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kaidenya · 3 years

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Getting Caught ✧ MHA

Description: Headcanons for getting caught in a intimate moment with Hitoshi Shinso, Tenya Iida, Mirio Togata, & Tomura Shigaraki

WARNING: NSFW, suggestive content NOTE: This is a repost of an old SHITPOST headcanon I had on my previous account so if this looks familiar I hope you enjoy it the second time around!

“Nobody will know...”

Shinso

Shinso would go to his grave claiming that you were to blame for this situation

But in all honesty, he had been allowing things to build for far too long

You two weren’t necessarily a secret, but most people just assumed you were bEsT fRiEnDs 🥴

It was an honest misunderstanding

You had decided to keep physical contact to a minimum after an unfortunate attempt at holding his hand left you believing he didn’t enjoy any forms of PDA.

Shinso had just assumed the same about you.

However, as the two of you grew more serious, you found it more difficult to keep your hands to yourself

It just so happened your boyfriend had been working extremely hard in the hero course and it s h o w e d

You had found yourself admiring his changing physique and in turn, found you weren’t the only one admiring your boyfriend.

You weren’t necessarily jealous— you trusted him more than anything, but he tended to be socially constipated

And nobody seemed to know about you. Thus giving the other interested parties an unintentional greenlight to flirt with him. And there was one girl that had stood out among the sea of suitors.

Each time you saw the second-year girl perch next to Shinso it made your skin crawl, but no lines had been crossed.

Until they were.

Your knuckles were gripping the strap of your bag so tightly it ached when you made your way to where your boyfriend was perched outside

The second-year didn’t even acknowledge you as she continued her flirtatious ways and you don’t resist the urge to roll your eyes as you settle into the place next to him.

He had flashes you a lazy smile before focusing back on his phone screen.

Then her hand landed on his upper thigh

Let me tell you: sleepy boy was shocked when she touched him, but he was EVEN MORE SHOCKED when you took her by the wrist and tossed her hand to the side

You waste no time threading your fingers with his, rising to your feet and all but hauling him from his seat

His amusement only grew as he realized just how jealous you had gotten, a smirk forming over his lips as he set to teasing you

‘What’s the matter, kitty? You don’t like anyone touching daddy?’

NO, YOU DO NOT

You have no idea how you ended up on your knees in a supply closet??

Shinso is feeling very sure of himself above you, using the hand that was gripping the back of your neck as leverage to hold you down on his length

k i n g of dirty talk 🤭

Absolutely cannot help himself when it comes to telling you how pretty you look choking on his cock

Honestly doesn’t last long, but what do you expect? Seeing your jealous and possessive response to the girl he had given little to no acknowledgment had lit a fire in his chest

He was desperate to get his hands on you, to remind you that he was just as much yours as you were his.

And when he does— oh MAN he makes you forget all about the second-year girl

He has one of your legs draped over his shoulder as he goes down on you, licking and sucking at you in a way that had you trembling

You accidentally knock over a pile of brooms and mops, neither of you paying them any mind as your head lulled in bliss

If only you had remembered to flick the lock on the door…

Kirishima really thought someone was banging on the door for help. It wouldn’t have been manly— or heroic not to make sure someone wasn’t in trouble

Besides, why else would someone be making so much noise in a supply closet if they weren’t stuck??

So when the door swung open and he locked eyes with you, still panting and moaning as an all too familiar head of purple hair buried further into your heat—

He let out the loudest shout he could muster. Apologies poured from his mouth as he fumbled to shut the door

However, your boyfriend made no move to let you go. Instead, he hummed against your skin, only leaning back to nip at your inner thigh before speaking in a heavy voice

‘Better make this fast, kitty.’

Iida

So you’ve tried to keep your relationship on the down-low bc Iida doesn’t want anyone to think he’s distracted

We all know he just doesn’t wanna be called out for his obvious favoritism

Before you got together you were constantly pushing him, breaking minuscule rules in favor of gaining his attention. Nothing too immoral, but enough to get under his skin.

Like slipping into class just seconds after the bell had rung, nearly avoiding Aizawa’s attention, but never making it past Iida.

Or when a class had gotten a bit too stressful, the room filling with hot air as tensions rose and you had to pop open a few buttons of your uniform top

Then there was your favorite offense; desk sitting. If there was one sure way to get a reaction from your stickler of a boyfriend it was to place yourself on top of a desk.

Which is what you found yourself doing at the end of an unfavorable week. The two of you hadn’t gotten a moment together outside of your studies and you were growing needy.

So with a few moments of free time before class began, you decided to chat with Tsu and Uraraka, settling atop the desk between them when you had grown tired of standing

The desk belonging to none other than Tenya

Your ankles were crossed as you leaned forward to speak with Tsuyu and he was beyond s h o o k

Immediate hand chopping.

He’s towering over you, ranting about how your behavior was improper while keeping his hands clenched in an attempt to keep from running his fingertips along your thighs.

When was the last time you were this close to him? It had to have been longer than he realized for him to have such a strong reaction— are you biting your lip??

Any response between you died off as Aizawa addressed the class and you were sent back to your seat, leaving Iida far more frazzled than you realized

The moment class ends he has you tucked under an empty stairwell to continue his lecture

Only he doesn’t get very far

Tenya Iida has an authority kink. I take no criticism.

When you look up at him from under your lashes, muttering the words ‘yes sir’ as he chastised you, his resolve was shattered

Has you pressed against the wall immediately, fisting your blazer as he dips to press his forehead to yours

‘Why must you push me?’

Doesn’t even let you answer before his mouth is covering yours, hips arching to grind his obvious arousal against you

Knowing he had been just as affected by your as you had him was enough to spur a moan past your lips and he takes the chance to slide his tongue into your mouth

Although he was MORTIFIED at the impropriety of it all, he couldn’t resist the sweet noises you made as he expertly worked against you

His hand eventually slides between you, pushing past the waistband of your bottoms and grinding his palm against you teasingly

‘Now, who do you belong to, darling?’

You you youyouyou—

Your hand was rubbing along Iida’s hard cock, his length straining against his pants to the point you’re almost worried they’ll rip

Somehow the two of you had been so lost in one another that you hadn’t heard the door open at the top of the stairwell

Denki and Mineta honestly weren’t creeping this time— they just wanted a snack from the vending machine adjacent to you!

Got a whole ass meal instead 👁👄👁

A moan tore from your throat, quickly being smothered by Tenya’s parted lips as you came on his fingers

You had barely made out the echoing sound of objects clattering to the ground through the ringing in your ears

But your boyfriend had heard

His lips separated from you in an instant, shocked gaze shifting into something closer to anger as he recognized your classmates

Denki began stammering out an apology, looking close to short-circuiting as his attention flickered between you

Mineta had let his gaze linger on you for too long. His eyes taking in the way your exposed chest— Tenya must have pulled the buttons loose

You cringe away from his gaze, post-orgasm haze™ spurring you to tuck yourself closer to Tenya to avoid their stares rather than snap at them

It was your obvious discomfort that had kicked Iida into gear, twisting to thread your button your blouse together before rounding on the others

If embarrassment wasn’t enough, the thought of them having seen you in such a vulnerable position had him seething as he began his lecture

Attempts hand chopping them into submission, but they kept disregarding his words in favor of catching another glimpse of you in a fucked out state

All fondness for his classmates had vanished as he stepped into their line of sight, shielding you from their gazes. His eyes almost daring them to continue

Whatever words lingering on their tongues died off, heads bowing in shame as they agreed to keep the entire situation to themselves

After all, the potential wrath of Tenya Iida was not something to be taken lightly.

Mirio

Mirio’s love language is touch, without a doubt, so it’s honestly surprising when he’s NOT trying to get handsy with you

He’s always defended his obvious displays of affection by claiming he had so little free time— he’d be a fool to waste the opportunity to touch you!

Mirio jumped at the opportunity to feel you against him. Whether it was a heavy kiss to your lips after walking you to class, a hand slipping under your shirt to caress your back, or his fingers trailing teasingly along your thigh.

However, as much as he was attentive, he was also forgetful.

It was because of that forgetfulness that you found yourself alone in your dorm. Countless boxes of takeout were lined up on your desk and a pre-planned movie was ready to play on your small tv.

After a few hours and countless delivered messages, you succumbed to disappointment.

The following day Mirio can’t seem to figure out why you’re avoiding him, but he refuses to give up without a fight.

Definitely thinks it’s a game of some sort and takes it upon himself to break your silent streak

It wasn’t easy being upset with Mirio. He had an uncanny ability to brighten any room he stepped into and being irrevocably in love with him only strengthened his effect

He’s always hard for you and loves letting you know just how you affect him— so why not place a hand on your hand, pressing firmly against your back when he slips past?

You always look so stunning— why not feed you compliments at every given moment?

How could he not look at you with the most iNTENSE GAZE undressing you with his eyes in front of everyone?

It’s when he realizes that you aren’t reacting to his teasing and flirtatious behaviorist that he caves.

He finds you between classes, stirring you away from the crowd, despite your wordless protests. It isn’t until you’re tucked away in an abandoned hall that he finally asks what was wrong

You had fully intended on dragging it out, allowing anger to push you on. But he spoke to you in the softest voice, looked at you with eyes filled with so much devotion that it was nearly overwhelming

He is shocked when you shove him away— were you tearing up??

Actually gets super defensive because he doesn’t realize HES the one that made you upset

Once you finally cave and remind him about the date he had missed it hits him like a freight train.

The two of you so rarely got time together and he had stood you up.

‘I’m so sorry, baby. I’ve been so busy lately— I didn’t realize I was neglecting you.’

Does not waste time making it up to you. He cups your face in his hands as he starts placing soft kisses on your face, cooing softly as tears roll down your cheeks

Did somebody say praise kink?

How can you stay mad at him when he’s telling you how sorry he is and that he loves you and you’re the only one his dick will get hard for??

It isn’t long before he’s pinned you between him and the wall, hitching your legs around his waist while coaxing you into a heavy kiss

His hips flex to grind against you, his hot length slotting between your thighs as he digs his fingertips into the curve of your ass

Mirio does not care that somebody could see— his quirk leaves him naked all the time and he’s shameless 🥵

But again he’s so forgetful—

And he was meant to go straight to class 1A to talk with them alongside the other members of The Big Three

So when he didn’t show up Aizawa had sent Tamaki and Midoriya in search of their future number one hero

How were you supposed to know they would turn the corner just as you arched from the wall?

Mirio had no idea anyone was there as he used the hand that was wrapped around your throat as leverage to grind you over the edge—

bOY were you embarrassed when you heard the two boys audibly g a s p

Midoriya’s embarrassment nearly gave Tamaki a run for his money. You were quick to turn away, immediately hiding your face in his chest as he greeted the duo in an overly cheerful voice

Absolutely teases the three of you over the incident FOREVER!!

Shigaraki

Shigaraki was obsessed with you.

There was no way around how infatuated he had become and it only seemed to grow alongside your relationship

He was touch starved. The moment you began giving him physical affection and attention it was game over

He had no shame, especially when it came to his desire for you, which is how you often found yourself perched on his lap no matter the company.

That being said, the leader of the League of Villains became intolerable when the two of you were separated for long.

And a recent spiral of events has prevented you from returning to the hideout, thus leaving the others to deal with him

You weren’t expected to return until the following week. Aside from texting Shigaraki endlessly (didn’t he have anything better to do?) and assuring Twice and Toga that you’d be returning as soon as possible, you hadn’t had much contact with the League

Shigaraki was wound up tight, lashing out at the others far more than usual. That was how he ended up sitting at the bar, Father concealing his annoyance as Kurogiri took over the meeting.

And suddenly you were walking in, muttering a quick apology before taking the only available seat beside Toga

Shigaraki could not keep his eyes off of you, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the others. It was the most present he had been since you left.

Of course, that meant Dabi has also noticed and never missing an opportunity to mess with their ruthless leader he shifted closer from his place behind you, muttering small talk into your ear

There is no doubt in my mind that Shigaraki was staring at you both like 😠 behind Father

Luckily the meeting had been wrapping up upon your arrival and the group was dismissed, many leaving to handle their own business.

However, the moment you had leaped to your feet Tomura had vanished from the room

With a sigh you moved over to the bar, sliding into the seat that had once been occupied by your man and Kurogiri placed a drink before you

By the time you had downed the last bit the bar had gotten eerily quiet, though when you shifted to speak to the Misty Man he was already looking over your shoulder. With a single nod, he had left the room.

The moment he was gone leather artist gloves shoved under your top, your heart racing at the all too familiar feeling as a palm settled between your shoulders

‘I’ve missed you, pet.’

There was a harsh tone to his voice, but it was contradicted by the trail of open-mouthed kisses he pressed along your neck and shoulder

Your entire body arched against him, head craning back to catch a glimpse of him, smiling widely as you met his gaze and returned the sentiment

A scoff slid past his lips, though you could see the amusement dancing in his gaze as his hand reached around to wrap around your throat

Despite the gloves, he kept a pinky in the air

His mouth covers yours in a sloppy kiss as his hips jolt sharply against you, knocking you against the countertop

Absolutely cannot control himself as he ruts against you, wasting little to no time in pushing your bottoms down past your thighs

Heat pooled in your stomach as his free hand reached between you to pull himself from his jeans

His dick slid between your thighs, a throaty whine sliding past your lips and despite the slick from your arousal the thick head stretched you perfectly

You had been completely lost in him, moaning and whining freely as he continued to rut against you.

There was a click throughout the room, similar to the door handle being twisted and your attention was adverted to the source

However, Shigaraki was faster.

He grabbed the back of your head and using his hold as leverage to press your face flat against the bar-top while his other hand worked against your sensitive center. A loud moan that was undoubtedly his name tumbled past your lips

‘There’s my little slut— louder, make sure they know who makes you feel this good.’

Unbeknownst to you, the person he wanted to be sure knew you were his had entered the room, Tomura meeting his gaze with a smirk as you began chanting his name like a prayer

A harsh thrust of his hips sent you over the edge as you came on his cock, filthy praises slipping past his lips as his hot release rolled down your thighs

He placed another sloppy kiss on the back of your neck before parting from you.

The moment you lift your head and begin adjusting yourself you lock eyes with Dabi

Embarrassed didn’t even begin to explain how you felt as Tomura let out a loud laugh, reaching down to pull your bottoms up after he had tucked himself away

‘Go wait on my bed while I speak with Dabi and I may let you come on my tongue.’

You wasted no time hurrying away from the two, heart pounding from both excitement and humiliation as you rushed to do as you were told

#iida x reader #mirio x reader #shigaraki x reader #shinso x reader #tenya x reader #mirio headcanons #iida headcanons #shinso headcanons #shigaraki headcanons #my hero academia #my heado academia headcanons

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calaofnoldor · 3 years

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What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

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goldafterglow · 4 years

Text

my love is a dagger

Summary: Jack Daniels is hopelessly gone for you, and you’re starting to think it’s a two way street. Maybe.

Request: “May I please ask for Basorexia and Whiskey please? 🥺” - @scribbledghost (ma’am I’m SO sorry this took me so long and then after the long wait you got whatever this is); taken from this post

basorexia: the overwhelming desire to kiss

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x reader

Word Count: 4.8k+

Warnings: suicidal themes (just a little and not really but there’s definitely a line), sexual harassment, anGST!!, PINING omg SO much pining like folks get ready to y*arn, a little bit of fluff bc Jack is a sweet talking southerner and I couldn’t help it, more angst I rly hope you cry, there’s a cute little lesbian couple in one line so don’t read if ur homophobic! but that goes for all of my work :)))

Author’s Note: Thank the GODS for @catfishingmorales for being my first ever beta reader!!! maybe this one will make any fucking sense at all!!! also a special shoutout to my wife @pascalplease bc she stayed up all night vomiting headcanons with me about this and I didn’t even get to all of them.

Gif Cred: the lovely @coredrive

Masterlist | Taglist Modifications

“Two single-bed rooms,” he says. No; he manages.

Jack has to pry the words out of his esophagus, the passageway so clogged with sleep that he thinks that if he clears his throat he might be able to clear it.

It doesn’t work.

He tends to add a little brightness and smile to his voice when he talks, always eager to please even strangers. He embellishes his sentences with pleasantries and a chipper shimmer that makes even the most overworked bartender smile and the most destitute rancher crack a grin because he has this uncanny ability to make everyone feel special. But right now, at eleven pm on a Saturday evening after what might’ve been the worst, most emotionally grueling mission Jack has ever completed, he is not pleasant. His words are simply a tool for him to get a message out, his voice choked and flat.

“I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, sir, but it looks like we only have one king-size room available,” the lady informs. She is looking intently at the screen, still typing and clicking like the words might miraculously change right before her eyes.

The powerful Agent Whiskey’s heart falls into his stomach.

He can’t tell if this is the best or worst thing that has ever happened to him. Is this finally the excuse he needs to sweep you off your feet, like the catalyst giving him the strength to overcome his intense paranoia? Or is this the last straw, the final stone before you step off the staircase of his heart and back out onto the run-down open streets without him? Panic floods his chest and he is so paralyzed that he doesn’t even know what to tell her; for once, Jack Daniels is speechless.

Thank god he doesn’t turn around; he’d’ve seen your wide frantic eyes and would’ve known immediately what you’re thinking.

“Oh, it looks like a vacancy just opened,” the hostess chirps, a hint of relief floating on her words. You and Jack turn your heads to your left, where a young couple is saying their “thank you”s as they rack up the handles of their suitcases, hand-in-hand. One girl leans over to kiss the other on the temple with a smile; they both seem so secure. You turn your head back to the hostess; the sight of two people being content was disturbing to you and frankly a little offensive. “Unfortunately they’re on separate floors. Is that-”

“We’ll take them,” Jack gruffs. He wants to sleep, wants to die, wants to be in any existence where your soft eyes aren’t glued to the back of his head because he can feel it and he thinks you might burn holes into his skull just to find that he’s hollow inside.

Empty.

The transaction is quick and a little forced. She hands you both your respective key cards wordlessly, and if your eyes had lingered on her just a little longer you would’ve caught her face falling into it’s default relaxed state of misery. Jack walks with you to the elevator in silence, but he’s still close. He’s always close to you. Often you’ll turn your head in an empty room and anticipate him being there just to be sorely disappointed, though you aren’t sure what you’re always so disappointed for. His spirit haunts your thoughts, floats around your body and does laps around your brain because he is always there when you need him, so much so that you expect him to be there when you don’t need him. You want him to always be there. To always be with you.

Strange thoughts to have so late at night.

Jack sets his bag down beside you, stepping forward to press the button for you; it’s such a small gesture, something that he probably didn’t even think to do since hospitality runs in his bones, and yet you noticed it.

Strange.

The door opens, and he wordlessly puts a hand on your back, guiding you towards the elevator in front of him. Letting you on first. You can’t help but smile a little at him; you can tell he’s so tired and yet he still finds it somewhere in his heart to make you feel so important.

“You know I don’t need that from you,” you tease lightly, turning to look at him as the doors drag shut. The elevator shudders around you, indicating that it’s ready to start it’s journey to the fifth floor.

Jack grins at you; it’s not something he’s doing with his voluntary muscles, something that he thinks is coming off muted because he just doesn’t have the energy. It’s something he doesn’t even think about doing, a visceral reaction to hearing your sweet voice like aloe vera on his scorched throat.

“Well then, darlin’, take it anyways just to indulge your favorite cowboy,” he almost begs, lip pouted and eyebrows raised like he’s a child asking for candy except he’s an addict crying for just one more dose before the night ends because the nights he goes home without the memory of your eyes, your smile, your scent in his system are the nights he can’t sleep through.

You giggle softly, nudging his side gently because you want to crush him in your embrace and lift him onto the barbs of feathers into the moonlight all at the same time. To Jack, it feels like you’ve just kneed him in the chest, hogging all his air and wrapping his head in plastic so he can’t breathe, not that he minds. He’d let you tear at the delicate skin of the inside of his wrists, bite into the gentle flesh of his cheeks until he’s on his knees, bleeding at the seams. He’d let you destroy him if you wanted to.

He sighs a little, so dead, as a flush of air enters the vacuum of the elevator; you’ve arrived. But he doesn’t want to leave yet, wants to wring every last drop of your attention out of your pliable bones, so he follows you out and walks you to your room.

“I don’t need this either,” you say, a yawn stretching and blurring the edges of your words.

“I know,” Jack concedes, rolling his eyes in a way that is so adoring that he might as well have kissed you full on the mouth.

Not that you wanted him to.

“I know you don’t need a lick of help from me, sugar. Maybe I just like giving.” He grins down at you again, his side brushing against yours as you place slow, careful steps down the carpeted floor.

Yeah, he likes giving.

He gives you his leftover coffee when he “doesn’t want it” - it’s a tall cup of his favorite brew. He definitely still wants it. He gives you his blazer when you call his desk landline just to tell him your office is cold because you know he’ll give it to you. What you don’t know is that it’s because he’s completely and utterly whipped for you - he’d strip naked in a snowstorm to keep you warm, hold you in an icehouse as the bite of the frost burrows into the cracks of his dried skin, because he doesn’t need clothes when you’re in his arms. That’s about as warm as he’s ever been.

He gives you his time of day - almost all of it. He’s the first person you see when you step into work, the last face you see when you’re ready to retire. He walks you to your office every morning - he had to beg Champ to switch offices with him so that he could be adjacent to you, but every ounce of dignity lost was paid back to him with royalties in the precious extra seconds he gets to spend rubbing his shoulder against yours. He saunters into your office unannounced daily at 12:35 pm sharp to eat lunch with you, flopping onto your couch with the audacity of a man wet with wealth and simultaneously listening to you rave about your day with the patience of a therapist. Your time is a sacred commodity to him, and he makes sure that he’s earned it.

He gives you his whole soul. Sometimes he wonders if you’ll one day open your purse and find his glass heart sitting there, beating hard and loud and only for you. He wonders if you’d pick it up and smash it against a wall. He wouldn’t mind it at all.

The silence hangs in the air, dancing on your breaths as you seem to be inhaling each other, soaking in each other. It’s strange, the moments you share alone with Jack. There are the ones you share late at night, croaking at each other over the phone about how shitty that one show ended or how beautiful blue things are. Blue like his suffocated lungs, like the ocean of tears that drown him when he looks at you, like the finger you’ve got him wrapped around real tight.

But then there’s the moments when you’re in a room full of people. The briefing room sitting at a table spanning the length of the room that’s completely full of people, a club chock full of sweat and neon energy, the lobby of the lavish estate of a target where the bourgeoisie can swarm and stalk each other. All he has to do is toss you a roll of the eyes, a grin, a subtle brush of his hand against yours, and you are instantly thrown into the web of his affection as you get lost and locked in the atmosphere of his presence. Like, even in a room full of people, he’s the only one around. You’re not breathing in oxygen but the hickory fumes of his skin, the only sound getting registered being his dark honey voice. You’re not quite sure how he does that, distorting reality so heavily that you feel like you’ve traversed to an alternate dimension every time he touches you, pays any mind to you. Every single time.

“This you?” Jack asks, his words like a rubber band to your pulse as you’re snapped out of your train of thought. You look up at the room number - room 513 - and then down at your keycard. It reads the same. There’s a dull ache of disappointment that erupts through your chest, beige and static like the chipped paint on the walls.

“Yeah,” you mutter, turning to face him with your back to the door. He smiles at you softly, gentle like his fragile soul that you always manage to make hurt so bad without doing a single thing, and he opens his arms to you. Nothing out of the ordinary; you’ve grown accustomed to his goodbye hugs. “You’re so needy,” you giggle, stepping forward to bury your face in his pillowy chest and letting yourself sink into the quicksand of his warmth. It’s so easy to get caught up in him like a butterfly to a flower, and yet it’s so hard to pull away. He’s always been difficult to separate from; every time it’s like you’re sewing a microfractal of your esse into the velvet of him. Not big enough for you to notice, but still missing, and it adds up every time until there’s a big gaping hole in your chest that Jack holds claim to and the only way you feel right is when he’s with you.

I know, he wants to say to you. I know I’m needy. I know that you’re the only one, the only person, the only fucking thing that I’ve ever wanted this bad. I know I steal your time and your space and your thoughts but I’m a greedy man. Please forgive me. But he doesn’t say that; he could never say that to you. So instead he buries his face into the top of your head, trying to get a big sleepy lungful of you before he parts with you for the night, and says “Can you blame me, baby?”

You look up at him, eyes bleary and red but still eager to be so close to him. “Always such a tease.” He smiles wide at you, like he’s looking at a whimsical sprite so colorful and magnificent, but it’s just you. What does he see when he looks at you?

“G’night, pretty girl,” he coos, arms still wrapped around you and eyes big and doe-y. Please don’t leave yet, my perfect thing. Except that’s the part that stings him the most; you’re not his. He doesn’t get to say that sacred “my.”

“Good night, Jack Daniels,” you whisper, words fanning on his cheeks like waves of heat from a bonfire. But you don’t move, and neither does he. Not yet. Please.

He’s looking down at you with a certain reverence, like you were sculpted by the angels and placed right here in front of him with intimate precision. And then, without a breath to spare, he leans down and presses a kiss on your forehead so light that you wonder if it even happened or if someone has just thrown a marshmallow at your face. A friendly kiss from a friend that you’re friends with.

It feels like the seams of your limbs are being ripped out as you slowly separate from him, flashing him a soft smile as you take your duffel bag and unlock the door in front of you. You step into your hotel room, the air conditioning immediately sticking to your damp skin. As you close the door you catch him still standing there, looking at you like you’re something so precious.

Platonically, of course.

You sigh as you look around the room, suddenly freezing. The tiny dress you’re wearing doesn’t add much insulation and the big diamond necklaces and chandelier earrings and silver cuffs adorning your body like ornaments become ice on your skin. Kicking your shoes off and into a forgotten pit of the room, you step into the bathroom. Flicking the light on, you stare straight at the bulbs, letting the light sear your pupils just so that you can focus on something other than Jack fucking Daniels. Your jewelry is the first to go, becoming a delicate display on the bathroom counter. Something so pretty, but they’ve left angry dents in your skin that are starting to inflame and you figured it was too good to be benign. Nothing so beautiful, nothing that makes you feel so beautiful, could do so without hurting the paper-thin barriers of your heart. You’d have to be a fool to not know that.

You open up your duffel bag, fishing around impatiently until you find your makeup remover and cotton pads. As you erase the paint on your skin, removing the rough mission from the memory of your face, you start beginning to look less disheveled and more exhausted. Now you can really see the dark circles under your eyes, the discomfort of Rolex’s touching the small of your back and Armani cologne grabbing at your hips while you let it happen. Your body had become free real estate and in just hours you had broken down to feeling like you were stained, a dirtier version of yourself that couldn’t ever be cleaned.

You hadn’t felt so filthy when you were in Jack’s arms.

Eager to try and scrape the mission from your lungs, you peel the tight fabric off your body, letting out a breath of something far redder than relief as it falls to a pool around your ankles. You turn around to reach for the shower handle and grip it hard, letting the cold steel fill your palm as you twist it mid-way. While you wait for the steam to seep into your pores you reach for a bar of packaged soap on the bathroom counter, sizing up the créme box. It’s about a centimeter thick, easily filling your palm, and you frown a little at realizing that most of it will be thrown away, unused. Such a waste.

Turning your attention to the water, you run your hand under the water pouring out of the shower nozzle. It’s warm enough. But you don’t want it to be enough. You want it to melt your skin, to burn through your used body and shed your cells to unleash the layers beneath, the layers that Jack had touched, because thinking that your body has been safe inside his embrace feels better than thinking that you put your head in the jaws of the alligators and hoped they wouldn’t snap.

Once the water is burning, sure to inflame your skin, you step in and close the shower curtain before beginning to let the soap glide along your arms. Except it’s not enough. You’re not clean enough. So you run the bar over yourself again and again, wearing it down as your skin turns hot to the touch until you’re using the tips of your fingers to salvage the last bits of product onto your chest. Shit. You don’t even realize that the bar is all used up until you feel the sensation of your fingers rubbing against your now irritated skin and yet you still feel soiled. So you elect to give up on your sorry attempt at washing away the strange eerie touches and predatory looks and turn off the water, drying yourself off.

The solitude in the air stings.

By the time you’re laying in your bed and looking up at the plain off-white ceiling so that you don’t have to look at the old collections of dirt in the crevices of the wall and carpeted floor, you haven’t thought about Jack for the past 30 minutes. Not since you were washing yourself and the ghost of his fingers scraped your scalp, making you long for the feeling of his chest pressed to your back and the sound of his voice floating into the vinyl of the curtain liner while his hands danced in your hair -

Not since then.

But Jack Daniels is most certainly thinking about you, and he’s far too deep to bother pretending that he isn’t anymore.

He stands outside your door for just a little while longer after you close it, staring at the fool’s gold embellishment on the front as he basks in the faint warmth of your spirit that lingers in the space of the hall and inside of his bones. He’s not sure how he got so lucky so as to be able to touch you without abandon, kiss your forehead out of greed and hold you in his arms because he really is so needy. He replays the scent of your dainty floral perfume and rewinds the heat of your forehead under his used, chapped lips, trying to commit you to memory as if he hadn’t done this a million time already, as if he hasn’t tried to burn a million of your hugs into the plush cotton of his skin like a brand. Your fading ghost consumes his mind, and by the time it’s whispering farewell to him, he’s already at the bank of elevators waiting patiently for the doors to open for him. Jack does a lot of that; waiting.

The weight of his duffel bag starts to grow and he can’t tell if his tired left arm is getting weaker or if the bag is getting heavier, but he can tell that his nerves are aching because he already misses you.

He’s always missing you.

The trip to his room is quiet, lonely, and as the elevator doors close for him to make his way to the 6th floor he wonders if this is how it’ll always be. Having you so close, seeing you right in front of him, and yet never truly being with you the way he wants to be. Never belonging to anybody, just a wisp of air passing through your life without holding any true substance or having any real meaning to you; but what a privilege to be one of your wisps. To have been in your lungs and have seen what he imagines are wide open plains, vibrant with wildflowers and gentle beasts. He wishes he could stay.

The elevator door dings.

This time he is caught off guard and he inhales like a shudder, eyes darting around the cold yet damp walkway to see if anyone has caught him thinking, caught him yearning.

Hallucinating.

Deluded.

He steps inside of the compartment with his stupid heavy duffel bag, immediately letting it fall to the elevator floor. His eyes find the plastic, cloudy buttons making up the keypad of the elevator. His left arm lifts to press the “6” button but he immediately regrets it, feeling a searing agony shoot through his shoulder. He mutters a little “fuck” to himself like it’ll help balm the pain, and of course it doesn’t, but Jack is a stubborn man and the buttons are to his left, so he shakes his arm out the way you shake out your boots before stepping inside mama’s house and tries again. But his dry, chapped fingers struggle to reach for the buttons, shaking in his own seismic wake. It takes him a few seconds to steady himself, taking temporary control over his body so he can actually touch the button; the plastic is cracked, a small piece having fallen off to be lost, likely thrown away. A discarded fracture in the shell leaving the inner label forever open and exposed, never to be whole again.

The elevator door shuts.

Jack lets out a low sigh, leaving his arms to fall to his sides as he leans against one of the walls. The back wall of the elevator is reflective, muddled and stained but clear enough that Jack can see what has become of him. His stetson is barely on his head anymore, his tie crooked and his collar untucked. He almost feels like a suit monkey, walking around playing dress up with the caveat of poisoning a man’s fresh champagne. But you told him he looked so handsome all gussied up like a proper gentleman worthy of taking a dime like yourself out. So he leaves it at almost.

He does a lot of that too.

The elevator hiccups, and as expected the doors open, inviting him to leave. He looks down at his duffel bag and he can already feel the weight of it on his weeping muscles, but he’s so close to his room and he can’t give up now that’s he’s made it so far, so he uses the momentum of his swinging right arm to sweep the bag up off the floor and drags himself out of the elevator. Not the best thing he’s ever done, but certainly one of his proudest moments.

The sixth floor is less damp, less like a moldy underwater cave and more like he’s at the top of a breezy mountain where the strands of air are like spurs to his cold, tight skin. Crisp. It is different, and yet he feels the same. Like his joyful warmth has drained out of his system, flushed out of his body, and on the inside he is the 5th floor of a shitty decrepit hotel in the middle of fuck all Kentucky.

He makes quick work of finding his room, the inertia from getting off the elevator being the driving force that gets him down the two hallways and standing before room 645. He pulls out the plastic keycard, adorned with scratches on its surface and stains on its edges, and shoves it into the card reader. With a subtle flash of green and a gentle click, the door gives way for Jack to practically fall inside. He flings the bag as far across the room as his arm will let him, letting gravity control his movements as he is drawn to the white mattress in the center of the room. He releases a groan a little louder than should be appropriate this late at night - he checks the alarm clock on the bedside table to confirm that it’s 11:08. He hasn’t been apart from you for longer than what, 4 minutes? No, he did stand outside your door for a little bit. He decides it’s been 5 minutes.

Oddly enough, the extra sixty seconds don’t make him feel any less fucked.

Now that he’s finally still, his body begins to focus on how sore his legs are as any pain grows from the ends of his limbs and seeps into his chest. He can feel the weight of the night press down heavy on his diaphragm, suffocating him in a way that travels to his eyes and sprays sand like mist onto the walls of his throat. He selfishly lets himself lay there for a second, thinking about that weight being you pressed up against him, face buried in his chest or his neck or in his own face. It’s sacrilegious the way Jack thinks about your touch, the flutter of your lashes like majestic butterfly wings against his cheek, so enticing. So pretty.

His shower is fast despite the way his muscles screech at him to let them rest, begging him to just fucking sit down. When he leans down, back made of creaky burnt red iron, to reach for his sleep clothes, he does a double take; there’s not much in the bag at all. A bunch of small, disguised weapons, communications devices, a pair of grey sweats, a white t-shirt. Nothing oppressively hefty to pull on his tendons; at least, not in a way that could practically drag his shoulder out of its socket. Then suddenly he remembers; he had been holding your bag until you’d both reached the lobby desk. It was a long walk from where you’d been instructed to dump the care and the hotel, so after watching you squirm a little in the freezing air, he offered to take your bag off your back. He’d walked with a bag in each arm for maybe a minute before he realized that his greedy fingers missed being wrapped around your side, missed your melted essence seeping into his stomach, so he’d held both bags in the one left hand for the rest of the thirty minute walk. He hadn’t even noticed how bad he was hurting; perhaps you were too distracting, smile too alluring as your words painted his eyes in lilac and blinded him from his own discomfort.

For being the one person Jack wanted, you sure did hurt him a lot.

Once he is dressed, he lets his sore body absorb into the linen sheets as his muscles finally find some form of permanent relief in the salve of stillness. But this is a dangerous state to be in; when Jack isn’t talking someone else’s ear off, he thinks. He fantasizes, ponders, mulls and muses himself into a state that is suspended between consciousness and sleep.

He thinks about your lips.

You’ve never been too shy to mouth him off, poking and prodding at him and his eccentric cowboy aesthetic. Seeing you walk in every morning and beeline it straight to greet him with a casual fifteen-second hug sends daggers flying into his heart every time, a pain that he’s learned to brace himself for and yet can never seem to be able to handle. And when he looks down at you, adoring eyes and all, he can never help but glance at your lips. It’s always short, a self-indulgent guilty pleasure that he could never admit to, and he thinks about the way they feel against his collarbone when you hold him tight. He thinks about the way they might feel on his own lips.

Sinful.

And then he is thinking about that wretched mission, flashes of luxury clothes and manicured hands trying to feel you up right in front of his eyes. The way you fake smiled at men with money and wrinkles as they leaned into your ear, trying to whisper enticing tales of exorbitant trips to islands that are garishly tropical and dresses so exclusive and designer that no one in the world would own a duplicate. Watching in utter silence because no matter agonizing his need for you is, you’ll never be his.

Suddenly that ache in his body has traveled to his face. It’s so painful to think about you, and yet he takes the jagged edges of his love for you and drags them through his wrists because he’d rather fucking bleed than ever forget you.

Outside his window he hears the clouds crash into each other as an icy downpour beats the pavement. And like a curse, at the expense of his own self-destruction, the image of you in his arms in front of room 513 slices through his brain. Your face right under his mouth, forehead right up against him, your lips right fucking there. And then the feeling of you pulling away. Of you leaving him to rot with the flies, because he’s never going to be strong enough to tell you how bad he needs you, let you tear his heart into a million pieces for good.

From somewhere in his room the rain begins to fall on his face.

people who asked to be tagged: @gustavos @catfishingmorales @keeper0fthestars @1zashreena1 @blancatobarxoxo @honeyedspace @chaotic-noceur @opheliaelysia @adikaofmandalore @din-damn-djarin @ergotautology

people who most certainly did not ask to be tagged sir: @agentpike @damndamer0n @dindjarindiaries @moonglowcarrillo @girlwithanewplan @mrpascals @bunnykjm @maxlordd @buckstaposition @cryptkeepersoul

This is new so I’m putting it down here too, but I made a little form for those of you that want to be added/removed from my taglist (pls take it my tags are very disorganized rn).

#agent whiskey #jack daniels #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey angst #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels angst #angst #iris writes #iris original #this was supposed to be a cute fic about wanting to kiss ur crush #and now it is #this #wow the mistakes i make

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kae-karo · 3 years

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fic writer interview!

i saw @prince-liest do this and thus i will take ur 'tagging anyone who wants to do this' seriously lmaoooo (also hi btw hope ur well!!! 💜💜)

How many works do you have on AO3?

ahaha,,,,,159 lmao

What's your total AO3 word count?

fdsjkkjlsfdklj as of today, 2,089,769

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

only three fsdjkldslfkj the phandom (dan&phil), bnha, and genshin!

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

chosen (x) - zhongchi (genshin)

to love (and be loved in return) (x) - kaeluc (genshin)

little bird (x) - dabihawks (bnha)

feet don't touch the ground (x) - xiaoven (genshin)

i knew you were fire (x) - dabihawks (bnha)

honestly none of that surprises me except that little bird is still up there, although i think i owe that to sif (@the-final-sif) for sharing it around the time it got posted since it was partly inspired by her raptor stress grip post!!

the rest are all chaptered fics, which is mostly what i expected to be in the top 5 lmao

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

yes!!! always!!!! no matter what u comment, i will respond!!! and if i don't, it's probably cause ao3 didn't notify me properly or i didn't see it in my inbox or something

as for why, it's mostly to do with like...i know how hard it can be for some people to comment, even just a bunch of heart emojis or a 'i loved this!' or something short and simple? and it means a lot to me that ppl are going out of their way to say something nice, no matter how small, and it's really really important to me to acknowledge that

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

hmm,,,,,this is a hard one, cause for a very long time, my policy was that my fic would always have a happy ending? and for a long time, that was true!! but the dabihawks interaction (during the raid) broke me, and from an emotional standpoint, i think freeing icarus (x) is probably the one that has the angstiest ending of the two or so that i wrote in that time?

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

u know i really haven't written any crossovers? it's normally not my thing cause my brain typically focuses on a single thing and doesn't really have the capacity to think about more than that, so i end up writing just au-style or fusion-style (shoutout to that one bnha but it was scooby doo fic i wrote - x)

i don't think i'd be opposed to writing a crossover but i'd have to be SUPER inspired by the idea and both fandoms lmao

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

aha yes, i have. the only straight up hate i've received was on a kaeluc fic (surprisingly not because it was kaeluc, but bc i was 'mistreating' kaeya in the fic) - to be entirely fair, the commenter pointed out something that i hadn't realized myself, and it led to a second piece of the story that helped me tie up some loose ends, but...let's just say they weren't very kind about their feelings lmao

other than that, i had someone very upset because i didn't tag which character was bottoming in a fic (valid if that bugs u!) and they read through most of it before getting to the smut (and said that they enjoyed everything up to that point) then said they were 'disgusted' by it. i have opinions on that and a few other comments they made, but i will keep them to myself lmao

and beyond that, just a few ppl on my xiaoven fic saying that they were unhappy about the background kaeluc (which is tagged lmao) - really no hate whatsoever til genshin, honestly, which is...very hmmmm :) lmao

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

yep!!! mostly vanilla or vanilla-adjacent lmao i'm not super into heavy kink, although i know if epi reads this she's gonna call me out for being a monsterfucker bc of my dragon!zhongli smut :) lmaoooo but really i tend to write pretty vanilla smut! i also prefer to avoid any noncon/dubcon or hate sex or anything particularly angsty, just not my jam to write!

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

hmm i don't think so? although i don't heavily monitor ao3 (or wattpad/ffn), so i can't really say that for sure lmao

Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes!!! i've had a few fics translated to russian (little bird is one of them!) which is very sweet and i hope that anyone who prefers to read in russian has been enjoying those fics!!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

alksdfjklsdf only once, and it's deadass how me and rose got together. we decided to co-write a podcast au fic for the phandom (x) and ended up flirting via google docs asldkfjkldsfj

What’s your all time favourite ship?

what a horrible question, making me choose between my children like this!!!! sdlfkjdskf tbh i'm not sure i have a real answer bc it changes as i go? and 'favorite' is so vague,,,,,favorite to read? to write about? to think about? asdklfjkjsdfk i really don't know if i have an answer, but i'll maybe say kaeluc for now lmao

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

well first and foremost, with only 2 exceptions, i never post a fic unless it's done. i tend to follow wherever my passion leads my brain, so i'm notorious for jumping around between stories and taking breaks from long fic and returning later on to finish them, and i know that i would not do well under the pressure of posting something unfinished and trying to finish it in a timely manner

that said, many wips sit in my google doc folder, but one is Well Known as the one that has followed me through both the phandom and bnha (rose keeps asking who i'm gonna switch the chars to in genshin, but i think it suits bakudeku too well to do that) - only the lonely survive. it sits at like 36k in my wip folder, and i adore the story dearly and i want very much to finish it, but it never makes it quite to the forefront of my motivation, and so it rarely if ever gets worked on...i hate the idea of 'never' finishing it, but it's unfortunately quite likely that i won't 😭😭😭

What are your writing strengths?

emotion!!! and immersion!!! it's my goal in a fic to make it as immersive as possible and saturated with emotion to help convey that feeling of being in the place of the pov character, and i think i do it pretty well. also just bc i feel a little obligated to say it - another strength is actually sitting down and putting words down. i know that's a struggle for a lot of writers and i often get,,,,lovingly bullied? i guess? lmao for being able to bash out a few k in a day most days

What are your writing weaknesses?

this isn't so much a weakness i guess but i am basically incapable of treating crack fic as crack. if i have a cracky idea, it will, without a doubt, end up turning into a Perfectly Serious fic somehow (notable 'crack treated so seriously that it's no longer crack' fics include: todoroki doing the freeze-the-ocean thing from frozen 2, 'shmigaraki', todo and denki get together bc of vine references, the league sells feet pics, shiggy and natsu own a nightclub/bakery, scooby doo but make it bnha, and dabi getting his ears pierced at claire's)

but in all seriousness, i think my main weakness is that i often get comfortable? and i'm not one to typically push myself forcefully out of my comfort zone when it comes to stories that i come up with on my own, which often means that ideas inspired by discussions with others are what prompt me to branch out and try new things?

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

i think, like anything, it has its place? there are certainly stories where it makes sense to do that and even adds depth to a story, although i personally am not exceptionally comfortable enough with other languages (except maybe asl) to do that in fic myself without the assistance of someone very comfortable with that language lmao

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

the phandom! not really my jam to write rpf anymore but it definitely got me started and i'm really grateful for my time writing there, as everyone was super supportive and kind, and it was really a perfect place for a beginner to get comfortable and practice

What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

again, forcing me to choose between my children...i really don't know that i can pick one fic bc they all exist in such wildly different spaces? i poured my worldbuilding soul into the king of disaster series (mainly dabihawks - x), exile (dan and phil - x) was my first massively long fic, our hearts are heavy burdens we shouldn't have to bear alone (chayea - x) is probably my favorite character/character dynamic study, i'm exceptionally proud of the smut in chosen (zhongchi - x), the list goes on and on and on lmao like. i could probably list half my fics as favorites in some regard dsflkjdfsjkl

anyway, tyty bellamy for putting this on my dash so i could do it as well!!

tagging: literally anyone who wants to do this, i have so many writer friends slkdjfjklsdf but please please tag me if u do it so i can read urs!!! 💜💜💜

#writing

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woofwoofbangbang · 3 years

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According to a lot of people I seem like I bias Chan so idk. I am full of surprises I guess. How can you not love Jeongin? But then also Changbin lately uhh…

Same with monsta, everyone thinks it'e either Shownu or I.M., but it's… Joohoney.

Wait, I can't start biasing Changbin because I'll then have a pattern of stanning loud agressive bois. Ah…

Live Red lights will slap live just like Rodeo slaps so much more live than studio.

I shall give my beloved colleague 3-7 work days to create much anticipated theory, yes sir.

Yeah, roommate said the same thing about seeing bts pattern in skz. I mean, a lot of people brought up the cultural appropriation of hair thing back just prior to comeback and the problem with minor stays bashing chan for wearing sleeveless shirt idk… I'm not too invested in what's going on on the bad side of fandom (or "fandom"), I just know things roommate told me. Also armys being toxic because bts is going to army and skz will most likely take their place in kpop world… Eh.

I know it's hard to say don't mind the haters, especially if you already have lower self esteem (which skz generally does have unfortunately), but also… Babes, don't dedicate them 3 songs, ya kno.

Best,

Dr. Paws Scribblescribble | linguistics department | specialised in plosive theory and album analysis

I think chan has become the default but I really hc changbin or seungmjn , idk vibes? I also thought you were a taurus so rip

JOOHONEY IS MAIN BAE . A whole dude

But changkyun gives me blood pressure issues so I will scream in perpetuity.

Loud agressive bois can be nice too wdym?😇 THE PLOSIVES DR.PAWS THINK OF THE PLOSIVES

Yes even just song wise, godsmenu had so much dope energy its uncanny

I'm not even gonna touch their racist and racist adjacent issues with a ten foot pole

Honestly I'm just here curating my bubble of chill fandom bc I do not have any patience for toxic fandom happenings I was a directioner on twitter when 1d was active , I have seen things. Too many things

Yeah it seems a bit much atm but also , get it off your chests bubs so we can move on

This might be the capitalism rearing its head it is but I think all their visible issues with self esteem are gonna help their image a lot bc relatable haha

Evil mastermind interlude over

#dr. paws scribllesscriblle #like how much they milked it when they cried? i felt so disgusted i saw 1 gif of felix all teary and i exitedddd #i always run from angst but this time it felt worse #like we were not supposed to see this yk #it felt R A W #whereas usually -dont cancel me over this- they are so choreographed #personas always on point yk #emotional labour gets done in here #they're performers after all #ALSO MO #BEST? DID I HURT YOU? 😭😭😭😭😭

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dragonologist-in-the-making · 4 years

Text

Entranced

Pairing: Sirius x reader

Request: Hiiiiiii babe I really have a strange idea in my mind But something (SiriusxReader) where Reader it’s in chorus of the Hogwarts and every personare spellbound Whit her voice bc she is descendant of mermaids She is best friends with the Marauders although she is a bit more with Sirius who always wonders if he is in love with her or if it's just the spell (she loves him too) End happy and fluff please 🥺

A/N: I’m so sorry I feel like I deviated from the request so much, I just let my mind run. I hope you like it anyway!!

Wordcount: 1.7k

…

She sat in an armchair, comfy in the Gryffindor common room, feet resting upon a coffee table as the parchment rested on her knees and she wrote the essay she had been assigned earlier that day. As she worked she idly sang a tune to herself under her breath, barely audible.

She didn’t notice she was doing it until she glanced up from the parchment and noticed that a crowd had gathered around her, in a trance as they hung on her every word. She sighed, frustratedly, putting her quill down and looking at the four boys sat on the sofa adjacent to her. “I did it again, didn’t I?” They all nodded, sympathetic looks on their faces as she mentally chastised herself. It was an unfortunate coincidence that singing was one of her favourite things to do, and that having mermaid ancestors seemed to put a spell over anyone who listened to her voice.

Most people didn’t see her as anything more than that – a descendant of a mermaid, and therefore someone to be wary around, the same as they treated the beautiful descendants of Veelas – but she was lucky enough to find a group of friends who wanted to stick around when she wasn’t singing. It had started in their second year, when they had pulled a particularly offensive prank, and just as they were about to be caught, y/n had happened to walk past, singing to herself and distracting everyone around her from what had happened. Intrigued, the boys had approached her for her help in their future endeavours, and they had all been glad to discover how well they got on outside of the pranking business. Since then, the only thing which had separated the group were their separate dorms, other than that they were always together, visiting each other in the holidays.

She loved them all, almost equally, but a certain incessant flirt had captured her heart from the moment he had approached her, thirteen years old, an incredibly cheesy pick up line and his gleaming grey eyes. As they’d grown older, her affection for him had only grown stronger, but she pushed it down, tried to ignore it, seeing him turn his attention to almost every other girl in the year, seeing that the way he treated her wasn’t special, that their flirting was just a friendly joke. So she saw him every day, pretended she wasn’t hurt when he would use those same cheesy pick up lines on other people, or ask her for advice about a date he had coming up. She flirted with her own broken heart, but she couldn’t help it when she saw the way his face lit up when she would quip back with her little remarks.

Fed up of these thoughts swimming around her head, clouding her clarity and aware of the large crowd still surrounding her in the common room because of her accidental tune, she collected her things in her arms, bidding the boys goodnight before making her way to the dorm.

Sirius watched her go, his heart feeling torn in two, unable to deny how he felt but trying his hardest all the same. He remembered the first time he had seen her, eleven years old, stood in the great hall, waiting eagerly to be sorted, her y/h/c plait bouncing as she ran to the Gryffindor table, and the rush of happiness when he realised that, at least one good thing of his own sorting was that he could get to know her better. He’d spotted her in his classes, quickly picking up on her intelligence and her friendly nature, always chatting away with Lily at their desks. It wasn’t until second year, when she had saved him and his friends from certain detention, that he heard her sing for the first time, and just like everyone else, he was entranced.

He had pushed for the boys to bring her into the friendship group, hiding behind the excuse of a great way out of trouble, but desperately wanting the chance to get to know her better. His suspicions were confirmed when they got on better than a house on fire, instantly becoming as close as any of the other boys, if not more. He had watched her grow into herself, flourish as she grew stronger. He watched how she grew from the girl who would blush at every line he gave her, every hand hold and every kiss on the cheek, into the feisty young woman who would unabashedly flirt back, eyes strong and determined, barely bothered by his comments anymore.

He asked himself every night what he was feeling, whether his entrancement by her was just an extension of her ancestors or whether it was his own, real feelings. He daren’t ask the boys outright, he knew he would never live it down if the boys all felt the same and he had kidded himself that these were real feelings, but he had subtly extricated some clues from them that they only fell into that trance when she was singing. And sure, he loved to hear her sing, it was gorgeous, her voice was as smooth as pearls, but he would much rather hear her laughing at one of his jokes, or the way that she so compassionately spoke to Remus after every full moon, or how her voice when she was half-asleep just made him melt inside. No, her charm must just have an extra hold on him, that was what he had convinced himself, that was why he had distracted himself with every other girl he could, but each time he seemed to bounce back with an even stronger desire for her.

Two people who had the whole school pining after them. But who only wanted each other, the one who they could never have, the unattainable. At least, until the Marauders finally had the payback worth seven years of pranks.

The six of them were sat at breakfast, an ordinary morning, nothing out of the ordinary, even completed with Lucius Malfoy knocking y/n as he walked past, never failing to take her by surprise. Nothing was out of the ordinary, until she started to speak.

“I’m so fed up of my voice.” She confessed, looking surprised at her own words as everyone’s attention snapped to her. “Sometimes I wish I could just rip out my own tongue and never talk again, rather than have people admire me for something I can’t control.”

“We would be sad if you lost your voice, y/n/n.” Lily spoke up with a reassuring smile, which y/n only returned with words even more shocking.

“Lily, it’s time you admit your feelings for James. It’s just cruel to keep him in the dark now.” Lily’s cheeks flushed to the same colour of her hair as James snapped his head to her.

“You-what? Y/n, what has gotten into you?” James spluttered, and it was then that everyone turned their attention to the drink in her hand, fuller than it had been when she had first poured it. Remus took it from her, sniffing it cautiously, before confirming his suspicions.

“Veritaserum.” He frowned. “She’ll be spouting the truth for the next few hours.” He took her arm, trying to urge her up from the table as the rest of the group followed, immediately on damage control to prevent her saying something to someone unknowingly, catching Snape laughing at the Slytherin table with his friends.

They rushed her up to the common room and into the boys dorm, while she continued to spout harmless truths, how she had stolen some of Remus’ chocolate, how she had borrowed some of Lily’s clothes without her knowing. These innocent confessions continued for the next few hours, all of them deciding it was best to skip classes for the day, causing much laughter between the group of friends.

“Oh,” she laughed, being set onto James’ bed. “and it was me that jinxed the last girl you went out with Siri. Everyone thought it was one of the Slytherins but it was me!” They all stared at her, astounded at this revelation. It was Sirius who was the first to break it.

“Why would you jinx her?”

“Because I love you, silly. I didn’t want to, but I saw her flirting with someone else, so soon after she was with you, and I thought it wasn’t fair, how she could just treat you as if you were a nobody, because if it was me I would cherish every moment with you, but it isn’t me, it’s never me, and I lost it.” The room was silent as she stopped speaking, and her eyes widened, mouth forming an ‘o’ as she realised what she had said, the truth serum having finally worn off, although not going without a bang. “Haha, fooled you!” she forced a laugh, trying not to let her voice sound as weak as she felt, crossing her legs underneath. “A total lie, so at least we know I’m not poisoned anymore.” Her attempt at smoothing over what she had said had obviously not worked, Sirius stared at her in total shock, and everyone else began to file out of the room to leave them alone.

“You love me?” He finally asked, breaking the silence that had been suffocating her. She couldn’t help the tears that were pooling in her eyes, knowing this was the moment she had been dreading all along, the rejection which she knew would break her.

“Well, maybe I do. I just don’t want this to ruin our friendship, please I can forget it, I can try harder to move on.” She begged.

“Don’t.” She looked at him in confusion as he interrupted her. “Don’t move on. I don’t want you to love someone else. I-I love you too.”

For a few heartbeats, neither of them moved, neither of them spoke, staring at each other as if daring each other to make the next move. And then, in a flash, she had flown over to him and pressed her lips to his in a bruising kiss, marvelling in the feel of how soft his lips were, how expertly he moved them against hers, pulling her soul from her with their magic.

“I don’t want to thank Snivellus, but it feels like we owe him.” Sirius smirked down at her as she giggled, grabbing his t-shirt in her fists and pulling him back down.

#harry potter #harry potter fic #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius x reader #padfoot #padfoot x reader #marauders #marauders era #marauders x reader #sirius black x mermaid!reader #sirius black fic #sirius black request

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fangofthedawn · 3 years

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30 facts

hehe i wanted to do this too..

1. the title of “unremarkable great genius” is self-appointed to mimic the way sun wukong’s title of “great sage, equal to heaven” was an empty title too-... unfortunately steel said it enough that others eventually picked it up as a legitimate title which bothered the fck out of their superiors

2. their hair is dyed - it’s originally black, but after an unfortunate overtone accident, they just decided to bleach it

3. they prefer loose-fitting or layered clothing, so their b3 outfit is actually more comfortable than what they wear on the job (2-piece suit... they used to wear a skirt, but it’s more difficult to move in than pants unfortunately)

4. in high school they were a member of the kendo club and functioned as captain; they also studied martial arts at home, though, which is why they didn’t go to many team outings

5. on that note, they were neither popular nor unpopular in school; coming from a family of “exorcists,” but having a friendly personality (and demonstrating that they know how to hit things with intent and accuracy) people liked them but they weren’t particularly close with anyone until they entered the work force

6. their family follows something close to the shisei seido system (or the yakuza.. and swordsmanship schools) with one, main family and its several subsidiary families all banded together beneath the same clan -- steel has the privilege (?) of being a member of the Main Family, but this is also why (other than the fact that they’re only blood related through their mother) they have a different surname from both of their siblings

7. their biological father was a swordsmith working for the main family, and he initially taught them how to use a sword

8. i lied in chat earlier i think they should be allowed to be fluent in japanese (native) and mandarin.... with marginal proficiency in english (they’re still learning)

9. they’re technically engaged to a ningyo, although the entire thing was a sham in order to expedite their fiancee’s exorcism... unfortunately, being a total normie, steel cannot lift her curse and she does not know that yet :[

10. they can play the koto, the shamisen, and the piano with okay proficiency... they’re not super interested in music on the whole, though

11. steel is also proficient in archery, though they favor swords and their fists over using a bow

12. the organization they work for was previously covert -- their only clients were typically superstitious people, rich people, and rich superstitious people. of course, things are different now thanks to [something that will be on the worldstate doc], and steel is personally grateful for the opportunity to show off

13. on that note, they have a bit of a bad reputation among some in their field -- some respect the fact that they’re a complete normie who manages to stand side by side with other exorcists, and some find them a nuisance that makes “real exorcists” look bad... they don’t care either way. they think they are a delight :3c

14. they have little fangs!! and their nails are sharp!! ... tiger motif yyes..?!

15. the longest their hair ever was was floor-length and they had to cut it bc they were sitting down seiza in a dark room and almost gave one of their family’s attendants a heart attack... haunted mf...

16. they're scarily good at mahjong... they could’ve been invited to summit for it, if they bothered to do it seriously...

17. they’re very particular about their title! of course, they prefer “grand exorcist” as opposed to just “exorcist” but they are fully opposed to being referred to as an onmyoji -- because “the position no longer exists, and i’d rather not get in trouble for parading around with a title that doesn’t exist” ... even though ... (looks at point 1)

18. their way of speaking changes when they’re on the job, they tend to sound more dramatic... Exorcist Persona

19. of course, they’re a big fan of monkey/journey to the west, though in more recent times they’re an avid sasuke watcher !!

20. they don’t smoke and request others don’t smoke around them; they take their health very seriously !! on that note, they tend to limit their alcohol intake as well

21. while they represent the white tiger of the west, their associated element is fire, rather than metal

22. their mbti type is ESTP

23. their occupation puts them adjacent to ‘supernatural hunter,’ although they claim that things like silver, holy water, and wooden stakes are for lazy people -- “a katana should be more than enough”

24. their favorite movie is tampopo

25. they like golden snub nosed monkeys

26. they own a hatsune miku gatebox. it was a gift from a friend.

27. their family is very fond of epithets and monikers; growing up they were referred to as “crimson collateral” until eventually earning the name “fang of the dawn” part of the reason for this is because of the shiesei-seido stuff mentioned previously in addition to people disliking referring to them by their surname

28. they don’t save anyone’s number in their phone, so unless you put your number in yourself, they’ll respond to most texts with “who is this”

29. they buy and sell gacha accounts for extra spending money. they have not gotten in trouble for this yet but they should

30. steel’s siblings were the only ones to see them off before they departed for summit!

#ooc #sneakin these in.. for fun..-

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kiilonova · 3 years

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monthly faves: april 🌷🌱🌤

ok so @antigojos was posting about this and i love sharing my opinions so im participating <3 (below cut bc its long)

📺🎞💻media

💫kamen rider ooo. its 10 years old and frustratingly good and its changed me as a person forever. im a kazari apologist except for when im an uva apologist.

💫overwatch archives event. its over now but i came back to play it a bunch bc im unfortunately still invested in the lore and i like pve story games

💫jerma stream highlights. -v- you all really made me watch this insane man thinking he was some kind of clown and not a local freak psychologically terrorizing me forever.

💫kamen rider saber. i keep going back and forth on whether i love it or hate it but in the second most recent episode two main characters had gay sex so im willing to forgive some crimes.

💫ASLRochelle. this woman is an angel she has taught me language better than i have been taught anything before and her videos are in the perfect length to learn per day.

🔊🎶🎧music

💫SAWAYAMA by Rina Sawayama (album). GOD what a good album its so fun to listen to. its definitely got songs id love to dance to when partying is an option again. fave track: XS

💫 That Kid (artist). one of the artists that really got me into hyperpop and adjacent genres. he's a pop star for sure and all his songs are so fun to listen to. fave tracks: kiss & tell, mind your business, boost mobile

💫Misc. songs ive had on repeat: Confess to Me by Disclosure, Hot Pink by Let's Eat Grandma, Rotten Tomatoes by Dubloadz, Slap on the Face by Alice Gas, Plug Me In by Lil Soda Boi

🥧🥤🍓food & drink

💫kitkat duo mint/dark chocolate. i hate to shill for any nestle owned product but i fucking love these green kitkats i grab em by the handful at cvs. its good balance between sweet/rich chocolate and light mint that i can eat the whole thing but still feel like im eating candy

💫homemade iced matcha latte. yes another green food. i make it with cinnamon sugar, perfect drink to overcaffeinate on 😌

💫chobani vanilla yogurt with honey. self explanatory. yogurt with honey is one of the foods that makes me feel like any time in history. i know thats not historically accurate but maybe you should try some with me and understand.

🧥👗👢fashion

💫mismatched earrings from hot topic. ok before you judge me, i didnt pay for them. i have a rose gold hello kitty set for my right ear and a green/gunmetal cybergoth-inspired set for my left ear. my brand.

💫pink athletic shorts from walmart. idk the brand or anything but theyre very comfortable and they could work as swim shorts if i ever get the chance to swim again lol

💫velvet scrunchies. my sister got a big pack of them from target and gave me some, my favorite are pink, neon green, dark teal, and royal blue.

#cro zone #monthly faves #im gonna be real with you guys i wrote most of this while high so if its incomprehensible im sorry

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nothoughtsnoya · 3 years

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i cant write but i DO have brainrot so i just want to lay out this asanoya fic idea here that i’ve, like, extensively daydreamed about

ok so... movie/acting concept... i guess it’s like fake dating adjacent. this isnt an au or anything its just them being thrown into one of ennoshita’s short films. the idea is that he’s trying to buff out his portfolio and is begrudgingly writing a romance drama, but its like, artsy indie “i think romance is corny” kind of romance. its about a single dad who moves out to a rural town from the city, and his relationship with his neighbor who’s like, technically a freelance writer but actually mostly gets his income from doing millions of odd jobs and stuff. anyway ennoshita wanted daichi & suga for the part bc, like, duh. but theyre both crazy busy already bc uni entrance exams and prep on top of volleyball??? so he has to find other people, and lands on asahi for the dad bc... he’s just the only other person he can find that looks the part. unfortunately noya is the only person who can get asahi to go on camera, so he ends up playing the other lead, which everyone (including noya) is dubious about because this is such a slow paced, nothing happens kind of story, and theres no goddamn way he’s going to be able to stay grounded long enough for that. so they shoot a few scenes and its, like, okay? not great, not really right, but okay, because whenever they all help ennoshita out everyone really does their best, bc they know its important to him and getting to spend time making something together is pretty fun anyway.

but then they get to one scene where they’re talking about family & future & expectations, all quiet and comfy in nishinoya’s dimly lit living room with the tv turned down low, and halfway through noya just goes completely off script. what he’s saying is wildy different than what his character is supposed to be going through, and it’s blatantly obvious he just forgot they were recording and started talking about himself, and since noya is so goddamn earnest asahi just. goes along with him. but its the most genuine emotion theyve gotten out of either of them so far and it fucking works, maybe works better than what was in the script, so before tanaka can like, smack noya with the boom mic to get him back on track, ennoshita tells the crew to keep rolling and just kind of. lets noya & asahi talk. and when they play the footage back it captures exactly the feeling ennoshita wanted. so he just.. scraps the script. the main plot points are still kinda there, the settings he wanted and all that, but he really just tells them themes and lets them go... be themselves? and that’s what they do.

and the thing is—it was supposed to go, oh, they get together in the beginning, they have a nice relationship, but they fight and grow apart, they break up, and there’s supposed to be this bittersweet ending of, oh, it could’ve worked in different circumstances, but they were expecting this fairytale romance and couldn’t put in the work to really understand each other when the similarities ended, you know? that was the way it was supposed to go. but they get to the fight scene, and oh—this is where their strategy so far falls apart, because asahi & noya know what it’s like to fight. and fight they do; they stay close to the script on this one, because no one really wants to instigate a real fight between them, but everyone on set can still feel how close to home it’s hitting. and when they shoot the scenes right after, where the characters are supposed to be realizing, oh, this can’t work, we’re too different, we can’t bridge this gap—they give an incredible performance, but oh, no. oh, no, no, these are two people who desperately want to understand each other, who still trust each other deep to their core. when asahi cries over his kitchen sink, it isn’t, “I can’t go on like this with this man,” it’s, “I don’t want go on like this without him.” when noya slams his door shut, walks out towards a conversation confident and resolute, it isn’t, “time to face the music,” it’s “time to make things right.”

so when they come to set the next day, ready to put the nail in the coffin, ennoshita steps forward and tells them, okay. we’re changing this. I want you two to make up—I want you to just, to talk about that fight. talk about what’s going on in your heads, and figure it out, okay?

so they do.

and here’s the thing—ennoshita hates romance. he wrote a whole short film basically condemning the whole concept, saying, hey, here’s a couple that really should’ve been happy, but they couldn’t make it work. and he refused to even write in a kiss, because he hates that cinema seems to think that kissing in a movie means they’re in love. it doesn’t, not if they don’t have any chemistry, or effort, or time. so they don’t kiss on screen, in this script. not even in this drastic rewrite to the ending.

but they do hold each other. they hold each other tight, and noya nuzzles his face as far into asahi’s collarbone as he can, and asahi presses his mouth soft into noya’s hair and holds his head, and they whisper to each other, just barely audible, “I missed you,” and god, god, god. what kiss could ever compare to the simple warmth of an embrace.

the film goes through editing. asahi and noya... don’t really talk about it. they keep going on as they had, before, because neither one has brought it up, yet. too happy to let themselves fall back into something normal, because everything going on at the end there was so much, and they really did miss just being together, without cameras on them, without scrutiny.

the whole team gets together to watch it when it’s done, as they always do with projects like these. and noya curls himself into asahi’s side on the couch, the couch where they filmed the one scene that changed the course of the whole film, and they watch. and after its all said and done, after they congratulate ennoshita on a job well done, after they endure a lifetime’s worth of teasing, they walk home together. take a pause at a park. and they decide together, “I want to do this all over again, with you. Just us this time.”

so they do.

#listen. listen. LISTEN #yes this is stupid no i will not ever write it properly yes im still posting this ❤️#its for me and me only #one thoughts #long post #i put a read more but i don’t trust tumblr mobile so. im so sorry if it doesn’t work

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deathliken · 4 years

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𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚞𝚖: 𝚎𝚡𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎

THE THEMES: corrupted holier than thou guilds / world orders that are way too sketchy and crave eternal war / vampire secret societies and adjacent politics / ouroboros of greed and pride / who’s the real monster ? / the power of blood.

CONTENT WARNINGS: mentions of child grooming / mental & emotional abuse and indoctrination, wars and politics ( it’s vampire politics, but you never know ), discrimination of both supernatural creatures by humans / humans by supernatural creatures, demonization and dehumanization, death and mercy kills, manipulation and mind games.

as always please do not steal anything / take inspiration from here, any mention of other IDV characters is just purely casual and there’s no obligation to abide to every word i say, i’m just a writer who rambles a lot ;;

𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚙: a forsaken youth whose blood traces ancient priests and aristocrats just like his whole being is painted in grays and whites and reds, whose honorable father disappeared under mysterious circumstances when he was too young to remember and whose lovely mother’s health was so quickly deteriorating because of a mysterious abyssal disease ━he ended up leaving his home in order to live with the old family friend and trusted figure of jerry carl, as lastly wished by aesop’s mother herself before passing away. the known veteran, member of the most influential guild of supernatural hunters of the Allegiance of Countries known as The Order, raised the child himself by imbuing the guild’s creed and his own hatred towards supernatural creatures, for he had seen the great potential that laid within the pale child ━especially when it came to both his rare blood and his affinity with the supernatural as aesop has always shown as a child the ability to see spirits and perceive the presence of supernatural creatures as clearly as he could so easily admire the traces of stars on a night sky, things most hunters and humans can't do and that of course try to compensate for with their techniques. memories of his past prior leaving with jerry are hazy at best, but all that remained as vivid as ever was his mother’s tired smile ━and the harp demanded to come with him in the new place he was supposed to call home. as he bloomed into adulthood, he became a model of what a diligent exorcist had always been supposed to be: a living weapon for The Order to take pride of and use, a terror for creatures haunting and decimating humanity to fear, developing his blood bait at a spectacularly young age and successfully adapt it to his own natural gifts ━and when jerry died ( by aesop’s hands himself who so heartlessly shot the agonizing mentor who nighly was turning into a rabid ghoul ), aesop simply took over the mentor's duties and position as The Order’s mortician much to the higher planes’ glee. but perhaps it was indeed because of jerry not being around anymore to manipulate his deadly creation and the curiosity he harbored deep within the indoctrinated diligence ━or perhaps it was because of said deadly creation showing signs of hesitation and true mercy when sparing a rogue vampire he was supposed to eradicate from its hideout not that far from one of the province’s towns━ the pale exorcist had started to realize that some things didn’t add up, that some things he’s never questioned just because he grew up in it and knew nothing more about than an eerie sensation hitting him down his spine every now and then had actually some gruesome, macabre obscenities in its womb.

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚋𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚜: not much is really known about its birth, a history as clouded by fog as the birth of the world and the first great wars in the eternal darkness ━considered the greatest armed force within the Allegiance of Countries, The Order is involved deeply in the politics and matters of those states requiring their presence, judgement and interventions. its structure as well is a mystery, with orders impossible to defy coming from the high council manifesting only in so - called times of need, and the serious to everyday matters under the strict control of the high summoners and the very running strength of The Order: the exorcists ━often presenting themselves solo or in groups of two / three members, with each one specializing in several arts from contact to more intellect - focused studies and often ending up with one becoming their main field alongside their signature blood baits. blood baits are the most known technique every adept of The Order needs to learn to access to if they want to be able to be considered full part of The Order, created by the blood of the exorcist imbued in special items which then create a symbiotic bond with the exorcist meant to last until the exorcist passes away ━or at least as long as every month exorcists will respect the requirement of participating to blood donations which is said to be the only way to renew the bond with the blood bait and to create to create supplementary hunger baits for creatures like vampires, ghouls, wendigos / skinwalkers, werewolves, demons of various kinds ( any creature that feeds on blood or flesh, pretty much ) ; it takes several years for a blood bait to start to develop and a great number of standard exorcists never truly manage to reach its fullest potential, and each blood bait is different from one another and cannot be passed on from exorcist to another. aesop’s blood bait, ‘ embalm ’, is contained in the mortician cosmetic box the exorcist is seen always carrying along, and when opened it takes the shape of an elaborate coffin. the casket itself is able to summon a lifelike replica of himself or someone else he’s able to replicate, powered by his own blood and consequently maneuverable by him like a life sized puppet.

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚞𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛: no self righteous claim is ever backed by equally pure true intentions, and The Order is no exception ━as their extremism has been known to know no ends just like their pride and greed, their desire to acquire more power and more riches causing them to indeed thread with the very creatures they claim of despising and creating the most complex and extensive blood trafficking ring that still to this day has never been truly caught or dismantled. they claim it’s in order to infiltrate and create ways to mine the greatest menace from the inside, but greed and hunger for more and more just roars louder within the darkest abysses. truth be told, so much of the ancient beliefs of The Order has been tressed in lies at some point in the darkest centuries and only those at the very top are well aware of it ━of how the blood baits do not need to be ‘ renewed ’ every month, of how blood in the supplementary hunger baits either comes from some unfortunate corpse or animals and all that blood taken away from the loyal and blinded exorcists gets actually sold to the great holders of the status quo known as the vampire aristocracy who so much want to hold their eons - old power just as much as their enemy and ‘ partners ’ want to steal it all from them ; they’re blueblood, old money after all ( the Bloodline above them all ), indifferent if not unbothered by the lower folk and creatures whose diatribes and feral rages act as more of a nuisance they’d like to get rid of before anything too out of hand can ever hope to happen. and in that, The Order’s strict beliefs just come quite handy ━especially considering the infighting between factions within the great clans of blood and how each clan dares using The Order to ' take care ' of dissidents that might menace the thin ice between two great forces, creating and manipulating several situations in order to trigger their intervention. and some members of the order itself ━or rather, those who are well suspicious but aren't aware of how things run deep in the highest spheres nor speak━ do not really hold any sympathy nor desire to be seen as the vampires' attack dog , for them it's just a temporary alliance given by the blood trafficking ring bc this way they get information about the enemy and ways to fully plot a mass extermination, usually dissidents in the order just ' disappear mysteriously '. it kinda works like a cold war born from an even ancient war leaving no trust between one another and ruination at each step in an equilibrium that truly doesn’t exist and is as much of a lie as everything else, with these subtle jabs at one another in higher spheres being covered by the loudness of both the hungerous creatures inhabiting the land and the facade of fanaticism of The Order ; both sides are driven by their own most selfish and most obscure desire and cravings that only seem to be amplified dangerously the more time passes, both sides want nothing but their status quo to reign and be maintained for their own interests to keep being fulfilled forevermore: The Order wanting for the extermination of all supernatural ‘ for the sake of humanity’s safety ’, the power and the riches ━and the Bloodline ( among other so - called allies ) to stay ontop of the social and power ladder and have endless pools of blood for them to feast on while all of the world would crash and burn in a new apocalypse allowing them to rewrite everything as their image and ideal. ( but maybe there’s more, creatures of lingering abyss playing chess with the living in their most maddening boredom, hiding underneath dormant churches ━who knew. )

#‹ ✞ › ━━ headcanons.#‹ ✞ › ━━ v:sancta sanctorum.#child grooming tw /#mental abuse tw /#emotional abuse tw /#corruption tw /#indoctrination tw /#discrimination tw /#extermination talk tw /#demonization tw /#dehumanization tw /#death tw /#manipulation tw /#mind games tw /#war tw /#i am sure im missing tags but please let me know if i did so i'll gladly add them alongside on the content warnings ontop !#but aaaa it's been so long #im so proud of what i've created

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yeenybeanies · 4 years

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i’m glad you guys seem to like devin too bc i love them & also one ( 1 ) cowboy. that’s a lie i love many ( n > 1 ) cowboys don’t look at me; i haven’t proofread this one yet because i’m in a hurry rn but i’ll get to that later!! EDIT i have proofread & made alterations, so now it is good to go!!

arthur morgan & devin clarke ( oc )

2506 words

language warnings

feel free to leave comments in the tags!! thanks!!

" Rats. ” The gunslinger curses under his breath. Literal rats. He nudges at a fallen peach on the ground with the toe of his boot. A large chunk is torn from its flesh, making its roll lopsided and left-curved. There is something strange, though. Most might not notice and dismiss it, just as he was about to, as nothing more than rats or mice, but Arthur Morgan has an uncanny eye for small details. Brows furrowed, he crouches down and takes the peach up in one hand, turning it about to better see the carvings. At a glance, they look like ordinary rodent teethmarks, sure. But under scrutiny––under Arthur’s scrutiny––they don’t hold up so well. The cuts are too perfect, too precise. The pattern of the hole in the peach is strange too; rather than a series of chewing that eventually wore down to the fruit’s tough pit, as a rat might do, it looks more like the entire chunk was removed all at once. Something cut out a chunk of this peach and ran off with it, while making it look like rats had gotten to it.

Confusion settles heavily on Arthur’s face. His first guess is that another member of the camp took a bite from the fruit, but the scoring in the fruit is too small for a man’s teeth or knife. Furthermore, why wouldn’t they just have taken the whole peach? Why take one chunk and leave the rest?

The burlap sack housing the rest of the fruit and game he’d collected––all things he’d intended to deliver to Pearson––sits on the table adjacent to his bed. Arthur straightens, shifting to a more comfortable kneel, and leans over to inspect it. There’s a cut in the fabric, again, looking as if it’s to imitate the gnawing of rodents. As with the peach, though, it’s too precise.

What the hell could have done this?

“ Arthur! ” His head snaps up and turns towards the voice. It’s Dutch. Apparently he’s needed for something. He’s about to yell back that he’ll be right there, but movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention. It’s barely perceptible, but something is scooting around inside the bag. Had Arthur already ruled out rodents, he’d guess maybe it was a mouse. Whatever it is, it’s sneaking towards the incision. Slowly, Arthur leans forward, eyes narrowed.

That ain’t no mouse for sure.

“ Arthur! Get over here! ”

Arthur is frozen, stiff with surprise.

“ Arthur! ”

“ Wha––erm––I’m comin’! Be right there! ” Jesus Christ. Arthur tears his stare away from the bag and looks towards the center of camp where Dutch is calling him. He can only give the bag another quick glance before he stands and starts walking. If he takes much longer, Dutch is bound to come over and drag him out by the ear.

He must be seeing things, he reasons. Too many knocks to the head, too much drinking in his time. There’s no way he just saw a . . . a tiny lady’s face under the frayed burlap.

Racing like a hummingbird, the borrower’s tiny heart pounds in their chest. Hidden inside of the burlap sack, they try their best to peek out and watch the human without drawing any attention to themself. From what they can tell, he’s crouched, looking at a peach. They curse themself silently; they’d cut a sizable chunk of that peach with their knife––really a makeshift tool made from the sharpened and carved canine of a fox––and had accidentally pushed it out from the sack when they’d yanked said chunk free. Oh, the lament they felt watching that perfectly good fruit fall to the ground below . . ..

And now the human is inspecting the fruit. Their anxiety slowly starts to rise. Devin Clarke takes pride in their art––in the effort they put forth to make their borrowing look like nothing more than the work of mice and rats. It fools most humans. Most.

Devin freezes when the human moves. They can’t see his face, but they can see the blue buttons on his chest, which tells them that he’s facing the bag, most likely inspecting their handiwork.

A voice cuts through the eery quiet, making the borrower jump. They pray the human hasn’t noticed. That is their cue, though; they need to leave. With hopes that the human––Arthur?––is distracted, Devin slowly creeps towards the cut, trying their damnedest not to jostle the fabric or any of the food items around them. As they reach the fray, they freeze, blood suddenly going cold.

He’s looking at them. There’s no doubt that he can see them. Beyond the cut fibers, Devin sees the look in the human’s bright blue eyes change from scrutiny to surprise.

The voice yells again from somewhere in the camp, but Devin is too stiff to react this time. It feels like an hour passes, but they don’t move, and neither does the human, both too shocked to do anything. The third yell, however, does finally pull his attention away, and Devin takes the opportunity to scoot backwards into the sack, out of view. They panic, knowing damn-well they’re trapped if the human decides to inspect further. But he doesn’t. He yells back that he’s on his way, and he stands, and he . . . leaves. He leaves without trying to catch them. They listen to his footsteps as they grow more distant. Once they’re far enough away, Devin scrambles out of the cut they made and rush for safer cover, peach chunk they’d worked so hard for forgotten.

God dammit! Every other tent and wagon gave them no trouble at all!

Arthur hadn’t expected to see the would-be little lady in the bag again when he was finally able to return. He was prepared to dismiss what he’d seen as a trick of the light, but he wasn’t prepared to find a chunk of peach in the bag––a chunk of peach that, save for a few tiny nibbles––fit perfectly into the slot carved from the fruit. Carved. Not chewed.

That was days ago. Since then, the gunslinger hadn’t seen any sign of small critters––mice or ladies or otherwise––around his tent. Today, though, he had heard Pearson muttering, grumpy as ever, about rats getting into the camp food stocks. He’d mentioned something about going into town to get some mouse traps. Arthur, after having inspected some of the “ nibbled-on ” food ( same strange, too-precise marks as before ), had volunteered to find and get rid the rat himself. Or mouse. Or Whatever it is.

So now he waits. At Arthur’s recommendation, Pearson continues as usual with his daily routine. Sunset comes, and the camp stew simmers, and everyone eats. Arthur, though––he skips the stew and instead takes up post around Pearson’s wagon. The sun now practically gone beyond the horizon, he relies more on his hearing, listening for anything stirring around among the camp food supplies. The moon is nearly full, but he can only do so much with moonlight.

It takes about an hour before Arthur does hear something suspicious ( maybe he would have heard sooner, but Javier started playing his guitar ). There’s a rustling about, so faint that Arthur’s almost sure he’s imagining it. Carefully, quietly, starts to move, his ears straining to focus on the the sound. He does berate himself a little, calling himself a fool for volunteering to chase a rat, but . . . but a part of him still doesn’t believe that it’s a rat, that it wasn’t a trick of the light. That, or he really is just losing his mind.

Arthur approaches a barrel brimming with fruit, he spots a peach on the ground. Sure enough, its flesh is carved to mimic a rat’s gnawing, just like earlier, and just like a few days ago. He turns his head to the barrel, where he can hear tiny movements within. Logic says it has to be some sort of rat or mouse, and Arthur just doesn’t know as much about rodent dentition as he thinks. Logic says it’s not a teeny tiny little lady. That’s absurd.

And yet, from the cover of some of the barrel’s fruit, out crawls just that: a teeny tiny . . . maybe three inches tall . . . little lady. The moon’s light is plenty bright enough to highlight their little figure, leaving no room for doubt. They’re standing on two legs, wearing little clothes, and they’re staring at Arthur as he stares right back. The piece of peach in their hands falls, bouncing off of the barrel’s rim and dropping onto the ground.

Ever since the fiasco at the human––Arthur’s––tent, Devin had been avoiding that side of camp entirely. ( It’s unfortunate, since that side of camp usually has a good supply of feathers and scraps of fabrics and other useful things they can’t usually find anywhere else. ) It’s inconvenient as hell, since the main food wagon is such a pain in the ass to reach, what with it being made to keep out mice and rats and borrowers and other small creatures. Since they’ve been spotted, too, that means they have to leave, but they need to build up their supply stocks first to have any hope of survival away from the camp.

Damn. Being seen sucks.

It is a small blessing, though, that the human hadn’t tried to grab them. That doesn’t happen often.

Here they are now, though. While the camp is busy eating their daily stew ( Devin almost feels sorry the humans have to eat that slop everyday ), the borrower is busy scavenging through the wagon. A few pieces of fruit would be a good haul for the night. Getting up the barrel was no small feat, but the peaches––Devin’s favorite––at the top are plenty worth it. Dropping that first one after pulling a chunk from it ( again ) was a tragic accident, but they figure they might be able to haul it away once they get back down to the ground. A whole peach would certainly be a win in their book.

It seems, though, that the little borrower is fresh out of luck. Having been too preoccupied with taking more chunks of fruit, when they step out from behind an apple, they’re met with a heart-stopping sight. They drop the piece of peach they’d just pulled.

Arthur.

It’s the same human!

Devin feels the familiar chill in their blood and bones.

There’s no doubt that he can see them, either. He’s staring right at them, and they at him, both of them caught in the moonlight. Time seems to stand still for several long moments, neither of them knowing what to do.

The human does eventually move, his hands lifting. He does so slowly, but he seems to slow even more when Devin tenses, prepares to run. It looks almost like he’s . . . surrendering.

“ Easy now, ” he says, his voice low, soft. He’s trying to be comforting, but Devin isn’t feeling very comforted. “ Ain’t gonna hurt ya. ”

Devin’s heard that before.

The human lowers himself to a crouch, his eyes not leaving them. One hand collects the fallen peach––the whole fruit, sans one chunk, they’d dropped earlier. “ You, uh . . . you like peaches? ”

Naturally, Devin opts not to answer. They’re still ready to bolt at any moment.

“ Pearson thinks you’re a rat. I told him I’d take care of it, but––woah! Hold on, hold on! ” Devin darted behind the apple again, spooked by those words. They don’t have any desire to be ‘ taken care of. ’ But the human keeps talking. “ Look––I give ya my word, li’l miss. Dunno if you can really understand me, but I ain’t gonna try n’ catch you. You just . . . well, ya can’t really be takin’ from the provisions wagon like this. ”

Well shit. Now that the human knows without a doubt that they’re here and they’ve been taking food, Devin now has to leave immediately. They don’t have enough supplies to make it far, but what choice do they have? It’s too dangerous now to––––

“ But I can help. Ya don’t . . . you don’t have to run away, y’know? ” Oh boy. Here he goes. Devin rolls their eyes and starts their descent down the barrel, staying out of sight. “ I know ya don’t know me, don’t know nothin’ about me, got no real reason to trust me, but I ain’t gonna hurt ya. Don’t really want anyone else to hurt ya either. ”

Yeah, yeah. He keeps talking, and Devin keeps climbing.

“ I’ll tell Pearson I got the rat. Don’t you worry. ” Oh? That does make the borrower pause. This human’s . . . going to cover for them. So he says, at least. That’s . . . a first.

“ If you ever come around to my tent again, just ask me, ‘n I’ll give ya some food. Or whatever it is you need. ”

Right. Okay. Devin huffs and resumes their climb down.

Back at their home, after adding the scraps of food they managed to take away ( no peaches, unfortunately––damn that human ), Devin comes to the heart-dropping conclusion that they, in fact, do not have enough supplies to make it anywhere . . . that wouldn’t mean almost certain death.

Fuck.

The last time they put their faith in a human, it ended . . . poorly.

Pearson seemed pleased last night with the news that the pesky rat was taken care of. That’s good. That means he probably won’t be looking around, knife in hand, for any little critters crawling around the wagon.

That’s one relief. For now, at least. But Arthur still can’t help but feel some anxiety in his heart, knowing that the little lady is still running around out there. They’re so small . . ..

Arthur reclines in his bed, arms resting behind his head. His hat is tipped forward, covering his eyes. Things are slow at camp today. Chores are already done, no one needs any errands run, and nothing . . . super pressing needs his attention right now.

He figures he might as well take a nap, catch up on some sleep he’s missed over the . . . well, his whole life. That’s his plan, at least, until he hears a little voice.

“ Arthur? ”

The gunslinger breathes in sharply, eyes open, and pushes himself up to sit, looking around for the source of the voice.

“ Down here. ”

Down where? He rights his hat and scans low. What on Earth–––oh!

Oh. It’s the little lady. Arthur removes his hat from his head, just as he might do for a normal-sized lady.

“ That’s . . . that’s your name, right? ” They look nervous, which Arthur supposes he can understand. He’s not sure he’d be the bravest if facing a giant.

“ Yeah. That’s me. Arthur Morgan. An’ you’re . . .. ”

“ Devin Clarke. ” Sounds like a normal enough name to him. He wonders if they used to be normal-sized, but he can’t think of how they might . . . shrink.

“ Well, Miss Clarke . . .––– ”

“ Just Devin, ” they correct quickly. “ You . . . said you would help me . . .. ”

Ah. He surely did. Arthur can’t help the smile that curves along his lips. Slowly, he moves himself to better face them, making an effort to keep his hands where they can see them at all times.

“ ‘course. Devin. What can I do for ya? ”

#g/t #g/t writing #g/t fiction #g/t rdr #rdr #arthur morgan #devin clarke #hyena writes #hyena ocs

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