it was already too late; you tasted it and you wanted it, obviously. The other voice was louder, trying to make you aware of how messed up it's gonna be after, but somehow you didn’t want to listen. Not this time.

"Fuck it."

Saying that, you approached Dean and gripping him by the back of his neck, you pulled him down for a kiss. It was sloppy and deep, all teeth and tongues. He inhaled through his nose, bending down when your nails clawed at his skin. Grabbing you by the waist, he used a little pressure so you walked backwards. You didn’t expect to be pushed against the wall and a surprised gasp escaped you when your back hit it. Looking up at Dean, you noticed how his hungry eyes flickered over your figure and a cocky smirk formed on his face. You mirrored his expression and lifted your chin, so you could suck in his lower lip, biting on it softly. His response was immediate and fierce; he pressed his body to yours, pinning you to the wall completely, kissing you even deeper than before. The heat flooded you, making your cheeks burn and a sweat break.

You moaned and that seemed to spur him on because his hands started travelling all over your body. Doing the same, you aimed for his jacket, pushing it off his broad shoulders so it could land on the floor. The thought of finally discovering what was under his clothes took over your brain and you started to pull on his t-shirt, hazed and eager. But Dean grabbed your wrist and pinned it next to your head, not letting you undress him. You twisted and tugged, trying to break free, but he slid his fingers between yours and you instinctively clenched your palm.

“Don’t fight,” he breathed out, leaving your lips as he dropped to your neck, letting you take a much needed breath.

Leaning your head back you gave him the access to your throat where he licked and sucked, french-kissing your flesh. Your knees buckled a little when his hot lips closed on your pulse point, sending shivers down your spine as his stubble prickled you. Feeling his second hand sneaking under your shirt, you held your breath and jerked on the skin to skin contact. He wasn’t delicate; his long fingers were squeezing and digging, a firm touch making it all the more intense. Using your free hand you fisted his hair, pulling on it. Dean purred, nibbling on your flesh, making your eyes roll. It was like playing tennis, back and forth; you had an answer to each other's movements.

The hunger inside you was growing fast; you were getting more and more impatient and being caged by Dean only made you feel limited. So, naturally, you rebelled, trying to take control; with Dean it was always a competition. But your attempt only caused him to press his body more, his knee coming between your legs, making it harder for you to move. The thin material of your leggings was a weak protection to his touch and you whined when your sensitive area met his thigh. Fidgeting even more, you made him chuckle.

“Stop fighting,” he whispered into your ear as he pulled your earlobe between his teeth.

Growling, you turned your head and sunk your teeth into his neck, tasting sweet and salty. Dean hissed and backed away, looking down at you with a surprise in his eyes, brows slightly furrowed. You smiled and angled yourself to speak against his lips.

“Don’t act like you don’t like a fight, Winchester.”

The suggestion was clear and he seemed to understand. Your relationship was already a ticking bomb so why not have a little fun?

The challenging look you gave him was a last jolt and his mode switched. Before you could do anything, he kissed you firmly, letting go of you just to grab on the front of your shirt. Pulling with two hands Dean ripped the fabric in half, revealing your torso, making you smile a devil’s smile. He shook his head in disbelief that you were actually going along with it and grinning, he attacked your jaw. Scraping it with his teeth first, then kissing and going down passed your neck, to your collarbone. Bending his knees so he could reach lower and lower, he proceeded to shrug the destroyed clothing off you and focus on your breasts. Placing sloppy kisses on the curves, Dean moved his hands on your back and unclasped your bra. As soon as it was gone, he sucked in one of your nipples, causing you to arch your chest. Pulling his hair, you grabbed the back of his head, letting him know you enjoyed his work.

Every time his lips touched you, they left burning spots and you could feel yourself getting wetter. Not holding back anymore, you started to roll your hips, seeking the friction his leg could give you. Still playing with your boobs, he caught your hips and added the power to your moves, dragging a moan from you. Glancing down, you spotted the bulge in his sweatpants and realised he was still wearing too much clothes.

“Take that fucking shirt off,” you panted out, grabbing on the piece of clothing on his back.

This time he allowed you to do what you needed, lifting his arms to make your task easier and the second his chest was bare, you used your nails to leave red lines, making him grimace from pain before he kissed you. Caressing his newly exposed body, you felt firm muscles of his strong arms flexing. He wasn’t a gym type of guy, he was soft in some places but firm and strong in general, and that turned you on to the point your stomach flipped.

Suddenly, he pushed on your hips until your butt touched the wall behind you and pulled away from you, straightening himself. You looked at each other, panting and flinching in anticipation. Keeping the eye contact, Dean cupped your face, brushing his thumb over your swollen lips and slowly slid his hands down your body. You swallowed hard when he hooked his fingers behind your waistband and pulled your leggings down, crouching in front of you.

With a thumping heart you looked down at him, meeting his dark eyes watching you as he kissed your knee, your thigh, your inner thigh; his hands travelling up your legs, leaving goosebumps. You shivered when his hot breath hit your still clothed core. He placed a kiss on your damp panties, making your pussy clench and stopped. Leaning his forehead on your lower stomach, he tried to remain self-control, breathing strongly to calm himself down... and he failed. This whole situation was too much and he had wanted it for way too long to stop now.

Shooting up, he claimed your lips, driving his fingers inside your briefs at the same time. His digits went through your folds, gathering slick and found your clit, making you gasp into his mouth.

“Yeah? Right here?” he whispered and you sucked the air in through your mouth when he drew a circle, pressing harshly on your little nub.

Feeling him smiling, you clung to his neck, keeping him close when he started to make circles on your button. Moaning laughs escaped you, mixed with short breaths as you felt fire filling your veins, tickling sparks running from your clit to every nook of your system. For a moment you lost yourself in the feeling, but your brain woke up when he nudged you, rubbing his dick on your leg.

Opening your eyes, you locked them with his, tracing your palm down his chest and stomach. Somehow, you managed to turn you both around so he was by the wall. You didn’t care about teasing him through his pants so you pushed your hand inside and grabbed his hard shaft. Dean jerked and choked on his breath; the whole foreplay made him ridiculously sensitive.

You smiled satisfied and began to pump him, making his head fall back on the wall. His exposed neck was shining with sweat, throat moving as he swallowed hard. Your biting kink was begging for you to bite him, but the view was too good to not watch. His breathing quickened along with your strokes, his jaw flexing when he opened his mouth to chug. A thick vein popped out on the side of his neck, a guttural whine coming from him when you rubbed your thumb on his tip. Finally, you gave in and closed your lips on his jaw, light stubble pricking your lips. Dean turned his head and palming yours he brought you in for a kiss but you broke it fast, having enough.

"Come on," you said, taking his hand and leading him to your bedroom.

Not being able to stay away from each other, you stumbled towards the room, kissing and laughing, getting rid of the rest of the clothes on your way. Hitting the bed you let yourself fall on it, pulling Dean behind you. He hovered above you, using his tongue to play with your nipples as you both climbed up to the headboard. Adjusting the pillows beneath you, you felt his body pressing down, arms sneaking under yours as he kissed you deeply. Rolling his hips, he drove his cock between your folds, poking your clit and you automatically lifted your lower body up on your heels, feeling the electricity running through you. Dean bit down on your lip and pulled on it hard with his teeth, smiling when you hissed.

Without thinking much you just reached between your bodies and guided his cock to your entrance, making him freeze. The look he gave you was a mashup of a question and disbelief, and all it took was your evil smirk. You felt him fisting the sheets under you and with one, mild thrust he slid inside of you. Arching your back you inhaled, digging your fingers into his shoulders. He was stretching you; your walls fluttered around him when he bottomed out, making the two of you give silent moans, your voices stuck in your throats from intensity.

Watching you, he began to move, making you both more and more comfortable with the feeling. Gradually, his pace increased and so did the noises. Your breathy moans and growls filled the room, mixing with the sound of skin slapping on skin as Dean's hips waved between your thighs, faster and faster. New layers of sweat covered your bodies as the temperature increased; you felt the omnipresent, pleasurable burning.

Dean kept the rhythm, only stopping for just for a moment to kiss you. Not letting the opportunity pass, you pushed on him and flipped over so you were on top. Looking at you with a smirk, he palmed your asscheeks as you sinked down on him, continuing the activity.

The passion and sensuality made your head spin; Dean’s lustful eyes devouring you alive weren’t helping. You dragged your nails on his flesh again, making him hiss between the sounds. It wasn’t easy to breathe, to think or control yourself; your body started working by itself, speeding up, making you bounce on him while leaning your hands on his chest for support. Dean couldn’t decide where to touch, what part of you he should grab next; his hands were everywhere. Wrapping his fingers around the back of your neck he sat up, changing the angle and gave you this eye-rolling kiss. This asshole knew what he was doing.

A new position allowed you to only roll your hips and you laid back, grabbing Dean’s ankle to make your moves more fluent. He took a handful of your ass, helping you, watching himself sliding in and out of you, growling in pleasure. Tangled together you moved in sync, matching the other’s moves, grinding to empower the sensation. Feeling the coil tightening in your stomach, your head hung back and you exhaled, wailing quietly. A hand flattened on your back and Dean violently pulled you up, pressing your forehead to his. With closed eyes, panting against each other's mouth you chased both of your deliriums. Your pussy fluttered, your nails dug into his neck as you clasped it; the feeling started to overwhelm. The way Dean was moaning and clinging to you made it clear that he felt the same.

Your strength was fading and you found yourself slowing down. Dean’s attempts to continue were in vain as he was becoming weak too, exhaustion and his upcoming release taking over him.

“Y/N,” he warned you and you opened your eyes, looking at him when he reached between you. “I’m gonna-” you kissed him, cutting him off, tugging on his lip with your teeth.

“Stay inside,” you whispered, watching the surprise flash through his features.

The serious, assuring look on your face made his eyes roll back and the noise he made, clamped your stomach. Using your last strands of your power, you sped up, Dean joining you by hitting the right spot inside you. His fingers found your clit again, rubbing on it fast and you moaned loudly, feeling your muscles tightening.

A few more strokes, a few more moves and the crushing wave of pleasure hit you; your inner walls pulsated, squeezing Dean’s cock as you grabbed firmly on his neck, holding on for dear life. His thrusts went more erratic but also were more powerful; he was pounding inside you slow but hard, putting his forehead between your breasts. You were shaking and his breath fanning over your tummy only added more goosebumps.

Then you felt his arms wrapping around you and he hugged you tight. Pulling you close, Dean thrusted for the last time and with a low, throaty groan he stilled; his cock throbbing inside you, allowing you to milk him as you were still coming. The two of you were shivering, entwined in each other, panting and sweaty. Your heart was hammering and you could feel Dean’s galloping as well.

After calming down a bit, he let go of you and fell back on the bed, hitting the pillows with a sigh. Licking your lips, you looked down at him and smiled, seeing his eyes sparkling with joy and bliss. He laughed, caressing your thighs and then pulled you down for a kiss. It was sweet and soft, without tongue, just lips brushing yours; completely different then those earlier.

Oh, so he could be gentle too.

Cupping his face, you pecked his mouth a few times and then rolled off of him, standing up to make a quick run to your bathroom to clean yourself, leaving the door open.

"Hey!" you heard him yelling not even two minutes later, after you splashed your face with cold water. "Is it weird that I wanna cuddle?!"

You smiled on his words, shaking your head. Asshole also appeared to be a softie cuddler. Can this evening be any weirder?

"Yes!" you yelled back, laughing as you put down the cloth you were using to dry yourself.

"Cool!" he announced and then changed his tone, "I don't care."

Chuckling, you turned the light off on your way out and grabbed a random, oversized t-shirt from your drawer to put it on, letting it slip from one of your shoulders. Dean was making himself comfy in your bed, watching you carefully with his arm under his head and a stupid grin on his face.

"What?" you asked as you climbed on the bed, joining him under the covers.

"Nothing," he shrugged and shifted so you could fit in, resting your head on his chest.

Throwing your arm over his middle, you hugged him as his fingers came to trace the skin on your shoulder. A comfortable silence fell over you as you cuddled, enjoying the warmth, but you knew his mind was running, just like yours.

You didn’t like this tendency of yours to overthink, but the current situation was not only unexpected but also confusing. What now? Lovers? Relationship? Friends with benefits? Enemies with benefits? Because, you had to stay honest, if he did something that would piss you off, no matter how good he was in bed, you would still punch his perfect nose.

"I'm sorry." His words surprised you, detaching you from your thoughts. "For being a noisy neighbour."

You could hear the genuine guilt in his voice and that immediately made you feel like a bitch, so you said the first thing that came to your mind.

"I'm sorry for screwing up your car," you mumbled and quickly regretted it.

"Ha! So it was you!" His victory voice made your eyes roll and you poked his side, annoyed by the fact he dragged a confession from you so easily.

"But if it makes you feel any better, the paint is made of chalk so it’ll easily wash off," you said, unable to help the silly smile that spread across your face when you saw the relieved but shocked expression that he wore.

“Well played,” he chuckled, the sound rumbling under your ear which you found oddly comforting. So you snuggled more, melting into the intimacy.

You had to look the truth straight into the eye; maybe he did infuriate you like no other but there was something else. A pull, an urge to blow off the constant steam forming between you. You wanted him and something was telling you that from now on you won't be knocking on door number 12 just to fuss about loud music.

And once Jo finds out, you wouldn’t hear the end of it.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it :) Feel free to leave some feedback. ASKs and DMs are open, don’t be afraid to message me. Every word from you is gold <3

Tag list is open! :)

If something is not working, you weren’t on the tag list even if you wanted to, you can’t send an ask or you didn’t receive the notification about me tagging you in any of my fics, please contact me in DM’s.

Tag list: @deanwanddamons @jay-and-dean @katehuntington @winchest09 @talesmaniac89 @roonyxx @bunkerconfessions @akshi8278 @snffbeebee @lady-pswrld @rvgrsbrns @polina-93 @teresa-67 @alwayskeepfightingsweetheart @mrspeacem1nusone @flamencodiva @cutiecowgirl @waywardbaby @flashxspn @lyarr24

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brushstrokesapocalyptic · 3 years

Text

it’s time for the “overanalyzing one-off lines” show!

so the very first thing magnus says when he sees pit in chapter 2 of kid icarus: uprising is as follows:

“Well, I didn’t expect to see an angel here. Hope this doesn’t mean I’ve kicked the bucket.”

now, i’m not sure if you’re aware, but that’s a really weird thing for someone to say, and it’s even more weird that no one comments on it. pit and palutena go on talking about unrelated things, as if that’s a totally normal and expected thing for magnus to say.

now, if you’re like me, you probably also didn’t really react to this line the first few times you saw it. it’s the second chapter, kiu has a lot of slightly-odd lines which turn out to be foreshadowing. me, personally? my first thought was “oh, i guess angels are probably associated with escorting the dead to the afterlife,“ and then i moved on.

they’re not, though. that’s what reapers do. and there’s no way humans have these two races mixed up. just fucking look at them.

do they look anything alike to you??? no. they don’t. which raises the question of why, exactly, magnus said that.

now, we don’t know a lot about angels as a whole. pit (and by extension dark pit) is emphatically not the gold standard of angeldom. we can assume he looks fairly ordinary for an angel, seeing as no one has trouble identifying him as such. beyond that, though, a lot of what we know about angels comes from what pit isn’t. for starters, he can’t fly. and there’s something else, too, but i’ll get to that later.

before that, though, i’m gonna go through the various unsubstantiated comments made by people with a dubious level of authority on the subject. (incidentally, i sourced these screenshots from the wiki— much more convenient than trying to dig through youtube for every single random conversation.)

without any further ado! let’s get into it!

Angels as Messengers

Gaol: Aw, Palutena’s little messenger boy. And Magnus, it’s always a pleasure. (src)

in the specific context of overanalyzing magnus’s first line, this is an important sentence to pick out. magnus and gaol are both humans, both with presumably a fairly similar history as mercenaries up until gaol got stuffed in a suit of armor. but while magnus makes a weird comment about death, gaol calls pit a messenger.

and pit agrees with her!

Viridi: I wish I had an angel to do my bidding. It’s like having an intern.

Pit: I’m not an intern. I’m a messenger of the gods!

Viridi: Poor Pit. Don't you know that the definition of angel is "errand spirit"? (src)

this particular conversation is the most insight we get into angels as a whole, i think. viridi thinks of angels as like divine interns, there to do little tasks for gods, and palutena doesn’t exactly disagree with her. pit says they’re specifically messengers, which lines up with biblical mythology. i could see the traditional role of angels in the world of KI being exactly that, showing up to tell the humans what the gods have to say because the gods themselves are too busy being petty jerks to do it themselves.

The Angel’s Code of Conduct

Magnus: You go in fully dressed? Don't you at least want to change into a...swimming tunic or something?

Pit: Oh, no no no! The angel's code of conduct says that we must always be ready for duty.

Magnus: I guess you wouldn't be an angel if you didn't do things by the book. (src)

Pit: Hey! You know the angel's code of conduct! I need to be prepared at all times! (src)

another random little thing is the angel’s code of conduct. without a larger sample size, we can’t know if it’s a real thing or just an excuse to save on laundry, but apparently it’s against the rules to not be on call at all times. in pit’s case, the duty he has to be ready for is doing palutena’s dirty work, but it can easily mean just about anything— including, of course, being a messenger.

No Warrior

Chariot Master: But you are no warrior, angel. Tell me, why do you fight?

Pit: I fight for Lady Palutena. And I fight for the people under her protection!

Chariot Master: That's not reason enough for an angel. (src)

remember how i said there was something else weird about pit? the chariot master seems to think angels aren’t very prone to battle— or perhaps even that they’re actively opposed to it. this lines up well with the idea that they’re supposed to be messengers, peaceful go-betweens for gods and mortals. this does not line up well with pit, the adorable weapon of mass destruction.

and it also does absolutely nothing to explain the question driving the whole existence of this post.

you know what does kinda lean towards an explanation?

No Other Angels

Pit: Do all gods have their own angels, like you have me?

Palutena: No, I don't think that's necessarily the case. (src)

i said before that the Intern Pit conversation had the most illuminating information on angels. this is what i was actually referring to. on its own, it’s pretty innocuous, but it’s just as weird as the magnus line. shouldn’t pit know about other angels, seeing as he is one himself? but he doesn’t know if there are other angels.

the only angels we ever see are him and his clone. no one ever directly references the existence of other angels, they only make general statements about what angels as a whole are like— statements which clearly don’t apply to pit, meaning they’re not just extrapolating based on the one angel that definitely does exist.

the one time someone does comment on the hypothetical existence of other angels, palutena gives a vague answer to the tune of “no,” the topic is changed, and no one brings it up again.

let’s go over everything i’ve established about angels up to this point. they can fly, they’re peaceful messengers of the gods, and pit is the only one that seems to exist as of the start of KIU.

it should be pretty obvious at this point what answer i’m dancing around, if it wasn’t obvious from the start. pit is the only angel around because all the other ones are dead. the reason why magnus said what he did is that his thought process went something like this:

See an angel.

Think “Aren’t angels extinct? Is that a ghost? Am I a ghost? I sure hope not.“

Make a quip about that.

Move on with his life, because he isn’t dead and evidently neither is this guy.

i’m not gonna pretend i went into this post with the intent of any other conclusion to that mystery. anyone who’s bothered glancing over a plot summary for the original kid icarus can draw that conclusion. it’s certainly what i did, reinforced by fics by people who had the same thought!

the truth, however, is that this was all a trick to get you to read my analysis of the theoretical nature of angels as a race. now that you’re invested, i’m going to dramatically throw aside my cape and reveal my TRUE FORM: telling people that fandom consensus is wrong, and my ideas are cooler and better than everyone else’s and you should all throw roses at my feet and bow before your king.

(or just, y’know, take it as the subjective analysis that it is. whatever floats your boat.)

Hot Takes

the original kid icarus does not actually tell you about angels going extinct. here’s the wiki article with the full text of the backstory, just for convenience, so you know what i’m on about for the rest of this post.

so, the part of the story that i think gets misinterpreted is this part about palutena’s army.

Medusa led a surprise attack on Palutena's army which could barely fend off the attack. Palutena's army suffered major losses and was heavily defeated in the final battle.

specifically, i think a lot of people interpret said army as having been made up at least partly of angels. sure, in the actual game it consists entirely of centurions, but you have to take old NES games with a grain of salt. i know i don’t buy for a second that pit was part of palutena’s guard before the original game (he was just too goddamn young), there’s nothing wrong with reinterpreting things.

recall everything i established about angels already, though. this is the hot official lore, from the game everyone knows and loves. angels are messengers, and if the chariot master is to be believed, never warriors. pit is an outlier. palutena’s army consists of centurions, not angels. if medusa wiped them out, it wasn’t because they were fighting for palutena.

(and honestly, i don’t think angels are necessarily associated with palutena exclusively. sure, she’s got the wing imagery, and she’s got the one known surviving angel working for her, at least up until pittoo is born. but angels are messengers of the gods, not messengers of palutena. again, pit is an outlier.)

which all brings us to the real question of this post.

what the FUCK happened to all the other angels? why is there only pit? why does magnus act surprised to see a messenger of the gods, and make a quip about being dead, if not because angels are otherwise extinct?! WHO KILLED THEM, AND WHY?!

thus concludes the “over analyzing one-off lines“ show. see you next, uh, maybe at some point if i feel like it!

(also another thought i had but couldn’t find room to fit it in properly: the gods don’t really act like angels are all extinct, but i feel like that can be explained through the sheer scale of a god’s lifespan. if we assume they were wiped out sometime around the original kid icarus (even if not as palutena’s army) then that’s a whole twenty-five years. that’s a long time for us humans, but for a god, that might as well be last tuesday. “yeah, i know what angels are like. sure wish i could have one. too bad palutena’s got a monopoly on the one single angel that medusa didn’t manage to wreck.”)

#kid icarus #kid icarus uprising #the things i think of at five am #i am just yelling and spewing thoughts and theories and headcanons #if anyone has their own thoughts to add go right ahead i am dying to know whether or not i'm actually breaking new ground with all this #or if there's some vital lore i missed #or anything like that #i am OPEN for CONVERSATION

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thisknightisbi · 3 years

Text

Are You Happy? (Save Them Some Pie)

HAPPY 42ND BIRTHDAY, DEAN!! this is my gift to him for being my comfort person that i would hug on sight if given the chance 💗 love you dude, may you indulge in copious amounts of pie. ~ 1.5k words.

also dedicated to marlo ( @heller-jensen ), jace ( @thiscastielhasflown ) and dee ( @castee-yel ) thanks for bein real ones <3

[READ ON AO3]

The day had already started out weird enough.

Dean had woken up drenched in sweat, mind racing with the last lingering thoughts of a nightmare. A vamp nest that he and Sam had been hunting, Dean dying in the most ludicrous way possible, and driving Baby down a long road for an indiscriminate amount of time in a supposed heaven that his father (his father) also co-habited. Needless to say, the dream had come out of nowhere, but it was easy enough to forget once the smell of bacon made its way into his room.

Breakfast was hardy and quick, with enough coffee to fuel him for the rest of the day as he skimmed the internet for a possible case. He had the itch, but apparently, looking around at the three sleepy faces around him at the table, no one else did.

He packed up anyway, preparing for what would likely be an easy salt-n-burn; he’d be gone for only a few hours, tops. On his way out, Cas stops him before he can scale the stairs, arm gripping his shoulder tightly. There’s a memory, briefly—the same hand, the same shoulder. Blood.

Dean looks down at it. Back at Cas.

“…Yeah?”

After a moment, Cas lets go. He steps back half an inch as if he had forgotten himself. “Just…be careful.”

Dean nods, moving to leave again, taking the awkwardness as both a Cas thing and a morning thing and content to leave it at that.

“And,” Cas says. Dean turns back.

“Come home.”

Dean picks up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Dean, hey! It’s, uh. It’s me. Krissy?”

Dean feels himself begin to smile, mindful of the road ahead of him. He balances his phone on his thigh while he drives.

“Hey, kid! Long time no call. How are you? Everything okay?”

The case had been as easy as Dean had suspected, but he had that familiar muscle ache and heaviness to his eyes that solo cases usually gave him.

Besides that, he was getting a little confused about all of the calls he’d been getting today. Before Krissy, it had been Garth, and before that, Claire and Jody and…

“Uh, yeah, dude, everything’s good. Um. How are you? How’s Sam and that angel of yours?”

Dean swallows to keep from choking, or potentially crashing the car.

“They’re good. Yeah…good.” Alive, he wants to say, back from the dead, probably in the DeanCave watching Scooby Doo without him. “Sorry, Krissy, ah,” he steps off the break to make a left, “I’m actually on my way home right now. Was there something I could help you with?”

There’s a pause, and Dean chances a glance at his phone to see if the call had dropped off. It hadn’t.

“Krissy?”

“I,” she huffs in what sounds like a laugh, “Nothing, Dean. You get home safe, okay?”

“Sure thing.”

“And hey,” Krissy says, before he can say his goodbyes, “Uh, make sure you save some pie for everybody else.”

Dean’s eyebrows furrow a bit, but he laughs. “I will. Take care of yourself.”

“Bye, Dean.”

“Ba-bye.”

Dean’s still mulling over the pie comment when he nearly falls down the stairs, squinting into the darkness of the Bunker.

“What the hell?” he asks, voice hoarse around the high note. “Guys?”

When there’s no immediate answer, Dean’s instincts kick in. He pulls out his gun and gently drops his bag, waiting a moment for his eyes to adjust so he can try for the stairs.

Before he can, though, the lights kick back on. His gaze locks onto the scene below, and Dean slowly lowers his gun.

“Happy birthday!” Jack says, the sound of a party horn whining shortly after. Beside him, Cas pulls the string of a party popper, and he jerks as bits of confetti fall around him and into his hair.

Skeptically, Dean starts descending down the stairs.

“You…this…” he manages.

“It’s your birthday, dumbass,” Sam says, swooping forward to slap a party hat on Dean’s head as soon as he’s made the landing. He smiles.

“Oh…kay.” Around them, the Bunker looks pretty normal. The only difference is the array of pies on one of the library tables, next to what looks like home made rice krispie treats, and a couple of birthday-themed plates and napkins. That, and the confetti from Cas’ party popper that litters the floor. “Are you sure?”

Cas frowns at Sam. “Sam was certain. I can’t imagine he’d get the day wrong, but he has had quite severe brain trauma over the years. Perhaps…” Cas reaches out to Sam’s head, probably intent on searching his brain for said trauma, or for the date of Dean’s actual birthday. Sam swats his hand away.

“Hey, no. My trauma is fine. Dean,” Sam redirects his attention to him, “It’s today. Did you really forget?”

Dean shrugs, trying to piece the day together from the beginning. Shitty dream, good breakfast, the three of them weirdly insisting on staying at the Bunker…the calls. Save some pie for everybody else.

He laughs. “So that’s what she meant.”

“That’s what who meant?” Jack asks. He’s wearing a party hat, too, with ridiculous stripes of blue and pink and purple patterned onto it. It matches the one currently strapped to Dean’s own. He shakes his head.

“You’re telling me all of you knew? This whole time? And…and…” He looks around again, pointing vaguely at the table and the confetti. “You put this all together for me?”

Sam shoves his arm playfully. “Course we did. Now quit pouting and come eat some pie.”

Sam is fast asleep, sprawled out on the couch hours later with one of his hands brushing the floor. Dean thinks he spots drool on the pillow underneath him.

Cas has been quiet next to Dean, at least since Jack had disappeared into the kitchen an hour ago and hadn’t come back, thoughtfully tracing the lip of his beer bottle with his finger.

“Something on your mind?” Dean asks, because he wants to know.

Cas continues unbothered. Scooby Doo reruns play in the background. Dean almost repeats the question, but Cas eventually lifts his gaze to stare at him.

“Are you happy?”

Dean presses his mouth shut. Licks his lips. He takes just as long to answer.

“You know what,” he smiles. “I think I am.”

Cas smiles back at him, soft and genuine. The skin around his eyes crinkling tells more than the gentle upturn of his mouth.

Dean swallows, nervously putting his beer down and turning it a few times until his fingers are wet with the condensation.

“What, uh. What about you?” He swallows again. “You happy?”

What he really wants to ask, though, is if they were good. If, after recent events, they were still the same. If Cas was still fine with “just being.”

He’s quiet again. Dean thinks he deserves that, and tries to pay attention to the TV, but the voice in his head is too loud. Cas has to tap his knee to get his attention again.

“Hm?”

“I was saying,” he moves his hand back, “that I’m sorry I didn’t get you a gift.”

Dean stares at him. “What are you talking about?”

Cas looks confused, like he’s about to repeat what he just said. Dean stops him short with a wave of his hand.

“Dude, you just got back from the dead, alright? That’s—that’s gift enough to last me a lifetime. Don’t worry about a gift.”

Cas frowns, and Dean rolls his eyes. It’s another few moments of tense silence, until Dean breaks it, his heart pounding in his chest.

“But, uh,” he says, “I might have a gift for you.”

“Dean, we don’t share a birthday. It’s not customary to gift me something, especially when I haven’t given you—“

“Cas,” he groans, officially putting his beer aside and facing him. Cas’ features are lit up with the colors of the TV. Dean reaches a hand up to pluck confetti from his hair, a green piece that he’d been eyeing all night. Hesitating, he lets his hand fall to Cas’ face, smoothing over his cheek and jaw. The TV paints his cheekbone purple. Dean brushes his thumb over it. “Just...shut up and let me do this.”

Cas tilts his head, eyebrows furrowed in that way of his, and Dean thinks he looks perfect. When he dips forward and presses their lips together, it’s perfect, perfect, perfect. He’s warm, his face is burning, eyes almost watering when he pulls away.

Dean lets his forehead rest on Cas’, heartbeat still crazy. He closes his eyes. “We can have it, Cas. This. We can have this.”

Cas takes Dean’s face in his hands, lifts it a little to bring them face to face again, so that he’s looking into Dean’s eyes.

“I’d like that, Dean,” he says, and his eyes are wet, too. Happy, Dean thinks.

“Your gift to me?” Dean manages, smile wobbly. He’s teasing, trying to bring down the weight of this without getting rid of all of it. He likes this type of adrenaline rush, different from any hunt he’s been on. Better.

Cas smiles. “I think technically it was you that gifted me, but, yes. My gift to you, if you’ll take it.”

“Gladly,” Dean says.

Cas hums back, brushing his fingers through the hair at the nape of Dean’s neck. “Happy birthday, Dean.” He leaves a kiss on his forehead.

Happy.

Dean thinks, for the first time, as he pulls more confetti from Cas’ hair, that it actually is.

—

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thewitchandtheassassin · 3 years

Text

What Would An Angel Say, The Devil Wants to Know Part Four (Lena Luthor x Reader)

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

Summary: Why can’t you learn to control your emotions?

Words: 1576

Warnings: Language, angst, talks of violence.

Taglist: @natasharomanoffswife @natasha-danvers @aaron-despair @username23345 @xjiasx @nowthisisliving27 @higherfurther-romanova @summergeezburr @marvels-writings @onlyafewfindtheway @captain-josslett @hayleyokami @aznblossom

A/N: So I did a thing. And here we are.

-X-

Planning a demise wasn't terribly time consuming when someone like Lockwood was helping. Dastardly and vile, his ideas were straight to the point as you discussed your options. While you couldn't outright end the human's life with your own hands, he was quick to point out the most effective options that even a great angel like Lena couldn't stop. Cars were too uncertain and, while the elevator had been a good touch, something like that was too preventable.

"You need quick. Abrupt. No possible room for survival," Ben advised, sunglasses obscuring his face despite having no need for them as he eyed the blonde strolling briskly past you, none the wiser of your existences.

"True, but we have to be smart," you added, glancing around in search of Lena's tell: her "heavenly" glimmer.

"Yes, yes, I know. Your little angel is cunning but I think you give her too much credit," Ben replied, his eyes undoubtedly rolling as he sneered at the humans walking along.

Snorting, you jabbed your dagger into his side, ignoring his hiss of pain or the way he swatted at your hand. "No, I'm just not arrogant enough to underestimate her."

Your eyes strayed back to Kara as she slipped back into her office building and then - only then - did you seem the shine of the angel that often haunted your thoughts. The cretins of the earth couldn't see her but you could, her dark locks fluttering in the wind as she gazed back at you pleadingly.

Pieces of you hated her. Truly. Deeply. You would bear marks for the rest of eternity because of her.

But in the same token, you couldn't deny that your memories with her often left your stomach twisted in knots as you reminisced over the smile that made your heart ache. It hurt, remembering how things had once been. Before you were forced to fight with her; fight for your life.

You could see Lena's expression shift the moment it dawned on her who was standing beside you. The way her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed, defiantly glaring at the smug demon beside you.

"Uh oh. I think your little angel recognizes me," Ben cackled, fingers curled into a taunting wave.

Snarling your lip, you growled, "She's not my angel, you ass. Now shut up before I cut your fucking tongue out."

Ben clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Testy, testy, (Y/N). Such a killjoy."

Cutting your eyes at him, your grip tightened on your dagger. "Shut. The. Fuck. Up."

You glanced back over to the building, but Lena was nowhere to be seen.

-X-

Querl studied his ward curiously, occasionally reading whatever Nia was writing though his stare always returned to the woman he was sent to protect. She was so entrancing and for once in his existence, Querl wished to be human again. If only for a day.

So enthralled by Nia, he didn't notice Lena's presence until her voice startled him off the desk he'd been perched on.

"Gods, Lena, you scared me!" he yelped, clutching his chest as he stared at the openly bothered woman.

"Maybe if you had been paying attention to your surroundings and not gawking, you would've noticed me," Lena scolded, though her words held no real bite to them.

"You seem troubled." Querl's brows furrowed together worriedly. "Are you okay?"

Shaking her head, Lena snagged her bottom lip between her teeth before sighing. "No. Complications have arisen and I'm unsure of what's going to happen."

"What complications?"

Peering over at Kara's messy desk, her nostrils flared slightly. "It appears (Y/N) has been given a helper. Lockwood."

Inhaling sharply, Querl's eyes flitted between Nia and Kara. "What should we do?"

"Be watchful. And careful. (Y/N) might have once been a friend but with Lockwood here, we must be vigilant or they'll both be dead before we can stop it."

It was difficult, accepting your new role in her life. Mortal enemies instead of teasing rivals you'd once been. Friends no longer, especially if you were willing to work with him.

A monster in every sense of the word.

"If she's working with him, you need to be careful. This seems way more personal than just an assignment," Querl advised sagely. "I want to believe it isn't but I can't imagine Ben will let this finish without trying to end you. Or having her try to kill you, to prove herself."

Your punishment had been no secret, most of the guardians far too aware of what your friendship with Lena had left you with, the bad blood thick and the scars deep.

"(Y/N) wouldn't..."

"Maybe the old (Y/N) wouldn't but now? Everything is different, Lena. You must accept that. Putting too much faith in her could cost us everything."

Swallowing dryly, the angel nodded. He was right...

She just wished he wasn't.

-X-

"We could always send a helicopter crashing into the building," Ben mused, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "If that didn't kill the human, surely the building collapsing would."

"That would kill too many others," you argued, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose. "We're supposed to be discreet. Dropping a building on a bunch of them definitely wouldn't be discreet."

Lockwood shrugged, completely unbothered by his suggestion. "The human must die. At least we'd know for sure she was dead. Plus Querl's little charge is up there. Two sad, pathetic birds. One mighty stone."

"Not a chance, Woody, pick a new idea."

Ben sneered. He hated that nickname and you knew it, only using it to get under his skin. "Fine."

Smirking at his obvious annoyance, you peered up at the sky absently, noting the darkening clouds. You couldn't remember life as a human (if you'd ever been one to begin with) but you almost wished you could if only to feel the rain on your skin. It seemed like such a peaceful experience, the water trickling over flesh, soaking into clothes instead of rolling off dark wings.

"I'm going to see if I can come up with a better plan," you jeered, heading for the building before he could reply.

Stretching your wings, you kicked off the ground and slowly maneuvered to the floor your mark resided on, eyeing the oblivious blonde through the window. You were well aware you'd be attracting unwanted attention but you couldn't stand being around Ben any longer. If you didn't get a few minutes of space, you were likely to ram your dagger into his throat and send him back to the underworld without his body.

The shift of the air was apparent and you smirked knowingly at Lena's reflection in the glass.

"Stop smirking at me," Lena demanded, arms crossed in frustration.

Snorting, you twisted to face her, brow arching in amusement. "Or what?"

"You're working with Lockwood now?" she questioned, ignoring the challenge hidden in your words. "You hate that spawn of Hell."

You shrugged nonchalantly, peering at the throngs of people below. "He's my ticket to survival."

"He's a slimy coward who wants you dead!"

"Clearly so do you!" you shouted, eyes narrowing into a venomous glare dripping with disdain. "At least he's trying to keep me alive a little longer."

"You're an idiot if you really believe that."

Rolling your eyes, you inched closer to the infuriated woman. "No, I was an idiot thinking you ever cared about me, Lena. At least Lockwood doesn't lie to my face and pretend to be my friend."

"I am your friend!" Lena screamed, the green of her irises dissolving as energy flowed through her. "I don't want you to die!"

As if sensing the tension, the sky went alight with lightning as rain began to flow, startling the humans and hurriedly soaking them to the bone. If only it could wash away the anguish and pain twisting your insides; silence the beasts banging around in your head.

"Bullshit! You pretend to be some pure, precious guardian but you're really just as manipulative and cruel as every other angel. You think that energy of yours makes you above everyone but you're no better than me! And I should've seen that instead of falling in love with some white-winged bitch!" You shoved her, hard, barely containing the want to strangle the guardian who'd ruined you.

Fury washed over you in waves, rendering you heedless of the unwitting admittance that had passed your parted lips, only the sounds of your enraged breathes ringing in your ears. A flurry of emotions crossed Lena's features but you didn't care, simply wanting to either bolt away from the angel or toss her into the sun.

Whichever was easier.

"Y-you're in love with me?" she whispered, the power draining away and leaving behind imploring emeralds that were glassy with something.

The blood drained from your face as you poured through your last words. You had never meant to say that. Because you weren't in love with her. Couldn't be. There was no love in your heart, especially for her.

"I..."

Lena's fingers twitched, the urge to reach out overwhelming as she silently begged you to stay. To help her understand.

"(Y/N)-"

Shaking your head violently, you jerked backward. "No! No, no, no. I don't - I can't - fuck!"

Red lips dipped open but you didn't stay long enough to hear what she had to stay.

Fire erupted...

And then you were gone.

#lena luthor x reader #supergirl imagine #lena luthor imagine #dc comics imagine #arrowverse imagine #lena luthor #dc imagine #supergirl #reader imagine #reader insert

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nicka-nell · 3 years

Text

Say… Who do you belong to?

○ Pairing: Ushijima Wakatoshi x reader, mention of Oikawa ○ Words: 7.675 ○ Genre: Mafia-AU, NSFW, Smut, 18+ ○ Warning: noncon! oral, force, gun play, slightly breath play, violence, slightly manipulation, daddy kink, blood, pain, rape, dark content, 18+, Minors DNI! ○ Note: All characters are grown up! This fic contains dark content! ○ This fic is part of a server collab. The masterlist can be found here

Prompt: "I wonder what he'd do if he knew you were with me right now."

Summary: You are Oikawa’s most precious treasure. His beloved wife, whom he married a few years ago and with whom he had bought a wonderful house. But what you don’t know is that Oikawa has a lot of debts with a mafia boss, who suddenly pulls you out of your wonderful life and declares you as his victory. You’re husband and wife, so his debts are also yours, which you now have to settle with Ushijima.

A little sleepy, you turn around a few times in bed. The fine silk sheets have nestled tightly around your body, flattering your contours, while the space next to you is cold and empty.

“Good morning, my precious angel.” The cheerful voice of your husband sounds as you feel the warm, soft lips of Oikawa on your shoulder blade and turn to him with a smile. “Good morning Tooru. Why are you up so early?” The moon is still bright in the sky, while the rest is adorned in darkness.

“I have to leave early today. But I’ll be back tonight, and then I’ll take good care of you.” Winking, he grins and gives you one last kiss before he walks out of your front door. You still don’t lose your smile when you look at the closed door. Because you are happy.

You have wonderful friends, a wonderful husband by your side you married a few years ago, a big house, and hopefully soon children who would make your life perfect.

With quiet music in the background, you stand in the kitchen and prepare Oikawa’s favorite food as you hear the door quietly open. First, you frown and are surprised that Oikawa is there so early, but the closer the steps are to you, the more uncomfortable the feeling in your stomach becomes.

These are not the steps of Oikawa. Besides, it’s two people you hear. Iwaizumi? No, he would always greet you loudly even before he took off his shoes.

With shaky hands and a racing heartbeat, you reach for a large kitchen knife and hide behind the door. Two tall men, one with light hair and a dark look, the other with red hair and an almost demonic appearance, stand in the room and look around.

“Does this guy have a wife?” Ask one of the two indifferently as he points to the unfinished food. “Looks like there’s got to be a little Oikawa wifey around here somewhere.” The other grins and begins to giggle.

A wonder they haven’t noticed you yet. You could swear that if they turned off the music they could hear your heartbeat. You can’t fight two men this tall, maybe it’s better if you try to escape instead of attacking them. But maybe they are friends of Oikawa who want to surprise him?

But how did they get into your house without a key? Annoyed, the gray-haired man presses his hands to the hip and exposes a shiny metallic object. Your blood is freezing when you realize this object is a weapon.

You have to get out of here, and as if your body understands what you’re trying to tell, your legs are moving. Your ankles are almost white, so tight you hold the knife in your hand to prevent it from falling and making a sound.

Almost arriving at the door, the relief is already painting in your face as the wooden floor below you begins to creak. Your eyes are getting big, and now you know you have to run. But your legs are not fast enough against those of the tall man who pulls you back into the house with a loud shout.

“Who the fuck are you?” The tall man behind you calls while he pulls you to his back. With the knife, you try to attack him but only manage to graze his leg. But it’s enough to let go of you.

“You fucking whore, man!” He yells, his gun pointed at you, but you don’t listen, because you just want to get away. However, you won’t make it to the exit, as a dull sound echoes through the hallway, followed by your body sinking to the ground.

“Tendou… Did you just really knock her out with a pan?” Skeptically he looks at the red-haired man, the hands on his leg with the slight flesh wound. “Yes, of course. What were you gonna do? Shoot her in the leg? Come on, she’s a lady. So don’t disfigure her.” Smirks Tendou, and swings the pan back and forth in his hand.

“So what? We’re supposed to take Oikawa to Ushijima, not some woman.”, “Buuuuut, this isn’t just any woman. That’s Oikawa’s wife, and she’s cute. I’m sure Wakatoshi will like her. Maybe the idiot will pay his debts faster if he knows we have his pretty wifey.” The redhead interrupts him with a broad grin and squats down to lift your flaccid body.

Your head pulsates with pain as you open your eyes and try to straighten up your body. Everything is dark, only a moldy, metallic smell lies in the air. The floor below you feels wet and crumbly. Like you’re on a muddy underground.

Your clothes are already soaked and stink of a mixture of concrete, soil, and moisture. Where are you? In the dark, you grope along the wall until you reach a cold, iron door. From outside, you can hear the voices that you had in your head recently.

Just as you want to lean even closer to the door, you can hear the hinge clicking, how it is snapped up and you land on the floor. “Come with us.” Says the gray-haired man grimly, who now wears an improvised, sloppy bandage around his leg.

Motionless you sit on the floor and look at the two men puzzled before Tendou reaches out to you. “You’ll be fine. So come on.” Your body acts against your mind as you reach for his hand and he pulls you up with a jerk.

You walk up to a huge, imposing mahogany door with golden accents as the fierce man opens it next to you and the three of you enter. Just to meet a man who sits focused at his desk and writes something.

“What do you want, Tendou?” Without even raising his head, his deep voice fills the room. “You know, we didn’t find Oikawa, but we have something much better. His beloved wife.” Tendou hums happily as he steps forward. “Oh? So… What am I supposed to do with a woman? I can’t do anything with that thing.” He hisses indifferently and frowns.

The words ‘I told you’, are written in the face of the gray-haired man as he looks at Tendou, shaking his head.

“Then you bastards can finally let me go!” You shout to the two men and try to get away from their grips when Ushijima looks up to you in amazement. He does not know whether it is the sound of your voice or this angelic but also fiery charisma, but somehow you seem to have awakened his interest in you.

Maybe it’s because you belong to Oikawa and don’t belong to him. After all, Oikawa, for reasons inexplicable to Ushijima, hates him. Probably because he could never defeat him and had to admit that he would have taken a better, more successful path if he had gone with Ushijima.

It’s Oikawa who has a lot of debt to Ushijima, not the other way around. So what would happen if he took away the most important thing in his life? He’d have nothing. Right, his world would break in pieces.

But whatever it is, he can’t keep his eyes off yours. “This is Oikawa’s wife?” He finally says and puts the pen out of his hand to stand up and walk in your direction with quiet steps. Now that he’s standing in front of you, a cold shudder runs along your spine.

He is a real appearance as he stands so large and broad in front of you, his eyes sharp as a freshly sharpened knife. With an annoyed sound, he lowers his gaze, his big, cold hand on your chin, forcing you to look at him directly.

Only a few steps separate you from each other and you sense how a masculine, strict cologne flows through your nose. “Yeah, she’s quite pretty, but also cheeky, isn’t she?” Tendou giggles and looks with narrow eyes over to the gray-haired one, who rolls only displeased with the eyes.

With his fingers, he moves your face back and forth, brushes his thumb over your mouth, checks you out, before he lets go of you and looks at his friend and best man Tendou. Shortly after he takes his thumb off your mouth, you feel a metallic unpleasant taste on your tongue. Almost like the taste of fresh gunpowder.

What is all this about? Why are you here and what were they talking about earlier. What is Oikawa involved in? And worst of all, why didn’t he ever tell you? After all, you are his wife.

“Maybe she’s good for something. Perhaps he’ll pay his debts when he knows his wife is with us.” Ushijima clicks his tongue, turns around, and sits back in his chair. His debts? “Tooru has no debts! We are doing well. We bought a wonderful house!” You respond to him with a trembling voice.

“Oh yes? And how do you think he managed to raise the money for your house? Believe me when I tell you he’s in debt, or not. Apparently, he doesn’t care about you enough to share his dark secret with you.” He says monotonously, looking back at the paper on his desk.

“You’re lying!” your screaming voice sounds, which is provided with a touch of insecurity. Because you don’t want to believe this man. “Hey, don’t yell at our boss like that, you stupid bitch!” You had almost forgotten the gray-haired man when he looked at you grimly and stepped in front of you.

“Don’t call her that, Semi. She must have a name, right?” Even if he still doesn’t look at you, you sense how the question is directed at you. Stubbornly you press your lips together as if you want to signal them that you won’t tell them anything, but then you see Semi moving his hand towards his weapon and open your mouth. “Oikawa…. Oikawa Y/n…” you answer with a little resistance in your voice.

“Good Y/n, Semi will take you to the guest room next to mine and clean you up. Dress her up and then lock the door behind you if you leave her alone.” He just wants to say something about this task because he obviously doesn’t like you, but he stops since he doesn’t want to contradict his boss.

“Come now.” He just hisses annoyed, while he grabs you roughly by the arm and pulls you out of the room, into a spaciously beautiful room, with a large bed and a wonderful wardrobe. Pictures decorate the walls, the light on the ceiling is so bright that you forget to stand in a room without windows.

Violently, Semi puts you in a room connected to yours, so you’re standing in the middle of the bathroom. “Take off your clothes.” You feel his hand in your back pushing you to the shower with a shovel.

“I’m not gonna undress in front of some creepy guy like y-”, “Shut up, little doll! You’re nowhere near the first woman I see naked, so stop acting like that, and start taking your clothes off, or I’ll rip them off of your body!” He stops you loudly and grabs your wrist to pull you against him and roughly tear on your top.

“Stop it!” you roar and bite him in the arm with all your strength. Angry, he shakes you away from himself and wants to pull out his gun when a hand from behind stops him. “Hehe, what’s going on Semi Semi? Are you mad that there are also women who don’t spread their legs when they see you?” Tendou chuckles, who steps out behind Semi’s back.

“You take care of that bitch, I’m gone.” Without even looking in your direction, he turns around and disappears, followed by a loud bang of the wooden door.

“Come on, sit on the bed.” Tendou tries to calm you down and puts himself a piece away from the door frame to let you through. You don’t know why, but he seems to be the nicest one here so far, so you nod and follow his instructions.

Just as he opens his mouth to say something, you hear the door open again, and next to Semi now Ushijima, their boss comes in. Directly, Tendou takes a step away from you and pursues his boss with his eyes, who sits next to you, with a gun in his lap on the bed.

Right away, you start to hold your breath because you’re sure he’s gonna kill you now that you’ve disfigured his colleague. With his free hand, he brushes a strand of hair off your face and clamps it behind your ear to then pull your face in his direction.

“You know, Y/n, I don’t like it when someone attacks my men. No matter how pretty and innocent that person may be. But neither do I like it when my men don’t handle women properly. Believe me when I tell you nothing will happen to you as long as you stick to the words of your master, your daddy. Do as I say, and you and your pretty face are safe with me.” he breathes to you with his deep voice that makes your whole body shudder again.

“Tendou, I’ll leave her to you. Do what Semi couldn’t do. Next time I come back in here, I want her done for me.” are his last words before he leaves you alone in the room with Tendou.

You’re supposed to be ready for him? What is this man up to with you? “Hey, don’t look like a deer in the headlight.” Tendou’s laughing voice gets you out of your mind. Humming he moves towards the cabinet and opens it to push the hangers back and forth. “I think this should fit you.” Happily, he turns to you and holds a beautiful set of lingerie in his hands, purple fine lace, with black leather straps and a short silk gown.

You’d think it’s beautiful if you knew you were wearing it for Oikawa, but you’re supposed to be wearing it for another man? Now you can also guess what Ushijima meant when he said you should be ready for him.

Suddenly your eyes fill with tears and before you know it, these are caught by Tendou’s thumbs. “You heard Wakatoshi, you’ll be fine as long as you do what he wants. Believe me, he would never hurt you. He’s a good man, so come with me. I’ll give you a nice warm bath, leave the door open, and wait for you in the bedroom.” He smiles and brings the clothes to the bathroom.

The water comes out loud from the tap and fills the bathtub as you walk carefully towards Tendou. “Why are you being so nice to me?” You want to know from him. “I have no reason to be mean to you.” You hear his voice and how he checks with his finger if the water temperature is good. “The water’s good, so clean up and put your clothes in the hamper over there, the maid will take the laundry and clean it so you can get it back. I’ll wait outside.”

As he said, he leaves the bathroom door open but doesn’t look your way. Thoughtfully you look at the lingerie and after a few moments get out of your wet, musty clothes to get into the warm water. The warm water kisses your body, your eyes get heavier and before you know it, you close your eyes and listen to the sparkling foam.

Uncomfortable you go into the bedroom, even if you find yourself beautiful in this lingerie and it fits surprisingly well as if it was made for you. But knowing that another man sees you as your beloved husband makes you want to throw up.

“If you get hungry, knock on the door. If Wakatoshi is not in your room, I’ll be in front of it. Water is next to your bed. Well, I’ll see you then.” Without even looking in your direction, Tendou says goodbye to you and leaves you alone in the room.

Shortly after you hear the door closing, you look around hastily to see if you have a chance to escape in this windowless room. Next to the bathroom door and the front door, there’s another door that leads to a room you don’t know. But of course, this door is locked, so you are looking for an item that may help you escape. Even here, in vain.

Crying, you crawl into a corner and slump on the floor, knees tightly pulled to your chest. Why didn’t Oikawa ever tell you anything? Why didn’t he trust you? Could it be that this man was right and you weren’t enough for Oikawa? No, it can’t be!

You don’t know how much time has passed since only this ceiling light illuminates the room. But the clicking of the door makes you twitch. Tired, you lift your head and see blurred, how a large, strong person enters the room. Ushijima Wakatoshi.

He sits down in front of you, looking into your swollen face as he presses a cold metallic object against your chin and makes you look into his eyes. “Ah, ah baby girl, look what you’ve done with your pretty face. It’s all swollen up.” Full of fear but also hate you look him in his dark olive eyes. He’s a handsome man, yet you hate him for taking you away from your husband.

“You don’t have to look at me like that. It’s your husband’s fault you’re here now, not with him. But don’t worry, you’ll soon think of other things than your husband. The bed, lie on it!” He commands bossy, and quickly straightened up.

But you just shake your head. “Don’t be silly, baby girl.” His deep voice enters your ears, and even before you can open your mouth, you feel the chilly opening of his weapon lying on your temple.

Instinctively, your eyes fill with new tears running warmly down your cheeks, and your body moves against your will to crawl on the bed. “Please, I didn’t do anything.” You beg him because you just want to get out of here.

But he gives you no answer, just looks at you with his indifferent look, the gun in his hand at all times, while he gradually lets his clothes slide to the ground. Freed from his clothes, he stands before you, a few scars drawing his perfect muscular skin.

Even though you’ve been crying all the time, your eyes only burn more when you see how huge his member is, which still hangs flaccidly between his legs. It’s not even erect, yet you know it would never fit into you without hurting you.

Sobbing, you look from this massive thing between his legs up into his eyes that send out anything but warmth and ask him to let you go. “Stop talking so much. Use your sweet mouth and suck on my cock just like it should be for a good baby girl. Show your daddy that you’re worth treating you well.”

His words make your stomach twist, you get unwell as you look at him in disgust. But it was stupid of you to think that you could defend yourself against such a tall, strong man. Because just as you’re trying to shake your head, you feel his cold hand burying itself in your hair and pulling you roughly forward, the other hand with the gun to your temple.

“Suck it!” His patience has disappeared when he angrily gives you this command, presses his limb literally into your whiny face. Afraid to hear the trigger go off, you open your mouth and start to put his cock in your trembling mouth.

You just have the tip in, when you realize that it is much too big for you so that you’re about to throw up. Fearing for your life, you still try to stick it in, but quickly realize that you are beginning to choke and fresh tears appear in the corners of your eyes.

“Oh? Does your beloved Oikawa have such a tiny cock or why would you have problems with gagging after not even half of my dick?” His words are accompanied by a deep, barely audible laughter as he plunges his limb into your mouth with a jerk and makes you open your eyes full of pain and shock.

Reflexively, you support your hands against his thighs and try to prevent him from pushing his dick even deeper into your throat. His hand buried in your hair moves your head back and forth.

The only sound you hear is your sniffing, your swallowing, and the increasingly audible groan of Ushijima, whose cock grows painfully fast in your mouth and makes you gag every time its tip kisses your palate.

“Your mouth does it so well, it takes my length so well. Let’s see if you can absorb and swallow daddy’s sperm as good.” He mutters one last time before he presses his limb full strength into your throat and colors it white.

Next to his dick, which still twitches in your throat, you feel the warm sperm, running thickly down your inside. Just when he hears you swallow his cum, he pulls his cock out of you and takes his hand off the back of your head.

Only a mixture of sperm and saliva binds you together before this thread tears and sticks to your chin. You look so cute, lying on the bed in his favorite lingerie, adorned with his cum, and looking at him like a lost puppy.

But this wonderful view does not remain for long, because you turn around against his command and want to crawl away from him.

You want to get away from the man who used you as a toy for his desires. You feel disgusting, used. But again, you have to admit to yourself that you’re stupid, for just following your will.

Suddenly you feel an arm wrap around your waist and jerk you backward. As if you are smashed against a wall, your body lands on Ushijima’s chest. “Where are you going huh?” His husky voice is dangerously close to your ear as you feel his hand crawling under the silk coat and caressing the outline of your body.

“Oh? You don’t think that satisfies me, do you? Oikawa has a lot of debts. You’re husband and wife, so it’s your debt too. So if he can’t pay the debt, I guess you’ll have to take them over.” He adds indifferently as he pins you down on the bed, his chest still on your back so that you are prevented from fleeing. “Please, I don’t want to, I’m scared.” You sniff under him and keep squeezing your legs together, afraid of what’s about to happen to you.

“Don’t be scared, baby girl. I’ll make it fit.” It’s not just the gun you feel cold on your spine. No, you also feel Ushijima’s stiff cock on your back, as it painfully reminds you that everything that happens now will be unpleasant.

You just hated Oikawa for not telling you about the debt and getting you into this situation, even though you still love him. But how could he do this to you? Just leave you to a mob boss who will do what he wants with you or shoot you if you don’t obey him.

You feel his legs on your inner thighs and how they spread them with force, so that Ushijima can get better access to your most sensitive body part. With pleasure, he licks his lips as he begins to knead your ass and slowly work his way up to your walls.

“No, please…” You whine when you feel his fingers on your skin as they try to break up your walls to get into your entrance. Calmly, he savors your soft skin as he goes up and down, exerting pressure on your clit to then get back to your entrance to check if you are getting wet by now.

But to his dismay, you’re not. You try to prevent your body from feeling good, which is not difficult for you, as you are forced to do so, and besides this man is not someone you love. “How unsatisfying.” He just hisses displeased, takes his hand off you, and lifts his chest slightly, so that you take the opportunity to tear yourself away from him and crawl away.

In vain, because aggressively he pins you back on the bed now fully in rage, and constricts the air to breathe away, from behind. It’s almost as if he knows exactly when your lungs are starting to hurt and your vision becomes unclear when he reduces the pressure on your neck and after a few seconds his big hand loops around your tender neck like a snake.

“Now I’ve had enough of you! I’ve told you I’m good to you as long as you follow my orders but apparently I have to show you where your place is!” He calls to you angry and presses with force his rock hard, massive cock into your dry entrance.

“Ahhh stop!” You scream in pain as you feel this thing aggressively getting in and making everything in you pound. Everything in you burns, contracts, pulsates, and hurts extremely. You have the feeling that he tears your womb into pieces and senses an unpleasant wet feeling spreading between your legs.

You know it’s not your juices, rather your blood, which promotes Ushijimas movements and helps him to penetrate deeper and more aggressively.

"Look what we did to you, if you’d listened to me, this would have been different.” You hear his strained voice behind you, as it makes you understand that here you are nothing but just a toy for him, which should obey him.

And you have to admit that if you want to get out of here alive with no pain, no visible wounds, you have to do what he tells you to do. Crying, you admit that your body is being used by a man other than your husband.

“You do it well, don’t fight back baby girl.” He praises you as his movements get sloppy and he pulls his cock out of you to spread his warm cum on your back. He proudly looks at his masterpiece before he takes a handkerchief from the nightstand and cleans himself.

Relief draws your face. While all of this seems to be over for today, even if everything in your body continues to hurt. Yet you remain anxiously lying down, as you do not dare to move and be used again by him.

But to your astonishment, you feel incredibly soft, warm lips on your shoulder blade lingering lovingly for a moment before they let go of you just to then caress your arm afterward. “You know, it doesn’t have to be like this if you don’t fight back.”, “Leave me alone!” Your voice is dull under the blanket.

“Well… until then Y/n.” One last time you feel his warm lips on your arm, as only a few seconds later you hear the door closing. Irritated, you turn around, only to find out that Ushijima is no longer there.

Deep breathing, straightening up, you pull your legs closer to your upper body and bury your head inside them.

“You know, Wakatoshi is actually a very great man.” All of a sudden you hear a voice that strangely gives you a sense of security, followed by a soft, slightly damp towel that gently moves over your back.

With your eyes still slightly closed, you look aside to find Tendou looking at you with a wide smile and cleaning your body without even looking at your most feminine parts.

“You should be grateful he found something in you. Normally, he would take pieces of body parts from you. First a strand of hair, a finger, your tongue… Something every day until Oikawa pays his debts. But you seem to be an exception here. So don’t blame him for your husband getting you into this.” Even though his words are anything but reassuring, it is his look and tenderness with which he helps you get up into the bathroom.

"Do you understand how good he is? He lets you sleep here in a great room instead of locking you down in the dark basement. So be a good girl and listen to your new friend Tendou." He whispers in your ear with a slim grin, just before he leaves the room.

Still shaking, you let the warm water splash over your body, trying somehow to wash yourself clean and think about Tendou’s words. Somehow he is right, after all, it’s not Ushijimas fault. Oikawa is the one who lied to you, not him. Still, he didn’t treat you very kindly.

Completely torn back and forth, you go back to the bedroom, where Tendou has already re-made the bed and waits for you with a drink. “What is this, Tendou?” You ask him confused while he reaches out to you.

“Just a tea, that makes you sleep well.” He smiles and waits for you to drink the delicious-tasting tea. “Lie down, I’ll see you tomorrow.” With these words, he says goodbye and leaves you alone in the room.

You notice how your eyes get heavier, your thoughts blurred and how you suddenly collapse on the bed and fall asleep.

The next few weeks are just like your first day here. You don’t know if Ushijima enters the room every day to sleep with you or if he does it several times a day or just every few days because you don’t have a sense of time anymore.

No matter how many times you have to think of Tendou’s words, in the end, you try to defend yourself, and again everything hurts in retrospect. However, you hate your husband every day more for what he did to you and therefore feel increasingly connected to Ushijima.

It’s probably also Tendou’s words that subconsciously manipulate you. How precious you are to Ushijima. That everyone can see it and you will see and understand it as well when you finally give yourself to him.

Forget your scheming husband, who abandoned you. 'Cause, only Ushijima would be the man to please and protect you.

Yes, it was Tendous words… Because the last time Ushijima sleeps with you, you notice how your body builds up less resistance. Ushijima knows it won’t take long before he owns you until you belong to him and not Oikawa.

Today you wear his favorite lingerie, the one in which he likes you in so much, in which he looks at you hungrily.

You’re just waiting for Ushijima to enter the room and do what he usually does to you. And when he finally enters the room, undressing wordlessly, as you go straight to your knees without resistance to take his cock in your mouth, he knows exactly that he has broken your will.

A barely visible grin draws the corner of his mouth before he approaches you and looks down into your eyes from above. “Get up. Not today.” Are the only words that come out of him while you look at him puzzled when he pulls you up by your hair. “Come with me.” He adds and points to the door, where you have asked yourself until now where this leads only to find out that this guides exactly to his bedroom.

A huge room with ground-level windows that provide a view of the snow-covered forest and a frozen river illuminate the room in an almost romantic atmosphere. It looks like the sun is about to set because the darkness is slowly coming out.

In the room is expensive furniture, a huge king-size bed, with gray-golden silk sheets. It looks so incredibly soft and the rest of the room just leaves you amazed, standing on a spot, until you feel a hand on your back moving you towards the bed.

You can feel his cold fingertips skilfully opening your bra and sliding down to the floor along your body, followed by your panties kissing the floor just seconds later. With a push, he shoves you onto his bed, which catches your body with ease and looks at you with fiery eyes.

“What do you think? Do we need it today?” His lust-filled voice resounds as he holds his cold weapon against your nipple and stares at you as he slowly strolls down to your entrance with the weapon and lingers there.

A feeling that you previously only knew at Oikawa, spreads within you. You sense the area between your legs getting wet from the cold metal, from Ushijima’s look when you pinch them together and a shudder runs along your spine.

With glowing cheeks you playfully bite your lower lip and shake your head embarrassed, your eyes focused on Ushijima’s. You don’t miss his quiet laughter when he looks into your beautiful, scattered face and knows exactly that you squeeze your legs together because you are only excited by the touch of his weapon.

That’s exactly what he wants to see, his baby girl begging for him and his cock, which only wants him and no one else. Not even her beloved husband Oikawa. Without you having to touch his cock, it grows along with the thought of making you his woman.

He would have liked to see Oikawa’s face when his beloved wife knelt for his rival without resistance, only to suck on his cock and milk him. But it is even better to know that you got involved with Ushijima, that you understand that you are his and he can take care of you much better than Oikawa.

He proudly puts the gun on his nightstand and pulls you by your legs to the edge of the bed to suck fervently on the inside of your thighs, to kiss them, and to work himself down to your entrance.

His touches are like a drug for you, you can’t and won’t get enough of them. From these kisses that tell you he’s proud to have you. When you feel his breath on your wet walls, you shrug briefly and tilt your pelvis down. “Ushijima, that feels so good.” You moan softly and tilt your head backward as you startle with a slap on your sensitive walls.

“Ah, ah… Are you trying to be naughty again? Have you forgotten what to call me?” He hisses in a husky voice as his olive eyes come up between your legs and stare at you. “D- Daddy… Sorry, daddy…” you correct yourself and wait for the praise of Ushijima. “That’s my good baby girl.” He answers you with a grin and turns back to your walls.

His eyes are on your face as he circles his fingers around your entrance, slowly enveloping them with your juice, and watching you groan with the feeling of having his index and ring finger in you, the thumb on your clit to give you a benevolent feeling there as well.

“Daddy you’re so good to me!” You groan as you feel his fingers explore your walls and bend to meet exactly the right spot. How your cheeks gain even more warmth, your nipples become stiff and your body moves willingly, drives him crazy.

He still moves his fingers in you before he replaces his thumb with his lips and sucks on your clit, licks over it, blows against it, and starts sucking it again. “Come for me baby girl.” His voice vibrates on your skin as you feel the knot loosen inside you, your legs start to shake while squeezing his head, and your eyes roll backward. “Damn it, daddy I’m coming.” You groan as you push your pelvis further to Ushijima and cover his lips with your juice.

Without changing his expressions, he licks your delicious juice off your lips and pulls his fingers out of you just to leave a bitter void in you. He carefully inspects his fingers, which shine in the yellowish light of the lamp, and looks down at you as you lie out of breath with an open mouth in front of him, legs still shaking, beautiful for him to look at.

“Suck on them, clean them up! Do what your daddy tells you to do.” You can feel his deep voice on your neck and how he puts his fingers in your mouth. Reflexively, you seek contact with his eyes as you begin to wrap your tongue around his fingers and suck loudly at them.

His gaze is razor-sharp as his olive-colored eyes look at you and enjoy the sight. “Tell me, baby girl, do you want my cock in you? Do you deserve it?” He wants to know from you while his fingers leave your mouth with a loud plop.

"Yes daddy, please give me your cock!" You’re begging him. This desire to absorb his length fully in you is so huge. Which only makes Ushijima happier, and makes him enter inside you piece by piece.

Unlike the weeks before, he is so careful and gentle, making sure you don’t have any pain. "Nnngh…" You groan as you feel every vein of its length painfully spreading your inner walls. But the pain is different than usual, it is pleasant in an odd way.

"Are you in pain baby girl? Shall I stop?" he asks rhetorically because he knows you don’t want him to leave a void in you again.

"No, please! I want to feel your whole dick in my cunt daddy!" You say weeping and reach for his upper arms to stop him from going away from you.

Lovingly his arms wrap around your waist and pull you up so that he can get your delicate body just with one arm, holding you in the air, while his cock enters deeper into you.

A prick spreads in your abdomen while you pinch your eyes together and bite your lip. "Nngh daddy your dick is too big…", "Oh? Too big for my pretty baby girl huh?" Interrupts his deep voice, just before he lays you gently on the bed and then squats in front of your entrance.

He gently caresses your legs before he spreads them with a little pressure, lifts them with his hands at your ankles, and presses his body against them to enter you with a loud murmur.

Through this new angle, and by opening your legs so wide, his cock can enter you much more easily. He needs a few thrusts until his dick is wrapped in your juice and smoothly kisses your inner walls.

With slim eyes he watches you as your breasts move up and down, his limb sinks into your sweet pussy, you lay awkwardly under him, not knowing where to put your body and the lustful feelings that want to get out of you. A sight that satisfies him incredibly and makes his member twitch in you. "Look, you are such a beautiful baby girl for me."

Even if you think it’s great that Ushijima praises you so much and gently touches your body, you want him to get rough and aggressive again. Because strangely enough, you have to admit that you find his rough nature as attractive and masculine and how he controls you.

"Ahh I want everything from you, show me you’re my strong daddy." You whine while tilting your head backward. "Oh? You want me to be rough with you? Well…" You hear his astonished deep voice as he begins to enter you faster and deeper.

"Nnngh so good, so good." You groan loudly at his sloppy, more aggressive thrusts, and feel his balls clap against your skin at every thrust.

"Tell me how good it feels to have my dick inside of you Y/n." his husky voice sounds through the room, accompanied by the damp sound of your skin coming together.

"So good daddy! Your massive cock feels so good in me, there’s no one who can fill me as perfectly as you!" You purr and push your pelvis deeper into the duvet to feel his limb even better in you.

With each powerful thrust, he hits just the right spot in you that takes you to the edge of your climax.

"I wonder what he'd do if he knew you were with me right now." With a lustful look, he faces you while these words leave his mouth.

For a moment your eyes widen in panic because you have completely forgotten your husband. But what kind of husband is he, if he leaves you alone for weeks.

"Tell me, baby girl, what would you do if he knew that you were with me and so willingly give yourself into me? Admitting that only I can really satisfy your needs, huh?" Hungry, his hand wanders from your ankle down to your neck and presses it lightly.

His big hand adorns your neck so beautifully. This feeling of power that is spreading within him, leads him to distribute his load within you soon. “I… don’t know…” You answer him, torn back and forth, since you would never want to see how broken and hurt Oikawa would be if he saw you with another man. But on the other hand, he abandoned you, lied to you, and Ushijima was the one who cared for you and didn’t kill you for the debts Oikawa has on him.

“I don’t think Oikawa would be so happy to see us here, huh? The way you so wonderfully wrap and squeeze around my cock. That feels so good baby girl. So tell me, who makes you happy? Who can make you orgasm?” He wants to know while he’s fucking your brains out.

You don’t know what to say anymore, you just know that your whole body is burning with lust, that this knot that has newly formed is tightening up harder as you know exactly that you will come any moment.

“Who, give me the name that makes you happy! I won’t let you come before you answer me.” Demands Ushijima, when even before he can finish his sentence you call his name. “Ushijima!”, “The whole name!” he orders again while slapping your breast, and again his name comes out under your trembling voice. “Ushijima Wakatoshi!” you cry out.

“My name sounds so wonderful when you say it so needy. I’m going to shoot my cum so deep into your womb that you’re carrying my fucking kid Y/n Oikawa, or should I call you Y/n Ushijima from now on?” His voice is also getting throaty as his movements get harder so that you can’t hold back your voice any longer.

Your walls contract and the knot in you, just like your mouth loosens and makes you roll your eyes backward in an incredibly benevolent desire.“Haaah Ushijima! I’m coming!”

“Come for your daddy baby girl!” He growls almost animalistic as he accelerates his movements and presses his thick sperm into you with a loud moan. Out of breath, he collapses on you, his cock still twitches in you and remains there, so that his sperm stays in you.

Sweat drips down his temple, his skin sticks to yours, as you feel his breath loud and restless in the crook of your neck. The room, which had smelled so fresh earlier, now smells of sweat and sperm.

You feel so good with his warm body on top of you, his soft hair tickling your neck, and the loving kisses he spreads on your body while leaving little hickeys, to mark you as his.

But what you don’t notice is that Tendou, Semi, and especially Oikawa are standing in the door frame. Broken, his face dressed in tears he looks at you. His mouth glued with tape he tries to pull himself out of the clutches of the two men holding him. To get to you, to his most beloved precious wife, to tear you away from this monster. In vain.

But unlike you, Ushijima knew that Oikawa had been standing in the door for several minutes and watched him fuck his beloved woman. Taking the most important thing in his life will pay off any debt he owes. Having such a beautiful woman by his side is better than any money he can get.

“Get him down to the basement... and take the ring off of him. Because there’s no husband and wife Oikawa anymore. Y/n belongs to me… You’ll be a Ushijima soon.” His cold voice lies in the air as he reaches for your hand, pulls off the ring, and kisses you on the now-empty ring spot, his olive-colored eyes fixed on yours the whole time.

For a moment, you think you need to cry now that you know Oikawa’s heart has been shattered into thousands of pieces. However, these tears do not come. Without even looking at him, Oikawa is taken away by the men.

Lost in your thoughts, you rub your thumb over the empty ring spot. But even before you can think about anything, Ushijima’s fingers make sure that you look him directly into the suddenly so warm eyes.

“Y/n… You don’t have to be afraid anymore. No one will touch or hurt you, I’ll make sure of it. You belong with me now, my pretty baby girl.” His last words are so quiet that you can hardly understand them before he bends forward to give you a warm kiss that is full of love and passion, for the first time. “My pretty girl.”

You don’t know if you would feel guilty if you looked Oikawa in the eye, or hate, or even feel nothing. But you know one thing…

You’re not Y/n Oikawa anymore.

#haikyuu smut #ushijima x reader #ushijima smut #hqhq server collab #haikyuu x reader #tw noncon #tw force #tw gun play #tw breath play #tw violence #tw blood #tw manipulation #tw dark content #tw dark fic

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honeymoonjin · 4 years

Text

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: fanboy!taehyung x artist!reader

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 13.7k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: still bitter about a scandal that ruined your painting career, you’re recommended a getaway by your therapist to a small island off the coast of seoul. expecting a tranquil location to wallow in self-pity, you’re startled when on your first night, you encounter an avid fan of your work. instead of annoying you for an autograph, kim taehyung ends up being the very thing you need to fall in love with art again.

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: sexually explicit content, reader suffers from poor mental health but nothing serious, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, praise, that’s kinda it, it’s pretty soft tbh

The breeze is light here, broken by the gentle rise of the sand dunes behind you. It runs over your skin like water, a warm current that lasts long after the sun slips below the horizon line.

You sit for hours watching it, the tail of pinks and oranges and ochres that reflect thickly on the top of the water, the shallow crests of low tide. There’s a pull in your heart, a twitch at your fingers. The you a year ago would’ve had her paints out already, an easel with legs precariously shoved in the dry sand. The you a year ago would have been tossing up whether cadmium yellow or cadmium orange would suit the last slip of sun above the water, and whether you should wait til it was gone entirely to save making the decision.

Then again, the you a year ago would never have needed to come here.

The you today just waits, silently, you don’t even know what for. You’d been told this was a getaway. That you just needed some time to recover your muse, or some bullshit like that. But the more time you sit in silence and watch the sky blacken to navy and the stars prick the darkness with dazzling clarity, you think your therapist was wrong. How was this a getaway when all your problems were still festering inside you?

“Oh my god, Y/n L/n?”

You groan and sink back into the sand, head cushioned on the warm piles. Just your fucking luck. “You’ve got the wrong person,” you call out with eyes squeezed shut, praying the stranger will leave you alone. The last thing you needed was a green reporter or psycho fan to spill your location to the rest of the world. You can only imagine the headline. Disgraced painter Y/n L/n found hiding away on a tropical island eight months after she ruined the Met Gala.

“Oh my god, it is you! I’m a massive fan, wow!”

Fuck. At least there was a chance they’d keep quiet. You crack open an eye, staring up at the figure beside you, cast in shadow. From the glint of moonlight, you can see a crown of ruffled hair that’s a faded teal. It reminds you of the impressionist painting of a mountain lake that threw your work into the public eye. Just as faded as the dye on his hair, that time feels worn and aged, like from another life. A reminder of how far you’d fallen. “Look,” you confess lowly to the silhouette, “I just wanna be left alone, I’m not- I’m just here for a break from...everything.”

The figure shifts his weight in the sand, raising an arm to scratch at the back of his neck shyly. “I don’t mean to disturb you,” he apologises. With the slight breeze, his baggy clothes buffet around his lean figure and in the darkness he looks like some vengeful angel, towering over you with the moon behind him. But his voice is so soft, so genuine, so- so warm. Perhaps not vengeful, then, but definitely an angel. “You’re a hero of mine, I wanted to thank you for how much you’ve inspired me, saved me. Gosh, it’s crazy that you’re even here, I-”

“I’m sorry,” you force out, sitting up, wincing as grains of sand work their way down the nape of your neck, “really, I am. But I’m not the person you’re thinking of. Not anymore, at least.” You hate the way your voice rings out so thinly in the night air, nothing like the deep honey of his. You hate the way you sound broken.

He senses it too; he takes a step back, turns towards the dunes. “I should be going, I guess,” he murmurs. “For what it’s worth, I hope I see you around. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

You don’t respond, wrapping your arms around your hunched knees and staring at the silver ocean until you can no longer see him in your peripheral vision.

—

It’s over a week before you see him again. Though you’d never admit it to anyone, you keep an eye out for the boy with the teal hair. There wasn’t enough light that day to make out his face but still, with hardly any people for miles, you hadn’t anticipated he’d be all that difficult to find.

Truth be told, there had been a deep curl of regret and dissatisfaction that took root inside you shortly after you left. He was just trying to be nice, and you could use a friend. Could use someone.

You had asked for privacy when your therapist began recommending a break, a getaway, but you hadn’t expected it to this degree. The place you were staying at was a rundown bungalow just behind the dunes, tucked away in a sliver of land where sand met forest, rising up into hills. The only people you saw were the employees that ran it: a maid that stopped by every day at 1pm, even though you had already made the bed and cleaned up after yourself; an older gentleman that delivered you fresh groceries every couple of days in his ancient-looking four wheel drive; and finally, the electrician you’d had to call out a few nights prior after the power went out.

The mysterious fan hadn’t been dressed like an employee; then again, it was long past the workday when he’d approached you. Mulishly, you find yourself lugging a picnic blanket and a pillow down to the beachfront every evening, monitoring every inch of the coastline that stretches around this edge of the peninsula.

It’s only on the ninth night, when you’re folding up your rough blanket with a disappointed grumble, that a sudden yap catches your attention. You whirl around, toes sinking deeper into the light sand, and gasp as a familiar silhouette approaches, stumbling down a sand dune to your left.

He hasn’t seen you yet; so focused on the tiny fluffball that tugs restlessly at its leash. It’s a lot earlier tonight than the last time you’d seen him, and there’s enough remnants of sunlight in the sky to cast him in a warm golden glow.

He’s in baggy clothes like last time, a long-sleeved white t-shirt with a v in the center, unbuttoned and sagging over the shoulder of the arm that’s getting yanked along, and some tan linen shorts. It’s hard to tell with how he sinks to his ankles in sand with every step, but he’s barefoot, almost sliding down the steep dune more so than walking.

You can’t hear him at this distance, but his lips are moving, parted in a boxy grin as he responds to the constant yipping of the tiny dog at his feet. He’s gorgeous, tanned skin to fit the honey of his voice - the voice you’ve been unable to shake from your head - and the roots of his hair are the colour of brown sugar, lightening into the dyed teal ends, whipping over his cheeks and neck in the seabreeze.

He turns off when he reaches the base, following his dog, who pulls in your direction, short bursts of energy that get cut off by the length of the leash. Your heart jumps, and you find yourself waiting in anticipation, breath caught in your throat.

But the moment he glances up and sees you, he halts in his tracks. Stepping back, his smile falls, bowing his head to you apologetically and pulling on the leash so that the small black-and-tan puppy at his feet turns around with him.

They start walking away from you, and you don't have time to think before you're calling out to him, jogging over with your blanket and pillow forgotten behind you.

He stops walking, though he doesn't turn, and when you finally come to a stop beside him, he keeps his head down.

"Look, I'm sorry about yesterday," you rush out, slightly out of breath, "I was in a really shitty mood, and I had kinda come here to get away from...everything in the first place. I wasn't expecting a fan, and I reacted badly. I'm sorry."

Even after standing still, you can't seem to catch your breath. You haven't seen him this close, in this much detail, and it makes the air catch in your lungs. His eyes are an intense burnt umber, dancing over your face with an unreadable depth to them. He's taller than you, but not bulky. Though his shoulders are wide, he's lean, with a narrow nose and soft cheeks. The wind plays with the ends of his hair, revealing glimpses of a strong brow. He's beautiful.

"I didn't mean to bother you," he says after a moment, and you almost jump at the timbre of his voice so close to you, "I should be the one apologising. I'll leave you alone, honestly. I can find another place to go for a walk, or go at a different time-"

"Do you walk here a lot at this time?" you interrupt, the euphoria of finally holding a conversation after so long loosening your tongue. "You haven't been back since that night."

He tips his head to the side, shoulder jerking when his dog impatiently tugs at the leash, quiet snuffles and yips of disapproval ignored in the air between you. There's a flicker of something in his eyes - surprise? Amusement? "You were looking for me?"

"I-" Your voice fails you, and you realise how pathetic you must look. Your shoulders sink. "I was... I wanted to apologise," you land on finally.

That strange flicker in his eyes settles into a grateful warmth. "I normally do, yeah, but I had to go back to the mainland to pick up this guy." With a genuine smile, he glances down to the ball of fluff that's now lying over his bare foot. "I stayed there while he got his first lot of vaccinations. You can pat him, if you want."

You can recognise that offer for what it really is; an olive branch. In other words, he's apparently not holding a grudge against you for being an asshole. You smile gratefully, crouching down to pat the tiny animal. "What's his name?"

"Yeontan," he answers cheerily. "he's nine weeks old!"

You coo, chuckling at the soft fur wriggling beneath your fingertips, at the wet nose prodding at your palm for more pats. "Yeontan..." you muse. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

You hear a sheepish laugh from above. "Your, um, your painting of the old barn in Icheon? There's a kennel that's beside it in shadow, but you can just make out the name Yeontan painted on the front. I-" He breaks off awkwardly, falling silent.

Your hand freezes, and you feel yourself slump from a crouch to sitting fully on the sand, still hot from the afternoon sun. Yeontan. A detail you couldn't even remember painting, yet he'd named his dog after it. The dog continues to cover your hands in slobber and stray fur, but you just stare at it blankly.

"I'm sorry," the man winces, tone low with defeat. "You probably think it's stupid. I swear I'm not one of those crazy obsessed fans! There was just..." His voice changes then, closes up to cut off any emotion. "I shouldn't say. Sorry."

Your shoulders slacken. "You don't have to keep apologising," you say softly. After a moment's thought, you push up off the sand to stand up again, grains clinging to the skin that's damp from the dog's affections. The handsome stranger's face is stricken, reluctant as he watches you get up. You miss the boxy smile he'd held when he made his way down the dunes. You wonder if he'll ever smile that way at you. "I wanna hear. What you have to say."

Hand flexing on the leash, he looks down at Yeontan and back up at you, eyes squinted slightly as the sun glares onto his face; a radiant, sharp orange. "One of the reasons I'm such a fan of your work is the emotion you can actually see on the canvas. I don't even know how to explain it, but I feel it. And with the Icheon barn painting - I actually saved up for years to buy the original - there's something so sad and lonely about that kennel, that patch of shadow. The rest of the scene is so bright and open, it feels like a party that the kennel wasn't invited to. I don't know, it's stupid. But I thought if I ever bought a dog, I'd name it Yeontan so that it wouldn't feel so alone." He faces the horizon as he speaks, wincing into the light, and a broken laugh bubbles out of his throat once he's done. "Like I said; it's stupid."

But you don't think it's stupid at all. "Did it work?" you ask instead, nose prickling as tears build behind your eyes. The more he spoke, the more you remember the painting. It was your last work before the Met Gala disaster, and after everything went down in flames, desperate online tabloids went back to it, citing it as a 'cry for help'. You hadn't really painted it like that though, not really. You'd seen that beautifully painted barn in the countryside when you were driving between cities to visit your parents, and was taken by the dilapidated dog kennel tucked just beside it. Painting it wasn't some sort of clue to your nosedive, but more like a solidarity with that kennel, the dog that once lived there. The story that had been forgotten. And to hear this man had seen it, had wanted to ease the suffering just like you had... The emotions inside you, ones that had felt so dull and monochrome, now churn inside you in indecipherable technicolour, too many to count. But you think one of them might just be hope. "Did- did getting Yeontan work?"

He's looking at you now. He stays silent for a moment, the softest smile tugging at your lips, and it takes your breath away, watching the colours of sunset play across his skin while his brown eyes seek yours out intensely. "Yeah, it did," he answers eventually, his voice almost a whisper. It's only once he starts speaking that you realise the two of you have moved closer inwards without realising, so that it would only take a half step forward to be pressed against him. "But I think talking with you has helped more."

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. The whirlpool inside you settles, leaving you feeling lighter than you have in years. You don't know what it is about this man that makes you feel...sane again, but you want more of it. "I think talking with you has helped me too," you confess, voice lilting in uncertainty. "Can... can I see you again? I don't even know your name, but-"

"Taehyung," he answers immediately, and even with the fall of night, the sun well and truly gone, his eyes are bright. "I could come back tomorrow?"

Your toes flex in the sand fighting the urge to jump in relief. "Yes! Yes, I'd like that," you chime, a smile tugging at your lips. "It was nice to meet you, Taehyung."

"The pleasure is all mine."

You sleep well that night. You can’t remember the last time the peaceful rays of sun have woken you so gently, but you certainly aren’t complaining.

You’d spent the past week or so moping in your cabin until late afternoon and then moping on the beach. Only now, after finally meeting the boy again - Taehyung - you realise how much you’ve been wasting your time buried in your own thoughts. Now all you want to do is explore. You’d been told on the ferry over here that the island was only a few hours’ walk around the coastline, and that your cabin, a street of shops and a small village of houses were the only signs of life. No bar to drown your sorrows at. No club for finding faceless strangers to make you forget who you were for a few hours. All your coping vices had been replaced with open stretches of nature in all its colours; the cool grey rocky beaches on the southern shore, the lush greens of the hilly forests, the glinting turquoise of the sea, and open plains of pastel sky for miles and miles.

The walk isn’t particularly intensive, but it’s long, and your feet ache in their sandals by the time you reach the docks again, having marked a full loop around the island. The dock, empty this late in the morning, leads directly to the main street via a cobblestone path that weaves between dunes, flax bushes, fields and a skinny stretch of trees, and you follow it to the center of the island, resting in a small cafe.

There’s no free WiFi here, so you sip at a tall glass of homemade strawberry lemonade and watch the streets through the storefront window. From your seat, you can see the people wander back and forth, the odd few with kids, but almost all are retirement age. Slow-moving couples with walkers and canes, elderly men jangling the keys to their vintage cars (that surely didn’t have much road to drive on), women with age-spotted skin and heavy beaded jewellery.

You can’t work out how Taehyung fits in this picture. It’s almost impossible to picture him walking down the same street as everyone else; his dyed hair, clothes two sizes too big, tall and slender frame hurrying down with a dog leash in one hand and a grocery bag in the other-

Wait.

You straighten up, eyes widening as you watch the man himself pauses to let Yeontan cock his leg on a patch of grass by the intersection. Physically, he’s entirely incongruous with the rest of the villagers, but he looks entirely at home, glancing up to smile in recognition at every figure that passes by him. One goes so far as to reach up and ruffle his hair playfully as she talks, and his face brightens with crinkled eyes and a boxy grin, greeting her warmly.

The same feeling of longing and dissatisfaction stirs you from the other time you saw that smile. You want to be the one that makes him so happy. You frown, unconsciously chewing on the end of the paper straw. It’s too hot in here. There’s not enough ventilation, and with the sun streaming in, the heat just pools inside, sticking to your thighs and arms. That’s why you leave the cafe before finishing your drink. The heat.

The lady has left by the time you cross the street, and you fake a cough noisily as you pass him, eyes cast away but face turned so he’d easily recognise you.

“Y/n!” Your heart warms, keens at the calling of your name, and you turn to him, smiling broadly. Taehyung grins when Yeontan rushes over to greet you too, whole body rocking with the force of his tail wagging. “Fancy seeing you here,” he remarks, and you take in a deep breath of air, feeling lightheaded with his attention back on you.

“I decided to explore a bit,” you answer, eyes dropping down to the supermarket bag in his hands, white plastic taut and digging red lines into his palm with the weight of it. “Retail therapy?”

He laughs goodnaturedly, but there’s a flush of pink high on his cheekbones, standing out beside the strands of green that he’s tucked behind his ears. “It’s actually, uh, something for tonight. I didn’t know if you’d- If you still-” He breaks off his stammering with another laugh, this one more self-conscious, and the pink deepens to red. “I thought you and I could paint together. I bought us some materials just in case you didn’t bring your own.” You fall silent, mouth slack and parted in surprise, so he continues on, lifting up his hand for a moment, bag rustling, then changing his mind and letting it fall again. “There isn’t a proper art supplies store here, so it’s just from the toy store. I know you’re probably used to proper stuff, but a bad worker blames his tools, you know! Not that you would- that you’re a bad-”

“You paint?” you ask finally, ending his nervous rambling.

His whole body slackens a bit, like you’ve cut some tension from him, his head dipping down to break eye contact. “Um. I’m- learning,” he answers with an uncertain wobble to his voice.

You tilt your head to the side with an expectant smile. “That’s really cool. How long have you been studying?”

He swallows, looking up to send you a hesitant smile. “I, um, I studied the instructions on the back of a paint-by-numbers kit in the toy store. Just now.” His voice lifts at the end of each sentence like it’s a question, that same bargaining smile plastered on his face.

You let out a genuine laugh, the first one you’ve had in a while. In too long. “Is that so? I better bow down to the maestro then.”

“Hey!” he whines playfully, shoulders rocking forward like a toddler feeling sorry for himself. “I learnt everything I know so far just from your art. And did you hear that speech I gave you about The Barn at Icheon? That was pretty good, right? You have to admit, that was good.”

His hand, the one loosely holding Yeontan’s lead, reaches out to grasp gently just above your elbow as he speaks, rocking you slightly like he’s pleading for you to agree. You find a constant stream of laughter bubbling out of your throat as he does so, feeling so light in the sunny midday breeze. “Okay, okay, that was good,” you confess, “you get a point for that.”

Once your laughter subsides slowly, you find yourself looking up at him with a residual smile, the same of which is spread on his face, eyes glimmering with something fond. He waits for the air between you to fall silent, tongue slipping out just slightly to wet his lips as you hold his gaze. “Y/n,” he asks softly, your name like molten sugar on his tongue, thumb unconsciously rubbing at the sensitive skin in the crook of your arm, “will you paint with me?”

Though the thought of painting still sours inside your chest, with his skin on your skin and his smile just for you, you feel like you could do anything. There’s only one answer. “Yes, I’ll paint with you, Taehyung.”

Painting with Taehyung is less painting with Taehyung and more staring desolately into the middle distance as Taehyung decides to make the clouds purple, bottom lip sucked between his teeth in focus.

“Don’t overthink it,” he stresses for the millionth time, glancing over at your blank canvas, “I’m not judging you.”

But it’s not about him judging you. If it wasn’t for him, you don’t think a paintbrush would have ever found its way into your hands again, certainly not so soon. It’s just that- you feel an overwhelming burden, a historical pressure of all your mistakes before. If you put brush to canvas now and create a work of art, then was your complete mindblank for the Met Gala all for nothing? Though your therapist advised against it, you had rather become attached to the idea that you’d somehow gotten artistically injured somewhere, and that eventually you’d broken completely, irreparable. It made the constant white void easier. Your first death.

“Happy little accidents,” Taehyung says lightly, dipping heavily into orange and catching a dollop on his wide-leg jeans. Not noticing it, or not caring, he swipes the orange into the canvas in a wonky line down past the horizon line, forming the neck and body of what looks vaguely like a giraffe. “And, um, happy little- happy little trees. If you want we could turn around and face the forest?”

Though a glum cloud is settling in your stomach you flick him a soft smile. “So you watch Bob Ross too? I thought you said you learnt everything from me.”

Using the same brush, he scoops out some black, using a pinkie finger to mix the colours together inside the bristles, a murky brown. “Maybe just a little,” he admits, daubing rough patches onto the giraffe, half of them overlapping the edges of its body. There’s an endearing quality to his carefree worksmanship, and you can’t deny that his painting looks good, wonky lines and all. “But don’t worry, you’ll always be my first,” Taehyung adds, not looking at you but smirking all the same.

The double entendre isn’t missed on you, but still, as you sit on a picnic table right on the edge of the village, blank canvas in front of you, you can’t bring yourself to laugh at it. All you can see is the paint drying on the tip of Taehyung’s finger, the messy pots of basic acrylics, and the warm smile that doesn’t leave his face.

He’s having fun. How long has it been since painting has been fun for you? Annoyed, you grab the clear green plastic brush from the set, dipping it into black. Muscle memory tingles across your knuckles and down the muscles of your wrist, an instinct to hold the brush in a certain way, tap off the excess, but your frustration overrides it, and you take the paintladen brush and smear it directly across the center of the canvas, a gaping maw of glossy shadow that bulges on the lower edges, gravity pulling at the thick stripe. You go completely still once it’s done. Staring.

Taehyung looks over after a moment, watching you carefully. “Is everything alright? If you didn’t want to paint, we didn’t have to-”

“It’s terrible,” you interrupt, a frown marring your face. “I fucked it up.”

“You didn’t,” he chastises softly, pushing his canvas to the side and leaning over your shoulder. “It’s a promising start. Maybe the duck pond is black in your world.”

Your eyes slide lower, unfocused. “Maybe the whole ocean is black in my world,” you murmur.

He’s silent for a moment, unsure what to say. “Then how will the fish see?” he asks in a light tone, bumping your shoulder gently with his, but you just let out a broken sob, tears spilling over your cheeks like they’d been triggered by his contact. Taehyung’s mouth opens in a rounded o, eyes wide, and as the dam breaks, you feel an arm find your back, rubbing soothingly, and long, warm fingers wrap around the hand that holds the brush limply, cradling it. “We can fix it, it’s okay,” he soothes in a kind whisper, “here; it’s that mailbox now, yeah? And behind it is the candy shop-” His voice cuts off while he guides your shaking hand to the green, mixing it with white in the plastic pottle to make a pale pastel. You feel the pressure of the brush in your hand shift as he moves the bristles over the canvas in a roughly rectangular shape, but you’re unseeing, crying tears that sting like turpentine into that black ocean behind your eyelids, letting him move you.

The two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity, you curled in his embrace as he quietly paints for you, commenting on each step of the process so you know what he’s doing, even with your eyes closed. At one point, your energy leaves you, and you collapse into him, pressing your cheek against the stable warmth of his chest, heartbeat audible through his thin t-shirt. He doesn’t complain, just adjusting his stance to better support you and resting his chin on your head.

“I’m sorry,” you blubber thickly at one point, tasting salt.

“You don’t have to be,” he assures, “just keep breathing. Look; let’s put some trees in, hm? One for you and one for me.”

You open your eyes with a sniffle, feeling your hand lower in his secure hold, and you twist around your head to watch him dip the filthy brush in a green which has already been tainted by white and red in places. Your eyes follow it up again, until he fearlessly swipes in the graceful branches of the fir trees which cover the highest points of the island. You look at the rest of the painting, and a disbelieving giggle bubbles out of you, a smile across your face despite everything.

Unlike the mental image you’d been plotting in your head with the narration, this square of canvas has a line of slightly leaning buildings stacked beside each other tightly, colours smearing on the borders. In the middle of the uneven grey strip of cement down the middle to mark out the road, two trees stand proud, mostly green but with bleeding patches of muddy purple and brown too. Entire drops of paint spatter and run, creating a chaotic but vivid daydream of the end of the street in front of you.

“A lot better in your head, wasn’t it?” Taehyung asks knowingly. You laugh again, the last few tears pressed out of the corners of your wet eyes. “It’s okay,” he replies easily, “it was better in my head too. But the one in our heads is boring, don’t you think? If I wanted to see the street in front of me exactly, I’d just look up. Or take a photo. But nobody can visit this place we’ve painted. It’s just here, brand new because of us. I think I like that more.”

You sit up, wiping your eyes with a tired smile. “There’s no way you learnt all that from me,” you deflect, voice still raw from crying. “But yeah. I think I like this one more too.”

“I’m glad,” he answers softly, letting go of your hand and removing his hand from your back at the same time. You suppress a shiver at the sudden absence of heat. “I’ll let this dry and hang it up right beside The Barn at Icheon.”

You laugh again, sniffing away the last dregs of self-pity. “You better not,” you warn playfully, “as semantically poignant as it is, it’s an awful paintjob.”

When Taehyung smiles, it’s bright and boxy. And it’s just for you.

Time passes, but not like in the real world. Out here on this island, you start counting the passage of time by how many occasions you’d met Taehyung. Then, once you’ve seen him too often to count, you let yourself lose track of time completely, remembering only the moments spent with him like vignettes on a fragile chain.

The two of you always meet in the town or on the beach, speaking about everything and nothing. One day, while waiting beside the blue metal mailbox for Yeontan to pee (though Taehyung still insisted it looked better black) you tell him of the time you accidentally turned all your clothes yellowy-green after accidentally putting an apron in the wash that had an opened sampler of chartruese in the pocket. On a rainy afternoon when you’d gotten caught in the downfall walking through the forest, Taehyung told you, while wringing out rainwater from his rumpled maroon sweater, that he was meant to be studying agricultural sciences on the mainland, but his grandmother was sick and so he bought a place nearby to care for her.

“One good thing about being on the island,” he’d chimed cheerily, dark teal and brown plastered to his cheeks and forehead, “is that property is super cheap here. My grandma paid half and I paid half, and now the one-bedroom I live in is all mine.”

“But isn’t that sad?” you’d questioned, feeling the ground turn to mud beneath your shoes. “Living on the island, I mean? You should be in a big city, partying with your friends, living life. This place is like one massive retirement village.”

Taehyung had just shrugged. “My grandma likes it. And I like living for someone else, you know? Makes me feel good.”

Long after you’d gone home, warming up by the radiator in your beachside bungalow, those words had stuck with you. You wonder if, with all this time he’s been spending with you, he’s starting to live for you, too. You wonder if maybe that’s a bad thing.

But still, time passes in this hazy, episodic way. Money continues to filter out of your bank account each week you stay, but you hadn’t worried about your finances for years now, enough successful exhibits from your productive days keeping a healthy sum.

Though he never pushes as much as last time at the picnic table, Taehyung keeps you creating. Backs of napkins, tourism pamphlets, the kids colouring sets at the local diner. No matter how scrawled or indecipherable, the soft-hearted boy compliments your work all the same, slipping the scraps into his pocket with a joking promise that he’s going to frame them. Somehow, every unthought, unplanned line of ink or lead or pigment that lights the page feels like one less needle buried deep inside your heart, one small salve to ease the burden. You don’t know if Taehyung knows it, but in all the ways that count he’s a better artist than you.

When he’s around you, the world is lusher, more vibrant. Your time alone is grey and muted; a dull beach, an empty bungalow. With him, you feel like the sky is bluer and the trees are greener. The bonfire you sit in front of now casts an intense orange glow on everything around it, including Taehyung’s hands as he deftly impales marshmallows onto a skewer.

It’s cooler at nighttime these days. At some point, you’d both exchanged sandals for sneakers, t-shirts for sweaters. Taehyung seems to fancy heavy cable knits and thick trousers even in mild weather, and you wonder if he’d still wear clothing typical of an elderly gentleman even if he was on the mainland in a modern city instead of around the older generation on the island.

Tonight, you’d tried and failed a traditional Korean barbecue over the open flame. While Taehyung had shoved his cut of pork right into the fire, ending up with a charred outside and raw inner, you’d diligently held yours above the flames, turning and turning until the muscles in your arm screamed and you had to give up and admit perhaps the meat from the local butcher was cut too thick, and that a bonfire was good for nothing more than toasted marshmallows.

“This is where it’s at, this is it,” the young man enthuses confidently, each skewer laden with four or five marshmallows, bunched together, “dessert for dinner. The way it should be.”

You’re content to sit back and let him work excitedly, wrapping the edges of the picnic blanket low over your shoulders and lap. Though Taehyung is always devastatingly handsome, he’s the most gorgeous like this: focused in his element and surrounded by all the colours and textures of nature, a painting come to life. The heat of the flames is curling his hair lightly, making teal ends flick at his temples and the nape of his neck. His hair was growing out steadily, but still he chose not to cut it, and you can’t deny the length suits him.

“There’s more brown than green now,” you mention softly. “Soon it’ll look like dip-dye.”

Taehyung glances back at you over his shoulder with a rougish grin, shuffling around so he faces you fully. “What; is this your way of saying it looks bad?”

“No,” you defend with a pout, reaching for the near-full packet of marshmallows. “I’m just curious if you’re gonna leave it like that.”

Taehyung hums like he doesn’t fully believe you, and he leans over to shove his hand in the packet at the same time that you’re rummaging for the soft sweets, your knuckles brushing together. You shiver at the contact. Somehow, that’s been the first time you’ve shared skin contact since that day at the picnic table. Wide-eyed, you wait til he’s grabbed a bunch and pull your own hand away, empty and white with powder.

“Sorry,” he adds reflexively, but you just shake your head. How are you supposed to tell him that you liked the feeling of his skin on yours? Taehyung pops a pink marshmallow into his left cheek, letting it bulge and slur his speech as he gives you a broad grin. “You could dye it for me! My hair, I mean. Pick a colour.”

Against your will, you smile back, cheeks puffing at the thought. “I have no idea how to dye hair, Tae.”

Something flickers in his eyes when you say that, or maybe it’s the dancing flames reflected in them. He chews quickly, swallowing with a jerk of his jaw, and licks the rest of the white powder off his lips. “I bet it’s a whole lot easier than painting a picture.”

You scoff, but there’s no bite to it. “Oh, so you didn’t want me to paint one of my works on your hair, then? Don’t fancy Jeju Dusk on your scalp?”

Taehyung grins at the name, recognising the title of one of your earlier paintings - one that had been relentlessly criticised for its blending of techniques, something that later became your signature. “That’s my second favorite piece, you know? I have a print of it at home, and I saw the original in the Leeum Museum last year.”

You remember the director of the Leeum fondly. In your beginning years, he’d fought for your works to be shown in some of the frequent exhibitions they held. Even though you’d barely made a name for yourself, and had only recently moved to Seoul, Director Kim Namjoon took you in like a mentee and gave you a job himself as his PA. The experience you’d gotten there, as well as that vital exposure, had kept you business-savvy throughout your career, and once you were in a position to give back, you donated almost all of your original canvases to the museum in his name. Maybe one day you’d return home to Seoul and tell Namjoon of the boy who lived on a faraway island, the boy who taught you to open up again. Would Taehyung still be with you then? Though it hasn’t been long, it’s hard to comprehend a life without Taehyung. All you can visualise is a great absence, a lack. You banish the thought from your mind with a shake of your head, glancing back up to see the boy himself boldly setting a skewer of marshmallows on fire in the orange heat. “I hope that’s your one,” you joke weakly as he puffs out the blue and orange that lick at the blackening lumps.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what my favorite work is?” he asks instead, ignoring your statement.

You stay silent for a moment, observing the way he discards the charred skewer in his lap and delicately toasts the other one, swivelling the base so that each side of the marshmallow stack warms to a golden brown. Once he pulls it out, he hands it to you with an expectant quirk of his brow. You take the stick with a slightly suspicious smile. “What’s your favorite, Taehyung?”

“Your next one,” he answers immediately, gaze locked on yours.

You blame the heat radiating off the bonfire for the warmth in your cheeks as you suppress a smile. “Alright then,” you say decisively.

“Alright what?”

“Alright, I’ll dye your hair for you.”

He grins broadly, eyes crinkling into crescent moons as he starts eating his thoroughly-burnt marshmallows. “Tomorrow,” he announces, melted strings of pink and white pooling in the corner of his lips. “Let’s meet at the convenience store and you can pick the colour.”

You smirk at the way he devours the toasted marshmallows with childish glee. “You’ll regret that when you come out of this with highlighter orange hair.”

He chucks his leftover stick into the grocery bag you brought your supplies in, letting himself collapse backwards onto the heated sand. “I think I could pull it off,” he deflects calmly. “Just you see.”

Breath taken away by the peace on his face as he closes his eyes, your mind works dizzily, desperate to find something to keep him talking, to keep this moment between you alive. “Maybe you could get a job as air traffic control. Or a streetlight. Just you wait; it’ll be orange orange.”

Taehyung’s face warms in a lazy smile as he hums. He looks so peaceful lying there that you’re tempted to join him, but you choose instead to shuffle back from the fire so that you can see his face better. His hair’s splayed out over the sand, and you can see the warm flickers from the bonfire play over his neck, his jaw, and the tip of his nose. Taehyung’s right; orange does suit him. “I had a dream, you know. Last night.”

You feel - with the gentle breeze and the silence of the sea surrounding you - that perhaps you’re in a dream right now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” his low voice hushes, barely louder than the popping of wood on the fire. “We weren’t on the island, we were in Seoul. Your wing of the Leeum Museum.”

You laugh shallowly, not wanting to make much noise for a reason you couldn’t quite pinprick. “I don’t have a wing at the Leeum.”

“You did in my dream,” he defends resolutely, the beginnings of a boxy smile tugging at his lips. “Anyway, we were in your wing, and I remember being so confused because I didn’t recognise any of them. But you told me they were all new. They were paintings of m-” he cuts himself off a beat too late, lips pressed together.

Your heart falters, a rush of adrenaline that flows to the ends of your fingers and toes. You fight to keeo your voice steady. “Maybe it was a premonition.”

Resting on his stomach, Taehyung’s hands twitch, his fingers twisting together. His smile flattens into a tense line and his eyelids squeeze shut tightly. “I don’t wanna get my hopes up,” he admits quietly after a short pause of thought.

Looking back, you can’t remember your thought process, or where your boldness comes from. Maybe something about the way the moment felt detached from reality, a timeless bubble of the two of you that sat adjacent to your real life, separate from consequence. Maybe it was the brief glimpse of pink as he wets the inner seam of his lips. Maybe you’ve just wanted this for too long to think rationally anymore.

Whatever it is, you swallow past the dryness in your mouth, bend down, and press a kiss to his lips.

Taehyung goes completely still at first. You’re cross-legged on the sand, knees faced to his side, and when you kiss him, it’s on enough of an angle that you feel his nose brushing your cheekbone, and you can feel your hair falling down either side of your face like silken rain. He stays still, though, and you press a little harder, just for a moment, before his lack of response shatters your streak of confidence.

With a minute sigh of regret, you lift off of him, ready to sit up again and apologise profoundly. But before there’s more than a few centimeters of air between you, his hand is suddenly snaking around the nape of your neck, fingers slipping up into your hair as he pulls you back down.

When you collide again with a gasp, his mouth is parted, and his teeth scrape against your bottom lip with his urgency. Losing your balance, you throw your outside arm over him, palm plunging into the sand just beside his head, and let your upper torso rest on his his.

“Taehyung,” you sigh onto his lips, shivering when his free hand rests hotly on your waist, thumb slipping under the hem of your shirt to rub maddenly over the sensitive skin of your stomach. “Oh, Taehyung.”

His lips are sticky with the remains of the toasted marshmallows, and tentatively you seek out that sweetness, kissing deeper, letting your tongue slide over the pinkened skin. He holds you so gently, like you’re made of glass, yet his mouth on yours is pure fire, and your breath comes in little gasps, bursts of oxygen that only fan the flames higher. It takes you a few moments to realise the humming in his throat and the motion of his lips are words, so softly spoken, but once you do you slow your movements to a languid stream to better hear them.

“...so beautiful, I’ve wanted to do this for so long, I must be dreaming…” He speaks with his eyes half-lidded, like he doesn’t want to fully lose sight of you, uttering words between sweet kisses, strong hands cradling you so carefully. He presses his lips against yours one last time and moves his hand from your neck to your face, thumbing tenderly at your cheekbone. “God, I’m so lucky to be by your side,” he gasps. “And when you paint new works and attend exhibits, I’ll still be by your side.”

His words are sweet, but something about them strikes an odd note in your chest, and you pull back slightly, shaking off his hands.

He looks at you with wide eyes and swollen lips which are parted in a confused pout. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s my paintings,” you whisper disbelievingly, “isn’t it? That’s why you think you like me. You like my paintings, and you think it’s somehow the same thing.”

He frowns, shuffling back to sit up, further apart from you than you’d been all night. “No,” he says automatically, “I like you, I just… I think you’re talented, and I want to help you-”

“It’s not your place to help me,” you snap back, and Taehyung flinches. “I’m not some- some out-of-order printer that just needs some TLC to start pumping out pages again. You’re a fan, Taehyung, not a fucking therapist.”

He lets those words sit in the air until they sour, staring at you with eyes shiny and lips trembling. “I know that,” he says, voice cracking, “I know that. I just- Just because you had issues with the Met Gala exhibit doesn’t mean you have to run away and hide, you know?”

Your mouth falls open. “I… I didn’t have issues with the Met Gala, okay, Taehyung? I blanked. Every time I tried to paint something for the exhibit, it sucked. I hated it. And then, eventually, I stopped being able to paint anything at all. It was like I just- I just couldn’t. And the Director kept calling, but I couldn’t answer him because I was so fucking humiliated, and you get the day of the Met and the walls are empty because Y/n L/n is a fucking failure. So it’s not- You can’t fix me, Taehyung. I’m just broken.”

The fire spits, crackles, as it smoulders down, nothing more than hot coals that barely light the surroundings. Taehyung, face slowly darkening to shadow, doesn’t say anything. Just sits. Waits.

You sniff, looking down at your hands. “My point is, Tae-” and you scoff at yourself for using a nickname at a time like this, “You shouldn’t like me. I have nothing to give you anymore.”

Sand sticks to your bare legs when you stand, but you make no attempt to brush it off. Though it’s nearly complete darkness, you see Taehyung’s hair shift as he tips his head up to watch you. Rather than speak back, he waits in the pitch black of the extinguished bonfire and lets you go.

Later, in the unforgiving silence of your bungalow, you find yourself gravitating not towards your bed but towards your suitcase, to the small wooden chest of travel paints you had brought never expecting to use.

It’s easier to paint than to think on your regrets and mistakes, and so you let your mind go black, your palette filling with shades of brown, ochre and beige, as well as a single swatch of teal.

The entire next day sees you in a sleep-deprived fervour, the entire main room of your bungalow cleared out and transformed into a makeshift studio, paintings drying on emptied bookshelves, sheets of old newspaper covering the carpet covered in stray spots of colour, the kitchen bench housing your mismatched array of paints and tools.

After finishing your first painting, you’d collapsed onto your bed as the sun began to rise, too exhausted to wash the dried paint off your hands and brow. But it only took a few moments of rest before you felt yourself sinking into a glum quicksand, sucked in by all the emotions swirling in your chest. Suffocated by the sole image of Taehyung, sitting alone on the sand in the dark as you walked away.

So, you’d gotten up, fed the itch in your hands and picked up a brush once more, and let yourself be taken by the mindless haze of work, of colours and angles and perspectives, starting to paint the knuckles on one canvas while you waited for the eyes to dry on another.

Just after 10am, your housekeeper had knocked on the door, and you’d had to play sick so that she wouldn’t come inside. If they kept your deposit or charged you damages for a stray lick of paint on some surface, what did it matter?

You threw yourself so intensely into these paintings, that weren’t art so much as sighs of relief, or buoys in a churning sea. It was all too easy to let your mind latch onto the task of mixing colours, of choosing techniques, of mastering proportions. Normally, you’d work in front of a landscape, or take a photo and paint it later, wanting to get things right, but Taehyung comes to mind with startling clarity.

Soon, your bungalow fills with artworks - some painted on newspaper, or pages of a book when you run out of canvases. Vistas of those moments with him like clustered vignettes: his eyes with orange glints reflected in them from that night with the bonfire; his hands wringing his sodden sweater the day you got caught in the rain; a boxy smile, the first time he ever grinned at you like that; and finally, just as your hands begin to shake too much to hold the brush steady, a lone silhouette walking down a dune, tiny dog tugging at the leash in his hand. The memories flow in reverse, like some sort of undoing, a wish to go back in time and do things right, to be better for him, to do right by him.

When you set the brush down one final time, fingers trembling with exhaustion, it’s nearly midnight. You realise with a dull pang that you’d forgotten to go down to the township to buy Taehyung hair dye. You realise he probably wouldn’t have come down either.

Your face is stiff in places where swipes of paint have dried, and your hair is tangled, thrown up a half-hearted ponytail that keeps threatening to slip, but as you stare around the chaos of the room, at the fevered paintings of him, only him, always him, your heart knows what to do. Whether you like it or not, you can’t go back in time and start new, start fresh. But you can go forward, and you know exactly where your feet will take you.

Well, maybe not exactly, because you’ve never been to Taehyung’s house. But shoving on some sneakers and wrappin yourself up in a jacket, you figure you can find it. The island’s population was barely fifty, and all the houses were in the same sleepy neighborhood behind the main street.

It’s after knocking on exactly twenty-six doors that you realise maybe you should just ask if the stranger knew Taehyung’s address, rather than leaving when somebody unfamiliar answered the door. Shivering, even with the thick padded jacket you’re bundled in, you decide that the next house better be the last. If they didn’t know where Tae was, you could just come back and pick up where you left off tomorrow.

The street is so silent that your sneaker soles on the gravel fill the void entirely, amplified in the chilled night air. As you went on, and the moon passed the center of the sky, less and less people even opened their doors, some that did scolding you for waking them at such an hour. You’d feel bad, only your mind’s entirely locked on one single person.

The next house you reach is small, like most of them, but looks particularly well-groomed compared to most. A gleaming white postbox with the number 13B rests beside the driveway and footpath, both of which are bordered by lush, freshly-mowed grass, almost black in the darkness. Like a beacon, a single lamplight shines white-yellow above the front door, and your eyes ache with the warm brightness as you knock.

After fifteen or so seconds, you hear muffled movement inside, and straighten your back expectantly, mentally running through your speech. A light turns on behind lacy curtains to the left, and eventually a blurred silhouette approaches in the foyer, unlocking the door.

You put on your most sympathetic smile and take in a breath when it cracks, revealing an older woman in mismatching winter pyjamas. “I’m so sorry to wake you, ma’am, but I was wondering if you knew a boy called-” As your eyes search the old woman’s face, you freeze. You know those eyes. “K-Kim Taehyung?” you finish, blinking widely at the woman who somehow looks so familiar.

Rather than grumble about the time or huff, she smiles broadly, lips tugging up in a boxy smile. “Well, of course, he’s my grandson!” The smile drops, brows furrowing in concern. “Is he alright?”

You suck in a breath through your teeth, eyes widening. “I- oh my goodness, I’ve heard so much about you,” you gush, her eyes crinkling fondly at your words. “Sorry, uh- yes, Taehyung is okay, I just-” You stop yourself, trying to steady your racing heart. “Mrs. Kim, you probably don’t even know me, but I did something bad and I need to make it right with him and I just… I think I’m in love with your grandson.” The moment you finish, something in your heart settles at the sound of the words lingering in the air.

She takes her time to reply, letting the words sink into her with a thoughtful sigh. “Darling, am I right in assuming your name is Y/n?”

You swallow quickly. “Yes, that’s right.”

She nods with a fond smile, a glimmer in her eye. “Then I think there’s something you should come see.”

“Inside?” After she waves you in and guides you to slip off your shoes and step into some house slippers instead, you find yourself awkwardly following her down a homely, perfumed hallway. “By the way, I’m so sorry for waking you.”

She waves it off before you even finish your sentence, sending you a kind wink. “No bother to me, lovie. I’m just glad you didn’t wake the dog.”

“The dog?” you mumble to yourself, before halting suddenly as Mrs. Kim pauses in front of a door, hand resting on the glass knob.

“My grandson’s been visiting me more lately, you see,” she explains, turning the knob to reveal a room in complete darkness, nothing inside visible. “He had so much to tell me and so much to do, became as hyper as a boy on Christmas morning! He told me not to go in here, but I couldn’t help myself.”

You step inside on her indication, breath caught in your throat as your eyes struggle to adjust. “I don’t understand…”

“Lovie, don’t worry about whatever went wrong with you two. You love him and… Maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic, but it’s clear he loves you too.” And with that, she flicks the light on and the room comes into focus.

A barn. That’s the first thing you see. A painting of a bright, sprawling barn with a tiny dilapidated kennel in its shadow, wobbly letters spelling out YEONTAN. On the wall directly across from the door rests the original painting of The Barn at Icheon, close to a meter wide and half a metre high. The question of why he’d keep this prized possession of his in a random room barely bigger than a closet dies on your tongue as you turn, seeing the other walls.

A sketch of a bird you’d seen and wanted to show him, clumsily sketched on the back of a receipt with a pen from the lady at the grocery store checkout; a smudged map of your old neighborhood in Seoul that he’d made you draw on a napkin when you were explaining to him how far away the art supply store was; a tourism pamphlet that you and Taehyung had found on a park bench, drawing little Bigfoot silhouettes on the pictures of mountains and mermaids on the beaches. Every one of these thoughtless scrawls, careless scribbles and hurried drawings are here, each one framed or mounted like in a gallery, in order of the time they were made. You turn around slowly, barely noticing Taehyung’s grandmother in the doorway, giving you a knowing look. Finally, on the last wall, the trail of pieces disappear with a final creation, a canvas.

Feeling tears gather in your eyes, you look at the black smear of a mailbox, the wonky shops, the two tall trees incongruously planted in the middle of the street. And, in the bottom right corner painted meticulously in teal, the same teal as his hair, Y/n and Taehyung.

You let out a sob, turning back to Mrs. Kim. “Thank you for showing me this,” you make out in a voice thickened with tears, “but I really need to see him. Can you please give me his address?”

With a look of warm empathy, she steps forward to clasp your shoulders gently, maternally. “He told me about what happened, luvie. He doesn’t blame you.”

Trembling, you wipe the wetness from your cheeks and sniff. “He should,” you admit sullenly, “he’s too good for me. He’s been nothing but kind and patient and caring and all I’ve done is let him down.” Something occurs to you, and you frown in confusion. “Wait… Did he stop by and tell you?”

Her hands squeeze your upper arms comfortingly before dropping them and stepping back. “Oh honey,” she coos, and your heart stops as she steps aside out of the doorway, letting another, taller figure enter the room.

“Taehyung,” you whisper in shock, but before you can even comprehend his presence, his arms are around you, pulling you against his chest in a tight hug. You feel thick layers of pressure and worry evaporate off of you with a single moment, lungs filling with the familiar scent of him, body relaxing with his chin resting on your head and his arms cradling you. For what feels like a small eternity, you let yourself be fully enveloped in him, an indescribable catharsis of finally being in his arms once more. As your tears dry on the soft flanelette of his pyjama shirt and your fingers clutch at his back, you feel a thought transform into a certainty. “I love you, Taehyung,” you confess quietly, and his whole body shudders with a sob, arms tightening around you even more.

“I love you so much,” he confesses lowly, chest rumbling against your ear as he speaks. “And please don’t ever call yourself broken. You’re not. I didn’t love the art, I loved you. Because the art is a part of you Y/n, whether it’s perfect or not.”

“Tae,” you breathe shakily, his name the only word on your lips.

A soft voice comes from the hallway, Taehyung’s grandmother quietly excusing herself to “leave the two lovebirds alone.” You barely notice, lost in the way Taehyung gently rocks you back and forth in his arms, soothing you.

“I missed you,” you hear Taehyung whisper into your hair, nuzzling his nose gently.

Though you shiver at the feeling, you let out a teary laugh. “I saw you a day ago.”

“But it wasn’t the same then,” he insists softly, and a slow breath escapes you weakly. “It’s okay; you’re here now. You-” he breaks off to swallow, and when he speaks again his voice is much quieter, paper thin. “You won’t walk away again, will you?”

You answer by tipping your head up to look him in the eyes warmly, rising onto the tips of your toes so that you can reach his mouth, pressing a kiss against it tenderly. “Never,” you answer surely, “I promise.”

When he smiles, it’s beautiful - that big, boxy grin you saw that day on the dunes, that day you agreed to paint with him, and so many times since. But it never fails to make you melt, lips automatically returning the gesture. “Now,” he announces with a bemused lilt in his voice. “As much as I love this makeout session in my grandma’s closet, it is 2am. Shall we go get some rest?”

Sleep comes quickly once you have Taehyung’s arm around you and your face in the crook of his neck, and you let it take you, knowing you’ll have time to savor the feeling of sleeping beside him for many days to come.

You take him home the next day.

He hadn’t ever been to the bungalow before, but now there was something you desperately wanted him to see. You hadn’t cleaned up before you’d suddenly began roaming the streets of the island, and as he stares around at the chaos, you kind of wish you had. “It’s pretty messy, but…”

“No,” he deflects, mouth parted and eyes wide in wonder, “don’t apologise, this is- wow.” He steps further into the room, stepping over discarded paint tubes, dried canvases and uncleaned brushes. He takes a moment to take in each work. Every single one of them a snapshot of him. “How- When did you do all this?”

You bite your lip, loitering in the entryway. “From when I got back that night until I decided to come looking for you.”

He furrows his brow, fingers gently skimming the top edge of the painting that rests on the easel in the center of the room, the first one you’d painted. His teal growouts, his uneven eyes, the moles dotted so intricately on his face. Your Tae. “You haven’t been able to pick up a brush in months, and then...all this?”

“This was easy,” you say with a shake of your head, “it was easy because it was you.”

He turns, then, glancing at you over his shoulder with eyes brimming with affection. “You really love me.”

A disbelieving grin stretches across your lips. “The midnight confession didn’t make it clear enough?”

“It’s not that, I- I can read it,” he explains, stepping back over to you. “The Barn at Icheon is filled with loneliness, and a lot of your other works talk about fear or curiosity or patience. But this is all love. And it’s me.”

“It’s you,” you confirm with a soft smile, “I love you, Taehyung. So much.”

His eyes light up, then, a cheeky glimmer as his hand reaches out, gripping your elbow and giving it a playful shake. “If I’m your mojo then, you should paint something else today,” he bargains, “I wanna see your genius in action. The black mailbox sadly doesn’t qualify.”

Your mouth drops open in mock outrage, shoving his chest with a whine. “That’s not fair! You said you liked it better black.” Looking around at the disaster zone of the bungalow, you sigh. “I also don’t think I have any paintable surfaces left. I missed the housekeeper so I’ll probably get a fine as it is.”

“Use me, then.”

“Haven’t I painted you enough?” you fire back, but Taehyung just shakes his head emphatically.

“Paint on me. Here,” he says, and his hands leave yours in order to find the hem of his shirt, peeling his shirt off and tossing it into a far end of the room. “A big old waterfall, right down the middle. Rock pool at the bottom.”

“Stop it!” You blush fiercely, hands coming up to cover your cheeks as your eyes feast on his chest, the smooth planes and taut skin, a beautiful golden bronze. “Taehyung…”

For the first time, he doesn't press further. Instead, his shoulders sag, teasing facade slipping. "I'm sorry, you don't have to. I'll stop."

Inexplicably, you find yourself wanting to prove you aren't fragile anymore, unbroken just as he'd insisted you were last night. "I can do it," you protest, stepping away from him to fossick for some usable brushes. "Lie down, then."

Taehyung freezes. "Uh. Yeah, yeah, okay, gimme one sec, I'll just-" With the enthusiasm of a boy having his first kiss, Taehyung hunkers down on the newspaper-covered carpet, shuffling some tools and tubes and palettes out of the way. He looks beautiful like that, chest rising and falling shakily with anticipation, warm brown eyes widened on you. "You don't have to paint a waterfall, you know," he assures hurriedly. "Whatever you do will be perfect."

Heart leaping at his words, you feel a streak of confidence deep inside you, and instead of sitting beside him, you straddle his hips with a newly-filled palette in one hand and a brush in the other. "I want you to guess," you announce from above him, eying his chest and wondering how the colours might fill the space. "Guess what I'm painting. It'll be fun!"

Taehyung's throat bobs with a harsh swallow, nodding quickly. "O-okay, yeah, let's do that," he agrees weakly.

You smile warmly, and begin dipping into a forest green, coating the tips of the bristles. Bending down, you mark a single point of green on the top of his chest, just below his collarbone. The moment the cool paint touches his skin, Taehyung shudders, eyes falling shut. "Okay?" you check. He nods again, chest heaving, and so you continue tracking colour, gradual swoops downwards. Each drag of the brush makes Taehyung's breath catch, and you watch as goosebumps break out on his bare arms.

"Feels nice," he mumbles, lips barely moving like he didn't even intend to speak.

Your lip twitches, but still you focus, topping up the brush whenever the lines became too spotty. After trailing down to just above the level of his belly button, you raise the brush again, starting a new form on the other side of his chest, this one smaller. "Any idea what it is?" you question, but Taehyung just sighs airily.

Once you're finished with the forest green, you wipe your brush off on the edge of your palette and go for a deeper shade, pressing in shadows under each swipe of green. It's once you're working on the bottom half of the second structure that you begin to feel a hardness between your legs, the point where you're straddling him. Shocked, you look up, but Taehyung's covered his eyes with the back of his hand, face turned to the side with reddened cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he croaks out once he feels you stop. "Didn't mean to."

With a fond smile, you lean down, careful not to smudge the wet paint, and gently kiss the corner of his mouth. His fingers twitch and his lips part in surprise, but he otherwise stays still. "It's okay," you soothe, "if it's any consolation, I feel the same way right now."

Like a switch is flipped, Taehyung lifts his hand and tucks his chin, looking down at where the two of you are pressed together, then back up at your face. "Seriously?"

You laugh warmly. "Taehyung, I love you and you're currently lying beneath me, half-naked, writhing every time the brush touches you. Of course I'm turned on."

His cheeks flush hotter and he bites his lip. "You can- you can keep going. Keep painting."

Obediently continuing to fill in the shadow across his stomach, you grin. "Still no guesses on what I'm painting? I'm almost done, you know."

He cranes his neck down further, but the angle prevents him from seeing much. "Some-something green? I'll be honest with you, my focus really isn't-fuck!"

You suppress a laugh as he shudders, hands reaching out to clutch at your pants. Having finished the shadow, you'd mixed a paler green to add some light points on the tops, and one of those swipes had just happened to land across the top of one of his nipples, already stiff from arousal. You continue dipping colour here and there, smirking at the paint that covers the dark brown of his right nipple.

"You tease," Taehyung complains with furrowed brows. "Fuck, that felt good. Please tell me you need to paint the other one too."

You hum in mock thought, transferring your brush to the hand with the palette so that you can reach out, swiping a thumb over the sensitive flesh. Taehyung's whole body jerks, his hips beginning to grind under you, the dull friction pulling a pleasured sigh from your lips that's blessedly drowned by his drawn-out moan. "Why the pout, Tae? This was your idea."

"Next time I'm holding the paintbrush," he promises, hips moving slowly beneath you, eyes lidded as they focus on you, "then you won't be so cocky."

His words send a hot rush of arousal through you, and you rock your hips unconsciously, swallowing a moan. "Next time," you repeat breathily, "but for now I'm almost done."

It only takes a few more touches of pale green, followed by two vertical strokes of brown, before you're putting your tools aside, and standing up off of him.

Taehyung groans in complaint when your hips leave him, his casual grey sweatpants tented and a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Where are you going?"

"Come see," you guide, tugging at his hand. "I have a mirror in my room."

He gets up, palming himself with a pout before following you down the hall, pulled along by your interlocked hands. Once in front of the mirror, Taehyung lifts his eyebrows at just how wrecked he looks. Bottom lip swollen from biting at it, hair mussed and sticking up, and a burst of green slowly drying on his torso. "It's...trees?"

"It's us," you explain softly, "like that painting we did together the first time." From beside him, you reach around to gently tap each figure, two tall fir trees, the one on his right taller than the one on his left. "One for you and one for me."

Before you can pull your arm back, his hand comes up to flatten yours against his chest, hands going cold where the paint is still wet in places.

"Tae, you'll smudge it."

"Y/n," he said slowly, head turning to look at you, eyes brimming with affection, "will you let me make love to you?"

Your breath catches, and rather than trusting your voice, you nod wordlessly.

With a deep exhale, he bends down and joins your lips with his, a hand coming up to bury itself in your hair, keeping you close. His lips are hot against yours, passionate and wanting, and your stomach warms with desire. Clumsily, your fingers find the hem of your shirt, lifting it as far as you can before you have to break apart from him, flinging it away once it clears your head.

"The bed?" Taehyung pants in the moments his mouth is free, and you nod, shucking off your jeans before getting onto the mattress in just your bra and panties. "God, you're beautiful," he chants, "how did I get so lucky?"

He slips out of his sweatpants and joins you sitting on the edge, but your eyes linger on his face, the way his eyes soften and crinkle when they meet yours. "I'm the lucky one," you reply simply.

You shiver when a large palm runs up your bare thigh, warm and grounding. "Can I go down on your first?" he asks with a pleading gaze.

You laugh weakly. "I'm definitely the lucky one." In confirmation, you lie yourself back, scooting so your head rests on the pillows.

Hand now having slid down your leg to rest over your ankle, he wraps his fingers around and lifts it off the bed delicately, your knee crooking and legs parting. Smoothly, he slips himself in the gap, lying on his stomach and letting your raised leg rest on his shoulders. With eyes heavy on you, he leans forward slowly and licks a strip over your clothed pussy, a dull kiss of friction across your clit. You groan, head lolling back, and he takes it as his initiative to continue, sucking at the juices that have dampened your panties until the whole crotch is wet, your thighs shaking slightly with your increased sensitivity.

"Tae, please," you breath out, "I wan' more."

A finger slips below the hem of your panties, just over your hipbone. "Should we take these off?" You nod with a needy whimper, lifting your hips to give him easier access.

He sits up to slide them down your legs, calmly spreading your thighs again when you get the self-conscious urge to close them. With only your bra on, you feel so vulnerable, but rather than scaring you, you feel at peace, so happy to be having this moment with Taehyung.

When he shuffles back into place again, he takes his time, his warm breath tickling your inner thighs. At your needy wiggle of your hips, he chuckles and rubs soothingly at the top of your leg where it's crooked over his shoulder, finally dipping his head again to lick at you.

He starts out maddeningly light, the very tip of his tongue flicking slowly over your clit, tentatively venturing out to dip between your folds. You reach out for his hand, needing something to anchor you, and he smiles against you as he interlocks your fingers, keeping you grounded.

"So good, Tae," you encourage, moaning openly when his tongue trails lower and dips between your folds, over your entrance. "Fuck, so good."

Rather than answer verbally, Taehyung doubles his efforts and begins to speed up, lapping at your core and suckling your clit.

Every breath is a moan or a whimper, overtaken by pleasure, but you let yourself drown in it, letting Taehyung eat you out like a man starved. With one hand on your upper thigh and one entwined with yours, he's got no fingers free to play with you, but expertly he brings you to your peak with just his tongue, thrusting it inside you as his nose nudges at your clit.

When you feel your orgasm quickly approaching, your moans heighten and your back begins to arch, hips grinding against him desperately. Taehyung chuckles, the sound vibrating against you and making you shudder, and his hand slips high to press against your waist instead, holding you in place for him. Your thighs tense around him, praises and curses and his name spilling from your lips incoherently.

It's one last nibble at your clit, pulling it into his mouth and dragging his tongue over it, your vision whites out with the force of your orgasm, jerking beneath him and crying out wantonly, overcome with pleasure. He works you through it diligently, groaning as you come down from your high with weak shivers, his tongue never ceasing until you push at his head from oversensitivity.

He lets your leg down carefully, kissing his way up your bare stomach, the swells of your breasts and your throat until his lips are on yours and you can taste yourself on him, feel the ends of his hair tickling against your cheeks.

"That was incredible, Tae," you pant out, feeling boneless beneath him as he takes charge of the kiss, tugging at your lips and licking into your mouth. "I need you," he gasps, and you moan throatily when his clothed crotch grinds against your bare core, the fabric of his underwear catching on your sensitive clit. He's hard, probably painfully so, and all you want is to feel him inside you.

Desperate, your fingers slip behind you, arching your back so that you can deftly release the clasp of your bra, pulling it off hastily before reaching for his underwear. "I need you too, Tae," you plea, "please hurry."

His fingers, slightly cool from the air, slide down your stomach and between your thighs, making you jump as he slips two inside, thrusting them slowly. You're still sensitive, and his mouth falls to your ear, hushing you and pressing encouraging kisses to your temple as you whimper. "Doing so well for me," he praises, "just gotta make sure you're ready, okay?"

"O-okay," you make out, sucking in a breath when he pulls out and presses a third finger inside you, picking up his pace. Gradually, the prickling overstimulation warms into pleasure again, and you rock your hips to seek more friction, free hand coming up to wrap around his neck and shoulders, holding him close.

With no bra on, your full chest is flat against his, and as the paint dries it drags over your nipples, making you arch your back, seeking out the friction.

The warmth between your legs tightens with the extra stimulation, and your breath begins to catch, feeling another orgasm oncoming.

"Close?" Taehyung murmurs in your ear as he widens the gaps between his fingers inside you, scissoring to stretch you even more. You nod hastily, moans getting stuck in your throat, pushed out with every gasped breath. Taehyung hums in response, and you whimper when you feel his fingers slipping out of you completely. Before you can protest, the blunt head of his cock slips between your sopping folds, Taehyung running it up and down to coat himself in your slick.

"Fuck, yes, please Tae, I'm ready," you babble, legs lifting to wrap around his hips, attempting to pull him in closer.

He chuckles, but it's cut off prematurely by a hissed breath of pleasure as he lines up and begins to sink his length into you, a delicious feeling of fullness after his fingers left you so empty. Taehyung enters you slowly, letting you adjust, and you feel completely enveloped by him; his voice in your ear, his hand in yours, his cock inside you.

"Need you, Tae," you whine once he stills, bottomed out, "please move."

"Are you ready?" You wiggle your hips with a groaned yes, arm tightening around him as he pulls back. He stops when just his head still rests inside you, pauses for a moment with a moan as you clench around him, and then plunges back in with one slick thrust.

You cry out, satisfied smile stretching tiredly across your face as he finally begins a steady rhythm, favoring deeper thrusts that make your toes curl. "Yes, Tae, so good!"

"God, you're still so tight," he groans throatily, "so good for me."

On the edge before, you find yourself close after only a few minutes, and you tell him with a shaky breath. Taehyung lets out a relieved exhale as he continues to thrust into you. "Thank fuck," he huffs out, panting a word at a time, "I'm not gonna last, you drive me crazy."

You press your head against his, nuzzling at it as you unwrap your arm from around his shoulders, instead seeking out your clit for the needed friction to push you over the edge. The added stimulation has you clenching, and Taehyung swears desperately, his pace picking up but shuddering as he gets close.

The two of you pant loudly into the otherwise silent room, filling each others' ears with whimpered moans and slurred praises, until you finally catch the tip of your peak, and with one final drag of his cock inside you, you're falling apart, not suddenly and violently like the first time, but rather a slow, hot wave of pleasure that works its way out from your core, down to your toes and fingertips, clenching tightly around Taehyung until he curses and spills inside you, shuddering through his release.

"I love you so much," you whisper once you come down from your high, a contented exhaustion seeping into your bones.

"I love you too," Taehyung says with a final press of his lips on your temple.

---

"This one's gorgeous. I love the broad lines on the ocean compared to the texture of rocks on the shore. This is at the island, you say?"

You hum in confirmation, smiling at your old friend. "You should see, it, Joonie. There's this little cluster of houses and shops right in the middle but the rest is just open nature. Forests, beaches, everything in the middle. I go there every year."

Kim Namjoon, Director at the Leeum Museum in Seoul and avid nature buff, takes one last look at the landscape canvas and grins. "Ah, twist my arm..." You follow him as he moves down the line of mounted canvases, stopping at a familiar portrait. He furrows his brows and cocks his head. "I feel like I've seen this guy before, something about the face... He didn't have green in his hair though, I must be confused."

You laugh at your friend, spying a shock of red through the swathes of people. "You have seen him before," you explain, catching the figure's eye, "you would have seen him here tonight."

In front of you, Namjoon raises his brows. "Oh, really? Who is he, then?"

Over Namjoon's shoulder, you watch Taehyung approach, turning heads with his scarlet dye. He gives you a wink, and you grin back. "He's my husband."

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