#anyway i have gotten. too comfortable with sketching fabric and figure drawings it is time i actually put detail into my art again

[litt1e-prince]

epic win! the prince thats going to rescue you is wearing trainers -- obviously. he cant run away from the dragon in high heels!

[starshine583]

New Girl on the Block (4)

(Y’all ready to read the next update??? Enjoy part four of this fic and if you’re interested, feel free to check out the mini series connected to this called the Journal Entries. It’s just little journal snippets from the two dorks that I decided to write for fun :D)

Ch.1 / Ch.3 / Ch.5

Chapter 4: Get to Know You

Marinette slipped on her white, non-flour-covered leather jacket and pushed her pigtails back so they wouldn’t be tucked into her outfit. She then smoothed out her pink dress with a smile, admiring the black flowers that she’d stitched along the bottom. This dress had been one of her stress-relieving projects, but it turned out quite well, in her opinion.

Once Papa had finished teaching her friends how to fold the dough, he put their croissants into the fridge to chill them and instructed everyone to go upstairs and wash up. Marinette dutifully took them up to her room where her personal bathroom was and taught them how to use the shower, but when she tried to lead one of them to her parent’s bathroom as well, they insisted that she take a shower there herself. 

“What kind of gentlemen would we be if we forced the ladies to wait on us?” Claude had said light-heartedly, though she could tell he meant it. Allegra’s smirk as she walked in the bathroom to take a shower first was proof of that. 

The notion had warmed Marinette’s heart, coaxing a giggle from her each time she thought about it. It might be hard to see sometimes, but Claude, Allan, and Felix truly were a considerate and chivalrous group of boys. 

Now, She’s finished her shower in her parent’s bathroom and gone back up to her bedroom, where Allegra, Claude, and Allan had been patiently waiting. Allegra was nice and clean again, wearing the long, purple shirt and black leggings that Marinette had given her, and Claude appeared to have just exited the shower, his damp hair sticking to his face and dripping across his borrowed, black and blue “O.K” shirt. Allan was still covered in flour.

Allegra smiled at Marinette from her spot on the chaise as she re-braided her long, golden blonde hair. “Thanks for the extra clothes, Mari! These are amazing.”

“Yeah!” Claude agreed enthusiastically, holding out his with a grin. “This shirt is awesome!”

Marinette glanced down to hide her blush. “I-It’s the least I could do.”

“We still appreciate it.” Allan replied.

“Oh!” Marinette said, suddenly thinking about the fact that Allan was still covered in flour. “Allan, do you want to use Maman’s shower? You don’t have to stand around waiting for Felix.”

That who she assumed was occupying the shower, anyway. The water was still running, and everyone but Felix was present. 

Allan waved a hand. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll be getting a shower soon if Felix would hurry up.”

Marinette chuckled at Allan’s obvious call to Felix, even more so when Felix shouted back from the bathroom, “You’re the one that let me go first!”

“I didn’t know you would take a day and a half!” 

“That’s still your fault then, isn’t it?” Felix shot back.

Allan scoffed and crossed his arms, causing Marinette to offer her parent’s shower again out of guilt. She had been the one to throw flour on him, after all.

“Are you sure you don’t want to-”

The bathroom door swung open, effectively cutting Marinette off, and Felix stepped out with one hand on his hip and the other hand on the towel that was draped across his head. He shot Allan a glare, practically growling the words, “There. I’m out. Are you happy?”

“Delighted.” Allan responded sarcastically.

Marinette might have been concerned about the growing conflict had she not been focused on Felix’s outfit. Or rather, how well it suited him. The black, three-quarter-sleeved shirt that she’d given him, along with the plaid green, button-up shirt she’d provided to go underneath, clung to his waist, revealing his surprisingly slender figure. The dark grey jeans he wore in place of his dress pants didn’t fit the outfit exactly, but they worked well enough, and Marinette eagerly started taking mental notes for future adjustments.

Allan grabbed his clothes and walked into the bathroom, while Felix glared daggers at him until the bathroom door closed. 

“Woah~” Allegra crowed, easily breaking the tension. “You should wear casual outfits more often, Felix. They really suit you.”

Claude smirked. “No kidding. I swear you’ve worn the same suit for the whole two years we’ve known.”

Felix turned his glare to Claude with a scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve worn plenty of suits, each one made differently.”

Allegra snorted. “That wasn’t.. That was not the point, Felix.”

Felix narrowed his eyes, the barest hint of confusion finding its way to his features, and Marinette took that opportunity to speak up.

“How’s the outfit? Does it fit alright?” She asked. Hopefully she can find the original measurements for the outfit if it does fit fine, because Felix was most likely going to become a regular customer. Maybe he wouldn’t hire her for actual commissions, but she might end up making something for him on impulse. (as you do)

Felix caught her eye, his glare slowly fading as he registered her question.

“The fabric is extremely comfortable, and the clothes fit perfectly.” He said after a moment. “You said you made these?”

She nodded. “With my sewing machine. I was thinking of putting a green paw print on the shirt too, but I haven’t gotten around to it.”

Felix hummed, idly pulling his towel from on top of his head to around his shoulders. “I see. Thank you for lending them to me.”

Marinette blinked, suddenly finding herself captivated by the way his hair fell across his face. Still being damp, various strands stuck to his forehead and cheeks, and he reached up to brush them away. This brought her attention to his face, which, for some reason, she hadn’t quite noticed before. The defined jawline, the subtle-yet-there cheek bones, the pointed nose- all of his features were sharp. Even his eyes held a silver tint to them that reminded her of steel. 

These observations dragged her to one, rather important revelation: Felix Culpa was actually a fairly handsome person.

“Marinette?” Felix said, drawing her from her thoughts. “Are you alright?”

A rush of heat swarmed her cheeks, and Marinette straightened. “W-what? I mean yes! Yeah, I’m totally fine, I.. yes.”

“Hey, speaking of clothes!” Claude piped up, graciously saving Marinette from her own awkwardness. “How’s my prince costume going?”

Marinette twirled around in her rolling chair and grabbed for her sketching notebook. A distraction was definitely something she needed right now.

“I’ve got a few different ideas, but you need to come tell which one you like best.” She explained as she flipped open the notebook.

Claude hopped up from the stray chest he’d been sitting on and practically bounced over to her seat. She let him scan each page, smiling when he started humming “Ooh’s” and “Aah’s”.

“I can only pick one?! But they’re all so good!” Claude remarked, almost exasperated.

Marinette chuckled. “Well.. I guess I can make all of them for you, but you at least need to choose which one I start on.”

Claude gasped. “You mean you’re going to make all of these for me?”

“It’s going to take a month or so to get them all done.” She warned. “But-”

Claude scooped her into a bone-crushing hug, briefly reminding her of her father. “Thank you, Mari! Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!”

Marinette laughed and gave him a light pat on the arm. “You’re welcome.”

Her smile widened as Claude eagerly grabbed the notebook and ran back to his designated chest to look through the drawing again. It was nice to see someone who was also enthusiastic about fashion. She’d gotten tired of talking to people who simply didn’t understand the hype of creating unique styles of clothing. 

“You know he’s never going to leave you alone now, right?” Felix commented next to her.

Marinette offered him a glance as she said, “I think I can live with that.”

Felix shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

She smiled at that. Felix may be striking, but that didn’t have to change anything. Lots of people were striking. And lots of people remained friends despite that.

“Oh,” Felix muttered, seeming to remember something, “Where do you want me to put my clothes? They’re still in the bathroom because of Allan, but..”

“Uhm.. I think Maman said she was going to wash them.” Marinette answered. “She wanted to try to get them clean before supper for all of you.”

“Ah, supper.” Claude cut in, heaving a jokingly wistful sigh. “I can’t wait for that. If your mom’s croissants can taste that heavenly, then her full meals must be amazing.”

He sunk against the chest for emphasis, not realizing that there was a gap between the chest and the wall. The sudden weight threw the chest off balance, and it tipped forward, causing Claude to get jerked backwards. He flailed his arms briefly and yelped before crashing to the floor. The front of the chest hit the ground as well, and the impact popped it open, scattering various objects across the floor.

“Oh, Claude!”

“Are you okay?” 

The girls rushed to his side to help him up, but Felix shot him a flat look.

“First the kitchen and now her bedroom.” He said curtly. “Should we tear up the living room next? Or perhaps the dining room has more fragile items?”

Allegra rolled her eyes. “Felix, can you at least try to be sympathetic.”

“I am being sympathetic. Marinette doesn’t have the money to replace things at the drop of a hat like we do. It’s rude to behave so recklessly in her home.”

Marinette glanced up at Felix, not sure whether to find his words sweet or offensive. “Trust me, it’s fine. This chest is old anyway.”

Felix’s frown told her that he didn’t agree on the matter, but before he could argue further, the bathroom door swung open again.

“What happened?” Allan asked, his hair still dripping wet. “I heard the crash. Is anyone hurt?”

“Only my pride.” Claude groaned in response. He was sitting up now and rubbing his head as Allegra switched between scolding and coddling.

Allan sighed with relief. “Oh, good. You can’t hurt something that’s not there.”

“Hey!”

Marinette giggled at the comment. “Allan, how is your outfit? Do I need to make any adjustments?”

Allan glanced down at his clothes. She’d given him a maroon shirt with a blue heartbeat line in the center, a black and blue shirt to go underneath, and a pair of black jeans. He didn’t appear to be wearing the second shirt, though.

“Oh, they fit great.” He said, twisted his torso a bit to get a better feel for the new clothes. “I didn’t have time to put on the second shirt, though. I heard the crash and panicked.”

Marinette offered him a smile. “That’s fine. I can just put it back in the closet.”

Allan nodded and looked down at the mess. “So Claude spilled this chest?”

“Yeah, he was being an idiot.” Allegra remarked as she picked up one of the trinkets. “You know. Nothing new.”

“Wow. can you guys lay off for two seconds?” Claude huffed. He reached forward to pick up one of the objects as well, curiosity overtaking his annoyance. “What is all of this stuff, anyway?”

Marinette glanced at the miscellaneous objects to check- she had several trunks that acted as ‘junk drawers’ -and immediately cringed when she recognized a black hat with rainbow colors stitched along the bottom.

“Oh..” It was Adrien’s gift chest. She’d almost forgotten that she had it. “They’re, um.. They’re just crafts, really.”

“Just crafts?” Claude repeated, holding up a crocheted Ladybug doll. “These are awesome!”

Marinette watched them for a moment. “...do you want them?”

The group looked up in shock, and Marinette quickly added, “Y-You don’t have to take them! I’ve just.. Uh.. they’re like junk? I mean, not junk, but this is my junk chest.. Sort of. I’ve just been meaning to get rid of them. So if you want them, you can have them.” 

Allegra frowned. “Are you sure? It looks like you put a lot of effort into these.”

Marinette nodded. “Positive. Take whatever you want.”

Although hesitant at first, the group continued to look through the gifts, and little by little, they started to take some. A smile came to Marinette’s lips as she watched the pile of Adrien junk dwindle. She had spent a lot of time on making the presents, but there was no way she’d be giving them to Adrien now. So what was the point of keeping them in her room? To serve as a mocking reminder of how blind she had been while loving him? No thanks.

By the time they were done, the chest only had half the gifts it used to, and Marinette quickly decided that she would donate the leftovers once she got the chance. 

“Thanks for the stuff, Mari!” Claude said cheerfully, his hands full of various objects.

Allegra nodded, holding a few things herself. “Yeah, you really do spoil us.”

“Which is saying something, considering we’re rich.” Allan teased, pocketing the two items that he’d decided to snatch. 

Marinette chuckled. “You’re helping me more than I am you.”

She stood up and walked to the bathroom to grab the boys’ old clothes. “I’m gonna bring these down to Maman, but feel free to look around until I get back.”

The group voiced their agreements, and Marinette climbed down the trapdoor ladder with the pile of clothes in hand, feeling like another weight had been lifted off of her shoulders.

Getting rid of Adrien’s gifts was one more step towards happiness, and she couldn’t wait to keep walking.

~~~~~~

One can tell a lot about a person by their bedroom. How clean they were, whether they were sentimental, which things they found important- a bedroom could quite literally be considered a box in which someone stored their entire personality. That’s why Felix had been anticipating this part of the visit. Someone can be a master manipulator, but their room would always show their true selves. And it only took one look for Felix to know..

Marinette really loved the color pink.

Seriously, she had it everywhere. The walls, the furniture, the carpet- How was she not sick of the color by now? Felix was sick of it, and he’d only been there for about twenty minutes!

Pushing the pink thought aside, he continued poking around her room. Marinette had gone downstairs to pass his clothes off to her mother, so that gave him a bit of time to inspect the space unsupervised. Not that he was planning on doing anything scandalous. It merely gave him the opportunity of observing Marinette’s room on his own terms.

When she told him that her room was up in the attic, he’d been understandably shocked. The attic didn’t sound like a spacious place to sleep, let alone work on homework and other personal things. Seeing it now, though, Felix realized that that wasn’t the case. The attic was actually quite open. There was a desk, a closet, various chests, a bathroom, and she still had a good portion of the room empty. He wondered if that was thanks to the original size of the room or thanks to Marinette’s resourcefulness.

Her cleaning style wasn’t too bad, either. Don’t get him wrong, there were things scattered everywhere, but it was a specific type of scattered, like an organized chaos. He had a feeling that she knew where most of her necessities were. 

Felix moved to her desk, where most of the mess was focused. There were papers, sewing needles, scraps of fabric, and pencils spread across the surface. Her interest in fashion certainly shined through, as most of the papers were filled with various sketches and measurements. He found that admirable. When someone usually speaks of their ‘dream job’, they speak of it as a fantasy, one that they never intend to fully pursue, but Marinette was obviously reaching as high as she could to grasp her goal. She even had a mannequin in her room.

“Marinette’s room is so cool!” Claude exclaimed from the loft up top. “She even has a balcony!”

Felix glanced upwards, briefly setting the papers he’d been studying aside. There’s a balcony upstairs? He didn’t recall seeing a balcony on the way in.

“Claude, you have a balcony.” Allegra reminded him with an amused smile.

“Yeah, but mine only extends from the side of the building.” Claude defended. “This one’s on the roof!”

Ah, so that’s why Felix hadn’t seen it.

Allan frowned. “Really? Isn’t that a little dangerous?”

“It’s got a rail.” 

“Oh, okay. That’s fine then.”

Allegra chuckled as she brushed her hands against the hat on Marinette’s mannequin. “Marinette’s room is pretty neat, though.”

“I think it’s just Marinette who’s cool.” Allan remarked.

Allegra and Claude heartily agreed, and Felix nodded. “Cool” probably wouldn’t be the exact word that he’d use to describe her, but overall, it wasn’t far off.

“Can you believe we’ve only known her for a week?” Claude asked as he climbed down to their level. “It feels like we’ve known her forever already.”

“Yeah, but I think that’s just how she is.” Allegra smiled. “She draws you in and makes you feel like family.”

“Her parents are the same way.” Allan said. “You can really tell where she gets it from.”

“Where who gets what from?” 

Felix, along with the rest of the group, turned to the trapdoor, where Marinette was standing about halfway through. She didn’t have the clothes anymore, but she did have a tray of drinks.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Allegra said dismissively. “What are those?”

Marinette set the tray on the ground long enough to climb through and close the trapdoor as she explained, “Maman and Papa thought you guys might be thirsty, so she sent me up with a bunch of different drinks to choose from.”

“Sweet!” Claude grinned, swiftly walking over in case she needed help. “Do you have Dr. Pepper?”

Marinette smiled and turned the tray to reveal a deep red can of soda. “Yep! I know it’s your favorite.”

“You truly are a blessing.” Claude replied, grabbing the soda off of the tray.

Marinette giggled and brought the tray forward for the rest of them to pick. Allegra chose a pepsi, while Allan snagged a coke, and Felix grabbed the slim cup of coffee that sat to the side.

He took a sip of it, enjoying the warmth of the bitter liquid. It didn’t escape his notice that Marinette had brought up all of their preferred drinks. She even got his coffee right (Black with three sugars). 

Despite how scatter-brained she could be, Marinette still paid attention to details, which was impressive. Felix didn’t know anyone else who could space out during an entire conversation, yet remember the exact type of drink everyone ordered during lunch.

“So what do you guys want to do now? We still have about half an hour before supper is finished.” Marinette asked, setting the tray aside. 

Allan shrugged. “What do you have?”

Marinette thought for a moment. “Well, we have board games, card games, Mecha Strike 3-”

“Mecha Strike 3?” Claude perked up. “Yes, please!”

Marinette laughed. “Is everyone else okay with that?”

“Sounds great.” Allan smiled.

Allegra shrugged. “I’m fine with it.” 

Felix, being satisfied with his inspection for now, sat down on the chaise. “I’ll watch.”

The rest of the group huddled around Marinette’s computer while she turned it on, and after a bit of debating, they decided on ‘winner faces next player’ and started with Allan and Claude. Felix watched the first two games, just long enough to see Marinette cream Allan, before reverting back to his studious ways. He scanned the bedroom again, hoping to catch something new, when his gaze landed on the trunk that Claude had tipped over earlier. With everyone bustling around it, Felix hadn’t gotten a chance to sift through it, but now that they were occupied with Marinette’s game..

Felix shifted in his seat and re-opened the chest. It was only half full, as opposed to its previously overflowing contents, but that didn’t bother him. There were still plenty of things inside, such as shirts, figurines, hats, and other things. He pulled out a jacket and turned it in his hands, admiring the handiwork. The hood, along with the cuffs of the sleeves and zipper were pitch black, but the rest of the jacket was a deep red, save for the black spots that littered it. “Miraculous” was written on the back in cursive as well. Was this supposed to be based off of the Parisian superhero Ladybug? Why would she want to get rid of this? At the very least, she could make a profit by selling it.

What did she use to make this? The material is so soft.. Felix thought as he unzipped the jacket. It was completely black on the inside, save for some tiny, golden lettering near the section wear the pocket would be.

“To: Adrien

From: Marinette”

Felix frowned. How strange. Why would Marinette be giving away things that she made specifically for someone else? He dug through the chest some more, this time looking for names, and what he found was shocking. 

Almost every gift had the name ‘Adrien’ on it somewhere, whether it be a card or stitching or marker. Some gifts didn’t have a name, but at that point, Felix felt it was safe to assume that everything in the chest was supposed to be for this ‘Adrien’ person. 

That begged the question, though: Who was Adrien? And why would she create so many gifts for him just to give them away?

A small card stitched on the ear of a stuffed cat gave him his answer.

“Dear Adrien, 

Happy 19th birthday! It’s officially been five years since we’ve known each other. Isn’t that crazy? Anyway, I just wanted to say happy birthday (even though I’ve already said it) and that I’m really happy we got to meet. Enjoy the cat!

With all my love, Marinette”

Felix glanced up at Marinette, who was blissfully ignorant of his findings as she defeated Claude for the second time at Mecha Strike 3. Did she intend to use all of these as birthday presents? How many gifts were in there? Did she expect this person to have the same interests twenty years from now? He couldn’t decide if this level of planning was due to over-thinking or just plain obsession. Maybe both.

“Hey, Felix!” 

Felix flinched at the sudden call of his name, weirdly feeling as if he’d been caught in the act of some crime. He looked up to see Claude waving a controller at him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to play?” The brunette asked.

“Talk to me when you have chess.” Felix replied shortly, going back to the chest. He had hoped that seeing Marinette’s room would provide more answers to her life, but it only issued more questions. Did she have this amount of gifts for all of her friends or was Adrien special? If he was special, what way would it be? Was he possibly an ex-lover? She dated him for a while, and they had a recent falling out, which was why she was getting rid of the gifts. That would make sense.

“He just wants to talk.”

Her words from last week resurfaced in his mind. The person who chased her that day was the only one she reacted bitterly towards. Was Adrien trying to get back together with her? 

Was he the reason she left her old school in the first place?

My, my Dupain-Cheng. Felix thought. Aren’t you just full of secrets?

Tag List:  @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182 @jaggedheart11 @marinahrasauce

[black-streak]

Saturday night's alright for fighting (but Sundays are meant for rest) - Deprived

Part 13

In case y'all forgot, their entire relationship started with sleeping and cuddles. If you're sick of reading about it, I don't know how you made it this far. Last! Bit! Until the bet's end! Warning, it might take me forever to write part 14. Thoughts are always loved.

Tags!: @emjrabbitwolf @mystery-5-5 @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @fandomkitty8 @dast218 @silvergold-swirl @shizukiryuu . @my-name-is-michell @kurogaya913 @elspethshadow @thecatnipmademedoit @shamefullove @ladylucina28 @crazylittlemunchkin @rayray384 @cassiejaydee @yuulxd @ladysblackcat @naclychilli @caffeinetheory @persephonebutkore @fertileleaf @hypnosharkrebeldreamer @weird-pale-blonde-person @st0rmy-w1th1n @littleblue5mcdork @dudet @naoryllis @disneyfoxuniverse @lordsmeldingtonthethird @taoiichii @resignedcatservant @iloontjeboontje @a-fan-fighting-for-equality

~---~

Missing someone starts simple enough. You raincheck a date or have to cancel a few times because life just demanded too much of you that week. Not that big of a deal, especially for a new couple. Surely the attachment and codependency hasn't settled in too heavily yet. Except maybe you're accustomed to seeing them at least four nights and two days every week at minimum even before dating. Perhaps that person helps with your bad habits and the lack of their presence disperses half your impulse control. There's even a chance that your basic human needs get tossed into a shallow grave with no marker because who really needs food and water and sleep? Those are optional right? But really, to skip all the roundabout half speak, it all accumulated into one basic thought, 'I miss Tim.'

...

"Something I should know about?" Robin spoke, not turning towards her where she landed at his side. 

"Not allowed to follow my bestie every now and again?"

"Tt. I am well aware that I am not your usual choice of company, Tuemessian. Angel's? Maybe. Not yours."

She hesitated a moment, contemplating teasing only to stop herself. She came to confide in him, not annoy and he had already offered the branch. No need to have it retracted.

"Batman decided to tail Red a few days ago."

"Hmm, Red Robin hasn't been on any particularly difficult cases lately. Why would he need the extra help?"

"Because of me."

"We all know you shadow him. No reason to start getting uppity about it now," he paused for a moment before shooting her an accusatory look, "Something must have changed. And you neglected to inform me."

Heaving a long suffering sigh at Robin's tone, she fell against his side.

"Might've gotten on Batman's bad side. And let him see me. And hung off Red."

"So he's babysitting you now," he realized.

"Pretty much."

"And you came running to me in retaliation so as not to be observed," he observed with an unimpressed scowl.

"I will not be tailed by a man in a glorified onesie. It's demeaning and rude," she sniffed, nose turned up in a perfect imitation of Chloe.

"Suppose I should get used to my new patrol partner then?"

"Until Bats gets his head out of where it doesn't belong anyways," she pouted further, "I'm going to miss Red."

"If you plan to whine about it, I won't stick around to hear it," he threatened.

"Yeah right, you love me too much to just abandon me."

"Don't push it."

…

Two nights later, Jason found Marinette sitting on the roof of the manor, drawing in her sketch pad.

"You know Littlewing is out tonight, right?"

"Yeah."

"Alright sugarcube, what's up? You always follow him on patrol nights," Jason asked, settling behind her and letting her lean back into his chest, taking comfort in the contact, "Unless you're the reason Batsy bitched all of last night?"

"He confronted Tim on why Vixen wasn't following Red Robin anymore. Said that Vixen was his responsibility and he was shirking it."

"And Tim told him to stop supervising his nights out," Jason filled in the blanks, chuckling at the memory, "thought he'd blow a gasket when Tim ignored him after that."

"Red told me he'd let me know when Bruce decided to back off so I could come out again. Followed Robin the last two nights, but it got boring. Taking a night off."

"Yeah, kid's too serious in the suit to be much fun. What you working on up here anyways?"

"New outfit for Kori. Owe her one," she stifled a yawn, concentrating once more on the mechanics of making a crop top that didn't move or lift with your arms up or when turned upside down, without being skin tight.

"And the roof was the best option for this, obviously."

"No distractions up here."

"Or really?"

"Don't even think about it!"

He snagged the sketchbook and took off back through the window and down the hall, laughing when he heard a shriek and the immediate sounds of Mari giving chase.

"Jason get back here with that!"

…

Stephanie dropped into the apartment on a Thursday, taking in the fabric bound chaos of the living area, particularly thick around a work desk that seemingly exploded. Scattered bits of boning, lacing, eyelets, three seam rippers and notably a few chains, sticking out of the disaster. In the center of it all sat a tiny designer with a vicious snarl curling the edge of her lip.

Skipping over, Steph wrapped her hands around and squeezed at the tense shoulders, noticing the concerning lack of reaction.

"Mari, I'm hungry."

"I'll make you something later."

"Hmm, don't think so. I'm calling for pizza. You're joining me and no, work is not allowed during pizza time." 

With that, she dragged Marinette off the chair and into the bedroom, both dropping onto the bed as Stephanie made the call, not needing to ask what the other wanted. Marinette didn't bother arguing, which was only more concerning. Steph wondered for a moment if she should call in reinforcement, but ultimately opted out. 'Nah, I got this.'

"Okay, should be here soon," she stated, relaxing into the comforter for a while, letting the other recover from being abruptly yanked out of work mode; read ten minutes of silence before curiosity won out.

"So what are you killing yourself over this time? Oh! Your suit for the next show? You have to let me see it!"

"No no, that was finished a week ago. You can stop by the studio tomorrow to check it out. You're still coming with me, right? I have a dress set aside for you."

"Obviously. I'm your date. However, that doesn't answer what you were getting so pissy with out there?" She teased, peaking at the other from the corner of her eye.

"It's a corset. Like, an actual, structured, hand embroidered, perfectly laced up corset. My hands feel like a crime scene with how much I've torn into them trying to get this right."

"Oh god, those things are so intricate. You're going to be screaming bloody murder by the end, why would you even do that to yourself?"

"... Haven't been sleeping much, figured it'd help get the frustration out."

"You never sleep much. Hence the sleep cuddle club," she pondered the thought a moment before snickering, "you two could make a business out of that if you weren't already swamping yourselves. Cuddle sessions for the sleep deprived and lonely. Oh! I'll go grab the door. I'm stealing your wallet by the way." 

Stephanie launched out of the room to the sound of a knocking door and a Mari grumbling about it hardly being stealing when you announce it and the owner doesn't care. Walking back in, she dropped the box between them, yanked the top off and grabbed for the garlic butter sauce they ordered to dip the crusts in.

"You're disgusting."

"And you lack respect for sauce. What else is new?"

"... I've been skipping nap time too," Mari muttered, hoping the other wouldn't hear.

"What do you mean you've been skipping naps? That's like, the only time you two ever sleep! Marinette, you cannot be awake 24/7."

"Pshh, more like 23/6. I crash hard on day 7."

"... That's a whole mood. Might I ask as to why you hate yourself so suddenly?"

"My commissions have gone through the roof with award season coming up, and spring weddings start up immediately after that. I might be clientele only, but my client basis is massive at this point! I don't have time and the few moments I've been free, Tim's been out for the night. And lord knows I don't sleep well alone."

"Uh-huh. And how long has this been going on?" Steph focused on the cheese stringing from her mouth that just would not let go, to give the other a chance to build up to tell the truth without having a guilty stare off.

"Um. About two weeks?" Mari flinched, wishing she were Tuemessian so she could disappear right there.

"So what you're telling me is that you haven't slept more than 12 collective hours, you're overworking yourself to the point of compliance to my antics, and your boyfriend, who's just as much of a sleepless wreck as you are, hasn't dragged you off for your regularly scheduled nap dates. Is that correct?"

"Well yeah. Wait, my boyfriend?"

"Don't even try me, I know you and Tim are a thing. No denying it. It's so damn blatant, it's ridiculous the others seem so oblivious to it," Steph rolled her eyes, daintily wiping her fingers off and grabbing a half empty water bottle off the nightstand to drain. A perfect contradiction of uppity and uncaring that only she seemed to pull off.

Marinette could only blink in surprise for a moment before nodding along, "We didn't plan for this," she murmured, half distracted.

"For what?"

"Nothing," she shook her head to clear the thought, "point is.Yes? I mean, we're just really busy and haven't found time and he knows how important this all is to me and even if he doesn't approve, it's not like he can get away to prevent it. Which would make him a total hypocrite if he called me out on it. Honestly, it's not even that bad, I'm catching up on so much now and I'll get to see him soon I'm sure, just as soon as I get through this season and!"

"That's it! I'm staging an intervention! We're finishing this pizza, cleaning you up and then I'm dropping you off at his apartment where you will sleep. Tomorrow the two of you are not leaving the bed until noon at the earliest. No work, only rest. Understood?"

"Noooo, Stephanniiieee, I'm busy!"

"Are you telling me you don't want snuggles?"

"... No."

"Then quit your bitchin, your arguments are lost on me. Now help me with this before I eat it all, itty bitty."

…

It took maybe fifteen minutes to finish the food and get some water down, another twenty to shower and get coerced into wearing cozy black fleece leggings, lavender tank top, and a soft, deep royal purple cardigan, and finally an extra ten minutes to lock up and make it out of the complex.

While Marinette was locked away in the bathroom, Stephanie called up Tim.

"Tell me you're at home. Or can be back in the next fifteen minutes."

"I just walked in?"

"Perfect, I'm dropping Mari off soon. She's like the walking dead right now and that's coming from the Dead Robins Club VP."

"VP…"

"Duh, Jason's the President. Damian's a recruit. Mari's not allowed to become the newbie. She's not even a Robin, it'd make no sense."

"What about Dick and I?"

"You two never actually died, doesn't count."

"Fair… wait, what's going on with ma loutine?"

"When's the last time you slept properly? Or even napped?"

"..."

"So when do you think she last slept or napped?"

"..."

"We'll be there soon."

…

Marinette found herself dragged up to his apartment, the door opening as she was pushed forward into a warm, familiar chest.

Since being dragged from her work, the lack of self care was slowly catching up to her. She hadn't even bothered to pull her hair out of her face, just letting the freshly blow dried fluff fall were it may. She had a vague idea of how they got here, but either way was grateful to find herself warm and held, even if it was in a doorway with the two talking over her head. She caught only snippets: something about not skipping out on each other anymore and a suggestion about living situations that made the body pressed to hers flush. Eventually the two stopped and Stephanie left. A hand pressed to the side of her face and she looked up to Tim who tilted to rest his forehead on hers.

"Hello sweetheart."

"Mon Somnambule," she smiled, eyes closing automatically.

"Think you're beating me there. When have you last slept?"

"Hypocrite."

"That's not an answer."

Mari pouted, not looking like she wanted to answer.

"Have you slept beyond an hour at a time?"

"I can't remember," she admitted.

"Why haven't you slept? You're usually better at self regulation than I am."

"Missed you."

"It's more than that though, isn't it?"

She pulled back and burrowed back into his chest, concentrating on the sound of his heartbeat.

"Couldn't sleep alone. Dark figure stalking me. Brought back bad memories. Became a nonentity for a reason. I do the following now. I make others uncomfortable, observe and toy with them. Not the other way round."

"I took care of that. He won't follow me anymore. You can come back out. But sweetheart, why didn't you call me?"

"Too risky at night with him following you. Too busy during the day. Didn't seem like there was a good time," she admitted.

He frowned, but let it go, gently tugging her arms over his shoulders to clasp behind his neck and placed his hands on the back of her thighs in a prompt to jump up. With her firmly wrapped around him, he made way to his bedroom, sitting down on the edge and pulling back a touch.

"Maybe Steph was right about living situations," he muttered to himself, hushing her when she hummed in confusion.

"Are you comfortable sleeping in that?"

She tugged at the cardigan, accidently getting tangled until he helped her out of it, folding it off to the side. She tucked her face down into the side of his neck and slumped into him completely. Turning them about, he settled her down, curling around her.

"Sleep well, love."

[hangukincharms]

Drawn to You

Word Count: 5147 Genre: Fluff, Fan x Idol Interaction Summary: You are an art student drafting a portrait of Wonho at a well-known café. Cross-Posted: AO3 as xKrypton_Bliss

E V E N I N G // A Seoul Café Sitting in a well-known café, you scroll through photos of Wonho on your phone to study his facial expressions and his exact anatomy. Your foot shakes idly now as you have gone past the blushing-in-embarrassment phase to more focused on seeing how the jawline is shaped, the turn of the tip of his nose, where his cheekbones land, and the subtle upturned corners of his mouth. With a nicely weighted and balanced mechanical pencil in hand, you begin to lay down the basic foundations for the three-quarter angle of his head, hoping to capture his essence truly. You have come so far now as an art student, and this was your last art project for university right before you graduate. You have already been taking commissions here and there, but only so few due to your overwhelming schedule with balancing your part-time job, school, and some sort of semblance of this thing called social life. After some time had passed, you managed to get a base sketch down along with some shading and details. It is still a little rough, but it has gotten more refined. A stroke of a loose hair here, maybe a shade there. No, it does not look right. You erase with a bit of frustration. You do not realize that the café has emptied quite a bit and it is darkening a little outside. "Your drawing is wonderful." A woman's voice startled you out of concentration. You snap your head up and see a short older woman carrying a tray with used plates and cups. She smiles sweetly, which seemed a bit familiar in some way to you. "Oh, uh, thank you!" you stammered, feeling embarrassed someone has actually seen your drawing before it was done, and it was a K-pop idol no less. Your cheeks heat up. "It's still far from being done…" You tuck your hair behind your ear out of nerves and pick up your hot chocolate to sip on. "I think it's wonderful," she repeated. "You did a great job capturing my son's personality." You choke on your drink and cough. "Y-your…" "Yes," she smiles proudly, her eyes becoming crescents. "Hoseoki is my son." Your eyes widen in disbelief. That embarrassment that finally ebbed away came back in full force. Now you have to figure out how to explain why out of all people, you decided to draw her son for the final project. You need to figure out why you could have not chosen someone else for this project. Anyone else at all! She sets the tray down on the table next to you. You look around and see maybe one or two people left in the café. You really did not realize how late it was. She sits down across from you. "What made you decide to draw him, dear?" she asks softly. "What do you like about him?" That was a question you dreaded to hear followed by another question you really did not expect. You take a deep breath and explain that the drawing was for a school project that focused on portraits but with a twist of concepts and imaginations. You told her idea of a light and dark concept. Everything has to be hand done and colored for it to be accepted. Right now, you are just going through the first stages of rough drafts. "That sounds very interesting!" she says with intrigue. "But — " she smiles again and leans in a little closer to you. " — you haven't told me why you like him." You were hoping you explained in detail too much so she would forget that question. Your cheeks feel warm as you bring the sketchbook close to you. "Uh, I-I — " A phone rings. Not your ringtone though. She looks down at her apron and finds her smartphone and picks up. "I am so sorry, excuse me — hello?" You breathe a sigh of relief. Many thoughts race through your mind. I just met Wonho's mom. I thought her café closed. Is this even her café? Is she working at a different café? Why did I decide the one time I draw someone outside my apartment, it had to be related to someone who works here! You shake your head back into reality so you did not want to take any more precious time away from his mother who has so kindly sat down with you and chat, which you totally did not expect. "Okay, I will see you soon." She hangs up and puts the phone back into the pocket of her apron. "He's on his way!" "Huh?" you hum in surprise. "I mean — Forgive me — I — who is on his way?" "My son. He is coming by to visit." Now is your chance for escape from even more embarrassment. "Ahh, okay, well…" you begin to collect your belongings. "I don't want to be rude while you wait for your son to arrive — " "Oh, please! Stay! I insist!" She gives you a look that only Asian mothers do that I wish I could describe. "You won't be bothering us if that is what you're afraid of. I'm always happy to meet any Monbebe and he is too." Your eyes widen by each word landing in your ear. "A-a-are you sure?" "Yes! Now sit down!" she politely urges. You did not realize you had gotten up from your seat in your rush to leave. You feel so rude to deny her, so you obey and bow to her in apology. Since you know she would not let up, you begin to explain the qualities of Wonho as you have seen him in variety shows and Vlive: charismatic, selfless, cute, cares very much about other people, making sure no one is left behind, in tune with his emotions… the list was endless. There was so much to list that it felt like you lost track of time. You really wanted to let his mother know how at least one fan of his feels about him so she could feel proud. For a little while now, you felt this strange sensation that you have been brushing off that someone was nearby you. Now that you have begun to run out of words, the feeling has become stronger. You cautiously eye to the side and slowly turn your head to see a plain grey sweater at your eye level. You look up hesitantly and see an all too familiar face of your bias, beaming down at you —the Wonho himself. Your heart beats painfully against your chest as your eyes widen. How long has he been there?! Did he hear everything I said? Do I sound crazy? Oh, God, I hope he didn't stand there for too long. Why did she not say anything? Such a sweet lady, she just smiled the whole time with light in her eyes. Ahhh, I should've listened to that gut a long time ago! "Hi," he greets sweetly. The upturned corners of his mouth have become much more prevalent with his smile while showing off his pearly whites. You draw in a shaky breath. Your hands begin to work on attempting at anything to hide your sketch from his eyes, albeit very clumsily. You fumbled with closing the sketchbook, flipping your phone over so the backside is shown — crap, it has his PC in it! You shove it under your arm. Feeling a shift in movement, you see Wonho move next to you and sits down between you and his mother, phone in hand to check the time and sets it down, watching you curiously with a hint of amusement. “Ah — h-how are you?” you stuttered, with your arm hastily crossed in front of you, resting your chin in your hand. “I’m doing fine,” he replies with a relieved sigh as he sweeps his hair back with his fingers. “I just got done with dance practice for our comeback.” He smiles again. “How are you doing? What's your name?” “I-I-I’m doing okay…” You say as you trail off, making sure to cover your face with your hair, looking down. "My name is Y/N…" "Nice to meet you, Y/Nssi," he beams. "I'm sure you already know who I am, but I am Wonho of Monsta X. I see you have already met my mom." He bows politely. "Yes, nice to meet you too." You return the bow meekly. You look back up at him to smile politely and notice the beads of sweat glistening along his forehead and the side of his face. A stark contrast against his black hair. You are surprised at how casual he was in front of you, a fan, for this. Does he not know he could kill you in an instant if you let him? (Nah, you were already dead before it started.) As you become lost in thought on how this is even reality right now, he and his mother chatted away, probably something about their days recently. You are trying not to be rude and listen into the conversation, but the unexpected starstruck really hit hard with you. Normally, if you are prepared to meet someone who is in some ways well-known or famous, you would not be a bumbling mess. Your own personality shines much more brilliantly and naturally. If this was a fansign, you would have ample time to calm down, even before the meet up — at least, that is what you would know from what you have seen on social media. You did not want to treat Wonho like he was on a pedestal or some kind of god. Geez, but this was far too soon and too unexpected! You come back to reality when you realize a hand was waving in your face. "Are you still there?" Wonho asks. "Hm?" Your eyebrows quirk. Oh, that is right. Wonho is still there in front of you. Wonho is still there in front of you! "Did you want to see my arms?" he asks with a chuckle. "You were staring really hard at them." "Eh?" You spaced out and did not know you were burning a hole through his arms. "A-ah, no! It's okay! I'm okay — " "Oh…" he slumps in his seat, eyes looking down. "So you don't want to see them…" He looks back up to you with puppy eyes. Your breath hitched in your throat as you have realized what you said. "N-no! I don't mean that! I mean, like, you don't have to show them to me. Only if you're comfortable." He laughs. "It's okay. I'm not offended. I knew what you meant." He winks playfully. "It's getting a little hot for me in here anyway, so do you mind if I take off my sweater?" Your nostrils involuntarily flare and your heart quickens. You shove that thought to the dirt. Now that he has been here for a while, you are trying every way to calm down and treat him like a normal human being. "No, I don't mind." He smiles and nods. You look away and out the window to the busy street as you hear the shuffling of fabric next to you, chin resting on your hand. You noticed it was just a little too quiet at the table despite his movement. "Where's your mom?" He chuckles. "You didn't hear?" He must have realized you were spacing out. "She went back to finish up cleaning and busting the tables." "Ah…" "So she was telling me how talented you are at drawing." "Oh…?" "And I kind of want to see it for myself." "Uhh…you sure? I'm not that good…" "Hey." "Yeah?" "Why won't you look at me?" You freeze. Do you dare mention that your face has been beet red and the mere thought of looking at him in the flesh with no sleeves is just going to kill you? "I'm embarrassed," you say, settling in that word alone. You feel him leaning closer to you. "Embarrassed?" You nod your head. "Whether your drawing looks good or not, I'll still love it all the same," he assures softly. "It's okay that you drew me." You close your eyes and sigh. Wanting to get this over with, you slowly turn your body back around and see him in a loosely fitted white tee with his sleeves partially rolled up. His arms are magnificently big, but in their relaxed state, it is not so bad; not as intimidating as you thought. He flashes his pearly whites at you, his eyes disappearing. "Ah… There's a face I want to see." You exhale out of your nose in half amusement and relief and give a wry smile. Sure, you are sitting in front of Wonho right now, but you are becoming more relaxed to his presence, arms and all. You slowly unveil your sketchbook and your phone peeks out, his PC in full glory. "Is that your favorite one of me?" he gestures to the PC. "Well," you begin, tilting your head to the side as you glance at it. "It's the only one I have of you out of all the albums I have." There is still a part of you that finds talking about all of this weird, especially talking about it to him, but you have to go along with it since he asked. "Oh, really? Did Minhyuk take over your photos?" he jokes. "Actually, that's what happened," you laugh. "Almost every album, it's him!" You relax just a little more. "I'll make sure to scold him for you." He winks. Gathering the courage, you shuffle out your sketchbook to be in front of you. "So, you wanted to see my drawings?" You glance up at him… in the eyes for those extra courage points. He nods. You shift the sketchbook over to him and flip through the pages, whether it was a work in progress or completed. You explain details of each concept drawn and what classes they were for. Sometimes, half of the drawings were for fun as you explained different styles and techniques to hone your personal art skill. You sometimes take a peek at him to see his expression and it seemed deep in concentration with some amounts of awe, indicating to you he was sincerely listening and genuinely interested. Your body loosens up even more. In between the flipping of pages, Wonho would ask questions about you, like how did you get into traditional art, what type of music do you listen to when you are working, how do you juggle between university and social, work, and home life. At one point, he even asked about your dating life. "I… don't really have much of one," you state flatly. "Oh, is that so?" His eyebrows raise in surprise. "Yeah, too frivolous. It makes me lose concentration on my work. I don't have as much time for it as other students do. It's quite a time investment. They won't understand why art is such a big passion of mine, so they'll just eventually leave me anyways." You look over to Wonho who seems to be baffled, yet sad. "I'm okay. I'm not hurt by this. I've accepted it." "Not a single soul would understand?" You chuckle. "Not even one." You flip the page. It lands on the partially finished portraiture of Wonho. You completely forgot about it and your body tensed up. You begin to slowly pull the sketchbook away from him. "Ahh, this isn't finished — " He stops you by holding onto the other side of the sketchbook, slowly pulling it back to him. "Oh, no, we're not gonna be shy here." You are still holding onto it, except it is slowly slipping from your fingers. You feel your grip shaking a little. Meanwhile, you look at Wonho, then down to his grip. Not a single struggle. Not wanting to tear your possession, you sigh. "Fine." You suddenly let go and the book jerked into his hand. You turn away again with your chin resting in your hand once more. He chuckles and you feel a gingerly pat on your head. You turn back to him in bewilderment, but he was already looking deep into your drawing. You turn your body slightly towards him to analyze his expression. Does he like it? Does he dislike it? Does he — "My mom was right. You really did capture me so well…" "I… I just, you know, uh…" You scratch the back of your head. "It's really well done. I am kind of jealous of this Wonho because he looks better than me!" You laugh. "What? No! You've always looked amazing, inside out, no matter what!" Whoops. That was too much, you thought. "Oh, no, I'm sorry, that was frank of me." You shrink into yourself out of embarrassment. "Hey, it's okay," he says gently. "I like hearing that from Monbebe, because, well, it gives me strength to keep doing what I'm doing." He pauses and lowers his eyes. "I'll admit, even if I look strong like this — " He tenses his muscles. " — I'm not always strong for myself when I need to be — are you okay?!" "Hm?" You look at him in confusion. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be okay?" "Your nose is bleeding." "Oh, is it?" you say nonchalantly. You take a napkin nearby you and wipe the blood off as best as you can. You ball it up without looking. "Okay, so you were saying that we're your source of strength?" "Does this happen often?" he says, eyebrows furrowed. "Hm?" "The nosebleed." "Oh, no, rarely." He stiffens and reaches forward to console you, a look of worry etched into his face. "We need to take you to the hospital...!" "Oh, no, no, no, it's okay. I'm fine. Don't worry about it." You wave your hand dismissively. You know exactly why your nose was bleeding and it happened when he tensed his wonderfully sculpted muscles right before you. Seriously, how is he so casual about this? "How are you so casual about this?!" Wonho exclaims. "Shh, it's okay!" you whisper. You realize you are closer to him than normal, then noticed that your hand was covering his mouth. Your head tingles in panic as you try not to jerk your hand away, but slowly move it off of him as you blush. "I'm sorry." You look up at him in earnest. "But, please, do not worry about me. Tell me about how Monbebe is your source of strength." "Hoseoki!" You and Wonho both turn to the source of the voice. His mother looked primed and ready to leave with her tote bag hanging on her shoulder. He gets up and goes to her. "Is this bag too heavy for you?" he asks, checking the weight of the bag. "Silly boy, it's fine! Your mom may be old, but she is still strong." He comes back to the table and you were preparing to leave yourself as that seems to be your cue. Your sketchbook, pencils, erasers and sharpener are all back into their spots in your messenger bag. He picks up the sweater and puts it back on. "Hey, I'm sorry. I'll have to take my mom home now," he says. You might have heard a lace of sadness in his voice. "It's alright. It's no worries!" You smile. "You take care of her." "It was nice meeting you and getting to know you, Y/Nssi." "It was nice to meet you too, Wonhossi." A flash of sadness reflected in his eyes. Or did it? Both of you and his mother said your goodbyes and bowing as you all leave the café. You begin walking in the opposite direction from them, going back to the apartments that are close to the café but also the university too. You immediately reminisce on what just happened in the span of an hour, wondering if you had gone to this café more often and actually stayed longer, would you have met Wonho even sooner? You shake your head. It does not matter now. You were just happy to have met him once and that is that. Not to mention the feedback of the portraiture fueled your eagerness to finish the draft sooner, so you could make a real painting out of it. Especially now that you had a glimpse of him and his personality in the flesh, you could add that depth to your piece. //////////////////// 2  M O N T H S  L A T E R // University Arena

You had finished your graduation ceremony at the university and was walking out to find your friends and family in multiple places. You have been pulled by various friends to have photos together, posing for the cameras or taking selfies that were in abundance. It was very crowded due to having to graduate with 2,100 other graduates as well. You eventually find your family and closest friends and they showered you with bouquets, a beautiful flower crown, and balloons. They all hug you tightly with congratulations and love. Your father pats you on the head and smiles with pride. Your mother holds your hand, not wanting to let go of the child she had raised who has now graduated university. Another round of picture taking and selfies begin with those closest to you. "Y/N!" You crane your neck to look for the voice of whomever is calling you, but see no one. "Y/N!" This time, it is closer. You look around again, thinking the voice has given you misdirection. "Y/N." You turn around and see another male graduate you are familiar with, but more as a classmate. "Oh, hey, Yoojin! We've finally made it!" "Yeah, finally!" he exclaims. He clears his throat. "Listen, someone is here looking for you." "Who?" "I don't know, but you'll have to follow me." "Oma, I'll be right back," you call out to your mother. "Child, where are you going — " "I'll be right back!" Your mother huffs but has no choice but to let you go. "Okay, Yoojin, let's go." "Take my wrist so we don't get lost." You oblige. Both of you are bumping into everyone everywhere you go and it does not get any easier when you run into people who were in the same department as you and wanted pictures. The same goes for him as he was in the science department. As both of you push by, the crowd becomes less and less dense, leaving a few people scattered by the edges. Most of them are families with professional photographers. By this time, you were able to let go of Yoojin's wrist and walk normally. "I am so sorry I had to drag you out of there," he pants. "But apparently, this person is really eager to see you." "If they were so eager, I'm surprised they didn't fight the crowd," you chuckle. You follow him until the pavement meets the grass. There was a walkway that was heading up to one of the gazebos around the front. "He's waiting for you there." "You're not coming with me?" you ask, surprised. "What if I get kidnapped?" "I'm… sure he's harmless, but just in case, I'll wait here." A thud was felt in your chest. You look to the structure. You cannot really see anyone, but if you squint hard enough, you might make out a silhouette. However, the gazebo's intricate design makes it difficult to see. You begin walking as Yoojin looks on after you. The crowd's noise becomes fainter with every step. The only things you hear now are the birds chirping and the clacking of your heels. As you get closer to the gazebo, you become more hyper-aware of your own heartbeat. You slow to a stop just about 10 steps shy away from the entrance. You take deep breaths to calm your nerves as you play with the academic stole around your neck. You can do this. Just get it over with , you thought. If something bad happens, Yoojin is there. You look back and sure enough, he is still watching you. Gathering your strength, you brusquely walk on and into the entrance. You look around and find someone sitting on the left side of you all in black with a beautiful and abundant bouquet seemingly slipping slowly out of his hand. His head hangs low and his black cap prevents you from seeing his face. Is he… sleeping? You hesitate to step any closer to him. "H-hello?" you call out gingerly. "Are you okay…?" You see the bouquet slipping out of the last finger and you lunge forward to catch it — just in time. In turn, you feel a hand gracing over yours. You snap your head up and slowly, he reveals his face to you. He grins. "Hi." You gasp loudly, making sure the next step was not a scream because that would alert Yoojin. "Wo… Wonho...!" You set the bouquet down on the bench carefully and step back, hands covering your gaping mouth. He pushes himself out of the seat and straightens up. Your eyes cannot stop following him. He takes off his cap as you take on what he was wearing: a tie, dress shirt and skinny fit dress pants complete with a black leather jacket that happens to have a dark red lining on the inside. There also seems to be a subdued color on his dress socks too, matching the inside of his jacket. One thing was different about him. His hair is blond this time, styled like that of Beautiful era. He picks up the bouquet and presents them to you. "Congratulations, Y/N," he says softly. You stare at the flowers as he hands them off to you. You close your eyes and inhale their aroma. "It's so… beautiful," you say breathlessly, looking back up at him. "Why… how come you're here?" "Ah…" He puts his hands in his pants pockets and looks around. "After that night, I wasn't sure if I wanted to leave you. I really wasn't sure about anything. But there was one thing I was really sure about: it's that I like you." Your eyes widen. Are your ears deceiving you? You shake your head. "I'm sorry, you — ?" "I do like you, Y/N," Wonho states. "If — " He lowers his gaze to the ground. "If you're okay with that." Silence falls on the both of you. You have become speechless, awestruck even. This was someone who was your bias for so long, and to stand here, in front of you, admitting to you that he, an idol, likes you… you pinch yourself. You look at him and see he is chewing on his lips nervously. He must have been thinking about this. "I…" you begin. His eyes snap to yours in earnest, eager to listen to anything you have to say. "I am a fan," you declare. "You… are an idol. Is this going to be okay?" "If they have anything to say… I will shut them down. I have done so before. I won't hesitate again." His eyes flashed ice cold for just a split second before returning to the warmth it held. You look between his eyes in bewilderment. He seems very sure of this. He does not seem swayed by any future problems it might hold. He steps closer to you and begins playing with your softly curled hair. He smiles warmly. "So, now that you have more time, and I hope it still isn't so frivolous to you," he begins. "Will you go out with me?" ////////////////////

W O N H O ' S  P E R S P E C T I V E // Leaving the Café

(Disclaimer: this will have the majority traditional Asian perspective, so if something seems off or weird to you, this is a very typical thing, as it is with me and almost all of my Asian friends' traditional parents. Please do not take offense.) As he and his mother walk away from the café, Wonho turns his head around to see her, only to find she is no longer there. He sighs with some amount of regret that he had no way of contact with you at all. "Hoseoki, it looks like you were having a lot of fun with that girl," his mother comments. "I have fun with any and all Monbebe, Oma." "Yes, but not as much fun as with her." He shrugs lightly. "My son, your mom may have bad eyesight, but she can see how much you like her," she says in a serious tone, eyeing her boy. "You know you won't be an idol forever, so sooner or later, you will have to settle down, get married with a good wife, and maybe have some grandchildren for me." "Oma!" Wonho's eyes widened in shock. "This is too much too soon!" His mother laughs heartily. "But make sure she is a right fit for you too. Oma doesn't want you to rush either. Oma only wants you to be happy." She pauses. "She seems like a very lovely girl, who is passionate and isn't afraid to pursue what she wants. She is in some ways like you, but has her own charms." "H-how do you know all this?" he asks. "It's only for an hour and it seems you know more than I do." "Oma always knows more." She smiles as she rubs her son's back. "Try to reach out to her again." He sighs in defeat. He realizes she is right. He does like her passion and the dedication she has to her craft, which he can relate to when it comes to his music and fashion. Nothing can hold their creativity back and that gave him a spark. To him, she is grounded in her goals and aspirations, just as he was. He wants to know more about her. He hopes he can. //////////////////// Throughout the rest of the month, Wonho came by the café more often than not to see if she was there in the evening, working away on her project. Unfortunately, to his dismay, anytime he was there, she was nowhere to be found. He tried to appear sometimes in the morning or afternoon as long as his schedule allows, but she was not there either.

His hopelessness grew, and his regret and guilt became stronger as he fell into his bed in the Monsta X's dorm. In the moment of his last drop of desperation, it hit him. He remembers that the portrait of him was her final project. Finalproject. Her graduation project. He shoots up out of bed to find his phone on the charger. He looks up the university website near the café and scrolls through to find the graduation date. He checks it against his schedule to see if he is able to attend. He grins.

[devnny]

CHAPTER TWELVE.

JTRM — THE “R” STANDS FOR RECOVERING!

PREVIOUSLY.

GOD THIS TOOK FOREVER!!!!! it’s 6k fucking words too, jeezus lord. at least its cute, and sad, and cute.

the events of my old ass drabble TOUCH. is mentioned briefly in this chapter too, should you have not read that and would care to :]c ANYWAY, ENJOY

[Dear Diary,

I had another dream about killing Devi.

They’ve become too vivid… I’m growing more and more worried that my mind will blur fantasy with reality, and I’ll attack her thinking it’s a dream. I don’t know why I would do that… I don’t want to attack her. I don’t want to hurt her, ever.

So, as a precaution, I’ve decided that I won’t be sleeping anymore. Staying awake is all that I can do combat these shitty nightmares.]

--

Johnny scratched the final letter of his latest diary entry firmly into the paper’s face, then closed the cover quietly. He tucked the book under his chair, careful to not alert Devi, who was painting a few feet away, that he was making any unusual movements.

He felt badly to keep these dreams a secret from her, since he was confident that Meat was interfering with his sleep somehow, but he buried those prickly feelings of guilt to the best of his ability. The only other reason for these reoccurring nightmares would be that he, in fact, was thinking them up all on his own, which was even worse as far as Johnny was concerned. Either way, he was terrified that if he mentioned it to Devi that she would again grow suspicious of him.

After regaining so much of her trust, it would kill him inside to see her hesitate to accept his company, or linger on her words or her decisions in what she allowed him to do with her, all because he wasn’t in control of his subconscience. Very few people were able to control their unconscious mind, but Johnny still felt immensely paranoid that Devi wouldn’t be understanding, regardless of if it would be because of actual resentment, or simply out of fear, even though she would still want to trust him. That might sting even worse, actually.

They had built such a comforting routine in her home; working away on creative endeavors together at all hours, and enjoying each other’s company over shared meals and television in their downtime. It was so soothing, bidding her ‘goodnight’ and ‘good morning’ each day. Devi’s sleep schedule had returned to its atrociously inconsistent cycle since he moved in with her, so sometimes he would be saying ‘goodnight’ at 5PM, and other times saying ‘good morning’ at 5PM, but it was gratifying all the same. He didn’t know, after he was ‘better’ and was supposed to return to his own house, how he would go through each day without being able to offer her such daily pleasantries. Maybe he would be able to do so over the phone, he thought, but it wouldn’t be the same.

His eyes lifted from the scantily-worked-on page that was fastened to his drafting table and settled on Devi’s kneeling figure a short distance away. Johnny smiled to see the small smirk on her face while she blotted color across her canvas. She had been toiling away on this commissioned work for almost a week now, and she always seemed to enter some kind of frenzied state whenever she was nearing a piece’s completion. It was a large project, she had told him, and would offer her a very hefty paycheck once it was finished. Maybe it was the thought of money that pushed her into such an energetic fit of creation – Johnny could only speculate. She grinned and rubbed a bit of paint from her cheek as she stepped back to review her efforts.

His lips pursed into a longer smile; how could he even consider sullying her mood by bringing up useless things like night terrors? He couldn’t. He would handle this himself, and leave Devi to her work.

--

DAYS LATER:

Devi beamed, squiggling her brush down her canvas to the rhythm of the song she currently had blasting from the speakers of her art room. Nothing was more satisfying than going to the bank and depositing a nice, big, fucking check, and she could only express her delight by jumping right into a personal project as soon as she and Johnny had returned home. It felt so good to have enough money, for the time being, to indulge in painting what she wanted to for more than an hour.

“Hey!” Johnny’s voice piped up over the music, and Devi turned to see him pull his headphones off of one of his ears. His headphones were his only defense against her deafening taste in music, so it must be important. Devi searched the floor for the dinky little remote that controlled the speakers, and lowered the volume to a reasonable level.

“Yeah?” She grinned at him, and he met her smile with one of his own.

“Can you hold your arm out like ‘this’ for me?” Johnny stuck his arm out and twisted it downwards in a fist to give her an example. Devi scoffed, used to him asking her to pose for reference by now, and tried to mimic what he had requested.

“Like that?”

“Ummm, no, down a little more. Ehhh—” He wiggled his fist in her direction. “—put your shoulder up more, maybe? Give me… ‘intimidating’.”

Devi laughed.

“Shut the Hell up.” She huffed a few chuckles and brought her shoulder up as instructed.

“YES. HOLD THAT.” Johnny exclaimed and hurriedly resumed his sketching. Devi’s smile remained while she watched him work.

She had to admit she was proud of how far he had come since this whole thing started – he hardly ever devolved into a crying mess when his drawings weren’t progressing to his liking anymore. The last time Devi remembered him throwing a fit was shortly after the ‘leash and collar’ situation began, and she figured that that was more out of pent up frustration for that small bit of humiliation, and not so much because he was a creative loose-cannon.

The way his tongue poked out while he drew was a little more endearing suddenly, but Devi dismissed the thought, chalking it up to the current carefree feeling in the air. The evening was set to be lighthearted the moment she had gotten paid; the plan was to have whatever the fuck she wanted for dinner, and then binge-watch the entire movie series of The Beast What Licked Me, which was the main trilogy and all of its subsequent, horrible spinoff movies by less-than-admirable production studios. Devi smiled at the idea of having fun for once.

“You know, the lofty smile doesn’t really give me that ‘intimidating’ vibe.” Johnny spoke with a teasing laugh, earning a dismissive, blithe scoff from his model.

“Shut your mouth—aren’t you hungry yet?” Devi snorted, wriggling her shoulder to rib at him further. He stuck the end of his pencil into his lip curiously.

“Are you?”

“Sure, and I think my hand’s had enough painting for one day.” She straightened her posture with a widening grin. “You done?”

“Well, I am for now, if that’s alright with my, er, mentor…” Johnny replied with the question in his stare, and Devi snickered again.

“You are excused for the evening. Now, let’s order Chinese, for delivery. I don’t feel like leaving the house again today.” Devi mused while she walked out of the room. Johnny smiled giddily at the comment – one trip outside was enough for one day, he’d agree wholeheartedly!

--

FIFTEEN-MINUTES-OR-LESS LATER:

Johnny threw the wad of cash that Devi had so-entrusted him with directly into the delivery boy’s face, knocking him over with the force of the impact as he snatched the take-out bag from him. He slammed the door shut callously, and hummed in approval at the now familiar smell of Devi’s favorite Chinese restaurant.

He strode to the kitchen with it, and began laying out the bag’s drippy contents onto the counter. He jumped when he felt something jab into his side, but hardly had to turn his head before he recognized Devi’s head peeking into his peripheral. She gave him a cheeky grin, and he smiled back shyly.

“You’re already finished showering?”

“Yeah, heh, just needed to rinse off that outside-world smell.” She crossed her arms over one of his shoulders as she leaned to see what he was doing. “…Why’d you bother bringing the food in here?”

Johnny gesticulated his hands loosely around the counterspace as he attempted to explain, but it was difficult with Devi touching him.

“WELL, it’s—” Another swat of his hands. “…greasy!”

Devi snortled and slid off of his shoulder, giving his back an additional plap with her palm before moving to inspect tonight’s dinner. She popped open one of the containers and couldn’t help but jam a pair of chopsticks into it right away, scooping a pile of noodles into her mouth happily.

She exhaled contently through her nose while she chewed, then turned a curious eye to Johnny, who was picking at the fabric of his shirt where she had just been pressed against him. It was only for a second, but it was enough to take notice of before he tilted to look through the boxes and find which one was his entrée. Devi swallowed, and watched his thin fingers play with the lids while she thought.

When had she gotten so comfortable with touching him? It had been a long time since physical contact with anyone had been so nonchalant for her. If she could guess, it was probably due to the whole ‘close proximity of the leash’ thing, or maybe the whole ‘living together’ thing, but either way it was bizarre that she hadn’t realized how casual things had become until she noticed Johnny’s slight change in demeanor in response to it.

One wouldn’t have to ask Johnny ‘when’ the touching started; he could tell you with one-hundred percent certainty that it was the night that they went to pick up a few groceries from a nearby 24/7. Devi had approached him, and set a hand on his arm for an undiscernible amount of seconds while she spoke to him – undiscernible because his brain had just about exploded from the direct contact. He had returned the casual touching with a modest hand on her shoulder, and she hadn’t killed him for it. Johnny would probably remember that night for the rest of his existence.

But Devi was left to ponder at what point she had regrown enough trust for him to poke and prod at him without wanting to carve her own skin off afterward. He was a lot less horrible now, and she enjoyed his company again, so she supposed that said something, at least. She shrugged it off and stuffed a piece of chicken in her mouth.

“You ready to get this hideous marathon underway?” Devi asked while she chewed. Johnny carefully lifted the top off of the horrendously spicy dish he’d ordered.

“Yes!” He beamed at her eagerly, brandishing a spork as though it was a beacon for his well-equipped-ness for the evening.

--

FIVE MOVIES IN:

“Oouughh…” Devi vocalized her agony with her fingers pressed to her sore eyes.

“Yeah, that FX make-up is garbage. Worse than the one in Spawn of The Beast What Licked Me.” Johnny replied lazily from his side of the couch, half-melted into the cushion. Though his corneas burned just as badly, the pain didn’t register with him the same way.

“No,” Devi griped. “my eyes are killing me…”

A yawn punctuated her complaint, and Johnny lifted his head attentively. She was tired. He’d come to learn the signs of her exhaustion quite well, and despite his current feelings about sleep, rest appeared to do Devi some good.

“Are you going to go to bed?” He asked and reset his head onto the back cushion of the couch comfortably. Devi peeked at him from the armrest on the opposite side, where she had devolved into a lumpy ball as the night wore on. Her ear pressed into the cushy fabric, and she slanted her mouth in discontent.

She didn’t particularly want to go to sleep. There was only one more movie to go, and it felt weak as Hell to give up now when she was so close to the end of a movie binge. Devi lulled her head in the direction of the TV, and winced away in regret when the flashing light burned her eyes.

“Ugh.” She grunted in defeat. “Yeah, I guess.”

“We can finish these last two tomorrow.” Johnny offered to ease her frustration, and Devi smirked through her exhaustion.

“Yeah, okay.” She agreed and rolled into a seated position. She struggled to stand with her tired legs, but managed to force herself up.

One of her hands came down to point at Johnny as she passed him, her finger hovering just out of reach of his nose.

“—And don’t you dare watch ahead.” Devi smiled despite her threatening tone. “You turn that shit off, you don’t get to watch without me.”

Johnny grinned uneasily, half of him delighted at how she joked with him.

“Yes, of course.” He assured her, and Devi nodded appreciatively before hobbling off to bed. Johnny watched her door click shut, then searched for the remote and turned the TV off.

His body slumped against the couch, the satisfied feeling in his torso weighing him down into its pillows. He debated what he could do for the rest of the night with his lazy, fried brain. The dull feeling in his arms made drawing seem impossible, and he didn’t want to turn on the TV again until he was sure Devi was soundly asleep. So he laid on the couch and thought to pass the time.

It didn’t take long for his thoughts to turn to Devi, and he smiled comfortably as he reviewed the day’s events. Johnny laced his fingers over his chest and contemplated if their relationship would progress further than this, or if it had reached it’s peak at her not hating him and offering him passing physical contact. He was perfectly happy with how things were now, but he would have said the same thing about her begrudgingly tolerating his company two months ago. Now he couldn’t imagine going back to that time and being satisfied without her smile, or laughter, or rib jabbing.

A sigh slipped past his lips as he smooshed further into the couch at the memory of her forearms crossed over his shoulders early this evening. It was so nice. Everything was so nice now; he felt like he could exist like this forever. The impermanence of his situation was lost from his mind for the time being, and he nestled his brow into the cushion while he let his tender thoughts carry his brain away.

Without realizing, his eyes slowly began to settle closed, and he drifted into an impromptu nap.

--

Johnny reaffixed his grip on the handle of his knife, the tendons there further visible under the gaunt skin of his hand. He would usually wear gloves for something like this – it was so messy – but a kill such as this one, that was so personal and passionate in nature, had no room for measures of tidiness.

She deserved this so much; she was so mean. Cruel. She never treated him like this before, when they had their nice, engaging conversations at the bookstore. Everything was so pleasant then. He could still imagine her, with her short black hair and uniform apron, and her dark, painted lips that made his heart go berserk when they tilted up into a smile for him. Him, bringing a smile to someone else’s face. How abnormal.

His own mouth twitched upwards more, making his grin look more unhinged than it already did. The little spatters of blood on his cheeks and nose smeared under the creases it brought.

Devi lay below him – on the floor, if he wasn’t mistaken – looking up at him in fear. He’d only stabbed her a few times so far, but Johnny could tell by the terror in her eyes that she knew those wouldn’t be the only ones. He crouched over her form, as he had over so many others, and held her shoulder with his left hand while the right started its habitual swinging.

The blade plunged into her chest again, marring her shirt with another bloody hole. Then another, and another. He could feel the flexible bones of her ribcage bend under the base of his palm, compressed by the weight of his blows.

It felt so GOOD. She earned all of these! All of her stabbing, painful comments – she should have expected this outcome. This new, purple-haired, pigtailed Devi was not the one he cared so much for; she was a demon! A bastardized version of his Devi; one that smirked coolly at him as though she owned him; one that barraged him with pointless tests and berated him with cutting words when he failed.

“You deserve this!” Johnny breathed, digging the knife into her torso again. Devi did little to stop him, as she had so far, and only looked at him painfully. YES! She deserved this pain!

“You deserve this – you deserve this—!” He ranted, continuing to repeat the phrase over and over as he stabbed her. He watched her eyes – those pretty, green eyes – filled with hurt.

But it wasn’t the hurt that he had originally thought.

It wasn’t like the looks his other victims gave him, eyes filled with tears from the physical agony they were in. It wasn’t even the same as the horror he’d seen on her face before, when he had lunged at her in his home. Johnny’s smile slowly began to drop, seeing the unusual emotion in Devi’s eyes. She looked at him with so much betrayal – almost longingly, as if to ask “Why?”, or to say, “How could you?”.

Why wasn’t she fighting him? She should be able to get away. She’s always gotten away from him – always refused to be a victim to him. Why was she just LAYING there, letting him kill her?

That’s what he was doing. He was KILLING HER.

Devi seemed to acknowledge her impending death at the same time he had, and her expression grew wearier. Johnny felt anxiety rapidly mounting inside him, and only removed his fixation away from her face when he felt her hand gingerly grip at his fist. He looked down and watched her fingers, matted with blood, trying as best as they could to grasp onto him. He also realized that he was still holding the knife firmly in her sternum.

With a jolt of fear, he yanked the knife away, and Devi cried out for the first time that he could remember. It made him drop his weapon, and settle both hands onto her shoulders.

He yelped her name, as if that would do any good. What had he done? He had killed her – she was dying. He didn’t want to believe it, and the sound of her labored breathing brought him to tears. This shouldn’t be happening – Devi had helped him. She offered him so much of her; her time, her support, her home – and he had reduced her into a gored mass on her bedroom floor.

No, no, no. This wasn’t right. He wanted to scream and sob, but that would do nothing to fix this.

A sticky sensation on his cheek brought him out of his panic, and he realized after a moment that it was Devi’s hand, wet from her own blood. Despite the slippery, unpleasant feeling of the blood, Johnny was drawn to the delicate touch of her fingers, and tried to lean into them despite the weakness in her digits. He wanted her palm – he wanted it to cradle his cheek, and indulge in the forbade softness from her that he himself had ruined his chances of.

Johnny didn’t get what he wanted, of course. Devi’s hand slowly dropped away from his face, lingering until all the strength left her limbs, and her arm fell to her bloodied stomach. Johnny refused to take his eyes off of hers, and the anxiety he felt previously worked into a massive ball of dread as he saw the glint in Devi’s eyes begin to dull.

No, no, no, no—

--

Johnny almost gagged from the abrupt force of the gasp that brought him back to consciousness. His leg kicked out, knocking over some empty containers and cans that had been left on the coffee table, and he scampered away from the sound with startled fear. A hand came up to palm away the wet lines that streaked down his cheekbones, but cold tears were the least of his concerns with his lungs beating air out of him faster than he could bring it in. Johnny tried to gather himself and calm his breathing down, but his heart wouldn’t allow it, and continued pounding against the walls of its boney prison like a furious captive.

His eyes shook with anxiety as his pupils flashed from side to side, trying to use some amount of logic amongst his hysteria to convince himself everything was fine, and that his panic was just the result of another Godawful nightmare. Johnny noted the dark living room, the messy table, the quiet television set; nothing amiss or broken, nothing to indicate that anything in the apartment was any different from any other night, besides his quaking form bundled up on the sofa.

He turned his attention to Devi’s bedroom door, and his haggard breaths immediately stopped. Her door was ajar. He had never seen her door open when she was sleeping, ever.

A shaky inhale sucked down his throat, and he started shivering from his shoulders down his arms and to his stomach. There was a sudden, paralyzing feeling of nausea woven through his guts, and it was almost painful to make his knees lift him into a standing position, like forcing a rusted bolt to twist. He couldn’t get his back to straighten fully as he stood, so he crept with a nervous hunch in his shoulders toward Devi’s bedroom.

Johnny swallowed past the dry flesh of his mouth as he reached the threshold of the doorway. His breath trembled again; he was terrified that upon pushing open the door fully, he would find Devi’s lifeless body on the floor, right where he had ‘dreamed’ it was. He couldn’t bear the thought that his worst fear had come to fruition – that his crappy, broken mind failed to recognize reality from fantasy, and either it, or Meat, had tricked him into murdering Devi with a rage that he didn’t even have for her.

Despite his paralyzing fear, his hand settled onto the front of the door, and he creaked it open slowly. Johnny shakingly took a step inside, and even with the only light in the room being the dim reflection of a billboard outside, he could tell that there was nothing on the floor besides the usual scattered belongings. Certainly no bodies, and definitely not the one that belonged to Devi.

He brought his attention up to her bed, and his lips wibbled fearfully at the unidentifiable shape under the purple covers. He could see what would be assumed to be Devi’s head poking out of the lump, resting on a pillow, but that was all. Johnny gulped quietly again. His paranoia couldn’t let him leave it at that – he had to make sure that she was well, instead of just assuming she was sleeping peacefully.

He hurried to the side of the bed, and stared down with wide, fearful eyes at her neutral face that was tucked so snugly behind her curled hand. She wasn’t making any sounds, and he couldn’t tell with his own body shaking the way it was, if she was breathing or not. He continued staring, trying with all his might to determine if her body was rising and falling with lifegiving breath, and only grew more and more panicked the longer he couldn’t stop trembling and focus enough to confirm it.

With a renewed burst of anxiety, Johnny shot forward, jabbing a knee into the fluff of her comforter. He grabbed her by the shoulders to shake her awake with terrified urgency, unable to think of any other way to quell his fears fast enough. Devi’s eyes opened right away, rattling around in her aching head with confused alarm until she heard Johnny’s wailing.

“DEVI! DEVI, DEVI—!” His face pinched miserably as he saw her irises flicker into view and focus squarely on him. His fingers tightened onto her shoulders further as his began to shake again, and he drooped like a dejected, wilted flower against her collar. He continued calling her name, but his voice garbled as he deteriorated into sobs.

It took Devi a moment to register what the Hell was going on, but her shocked expression melted into a tired, exasperated one as she realized Johnny was just having a fit about something, again.

“Nny—Nny!” She tried to urge him out of his crying with a few shoves on the arm, but Johnny only continued blubbering. He was trying desperately to explain himself, Devi could gather that much, but he was completely incoherent. She sighed in exhaustion, desperate to calm him and go the fuck back to bed.

“Johnny,” She set a hand on his head, lazily leading it to lay flat on her mattress. “relax, please. Relax.”

Johnny, whose figure had been half-collapsed on her bed already, buckled from his distress, and he laid loosely at her side like a ragdoll.

“—you were dead, you were dead—!” He managed to blather out, and Devi sighed again. She assumed that this was the result of another nightmare he had, and papped his hair with as much sympathy as she was willing to muster in her fatigued state.

“I’m not dead, Nny. I’m fine… see…?” She mumbled with her eyes closed. Johnny stifled his crying as he tried to accept what she was telling him, but even with the affirmation that she was alive and well, he couldn’t stop his body’s pitiful reaction to fear. He hadn’t been so terrified in a long while – he couldn’t even remember what he would do to ease the feeling before.

A sudden sensation against his hairline startled him out of his grim thoughts, and he realized after a moment that it was Devi’s thumb idly brushing against his skin and into his hair. He stared at the sheets in surprise, unable to do much else besides focus on the strange scratching at his skull. Slowly, his eyelids lowered, but his somber expression remained. Johnny brought his knees up to his chest and hugged them tightly, hoping the pressure would help him relax.

Devi’s fingers stilled after a minute, and he felt her wrist settle loosely on his temple, then eventually slip lower until her forearm rested across the side of his neck. He sniffed, and bent his head down more, but instead of his forehead settling onto his kneecaps, it was obstructed by something warm and flat.

Johnny tilted his head up at an angle, and was surprised to see that what he’d bumped into was Devi’s collar – or rather, the area right below her collar. Her sternum; the bone that he had so viciously impaled with a knife several times in his newest dream. Guilt demanded that he pull his head away from where it rested, but as he turned his head, his ear pressed against her and he felt the light thumping of her heart tickle at his skin. Johnny froze, and his stillness offered him the full, uninterrupted rhythm of Devi’s heartbeat.

Even with his own heart pumping erratically, the sound of Devi’s heart was so audible and loud to the ear that was currently resting against her chest. It was just like any heartbeat, he supposed, but it was so calm and steady, much in contrast to his own which was still wild from coming down off of terror-induced adrenaline. The stable rhythm slowly began to calm him, and he took deep solace in the fact that as long as he could hear that drumming in his ear, it meant that she was alive. He curled further into himself, making sure that his temple was still pressed firmly against her collar.

Johnny chastised himself for a moment, trying to argue through his emotional exhaustion that this was, to some extent, inappropriate, and that now that he knew Devi was safe, he should leave her to rest. But he couldn’t resist the lure of Devi’s soft skin on his cheek, or her arm that was draped over his head, that made him feel oh-so cozy and secure. His eyes settled shut, and with a few lingering post-sobbing sniffs, slipped back into sleep.

--

THE FOLLOWING MORNING:

Devi mumbled in the back of her throat as she roused from slumber. There was still a dull ache in her brain, and she wasn’t currently at all fond of the idea of opening her eyes or waking up. Her lip twitched at a weird texture flittering against it, and she snorted to encourage whatever it was to fuck off. Her breathing started to slow again, but after a moment, the tickling feeling moved up to her nose, making it curl and huff in annoyance.

She brushed the unknown irritant away with her hand, and opened her eyes bitterly as she accepted that going back to sleep wasn’t going to happen now. She stretched her back out with a groaning sigh, and brought the same hand up to rub her face clear of any grogginess. As she did, the tuft of annoying, plumy things that had woken her up settled back against her mouth. Devi glared out at nothing in aggravation, then flicked her eyes down to finally see what it was.

Her eyes widened in confusion to be greeted with a pile of twisted, black hair. The confusion was short-lived as she realized that the hair was attached to Johnny, who was curled up in a ball beside her within the small space that her bent legs allowed, his head tucked comfortably under her chin. She blanched, and her cheeks quickly grew red from embarrassment and disoriented, shocked anger.

With a jolt of ego-preserving violence, she shoved him away and off of the bed, leaving only his skinny legs splayed in awkward angles atop the mattress. Devi sat up and glared at his boots.

“Johnny, what the Hell!” She huffed, her cheeks still tinged with color. Johnny rebounded from the initial shock of hitting the floor rather quickly, scampering up into a kneel at the side of her bed.

“OH, UH, I—” His own face blushed in shame, and he looked up to Devi’s glowering face, hoping that she wouldn’t be too angry with him. “I uh, I guess I… I fell asleep, after, um…”

His fingers drummed awkwardly against the sheets as he looked around the room noncommittally. Devi’s expression dropped as she remembered, foggily, Johnny coming into her room during the night in absolute hysterics. She grunted and scowled with some acceptance that he’d ended up passing out beside her.

“You moron.” Was all she could say. Johnny raised his eyes to look at her dejectedly, and she scoffed. She threw her legs off the other side of the bed, and walked around it, and Johnny, to reach her bathroom.

Johnny’s lip stuck out curiously. He wondered if that was going to be the extent of his punishment for unwanted physical contact, but dared not ask. Instead, he pulled himself up to sit on the corner of her bed and waited patiently for her to return. He hoped she didn’t come back with anything to hit him with, like the good, old-fashioned, ‘bar of soap in a sock’ flail.

Devi only washed her face, then reentered her room to frown at him. She crossed her arms at the sight of him sitting on her bed, and Johnny held his hands between his knees, timidly avoiding what he assumed was a bitter glare from her. Devi rolled her eyes as she sighed, and joined him on the edge of her mattress.

“Another nightmare, Nny?” She asked. Johnny’s head lowered from the annoyance in her voice.

“Yes…” He mumbled, twiddling his thumbs nervously. He heard Devi scoff again, and he felt further guilt that she was unaware of the seriousness behind his night terrors. After her unintentionally warm comforting the night previous, he felt compelled to tell her the truth.

“Devi, uh, I actually… there’s something I must confess.” Johnny looked to her, and Devi’s mouth flattened in surprise. She hoped silently that this wasn’t something romantic, given the already ridiculous start to her day. Johnny swung his legs absentmindedly.

“Well, you see…” A sigh. “I’ve been having these… “nightmares”, for months.”

“All of them have been about, well, killing you.” Johnny grimaced as he said it, and Devi’s expression shifted to a different kind of surprise. Johnny continued. “Each time I fall asleep, they get worse; more vivid, more violent. Last night’s was the worst one to date. It was so real, Devi, I—I swore that I’d killed you. I was so certain…”

His hands gripped at the fabric of his pants nervously.

“…I think Meat’s behind it.” He said finally, and Devi took new, startled interest in his admission. They were quiet a moment before Devi replied.

“You really think the dreams are his doing?”

“I do.” He affirmed. “He doesn’t speak to me very often now that I live here, but I’m sure it’s him. I… I don’t know why he’s doing it, but I’m sure that he’s influencing them to be so gory and… awful… and you-related.”

Devi pondered this new development with a healthy amount of bitter suspicion. As far as she knew, Reverend Meat wanted Johnny to live, and had yet to try and influence him to kill anyone. What he wanted Johnny to do was engage in normal human-y things, and lose himself to his emotions, to his feelings. His feelings for her, in this case specifically. She slid her attention back to him with her suspicions hidden, as to not inadvertently express it to Johnny, and Meat, by extension.

“Did you have a nightmare after you fell asleep in my bed?” She asked.

Johnny blinked, having not bothered to even think about that until she mentioned it.

“Oh… no, I didn’t.” He replied. Devi pursed her mouth, convinced she knew the reason for Meat’s meddling this time.

He was trying to drive Johnny directly into her arms, like a bovine herder whacking his cattle with an electric rod. It boiled her blood to think of that shitty little parasite being so crafty. It would be easy for Meat to convince Johnny, without words, that he was urging him to commit violent acts, like Johnny’s previous voices, when in actuality, he was still just pushing this ‘physical longing’ crap.

“I’m sorry Devi…” Johnny’s head hung pathetically. “I know I should have told you. I was just so afraid… Afraid that you wouldn’t… trust me, again.”

He lifted his head.

“So much has changed since we, uh, ‘reunited’, if you’d want to call it that.” He mumbled. “I was scared that everything would regress back to the way it used to be. Everything is so nice now, I didn’t want to disturb it if I didn’t have to.”

Devi frowned at him in disbelief. She was still unused to any kind of heartfelt comments from anyone, especially him. For a moment, she debated whether or not to inform Johnny of the conclusion she’d just come to.

It could be beneficial to let him know, even if that would let Meat know as well, but then Johnny would probably go out of his way to avoid any touching, and maybe even hide his emotions more, just as a precaution to keep any and all feelings for her in check and not vulnerable to the Reverend, as futile as that would be. Devi hated to admit that she… didn’t want that. She liked bothering him, and it was nice to have such a casual friendship with someone after all these years of crappy people and self-made solitude.

She let her shoulders sag in defeat to her own wretched feelings.

“Yeah, things are nice now.” She smiled at him. Johnny was surprised that she would agree with him, and grinned shyly back at her.

“You still should have told me though, idiot.” Devi added with a meaner smirk, and Johnny shrugged in reply with a laugh. Devi pushed his shoulder.

“I’ll forgive you if you make me breakfast.” She offered, and Johnny jumped at the opportunity.

“Okay!” His smile grew wider, and he began slinking off toward the kitchen, lingering as though he was urging her to follow him.

Devi snorted a laugh and got up to join him. She would just keep these nightmares under close observation for now, until she was sure that she was correct about Meat’s intentions.

--

NEXT.

[nastybuckybarnes]

A Broken Fairytale  -  Four

Pairing: Prince!Bucky x Reader AU

Summary: Sold by your mother, you work as a servant for the King and Queen of Acadia. The Prince, much to his initial dismay, takes a liking to you. When a wicked woman intervenes, your life is nothing more than a prison sentence. With a war on the horizon and a betrothal to a missing Princess that he can’t escape, Bucky is forced to be the Prince -and King- that his father wants. A pawn in a bigger game than the two of you realize.

Warnings: Angst, Language (Maybe), Fluff (Squint for it)

Word Count: 5K

A/N: Now we’re getting somewhere. Plz enjoy dis

SERIES MASTERLIST MASTERLIST UNEDITED CAUSE IM A SILLY GOOSE

~*~

“Rumour has it you’re going to the ball tomorrow night in a new fancy dress, as Prince Steve’s personal guest.” You find yourself smiling as you polish the marble floors. May stands a few feet away, cleaning the large stained-glass windows.

“He insisted. Taught me to dance too.” She laughs softly. “Mary showed me the gown. It's beautiful. I can hardly wait to see what it looks like on you.” You giggle, “she hasn’t let me allowed me near it. I can only imagine what it looks like. I’ve been dreaming about it for days.” You sigh wistfully. “You didn’t hear it from me, but Prince Steve has gotten you some jewelry and lip rouge as well. Oh, you’ll so beautiful. I just hope you and Wanda don’t get too comfortable out there with all those dukes and duchesses and princesses and princes.”

You turn to her with a soft smile, “never.”

~

“Goodness, Steven. Your skills are... incredible. Truly. This is really just... utterly exquisite,” Queen Winifred whispers. Steve chuckles nervously and scratches the nape of his neck. “Well... I’ve recently found some inspiration.” He flips to the first sketch of you and his aunt and mother both gasp.

“That’s... (Y/n). The new one. Such a beauty,” Sara whispers while admiring the detailed sketch. Steve’s managed to catch every perfection. “She’ll be my guest tomorrow night. After all the hardships she’s been forced to endure in her life, a night of the finer things is the least I can offer her. She deserves it.”

Sara smiles at her son, “do you fancy her?” He chuckles and shakes his head. “No mother. Although she’s beautiful and smart with a kind heart and a good spirit, I fancy a different dame.”

Queen Winifred laughs gently while Sara ponders something.

“What is it, mother?” She looks up then sighs. “It’s foolish, but... the princess of Corona was taken as a baby nearly nineteen years ago. (Y/n), who is quite possibly from Corona, is almost nineteen. She was adopted as an infant by a wicked and cruel woman who might even be the type to kidnap a child in order to get her way. Perhaps?” Steve’s eyes widen at his mother’s suggestion.

“You think... you think (Y/n) is the lost Princess of Corona?” Queen Winifred thinks about this for a moment. “It is a possibility, but why then would Lady Griffon willingly give her to us? That seems counter-productive. If her goal is to stop the marriage.”

“Well, she sold (Y/n) as a servant girl, giving the impression that she isn’t who she truly is?” Sara purses her lips at her son's suggestion then nods. “I don’t think we should rule out her being the lost princess. Her locket is made out of silver which is quite common amongst the wealthy and royal in Corona. And it seems to be enchanted, which isn’t uncommon in our neighbouring kingdom,” Steve says.

“I want you to find out every little thing you can about her. And this shall stay between the three of us. No one else is to hear a breath about our theories. If (Y/n) is indeed the Princess, then I fear she may be in danger even here,” the Queen says sternly.

As the other two are nodding the door to Steve’s study gets pushed open.

“There you are, Steve. Mother, Aunt Sara.” Bucky bows quickly to the two women.

“My, what have we here?” The young prince looks at the sketch, his eyebrows raising. “This is (Y/n), correct?” Steve nods. “Your skills have certainly improved, punk,” Bucky teases while looking at the other drawings of you. “You fancy her, don’t you?” Steve simply rolls his eyes. “She provided inspiration. Innocence and beauty all encompassed in one.” Bucky nods, deep in thought.8

“Well, I suppose we’ll take our leave now,” Winifred says before walking out of the room with Sara right behind her.

“These are actually magnificent, Steve. Unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Would... can...” He groans as his cousin laughs at his flustered state.

“What? Would you like one? Or two perhaps? Maybe the entire sketchbook? I thought appreciating her beauty would do no one any good or whatever stupid excuse you spewed.” Bucky punches his shoulder.

“Quit being a punk. I just want one.” Steve smirks but carefully pulls out one of the finer sketches of you and hands it to his cousin. “It’s all yours. Do with it what you’d like, just don’t tell me what you’re doing.” Bucky punches him again and Steve snickers to himself.

The brunet holds the paper with a gentle hand, admiring the way you look in the picture. Beauty and innocence, just as Steve said.

~

“Okay... almost finished... just one last finishing flower...” Mary trails off and you twiddle your thumbs nervously as Wanda continues covering your eyes while Mary pulls on the gown clinging to your figure. “Okay, I’m gonna put your mask on and a tad bit of lip rouge. Then you’ll be ready.” You fight a smile as Wanda lifts her hands, only for a smooth cool fabric to take their place.

“Oh, you look like an Angel right out of heaven! Now, a teeny tiny bit of lip rouge, not too much because we don’t want to take away from the entire ensemble. Pucker your lips a tad, darling.” You do as she asks and jump slightly as you feel something waxy on your lips.

“Alright dear. You can look now.” You snap your eyes open and spin around in your new flats.

Your jaw drops as you see yourself in the mirror.

The gown is incredible. With a dark blue-grey chest, a navy blue bow cinching your waist and making you look curvier. The skirt is made of a lovely pink fabric, covered in a navy chiffon-type fabric. It has small fabric flowers and gems decorating it, but not too many. The mask is the same pink as the gown, however, it has gold trim and some embellishments in the same colour, as well as a little bow and some lace.

You look... stunning. Like royalty.

“Wow. You look beautiful.” You look to the voice and smile. “Thank you, Pietro. You look quite handsome.” He chuckles then walks to his sister, who looks absolutely gorgeous in a floor-length, figure-hugging red velvet dress. Her mask matches her dress and her hair is flowing down her back.

“Steve asked me to escort you to the ball. He’ll meet you there for a dance.” You smile lightly. “So you’ll be escorting not one beautiful woman but two to the Queen's masquerade ball? Will you dance with us both?” Wanda teases. Her outfit matches her brothers and you can’t help but smile at that.

“I do plan on dancing with both of you at some point tonight, however, I think Steve craves the first dance with you, (Y/n).” You smile timidly and Wanda giggles, “does he fancy her, do you think?” You shake your head furiously, “Steve and I are just friends. Nothing more.” Wanda smirks deviously at you.

“You don’t fancy Steve... what about Prince James? Do you fancy him? You have been looking at him quite often ever since he ran into in the library. When the two of you talked for quite some time.” You shake your head again, “I hardly know him, Wanda. How could I possibly fancy someone I know nothing about?” She shrugs, a sly smile still plastered on her face.

“Then why are you fiddling so much? And why do you always fiddle when he comes up in conversation?” She motions to where your fingers are playing with a bead on your dress. “You like his royal stiffness? Pain-in-the-ass Prince James? Bitchy Bucky?” You glare at the twins. “No. I don’t. And even if I did, it wouldn’t be your concern and it wouldn’t matter anyway. He's royalty, and I’m not.” Pietro gingerly links his arm through yours.

“You could be a Princess. There’s something... regal and royal about you. You should be wearing a crown, not scrubbing the floors.” You smile gently up at him. “I should be here with Wanda and May. If I were born royal then I might not have met you or any of my friends. I like who I am.” He smiles and presses a kiss to your cheek.

“Now, we should be going. I can hear music and laughter already,” Wanda says while taking her brother’s other arm. Pietro escorts the two of you to the ball, smiling as he meets up with Sam, Nat, and Clint.

“I see you’ve already taken (Y/n) for yourself,” Sam says, looking you up and down. “You look like royalty. You’ll make visiting Princesses jealous.” You laugh softly, “thank you, Sam.” He smiles and offers you his arm.

After a glance to Pietro, an eye roll and a nod given, you let go of his arm and take Sam’s.

“Steve’ll be arriving shortly, along with Bucky, the King, the Queen, and Lady Sara,” Sam informs as you reach the ballroom doors. You nod, your jaw almost dropping as you enter the ballroom.

It’s filled with people -men and women- dressed to the nines in clothes that cost more than you’ll make in your entire lifetime.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” Nat asks while coming up beside you in a light green dress with a mask to match. “It’s... intimidating if I’m being honest.” Natasha rests a hand on your shoulder.

“You look like you belong here. Even if you feel like you don’t, you look like you do, so act like it. No one will know anything that’s true or not.” You smile at her words and take a big breath in. Squaring your shoulders you raise your head and walk with Sam into the room.

The people you pass stop their conversations and stare at you as Sam leads you to the centre of the room right across from a large staircase.

Conversations hardly have time to grow before a horn sounds loudly, gathering everyone’s attention.

“May I present Lady Sara, Her Majesty Queen Winifred, and his Majesty King George.” The royal family walks down the stairs as graceful as swans with their chins held up high and smiles on their faces.

“Wow. (Y/n) you look... incredible.” You smile shyly up at the man speaking, having recognized his voice. “Thank you, your highness.” Sam snickers while Steve rolls his eyes.

“Now, I must steal you from Sam. May I?” Sam places your hand in Steves and you find yourself giggling as Steve walks you deeper into the room.

“Mary absolutely outdid herself,” Steve says while admiring your gown and mask. “She did. You look rather dashing yourself.” His cheeks flush and he looks down while chuckling.

He’s wearing a well-tailored grey suit and a matching mask. The suit hugs his body perfectly and the mask brings out the vibrant blue in his eyes. And of course, there’s a lovely silver crown sitting atop his blond hair.

He smiles at you then takes a small half-step away from you as the band starts playing again.

“(Y/n), may I be the first of many men to ask tonight, if I may have the honour of this dance?” You beam up at him.”Of course, Steve.” He takes your hand in his and places his other hand on your waist. You bring your free hand up to his shoulder and start dancing with him.

People around you mumble and whisper. as Steve dances you around the floor.

“They’re wondering who you are. They know who I am, but no one knows the Princess I’m dancing with,” he whispers, the cool fabric of his mask brushing against your cheek. You look down, away from the curious and envious eyes of the upper-class men and women.

“They’re making me quite nervous,” you reply softly, grinning as he chuckles.

“Well, I doubt any of them know who you are. So what they think doesn’t matter anyway.” You nod, trying to let his words ease your nerves.

The song comes to a close and Steve sighs.

“Excuse me,” a smooth voice says, “but may I?”

You look up at the man and smile awkwardly as he takes Steve’s place. A new song starts and you dance with him, feeling exceptionally nervous.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met you,” he says after a moment, his brown eyes warm and filled with wonder. “You haven’t. This is the first ball I’ve ever attended.”  He spins you then nods. “You’re stunning. Have you any suitors? Husbands?” You shake your head no. “None at all.” He smiles, “what a shame for them. I’d like-” a hand is on his shoulder, stopping him from dancing with you.

“May I cut in?” That voice makes butterflies swarm in your stomach. “Of course, your highness.” The man disappears and Prince James takes his place, one of his hands fitting perfectly in yours while the other rests comfortably on the curve of your waist.

He starts leading you in a dance, keeping your body close to his.

“You look ravishing,” he whispers, his thumb rubbing on your hip. “Why thank you, your majesty.” He smiles, his hand slowly moving around your waist.

“Do you have a name?” You grin as you realize he doesn’t know who you are, a wave of confidence washing over you.

“I do have a name.” He chuckles and pulls you closer to his warm body. “May I be so bold as to ask what it is?” You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, trying - and failing- to contain your smile. “Maybe. But do you deserve to know?” You’re honestly not sure where this much confidence comes from, but you’re liking it more than you want to admit.

“I think I do. But let’s say, for argument's sake, that I don’t deserve to know. What could I do to change that?” You slowly look up, your eyes lingering on his pink lips before moving up to his stormy orbs.

“I suppose I’ll have to think about that,” you whisper. His eyes flash down to your lips and you can’t help but lick them/ His fingers flex on your waist and you smile, watching as his eyes meet yours again. “Please do.”

The two of you dance in silence for a few minutes before he chuckles. “What?” You ask, smiling slightly, “do I amuse you?” He shakes his head and sighs heavily.

“You’ve bewitched me. Your voice... your beauty... like nothing I’ve ever experienced in all of my years. Have you and suitors?”

You swear your jaw drops.

“Forgive me, Prince James, but are you not betrothed? To the Princess of Corona?” He shakes his head and looks deep into your eyes. “I do not wish to marry someone who I know nothing about.” You find yourself giggling softly.

“And what do you know about me?” He looks down, seemingly shy. “I know that you’re like no woman I’ve ever met before. I know that I know nothing about you when I’d really just like to know everything. I know that not a day will pass where I don’t think of you. You’ll be in my every dream ‘till the day I die.”

You can’t seem to find any words.

“I’ll ask my father and yours if I can court you. If you’d give me the opportunity, of course.” You’re shocked, to put it lightly. “I-I can’t. You’re betrothed. I couldn’t interfere with that. I’m sorry, Prince James, but I cannot.”

You break away from him and hurry out of the ballroom, desperate to breathe. You remove your mask and lean against the wall, trying desperately to catch your breath.

“You weren’t sold to go to balls and celebrations as a guest,” an all-too-familiar voice says. You straighten up and look at the woman.

“Step-mother,” you begin, “I was invited. By Prince Steve-” a slap to the face cuts you off and you gasp, tears pricking your eyes. “You won’t speak of the Princes! You are filth!” She raises her hand to strike you again and you squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for the pain.

When it never comes, you open your eyes.

Steve’s holding your step-mothers wrist and another woman is rushing over to your side, giving little thought to her expensive gown as she slides down to the floor beside you.

“Guards!” Steve calls, “escort Lady Griffon and her daughters out of here. Don’t make a scene about it either.” You watch as the woman who raised you gets escorted out of the palace that has recently become your home.

“Are you alright, child?” The woman beside you asks, her voice gentle and soft. “Yes, I-I believe I am. Thank you.” She smiles and lightly places her hand on your shoulder. “(Y/n) I’m so sorry,” Steve says. You wave off his apology and take a deep breath, trying to calm down.

“Queen Valerie, thank you for letting me know. (Y/n), this is Queen Valerie of Corona. Queen Valerie, this is (Y/n). A very close friend of mine.” You look at the woman beside you and scramble to your feet, only to bow before her. “Y-your Highness.” She shakes her head and stands up, “no need for that. You’re sure you’re alright?” You nod your head yes then clear your throat.

“I... I’m going to retire to my chambers. Thank you for inviting me, Steve. Queen Valerie, I hope you enjoy the rest of the night.” They nod and watch as you hurry up a flight of stairs.

“Where’s she from?” Queen Valerie asks while Steve’s escorting her back to the ballroom.

“We’re not sure. She was adopted by Lady Griffon as a baby. She has a locket that seems to be enchanted from Corona so we do believe she may be from there. How she ended up here, I know not. Perhaps you have an idea?” The Queen on his arm clutches her necklace tightly.

“I mustn’t let myself hope,” she whispers softly, letting go of Steve’s arm and heading back to find her husband, leaving the young prince confused out of his wits.

~

“Mother, Father, I need your help!” Bucky exclaims, walking to where his parents are seated. “What is it, my son?” Winifred asks concern lacing her voice.

“A dame, beautiful as a sunrise. I want to court her. She’s...” He trails off while looking around, trying to find you.

“My son, you know you are to be marred. There’s no way you could court her. What is her name?” Bucky stares at the door where he saw you last.

“I don’t know. But mother, her voice was that of an angel. Her eyes sparkled brighter than diamonds. Her smile... I have no words to describe her beauty.”

Winifred sighs and takes her sons hand. “If everything fails with Corona, then you may court the girl. Is she a Duchess? Or perhaps a Princess?” Bucky sighs and shrugs his shoulders.

“She was dancing with the Duke of Winchester,” King George chimes in, looking around the room.

“I’ll ask him!” Bucky practically runs through the crowd.

“You shouldn't give him hope, George. He’s betrothed. You know he’s meant to marry the Princess of Corona,” Winifred scolds. “Let the boy have his fun. He knows his responsibilities. And if we go to war with Corona, he’ll have this Duchess or Princess or whoever she is. You’ll get a grandchild or two and James will get a strong heir to the throne.” The Queen sighs at her husband and watches as her son talks to the Duke.

“I found her dancing with Prince Steve. A beautiful one, she is. I plan to court her, as soon as I figure out who her father is.” Bucky clenches his hands into fists and smiles tightly at the Duke before setting off to find his cousin.

“Steve! Who were you dancing with?” The blond looks up, slightly startled. “Who?” Bucky groans at his cousin’s response. “She was wearing pink. Her eyes, they’re beautiful and (e/c). She was... a dream.”

Steve raises his eyebrows and chuckles. “You mean (Y/n)?” Bucky freezes, his eyes wide and his mouth agape. “(Y/)? Like... servant girl (Y/n)?” Steve nods slowly and Bucky curses. “Why? Is something wrong?” Bucky pulls Steve into the hallway and looks around to make sure they’re alone, then he rips his mask off and tosses it aside.

“She’s. stunning. Beautiful and witty. I asked if I could court her. But she’s not of noble blood. Fuck. What do I do?” Steve pats his cousin's shoulder.

“Talk to her. You don’t need to formally court her. Does your mother know that you fancy her?” He asks. “Yes, but she reminded me of my betrothal when I spoke of her.” Steve snickers despite his cousin’s glare.

“Winifred knew that was (Y/n). I had her help me design the dress.” Bucky chuckles at this, his anger momentarily forgotten. “Of course she did. She enjoys seeing me in pain.” Steve sighs and looks towards the staircase where you disappeared to. “Lady Griffon was here. She got mad and struck (Y/n). I had the vile woman escorted out and (Y/n) went to her chambers. You should go check on her.” Bucky looks at his cousin as if he’d grown a second head.

“Lady Griffon Struck (Y/n)?” Steve nods, “go see if she’s alright.” I’ll cover for you.” Bucky nods before he can think too hard about it. His feet bring him through the Palace and up the stairs until he’s outside of your room.

He knocks twice then slowly pushes the door open, looking around the room for you. Humming from the bathroom gets his attention and he realizes you must be bathing.

Just as he’s about to turn and leave, you walk out of the bathroom. Bucky’s frozen, staring at you and you’re frozen, staring at him.

You're wrapped in a thin towel, water dripping down your skin and pooling at your feet.

“Your Highness. W-what are you doing in here?” He doesn’t answer, too busy staring at your body. You shift nervously and his eyes snap up to yours. “Why didn’t you tell me it was you?”

You swallow hard and hold the towel tighter around your body.

“I… I didn’t want to ruin the fantasy.”

He walks towards you and you back up, gasping as your back hits the wall.

“You’re a fantasy? A dream? No, you’re much more than that.” He cages you against the wall between his strong arms and stares in your eyes.

“W-what do you mean? What do you want from me?” He closes his eyes for a moment before cracking a half-smile. “I told you,” he whispers, “I want to court you.” You cast your eyes down, shaking your head at him.

“I met Queen Valerie. You’re betrothed to her daughter. I don’t want to interfere,” you breathe.

He carefully lifts your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Tell me you feel nothing. Tell me you don’t want me the way I want you. Tell me that honestly and I’ll leave you be.” You shake your head and close your eyes tightly.

“I’d be lying.”

Those three words are all it takes for his control to shatter.

His hands grip your waist through the towel, holding you tightly as he presses his chest against yours. You pull in a shaky breath, your palms hesitantly resting on his shoulders.

“May I touch you?” You nod breathlessly, gasping as he tugs the towel down a tad. His right-hand cups your cheek while his left ventures beneath the towel, finding your damp skin.

“Someone could come in,” you whisper, head tilting back and eyes staying closed as his lips ghost over your neck.

“Let them,” he murmurs, gently nipping your neck as his left-hand curls around your back under your towel.

You shiver, arching up into him at the foreign feeling of his warm skin on your own. “James.” Your voice is a soft whisper and the Prince grins, his right hand leaving your cheek to pull your towel down a bit more.

“I want you, (Y/n).” You whimper softly, your fingers raking through his soft brown hair. “You’re all I want. Screw my betrothal.” The mention of his betrothal brings you back to reality and you push him off of you.

“This… this isn’t right,” you whisper while pulling the towel tighter around your body.

“Yes. This is right. This is so so right.” He leans down and kisses your lips almost roughly.

“James. James stop,” you mumble against his lips.

He doesn’t stop.

“Stop! Get off of me!” You exclaim, shoving him off of you as hard as you can.

“(Y/n) I-“ “Get out. Get out!”

He looks shocked and reaches out for you.

“Get out now.”

You move under his arm and across the room, eyes staying focused on the Prince.

“(Y/n) please. Just let me-“ “No! You’re to be married and I’m of poor blood! Please, just leave.” Your hands start to tremble as anxiety floods your body.

The Prince turns and leaves without another word, his heart aching and his stomach churning.

~

TAGS:

FOREVER:

@smolbeanbucky  @wildefire @inumorph  @impalatobakerstreet  @nanna022  @mummy-woves-you  @m-a-t-91  @wtfholland  @bookgirlunicorn  @beautifulwisdom2001  @deep-sea-glitter  @mrhiddles-81  @iamwarrenspeace  @bitchacho25 @escapetheshackles  @i-know-i-can @buckyssoul @avnngrs @swoonhui @destiel-artemis @frozenhuntress67

MARVEL:

@fallenangelfangirl @look-to-the-stars-and-wish @maladaptive-ninja-returns @cliffordasparagus @april-14-blog @potteritis @momc95 @shakzer00

BUCKY:

@chuuulip @nerd-without-a-cause @natashasnight @dragonrosegardens

A BROKEN FAIRYTALE:

@starkxpotts @barnesandnoble13 @paranoiadestroyah @theonelittleone @the-loud-and-crazy-rabbit-pirate @derekxsammy @nerd-without-a-cause @coal000 @lilypalmer1987 @consumedbyfanfics @tanelle83 @fultimefangirl @apollolikescello @buckysthing @emilysallysmith @krystallynx @unscriptedtimetraveler @buckyinantarctica @the-surviving-revolutionist @seafrost-fangirl @londonalozzy @roxytheimmortal @strawberryblogg @rosariia25 @godsofimmortality @bookgirlunicorn @ign-is @afterglowamsy @doublephoeenix @littledeadrottinghood @jsmith509 @alexaduke @m00nlightdelights @denimandcabernet @crystalchrysalis19

[kristallioness]

Of comfort and connections

Summary: Aang thinks about things while being in Katara's embrace for a change.

Word count: 2,027

Author's note: This early Saturday morning I happened to go through a thread on a random forum (where people discussed some things that I indulge myself in) and I began reading how this sweet young man talked about what he liked to do with his girlfriend. He admitted that it felt weird to him when she wanted to be the one who'd cuddle him and let him listen to her heart, since he felt like HE should be the one who offers her protection/comfort and not the other way around (obviously he let her do it anyway, which is why he seemed like such a caring guy). I can understand the reasons why he might think that, but at the same time I thought of a certain other couple who has it both ways. It sparked this idea. (I'm not a member in that forum, so I couldn't add my opinion, but personally I really like and believe it can work both ways.) The story takes place some time after "The Rift". Also, there's a reference to how Aang/Raava survived based on the exact opposite of what Vaatu said to Wan (about how he could become stronger). I should probably stop writing/drawing so much fluff about these two and save some ideas for Kataang Week (I already sketched something new and I might use it for a prompt that fits, I'm not gonna post it yet because it's too good).

----------x----------

Aang's finger traced a path across the soft blue fabric, drawing the shape of a heart above hers. The sensation made her giggle. Katara grabbed his left hand for a second and laid it flat in the middle of her chest so he'd quit tickling her. He didn't mean to do that, but he got the message.

Aang was simply pondering why listening to her heartbeat felt so soothing. Why it made him wanna doze off, yet sort of felt like a wake-up call at the same time. He didn't get to do these kind of things so much before. Snuggling up to each other was new for both of them ever since they'd become a couple. Sure they'd hugged and comforted each other many times during the war, all of which helped build their friendship and lay the foundation for their relationship.

But this.. this was something much more intimate. His head resting on her chest, her left hand supporting his back and holding him close to her side. A blanket underneath them and a pillow behind her head for support. Cuddled up at the back of the saddle in the warm summer evening, getting ready to fall asleep and rest, only to wake up the next morning when new adventures would await their small gang.

He'd felt a bit.. okay, a lot awkward when Katara had offered that they took these poses, being first in their makeshift bed that night. He wasn't used to being the one who was cuddled, much less by a girl and in the position she'd suggested. He was supposed to be the cuddler.

His rosy cheeks had returned to their normal colour once he'd gotten used to the feeling of the side of his face squishing her breasts and found a comfortable spot that didn't bother either of them. Focusing on the steady rhythm of her heart helped a little.

Katara had laughed about it, saying that he needed to feel protected by her just as much as she did by him. That she wanted to give him that feeling. And that meant he'd get to experience what he'd previously allowed her to do - snuggling close to her side and resting his head above her heart. Yeah, this was something that only a couple could do without feeling embarrassed.

His head slowly rose and descended according to her breathing. Aang raised his head a bit to look into her eyes, but she wasn't even looking at him. Katara was busy gazing at the stars in the northern sky. Her diamond blue eyes shimmered similarly to them. She wore a loving smile that grew a little when she sensed that he was staring at her. She seemed so calm and happy, her mind free from constantly worrying about the state of the world. She had him to thank for that.

Aang lowered his head and pressed his right ear above her heart to continue listening. His fingers tiptoed a bit lower to a less awkward position as he rested them below her ribcage. One of them still rubbed at a rib that moved up and down under her right breast as she breathed. Why did this seem so familiar to him?

His hand nearly clasped her tunic from that spot when he finally remembered. It'd only been a short moment, but it was the sound that'd stopped him from leaving her. It went crazy at the thought of losing him forever. It was the first sound he'd heard when he came back to her, after she'd revived him with the spirit water. Her heart racing when she couldn't accept what'd just happened - that the water didn't work.

But it did work. She'd poured her love out, all over his limp body, which had helped revive his Avatar Spirit. He grumbled and managed to get a short glance of her relieved smile when she held him in her arms before everything faded into darkness again. Except that he could still hear that drumming in his ears for a while longer, until eventually that faded away, too.

He didn't know how it was possible, but she did. She'd held him close to her side all the way from Ba Sing Se to Chameleon Bay, not daring to let go for a second. The way she'd defended him had given him strength to recover. Hearing her beating heart tell him how much she loved him had given him breath to continue fighting. And it'd brought him back to life during that fateful night.

Aang frowned at the thought of what kind of hell he must've put her through during those following weeks. He pulled his left knee up a bit and curled up like a baby, trying to close what little space remained between their bodies. He nuzzled his nose against her chest and pulled his hand back under his chin, laying it over her heart before clenching it into a fist.

"Aang.. you okay?" she wondered, running her hand over his head a few times when she felt how his body tensed up. He looked up at her with a worried gaze, but simply seeing her being concerned about him helped wash away his sorrow and he offered her a reassuring smile instead.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Just thinking about stuff."

"Mmm.." Katara hummed, her finger running down his nose and over his lips before she leaned forward a bit to give him a tender kiss on his temple. She rested her hand above his and gave it a gentle squeeze, making him relax his fist.

"Cosy?"

"Mhmm," Aang nodded against her chest, attempting to resume his train of thought. He startled a little when her stomach growled. She lifted her right knee up a bit, as if she had a stomach ache.

"Hungry?" he asked in return, seeing how she blushed and scratched the side of her face.

"Not really, we had a good supper. But I wouldn't mind a small snack."

"Psst! Momo.. Hey, Momo!" Aang quietly called the winged lemur, who'd been napping on top of Appa's head. Momo's big ears, followed by the rest of his head, popped up from behind the front of the saddle and he quickly leaped closer to the airbender, licking his face in the process.

"Ha-ha-ha! Cut it out, buddy! I need you to bring me something."

Momo quit licking him and jumped onto Katara's belly instead, tilting his head curiously to look at Aang.

"Momo, bring me an apple, please."

The winged lemur chirped a few times, then leaped over Katara's head to land on the luggage behind them. He sniffed through their bags and quickly found a backpack that was full of fruit, picking a nice juicy green apple for the Avatar's girl. Momo grabbed his loot and flew back to her side, handing the fruit over to Aang.

"Thanks, buddy! Here you go, sweetie."

"Thanks, sweetie. And thank you, Momo!" Katara said as she grabbed the apple in her right hand, then stroked the lemur with the back of it before biting into her snack. Momo yawned and curled up like a ball beside the couple to fall back asleep.

Aang began rubbing Katara's flat belly, like he was trying to ease a nonexistent pain while she ate. Running circles around that area reminded him of something else. If he'd thought about their past before, then now he started to think about their future.

He remembered what she'd told him during the battle for Yu Dao. How she'd seen a future where people from different nations could live together, where they're married and have a baby. He'd never thought about that before, what his life could look like in the future with Katara after the war was over.

Sure they'd stay together as a couple, but marriage hadn't crossed his mind since Aunt Wu predicted that he'd become her husband. At least not until Ursa and Ikem had pointed it out again on the two of them - how lucky they were to have found each other at such a young age. Aang did feel lucky that she'd found him in that iceberg. That Katara was the first person he'd woken up to a hundred years later. That during the final year of the war, they'd begun falling for each other. And that they were a couple now.

His palm stroked her tummy. That was another thing he hadn't given much consideration yet - starting a family with her. He'd never had to think about having children with someone before. Now he felt like it was his responsibility to think about it. If for no other reason, then for saving his people from extinction. Bringing a new airbender into this world was the only way to do that. Because even though sky bison were the original airbenders, he doubted that Appa would live to see the next Avatar and teach him or her airbending, especially since that would be the last element to master.

The idea made Aang feel a bit sick to his own stomach. Having a child simply because it's his duty to save the airbenders. If he wanted to have children with Katara, then it'd only be because both he and she wanted to. Because they'd love their baby for who he or she is, airbender or not. He'll figure something out when it concerned his next life, and Katara would certainly help with that. Yes, he decided that sounded a lot better.

And since she'd already imagined a baby in their future, then he concluded that she must want one. That she'd definitely love to have one with him. Honestly, he was glad that if that happened, then it would be with Katara, because she'd be the most caring and loving mother in the world to their children. The whole concept seemed scary now, but Aang felt sure that if and when she was ready to do all of those things, then he'd be ready, too.

"Katara?"

"Hmm?" she tilted her head while she took another bite from the apple.

"Remember when you first told me how you saw our future?"

"Mhmm.." she answered with a hum, nodding in agreement before swallowing.

"It got me thinking," Aang went on, his finger tenderly running around the edge of what he guessed was her belly button under that blue fabric.

"Yeah.." she said in a teasing tone, waiting for him to say whatever it was that he wanted to tell her.

"I'd be honoured to be your husband. And I'd love to raise a family with you, whenever you're ready. That is, if you wanna marry and have a baby, of course! No pressure!"

Katara chuckled as she took one last bite and threw the remainder of the fruit on the grass beside Appa. She licked her fingers clean and dried her hand against the side of her tunic, then cupped Aang's cheek.

"Yes, I'd love that, too. Very much," she murmured to him, caressing his cheek with her thumb. Aang propped himself up on his right elbow to look at her. Her cheeks were decorated with a tint of red, but she never broke eye contact. She was smiling back at him, her eyes half-lidded.

Katara beckoned him closer by softly pulling her hand away from his cheek, tugging him to follow. He shifted a bit so his face would be closer to hers, close enough for her lips to meet his so she could kiss him. He cupped her cheek in return after they'd broken their kiss, admiring her beautiful face.

"I love you so much, Katara," Aang said in a slightly shaky voice. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and wrapped his arms around her for a very tight hug, almost as if he was afraid of losing her. She was his whole world and he really didn't wanna let go so soon.

He felt how she snaked her arms around him, too, and rubbed his back in return. She hummed in delight, feeling both their heartbeats reciprocating the same against their chests.

"Mmm.. I know. I love you, too, Aang."

[ff7central]

Creator Spotlight: Kizunatsudoishi

Miri here, with the next entry in our Creator Spotlight series. This time the random number generator has summoned artist Kizunatsudoishi (Kizu). ( http://Kizunatsudoishi.tumblr.com )

Want to be on a future spotlight? Sign up on the FF7Central directory to get in on the list: https://goo.gl/forms/u0h5rJXmgv40zX9m2

Miri: Which of your works is the most memorable to you? I don’t necessarily mean favourite or best work, it could be the work that taught you the most making it or that holds a special reason in its creation.

Kizu: Hm, for some reason the sleeping elves!Sefikura popped up in my head. It was certainly one of those that took me weeks to finish. I learned so much about coloring doing that piece. Seph's thighs were thickened with layers of white and purplish white and blueish white and orangeish white because I couldn't get the pale tone right. I even beat myself over it for days. Thank god it turned out... not so bad...?

Miri: Comments on the reblog, or in the tags. Do you have a preference?

Kizu: Comments ANYWHERE. But anyway, from what I've seen, people are less likely to comment on the reblog because they feel like it's rude or something, but if you feel like that, please comment all the craziest thing and reactions in the tags. UwU I dare speak for all of the creators out there that WE LOVE COMMENTS. Especially the squeally over the top ones.

Miri: Who is your favourite character from the FFVII setting? What do you love about them?

Kizu: Aside from the obvious choices (the blond angry smol and the silver-haired mean assholery tol), in terms of characterization (and in-game stat), Cid Highwind is my lowkey favorite. Those moments featuring Cid Highwind is either hilarious or super inspirational. His speeches about his dream, the power of mankind and science, the planet Gaia, the goddamn tea... gosh. Cid Highwind gives the most powerful speeches and the most hilarious profanities.

Miri: Favourite media to work in?

Kizu: I actually have a love hate relationship with it but, pencil and paper.

Miri: Inquiring minds have asked if you have any tips for dealing with art block/slump.

Kizu: Hmmmm. Maybe... try to brainstorm exactly how you want to draw the thing. Come up with keywords that you can search by (aka finding references). Read/watch something visual and may inspire you to draw the thing since references can pop up in those visual media.

If nothing of the above works, force your stupid hand to at least draw *something* (Like, if you draw something that would involve a human, sketch their head first with a circle, and try to expand the face, where the face is facing towards, then expand pose from there with skeletal-ish pose.) If you don't know how poses work then feel free to look it up. At least, learn how to *sketch* poses with stick figures since that will save you from so much pain.

You can also listen to music that put you in certain moods.

Miri: Is there a character/idea you haven’t gotten to yet that you really want to do?

Kizu: I suppose most of the stuff I had always want to doodle *cough* frillysmexykinkydressesandflowyconcubineoutfitsandfancyhairdosforCloud *cough* I have done... to some extent. There's so much more Emperoth x Cloudcubine thing I want to do though... :Q_ I-I have this... constant need of putting Cloud in dresses. He just... looks too gorgeous in dresses. Mmm, Cloud in dresses...

Come to think of it, I kinda want to try doodling something fluffy or... school life-ish too...?

Miri: Any remake thoughts or hopes you’d like to talk about?

Kizu: 1. Have a section of land that looking towards Midgar that can trigger a flashback cutscene of Zack's final stand... and maybe his yellow flower...

2. Keep the W-Item glitch ;D

3. Explorable Midgar, maybe SOLDIER private quarters with snippets of the SOLDIER boys...?

4. Keep Cloud riding a dolphin. And the CPR part.

5. A dressing up montage of Miss Cloud with pink background and hearts flying while everyone ogles "her". (A thing that ACTUALLY HAPPENS in FFRK so I'm looking at you Squeenix you WILL give us a Miss Cloud dressing up montage).

6. We get to Omnislash """Executioner""" (a synonym for half naked) Sephiroth with Miss Cloud. In a purple dress. With a big bow. Wearing perfume. And diamond tiara. Yeap The Great Sephiroth was defeated by all of *that*.

7. Kinda overlap with the above but... maybe an attire option like we can change the party member's clothing (much like FF15). We can have a bunch of Shinra infantrymen and sailors running around in dirt.

8. Steve Burton and Takahiro Sakurai saying "Warrrk!!". If Lightning can say "Kweh" then of course Cloud has to be a chocobo whisperer.

9. After seeing the giant ass Diamond Weapon in Kingsglaives... I actually look forward to the Weapon boss fights.

Miri: Throw a headcanon at us that you’d like to see more of.

Kizu: I don't know... most of the headcanons I enjoy are all from you guys, like Sephiroth being a Scorpio, or he being the one breaking Ifalna and smol Aerith out of Shinra back then, or Cloud being a little shit... Usually I would think more about AUs. If it's an AU then I'd like to see more school life AUs. Listening to Bolbbalgan4 songs makes me think of a Cloud doodling stick figures on Seph's notebook in the library and they're playing footsies under the table ughf.

Miri: Favourite party idea when playing FFVII? They don’t have to actually work, so much as you like the idea of them together as a fighting party.

Kizu: I usually go for the OP team or the most practical so... Cloud Aerith Cid in disc 1 (I usually have Cloud as the healer/tank/everything else XD Aerith as main magic damage bc she is stronk with spells, and Cid). After that the team is Cloud Yuffie and Cid because of Yuffie's morph ability and her agility is stupid. Nothing can hit Yuffie... ever.

Miri: Do you have a favourite/easiest character to draw? Or a character you tend to draw when you need some comforting/relaxing art time?

Kizu: CLOUD.

Drawing Sephiroth, albeit very satisfying for the eyes, is a great burden. That ridiculous man has a too high standard for his face alone. And then there comes that stupid, geographically mountainous plane of a body, and his 84 miles of legs. Not to mention that unbelievable luscious hair. And don't make me rant on those *eyelashes* that stabs through the fabric of space and time itself.

Miri: Are you open for commissions right now? Drop your link.

Kizu: Well guess what, I AM. Poof: http://kizunatsudoishi.tumblr.com/post/161768170836/3-commission-open-%CE%B5

Miri: Anything you’d like to say to the community?

Kizu: I used to be in a too active fandom and it was a nightmare. I used to be in a dead fandom and it was so sad. But then... this FF7 fandom is by some magical blessings, is still an alive submarine after all these years. I know some may have been sour grapes to some other, but the people I found in my little trash can corner, I can say that you guys are one of the greatest creators and people I've ever met. You guys... are the best. UmU

Miri: Here’s a few pieces picked out with some help from friends) to share with everyone

Sefikura Ballet: http://kizunatsudoishi.tumblr.com/post/177615867741/ballet-dancerssefikura-performing-swan-lake

Sefikura: http://kizunatsudoishi.tumblr.com/post/172478852401/art-based-on-asreoninfusions-whiskey-kisses

Sefikura Week Art for a fic by RadiusZero: http://kizunatsudoishi.tumblr.com/post/170107270506/sefikura-week-day-1-showing-up-unexpectedly

NSFW Cloud for a fic by AsreonInfusion: http://kizunatsudoishi.tumblr.com/post/161495409636/oviposition-tentacles-au-this-is-based-on (NSFW)

NSFW Sephiroth Images: http://kizunatsudoishi.tumblr.com/post/165607580006/sephiroth-in-chain-lingerie-commission-for-anon  (NSFW)

http://kizunatsudoishi.tumblr.com/post/165966347761/another-kinky-ukeroth-in-chain-lingerie-for-anon-u  (NSFW)

http://kizunatsudoishi.tumblr.com/post/166560946871/ukeroth-commission-for-anon-xd-this-time-i-went  (NSFW)

http://kizunatsudoishi.tumblr.com/post/167444208926/ukeroth-commission-for-anon-this-time-with-lace  (NSFW)

And my personal pick, my Christmas card for my discord group (This one IS safe for work): http://kizunatsudoishi.tumblr.com/post/167932312851/a-merry-asgzc-christmas-for-asylos-and-the-folks

[lean-mean-sam-and-dean]

Imagine Dean Finding Your Sketchbook...

Word Count: Around 2500

Warnings: None other than fluff :)

Characters: Reader, Dean, Sam

Pairing: Dean x Reader

A/N: This one really ran away from me, it was supposed to be kind of short…but enjoy! Maybe this will appease y’all while I work on the new part of Through the Flames! 

***This fic is pretty thrown together, I just wanted to give you guys something since it takes me such a long ass time to update

Summary: The reader has a sketchbook full of drawings of Dean. After a hunt, to the reader’s horror and embarrassment, she finds Dean with his nose in her sketchbook.

There was never much privacy in your life with the Winchesters. Every time you turned around one of them was always right there. On most days, that wasn’t a bad thing- especially on hunts. You knew they’d always have your back, that you were never alone. It was comforting really, comforting on those days that you needed someone when everything seemed to go wrong. Sam always had kind words of advice and assurance and Dean wouldn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you. You couldn’t help but love the fact that they were always there.

You also couldn’t help but hate the fact that they were always there. You’d started to develop a kind of sixth sense whenever one of them was nearby, you could just feel them lurking. It was more of Dean than anything, Sam knew enough to let you be.

Dean loved to hover. You decided that this was because he was such a mother hen, but you eventually came to another conclusion. Dean Winchester was sometimes too curious for your liking. You figured that at some point he’d learn his lesson because, as you had pointed out to him more than once- curiosity killed the cat.

As annoying as it could be at times, he wasn’t hurting anyone when he would lean over your shoulder to see what you were watching on Sam’s laptop. The one time he had followed you to yoga class to see where you’d been disappearing to all week wasn’t even that big of a deal either. Despite the fact that he could have just asked you, you dropped it and let him go with nothing more than a whack with your yoga mat.

There was only one thing you would not tolerate Dean Winchester getting his hands on- your sketchbook. You’d never had a diary or anything else of that sort but you’d treated the sketchbook just the same. You’d only shown Sam a drawing or two and that was the only exposure it had ever gotten. You shared most of everything you had with the boys but this was the one thing you kept to yourself.

It wasn’t because you thought you were a terrible artist, it wasn’t because you had drawn anything x-rated, as Dean had once suggested when you refused to let him see it. It was because it was filled with pictures of Dean. Sam had been featured once or twice but Dean dominated most of the pages. You hadn’t told him about it, not only because you were sure his ego would explode, but because you’d be mortified it he ever saw them. Sure, they were all innocent sketches, but something about Dean finding your sketchbook full of pictures of him was utterly horrifying.

The only thing worse than Dean finding your sketchbook, would be him finding your sketchbooks- plural. There were three of them including the one you were currently working on- all filled front to back with sketches of the older Winchester. To your embarrassment- you’d drawn him so many times you didn’t need to look at him in order to create an impressively accurate portrait of him. He was one of those people that were just fun to draw- not that you’d ever let him know that.

You laid long ways in the backseat of the Impala, listening to her purr as you worked on your most recent piece. There were only a last few touches needed and you smiled as you darkened the pencil lines of his jeans, following the length of his bow legs.

The three of you had just finished clearing a vampire nest and the boys were more than ready to get the motel and shower. If you were being honest, you were too. Between the three of you, you were covered in the most blood. Dean had even made you sit on an old blanket while muttering something about you looking like Carrie.

When you were satisfied that the drawing of Dean with a machete in hand was complete, you closed your sketchbook and slipped it into your duffel bag beside you. About a year ago you had started this habit. At some point, during every hunt you had gone on since you had started the sketchbooks, you drew a picture of him. Some were of Dean as he nursed a beer in a small town bar, others of him standing over the gaping mouth a desecrated grave.

Each one served as a memento from each hunt but there was one that held a special place in your heart. In a sleepy county in Montana you had taken pencil to paper and drawn him sitting at a worn picnic table at the county fair. He was smiling, holding three different kinds of deep fried food in his hands and as excited as a little kid. You couldn’t look at it without a huge grin forming.

The car slowed to a halt in front of the motel and you didn’t waste any time snatching up your bag and making your way inside. You quickly found some pajamas to wear after getting cleaned up and made it to the door of the bathroom just as the boys threw their stuff on the beds.

“Aw c’mon!” Dean threw his hands up, “You’re gonna take up all the hot water!”

You snickered, “Sorry Dean-o, you snooze, you lose.” You closed the door before he could say anything else. You knew the boys were just as tired as you were and decided to give them a bit of grace and shower quickly.

Dean threw himself onto the nearest bed with a grunt and your bag bounced off and onto the floor. Dean groaned. “Dammit.” He hauled himself up and strode over to the other side of the bed while Sam busied himself with his laptop.

He leaned down and grabbed your bag but all of its contents dropped onto the floor. “Are you kidding me?” He muttered. Dean was slightly afraid of what he’d find in the pile that had tumbled to the carpet. Who knows what girls packed in their bags? He quickly shoved your clothes back into the bag while trying to avoid anything he didn’t want to see. He was about to return a soft gray sweater to its place when he felt something beneath the fabric. It was stiff and thin and it took all of Dean’s will power not to take a peek. He looked over at Sam who paid no attention to him- probably doing whatever nerds like him do on their computers this late at night.

He really wanted to know what it was, and the more he thought about what it could possibly be, the more curious he became. He knew it was most likely wrapped up for a reason, it was private, and how would he explain as to how he’d found it? This had been in the bottom of your bag and there would be no easy way to tell you he’d been snooping.

Dean decided that what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you- it’s not like he’d be caught anyways, you took long showers. Maybe the sweater wasn’t even meant to hide what was inside, maybe the mystery object had gotten stuck in your clothes when you’d put it in your bag…and then the sleeves of the sweater somehow tied themselves. Before he could lose his courage Dean slipped the object from the fabric and found himself holding a blue sketchbook.

“Since when does she draw?” Sam turned away from his computer screen. “You say something?”

Dean shoved the sketchbook into his shirt and shielded the scene with his body. “What? No! I didn’t say anything. Nope.” Sam squinted in suspicion. “What are you doing?”

Dean shifted nervously as the tips of his ears burned red. “Nothing. I’m not doing anything.” Sam closed his laptop and stood from his chair. “Dean are you…are you hiding something?”

Desperate to escape the situation Dean attempted to turn the accusation back on his little brother. “I’m not- I’m not hiding anything. What- what are you hiding Sammy? I think you’re- you’re hiding something.” He backed up against the bed as Sam quickly approached.

Sam’s eyes widened as he stopped in his tracks. “Oh my god, Dean! Were you going through Y/N’s stuff?” Dean shushed him harshly. “Shut the hell up Sam, she’ll hear you!”

“Good!” Sam retorted. “She’ll know you were being a perv and rifling through her-” He was cut off when Dean clasped his hand over his mouth. “Would you shut up! I knocked her bag off the bed and everything fell out!” Dean removed his hand. “I was putting everything back in when I saw this.” He pulled the sketchbook out of his shirt and waved it in Sam’s face.

The younger brother still hadn’t the slightest idea as to why Dean had the book in his hands. It was yours, it was private. If it felt wrong to have it in his possession, it probably was. “So what? That’s her personal stuff, leave it alone, Dean.”

Dean stood with his mouth agape. “You seriously aren’t curious as to what’s in here?” Sam shifted from foot to foot but didn’t say anything. “That’s what I thought!”

Sam groaned. “I don’t want anything to do with this. Y/N didn’t say you could go through it.”

“But she didn’t say I couldn’t.” Dean reasoned. “Whatever, I’m not going to be in any part of this.” Sam reopened his laptop and sat back down with a scowl.

Dean rolled his eyes and opened the front cover. There wasn’t anything important you could possibly be hiding in a sketchbook. Maybe it was something like John’s journal, documenting new information and drawings of monsters he’d never seen before. So what if he’d seen some doodles you’d made, what was so wrong about him appreciating your art? Why had you hidden-

“Oh,” Was all he could say when he realized that the first drawing was of him. He wore a grin and that bulky winter coat with the big furry hood. Dean remembered this as a moment from a vengeful spirit hunt in Michigan months ago. Dean didn’t know what to say- didn’t know what to do, so he turned the page. Just as it was on the first, two more drawings of himself stared back at him.

He wasn’t even sure how to feel at first. He was so taken aback by the fact that you’d want to draw him of all people he could only stand and gawk at your artwork. Not only did you seem to be quite talented, but you had captured everything that made Dean, Dean. From the soft curve of his jaw to the way he held himself, it was all beautifully displayed upon the page.

“Woah.” Dean turned to find his brother looking over his shoulder. Evidently his curiosity had gotten the better of him too. “Yeah, woah is right.” Dean breathed. He flipped page after page, all of them filled with drawings of him, all from different hunts.

“Did you know she was doing this?” Sam shook his head. “I mean, she’s shown me a few sketches but not this. This is…these are amaz-”

“Oh my god.”

The brothers turned to see you in the doorway of the bathroom, face flushed red as you stared at them with wide eyes. “Where did you get that?” Dean guiltily closed the sketchbook and Sam chuckled nervously.

There was an awkward moment of silence until Dean cleared his throat. “I- um I accidentally knocked your bag off of the bed and this,” He held up the book, “fell out.”

You crossed the room in about three steps and plucked it from his hand. “That was private, Dean.” You said quietly, shoving it back in your bag. “It was wrapped up in one of my shirts, I know for a fact it didn’t just ‘fall out’.”

Sam looked to Dean and raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t seen his brother untangle the book from the sweater earlier. Dean let out a breath. “I know sweetheart, I’m sorry I just-”

“Just what Dean?” You turned on him with a glare. “You just thought that because I wasn’t there you could go through my stuff?”

“You’re right I shouldn’t have done that, but Y/N-”

You cut him off as you slung your bag over your shoulder. “I think I’m gonna sleep in the car tonight.” Dean caught your arm as you pushed past him. “Why are you so upset that I saw your drawings?”

You looked at him like he had grown a second head. “Are you serious?” Sam snatched up his own belongings and headed as fast as he could towards the bathroom. “I’m gonna take a shower.” There was no way in hell he was staying for that conversation.

“Because I’m humiliated Dean! You saw everything that was in there!”

“So what!”

“So every single one of them was of you! Going through that sketchbook is like going through my diary!”

It was quiet again and the only thing Dean could feel was shame. You shook your head and opened the door. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“They’re really good you know.”

You stopped in the doorway. What did he just say? Did he just compliment you? He didn’t just tell you that it was creepy that you had an entire sketchbook filled with pictures of him?

“What?”

Dean smiled and fidgeted with his hands. “I said, they’re good. Like really good.” You slowly closed the door. “You- you don’t think it’s weird? I mean I never asked to draw you-”

“I don’t think it’s weird,” Dean took a step towards you. “I think they’re amazing.” Another step. Your chest tightened. “I think you’re talented.” Another step. He was now so close his breath stirred the hairs framing your face.

Dean tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “And I think you’re beautiful.” He said quietly. Your breath hitched in your throat as his eyes traveled down to your lips. He looked back up to you as if asking for permission, you gave a slight nod. Dean cupped your face in hands and pressed his lips to yours. Your heart about exploded in your chest. He smelled like blood and sweat but you didn’t care- you grabbed a fistful of his shirt and deepened the kiss.

“I thought it would scare you off.” You murmured as you parted, resting your forehead against Dean’s.

Dean chuckled and you felt the rumble from his chest against yours. “Are you kidding? I’ve held a torch for you for years. A few drawings aren’t going to scare me off, sweetheart.”

You leaned back to get a good look at him. “Really?” Dean grinned. “Really.”

Suddenly the mood changed as he wiggled his eyebrows. “And you know, if you ever need a nude model…” You slapped his arm as he laughed. “You ruined the moment, you idiot!”

He placed a kiss to the top of your head as he squeezed you in his arms. “But I’m your idiot now, right?”

“Yes,” you wrapped your arms around his middle, “You’re my idiot.”

Tags: @hasta-impalasta  @torn-and-frayed  @ilostmyshoe-79  @faith-in-dean @bringmesomepie56  @deanssweetheart23  @impala-dreamer @luci-in-trenchcoats @curliesallovertheplace  @chaos-and-the-calm67 @ravengirl94 @lipstickandwhiskey @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @effie-w

[beyondcuckoo]

Chupacabra--A monster of a story. has been published on Elaine Webster - http://elainewebster.com/chupacabra-a-monster-of-a-story/

New Post has been published on http://elainewebster.com/chupacabra-a-monster-of-a-story/

Chupacabra--A monster of a story.

Chupacabra

     River chewed her tongue—a childhood habit that comforted her in some basic way. Ari would be unlocking the door to their apartment just about now. It would take him awhile to unearth the note she left on the bar next to the scotch bottle.  She could hear the click of the ice as it dropped into the whiskey glass, then the pour and first sip. He would notice it where the bottle was, plain, simple and strong like the drink.

     River’s attraction to older men had led her to the college professor’s bed. She liked them strong, smart and handsome; each one meaner than the last. This time she would break the cycle for good—get away from the smog and settle in the high desert of New Mexico. The lab tech job didn’t pay well, but Summerford Genetic Testing Laboratory had extensive government contracts and promise of a financially secure future. The remote location, hidden away in plain view, in a mundane gated and security patrolled Business Park, offered River solace.  She rolled down the window and waited for the guard to speak.

     “Can I help you?” he asked.

     “I’m here for a job interview,” River said as she dug through her purse and unfolded a scrap of paper.  “I have an appointment with . . . uh . . . Manuel Chavez.”

     “Oh, yeah, Manny said he was expecting you. I’ll give him a buzz. Hold on a second.”

     River dabbed at her forehead—she’d get used to the heat—after all it’s a dry heat—which she’s been told is better. The lab would be air-conditioned and the desert cooled in the evenings. She’d be all right—she had to be.

     “Okay, Manny’s in his office. Drive straight until you hit the dead end. His office is on the right. You’ll see his name on the door. Good Luck.”

     River pulled her Ford Focus next to a Jeep Wrangler with dealer plates and the word “Rubicon” initialed on the side. The office door opened as she turned off the engine and a weathered man, well over sixty emerged. He wiped his palm on denim jeans and held his hand out to River.

     “Welcome. Sorry I didn’t dress for the occasion, but I forgot to do laundry this week. Gotta hire a housekeeper one of these days. I’m going to be your boss,” he said.

     “I’m River  . . . River Agosto,” she answered as they shook hands. “Am I hired? You haven’t even interviewed me.”

      “Well I read your résumé and if you want the job, it’s yours . . . doesn’t pay much and I’m lucky to have you. This place makes tons of money off the government, but is chintzy with the paychecks. C’mon in and I’ll show you the place . . . again nothin’ fancy, but it does the trick.”

     River glanced around at the computers and lab equipment—all typical.  A subtle putrid odor permeated the air. “What’s that smell?” she asked.

     “Oh, I clean the specimen cages daily, but they still stink . . . can’t get all the smell out of the air. We’re doing some research for the military—trying to genetically cross amphibians with rodents. You know how they say that after a nuclear war all that will be left are the rats and cockroaches? Well in reality it would be rats and lizards. Anyway we’ve made some progress crossing the DNA. Washington wants to save some money and stop sending people to war. They think they can do more damage with animal combinations, specifically designed to survive chemical weapons. I guess in some weird way it makes sense—to stop killing people and fight our wars with genetic mutations.”

     River took a step back. “Is that what I’ll be doing here, mutating animals? I don’t think I can do that. I don’t eat animals . . . I certainly won’t torture them.”

     “No worries, sweet pea. We’re wrapping up the live specimen research. You’ll be mainly analyzing data—all on the computer modules. You won’t have a reason to get your hands dirty. You did come here for a job, didn’t you?”

     “Yes, yes, of course. I’m sorry; I just haven’t been in an animal research lab for a while, it’s part of the reason I became a vegetarian . . . can’t stand the sight of blood.”

     “Well if it’s animals you like, I’ve got plenty of them on my ranch. Do you have a place to live yet?”

     “I haven’t gotten that far. First I wanted to see if you’d hire me, and then check into a motel for a week or two to see if it works out. I work hard and long hours don’t bother me, but I can be sorta sensitive.”

     “Sensitivity makes for a good scientist. We don’t need to talk much, anyway. We get our daily tasks through the network and as long as our list is up-to-date we can come and go as we please.”

     Multiple work stations lined the walls. “Who else will I be working with? It seems like you’re set up for about ten people.”

     Manny glanced at the clock. “Listen why don’t you let me take you to lunch, then I can explain more. I also have a proposition for you.”

     The word proposition sent chills up River’s spine. No more men— that was the pact she had made with herself. Plus Manny was too old—even for her.

  *   *   *  

     Four-wheel-drive seemed to be the common bond between the vehicles parked in front of the local diner. The smell of broiled burgers and deep fried potatoes welcomed River as she emerged from Manny’s jeep. “Will I be able to eat anything here?” she asked.

     “Oh damn, I forgot. Say, listen, I’m a harmless old guy. Why don’t you come back to the ranch with me and I’ll cook you up some fresh vegies and rice?”

     Raven flinched again and silently screamed, no . . . no . . . no!

     Manny sensed her dilemma. “Look, I lost my wife a few years ago. I have a big ranch with two houses. I keep up the outside okay and tend the livestock, but my housekeeping sucks. I haven’t done laundry in weeks and I was going to ask you . . . since you need to rent a place and all . . . if you’d consider living in the cottage out back in exchange for some cleanin’ and cookin’. If you want we can go out there now and you can see the place.”

     Everything was happening a little too fast—but what the hell—it can’t hurt to look. But he better not try anything.  She dug her nails into the passenger-side arm rest, while Manny chatted on about the job and how hard it was to find good lab help out here in the land of no opportunity. It took thirty minutes for the Jeep to maneuver the two-lane paved, then one-lane gravel road, to the ranch. The jeep handled the potholes with ease, but River held on tight until they pulled up to the front of a stucco ranch house with solar paneled roofing. Several steel windmills mounted on the nearby hills turned in the moderate breezes while cattle and sheep grazed the dry grasses.

     “Oh I see you’re into green technology,” River said.

     “Yeah, I’m completely off-the-grid, so to speak.  Haven’t paid utility bills in years,” Manny replied as he put his shoulder to the car door. “Wait and I’ll get your door for you.”

     “No, no . . . I can do it,” River quipped as she slid out the passenger side. She didn’t want this old man helping her—or touching her for that matter—she didn’t know why.

     Manny shrugged and started off towards the backyard. River jogged to catch up with him and moments later they stood facing the small cottage behind the main house.

     “This was my wife’s art studio. I keep it the same as when she left it, but I think it’s time someone else lives here. If you want I’ll let you have it in exchange for some housework. What do you think?”

     River turned the door knob and stepped into a room of safety. Sketches and paintings covered the cream-colored walls. Most were figure drawings of people—young and old, clothed and nude—each had an expression of pure unadulterated love.  The children’s eyes sparkled, the old men winked, the women were beautifully draped with satin fabrics.

     “Oh no, this is your wife’s studio? I can’t live here.” River whispered.

     “Well it’s time for me to move on. We can pack this stuff up and you can re-decorate.”

     “Can I ask what happened to her? I’d need to know before I think about this.”

     Manny slid into the over-stuffed chair by the window. A splash of sunlight through a crystal prism bounced a rainbow off his cheek. Manny slumped and stared as if in a trance. “I killed her.”

     River took a step back and looked towards the door. What was she thinking coming here? Nausea hit, her pulse raced and panic sent her running. She got halfway to the front yard, when she realized she had no car—she was stuck. She froze. Manny came up behind her, touched her left shoulder and she let out the breath she held.

     “I’m sorry, Manny said. “I didn’t actually kill her—she committed suicide. Please come inside the house. I’ll make some coffee and I’ll tell you more.”

  *    *    *

     River did move into the studio. Manny over time revealed the pain he had caused the one closest to him. He had adored his wife, but his words didn’t match his feelings. He described the anger as a reflex, something contained in his brain cells. He didn’t know why he said the things he did—he didn’t mean them—they flew on their own.

    River knew Manny well. He was her father and her lovers. He was Ari, who she had abandoned for the desert, freedom, and healing.   She hadn’t changed anything in the studio—instead she settled into the peace that lived there. There was one photo of Manny’s wife—a framed clipping from an art magazine. She had blue eyes and shoulder-length white hair—carefully styled. The magazine said she was an up-coming local artist, specializing in the human form. River liked that line, “Specializing in the human form.”  In some way she felt if she could merge with the woman in the picture, she could heal them all, even the one who took her own life.

     A barn and animal enclosures filled the property behind the cottage. River got to know the Nubian goats and Road Island Red Hens by name. She bonded with a young doe, Gretel, and they took daily hikes together. Sure-footed Gretel mastered the steep hillsides with ease and often ran ahead as River brought up the rear.

     “Gretel, wait up,” River gasped—breathless from an especially strenuous climb.  She pulled herself over a rocky ledge and stared into a pair of steely-grey eyes. The four foot tall creature, stood erect and stunk like rotten meat—blood dripped from its month.  The pair stared at each other for a few seconds until the shaggy, brown-haired creature squealed and ran off into the nearby ravine.  A soft bleating sounded from behind a nearby boulder.  River sprinted towards the cries.

     “Oh my God, Gretel! What happened to you?” River gathered the goat into her arms. There were two puncture holes in Gretel’s neck and River pulled a towel from her daypack. She wrapped her companion’s neck, and hoisted the limp body over her shoulders.  Luckily they hadn’t climbed more than a quarter mile and River descended the trail with the unconscious goat in less than an hour—slipping and often sliding short distances.  When they reached the house, Manny, belted back his second morning Bloody Mary and stumbled towards the pair. River dropped to her knees and allowed her burden to roll into her boss’s arms.

     “Be careful with her—she’s hurt pretty bad,” River instructed and unable to ignore Manny’s breath asked, “Have you been drinking, already?”   

     “No more than usual,” he said, shrugging off the comment. “C’mon let’s get her to the barn. I have something to stop the bleeding.”

      Manny, used to tending livestock injuries, stopped the bleeding, cleaned and wrapped the wound and re-hydrated Gretel with an IV-drip. The effort had physically and mentally sobered him. Exhausted he lowered himself next to a shaken River seated on a bale of hay. He took her hand as she pulled away.

     “Wait, sit down . . . I won’t hurt you,” he said to the trembling woman.

     “How do I know that? How do I know who will and will not hurt me? You’re like every man I’ve known, sweetly cruel, stupidly drunk and unreliable.”

      “I haven’t always been this way,” Manny mumbled. “It’s this place and this job. I spend my days designing beings and systems meant to destroy. From Gretel’s wounds, it appears she ran into one of my experiments.”

     “You mean that you created that thing I saw, in the lab?”

     “We call them Chupacabras— goat-suckers—Gretel’s lucky she’s alive.  They adapt well to both desert and jungle environments; are merciless killers, and as you know, it’s been our military project for the last year to come up with a new weapon. Several escaped from the lab awhile back and the government put a hold on the project until we do damage control—I laid off the lab technicians working on the project. You’re the first new hire since last year. I thought I had trapped them all—but obviously not.”

     River backed to the far wall and slid to the floor. Through the open barn door she gazed at the flocks and herds of animals that wandered Manny’s property. “So the livestock are lab animals?”

      “Well they started out that way, but my wife, Tara, adopted them as pets,” Manny started then stopped. He resumed as if he had a list memorized. “A vegan, like you, she fought for their lives and with me. The work hardened me—I built up a defensive wall—no one got in—not even Tara. I drank more. We drifted apart. I had my work and she had hers. I grew hard, angry and cruel. She grew distant, afraid and anxious. I finally had the cottage built, so she could be alone. It worked for a while until I grabbed her prize rooster for lab animal feed. When I came home for lunch that day, she was dead—took an overdose of valium—the pain was too much.”

     River stared at the man. Once again she wanted to run as far away from him and this place as she could. All she could think about was that no matter what she did, or went, she ended up with her back against the wall. What was the attraction? How do these people find her?—or does she find them?

  *    *    *    *

     Gretel recovered—the old man and young woman didn’t. River had walked away that day determined to break free from everybody—at least until she knew how to mend. She and Manny worked in the lab, but talked very little. On the ranch they avoided each other—never saying more than, “good morning,” or “nice day.” River analyzed data which lived on spreadsheets. She didn’t care what the numbers felt—just that they added up—made sense—didn’t fall out of place. All was good, until one afternoon she glanced up from her computer screen and Ari towered over her.

     River gasped, “What are YOU doing here?”

     “Sweetheart, I’m here to take you home—with me—now c’mon,” he said as he pulled the rolling desk chair around.

     “I meant what I said in that note I left,” she hissed. “How did you find me, anyway?”

     Before Ari could reply, Manny came in from the back room. “What’s going on here?”

     “Who the hell are you?” Ari grumbled.

     “I’m her boss. How did you get past security?”

      Manny hit a red button and an alarm sounded. Ari started for the door just as the patrol car pulled up and an armed guard emerged with his weapon drawn. River panicked, put herself between the two and addressed the guard by name. “Carl, it’s okay, I know this man.”

     “Well he hopped the fence on my shift and I’m not getting in trouble for it,” Carl said as he grabbed Ari’s arm, pushed him over the car hood and rummaged through his pockets. “This is government property . . . you’re going to jail.”

     Manny came up behind River, “Who is that guy?” he asked.

     “Ari, who I thought I’d never see again. I give-up—what’s wrong with me? I’m not that special—why won’t they leave me alone? Am I some sort of bully magnet?”

     Manny touched River’s shoulder, but she pulled away. “Don’t you touch me . . . I don’t want anybody touching me!” River threw open the office door, grabbed her purse, stomped past Manny, lowered herself into her car and sped away. Within minutes she was inches from the rear bumper of the security guard’s car and she leaned heavy on the horn.

     “Pull over . . . goddamn it . . . I want to talk to you!” she yelled into the dashboard, until the car in front pulled over.

     Ari got out of the car. The guard came next. River ran straight towards them, “You son-of-a-bitch! How dare you show up here?”

     River picked up a fistful of gravel and flung it at Ari, who ducked it. “Hold on sweetheart, you’re upset . . . slow down.”

     River reached down for another handful of gravel, and the security guard grabbed her arm.

     “Okay, just hold on, now. This obviously isn’t any of my business, but you’re gonna hurt someone and I can’t have this sort of thing happen on my shift. Look, buddy, get back in the car and I’ll drop you off at the gate. And missy, I’d suggest you go back to work, unless you want me to call the sheriff.

     River dropped the gravel—stared for a second as the two men drove off—she couldn’t breathe. She squatted for a second and forced air into her lungs, then blew it out.  She repeated the exercise until the anxiety subsided and slid back into her car.         

     When she re-emerged at the cottage, she locked the door behind her, slumped to the floor and sobbed huge air-gasping cries, unaware of the Chupacabra that stared from across the room—that is until the odor reached her nose. River froze—the thing approached and sniffed at her toes. Dried blood covered its chin and chest and River spied a rabbit carcass by the kitchen door. The lizard-rat crouched. River squirmed along the floor towards the door. It pounced forward and leapt, both feet airborne, then crashed on top of her. Blood spurted from the gunshot wound that had blown most of the skull away. Manny shimmied through the broken window.

     “River!” he screamed.

     River pushed at the dead animal and rolled it away. Blood spattered the walls and ceiling, yet she felt safe—the fear gone—the panic ended.

     Manny knelt and gently took her hand in his. “Are you okay? I’ve been tracking that beast since the attack on Gretel. I never thought it would end up here.”    

     “Something is done—finished. Can you feel it?” she asked.

     Manny shuttered. He grabbed for the bookcase as leverage. Tara’s photo tipped off the top shelf and fell in his lap.  Her twinkling blue eyes looked up at him—deep as a mountain glacier—her smile—how he had loved that smile.

     “Yes, I feel it. I’ve been forgiven.”

[the-static-and-i]

Aftermath (wip)

//This is gonna be a long one (because im like halfway through writing it i think? If even that?), and i was gonna hold off and keep it as a total surprise, but my brain literally wont shut off unless i share every last fucking writing apparently, so take this as it is, and ill post the completed and edited one later today probably, with a real summary :P

TWs: character death, grieving, mourning, suicidal thoughts, mentions of Lucky and Cam (disappearing), survivor’s guilt, general guilt. So much guilt. 

Renee couldn't handle sleeping in the same room Sam had been in not 4 days ago. She had spent a lot of time with Eli and Sofia and Kat, trying to ignore the emptiness in her head. Sam was the more dominant of the two of them, and now with her gone, Ren didnt know what to do with herself; for being the more confident of the two, she didnt have the will to do much of anything. 

By the fourth day though, she figured she couldnt sit and cry on Sofia's couch, finally dragging her ass back to her own cabin. She slowly looked around, remembering every blanket fort and hug that Sam had made and shared, every movie they had watched, and every bowl of popcorn she had eaten. The room felt.. empty now. Grey and dull and lifeless. Or maybe it was Ren feeling that way..? She couldn't tell the difference anymore. 

She slowly idled around the room, eventually ending up in her room. She picked up Sam's teddy bear, her favorite that had gotten her through so many bad days. Ren hugged it tight, feeling almost as if she was hugging Sam. She found herself crying again, her knees giving out as a sob broke through her pursed lips. She clutched the bear -- Peter? -- to her chest, biting his ear to muffle herself.

--

She didnt know when exactly she had fallen asleep, but Ren found herself opening her eyes groggily, pushing herself up from the floor. As she stood, she saw the bag Sam had brought with them originally sitting next to the wardrobe, almost completely empty, save a sketchbook and a small fox plushie with a ribbon and a handmade tag that read "Auburn". Reading Sam's handwriting caused her to tear up further, so she set aside the small fox and grabbed the sketchbook.

She flipped through, seeing so many sketches, through various states of completion, the last two causing her breath to catch. On the left of the page was a half finished sketch of Sam holding her hand up to a mirror, her reflection clearly being Renee, smiling back so happily. She lifted a hand to her mouth, trying to hold back a dry sob, lowering her fingertips to the page after a moment. The right page was a half finished Renee in a dress, holding a blue rose, with a roughly-sketched Genesis in a beautiful black dress, almost holding Ren's hand. Across the top in Sam's best cursive was the phrase "For Good."

Ren found herself tearing up once again, the song immediately playing in her head. She couldnt remember all of the words, but the parts she could hear were distinctly in Sam's voice, "So now its up to you, for both of us.. i know im who i am today, because i knew you.. i do believe i have been changed for the better, and because i knew you, i have been changed for good..." Ren sobbed as the words repeated and replayed, what she thought Gen sounding like filling in some of the other half, "just to clear the air, i ask forgiveness, for the things ive done you blame me for.. whatever way our stories end, i know you have rewritten mine, by being my friend..."

She couldn’t hold back the tears, quickly setting the book aside so she didnt fuck with the pages further, bringing her hands up to her face so she didnt have to see anything but the darkness. 

--

Finally, Ren had packed up her bag fully. She didnt know where she was going, but she knew she couldnt stay in the cabin anymore; there were so many memories everywhere here, and she couldnt stop replaying all of them. She left Auburn and Peter on the bed, with a short note saying that Eli and Jackie could have them respectively, before leaving out the front door. She considered just walking off the property until she collapsed somewhere, but decided that was a horrible train of thought that she didnt wanna follow, so instead she headed towards the road, caught between borrowing someone else's car and calling a ride. 

She glanced up at the main house, briefly remembering the conversation about getting an apartment that Sam--.. that she was supposed to have with Ceph. She debated that too; it wasnt that she didnt want help, it was more that she didnt know if she could face an entire house of memories and people that might try to comfort or stop her, and she hadnt actually mentioned leaving to anyone. The fact that she left without Kat noticing was a miracle, and she couldnt handle explaining herself to anybody -- not when she was still explaining to herself.

"Renren..?" A quiet voice called behind her, causing Ren to tense up. She wanted to pretend she didnt hear him, wished she had made up her mind, wished she could disappear without hurting anybody, but.. She turned around to face Eli, not actually meeting his eyes. She doesnt speak, she hadnt since--.. 

Eli stepped closer, his hand coming into Ren's view. He reaches for her hand, her shoulder, before pulling away entirely. She wanted to hug him, but couldnt bring herself to move. She should explain, but she still didnt know why she was even gonna leave, and now he was going to blame himself no matter which she picks, and- 

"Ren? Eli?" Another voice comes from the direction of the house, louder and more concerned than Eli's had been. Ren notices Eli turn to Jinx, sees Jinx's feet enter her field of view, can practically feel his worry rolling off of him. He had so much worry for someone so young.. "You two okay-?" Jinx sounded almost like he wanted to say more, but decided against it. 

Ren nodded to his question, glancing down at the bag that was still clutched in her too-tight grip. This was a mistake. She shouldnt-- she couldnt leave all of this behind. This was.. well, she was happy here. Everyone she cared about was here, well.. almost everyone.. 

She lifts a shaky hand to run through her hair, habitually sticking her thumbnail in her mouth and gnawing at it afterwards. 

"'m fine, but Renren..." Eli trailed off, and Ren felt a pang hit her chest; the first emotion to break her numbness, and it was guilt, how fitting.. These two shouldnt have to walk on eggshells, its not like she was a ticking time bomb.. 

But as she looked down at her white knuckles, as she chewed her nail down to the pink, as she remembered the voice telling her to join Sam and Cam and Lucky, she wasnt so sure of that anymore.

"Renren, stop," Eli pulled her hand from her mouth, and only then did she notice she had bitten down hard enough to draw blood. Her eyes followed Eli's hand back up to his face, tracing over every worried and distressed and upset mark, and she wished for nothing more than to hold him until they all faded.

Logically, she knew it wouldnt work like that, but she couldnt help but drop her bag and pull him into a hug anyway. It was the first one she had initiated and the first she had reciprocated, and that realization made her heart pang again. Eli was suffering and mourning just as much, and now it was like he lost both sisters.. She squeezed him a little, resting a hand on the back of his head. 

Eli hugged her back quickly, his arms around her waist. She could feel the fabric of her shirt becoming damp near his face, but she didnt mind. It was just a shirt, and he was so much more important. She gently brushed through his hair with one hand, the other releasing him and holding a welcoming hand out to Jinx.

He stepped closer, his body tense, but he joined the hug anyway, one hand resting on Eli's shoulder and the other on Ren's back. She rested her hand on his back, just below his shoulder so he could easily duck out when he got uncomfortable. 

Her legs were shaking by the time they all finally parted, Eli softly sniffling and Jinx looking a little awkward. Ren rubbed her arm, her hand feeling oddly empty without the bag, her arms feeling oddly empty without them, but her heart feeling a little more full. She pointed up to the house, waiting for both boys to acknowledge the gesture before she picked up her bag and stepped forward, wanting one of them to lead the way. In truth, she didnt want to be alone, and didnt know how to confidently lead anymore, even if it was just inside a big fucking house. She didnt know how to hold herself anymore, and her legs felt like weak cement, both too unstable but too heavy to move. 

Eli grabbed Ren's hand, wrapping it round his shoulders, Jinx coming around to take her bag, and the three slowly made their way inside. They were so patient and understanding, and they were so strong.. they shouldnt have to be strong, and another guilty pang flashed through Ren's chest.

~~

// Fin for now <3 Is gonna get worse before it gets better i think, so im sorry in advance? I promise im gonna write fluff soon, i need it so badly and these two assholes arent gonna stop me from giving them fluff, no matter how hard they’re apparently trying?? 

//Also, in case you couldnt tell, this is Post Cloak AU! Hopefully it stays an au! :)