#but that requires sitting on the floor to maintain the shape I want

[tj-crochets]

Hey y'all! All crafting updates are postponed a day, I had both another technically-not-low-blood-sugar thing* and another asthma attack today, so I am very tired. I'm okay, just not up for crafting *not technically hypoglycemic but smack dab in the middle of fasting blood sugar when I am not fasting? idk what to call that

[justforbooks]

First Class, Low Class, No Class: The Passenger Hall of Shame.

I’M OLD ENOUGH to remember when people dressed up to fly. I remember my dad putting on a tie before we left for the airport. And that was as recently as the early 1980s.

One of the reasons, though, that people once took flying so seriously, is that so few of them had the means to partake in it. Not all that long ago, only a fraction of the population could afford to fly on a regular basis. Flying today is far cheaper than it used to be. As a result, almost everybody does it.

And as the demographics have changed, so have the levels of behavior. This we’d expect. With nearly four million people flying every day of the week, across every strata of culture and class the world over, standards of decorum are going to fall. That’s fine, and I don’t want to sound snobbish about it. Maintaining simple dignity doesn’t require anything too formal. I have no problem, for example, with people wearing shorts and sandals onto a plane.

But there comes a point, and what I do have a problem with, is the idea that otherwise reasonable protocols of civility, manners and courtesy cease to apply when you’re at an airport or on an airplane.

I’ve never been privy to a full-blown “air rage” incident, but I’ve witnessed countless instances of shameful behavior: passengers cursing at airline staff; stealing from the liquor carts; leaving soiled diapers in seat pockets; etc., etc. Why, for example, do so many airline passengers find it acceptable to throw their garbage and food all over the cabin floor, then mash it into the carpeting with their feet? You don’t do this in a restaurant. Why is it okay on an airplane? It tends to be small-scale stuff — rudeness and a lack of elementary courtesy — rather than anything violent or overtly hostile, but that doesn’t excuse it.

Here is just some of what I’ve witnessed over the past several months…

I am at the airport in Dubai one early morning, waiting to catch an Emirates flight to Boston. I’m sitting in the boarding lounge when I hear a strange noise coming from behind me. Snip, snip snip, click, click, click. What is that?

I turn around, and what do I see? The guy directly behind me — a young guy in his twenties — is sitting cross-legged in his chair. Both of this feet are naked, and he is clipping his toenails. With every snip and click he splits away another crescent of toenail, which he drops into a growing pile next to his left knee.

Would you take off your socks and start clipping your toenails in a movie theater? In the waiting room at your dentist? Most people would feel uneasy doing it in the woods, never mind at an airport boarding lounge in front of three-hundred people. And while I don’t want to watch, I feel that I have to. Because I need to know what he’s going to do with that big, disgusting pile of trimmings once our flight begins to board. Is he going to collect them up and carry them to the trash? Or will he brush them onto the floor?

What do you think he does?

On another occasion I am at Kennedy Airport, in terminal four, down near the Virgin America gates. A woman and her young daughter are sitting on a bench-seat right along the edge of the corridor. The daughter is four, maybe five years old, and she’s holding a tall plastic cup brimming with round, colored candies. They’re marble-shaped candies, possibly peanut M&Ms. All at once, with no warning, the girl takes the cup and flings the entire thing onto the floor. It’s an impressive spectacle, I have to say, as hundreds of tiny orbs go clattering across the carpet, coming to rest in a great fan-shaped display of color. People turn and stare. And what does the woman do?

She stands up, takes the girl by the hand, and the two of them walk silently away, leaving the entire mess — even the plastic cup — sitting there for some unfortunate janitorial worker to sweep up.

Meanwhile, people are kicked off planes all the time for acting, and even dressing, obnoxiously. In Boston recently, jetBlue denied boarding to a young woman because they felt her shorts were too revealing. Apparently, though, a t-shirt emblazoned with the words FUCK LOVE in giant block letters is within the boundaries of decency?

I’m not a prude. Nonetheless I’m dying to understand when and how this sort of thing become acceptable. And I’m imagining this same attire in a different context. In the bleachers at a baseball game, for instance. Would that be okay? Would the guy be asked to leave? Wouldn’t he be harassed by parents who’d brought their kids along? There are plenty of little kids at airports, so why is it different here? And which is more troubling, the fact that he’s being accommodated, or the fact that somebody rude enough to put on a shirt like that exists in the first place?

I’m reminded of a shirt that was all the rage a few years ago in Asia. It was a sleeveless tee bearing the grainy image of the model Hedi Klum. She was topless, biting her lip and sticking her middle finger at the viewer. After six days in Thailand I must have seen five hundred tourists — all of them women, whatever that means — wearing these distasteful and hostile things.

Next we have Ms. Stinkytoes, luxuriating in her Emirates first class suite. She shows us that boorishness these days isn’t merely for the louts in steerage. Are these the same people who buy elephant ivory and rhinoceros horns? And the privacy of her suite is no excuse (couldn’t she at least have closed the doors?). Maybe I’m overreacting to this one, but how is this any more appropriate that resting one’s bare and splayed toes on a restaurant table? This is still, for all intents and purposes, a public place, and somebody else is going to be occupying that cubicle a few hours from now. And for crying out loud, they give you socks and slippers!

What is it? Is it the stress? Is it the contempt people harbor for the airlines? Whatever the causes, flying has a way of bringing out the worst in people.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s Wind and Waves Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 风浪之约, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

[ This date was released on 3 June 2021 ]

An early summer breeze causes the papers on the desk to flutter. After doing a stretch, I pick up my phone, realising that it’s already late at night, past 11pm.

Tapping open my messages out of habit, I see that the newest message is a reply from Gavin in the afternoon -

Gavin: Let me know when you’re done with work.

Staring at the chat, I release a long sigh.

Recent overtime work has left me slightly overwhelmed. Because of this, I had no choice but to reject several dates with Gavin.

Thinking about this, I type a response hastily.

MC: I’m getting ready to knock off. Did you have a busy day?

After pressing the “send” button, I stuff my phone into my pocket quickly, turn off the laptop, and carry my bag.

Before I leave, I turn off the single remaining light in the company.

My phone remains silent even after I step into the elevator. Looks like Gavin’s already asleep.

Half-leaning against the wall of the elevator, I massage my slightly sore shoulders.

Fortunately, the remaining work has entered the final phase smoothly. Once this is over, I’ll make up for all the missed dates.

With a “ding”, the elevator doors open slowly. When I lift my head, I see a familiar figure. He’s also the person I’ve been wanting to see most during this period of time...

MC: Gavin?!

I walk towards him in disbelief. He reaches out, pulling me into his arms.

A familiar scent encases me tightly. I subconsciously relax, leaning on him wilfully.

MC: Gavin, why did you come?

Gavin: I missed you.

These words float into my ears slowly, then descend heavily into my heart.

Faced with Gavin’s absolutely unconcealed longing, I laugh contentedly, hugging him tightly and forcefully.

Gavin: Do you still have to work overtime after this?

I lift my head from his chest region, shaking my head with a smile.

MC: There are still a few things to settle, but they aren't as urgent. If things go smoothly, I’ll be able to fulfil the dates I owe you either tomorrow or the day after. Let me properly “make up” for them.

Once I finish speaking, Gavin’s brows arch gently.

Gavin: How do you plan to make up for it?

MC: Ooh... I’ve been flaking on you several times. So when the time comes, I’ll satisfy you no matter what you want!

Suddenly, a soft chuckle is at my ear. 

Before I can react, Gavin has already interlaced our fingers tightly, bending his knees slightly as he lifts up the travelling bag on the ground.

Gavin: Let’s go then.

When I see the travelling bag that I didn't notice earlier, I’m both shocked and confused.

MC: Hang on. Where are we going?

He turns his head over, lifting his sculpted chin.

Gavin: Didn’t you say you’d satisfy me no matter what I want to do? In that case, the rest of the time will belong to me. 

MC: But I was referring to after the program is done...

Gavin: I don’t want to wait a moment more.

Gavin doesn’t wait for me to finish, tightening his grip on my hand and pulling me over. My body tilts along with the inertia, drawing me closer to him.

My silhouette fills that pair of amber eyes, turning all the more clear and bright.

In this moment, I forget about the fatigue from work, and my entire heart is filled only with the person before me.

-

Originally thinking Gavin was simply taking me on a stroll, I didn’t expect that we’d be sitting in a train which is about to set off.

Scanning my surroundings, it seems that it’s currently the off-season for travelling. Gavin and I are the only two in the soft sleeper compartment.

Seeing the luggage Gavin brought, something occurs to me. I stare at him, stumped for words.

Gavin: What’s wrong?

He seems to sense my gaze, turning his head and meeting my line of sight.

MC: Gavin, you planned this way beforehand! The train tickets and luggage were prepared really comprehensively!

Gavin: Traveling requires adequate preparation, doesn’t it?

Gavin seems to deliberately avoid my unspoken implication.

MC: But this surprise attack of yours makes me feel completely unprepared...

Gavin: Isn’t such a “surprise attack” good? You've done it a few times before. Now, it’s my turn.

Wind whistles outside the window, pulling the hidden thoughts in his words to my mind.

I subconsciously recall how I deceived Gavin into coming to the airport and heading to Los Angeles on his birthday.

MC: O-of course it’s good. I like it very much. But that’s not how you were supposed to use the spare key to my house...!

I lower my eyes, grumbling softly.

Gavin: How was I supposed to use it then?

His expression of “earnestly seeking knowledge” seems to be teasing at something gently, and the temperature of my cheeks rises instantly.

I pick up the travelling bag and place it on my lap, face flushed as I change the subject.

MC: ...let me take a look at what you prepared.

I unzip the bag and gently rummage through the objects inside, unable to bear messing up the luggage he had worked hard to pack.

After looking through it for a while, I realise that Gavin was especially conscientious in his preparation.

The clothes I often wear have been stacked into a pile, and the snacks I enjoy eating have been placed in a separate corner.

I can’t help but imagine Gavin shuttling back and forth alone at home -

Him being at a loss as he stands in front of the packed closet. Him being confused as he faces dozens of makeup bottles and skincare products.

His shuttling figure seems to morph into a sense of security filling my heart continuously. The corners of my mouth lift upwards uninhibitedly.

When I touch a hard, square-shaped object, I take it out in curiosity.

My notebook laptop is currently lying in my hand. I lift my head stiffly, blinking at Gavin slowly.

Even before I can speak, he explains.

Gavin: With it, you can handle unexpected situations that crop up at work.

I nod silently, flipping open the notebook laptop subconsciously.

MC: That’s fine. I’ll settle some work then. Do you want to rest for a while?

Right after saying this, Gavin takes the laptop away, placing it into the travelling bag.

Gavin: You’ve been working non-stop. It’s time to take a break.

MC: Don’t worry, I won’t take long~

While saying this, I reach for the laptop. In the end, he shields the travelling bag behind him.

Gavin: I didn’t bring the laptop just to let it replace me. It can only be used when faced with unexpected situations.

Gavin’s dead serious expression gives me the impulse to tease him.

MC: If you don’t give it to me, I’ll have to snatch it!

Just as I stand up, the train suddenly jolts, and the floor beneath my feet rocks sharply.

I instinctively lift my arms to maintain my balance. Unexpectedly, Gavin grabs my hands, and my body leans backwards from the inertia -

By the time I regain my senses, I lift my head from atop his chest, blinking in a dazed manner.

He stares at me, a teasing smile on his lips.

Gavin: How do you plan to snatch it?

MC: I... I’ll snatch it by force, of course.

Right after saying this, he imprisons me tightly with both arms, as though wanting to put an end to my idea of snatching it by force.

Gavin: What about now? How are you going to snatch it?

Not knowing what to do, I can only blush while struggling in a perfunctory manner.

MC: I...

Gavin: If you don’t plan to give up, I won’t let go.

MC: Fine, I promise. Unless it’s really necessary, I won’t work!

A soft laugh burrows into my ear. He releases his grip slightly, but keeps me in his arms gently.

In the next second, the train finally leaves the tunnel, and starlight from outside the window enters my vision.

MC: Gavin, there are so many stars outside!

Following my words, he looks out of the window.

The starlight and night scene outside the window seem to soften Gavin’s sculpted features. He suddenly chuckles.

Gavin: I actually wanted to take you to see the stars in the planetarium a while back. In the end... you had to work overtime. The weather was great last week, and it was very suitable for taking a stroll in the park. But there was an accident at the filming site, and you were called away at short notice. 

Softly, Gavin talks about the countless dates we missed because of work over the past half month.

MC: Gavin...

Feeling a little guilty, I have no idea what to say.

Gavin turns his head to look at me directly, his eyes brimming with a smile.

Gavin: And then, I suddenly understood. If I were to keep waiting without an end, I wouldn’t know how long I’d have to wait. So I should simply take you away at an appropriate time. Just like the many times before.

-

After disembarking from the train, we sit in the rental car Gavin arranged for in advance, and we begin our long car ride.

When the car makes a turn, what enters my vision is a large patch of blue.

The faraway waves roll onto the fair and clear beach in layers, reflecting sunlight and emitting dazzling rays of light.

Pleasantly surprised, I turn my head, meeting Gavin’s eyes.

MC: Why did you think of bringing me to the seaside?

Gavin: You’ve been staying in the office during this period of time. So I’m taking you to a more open place.

Gavin: But there are many places I want to take you to. This is only one of them.

His voice is akin to a wave, rushing into my heart and creating ripples of tingly sweetness.

-

Very soon, the car halts at the seaside. Gavin leaves some instructions with the driver, and the latter sends our luggage to the hotel first.

Gavin and I walk along the beach leisurely. When a sailboat leaning against the harbour appears before us, he finally stops. 

Gavin: We’re here.

MC: Are we going out to sea?

Gavin: Mm. I’m taking you on a “stroll” on the sea.

It seems he has already rented the boat in advance. After exchanging a few words with the person managing the sailboat, he supports me onto it.

The sailboat isn’t large in size, and I’m able to see it completely with a sweeping glance. The areas we can sit in are the two sides of the boat and a narrow deck.

The sailboat sways along with the waves, and I hold onto the railing as I sit down carefully.

Gavin: Sit tight.

With light-hearted steps, he walks to the end of the boat and starts the motor, both hands holding the steering wheel as the boat gradually leaves the harbour.

After that, he grips the rope tightly to raise the main sail, sunlight pouring onto his frame, outlining his edges.

When the main sail is raised up high, he shuts off the motor, and the boat is propelled forward with the help of the wind.

Seeing this series of practised movements, I exclaim in admiration.

MC: Gavin, if you were to participate in a sailing competition, would this be considered "cheating”? After all, you need to know the direction of the wind at all times to sail properly.

Gavin ponders on my question seriously for a second before giving me an answer.

Gavin: Yes. But even if I don’t use the ability of wind, I’m still more sensitive to wind than ordinary people.

He says such “enviable” words with ease while continuing to work on the rope in his hands.

All of a sudden, a gust of strong wind comes from the right. The left side of the boat tilts downwards fiercely, almost sticking to the surface of the water.

MC: Will the boat overturn?!

I grab onto the railing firmly, looking at Gavin with slight worry.

Gavin: Of course not.

Gavin continues operating the steering wheel, a fearless expression on his face.

Gavin: Although I can make the wind stop, that would reduce the fun of sailing in the first place. Trust me. I won’t let you fall off.

A proud smile appears on Gavin’s face. The corners of his shirt are blown up wildly by the wind as he stands steadily on the boat.

After that, he stretches out his hand towards me. Immediately understanding his intention, I grip his hand without any hesitance. 

He pulls me behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. 

Gavin: Don’t let go. Hold tight.

Just as another fierce gale arrives, he tugs on the rope, causing the sail to change directions deftly.

Very quickly, our sailboat is akin to a drifting racing car, continuously changing directions in his hand, and accelerating in movement. 

We allow ourselves to get swept along with the wind and waves, continuing to move headwind.

Without realising it, my initially anxious emotions have turned more and more excited.

MC: Gavin, let’s go!

He doesn’t speak, but the boat beneath his feet speeds up, as though using his actions to respond to me.

Gradually, the whistling at my ears disappears, and the waves grow peaceful.

Small ocean sprays lap the boat gently, as though telling us that our “surfing” experience has come to a temporary end.

I hurriedly pull on Gavin as we sit on the deck, and I massage his palms gently.

MC: Tired?

Gavin: Nope. What about you?

MC: I’m doing okay, just that my legs are a little wobbly from being nervous.

While saying this, I lean on Gavin’s shoulder, relaxing completely.

All of a sudden, a force pushes me gently on the shoulder. My body slides down slowly, and I find myself lying on Gavin’s lap.

Startled, I look at Gavin above me. With a pad of his finger, he pushes away strands of hair from my face.

Gavin: Lie down and rest for a while. I’ll make the wind a little quieter.

-

When I open my eyes again, what I can see is the azure sky and Gavin, who is resting with his eyes closed.

I can’t bear to disrupt such a beautiful image, so I simply purse my lips into a smile in secret.

Suddenly, Gavin’s eyelashes quiver, and he opens his eyes to look at me.

Gavin: What are you smiling at?

I realise that he might have noticed my peeping since early on, but simply allowed me to observe without making a sound.

With this thought in mind, the temperature of my cheeks involuntarily grow hot.

MC: I... I was smiling because the sun is really warm, and my fatigue seems to be swept away completely!

The deck reflects a dazzling light from the sun. Struck with an idea, I shift away from Gavin’s lap, then pat the deck.

MC: You must be really tired from sitting for such a long time. Let’s lie down and bask in the sun together!

I tug on Gavin gently, getting him to lie down beside me.

Perhaps due to the narrowness of the deck, we’re pressed together tightly.

Gavin: Is it a little cramped?

I shake my head quickly, afraid that he’d sit up to make space.

MC: It isn’t cramped at all. It’s just nice!

Gavin might have guessed my intentions. He stirs slightly, lying down sideways and facing me.

Gavin: Lying down like this will be a little better.

I heave a secret sigh of relief. Mimicking Gavin’s actions, I face him while lying down too.

MC: Even though it’s no longer cramped like this, we can’t see the sky in this position.

Gavin chuckles, embracing me gently.

Gavin: I just want to look at you. Other things aren’t as important.

All of a sudden, a shadow hangs above our heads, and sunlight gradually vanishes.

Puzzled, I turn my head towards the sky, only to realise that a thick cloud has completely covered the sun.

MC: The wonderful big sun has been blocked.

Despite the complaints from my mouth, my smile doesn’t leave.

Being with Gavin like this makes nothing worth regretting no matter what it is.

Gavin: In that case, I’ll make it leave temporarily.

Gavin straightens up, and a gentle gust of wind brushes my face.

The sailboat sways, as though sensing this force in the air. The waves sweep up, lapping the sides of the boat gently.

Even that cloud in the sky seems to float forward slowly with Gavin’s wind.

Gradually, rays of fine sunlight pass through the remaining tail of the cloud.

Sunlight pours over Gavin, leaving a pale shadow, making his facial features even clearer.

He lifts his chin, letting the wind sweep his hair into a nice-looking mess.

When the cloud has completely let the sun go, Gavin shoots me a smile.

Gavin: We can continue basking in the sun now.

After saying this, he lays back down on the deck, pulling me into his arms.

He closes his eyes, and all that’s left is the soft sound of his breathing. I can’t help but lift my chin, sticking to his ear carefully.

MC: You’ve worked hard over the past two days to prepare so many things. Is there anything I can do for you?

He opens his amber eyes slowly, the corners of his lips turning upwards in indistinct arcs.

Gavin: You don’t have to do anything. Just lay with me for a while.

With this, he tightens his grip, caging me in his arms.

I don’t insist further, laying by Gavin’s side obediently.

Seeing Gavin before me, I suddenly feel that this moment is so beautiful that it doesn’t seem real.

Last night, I was working overtime in the office. Today, I’m lying atop a boundless stretch of ocean.

Most importantly, the person I’ve been missing most is within reach.

I hug him fondly, tightening my grip.

MC: Gavin, thank you for bringing me here. Even though I still have some relatively unimportant matters waiting for me to handle, I think I really needed a break. Working overtime without an end can make one’s mind turn increasingly stale. If you hadn’t pulled me out from the endless loop, I might have been working inefficiently for a very long time.

Gavin listens as I reveal my thoughts bit by bit. His expression seems to become even more relaxed.

Gavin: Got it. When such a situation happens again, I’ll drag you away like this.

A breeze lifts up my hair quietly, as though agreeing with Gavin.

Even though I can’t hide the smile on my lips, I deliberately pinch his palm.

MC: Even so, you have to tell me in advance next time!

A teasing glint flashes across Gavin’s eyes, and he closes them.

Gavin: We’ll talk about it again when the time comes. I don’t want you to sink into that condition again.

He speaks indolently, but a resolute tone is in his words.

MC: Got it. I’ll take note of my working hours, and will definitely not overexert myself!

Gavin doesn't respond, but the smile on his lips is a clear indication.

Suddenly, a strong wind charges over fiercely, causing the main sail to rustle.

MC: Gavin, the wind seems to be getting stronger again! Will anything happen if our boat remains still like this? 

Gavin closes his eyes without a care, holding me tightly.

Gavin: Nothing will happen. Let me hug you for a little longer. We’ll set off later.

His voice gradually dissipates along with the waves, leaving behind a breeze that leaves one reluctant to part with.

🚤 Call and Moments: here

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[oumaheroes]

NZ and Artie hcs pretty please! Something 🥺 thank youuuu

Sorry this took me so long to answer!

I should start with something 'overall' first. I've enjoyed seeing different fandom interpretations of New Zealand throughout the years- as a shy golden boy, to rambunctious fellow play fighter, to mud weary tomboy, to a poised daughter, or all at once. For me, potentially due to how Zea has been canonically drawn, New Zealand is non-binary. What they've got going on under there ain't my business and they certainly don't care. I’ve therefore given them the name ‘Alex’- for the feminine or masculine version, who’s to say.

They very much live by the feeling 'I am New Zealand', and whatever that entails. Nothing more, nothing less.

Childhood/ Teenagerhood:

England had really settled into the swing of things at this point. He was used to children, used to parenting in general- the ups and downs of it - and used to keeping his children at more of a distance emotionally than he had with Canada and America. So, by the time Zea came about there was a smoother transition into family life than there had been for poor old OZ. Australia, who had a few brief years of England as a more affectionate, happy, and relaxed parent, was abruptly cut from contact for a few years and then reintroduced to someone stricter and far more distant and which has left their relationship a bit strained at times.

Zea knew nothing else. From the get go, England set a standard of behaviour and maintained it. On the one hand this was good: Zea never struggled around England, either in being comfortable in his presence or with the 'new' rules that were in place, and also never suffered from any sort of consequence that came from having a parental figure suddenly do a 180 on you.

On the other hand, they did grow up slightly lacking in the affection department. They knew England loved them, but as soon as they became a little older there were less hugs, less kisses, less of playing silly games and more study, learning, and filling their days with their own company. They were used to this and it didn’t bother them at the time, but compared to their older brothers, or younger ones (seeing him with Sealand does spark some bitterness), they certainly missed out, and have inherited England’s current (in)ability to interact physically with loved ones- they’re not overly touchy-feely and express love through acts of service or gift giving.

Mainly though, Zea's childhood was good and quite stable. They were home schooled, but England also used to like sending them off for playdates with noble families with children to get them more acquainted to people their physical age, or would take Zea with him into town to work with their politicians or their tradesmen. Zea thus spent a lot of their time waiting, either sitting on the floor of England's study, or somewhere around him outside, watching and listening to him work and talk shop with people.

Nations are robust things, sturdy and, surrounded by their people, not really in too much danger. I think England was rather lax in this regard with his children (someone who had a childhood of wandering around villages, foraging for food, and being personally thrust into war from a young age will hardly find a town centre in the 1800s dangerous) and used to leave New Zealand with some local children for entertainment if he needed to go and do things that required a bit more time than a quick chat.

Because of this, a humdrum of business is something New Zealand finds to be a soothing white noise, something they can filter out or tune into easily, and they appreciate this unorthodox education. They’re also very happy with their own company and can entertain, and soothe, themselves independently.

Not to go on too much of a tangent (because I do do that, in these posts), I just want to quickly touch upon Zea and Oz’s relationship because I think that helped cover up for what they were lacking in terms of openness and easy affection from England- Zea because they never really had it, and Oz because he was missing it. Due to how close they are geographically, and potentially because England on some level felt guilty for his inability to fully let himself go and open up to them, New Zealand and Australia spent quite a lot of time with each other in either of their lands from England moving them about with him when he visited one or the other. Both were also sometimes taken back home with him to the UK and a lot of Zea’s exposure to a more ‘traditional’ Kirkland upbringing comes from their time with their bother- playfights, arguments, mischief, and an open easiness with each other’s raw and unfiltered company.

Back on topic and to summarise, New Zealand's childhood relationship with England was a good one. As I mentioned in my Canada headcanon post about a similar topic, England is very, very good with small children and Zea was no different. But as they got older this decreased rapidly, something that they considered perfectly acceptable at the time but now is something they sometimes look back on with a small amount of hurt and confusion.

Teenagerhood they were very used to being on their own and, funnily, when you think about what England was trying to do, very independent. Not independent like America, with his fights for recognition as an independent entity removed from England, but independent personally. A childhood of watching England work and playing often by themselves meant that Zea as a teenager was studious, quiet, and happy to be left alone or taken out for company (similar to Wales in personality, I reckon. Need their alone time and will take themselves away if this is not given).

Arguments with England were rare- Zea’s not one for butting heads but would much rather learn the ins and outs of everything and then put forth and argument for change. England may be a hothead and stubborn, but he’s not closed minded. It’s how you approach him that matters and Zea caught onto this early. Whereas Australia would shout or refuse to do that he was asked if he didn’t want to, or would put up some form of fight, New Zealand would instead do the task, do it well, and then request time with England to formally present him with all of the reasons their proposal was far better.

England being told he is wrong will likely not listen if he believes himself to be right (even if he has doubts, someone telling him that his way is bad will make him stubbornly cling to it just to prove them wrong and himself justified for doing it in the first place- clawing and scraping for even an inch of a victory). But England being told that someone has thought of a different way, and asking for his opinion on it, is far more likely to inspire change. He feels valued and goes into the discussion with an open mind that most often went in New Zealand’s favour.

Because of this, they do have a reputation of having England wound around their little finger from a young age. But really, they were just smart enough to figure England out and use it to their advantage. They were also smart enough not to overplay this hand, and so their teenagerhood was peaceful and calm.

Adulthood:

As adults, the two are on very good terms. England prefers adult children to teenaged ones, especially calm, well-mannered ones, and this relationship improved after Zea got their independence. Rather like a burst of relief from England’s end, I feel- he’d spent so long paranoid about his colonies leaving him that this clouded his enjoyment of them. With them finally independent, that worry is redundant and he can enjoy them for the people they are. And Arthur likes Alex, he really does. He finds them mature, funny, and intelligent. The two have similar hobbies and interests and England often spends time with them travelling about to beaches or passing book recommendations back and forth.

Being nations heavily shaped and surrounded by the sea, this is something that is a huge passion for the both of them and they often go sailing together on the ocean, either on smaller boats by the shore or for larger trips out to sea. Arthur willingly took all of his children out to sea, but Alex was the only one who really took to it and shares a similar hunger for it as he does. They’re probably the least openly affectionate pair of all of the Arthur- child relationships, but that doesn’t mean he loves Alex any less and, most of the time, Alex knows this and is content with the way things are. As mentioned in my Canada post though, England is trying to improve himself in this area in the modern day and he’s trying really hard with Zea, (though this is sometimes awkward for the both of them.)

[winterscaptain]

balm.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic that requires no context

a/n: let me know what you think!! this takes place in au!april 2014 and it brought a lot of joy into my heart. i hope it does the same for you!! let me know what you think :)

words: 1.3k warnings: language

summary: “It’s a humbling thing when you find someone to love. even better if you’ve been waiting your whole life.” - george clooney

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

You come home to Aaron sitting on the edge of the bed, his face pinched up in pain with his head in his hands. Kneeling at his side, you put one hand on his knee and the other on his shoulder. 

“What’s wrong?”

His breath catches once before he speaks, and you realize it's shallower than it should be. “Just in a lot of pain today.” 

You press a kiss to his bicep and reach over to his bedside drawer, pulling out his topical lidocaine. It makes your hands numb for hours, but as long as it helps him, you don’t care. 

Tossing it on the bed, you settle in front of him, searching for his eyes. “Hey. Shirt off and lay on your back for me. I’ll be just a second.” 

With a defeated sigh, he nods and you go into the bathroom, grabbing a towel, the big bowl you keep under the sink, and a washcloth. Running the tap, you wait for the water to heat up before filling the bowl and soaking the washcloth. 

When you return to him, he’s got an arm over his eyes and his jaw is tight. You set the bowl and washcloth on the floor. “Lift up a minute.” 

He rolls to the side and you slide the towel under him before he returns to stasis. You straddle his thighs, settling your weight on him both to reach what you need to while simultaneously soothing some of his anxiety.

His voice is small when he speaks. “You don’t have to do this.” 

You pick up the hand resting on the bed, kissing his knuckles. “I know.” Still holding his hand, you ask, “Which is the worst?”

He escapes your grasp and points to the one under his collarbone and then the long one down the left side of his ribs. 

“How long?”

He doesn't bother lying. “Since last night.”

You tut at him a little bit, but it’s in vain. “I’m gonna work on breaking up some of the subdermal scar tissue, okay? It’s gonna hurt like a bitch but -”

“Just do it.” 

With a sigh, you reach down and wring out the washcloth, satisfied by the heat coming off of it. You dampen his skin, warming it and relieving some of the tension in his abdomen. “Do you want the heating pad?”

He shakes his head. “After.”

You continue your work until he’s well and truly clean, dry, and pleasantly warm. Rolling up your sleeves and setting your engagement ring on the bedside table, you take a decent amount of his lidocaine balm into your hands, rubbing vigorously to warm it up. You set the capped tube into the warm water to maintain a comfortable temperature. 

He knows the drill by now, so he doesn’t jump when you press your hands flat to his upper chest, fingers massaging deep into his intercostal muscles. You feel him match his breath to yours as you take deep breaths, pushing into his skin with every exhale. 

You reach the gnarled, raised scar tissue under his collarbone and he lets out a little whimper from his throat. You ignore him, feeling the knots of scarring and muscle seizure underneath his skin. With the warmed balm, your hands glide over the surface of his skin, rolling over each obstacle with little friction. It’s a small comfort. 

You scoot up, straddling his hips. His hand falls to your thigh, but it’s more for stability than anything else. Your work on his chest is painful, and it’ll feel worse in the morning. 

All things considered, you prefer this to the dangers of more scar tissue developing over time and he prefers the ache to the ceaseless nerve pain that plagues his days, both bad and good. 

He’s doing remarkably well breathing through it. After about fifteen minutes, you’re thankful for the lidocaine, as you can’t feel the inevitable cramping creeping into your fingers and Aaron’s breath comes a little easier as your hands and forearm find far less resistance digging deep into his pectoral structure. 

“That one gave really easily - that’s good.” 

He hums, not entirely convinced, but raises his left arm in a painfully slow adjustment to get out of your way as you move on. You lean down and kiss his sternum, careful to avoid the balm soaking into his skin. He hums and brings a hand to the base of your skull, his fingers pressing affectionately into the tense muscles in your neck. 

You smile into his skin before leaning up again to return to your task. His fingers trace along your jawline before his arm lands over his head again. You tilt your head to the side, examining his ribs  “Where’s the nerve pain going?” 

He wiggles the fingers of his left hand and gestures across his chest. “Up and down, burning cold and some numbness in my hand.” 

With that in mind, you focus on buildup that compresses the brachial and ulnar nerves in his arm, in his shoulder and armpit. You’ve found the scar tissue likes to travel farther than you expect, which was part of the problem when they had to clear it. 

You dig your fingers in between his ribs, doing your best to ignore his grunts and hisses. “I know, I know.” You can’t let up, knowing that if you work at it long enough, he’ll be in much better shape come the morning. 

More and more balm lands on his upper arm and abdomen as you ferret out all the little knots and gnarls under his skin. 

Soon enough, your hands can run from the bottom of his ribs to his shoulder and down his bicep with little resistance. You rinse your hands in the bowl before returning to the bathroom, setting the lidocaine on a towel to dry off while you empty and replace everything. 

When you return, you find Aaron with his shirt back on and the heating pad on low over his chest. You curl up against his side and he kisses your head. “What would I do without you?”

You shrug, carefully scooting up so you can reach the underside of his jaw. He hums as your lips make contact, adjusting so he can return the favor. He kisses you lazily, your lips sliding over his. 

Whispering against him, you ask, “Do you think you can get some sleep?”

“Mhmm.” His tongue slips into your mouth and you smile as you follow his lead and deepen the kiss. He’s in no shape to get up to anything really fun, but the casual intimacy after your time away is always welcome. 

Reluctantly, you tear yourself away from him to slip your clothes off and turn off the light. Aaron will sleep on his back tonight to let his back reset and you’ll probably curl up at his side before rolling over and stealing the covers. 

He reaches for your hand as you return to his side, kissing the back of it. “Thank you.” 

You hum at him, pulling your linked hands to your lips. “Of course. If you feel better, I feel better.” 

There’s a little sigh that leaves him, and you make the active choice to leave him to his inner monologue. 

“Get some sleep. I set my alarm early so I can wrap you up before work tomorrow.” 

He humphs, but you gently elbow him to stop his complaint. With another little sigh, he says, “I love you.” It almost sounds reluctant. 

You kiss the part of his chest you can reach just by turning your head. “Love you too, dummy.” 

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygrangerwriting @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile  @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @arthurmorrgans @the-falling-in-the-danger @nattylite49 @crazyshannonigans @softbibxtch @iconicc @mangoberry43 @andreasworlsboring101 @kerrswriting @mac99martin @itsalwaysb33nyou @baumarvel @kerrswriting

[forasecondtherewedwon]

hey I loved what you wrote for sarahbucky! You are so talented. I was wondering if you are comfortable writing any NSFW content or smut related content for this pairing? If you are I would love you to write something, anything of the sort. If you're not comfortable that's absolutely fine!!

Chasing Water Pumps

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Sarah Wilson Rating: E Word Count: 5288

Summary: After banishing Sam, Sarah gets Bucky's help reinstalling the boat's water pump.

The water pump sits there on the dock through the morning. It sits there at midday. In the late afternoon, Bucky laughs when Sam almost falls over it as he walks backwards, waving his hands to guide a reversing pickup truck into position. A neighbour bringing spare lumber so they can replace a few rotting boards on the Wilsons’ boat.

Bucky can see—has been able to see all day—that Sam’s itching to just fix the damn pump back into position. Sam’s conscientious, neat, completing one job before moving on to the next, replacing pliers in the toolbox after rewiring the radio, coiling up the cord of a borrowed drill so no one can trip over it. Leaving a hulking piece of machinery just sitting there is killing him. All because Sarah won’t let him touch it.

For Bucky, watching this claim-staking over an old water pump is hilarious. It’s also something he takes absolutely seriously, backing away from the thing the minute Sarah ordered the two of them to quit tinkering and just leave it alone. He’s got no issue ceding to her authority. Oh, he’ll argue with Sam about other parts of the project, but he’s not gonna push back against Sarah. He’s only here for a couple days and she already won his loyalty by letting him bunk on her couch last night. They might be repairing a boat, but Bucky’s not making any waves.

When the sun starts going down and the helpers from the community start heading home to their suppers, almost as many of them shake Bucky’s hand as Sam’s. Bucky feels really good about that. He likes that they’ve become comfortable with him—many of them slapping his Vibranium shoulder as they take his right hand, like it’s just an arm. He likes the lingering warmth of the day and how it’s dried the back of his shirt where he sweat through it. He likes squinting into the sun to watch the vehicles pull away and seeing Sarah standing there, smiling at him. Cupping a hand above his eyes, he smiles back.

“Alright,” Sam says, taking a big step to bring him from boat to land. “Let’s get this water pump back in place.”

Immediately, Sarah comes forward.

“Uh uh, no. That’s not your job.”

“This whole thing is my job,” her brother protests.

Bucky stands on the sidelines, content to witness Sam lose this argument. Getting to study the way the sinking, burning glow of the sun catches on Sarah’s earrings is the equivalent of being handed an ice cream. The breeze that blows her open button-down against her to show him the intimate dip of her waist is the cherry on top of that ice cream. His gaze trails unhurriedly back up to her face and he sees that she’s been watching him admire her. Normally, staring is his default expression, but now his heart hammers with giddy yearning as he holds her eye. She smiles fleetingly before looking back to Sam. Oh right, Sam’s talking. Bucky had kinda tuned him out.

“It won’t take long.”

“No it won’t,” Sarah agrees. “Not if I do it. You’ve messed around with that pump enough for one day.”

“Sarah, come on. Be practical,” Sam pleads. “You can’t do it by yourself.”

“I won’t do it by myself. Bucky here can do the heavy lifting.”

Ok, he’s surprised about that, but when she glances to him, he nods readily. He refuses to meet Sam’s side-eye. He’s sure the message is ‘You traitor.’ Ignoring him, Bucky beams at Sarah.

“That’s what I’m here for,” he tells her.

“And what am I supposed to do?” Sam demands. “Watch?”

“Since you asked,” Sarah informs him, “you’re supposed to go pick your nephews up from AJ’s friend Marco’s house. If they haven’t eaten yet, feed them.”

“But—”

Sam motions indignantly towards Bucky, but Sarah waves away his complaint.

“You asked what I need from you and I told you. Let us get on with what we’ve gotta do here. We’re losing daylight.”

“You heard her, Samuel,” Bucky says, striding to the pump.

The wrench he and Sam passed back and forth while unbolting it is in the top tray of the toolbox when he flips it open. Tucking the wrench into his back pocket, Bucky turns and heaves the pump off the ground. Sarah’s watching. He throws her a smile with a little upward jerk of his chin. She rolls her lips together like she’s hiding her own smile but stands firm until Sam gives up and stalks off across the boatyard.

“You think it’d be cruel to yell after him not to wait up?” Sarah asks Bucky nonchalantly, hand on her hip as the two of them observe her brother’s retreat.

Bucky almost drops the pump before hugging it to himself too tightly, stopping when he hears the metal creak. But he tries to be cool.

“Only if you mean it,” he says.

She spares him a glance that doesn’t tell him either way and walks past, stepping onto the boat.

“You got it?” she asks.

“Yep,” Bucky assures her, adjusting his grip and jumping down onto the deck. Coulda stepped. Wanted to show off. Story of his life since he met Sarah Wilson maybe 36 hours ago.

He follows her into the cabin and she digs through a box of supplies, grabbing a flashlight.

“Might need this soon.”

Her explanation’s unnecessary (the sky’s darkening above them) and Bucky can see the nervousness in it, how she self-consciously plays with the hem of her t-shirt and twists her earring now that they’re together in a semi-enclosed space.

“Unless that arm of yours glows in the dark,” she adds.

“Unfortunately not,” he says with a smile as they duck below deck. His feet clomp sturdily down the steps, but Sarah still looks up at him from the bottom like he might teeter. “You shoulda been there while they were deciding on the specs.”

Sarah laughs, navigating the protruding inner workings of the boat more smoothly than movie spies crossing rooms streaked with red lasers. (Stupidest fucking scenes Bucky’s ever seen.)

“That was in Wakanda, right?”

“Sam told you?”

“He did. I guess you’ve seen a lot. Been a lot of places,” Sarah amends.

For a minute, his throat’s thick. She corrected herself to make sure he knew she wasn’t being nosy about his past. He wouldn’t mind. It’d be fair of her to bring up any worries she had, what with the two of them being alone here. But then, maybe he doesn’t make her nervous in that way. She’s the one who asked him to stay. (Or just told him he was staying more than asked, really.)

“So has Sam,” Bucky points out.

“Yeah, but Sam has to come back here to avoid getting an earful over the phone. Why would you wanna be here? Right here,” she adds, motioning to the spot where the water pump sat until early this morning. Bucky was one of the people who removed it, plus there’s a clear silhouette where the side rests against the boat, inside of which shape the wood’s less weathered, but he’ll be as clueless as Sarah wants if it results in more of this—her hand on his back as she trades places with him to guide him in ahead of her.

“It’s nice here,” he says simply. “Like a holiday.”

The instant he says it, he wants to backtrack. None of this is a holiday for the Wilsons; in spite of the block party atmosphere of the community coming together to restore the boat, they’re doing all this to ensure their livelihood. A good future for Sarah and her boys. She shoots him a benevolent smile like she knows he knows he just put his foot in his mouth. He can only shake his head at himself and carry on.

Squatting, Bucky aligns the holes in the pump’s base with those in the plate it has to mount back onto. They’re a little rusty, but the old blue paint’s just flaking, no problems with the actual integrity of the metal.

“You always do volunteer manual labour on your holidays?” Sarah jokes, putting a hand on his shoulder as she maneuvers around him. She drops to a crouch at his side and directs the beam of the flashlight down onto the pump.

“I like to be busy. I sleep better that way.”

“Until your host’s kids wake you up.”

“Aw, that was no problem.”

“Wrench?” she asks.

“Back pocket.”

Bucky could pass it to her. He could take one hand off the pump, retrieve the wrench, and hold it out for Sarah to grab. Hell, he could take both hands off the pump. The thing’s just sitting here. But he’s selfish, trying to make it look like he has to keep the pump from shifting out of the position he’s put it in, because he wants to find out what Sarah wants. He hasn’t completely thought this through, but some part of him’s saying a good way to find out what Sarah wants is to see if she’ll take the wrench from his back pocket while he’s squatting, jeans hugging his ass.

She laughs softly, looking at the floor.

She slides the wrench out of his pocket.

Now, there’s no actual contact required there, but she has touched him a couple times, so when she asks, “Bolts?” he looks at her in the dim light—flashlight still tilted towards the floor—and tells her, “Front pocket.”

When Sarah elects to maintain the angle of the light by holding the end of the flashlight in her mouth, Bucky thinks she might be capable of cruelty after all; he feels his face go slack at the sight of her lips around a fucking plastic cylinder. The choice leaves her hands free though, which is perfect because she apparently needs to grasp his knee with one for balance while the other goes to his hip, feeling out the line of his pocket. Bucky tries to breathe deep and even. This has gotta be it, the scenario Sam was most worried about when he left them here together.

Mercifully, when Sarah gets her fingers hooked into Bucky’s front pocket, she removes her other hand from his knee and uses it to hold the flashlight. He shifts forward onto his knees so his pocket isn’t pulled so tight and she can get her hand in there. Clearly a bad, terrifying plan now that his dick’s started to stiffen from the lingering image of the flashlight in her mouth and the proximity of her fingers to his crotch. It’s dark. Maybe she won’t see.

“Bolts,” Sarah says, wiggling her fingers deeper. “Nuts too?”

Their eyes meet and she pulls her hand back. Not too fast. Not like she embarrassed herself, saying something she didn’t mean to. Just like she did her bit and now the plan is to see what he’ll do. All he’s really capable of doing for the moment is extracting the nuts and bolts himself, dropping one of each into the raised palm she offers. He takes over with the flashlight and purposely doesn’t touch the end. It’ll drive him crazy if the plastic’s still wet.

“Thanks.”

“Yep.”

He spends three bolts being awkward, just pinching the head of each between his Vibranium fingers to hold them steady while Sarah tightens the nuts with the wrench from underneath the mounting plate. His other hand shines the light right where she needs it. They’re a different team than he and Sam are. Somehow, they can do two parts of the same job in the smallest scale, their hands practically on top of each other without either of them getting in the way. Bucky tries to think about that rather than her leg pressing against his or the fact that the gentle rock of the docked boat reminds him of rocking his hips forward when he… well. Does something he’s trying not to think about.

The wrench is old and though Sarah flicks the adjustment with her thumb to make it grip each nut in turn, it loosens and slips. It makes the task take longer and Sarah have to work harder. With two bolts to go, she sits back and pulls her button-down off, draping it over a pipe. Her t-shirt only catches Bucky’s eye because, even in here, the yellow’s so bright. It’s just the shirt. Absolutely not the shape of Sarah in it.

She leans back in, dropping the second last bolt through the hole. She feels beneath the plate to start the nut up the bolt’s threads with her fingers. With a soft noise of effort, Sarah simultaneously applies the wrench and reawakens Bucky’s erection.

“Sorry for keeping you from dinner,” she says, still tightening in the circle of light he provides. “You must be starving.”

“You have no idea.”

Bucky doesn’t mean for the words to sound the way they do, or maybe he does. Sarah falters, then finishes, but when she leans forward to fit the final bolt in place, the side of her breast presses his arm, and that’s the beginning of the end. Or possibly the end of the middle. Anyway, Bucky lets go of the flashlight and wraps his hand around Sarah’s waist instead. The flashlight must land on its button because the boat goes pitch-black. Why didn’t either of them think to turn the overhead light on? He hears the nut fall from her hand. It’s not one of the nuts he’s concerned with at the moment, so he tells himself they’ll look for it later and focuses on Sarah leaning in to find his lips in the dark.

Kissing her is… Hell, it’s something he’s been thinking about since they met yesterday. When she marched straight over to the boat and then changed her posture the second she spotted him. Bucky appreciates clear body language—it’s something he can do a quick read of and understand. If they’d had more time at that first meeting, of course he would’ve talked to her, flirted with more than a smile, but the smiles they swapped were an effective stopgap until they could end up right here. His mouth on hers. Being careful not to trap her braids under his fingers when he skims them up the back of her neck.

“Um,” Sarah says, breaking away with a shy laugh.

He keeps his hand on her lightly and feels her tilt her head forward like she’s avoiding his eye, even in the dark. Before he can worry that something is wrong, that he’s done something wrong, she lifts her head again and her braids flick, pattering across his forearm like rain.

“You should know,” she says, “since my husband passed, I haven’t really had a lot of time or inclination for this kinda thing, but...”

“That’s ok,” Bucky quickly assures her. “This doesn’t have to be anything. I didn’t mean to push.”

“And you didn’t.”

They sit in silence for a minute before he clears his throat.

“I’ve never… I’ve never had anybody special to me in that way, like your husband was to you, nobody to lose like that. But I do understand… uh, the sort of, um, momentousness… when it’s been a while.”

“You do?”

He can hear humour in her voice. This wasn’t supposed to be a funny conversation. Is he making it that weird?

“Sure. You know about me,” Bucky says quietly. He knows she must. She never asked who he was to Sam to be showing up here, being offered their couch for the night. Never asked about the arm, though he hasn’t tried to hide it. (He can’t remember the last time he just lived like this and the relief is enormous.)

“Tell me about the momentousness.”

He’d like to be able to see her better, but it’s also nice to know she has no idea the way he’s blushing over her request. It’s his own damn fault. Trying to be tactful and generous. Trying to say he knew how she felt, only for Sarah to call him on that. He’s gotta learn that this is not a woman who lets a man speak for her and, if he blunders into doing just that, she doesn’t let him off the hook. And she has a fish business. Who woulda thought.

“Well, it’s, uh…” Bucky rubs the back of his neck with the hand not cupping hers. “It feels like a big deal. Almost like being young all over again.”

“Hey,” she interjects, “some of us are still young.”

He laughs.

“Sorry. I just mean it’s… exciting. You know, thrilling. You wanna do everything at once but you’re also so scared to just…”

“Just…?”

“To just touch her,” he breathes out.

Sarah leans her head back so his hand’s not only touching her neck but holding it up. He laughs again as she straightens. He gets the point; he’s already touching her. So maybe it’s easier than even he thinks it is. Touch. Intimacy. Defiling the belly of a fishing boat with somebody who turned his head so fast he’s the one who needs something bolted back into place. Maybe one on either side of his neck, like Frankenstein’s monster. He sure does feel alive.

“I said I haven’t done this a lot lately,” Sarah says, loosely grasping his wrist. Bucky slips his hand off her neck to line it up with hers, lacing their fingers. “Not that it’s necessarily been that long since the last time I went on a date that ended with more than a kiss at the door.” Abruptly, she laughs. “I’m trying to tell you there’s a condom in the pocket of that shirt I threw over… wherever it got to. If you want this to keep going in a direction where you’d need to use it.”

“Yeah. Yes. I want that.”

“And not just to annoy Sam?”

“Not just.” Bucky smirks in the dark.

“Ok then.”

“I like you, Sarah,” he says as her fingers play with his. He shifts to face her better. “You don’t make things complicated.”

“I think we’ve both had enough of that.”

He can only make a noise of agreement as he comes close enough to feel out her mouth. He’s wishing he’d shaved his face smooth for this—obviously not as certain this encounter was going to happen today, or at all, as the woman who’s been carrying a condom in her pocket—but with a rough tilt of his head as he takes Sarah’s mouth harder, his cheek rubs against hers and she makes a sound into his mouth. A positive sound. An arousing sound. Bucky does something he never does and holds her face in both his hands, metal and skin. Sarah’s go to his hips, hooking into his beltloops, and they both rise up on their knees to press closer.

But she says, “Ouch, kneeled on the wrench,” and Bucky’s only being helpful when he moves his hands to the back of her thighs, running up over her ass as he urges her to her feet with him.

His hands behave themselves a little better when they’re both standing; he keeps them on the small of her back, scrunching her t-shirt in his fingers when she bows into him. He could kiss Sarah for a long time. It’s something he’s always enjoyed, got a lot of practice at when he was young, kissing in the back row of a theatre or savouring every moment until a girl’s curfew with some feverish necking in the alley around the corner from her family’s apartment. Nobody’s counting down the minutes on Bucky’s time with Sarah, so it’s looking like he might be able to just keep dragging his lips across hers for ages, stroking his tongue into her mouth. The geography decides otherwise.

He hears the speedboat’s motor approaching long before he really makes sense of the noise. That happens when the choppy wake hits Sarah’s docked boat, tossing her forward against him.

Alright, tossing him forward. He’s the one whose sea legs are for shit.

It’s evident that she feels his erection against her stomach. She’d have to be really unfamiliar with how this dance went not to notice with the way he’s swelling for her.

“Yeah?” Bucky checks when Sarah digs her fingers into his hips to hold him to her body.

“Yeah.”

He pulls out of her embrace to hunt down that shirt.

“You know, I’ve done this before.”

“I know. I’ve met your kids.” His voice says he’s joking even as his hands move desperately, caressing the boat’s innards in search of soft cotton.

“I mean specifically on this boat,” Sarah confesses, laughing.

Bucky hears a pair of thumps he determines to have been her shoes hitting the floor after the next sound he hears is her unzipping her pants. Wildly, he snatches her shirt from the pipe and dumps the condom out of the pocket and into his hand. He forces himself to calmly replace the shirt where he got it from so she can find it after—just the thought of there being an after has him hardening further.

“It’s startin’ to feel like I’m not so special,” he teases, lurching back to her when the speedboat seemingly swings around upriver and makes a second pass, causing the ground to slope once more.

“You might be,” she teases back. While his legs are tensed to keep his balance, Sarah has to be stretching up on her toes to brush her lips over his. “We’re gonna see about that.”

Her hands curl around the back of his neck as she presses up into the kiss. Bucky groans and gropes for her hips, condom caught between two fingers. His hands run over the sides of her underwear, but it’s mostly skin he touches. Warm and smooth. Kissing Sarah deeply, he traces the soft grooves of stretchmarks, signs of her body’s endurance. She’s given birth twice, lost her partner, come through the Blip and out the other side. This is a survivor’s body. Although she didn’t remove her shirt along with her pants, Bucky breaks the kiss to strip off his. With trembling fingers, he guides her hand from his neck to his shoulder, letting her feel the scars.

Sarah grazes her palm over him. It isn’t hesitant and it isn’t harsh. She touches the place where metal and skin converge the same way she’s touched his neck, his knee. Her other hand strokes over his chest, dawdling to outline his dog tags, then sliding lower. Her fingertips are so light on his abdomen that they almost tickle. The river flows around and against the boat in faint slaps. Sarah’s hand falls to fondle his erection and he gasps into the stillness.

He crowds into her and she presses back against the wall of the boat.

“Is it too cold?” he wonders.

“Cold?” she asks distractedly, popping open the button of his jeans. “No, I’m good.”

Smiling to himself, Bucky ducks his head until they’re almost kissing.

“Ok,” he says. “Well, you let me know.”

His hand wanders from her hip, down, then up her inner thigh. Sarah shivers but doesn’t say anything about being cold, so, breathing harder, Bucky touches his fingers to her underwear between her legs. He can tell she finds his tentativeness a little funny—she exhales a soft laugh—but he needs this short pause to stop him from getting too eager. Though he didn’t want to clarify, he’s figuring that Sarah probably had sex on this boat during her teenage years, and he really doesn’t want his touch to remind her of some adolescent boy’s horny fumblings. Not when the setting’s already bringing up memories for her.

“No heckling,” he jokingly protests.

“I’m not, I swear I’m not.”

He can hear the humour in her voice and he likes the way her words hitch into a panted breath when he relocates his hand to her stomach and nudges his fingers under the band of her underwear.

“Second thoughts?” Bucky asks before he touches her anywhere too interesting.

“Nope. Just a lotta thoughts about you lifting heavy loads off trucks and workin’ a wrench.”

“Yeah?” He pushes his face up under her jaw, kisses there while she tilts her chin to give him room. “You been thinkin’ I might be good with my hands, Sarah?”

He hears her shaky breath when he says her name and thinks there’s a chance he’s not too bad at this. Even now. Not with somebody he seemed to emotionally fall right into step with the instant they clapped eyes on each other.

“No might about it. I’ve been watching you for two days. I know you’re good with your hands.”

Pressing his mouth hard to hers, Bucky slides his fingers down towards warmth and, it turns out, wetness. He groans against her mouth and she jerks his zipper down with demanding fingers. Wedging her hands between his skin and his clothes, Sarah begins forcing his jeans and underwear off together. Even as he’s aching for her to get him naked, he’s gathering her body against his, arm wrapped securely around her back as his fingers slip through her arousal. He curls two fingers inside her and her hips jolt in an apparently automatic attempt to get him deeper. She tries to widen her legs for him, but his hand’s intrusion has stretched her underwear across her upper thighs, so he plucks at them hastily until they fall and she kicks them aside. His own bottom layers are hanging on around his knees. Bucky can’t be fucked to deal with that. He’s punched through a lot of walls rather than going through doors; he knows what is and isn’t a serious obstacle.

Sarah lifts her thigh to his hip and their mouths part with a ragged, shared breath. The Vibranium arm around her supports her—metal fingers clamped tight on the condom between them—as his other hand works her with more pressure when she asks for it in a moan.

“Can I get you off like this, or you want me some other way?” he pants.

It’s like Steve used to say about damn near everything—Bucky could do this all day. He withdraws his fingers from inside her to scrub his fingertips up and down over her clit.

“I’m sure you can,” Sarah says, chest heaving as her hips sway in response to his touch, “but…”

Her hands, which had climbed to his arms after undressing his bottom half, creep lower. The grip of one hand catches in his elbow, thumb to his pulse. The other wraps around his straining cock.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “But.”

Insistent on putting on the condom himself, he does it with one arm still encircling Sarah. While he’s tearing it open, he drops his face to her neck again. She sighs as he kisses down her throat and goes mmm when he licks along her collarbone. She’s sweaty, like him.

Though Bucky’s just dying to sink into her, holding her this close is a whole other kind of satisfying. He flicks the condom wrapper away and dips his head, taking hold of the front of Sarah’s yellow t-shirt with his teeth.

“Bucky! What…?”

But her hand pats the back of his head in time with her laughter as he drags the material up until it stays put above her breasts. Tragically, the ghost of Sarah’s horny teenage encounter on this boat possesses him and he’s compelled to mash his face into her cleavage as soon as it’s exposed. He rubs his lips over her breast and she takes the condom from him, reaching between them to roll it down his cock. The feel of her fist makes him grunt into her chest.

“You ready?” Sarah asks him.

Bucky lifts his head and looks at her. It’s dark, but not too dark to judge by her expression that she’s not just asking casually. This isn’t a carefree, youthful hookup—a couple teenagers sneaking onto a parent’s boat or perfecting their hickey-making technique in an alley. Is he ready? He hasn’t been. Not for the occasional assessing stare of a stranger on the sidewalk, or for dating apps and the staggeringly forward pictures people send in response to a simple ‘hi,’ or even for the low-stakes combo of beers and Battleship. But now? For Sarah?

“Yeah,” Bucky states, loud and clear, angling his hips forward when she takes her hands away.

“Alright,” she says, “so am I.”

He kisses her. He believes her.

He grips the underside of her raised thigh with one hand and his dick with the other, bending his knees slightly before pressing up into her. Heat slinks up his chest and twines around his neck like a scarf. Despite the tripping hazard of his pants around his legs, Bucky shuffles forward, holding Sarah so close. She doesn’t make a sound as he fills her, but when he pulls out and thrusts again, an uuuh catches in her throat. God, it feels good to be back in business.

Fingers digging into her leg and her ass, Bucky rocks his hips steadily, huffing sharply through his nose. Sarah’s hands move all over him. They’re on his shoulders, then squeezing his arms; grabbing his hips to encourage him to drive into her harder, then seizing his ass to hold him deep. When he does something good, he feels her tighten on his cock, a quick clutch and release. When he does something really good, she moans so loud the back of his neck tingles and he has to summon every bit of discipline he has not to just let go now.

The feel of the muscles in Sarah’s leg and ass flexing to sync the rhythm of their hips when things get rougher makes Bucky’s eyes roll back. He lifts her off the ground, thighs in his hands as he slings his hips sharply forward. Sarah curls into him, nipping one shoulder as she cups her hand over the metal of the other one. Her breasts bounce against his chest. He pins her between his groin and the boat and feels (and hears) it the second the motion of his hips drags at her clit.

“Bucky!” she gasps. “Don’t—”

“Stop?” he guesses, grinning even as he pants, even as he shifts his feet to make sure they’re gonna stay under him until this is over and he can set her down gently.

Sarah nods rapidly and Bucky keeps the closeness but progresses to fast, shallow thrusts. They should hum, like a machine, like a piston, like a pump, because that’s what it feels like, fucking her and falling for her, doing their dance with just the right friction. How it really sounds is wet, filthy, oh, but her smile is beautiful as she strives, fingers tangled in his dog tags. She comes calling his name. He’s right here, right there with her. She’s clenching so firmly around him that the pleasure might not end and he’ll just have to stay here on this boat, with her, and be Bucky, and get used to the luxury of it making sense again, his name in the mouth of somebody who needs him and wants him and could know him, after a few more nights on her couch and mornings with her kids. He could stand the sound of her name leaving his mouth every single goddamn day, but he’s gonna start with one day, this day, right now.

He says, “Sarah,” and wraps his arms around her, and hopes those arms feel strong.

[itsyourcupofcoffee]

“Please hold me tight, I think I’m going to break”

Ok, this is kind of sucky, but Dazai is bae. If you feel you are going through a tough time, please feel free to send us a dm!  

TRIGGER WARNING: MENTION OF SELF HARM, SUICIDE, DEATH, DEPRESSION .

The crimson hue of the Yokohama sky heralded that the dusk of night was about to make its appearance

 Your fragile eyes stared as the clouds grew increasingly darker, that sensation came back up throughout your body, you called it grief, and lately you had no idea how to keep it under control. You wore out your tears many moons ago.

 You inhaled the air around you, trying to find a way to ease the anxiety that this feeling made you feel.

 To be honest, you weren't happy, at night you cried until your eyelids were exhausted and sleep invaded your entire body, in the mornings and in the afternoons, you displayed a carefree face; the agency was a workplace where work abounded, and you really didn't want to worry or 'bother' anyone with your problems.

 Your figure began to shake gently, sobs decorated the walls of your room. Your hands were covering your face.

 You can' t seem to remember the last time a razor was pressed against your flesh, but in that moment, there was a strong urge to feel that sensation.

 This way, you thought, you wouldn't have to think about the real agony you were experiencing.

 Your steps were directed to the bathroom, the cabinet was opened and a punctured element was found, you sat down on the edge of the tub, pulling up the bottom of your skirt to gain more access to your thigh, you took the object and pressed it against your epidermis, tears streamed from your face landing directly on your s/c skin.

 Your sobs turned into desperate cries; how could a human being feel so much pain?

 Your mind wandered around the corners of the tiles, until you reached the ceiling "WHY? Give me an Answer to this!" your throat screamed until your voice was slightly shutting off. 

Your sight penetrated the bathroom ceiling, as you waited for an answer which you knew would never arrive.

 A knock on your apartment door woke you up from this trance, it wasn't like you to have visitors, and you thought you weren't psychologically well enough to answer and pretend anymore. At least, not tonight.

 You let the knocking stop, but to your agony, that noise never ceased, the thud was still present, and you didn't understand why. Sighing as you got up from the floor, you washed your face, fixed your skirt and headed towards the wooden material.

 " Yes?" was the first thing you said as you opened the door, there before your eyes was Osamu, his bright smile shaped on his handsome face, you were confused, why would he come over to your house? 

"Y/n-chan, I decided to stop by your house to have a nice tea with these wonderful little cakes that I bought!" You always wondered how he managed to keep up such an exhausting act, but in him, it looked charming.

 "Osamu, I think this is not a good t-" without being able to even finish your sentence, he walked through the door and thus entering your apartment

 "Nonsense Y/n-chan, you're just saying that because you've never tasted these little cakes!" You were more than confident that they were either a discount cake or an expiration promotion.

 He took off his shoes and made his way over to your kitchen, grabbing the kettle in his hand and pouring in enough water for both of you. Your figure leaned against the door frame, watching his movements, a surprising smile graced your lips.

 His eyes directed themselves to yours, both glances met and for a moment you felt how your cheeks were decorated with a light rosy shade. You never managed to confess to anybody the feelings you felt towards Osamu, because you knew that not even, he himself would take them seriously.

 Suddenly his gaze became inexpressive, as if he were angry, surprised you asked him

 "Osamu, is everything all right?" he approached your body and grabbed your wrist somewhat firmly. Jolting to the sudden movement, your e/c orbs analyzed his face "What's the matter?!"

 "I knew you were hiding something, I felt it every time you faked a smile, but I never knew you were dealing with this too, why? 

"I... I don't know what you're talking about" 

You didn't know what kind of illusions you believed if you thought that Osamu hadn't discovered you way before and pretending to be incredulous wasn't going to work, not this time, not with him. 

He lifted up your skirt, a small squeal made his attention focus on you for a few seconds "This needs to be treated before it gets infected". 

You didn't know how to react, you were about to generate some kind of sentence, but Osamu grabbed your hand and took you to the bathroom. You sat on the edge of the bathtub, the surface was cold; meanwhile Osamu checked your medicine cabinet, in search of some kind of disinfectant and some gauze. 

Your eyes simply observed his figure, as soon as he found what he required, he took the necessary materials to disinfect your wounds. 

He bowed down before your physique, Osamu's knees touched the surface of the ceramics, he took a moment to analyze the wounds, which in total were three shallow cuts.

 He picked up some of the saline solution, and poured it over the wound. The cold contact of the liquid on your skin caused you to jolt. 

"Does it hurt?" his coffee-colored orbs, which were the loveliest shade of coffee you'd ever witnessed, all you wanted to do was get lost in them and never leave. 

"A little, but it's nothing unbearable" a smile spread over your face. 

"Osamu dried the wound with a gauze and applied a lotion so that the skin wouldn't get infected. 

Once he finished healing you, he only remained silent, staring straight into your eyes, trying to find something, you don't know what, but by the sigh that came out of his lips, you could tell he couldn't find an anwser to what he was searching for . 

"Y/n, please take care of yourself, I don't want you to injure yourself anymore" you felt that all that performance he always maintained was not present at that moment. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't want you to know, nor did I want you to worry about me... it's not worth it" 

Osamu took your hand, they were cold, empty, but when they met yours, they brought life to it, they complemented each other. 

"Don't say that, believe me I care, I knew there was something going on" 

There at that moment, you felt a knot form in your throat, as the tears were making their appearance in your eyeballs. All you managed to do was to hold him, to cling to him as tightly as if he would never disappear again. 

"Osamu, please hold me tight, I think I'm going to break" the words came out broken, as silent as a whisper, you were afraid the air would carry them away without ever reaching his ears. 

"Sh... easy y/n, I am here" his arms tightly wrapped around your form.

 "I don't want you to leave me, I don't want you to go, I don't want to forget you, I want to see your face every day, I want to feel your cologne whenever you walk near me, I want to listen to those bad jokes you make all the time, I want to hear your laughter, I need it to keep going"

 His body tensed as he heard your words, his arms lost strength as he embraced you, he gazed straight at your visage. 

" I' m here, I won't leave, and you won't leave either, do you hear me?" with his fingertips he wiped away every tear that fell out of your eyes.

 "Oh, and by the way, my jokes aren't bad," he said confidently.

 You laughed, and sat down on the floor, wrapping your arms around Osamu's chest, as you sank your face into the crook of his neck, closing up your eyes as he gently stroked your hair, leading you into the dream land.

 --------- Morning --------- 

The alarm on your cell phone rumbled on the walls, your eyes slowly cracked open, your head was spinning, you felt a headache - it must have been caused by all the crying that went on the night before. 

You looked around; you fell asleep leaning against the bathtub's back. 

Osamu... there that feeling came up again, your chest was trembling due to the sorrow, you didn't want to get up, you didn't even want to keep on going. But you promised him you would do your best to keep living. 

It has been six months since his death, and yet you still feel his presence near you every day. You believe this is due to all the feelings you had for him, all the love that you once wished to demonstrate towards him, but couldn’t manage to do so. 

You stood up from the ground, approaching the sink to freshen up your face and then you headed towards the kitchen, there were two cups of coffee sitting on the counter, and next to them inside a bag, two little cakes.

 Another day without Dazai.  

[thereisnochillinsideme]

The rain, Akaashi Keiji part two

I'm sorry it's been such a long time I've just had some stuff going on but here it is, part two. I also think @bakudummy asked to be tagged, if you didn't ask me to I'm sorry please tell me I'll take it off anyway enjoy! Akaashi was currently locked in a debate between himself and himself. While one side was telling him that it would be fine if he visited [Name] and Takahashi in normal clothing while the other was telling him that they weren’t close enough and that he was required to wear a three-piece suit. The first side then argued back that they might think he’s rude if he showed up for a cup of hot chocolate in formal wear. In the end, he decided that after picking [Name] and her cake off the street and getting her to Takahashi’s apartment, what he wore probably mattered the least to either of them right now and settled on a cotton T-shirt. He made his way out of his apartment and knocked on the door to his right, which was opened by Takahashi. He hadn’t usually seen her like this. She had changed out of the pencil skirt she so usually wore to work and was currently in a sweater and leggings. She also looked surprised to see Akaashi in anything but his work wear. She let him in and went back to the stove, where the milk for the hot chocolate was bubbling on the stove. He saw [Name] spread out on an armchair, now changed out of her wet clothes. She saw him and immediately perked up, changing her position to see him better. He took a seat on the couch across from her. She gave him a smile and immediately began speaking to him.

“Stoneface-san! Feeling better?”

“Yes, much better. How about you?”

She smiled. “I’m doing great! I got my cake, I got to meet you, I got to see Yo-chan, and now she’s making me hot chocolate!”

Akaashi smiled at the childlike elation she had at the situation she was in. She was an optimist to the bone.

He was a bit jealous of her, though he didn’t realize it. He was jealous of people like her. They didn’t have a care in the world, complete confidence in themselves. And people like him or Takahashi were following them around making sure nothing happened to them because, jaded and anxious as they were, they didn’t want that optimism to fade. It gave them strength too. It reminded him of the former captain of his high school volleyball team. Bokuto-san’s confidence was a force to be reckoned with and now there he was, playing professionally on a world stage.

Takahashi walked over with two mugs of hot chocolate, setting them on the coffee table that separated him and [Name]. [Name]’s smile grew wider upon seeing the drink and she happily picked it up and immediately took a big sip.

Immediately she started coughing.

“Ah barned mah tahnge.” She said, with her tongue hanging out.

Takahashi and Akaashi started laughing in unison as [Name] also began laughing with her tongue still hanging out.

“Why are you laughing? You burned your tongue?” Akaashi asked through chuckles.

“It is funny,” [Name] said through sips of cold water to soothe her tongue.

Time was spent happily drinking hot chocolate while [Name] told them jokes and stories.

Putting down his mug, Akaashi looked at [Name].

“[Name]-san, I’ve been meaning to ask your full name, as I didn’t get it when I met you.”

[Name] smiled. “[Last Name] [Name]”

Akaashi did a double take. “I’ve been calling you by your first name this whole time? That’s incredibly disrespectful as we don’t know each other well”

“It’s fine, Stoneface-san. I’ve never liked using my surname as it puts a formality barrier between me and who I’m talking to. Please use my first name.”

Akaashi nodded in acceptance. “So [Name], what do you do for work?”

She winked. “If I told you it would be no fun. It’s your job to guess. Your hint is that I’m in the creative field.” After many consecutive wrong guesses, [Name] changed the subject and started telling them what had happened to her at the train station that morning. As they laughed, Akaashi began to realize how much fun he was having.

It had been a long time since he had done anything like this. He maintained a strictly professional relationship with his coworkers and Bokuto-san was not free most of the time with having gone professional. He would come by and have a drink with Akaashi ever so often, but Bokuto-san usually found himself leaving early to spend more time with Shoyo. Akaashi didn’t mind that he was branching out and he knew that their adult life was definitely going to impact their friendship. However, it was not after he lost them that he realized just how much he cherished the carefree days on the volleyball team, how he would chase Bokuto-san around with an umbrella to stop him from getting wet in the rain.

It was probably why he spent so many late nights at work, trying to quiet his mind by occupying it. His high school friends were all busy with their own lives, he felt he should be as well.

“Stoneface-san?” He heard

He snapped out of his daze and saw [Name] staring at him, slightly concerned.

“Are you okay? Your stare was really blank and you didn’t laugh when I told you about when I threw a squid tentacle at the guy who came to collect my taxes.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I’m just feeling a bit tired. I also have some work due tomorrow, so do you mind if I take my leave?”

Takahashi looked at him, obviously concerned, but trying to hide it. “Yes of course, I’ll show you to the door.”

She walked him over to the door of the apartment and opened it, letting him go through.

“Thank you for looking after [Name] today, I’m sorry if she was a bit of an inconvenience. It was nice to have you both over, we should do it again sometime.”

Akaashi nodded, thanked her, and went inside his own apartment.

He didn’t mean to leave so abruptly, but he wasn’t lying, he did have work.

He made his way to the small desk by the window of his apartment and sat down, picking up the large, stapled sheet of paper by his window.

Today, his work was a bit more enjoyable than usual. He was editing one of his more favorite comics that was published in his magazine. Asuma no Sekai was a comic set in a demon world, with the main character being an incredibly lazy demon who preferred eating cake to doing her job. The crazy schemes she pulled to get out of doing her job were sometimes more work than doing the actual job and always made the reader laugh. Editing it was a more favorable part of Akaashi’s week and it never failed to lift his mood. The author was Sakurai Daisuke. He had never met the author in person as he usually sent someone else to pick up his manuscript, but he looked forward to meeting someone who was such a good mangaka.

After spending a couple hours reading, laughing, and editing the work, Akaashi went to bed as he had work the next morning.

[Name] had left on the first train that morning and though Akaashi was slightly mournful that he didn’t get to say goodbye, he continued on with his day like normal.

As the week went by, [Name] occupied Akaashi’s thoughts slightly more than a normal person would. He would pass by the cake shops in his area and wonder if she would enjoy the one in the display window. He was confused by why he was thinking about her so often, but chalked it up to the fact that there were a lot of cake shops in his area.

Later that week, on an afternoon while he was home, Akaashi got a call from his employee, Okomoto Chiyo. She sounded extremely distressed.

“Akaashi-san! I’m so so sorry to bother you!”

“It’s okay, what do you need?”

“My wife is sick and I’m home taking care of her. I was supposed to pick up Sakurai-san’s manuscript today, but Nanako’s been throwing up all day and I can’t afford to leave her now. Do you mind picking it up?”

Akaashi was slightly annoyed, as he had just gotten home. However, he knew that he couldn’t possibly ask his employee to leave her sick wife.

“It’s completely okay. May I have Sakurai-san’s address? At least I can finally meet him.”

“It’s xxx-xxx on the other side of the city. The train will be able to get you there really fast. Sakurai-san should have completed her manuscript by now.”

“Her?” Akaashi was confused

“Sakurai Daisuke is a pen-name. The author is female. She picked a male name to sound more ambiguous.”

“Oh, that comes as a bit of a surprise.”

“Thank you so much for doing this, Akaashi-san! I am forever grateful to you.”

“It’s no problem.”

Akaashi looked out his window and toward the train station which was a couple blocks away. It was raining.

As he turned, his eyes fell on a now-dry neon yellow umbrella. He must have forgotten to give it back to [Name].

He picked up the umbrella, put on a long brown coat, and ran out his apartment door.

He was able to make it onto the train last minute, sitting on the seat in relief. As the train moved along, he thought about what the author might be like.

Thinking about it now, it was fairly obvious that this author wasn’t like most of the male authors Akaashi’s company had published.

There was barely any fan service in the series and the author made sure to write her female characters just as realistic and flawed as her male characters. Most of the male authors drew one woman with an unrealistic body and made her show up every now and then to rip her clothes off and leave. Sakurai-san’s female characters had personalities and all different body shapes, some bigger or smaller, darker or lighter, more like the women he would see in the real world.

The train announced his stop and he walked out, looking at the paper where he jotted down the address.

He navigated his way through the twists and turns until he finally got to the apartment building.

He entered and went to the specified floor and found the correct door.

As he raised his hand to knock, Akaashi suddenly felt a bit nervous to meet this author who he borderline idolized, especially when he found out he was wrong about her gender the whole time.

Nevertheless, his hand tapped lightly on the door twice and he heard footsteps rush to open it.

What he saw behind the door was definitely not what he expected.

[Name] was peeking out, wearing a large animal onesie, holding a plate of cake with a plastic fork.

“Stoneface-san?"

[blindwyrm]

Basics of Energy Work - Part One

Expanding Awareness Energy work is a subtle art, a foundational building block to successful magic. Almost all magical practices involve some form of energy work - and there are countless forms - but how it will function from individual to individual will differ greatly. To put it simply, energy work is the practice of manipulating unseen energies. Everything - people, places, animals, inanimate objects, even our thoughts - vibrates at a specific energetic frequency and emits energy. By learning how to identify and tune into these energies, we can use them to direct our magic and spell work. Chances are, you have worked your own personal energy before. More often than not, your own energy will be the easiest for you to tap into. To do this, we need to learn how to expand our awareness. Meditation Meditation is a good practice to have when pursuing any kind of magical endeavor; there are many ways to meditate and there is much to achieve through it. The overall key to meditation is, generally, focus. You are training your mind to simply observe with non judgement; not to simply clear your mind of any thought at all, which is the common misconception. There is not just one way to meditate - if sitting cross legged in a room bathed with incense as you engage breathing exercises works for you, great! Some people meditate through dance, yoga, exercise, crafts, etc. Anything where your mind can drift, “tune out” so to speak, as your body instinctively goes through the motions. There are also several forms of guided meditations that you can use for specific goals, such as attentiveness, visualization, improving memory, empowerment, etc. Elemental meditation is popular among the witchcraft community. What’s great about guided meditation is it extremely accessible through apps and things like youtube (favorites of mine are the fire meditation and the water meditation from magickians!) and makes the whole process of learning to meditate a lot less intimidating.  As meditation relates to energy work, it will sharpen your ability for visualization, increase your focus, have you more in touch with your physical and inner self as both the same and separate entities, and increase your awareness of changes in and around you - all of this working towards an enhanced ability to sense energy and its movement.  What is this mystical “energy?”  If you’re having trouble wrapping your head around the idea of the elusive and all encompassing vaguery of “energy”, don’t worry. The idea may seem intimidating, but they are not inaccessible. If you are struggling, it only indicates that you are human. This will take practice and it will require you to understand the concepts on a physical level. Luckily, these are steps that nearly every magical practitioner, old and new, has and will continue to work on for the rest of their spiritual journey. Every question you have has likely already been answered. Some may just take a bit of research to find! However, I’m going to try and provide at least some cursory information here. To get a real idea of what “energy” feels like, set aside some quiet time for youself. Close the door, dim the lights, turn off your phone. Light your candles and make sure you will be left alone. Sit down on the floor and make yourself comfortable - not too comfortable! You don’t want to fall asleep. Draw in some deep breaths and clear your mind, as you did in your meditation. Continue until you feel your breathing regulated and yourself relaxed. Now, close your eyes and rub your palms together, like you’re trying to warm them up, then pull them an inch or two apart. You should feel a charged sensation tingling between your hands, maybe even like a ball, vibrating and pulsating in your hands. If you concentrate, you may even be able to feel a sort of magnetic resistance if you attempt to push it back together. That’s energy. It’s really that simple. If you don’t feel it at first, just try again. The more you do this, the easier it will become to identify your own and different types of energy all around you through a technique called centering, which will be discussed below.  Grounding The term grounding, sometimes called Earthing, means to recalibrate your energy. Essentially, the purpose of grounding is to shake off “excess” energy and ground yourself back in reality, into the rhythm of the plane on which we exist. And while grounding does restore balance and connectedness, there are greater implications to explore when it comes to grounding. Everything on this earth is shaped by forces and presence of the Earth and cosmos, and as such, “this connection is deeply inherent to a sustainable state of well being. The Earth, as an organic and inorganic system, is constantly bathing all life on the planet with its highly ordered and coherent electromagnetic field. The natural tendency of an organism is to couple with the Earth’s energy field and come to a mutual state of cooperation and harmony within its environment, finding its niche and proper place within a system. What we need to understand is that all systems strive to achieve, return to and/or maintain a state of coherence. Whether one is aware of it or not, we are always taking part in a constant process within our universe, coupling with other energy fields and finding some sort of balance within this space. This happens everywhere within the context of an ecosystem, whenever two forces interact for any reason. The more organized or coherent these fields are, the more effectively and efficiently energy can be [manipulated.]”  Grounding allows us to cultivate a relationship with the earth and facilitate a healthier, more coherent state of being. It allows us to align our energy for more accurate working. Like meditation, there are many ways to ground; a list of some of my personal favorite methods can be found (here.) Shielding and Centering Shielding is important for magical workings as it provides a protective barrier to maintain our center. To do this, you’ll want to get a feel for your personal energy first. A good way to do is something called centering. Throughout the day, you naturally will pick up on all kinds of external energy; some good, some bad, most of it probably neither of the two - either way, it is energy that is not yours. Meditation and shadow work will be useful in identifying what feels distinctly you, but you should be able to know when you’re not feeling entirely you. If you’ve been feeling particularly out of sorts, a good tip to get back in touch with yourself before centering or shielding is to spend some time in self care. Turn off your phone and go to your room or a friendly space in nature, a library, a favorite haunt and engage in a creative project, put on your favorite music, eat your favorite food. Be mindful of your physical space, your body, sensations your are experiencing. Be attentive to you and only you; your wants, needs, feelings, comforts, etc. Take a bath and allow yourself to relax. Your only responsibility right now is you have no responsibilities - if even for just a short while. Just do what you can to access some “me time” to do something you love to do and observe yourself. Take note of what you choose to do that brings you joy, why those things make you feel happy and fulfilled, how exactly these feelings and activities resonate with you. Record this in your Book of Shadows, as it is useful information to getting to yourself on a more intimate level. Learn to recognize this energy and get familiar with what it means to feel yourself. It can be easy to get lost. Centering can get you back, especially when you make these feelings more accessible to yourself.  To center, we’re going to go back to the exercise in the beginning; in a quiet place, meditate and rub your palms together - build up that energy between them again. When you pull your hands apart, you want to visualize this sensation. What color is it? What does it feel like? Is it light? Heavy? Is it vibrating? Focus on the pulsation and how it pushes against you. Allow it to move and grow. Picture it contracting and growing until you no longer can. Pull it in close to you, somewhere you can focus on it - many people use their solar plexus or heart chakras. This is the same energy you’re going to use to shield yourself. Instead of centering this energy, however, you’re going to push it out to envelope you. Visualization in your meditation and centering exercises should help with this; visualizing energy usually makes it easier for people to push it outward. Again, knowing what specifically makes this your protective energy will be useful - what color is it? Texture? Is it elemental? Perhaps your energy doesn’t feel like light, but water or air. Maybe white is a protective color to you or maybe green is, for Earth. Maybe your energy shield is a network of stars in the shape of your zodiac constellation. Maybe the outside is reflective, to reflect any negativity directed your way. Maybe its a shield of smoke, to conceal yourself. No matter what it looks like to you, just make sure it is yours. Don’t feel pressured to commit to something either - your idea of what these concepts look like will grow and change as much as you do.  Push this energy outward and around you, as if you are creating a protective bubble for yourself. To enhance the intensity of desired outcome, surround yourself with corresponding elements. Light white candles or wear black tourmaline. I personally like to use dragon’s blood incense or oils. There are many things you can do in tandem with any of these practices, so long as they make sense for you and are helping you to achieve your desired results. This shield will become stronger the more you do this and keep you protected from psychic attacks, curses and hexes, negative energy, and bad intent.  These exercises are all building blocks to unlocking great power within oneself, but they are also a great power on their own as well. Taking the time and patience to hone these skills will aid you in all your magical endeavors, whether through sharper focus, strong visual associations, enforced protective barriers, and/or knowing your true self above all else. Once you have established your abilities, you will be able to do them any time, anywhere and begin to play more with energy, both internal and external. In the follow up, I will focus on charging and programming. 

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Workout.”

Forgive me for being short today, But I have a Russian test in less than an hour, and it is on numbers which is the most excruciating part of this language lol.

Hope you all have a good day :)

The human pulled to a stop huffing and puffing, hands on his knees as he took in great big breaths. Krill could see ribs through his skin as the great bellows expanded and then contracted. Sweat slicked the skin as the body desperately tried to cool itself.

“Heart rate 165.”

The human straightened himself out coughing once or twice to clear his throat, reaching out and wiping his face with a towel.

He threw the towel over one shoulder and stretched the large muscle groups in his chest, stomach and back pulling tight.

Sunny leaned against the wall just to their right both sets of arms crossed over her chest, “So, what is this supposed to be fore. Is this like a dominance thing or something.”

The human wiped his face again and raised an eyebrow, “IT’s exercises,  Sunny. You know so I can be fit enough to pass the UNSC PT exam, or perhaps so that I can do my job better, or maybe because I look better whenI’m more fit.

Sunny turned her head to look at him, her eyes scrunching down a little as Krill went to take notes on a clipboard.

“You mean…. You didn’t just grow to being that size?’

The human glanced down at Krill incredulous, “IS she serious? Do the Drev like, not have to work out?”

Krill shook his head, “Drev do not have subcutaneous fat deposits like humans do. Any acquired deposits are stored below the carapace between the connective tissue, padding them down and giving them more protection.”

Sunny looked between them in confusion, “Wait, hold on…. I’m confused.”

The human towelled off his hair, “I have to work out to look like this sunny. IF i don’t use it, I lose it.”

She turned to look at Krill.

He tucked the holo-pad under one arm, “You see, Sunny. Humans are meant to adapt. They can adapt mentally, and they can adapt physically. The body changes to match the requirements of its environment. Sometimes this takes years to do, for instance if you take a light skinned population of humans and put them somewhere with a lot of sun, and keep that population in complete isolation, after a few generations, the skin will darken to compensate for the increased UV light. However these things happen on a smaller level. The body fluctuates to adapt to the amount of physical work which is required.”

The human nodded, “Exactly. Running strengthens the heart, and it increases the hemoglobin in my blood, so that I can run for a longer time with more oxygen. If I were to stop running, I would loose all of that and have to work back up.”

Sunny stared at him incredulous, “So, you have to force your body to be able to perform correctly. Like, It can’t just DO what it needs to do, but you have to convince it over years of training to be able to do what you want.”

The man shrugged, “Well anything sucks when you phrase it like that.” He turned and motioned them to follow, “Historically, humanity was evolved in an environment with little food. We ate a diet heavy in proteins, fiber, and natural carbs from fruit. Fat is an essential part of a human’s diet, but it is relatively difficult to find in nature because of this, the body adapted to make humans love and crave fatty and sugary foods for energy. Well since well into the twentieth eighteenth century, fatty foods were becoming commonplace, and easy to get our hands on, but the body wasn’t aware of that, so it continued to treat these new fatty foods the way our bodies would have treated them back when we were hunter/gatherers storing every last bit up for use later.”

Sunny followed after in fascination, “I see, so now you have…. Too much of a food that your body craves.”

The human looked over his shoulder, “You got it, and the body doesn’t know when to stop storing fat. It’ll just keep going. So if I were to sit on my ass all day eating chips, I would lose the muscle and I would get bigger as fat deposits were stored up for energy.”

Sunny shrugged, “What is the problem with that?”

The human tapped his chin lightly, “A few things, I guess. For me, at least, if I were to just stop working out, I wouldn’t be able to do my job as well, I wouldn't be able to run as far, or to jump as high, or to lift as much. And lifting myself up in a pullup would be impossible, and considering the amount of times we have all almost fallen off a cliff or had to haul ourselves up rope, you would think that would be a bad idea. Not to mention that the larger you are the harder your heart has to work as the blood supply is forced to expand, and since you aren't working out your heart it gets weaker but has to do more work, which --in turn-- increased the risk of heart issues. Compounding all that I wouldn't be able to sit in a cockpit or pilot a jet properly.”

Sunny shook her head, “That seems like a very… annoying model. You can never just relax. You always have to work to keep your body where it should be. And the amount of self control you have to have….”

The human laughed, “You have no idea how much self control  I need when a box of doughnuts gets in my way.” He sighed, “Keeping my abs as been a real struggle, but the UNSC drilled some self discipline into me when I was still young.”

“So you weren't always this big.”

The human snorted, “no not in the slightest. In fact, I was so skinny, you could see my heart beating through my rib cage.

Sunny grimaced.

“Yeah I know, kinda gross. Those are your two directions. If you don’t work out your either super scary skinny, or you get a bit big. If you’re working out right you get muscles.” He turned around flexing proudly for them to outline the lines of his biceps, chest and stomach.

Sunny would have rolled her eyes back into her head, but she supposed, now that she knew he had to work for it, she was at least somewhat proud of him.

“Ok, I have a question  then.”

“Shoot.”

“Can you get bigger?”

More laughter, “Oh yeah, totally, but I’m not THAT dedicated.”

They were just coming around a corner when the commander skidded to a halt eye to chest with an absolutely massive human.

Even sunny stepped back in surprise.

This human was large enough to look sunny in the eye, with shoulders about as wide as her, and a chest that looked like it could have benched a small car.

It was almost comical, a moment ago Sunny had assumed that the commander was a large human.

“Wow there big mean. I’’d rather not get steamrolled today, thanks.”

The large human glanced down at the commander.

“Sir.” He grunted before stepping around and walking up the hall.

Sunny watched him go, “What do you have to do to get that big!”

“You practically have to live at the gym.”

They turned the corner walking into a large room, with strange machines of unknown use.

ANd in here there were humans of all sizes and shapes, but most of them absolutely massive. Those who lacked height, did not lack muscle.

Male humans, female humans, all of the above.

A tiny female human stood at one of these machines carrying a bar on her shoulders with enough weight that sunny assumed it might crush her. Instead she squatted down to the floor and stood back up.

The captain blinked, “Holy shit.” He motioned towards her, “She squats more than me by the way. You see these guys are insane. I work out to maintain, these guys do it because its their hobby.”

Krill floated upwards to whisper in sunny’s ear, “For the muscle to enlarge, the fibers must tear open, and then the body comes back and repairs the tear to withstand the pressures that tore it in the first place.

Sunny stared at Krill incredulously, “So you're telling me, they just…. Tear themselves apart to get like that.”

The Commander left them standing in place walking over to the wall and jumping upwards, catching his hands around a black bar welded to the wall, the muscles in his back, just below the shoulder blades flexed as he pulled himself upwards, the muscles in his shoulder blades rolling under the skin.

They continued to watch as the commander did his set, a little bit of everything for demonstration purposes. Getting off one of the leg machines, one of these large female humans walked past sitting where he had just sat reaching out pulling out the peg and and bringing the weight almost to the bottom of the plates.

The commander leaned in, “See her, she could probably crush your skull using just her legs.” He sighed, “Man, I only WISH I could be that  badass.” He looked up at sunny, “Sometimes I come here just to knock myself down a peg.”

Across the room, one of these massive humans was hauling a huge bar lined with weight on either side up over his head like it was nothing.

“You see that, that would probably invert my spine if I tried to do it.” “Must you be so graphic?” Krill wondered 

“Yeah, because that’s how much of a wuss I am.”

Looking around, Sunny wasn’t convinced entirely of his status as a wuss. He had all the requisite muscle groups of, even the largest humans, and more than some. There were great swatches of the human population who,even here, were missing some things. 

A few of the humans had large arms, ut small legs, small legs, but large arms, no chest, or  chest and no abdominal muscles.

Yes sure, he may have been smaller than their largest, but he WAS well rounded arms, chest, stomach, legs, back and shoulders.

She found herself surprised at the smug satisfaction in comparing her human to the other humans.

Sure her human couldn’t bench THAT much, but he also had better legs, so there.

“You ok, Sunny?”

She turned her head to look at him.

“Just thinking.” She said 

He shrugged at her and returned to his work. 

It’s hard to be a human.

They have to work for everything they have, especially when it comes to their body. 

[lotus0kid]

OUaT: Finding Fate

((For the 2020 Rumbelle Secret Santa, using @dorkone's prompt "castle flirting vs. storybrooke flirting”. Hope you like it!))

Regina racks up enemies like it’s the latest fashion.  At least she doesn’t task Rumpelstiltskin with conjuring her wardrobe as well as resolving her current vendetta.  Someday he’ll enjoy making her understand that she was never more than a means to an end for him.  Until then, he sits at his wheel and ponders how to make things difficult for a certain mermaid.

He nearly jumps off his stool when the doors to the hall fly open and a voice that has no business sounding so cheerful within the gloom of the Dark Castle rings out, “I did it!” Belle strides straight for him, a broad smile on her face and a silver platter balanced on her palm.  “I knew I’d get it eventually.  I wasn’t sifting the flour enough.  Thank the gods I figured it out- this batch is the last of the almond stuff!”

As she circles around to stand at his side Rumpelstiltskin catches the scent of something baked and… minty?  He stops the wheel and inquires, “What strange act have you committed in the kitchens now?”

Belle rolls her eyes at him, “If you wanted a cook you should’ve dealt for one.  But you got me, and I’ve just made a breakthrough in my culinary practice.  Here, try one.”

The platter swings toward him, revealing a number of bite-sized macarons tinted an alarming green shade.  The smell isn’t actually bad, now that he’s a had a minute to get used to it, but he curls a lip anyway.  “No thank you, dearie.  I have no need for… whatever this is.”

“‘Whatever this is’ is a delicacy from my village.  We made them every midwinter.  I thought I’d never get to have them again, but with a little experimentation and perseverance, you can hardly even taste the difference!”

Rumpelstiltskin blinks up at her, then returns his attention to the wheel.  “Right, well, congratulations then.”

Belle lets out a soft snort of indignation before saying, “Won’t you try one?  Here, I’ll go first.”  She picks up one of her creations and pops the whole thing in her mouth.  The instant her pink lips close on it her eyes slip shut and she moans in pleasure.

Rumpelstiltskin locks his gaze on the wood grain of his wheel, the only thing that might save him from the in all ways unwelcome heat rushing through his body.  This is made more difficult when something green bobs into the lower right corner of his vision.

“O-pen u-up…” Belle sing-songs as he resists the urge to lean into the fresh, bright scent of the treat. When did I summon mint oil to the cupboard?  “You know food tastes better when it’s shared, just try one.”

In this second, he snatches for his seer’s sight in hopes of some guidance, receiving silence in response. His own imagination offers the possibility of slapping her hand away- perhaps throw her totally off balance and send the lovely tray of treats clattering to the floor.  The thought of the cold glare she would cast on his back sends a chill through him.  Perhaps not. So, he could go the other way. Do as told, and open up, let her set the macaron on his tongue.  He could even close his lips quickly enough to catch her fingertips, and taste her skin along with the delicate crunch and zing of mint.  

Rumpelstiltskin shakes his head to clear these imaginings- one far too cold, the other far too hot. Belle’s hand retreats.  “All right, never mind then,” she begins, but he reaches out and cups his palm under hers, taking the macaron with his other hand and bringing it to his mouth.

He grinds through it with brisk efficiency.  “A triumph, dearie,” he announces after swallowing, “Well done.”

She smiles, nods.  “Thank you.  It’s good to know I can feed you something.  I don’t care what you say about being sustained by magic, it’s just not healthy to not eat.”

The briefest accidental glance in Belle’s direction reveals a look of warm concern beaming down on him and in that instant a thick, heavy sob swells up in Rumpelstiltskin’s chest, tightens his throat, and makes his eyes burn.  She’s right.  He lets the magic feed him, and it feeds on him in turn.  Sometimes he must call up a gallery of memories of Bae in order to keep the darkness from consuming him.  Once or twice, he’s had trouble recalling the exact shape of his son’s face, which causes frigid fear to blast through him.

Remembering that fear, joined with the horrific likelihood that he might start blubbering in front of Belle, drives him to his feet, and he utters pardons a second before whisking himself off to his tower.

Belle is of course the problem, he decides while pacing stolidly and aimlessly and sighing away the ache in his chest.  He swore an oath to love no one as long as Bae is lost to him.  But she’s here, and she is…  That’s not to say he actually…  It’s his old spinner’s heart, the foolish thing.  It still hasn’t learned- the people he loves, they leave.  He needs to show it what comes of entertaining silly little hopes.  He must look ahead, and see how Belle will free herself from him.  He’ll be calm then.

This is easier said than done.  As proven moments ago in the hall, the seer’s sight is finnicky at best, coming and going as it pleases.  And when he can grab hold of it, it sometimes rattles through more possibilities than Rumpelstiltskin’s mostly human mind can comprehend.  But perhaps he can channel it, focus it in one direction.  Indeed, his focus is clear- it’s Belle’s future he seeks.

He shuts his eyes and extends his awareness to find her walking back to the kitchens, and so takes the opportunity to transport himself into her room and pluck a strand of hair from her pillow.  This he carries back to his tower, then flicks through a dense tome of spells on a desk until he comes to a powerful divination spell.  With his eyes screwed shut as he mutters the words that will drag his seer’s sight to heel, he does not notice a hair from his own head come loose and drift down to join Belle’s in his palm.  But as unremarkable days of caretaker duties unspool within his mind, a mysterious golden haze drifts through, and he feels time speed up to a blur.

He tries to haul back on imaginary reins- he has no interest in zooming all the way to Belle’s eventual death.  Slowly his awareness settles on one point in the future.

The first surprise is that he isn’t a ghostly spectator in this random moment to come.  He feels himself present in the space.  Looking down, he finds himself wearing, not his usual silk and leather, but rather loose-fitting wool trousers matched with a jacket and a shirt fastened by a simple row of buttons.  His only silk is a thin strip tied around his neck, discretely folded under the shirt collar.

His second surprise are his hands.  They appear as those of an ordinary man, a state which is anything but ordinary.  His right wraps comfortably around a gold-handled cane- in this peculiar vision he’s aware of his maimed ankle as a distant stiffness.  His left hand holds the bow and neck of a violin.  He doesn’t have much time to study the instrument before the sounds of an opening door and a ringing bell come from beyond a curtain hanging in the doorway of the room he occupies, which appears to be the storage space of a small shop of curiosities.

After a moment, the curtain is pulled back to admit his third and biggest surprise- Belle, carrying what appears to be a sack made of paper and wearing a skirt far shorter than anything Rumpelstiltskin’s ever seen on a woman of her station.  She doesn’t seem at all bothered by this, smiling wide as her eyes fall to the violin.  “Unearth something interesting?” she asks before setting down the sack on a small table nearby.  “You might want to wait until after lunch to tell me about it.  Ruby said Madame Mayor was snapping at everyone when she got coffee this morning, so we may not have long to eat.”

None of that makes sense to Rumpelstiltskin- or, at least, the Rumpelstiltskin of the present.  The Rumpelstiltskin to come replies with ease while his past counterpart observes from within, “If she requires another lesson in patience, I’m happy to provide it.  Come have a look at this.”

She comes to stand before him as he holds out the violin.  Its body is decorated with wood inlays depicting two people in profile with their arms outstretched.  Magic curls away from their hands, meeting at the strings.  “Lovely.  And powerful, I suppose?” she inquires with a raised brow.

“Versatile, more than anything.  Play a certain tune, achieve a certain magical effect, assuming you play well. Shall I?”  Rumpelstiltskin lets the cane fall against his hip and transfers the bow to his right hand, setting it on the strings but pausing there with his gaze on Belle.

She nibbles at her lower lip, but soon says with a sparkle of mischief in her eyes, “Why not?”

“Very well,” Rumpelstiltskin says with a grin of his own.  He closes his eyes and searches the enchantments laid upon the violin, and finds something that might actually be familiar.  An old tune his Aunt Iph used to play for Aunt Im.  The melody slowly emerges as he draws the bow along the strings. 

It’s not long before he hears a soft gasp and then a bright giggle.  Belle’s hands fall on his shoulders and he opens his eyes to take her in as she floats about an arm’s length off the floor.  Light shining through a nearby window gleams every part of her it touches.  He maintains the tempo and volume of the song, which keeps her from drifting any higher. After a moment’s uncertainty, she lifts her hands, swaying and bobbing slightly to the beat, turning a slow circle in the air.  Rumpelstiltskin can’t say when he’s seen anything more beautiful, and his heart melts with love.

When she faces him again her hands return to his shoulders.  Beaming down on him, she murmurs, “That’s the tragedy of musicians- they don’t get to dance.”

Her brow furrows slightly and her hold on him tightens, and he actually feels the magic he’s emitting flow through her back into him, settling in his feet as a lightness that almost tickles.  Then he’s rising, rising up to meet her.  Belle’s arms slide around his neck as the distance continues to close between them.  Her lips brush his and in that instant there’s a blinding flash of gold light behind his eyes and the vision snaps out of existence and Rumpelstiltskin drops hard against the desk, knocking the tome of spells into a mess of fluttering pages on the floor.

He grips the edge of the desk, feet and lips still tingling, trying to understand what just happened. Because it can’t be the future, what he saw.  It’s not possible.  Him and Belle, together, really quite unmistakably in love.  True love.  No, it cannot be.  Anyway, in that world it didn’t seem instantly apparent where Bae was, and therefore it was no world Rumpelstiltskin wants to live in.  Not at all.

He crouches down to pick up and turn the tome over and check for damage.  The spell on the page it falls open to is something to do with happy dreams.  Ah, clearly he misread earlier and cast this instead of a divination spell.  Of course.  He should try again.  Ensure he’s on the right page, and figure out what fate of Belle’s will take her away.

He definitely means to.  It’s just that a half-finished project catches his attention, and he forgets all about it.  And when it crosses his mind again, the hint of an old tune he only just remembered wanders through his mind, and he decides he doesn’t need to know.  Not yet.

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

Here’s the next chapter! Hope you enjoy. Also a big thank you to @edward-or-ford, as always, for his invaluable feedback!

Chapter Five: Into the Night

It’s three AM, I’m outside your window. Jump the fence; dad will never know. And then you took control of the radio, turned up all the songs I know. I’m risking everything, and that’s alright with me. - The Summer Set, Passenger Seat

Mabel Caroline Pines, age seventeen, five foot three (and a Virgo, for interested parties) was positively average. As in, she was perfectly fine. Reasonably acceptable. Nothing to gawk at, sure, but certainly not a goblin or in any way repulsive.

Her face was average, her boobs were average, her hair was average, her butt was average. Even her feet were average-sized. There was nothing inherently wrong with Mabel’s appearance. Sure, she’d change the odd thing here and there if given the chance to do so (the length of her eyelashes, for example, or the natural shape of her eyebrows).

Of course, Mabel would never admit such things out loud. How could she? It would ruin the confidence she pretended to have, and that simply wouldn’t do.

To be fair to herself, which she always tried to be, Mabel was quite skilled at creativity-driven tasks. However, no amount of creative proficiency could have prevented the required sleuthing, as well as pre-sleuth planning and timing, that one particular evening required in order to be pulled off.

Mabel didn’t deign to share with Candy and Grenda exactly whom she was meeting (“I’m sneaking out to meet my brother in the dead of night” hardly warrants a forty-five minute shower where she spent the majority of the time shaving parts of her body that didn’t strictly need shaving as they wouldn’t be seen, thirty minutes of blow drying and styling one’s hair, thirty more minutes of makeup application, the nervousness, not to mention the outfit-picking-out process), but she did say she was meeting a boy she might’ve sorta kinda had a teensy bit of a thing for. Her friends knew her well enough to know she was understating her feelings a great deal, of course, but they didn’t pry. Okay, they did, but they didn’t pry too much.

In any case, Mabel was quite pleased with the results of her hour in the bathroom mirror. She’d drenched the ever-loving crap out of her hair in glitter spray as she brushed it, and the hot air of the hair dryer made the spray set in so it didn’t get on Candy’s fingers while she began a partial French braid at the crown of Mabel’s head.

Y’know, the sort of hairstyle that, to the untrained eye, didn’t look like it took a whole lot of time and effort, when in reality, it 100% did.

“Why can’t we use bright red lipstick again, or wing your eyeliner?” Grenda complained.

“Because,” Mabel said emphatically. “If Di-“ Cutting herself off and pressing her lips together tightly, collecting her thoughts. Candy raised a slender eyebrow before Mabel continued. “If he sees winged eyeliner and bright red lipstick, he’ll think something’s up! I don’t want him to know I’m interested!”

“But you want him to look deep into your eyes, and the eyeliner will draw attention to them,” reminded Grenda.

“Yeah, and bright red lipstick will draw attention to your lips, which means he’s more likely to think about kissing you,” agreed Candy.

Mabel sighed and held up a tube of lipstick that was just a few shades darker than her natural lip color.

“The pink will do that same thing without being too obvious about it. If he’s interested, he’ll notice my lips and my boobs, and if he’s not, then, well… then he’s not, I guess.”

“Fair enough, I suppose,” Grenda conceded.

Candy was silent for a moment, staring searchingly at Mabel’s face. “Who did you say you were meeting again?”

“I- I didn’t,” Mabel stuttered briefly, covering her discomfort by turning her attention to applying the lipstick. This was just as well, as if she had seen Candy’s highly suspicious expression, she would’ve been even more nervous than she already was, and it should be noted that that was no small amount by any measure.

Perfect. Just the right amount of “LOOK AT ME” vibes from her lips.

Grabbing a bottle of perfume, she sprayed a bit on her wrist, rubbing it against her other one, and then on her neck and under her ears.

“You guys sure this outfit isn’t too much? I don’t want him to think I’m trying to impress him, and the heels, I dunno...”

Both girls shook their heads furiously. “No, it’s perfect! And we already coordinated your makeup and jewelry so no way are we changing it up now!” Grenda exclaimed.

“Mhm,” Candy agreed. “And the heels are perfect! They make your hips sway extra when you walk and they make your butt stuck out a little bit! They’re not even that high, he probably won’t even notice you’re wearing them.”

Right. Nobody wore jeans when they were trying to impress somebody. Well, not when they were being obvious about it, anyway. And Mabel was certainly trying her hardest not to be obvious.

And she was 100% trying to impress Dipper. She wanted Dipper to see her and wish she wasn’t his sister, wish they shared a soulmark. She wanted him to ache so badly for her that it felt like his bones were trying to escape his skin.

She ached for him that way, after all. It was only fair she made him ache for her in return. Even if it was only once, only for a split second.

When Mabel’s phone chimed to signal she’d gotten a text, she snatched it up before either of her friends could sneak a peek at the screen.

I’m outside read Dipper’s text. Then a second one came in with a whoosh from her phone’s speaker. Lights are off so nobody can see my car but I’m here.

Mabel wasn’t sure where her heart was. It might’ve been in her stomach, or perhaps her throat, or maybe even Candy’s basement, but it most definitely was not in her chest.

“He’s here,” Mabel said quietly, standing on shaky legs. God, why had she worn heels? What had she been thinking?

“Are you ready?!” Grenda demanded excitedly.

“Nope,” Mabel squeaked out.

“Yes you are!” Candy said firmly. “You are absolutely ready! You look hot, girl, you’re gonna make him jizz his pants just from looking at you!”

Mabel seriously doubted that, and she would most definitely laugh if it happened. But yeah, it wasn’t gonna happen. Because no matter how much time Mabel spent on making herself look her prettiest, Dipper would only ever see her as his sister.

Still, though. A girl could dream, right?

Mabel has never really considered Candy’s first floor bedroom being an asset before, but it most certainly had become one. Climbing out a window was far easier if that window was on the ground floor.

Still, staring out into the blackness of the cold Oregon night as Candy popped out her window screen and set it to the side, Mabel wondered how she had gotten there. Thirteen minutes before midnight, done up like she was going on a date, about to climb out her friend’s bedroom window and tiptoe through the front yard to secretly meet her twin brother whom she just so happened to be in love with, praying to every deity she’d ever heard of that he hadn’t found his soulmate.

Not yet, she pleaded silently, staring at the outline of his car, just a shade darker than the trees and the night sky, barely visible at all. Let me have him to myself just a little longer.

She wasn’t ready to share him with another girl. She never really would be, but in time, she’d come to accept it. She had to, right? There was no other option. She wanted him to be happy. Even if it wasn’t with her, even if it made her feel like her body was consuming itself from the inside out, she wanted him to be happy.

“Mabel?” Grenda asked cautiously.

“I’m fine,” she assured her friend. She couldn’t mess up her makeup by crying.

Mascara and eyeliner were a bitch to fix.

Bracing herself on the windowsill, she put one jean-clad leg over and out the window, then the other.

Looking back at her friends in the light of Candy’s bedroom one last time, second guessing herself for half a second (she’d never snuck out before, after all), Mabel smiled shakily. Both her friends beamed back at her. Candy leaned down the couple of inches required to be at Mabel’s eye level.

“Knock ‘em dead.”

Grenda nodded enthusiastically. “And tell us everything when you get back!”

Grinning, Mabel hopped out of the window only to immediately realize that heels and frosty grass were not a great mix, and thus struggled to maintain her balance.

“Wait!” Grenda whisper-yelled.

Whipping her head around to look at her friends staring out at her through the window, Mabel smiled as Candy hastily squashed the essentials (phone, lipstick, tampons, breath mints, makeup remover wipes, and a compact mirror) into a purse before shoving it into the hand Grenda had stretched out behind her and was flailing about wildly, signalling to hurry the fuck up, Candy, time is of the essence here before finally tossing it at Mabel, who caught it with minimal fumbling and put it over her shoulder.

“We’ll leave the window unlocked. Let us know if you aren’t gonna come home tonight!” Grenda informed Mabel with an exaggerated wink and closed the window.

Mabel rolled her eyes affectionately and did her very best to hobble over to Dipper’s car with as much dignity as she could muster.

Heels and grass did not mix, and they extra-dextra didn’t mix when the grass was wet and very, very cold.

Reaching the curb, she perched her feet on it, and reached slowly, ever so slowly, towards the handle, and heard the click of the lock being undone from the inside. She couldn’t see in the windows; it was too dark.

The chill of the winter night bit into her fingers as they brushed the silver door handle, and she exhaled as she grasped it, her breath visible in the cold air.

Grasping the handle, Mabel opened the door slowly, and the overhead light in the car switched on automatically.

“Hurry!” Dipper whispered urgently. “Don’t want anyone to see the light.”

Mabel moved to sit in the passenger seat of his car as quickly as she could with the amount of shaking her limbs were doing, and settled in, closing the door behind her.

“Where are we going?” She asked, too afraid to look at him in the dim light of the streetlamp. She’d have to strain her eyes a great deal to see him, anyway.

“The woods. Not far from here. Just… somewhere nobody will see my car and recognize it.”

“Awfully recognizable, are ya now?” She tried to joke, but it came out stilted and awkward. Could he tell how nervous, no, how terrified, she was?

She could almost hear the shrug in his voice as he started the car, not turning the headlights on until they turned a corner.

“I mean… it’s a really small town. I don’t think there’s anybody here whose name I don’t know. So yeah, they all know what my car looks like,” he said it quietly, and it occurred to Mabel just then that he hadn’t turned on any music. The silence was suffocating.

Not knowing what to say, Mabel remained silent for a bazillion years, watching the trees pass them by. It was nothing like California, where the activity never stopped, just changed. It was quiet. Peaceful. Suffocating.

Okay, so it wasn’t actually a bazillion years. More like ten minutes. But hell if it didn’t feel like a bazillion years.

Dipper pulled into a clearing and put the car in park. It wasn’t a road, but it had clearly been driven over many a time.

The light came on again as he switched gears, and he turned the headlights back off. Turning to look at each other, really look at each other, for the first time since that afternoon, they found themselves speechless.

Dipper was, in a word, breathtaking. The soft glow of the overhead light lit the shadows on his face in such a way that his eyes almost seemed to glow, and his hair fell over his forehead in the most adorable way, and his lips were slightly parted and his cheeks were flushed from the cold.

It was warm in the car, but what else could his cheeks be flushed from?

“You look…” he coughed, looking at his lap briefly. “Nice,” he finished weakly.

“Thanks,” she managed to force out. Even a syllable was a struggle. God, how had she never been alone with him before? Why was the atmosphere so incredibly different? She didn’t even feel like herself!

“So… here’s the thing, Mabel…” he trailed off.

“The thing?”

“Yeah, the thing I wanted to talk to you about. Y’know. The thing,” he held his hands out and accentuated the last word with a movement.

“Errr… sorry, no. I don’t know what you’re talking about, bro-bro,” she shook her head. “You literally just left me a ultra-mega cryptic note saying you had to tell me something and that’s it.”

He nodded, ran a hand through his hair, and when he turned his head just so his jawline came into the light and- good god why? Why must the gods torture Mabel thus?

“Right. I guess…” he blinked rapidly, staring determinedly off in the direction of absolutely nothing. “I guess you wouldn’t, huh?”

“Is… is everything okay?” She asked him softly. “It’s gotta be pretty important for you to want a one-on-one meeting like this, so…”

“Yeah, I mean, no… I mean. Ugh. I dunno.” He ran a hand over his face, clearly agonizing over something.

What in the actual ever-loving fuck was going on?

“Dip,” she said, forcing a sternness she definitely didn’t feel into her voice. “What’s going on?”

“Right,” he said with a nod that appeared to be more to himself than to her, and then looked at her. There was something in his eyes. Mabel didn’t know what it was, but whatever was in his gaze, she knew in her very soul that it was the exact opposite of the frost on the grass outside the car.

Not that that made any sense, of course, but that was the only conclusion she could come to without at least forty-five minutes of analysis.

“Right,” he said again. “I guess… I guess it would probably be easier to just… show you, maybe…”

“Uh. Okay?” Mabel blinked. Show her what now?

Dipper held out his arm, palm up, except his fist was clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. His eyes were shut, too, and in much the same way, and then…

And then he took a deep breath, held it, and yanked his sleeve up.

Mabel’s eyes were fixed on the inside of his wrist. Dipper’s soulmark was a shooting star with the outline of a tree in the center.

Exactly like hers.

[random-blfan]

Alsar 66: New Quest

8 am.

I walked down the street in the morning sun, opened the guild door for the first time in three days, and Tord-san-san was sitting at the counter with a sleepy face.

"Good morning, Tord-san. Yesterday, I heard from Mr. Malik that there is a  quest for us. Is it posted on the bulletin board?"

"Good morning! Yes, it's posted on the bulletin board ... The solo quest  has 3 subjugations of A rank class monsters. The party quest is an escort mission that requires an A rank member in the party. I think it's probably that quest. "

As he spoke he shook his head lightly to get rid of drowsiness, then greeted me vigorously as usual then told me the contents of the quest.

It's difficult for me to subdue by myself without any means of attack, so it seems impossible for me to solo. Is it possible for multiple people to take a solo quest?

"This solo quest, for example, is it impossible for me and someone else to take it?"

"No, it's possible. Just be sure to take the quest as a party, and any number of people is fine in solo quests!"

"Is that so ... Thank you."

I wonder who to take along to do the quest.

First of all, I'm terribly inexperienced, so I'd like to gradually gain experience with quests.

"Is it a party quest?"

"Yes. It's supposed to be a party that includes an A rank, but the only parties here in Pedrel that have A ranks are Ren's [Luche] and Janna's [Casablanca]. Though Janna-san had taken this client’s quest before, they didn’t get along at all ,it seems like it went terribly, so it can be said that it’s perfect for Luce. " (It's suggesting that the quest can pretty much  only be taken by them)

"Ehh ..."

Originally there are only about 50 people in A rank, but is it a dangerous quest to specifically ask for an A rank?

What kind of person is the client who didn't get along with Janna?

If we don't take this  quest, no one will, so that person will be in trouble ...

Should I consult with those three?

"I see.... Thank you very much. Then I'll consult with Chris and the others and decide whether we want to take it or not. I'll see you later.

"Okay. I'll be waiting for you!

The last time I saw him, he was kind of gloomy, but I'm glad to see that today's Tord-san is more cheerful.After all, cheerfulness suits Tord-san, doesn't it?.

With that in mind, I headed to the 5th floor, where those three should be.

But really, why the hell are we on the top floor ......?

The stairs are pretty steep for me, but I'm sure the adventurers who stay here have strong legs and feet, so I'm sure it's not hard at all.

"I think Fer-san was the closest to the stairs… Is Fer-san here?"

"Yes, it 's open."

I knocked lightly on the door of 503 and heard Fer-san’s reply from inside, so I opened the door and went in.

It seems that preparations are complete today, and while turning his back, he wraps a dark brown waist pouch-shaped storage bag, Magic Bag, around his waist.

"Good morning, Ren-kun. Did you see the bulletin board?"

"Good morning, Fer-san. No, I haven't seen it, but I got the specifics from Tord-san”

"I see.... In the meantime, I'll go get the other two and we'll talk over breakfast downstairs.

Fer-san turned around and came up to pet my head, greeting me with a fresh morning smile.

People in this world really like to pet my head, don't they?

I feel like I've been patted a lot since I came here.

I guess I'm small, so I'm easy to pet.

"Okay"

When I replied, Fer-san grabbed my hand and we left the room to go to the one next door.

"I'm going to talk to Sig, so Ren-kun ask Chris, okay? ... Sig? Are you awake?"

"Understood"

I walked down the corridor a bit, listening to Fel calling Sig through the door, and knocked lightly on the door of room 501 where Chris was sleeping and called out to him.

"Chris-san? Are you awake?

"Yes, I'm awake. ...Good morning”

“Good morning. You're all set for today aren't you?”

As soon as I called out to him, the door opened with a bang and Chris-san peeked out.

I was a little relieved to see that he wasn't naked today, but was properly dressed.

"Fufu, too bad for you I’m wearing clothes ~?" (He’s kinda suggesting Ren wanted to see him naked)

"HA!? Not in a million years! Let 's go!" (The line here is something more like: there’s no way that’s the case, or smth along those lines, sounds pretty tsundere to be honest)

"Yes, yes ~"

Perhaps Chris read my thoughts, he leaned against the door and made fun of me with a grin.

I turned my back on Chris and started walking, but I'm sure he saw my cheeks turn red. The evidence of this was the giggling that followed me from behind.

"Hey Ren. Good morning"

"Good morning, Sig-san"

"Your face is bright red, did Chris tease you again?"

"Uh ..."

Sig-san's room was next to Chris-san's, so we got there quickly.

Apparently the redness on my cheeks hadn’t disappeared , he looked at me while telling me so, and I looked down to hide it.

"Okay, Okay… We'll talk about the quest downstairs while eating breakfast, right? Let 's go, Ren-kun."

"Okay…"

Fer-san gently pats my head and puts his hand on my shoulder leading me to the first floor.

It seems like Sig-san and Chris-san are following us from behind.

It seems that Chris and Sig are also following from behind.

When I got to the first floor, I was escorted to a table in the dining area like the last time, and they pulled out a chair for me to sit on.

"Ren-kun did you eat already?"

"Oh, yes, so I'll just get a drink today."

As before, the three asked for breakfast, and I started talking about the request quest while drinking orange juice.

By this time, the redness in my cheeks had receded, so I spoke normally.

"-So it's a solo  quest, but I'd like someone to go with me ..."

“Though I saw it yesterday I thought that this solo quest is a tough one for Ren-chan to go…”

"Ah, is that so?"

Chris-san tells me when I ask the three of them.

I didn't check the bulletin board properly, but that's true ...

 "Ah, indeed. First, it takes time to get to the site, and It's a pretty steep mountain, Oscar and the others can't climb it, so it's going to be tough for Ren, who's not very strong yet, and I think the other two will be difficult for Ren as well, so leave it to us this time.. "

"That's right. There were three quests, so let's take one each."

"Then we'll go  separately, and while we're waiting, one by one we'll go on a date with Ren-chan"

If the three of them, who are senior adventurers, say so, then they must be right.

I can't help it, if I force myself to go and become a burden, so I'll just give up this time.

A date in the meantime...that might be nice too...

"Okay, then what about the party  quest?"

"It’s an escort to La Serna. It's a 10-day round trip. It's an easy job to take because the departure date and time can be anytime between July 10th and 15th."

"La Serna?"

It is the first time I have heard of such a place.

A 10 days round trip means it is farther than Calhea. (I wasn’t sure how to romanize カリェーハ but I left it the way the previous translator did…)

"Yes, the Calhea meadow and the village of Bayunov are north of Pedrel, but La Serna is the exact opposite, it’s a city in the south. The roads are well maintained and usually do not pass through dangerous places, so a B-rank or C-rank adventurers are enough as escorts.There are also stagecoaches that connect towns without hiring guards in the first place, so many people go by that”

"And yet, they’re asking for an A-rank, or rather, us, Luce?

According to Fer-san, if guards aren’t really needed then why are we being assigned to do it?

"Are you really worried?"

"Well, if there was a problem, the guild wouldn’t accept the requested quest, so it must be fine ... what should we do? Should we take it?"

Is the client someone very worried about the journey?

When accepting the  quest, the guild side also confirms the identity of the client, so there seems to be less trouble.

So I don't think I'm going to get involved in a crime, and it's a new place for me, who has rarely left Pedrel.

Maybe I want to go there ...

"I don't know if it's right for me to accept a quest like this, but I've never been to this place before, and I want to go there. Of course, I'll also do the quest properly”

"If that's the case, should we take it?"

"Let 's do it "

"Then let's finish eating and go to the reception."

So it seems that I don't have to worry about getting involved in crime or anything, and it's a new place for me as I've hardly ever left Pedrel.

I kind of want to try going…

I'm not sure if I can decide not to accept a request like this. But I'm still excited about the new quest.

As soon as we finished eating, they all went to sign up for a solo quest and I took care of the party quest”

The desired departure date is July 11.

The blueprints for the house would be finished by then, and the three of them were told that if the solo quests went well, they would be done by then, so we decided to do it that day.

I'm looking forward to dating each of the three until the 11th.

TN: Sorry about the late update,  I’m starting exams this week but I’ll try to have the next chapter as soon as possible.

Take care∼

[pinknerdpanda]

A Terrible Idea

Word Count: 3.9k

Characters: Biker!Bucky x Stark!reader, Brother!Tony, Pepper, Rhodey, Steve and Sam

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, drinking, rivalries, language.

Beta’d by: @shy-violet-soul​ Thank you darling! xoxo

@star-spangled-bingo​ square filled: “First I love You” (bolded below)

A/n: I’ve been sitting on this one for a few weeks and I finally finished it last night. I’m a sucker for Biker!Bucky and I hope I did him justice. Feedback is very appreciated!

X

A Terrible Idea

This was a terrible idea. 

I’d had a feeling it was going to be from the minute I’d agreed to come, but now, pulling into the parking lot of the ramshackle bar, I know for sure I’d been right. Rows and rows of suped up, carefully polished and exquisitely maintained motorcycles lay between me and the entrance. I groan, unbuckling the strap under my chin and sliding the helmet off my head. 

“Oh come on, Princess. It’s not so bad,” my brother chuckles in front of me. He dismounts before holding out a hand and helping me down, far less gracefully than he’d managed.

I shoot him a glare, tugging the hem of my dress down and shaking out my hair. 

“Says you,” I grumble, ducking to check my reflection in the tiny side mirror. It proves a fruitless endeavor, and I groan again.

“You look fine, y/n,” Pepper soothes, as she steps forward between us. “It’s going to be fun. Besides, when was the last time you went out. You need to let your hair down and live a little.”

Tony’s arm winds around her shoulders, tugging her against his side. The look of adoration they share is so sweet it makes me want to vomit.

“Your version of fun and my version of fun don’t always seem to mesh,” I prop a fist against my hip. 

“Well that’s because our version of ‘fun’ is actually fun, unlike yours, which is just lame.”

“I hate you.” I mutter, rolling my eyes. 

“No you don’t baby sister,” Tony laughs. “You just hate being wrong. Which you are. A lot.”

The familiar roar of an engine cuts off any further argument as a shiny, metallic blue Honda Shadow pulls to a stop next to Tony’s Harley.

“Rhodey!” Tony cheers as he watches his best friend cut the engine and climb off. 

“Hey Tone. Pepper, y/n - looking beautiful as always,” Rhodey grins before turning his full attention to me. “I’m glad you came tonight. I thought for sure you’d stay home.”

“Well, it wasn’t for lack of trying.” Tony claps Rhodey on the back before ushering us all toward the door. “Alright, party people. Let’s do this.”

The bar is sparsely lit as we enter, fog billowing through the room and obscuring what little lighting exists. Stale cigarettes, beer and sweat coalesce into an oddly comforting fragrance, and I take a deep breath before exhaling. Maybe this wasn’t such a terrible idea after all.

A large man wearing a leather vest covered in menagerie of patches stumbles into me, the drink in his hand sloshing out and dousing me in a cold, hoppy shower. He turns, wide-eyed and apologetic before his expression twists into an unsettling leer, his eyes dancing over my body and making me feel more exposed than I already am.

The warmth of a presence at my back precedes the flash of fear that spreads across his face. I smirk at him, watching with interest as realization plays across his features, his eyes darting back and forth between me and my brother now looming behind me. Feet faltering, the man retreats, the remainder of his drink spilling down his front as he all-but-runs away.

“Jackass,” I mumble, adjusting the straps of my dress and turning toward Tony. “Thank you.”

“I’ve always got your back, sis. Besides,” Tony grins. “Syd Vicious over there knows better than to mess with me.” He shoots me a wink just as his name is yelled from the back of the bar and he makes his way toward the voice, Pepper and Rhodey in tow.

Rather than follow them, I make a beeline for the bar. I’ve been here all of three minutes and, already, I require copious amounts of alcohol. The bartender is tiny - slim and cute in her strapless leather dress and fishnets - but the look in her eyes speaks a warning that there is more to her than meets the eye. She smiles at me as I place my palms against the grimy surface of the bar and make a silent plea with my future drunk-self not to hit on her later.

“Two shots of tequila and a beer, please.”

She winks at me before turning to fill my request. 

“Not playin’ around are ya, sweetheart?” 

The voice startles me - not so much that it caught me off-guard, but more that the rich rasp of it sends a chill down my spine. Tilting my head slightly, I find the profile of a man, backlit by the lights flashing from the dance floor.

His hair is cropped short on the sides and only a little longer on the top. The line of his jaw is striking despite the scruffy beard peppering his cheeks. He glances at me sideways as he brings his drink to his plush lips and it takes a conscious effort to look anywhere but at his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

Two shot glasses and a bottle are placed in front of me next to two lime wedges and a salt shaker. I nod at the bartender, shooting her a wink in thanks as I take the first shot.

“It’s a party, right? Isn’t this what you’re supposed to do? Get lit and loosen up a little?” I quirk an eyebrow at the handsome man beside me before throwing back the second shot.

“What?” His voice is like velvet, warm and luxurious against my skin as he leans in closer. “No lime or salt?”

“What can I say? I like to live life dangerously,” I shrug before leaning against the bar, a smile curving my lips. 

He sits back, his fingers tracing the edge of his glass as he narrows his eyes at me. His gaze traces the shape of my body, but it’s not predatory or icky like the guy with the patches before. If anything, it makes my heart beat a little faster, even as I resist the urge to wrap my arms around myself.

I’ve never been one to feel completely comfortable in my own skin. I know, I know, everyone has body issues. But being the chubby girl in a family of skinny-ass bikers with model-like girlfriends and muscles for days does little for a girl’s self esteem. I’ve had boyfriends, but they all either wanted to “help fix” me by suggesting various diets and workouts or let me know how big of a favor they were doing by dating a “fat chick.”

Then there was Joey. He was gorgeous, funny, sweet and the sex was outstanding. I overheard him at the bar one night, joking with his buddies about how pathetic it was that I constantly “threw” myself at him. He showed at my doorstep the next night telling me how much he loved me and wanted to be with me. I made sure to let him know how pathetic it was to constantly throw himself at me and slammed the door in his face.

“You alright there, doll?”

The velvet voice shakes me from my self deprecation and I realize he’s staring at me curiously. Heat curls up the sides of my face and ears as his brows furrow. 

“Peachy.”  Mumbling, I grab my beer, taking a long swig and turning from his concerned expression.

His hand catches my elbow and I feel a jolt of electricity at his touch.

He says something, but I can’t make it out and I shoot him a questioning look. The music from the band has gotten louder and he leans in “Hey, I’m sorry. Did I do something?”

I shake my head and take another drink. He signals the bartender for two more beers before nodding to the back patio. He’s mouthing something that looks like “it’s too loud in here” as the bartender hands him the bottles.

He gestures to the patio and I feel him at my back as I make my way to the door. Several groups of people are scattered among the mismatched chairs and tables, but the air is crisp and the music is only a dull roar now. We settle into a pair of metal chairs in the corner and he hands me one of the beers.

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear myself think in there. M’name’s Bucky, by the way.”

“Y/n. Thanks for the beer, Bucky.” 

He smiles and in that instant the moon is eclipsed by the crinkling around his eyes and the cleft of his chin. “So what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a dump like this, huh?”

“Right.” Scoffing, I roll my eyes. “That line usually work for you or…” I trail off, gesturing with my beer.

He chuckles, holding his hands up in surrender. “‘S’not a line, just an honest question. You just don’t strike me as the kind of girl who hangs around these places, ya know?”

“Oh, so now we’re going with the ‘you’re not like other girls’ bullshit, huh? Smooth, Buck. Really smooth.” I quirk an eyebrow as he squirms ever so slightly. “Or is it because I’m too fat to be the stereotypical hot biker chick type?”

“No, no. You’re...that’s not...I didn’t…”

Laughing, I smack his arm. “Relax. I'm just fuckin’ with you. These places usually aren’t my kind of thing. Not any more at least.”

He sighs, some of the uncomfortable tension visibly draining from his face. “Yeah, me either. You're not by the way.” I tip my head questioningly. "Fat, I mean. You're gorgeous."

I shift, ignoring the heat prickling my cheeks. Unable to come up with a reply to his unexpected compliment, I clear my throat and change the subject.

“So, what brought you here, then, Bucky," I smirk, drawing out his name seductively and surprising myself. What the hell are you doing?

Bucky takes a sip of beer, a small droplet lands on his lip that he kicks away before nipping at his bottom lip.

"Duty and all that." He shrugs casually, despite the deliberate vagueness of his answer. 

I narrow my eyes at him, closing my hands around my bottle. The drink will be too warm for my liking after this, but I don't really care.

"Let me guess; club president and you've got to make an appearance at these shit shows for the sake of morale?" 

Bucky's brow quirks, his eyes twinkling in the starlight. 

"What gave it away?" He says dryly. 

I grin, unwrapping my hands and taking a long drink before replying. "The president patch on your jacket." I lean in and whisper. "It's a bit of a dead giveaway."

He chuckles then and the sound slithers down my spine. 

"You don't say." He eyes me curiously as his long fingers play over the neck of his bottle. 

The thought strikes me that he seems very...adept with his fingers. Gulping, I try desperately to push down that line of thinking as a warmth floods my body. You wanton bitch, keep it together.

"What about you, Doll?" He tips his head to one side, eyes still dancing over my face. It almost feels like he can read my mind and I hope to God he can't.

"My brother dragged me along. Said I wasn't allowed to stay home and 'hide from fun like a goddamn hermit' so...here I am." 

Bucky nods, placing his forearms on the table and leaning towards me. "I gotta say, I'm real glad he did."

The warmth from seconds ago creeps up my shoulders and neck and burns at my cheeks. Lost for words again, I smile and take another drink, draining the remnants of my too warm beer. 

"Y/n?" Tony's voice startles me and I whip my head around to find my brother stomping toward me, Pepper and Rhodey in tow. The redhead clutches the sleeve of Tony's jacket and she shoots me an apologetic look. The air suddenly sparks with tension and I glance between the trio very confused.

"Hey, Tony. What's going on?" I duck my head to meet his eyes, but he's staring over my shoulder, ignoring me.

"Barnes," he growls. "What the hell are you doing?"

I glance over my shoulder to find Bucky smirking, but I don't miss the muscle in his jaw twitching.

"Having a drink with a beautiful woman," he replies, his voice teetering between nonchalance and irritation. "You two know each other?"

"Something like that, but I'm guessing you already knew that," Tony grinds out as Bucky rises to his feet.

The two men tower over me and I shift awkwardly trying to find a way out from between them. 

"What the fuck's that supposed to mean, Stark?"

Tony rolls his eyes, a huff of humorless laughter punching from his lungs. "Right. You expect me to believe you just happened to strike up a conversation with my baby sister? Give me a break, Barnes."

Bucky steps back, giving me room to slide from my chair and stand a little distance from them. He gulps and shoots me a panicked look. 

"You're Stark's sister?" The words are hoarse and low, as though it hurt him to spit them out. 

Frustrated and confused, I whirl on my brother. "Tony, what the fuck is going on?" 

Tony tugs his arm from Pepper's grasp and shoves an accusatory finger toward Bucky. "He's a fucking White Wolf, y/n. The goddamn president, in fact."

The shuffle of boots behind me draws my attention and I watch two men approach Bucky, flanking him. The man on the right is tall, blonde and has a face too boy-next-door to match his worn leather jacket. The other man grins at me, deep brown lips parting to reveal a gap between his front teeth. Neither of the men strikes much in the way of fear in me, but the menacing looks they throw toward my brother send a prickle of anxiety through my bones.

"I'd bet money that douche-canoe is only using you to try and get to me." Tony crosses his arms.

The patio has grown deadly quiet save for the full hum of music from inside. The static in my head, however, is screaming in rage and I return my gaze to my brother. 

"Is that so? You don't think there's a snowball's chance in hell he could actually find my company appealing? Is it possible that once - just one time - in your fucking life, Anthony, that something might not actually be about you?"

Rhodey stifles a laugh and Tony glares at him. I cross my arms and lift my eyebrows, watching him expectantly. 

"All I'm saying is that it's too damn big of a coincidence." Tony sighs before continuing, lowering his voice and clutching my elbows affectionately. "You know what happened, y/n. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out he's using you."

Hurt and anger roar in my ears as I step out of his grasp. Of course I know about the rivalry between the White Wolves and the Iron Legion. I may not be as well versed in club politics as I'd once been, but the feud goes back for generations. The fact that my brother finds it more plausible that a man would want to spend time with me because of a decade's old grudge rather than simply appreciating my company stings. 

"That's not it at all, y/n," Bucky murmurs behind me, his words dripping with sincerity as though he can read my thoughts. "I had no idea you even knew him. You have to believe me."

Tears burn at the back of my eyes and I take a deep breath before turning to face him.

"And now that you do?" 

Tony grumbles behind me, but I ignore him. Bucky's face is drawn in confusion as he meets my eyes.

"Now that I do, what?"

"Now that you know who I am. Does that change anything?" I sniff, wrapping my arms around myself and staring at the toe of my black boot.

A second pair of boots steps into view and I look up to find Bucky standing directly in front of me. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, but I can't tell if it's unspent anger or a hesitancy to touch me. Finally he places a finger under my chin, tipping my head back gently.

"Not a thing," he breathes, searching my face for something.

When I step backward, his hand drops back to his side and he hangs his head. I turn to face my brother.

"First, I love you. You're my brother and nothing will change that. But right now you're being a giant asshole. I don't give a shit if he's a Hell's Angel or a fuckin' priest. Who I speak to and spend time with is none of your business. I suggest you find something else to fill your time besides dragging me into your club bullshit."

Pepper grins at me over Tony's shoulder. Rhodey looks concerned and maybe a bit disappointed, but says nothing. Tony nods, opening his mouth but closing it again.

"Tony, that's enough. She's a grown woman," Pepper soothes.

His lips press into a tight line as he grabs Pepper's hand and leads her back inside. Rhodey steps forward, patting my shoulder before following his friend.

I turn back to Bucky, his face a wash of awe, confusion and appreciation. I smile at him weakly, tipping my head back toward the door.

"Next round's on me." I glance at his new companions. "You, too. Pull up a seat and Bucky can introduce us when I get back."

Without waiting for a response, I make my way back inside, my legs shaking slightly and my lungs begging for oxygen. Apparently I'd been holding my breath for most of our little exchange outside and I relish the scent of beer and stale cigarettes as I inhale deeply.

----

A few hours and many beers between my confrontation with Tony and now, I throw my head back, howling at Sam. 

"He didn't." I gasp dramatically. 

Sam wiggles his eyebrows at me as Bucky groans beside me.

"Oh he did. Got it on camera and everything."

Giggles break free from my lips as I look at Bucky, annoyance twisting his features as he glares at Sam. I clamp one hand over my mouth and the other on his thigh as the giggles continue. Bucky looks between the hand on his thigh and my face as his lips curve in amusement and his pupils darken. 

Steve clears his throat and stands. "Y/n it's a pleasure meeting you. I think Sam and I will head back inside and see what Romanoff is up to."

"Aw come on, Steve. I haven't even told her about the time…" 

Sam's words are cut off as Steve grips his shoulder harshly. Sam coughs and sends me a wicked grin before rising to his feet.

"Another time," he winks at me. "You two stay out of trouble."

The patio is nearly empty I realize as I watch the two men head back inside. Bucky chuckles beside me, placing his arm across the back of my chair.

"Some interesting friends you've got there, Buck," I muse, but stop as I meet his gaze. 

Bucky licks his lips, his pupils blown even wider now as he watches me. My mouth feels dry and I squirm under his heated stare.

Just when I think he's going to lean in and kiss me, he stands abruptly. 

"Dance with me." 

He holds his hand out to me and I stare at it, dumbly.

"Come on, Doll. It's just us out here, now. A pretty girl gets all dressed up for the evening, she deserves at least one dance." He wiggles his fingers invitingly and I oblige.

He grins as he helps me to my feet and wraps his arms around my waist. 

"There's no music, Buck." I slip my hands around his neck anyway and he pulls me closer, rocking gently side to side.

"Don't need no music," he mumbles before burying his face into the crook of my shoulder. "We can make our own."

My fingers tangle in his hair as I press my cheek against his chest. The leather of his jacket is softer than it looks and I sigh, allowing him to lead me in a silent dance.

The murmur of voices inside and the comforting chirp of crickets nearby bleed together in a soothing cocoon of white noise as our bodies sway.

"I never thanked you earlier." Bucky's breath tickles my neck and sends a pleasant shiver down my spine.

I pull back to look at him. "Thank me for what?"

"For believing me," he says simply. When I narrow my eyes at him, confused, he chuckles and continues. "Everything Stark...err...Tony..." he corrects himself awkwardly, "... everything he said about me using you, I was sure you'd walk away. But then you didn't. Instead you just unloaded on him and I gotta say, y/n, it was pretty hot." 

I chuckle, dropping my head to hide the blush creeping up my cheeks. 

Bucky continues, his voice carrying a more sincere tone. "I like you, y/n. A lot. All that shit between the clubs? I'm just…" he sighs. "I'm tired of it. All that happened between my granddad and yours? Who knows how much of it is even true or who's to blame." He pauses, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip. "What I'm trying to say is. I'd like to get to know you more but I don't want all this rivalry crap to come between you and your brother. Family is family, ya know? And I'd hate for you to get…"

Feeling brave, I cut off his rambling by pressing my lips to his and he goes still except for the tightening of his grip on my hips. I slide my hands to cup his cheeks and pull back.

"I like you too, Bucky." He smiles widely at me. "My brother and I will be fine, we just need to sit down and talk things out after we've both cooled down."

Bucky nods thoughtfully, his eyes dipping down to my mouth before meeting mine again. One hand glides up my arm and over my shoulder before resting against the back of my neck. His thumb brushes against the shell of my ear and I shudder at the sensation. He smiles broadly before pressing against my head, and dropping his mouth to mine.

Where the first kiss was slow and gentle, this one is firm and heated and does nothing to keep my stomach from coiling in on itself. I drag my tongue along the seam of his lips and sigh as he parts them. He kisses me like our whole damn lives depend on it and at this point, I'm beginning to think they do.

When we finally break free, breathless and chests heaving, he rests his forehead against mine and hums in satisfaction.

"Remind me to thank your brother for dragging you out tonight," Bucky mumbles, pecking my lips, once, twice. "Maybe when he doesn't want to punch me in the face."

I throw my head back, joy bubbling from the depths of my soul as my laughter breaks the quiet stillness of night. Bucky grins and kisses me again. A voice in the back of my head whispers over the surge of desire threatening to overtake me.

"See, tonight wasn't so terrible after all."

Like what you see? Want more? My SPN Masterlist is here, and MCU is here. Thanks for reading! :)

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[jjwritten]

Yum.

Can’t believe that BTS brought me a) back into fandoms shenanigans, b) back into writing. Almost 10 years without writing a full thing, 10 years without publishing. 

For Yum, I went with the flow of how I imagine Yoongi's “best” romantic relationship. I have a few more drabbles for this specific dynamic :) To anyone who might find this and reads, I hope you have a decent time.

tags: bts!Yoongi, fem!reader, fluffy fluff, a short smut, gender neutral additionnal characters, overworking, did I say fluff because fluff, domestic au, slice of life

warnings: penetrative sex, unprotected sex, health (nutrition and physical activity), overworking, a tiny bit of cockwarming, fingering, 

7,902 words

Remind me what you said you were going to do to me, please.

You waited a few seconds. Yoongi was looking at his screen, you knew it because he just had answered you at lightspeed. Yet the 3 dots wouldn't stop dancing. When they did, no answer appeared. Cool. Left on read, nice. You laughed it off, your boyfriend of three years being prone to this type of behavior. You also predicted to receive an elaborate answer in a couple hours, once the moment was gone. In the meantime, you should get back to work.

It had been about a month of overworking yourself for this massive new project. You were working on it with your best friend, in the interest of a big client. The stakes were big. Within this single project, you would provide a job to about 1000 artists, show engineers, students who wanted to debut in the business, and another thousand jobs in merch production. The reflexion upon finances was mind wracking, but was also the most rewarding. Everyone should be paid as much as possible. The show should be of the utmost quality which would require hours and hours of paid rehearsals. You and your best friend had to figure out the whole plan, the whole system, in order for the buyer to have no reason to refuse. They had called your duo, especially, to invest in a larger-than-life show, given that your ideas would blow their minds. People with big money who were dangling a whole pack of carrots in front of two ambitious passionate creators. Your motivation was simple : gathering all kinds of story tellers. With the experience you and your friend had, the show would border perfection in execution, with people from all over the globe, hired for their talents and work ethic.  A month of intense focus would hopefully transform the dream into reality.

Your success depended on your and your bf’s efforts. It also relied on the people around you. Min Yoongi loved you for your creativity, your humanity, the way your ears were shaped, the way you stopped seeing your surroundings to immerse yourself in the picture you were trying to paint when telling a story. The observant Jimin never missed to point it out: Yoongi became silent everytime, all heart eyes. "It's just my favorite thing ever," the rapper shrugged. To you, it was incredibly comforting. Being loved by him and loving him provided enough security for you to challenge yourself to be better. Never before in a relationship could you have become a zombie in your personal life to favor a work project. But Yoongi got it. Silently, he took care of your personal life’s reality: the construction work in the bathroom, the packages, the finances, the groceries, and making sure you ate nutritious foods and slept a healing sleep. He was a soft presence, making sure you had everything you needed to hustle. Everytime you would try paying attention to him in the midst of an overwhelmed brain and painful exhaustion, he'd reassure you. "We have time, baby. Sleep, eat, work. Don't worry about me. I'm proud of you." I love you, you whisper out loud, smiling. You let yourself indulge a little more in the recent memories.

"Y/n, come back hug me in the kitchen. It's almost ready." Yoongi whined, his head peaking at the door of your bedroom. "I think you need a little break. That frown has been on your face since Monday." You nodded. "I'll be right there." He doubted it, but turned back humming. You closed your computer and put it on the floor on your side of the bed. Yoongi had moved the bed on the right side of the room when you moved. Before, when you walked in, the right side of the bed was right next to the door. You wanted the left side because it was closest to the window, which, capital-D Dramatic Yoongi-ssi could not comprehend how you could POSSIBLY imagine he would sleep on the right side of a bed..  "I need the window!!! I always sleep on the window side!! - Since when??! - Since the day I was born, and most likely in my past lived too, you said through your teeth. - You slept on the right side of the bed all right in New York, huh? - BECAUSE IT WAS NEXT TO THE WINDOW!!! I can’t sleep next to the door, what if robbers come in?? I need the right side! - What do you mean, if robbers come in?? You plan on leaving me for dead?! - You bet. It's each human for their lives, oppa." Despite your sarcastic tone at the word, Yoongi still smirked. Run BTS editors' would have put a blushing filter on his cheeks. "You're mean", he whined. You smiled at his flushing face, and wrapped your hands around his waist. His hands landed automatically on your shoulders. His instincts said to push you away, but his body maintained you in place. Back then, you thought Yoongi would never admit how much he loved how tactile you were. Skip forward a year and a half, and he demands his cuddles, like a big boy. "Let's just put the bed on the other side of the room, mh?" The softness of his tone made your heart flutter. You kissed his cheek. "You are such a great problem-solver, oppa. I love your mind. - ‘ehh"

You stretched in the bed, and rolled on your stomach, taking a deep breath in of yours and Yoongi's smells in the sheets. His lazy footsteps in the corridor were the last thing you heard before drifting off.

"My love..." Yoongi's hand was stroking your hair, his mouth landing little pecks on the side of your face. "Come eat, babe." His voice was so soft. "I'm sorry, honey boy. I'm just too tired. - It's been four weeks, y/n. You need a break now. Come eat, and take the morning off tomorrow. I'll take care of you." You sat up at the temptation. Bed hair and pouty lips did not take away the worried look on his face. "Two more days. Just two more days, and I'll be back. - I can do 24 hours at best. It's getting too much, you don't even sleep well anymore. I have received my fair share of slaps in the face in the middle of night." You laugh. "24 hours is not possible. I'm leaving at 6am tomorrow for Tokyo. bf and I have meetings all day. Then again on Friday. I should be back home Saturday morning. I'll wake you up in your favorite way. - With coffee? - And with coffee, sure. - Don't tease me. By Saturday, you will be close to decomposing from how dead you look right now. - Oh, thanks." He laughs. "Fine. Except you don't take care of me, I take care of you. Massages, cuddles, movies, bulgogi and fruity dairy free ice-cream... - Ooooh, dairy free ice cream? Sounds like you'll be taking care of yourself too. - Yeah, I deserve it. Plus, taking care of you is taking care of me. I need it, you need it. - Fair enough. Is there still room for sex? - Haha. Is there room for sex, haha. Hahaha. He shakes his shoulders as he pretends to laugh. - Does that mean a lot? your eyebrows question too. - I can't say for now. It depends on whether I'm dealing with a decomposing girlfriend, or if she's feeling herself. - Double standards. I see. - You better sleep well in the plane."

Five minutes of daydreaming have passed, and that's all the time you have. Back to work.

2 billion dollars. Two. Billion. Dollars. USD $2,000,000,000. 2,198,960,000,000 KRW. You and your best friend have been sitting in the airport lounge, processing. You thought you were developing a project for Japan. Turned out, the investors had planned to make it international all along. Tokyo, Buenos Aires, Los Angeles, Paris, El Jadida. The project will be ten times as big as you initially thought it would be, and extend over the course of three years. The team would be huge to help. Your dream had become reality five years ago when you both launched the company. You don't even know how to react to it being stretched like that.

The key-card to your door weighs a ton in your hand. You clumsily make your way inside, pushing your carrier in front of you. Shoes off, you drag your heavy body to the bedroom and let it crash into the bed. Naturally, Yoongi’s body is where it’s supposed to be, his knees in an L shape. Your face is planted in the blanket. Deep sigh. End of the road. Disconnect system. It’s break time. Long fingers find their way to your hair. “You good, baby? - Dude. Get up. Have so much to tell you.” You hear muffling. He's not moving. “Dude. Bf and I got a two BILLION check, get up. - Two billion?!” Yoongi is up. You proceed to tell him everything. Finally, you can explain to him what this project was about. He listens carefully, cheerfully, sometimes reacts excessively. You don’t care, you do the same because it feels like a reunion and you’re both overly excited to meet again. The both of you on the bed feels like being on your own island. Your tummy tickles with joy for the present, the moments you are going to spend with Yoongi and for the bigger picture with the unfolding of your project. Within a few hours of talking, the month of intense focus and routine is released. You fall asleep in the middle of a sentence, utterly relaxed. Yoongi presses a kiss between your nose and lips, first spot that came, before falling asleep too.

12PM. Eternal question: is it good morning or good afternoon? Knowing your boyfriend, you better think of it before you open your mouth. “Hi.” You say smiling. That will do. “Hi, love.” He breathes you in loudly. You wriggle your nose in his neck. His arms are wrapped around you, yours around him. Couldn’t think of a better place to be in. You both scratch yourselves on each other, rubbing your forehead on his cheek, him massaging your hands, kissing your hair, ears, kissing his nose, lips. For some reason, his bottom lip looks especially plumped to your half-open eyes. You spend more time nibbling on it, kissing it on its own without him giving the kiss back. Delicious. Hands rubbing all over, your brain starts working properly. Wait a minute? Yoongi’s usually soft tummy feels particularly toned. You lift the covers. “Mh, did I miss something? - Whatever, you hear him smirk though. - Come on, show me. - Aw, leave me alone, it’s cold.” He lies on his stomach, a big smile on his face making his cheeks look all soft and bite worthy. You allow yourself the indulgence. You are all excited now! You jump out of bed. "Okay, so coffee and then abs, okay?" With smily mhmhs, your adorable boyfriend rubs his face in the pillow. He's shy, you know. His body image is important to him. You feel bad for not having noticed. Knowing the man, he probably flaunted his buff bod as if it were nothing on week 1. Damn! Then on week 2, he most likely tried to have you feel them, "naturally". You're a little sad to have missed those cues, and some of them resurface in your foggy memory. Your routine was so strict during the past month: wake up, meditate, work out, to make sure your brain worked optimally during the day. Work outs were intense because serotonin helps a ton. Food was rich and nutritious, cooked with the most important ingredient in this household, the love of Min Yoongi. Not noticing the changes in your own body was a thing, but to miss out on your buff boyfriend? A no go. You grabbed everything to make him his iced coffee in the largest cup you could find, knowing he would l-o-v-e the look of quasi-eternal quantity. You were light on your feet, smiling at the peeled pineapple and singing to the pack of nuts. Yoongi’s face was slightly round a month ago, and he looked a little buff already. The first week, the fat must have melted a little bit to turn into juicy muscles. Then, with him making sure your brain was working full power, he fed himself the same foods. Your focus spur basically fed your boyfriend buff food. What did you do to yourself and above all, HOW DID YOU NOT NOTICE IT?! As you put the spoons in the greek yogurts, you think of his little face smushed in the pillow as he pretended not to be excited by you finally noticing. You know that he's proud of himself and happy that you finally got all of your senses back. What a fun day ahead. With a smile up to your ears and a plate of things that should power up the man, you mini-skip back to your room.

Being with Yoongi meant you had about 10 boyfriends behind the same deep brown eyes. He could be a giggly chubby boy with his little bucket hats that he loved, making him look like an elf. He could be a meaty dude with an attitude and deep stare. He could be a skinny tech-boy with quick witts and always a book in his hands, and he could be business-Yoongi, dressed in all black and loving the sound of his big rings clinging together. What was even more beautiful was that all of these traits were interchangeable. Skinny Yoongi could have an attitude and a bucket hat. Buff Yoongi could be giggly and nerdy. He could do it all at anytime. Beneath it all, the constant of his intellect and emotionality made Min Yoongi appear as if he adorned a bow and ribbon at all times, ready to be gifted and unwrapped and enjoyed. Yum, you think.

"Coffee!"

Yoongi is on his phone in the bed. The AC is blasting hot air in a soothing sound. You can't help but laugh when you notice the naked skin of his chest peaking over the sheets, and his pyjamas thrown on the floor.

"Why-why-why? Why are you laughing? - Min Yoongi, I love it when you're feeling yourself. Please, drink this and put on a show for me. - Aren't you being a little dramatic? he hisses and bubbles his saliva. It's just abs and pecs, he says as he drinks, eye brows raising up his forehead. Five and six are barely defined.” He’s referring to his six-pack. You squint. “You..." He cocks his head as to say "I know, I'm hot" and your body is warming up.

Breakfast is made more delicious by Yoongi's feet rubbing against yours under the blanket. You're sitting cross-legged in front of each other, on the little island that is your bed. TV's turned on for some light background sound but you only hear Yoongi's giggles in between his smart clapbacks and mouthfuls of yoghurt. Eventually, the plate is moved to the side so your legs can extend on his lap and you feed him pieces of pineapple. Your fingers go a little too far into his mouth, and he relishes in your squirming when his lips brush them softly. Soon enough, his tongue is licking the tip and there's no pineapple left. Meaning, no reason to take your fingers away. Your leg on his hip tells your brain that in classic Yoongi fashion, he's not wearing any underwear. It's getting really hot between the sexual tension and the heater being turned all the way on. It is one of your favorite thing to do on days off: the heat allows you both to stay naked without worry. Positions can change as much as you like. Sweat drops make the whole thing more slippery and sexy. It's messy and delicious. You can't wait to be in the middle of the action, but remember to enjoy the foreplay. Yoongi's tongue acts as a wet bed on your ring finger. You relish in the look of his hollowed cheeks and suck on your skin. Your free hand has a great idea, on its own: exploring that built up chest. It's firm and the skin is soft and milky. It still holds a little bit of fat that makes his pectorals bouncy. He's going to fuck you, and they're going to move. Ugh. You swallow your saliva. Yoongi's eyes are getting rounder with arrousal. His traits go slightly down, showing he is getting hot and needy. You can feel pins and needles tickling your labia. Your boyfriend treats all of your fingers with the same lubbed up care. He opens his mouth to lick them from the stems to the tips. "I'm taking care of you today, remember? You relax and enjoy, understood?" You gulp and nod. Your first feeling is disappointment: when Yoongi says "I'll take care of you" it mostly means he won't put his cock in your mouth. That's okay. It will be for the next round. You're salivating. Meanwhile, Yoongi's mouth is going up your arm, on the sensitive thin skin inside your elbow and upper-arm. His tongue glides along. He creates the pattern: plumped bottom lip first, lubbed tongue, top lip. The three tightened together and make a wet sound when he moves onto another spot. Your legs feel numb. You're amused by Yoongi's needy look, but worried about your own. You feel so empty and deprived. Your head is already reversed back. Yoongi's special care is getting your muscles to relax one by one, better than any guided meditation ever. He stops for a second to take off your -his- t-shirt. He guides you to sit against the head board and his mouth latches on your right nipple instantly. The position is making you anticipate what you know he's leading to, but the nipple in his mouth is bringing you back to the present. The tongue is playful. Saliva dripping. Wet. It's the word that comes to your mind and you feel your pussy overflowing. Soft moans escape you. Your eyes are closed. You notice how relaxed your body is. Your arms are splayed on your sides and your back is one with the headboard. You're getting too relaxed. Yoongi makes his way to the other nipple and your body tenses up suddenly. Hands to his hair, ruffling. You realize his hands are on both sides of your stomach, keeping you still. You can't help to wonder for how long they've been there. "Yoongi..." It's not a prompt. You don't want him to go faster. Saying his name feels right. Yet, the air shifts. "y/n, mh" his raspy voice sends chills down your back. He kisses your mouth passionately and everything quickens. Shorter breaths, instant sweat. His hands cup your face to bring you to sit up. They slide down to your waist and you get up on your knees to let him grab your ass cheeks. He spreads them, making you moan as you feel your pussy more exposed. Your hands now cup his cheeks to get him closer, before sliding in the back of his head to plunge your fingers in his silky hair. Yoongi's hard bare cock is pressing against your cotton underwear.  Both your hands go down to his shoulders in a light touch. In the midst of anticipation, you both are melting under each other's touch. His fingers dig into the skin of your hips, yours in his shoulders. "You're leaking" you say, looking down at the wet tip of his cock and the wetness sticking to your lower stomach. "No kidding." You smile into another kiss. He dips in your neck to leave wet kisses. As your head angles to give him more space, you catch a glimpse of your reflexion in the mirror. His perky toned ass is jerking up and down as he slowly ruts against you. Your hands powerlessly fall on his ass, and the image brings you back to the urgency. You squeeze and get his mouth back on your own. He spreads your legs bringing his hands in between your thighs. He is so needy. Yoongi slides his member up and down your slit and starts slowly penetrating you. Your pussy fills up slowly. He pushes himself as deeply in as he can, stays still for a couple seconds and slides back out, his tip still lightly touching your entrance. You open your eyes to look at him in the mirror, slim legs steady on the bed. Your hands still on his ass cheeks, he pushes himself back in. It's slow, controlled, powerful. He goes in the same way for a third time: "Fuck, I love you." You smile. He's not talking to you, but to your pussy. You kiss him and press on his hips to have him go faster. "I turn around? - Yes." His arms wrap around your waist softly as you press your back against his front. One hand holding onto the wall, the other on the back of his neck. You arch your back to give him better access. His cock fills you up again, this time offering your G-spot some electrifying friction. His rythm accelerates, senses slowly getting lost. He starts groaning, you start moaning. Somehow, your brain manages to list very quickly everything you'll do to him, and everything you'll have him do to you. It turns you on even more, fantasizing about Yoongi and you having more sex while having sex. His long middle finger comes pressing your clit, going up and down to your entrance, where he invites the tip of it to join his dick. You always thought of his fingers as fingering fingers. They’re the perfect shape. Your pussy is pliant and delirious. She's directing your body and your mind. None of what she says makes logical sense but, fuck, she happy. The chills in your spine, your erected nipples, Yoongi tightly pressed against you. His head often reverses back, chasing his own pleasure, hipsRemind me what you said you were going to do to me, please.You waited a few seconds. Yoongi was looking at his screen, you knew it because he just had answered you at lightspeed. Yet the 3 dots wouldn't stop dancing. When they did, no answer appeared. Cool. Left on read, nice. You laughed it off, your boyfriend of three years being prone to this type of behavior. You also predicted to receive an elaborate answer in a couple hours, once the moment was gone. In the meantime, you should get back to work.It had been about a month of overworking yourself for this massive new project. You were working on it with your best friend, in the interest of a big client. The stakes were big. Within this single project, you would provide a job to about 1000 artists, show engineers, students who wanted to debut in the business, and another thousand jobs in merch production. The reflexion upon finances was mind wracking, but was also the most rewarding. Everyone should be paid as much as possible. The show should be of the utmost quality which would require hours and hours of paid rehearsals. You and your best friend had to figure out the whole plan, the whole system, in order for the buyer to have no reason to refuse. They had called your duo, especially, to invest in a larger-than-life show, given that your ideas would blow their minds. People with big money who were dangling a whole pack of carrots in front of two ambitious passionate creators. Your motivation was simple : gathering all kinds of story tellers. With the experience you and your friend had, the show would border perfection in execution, with people from all over the globe, hired for their talents and work ethic. A month of intense focus would hopefully transform the dream into reality.Your success depended on your and your bf’s efforts. It also relied on the people around you. Min Yoongi loved you for your creativity, your humanity, the way your ears were shaped, the way you stopped seeing your surroundings to immerse yourself in the picture you were trying to paint when telling a story. The observant Jimin never missed to point it out: Yoongi became silent everytime, all heart eyes. "It's just my favorite thing ever," the rapper shrugged. To you, it was incredibly comforting. Being loved by him and loving him provided enough security for you to challenge yourself to be better. Never before in a relationship could you have become a zombie in your personal life to favor a work project. But Yoongi got it. Silently, he took care of your personal life’s reality: the construction work in the bathroom, the packages, the finances, the groceries, and making sure you ate nutritious foods and slept a healing sleep. He was a soft presence, making sure you had everything you needed to hustle. Everytime you would try paying attention to him in the midst of an overwhelmed brain and painful exhaustion, he'd reassure you. "We have time, baby. Sleep, eat, work. Don't worry about me. I'm proud of you." I love you, you whisper out loud, smiling. You let yourself indulge a little more in the recent memories."Y/n, come back hug me in the kitchen. It's almost ready." Yoongi whined, his head peaking at the door of your bedroom. "I think you need a little break. That frown has been on your face since Monday." You nodded. "I'll be right there." He doubted it, but turned back humming. You closed your computer and put it on the floor on your side of the bed. Yoongi had moved the bed on the right side of the room when you moved. Before, when you walked in, the right side of the bed was right next to the door. You wanted the left side because it was closest to the window, which, capital-D Dramatic Yoongi-ssi could not comprehend how you could POSSIBLY imagine he would sleep on the right side of a bed.. "I need the window!!! I always sleep on the window side!! - Since when??! - Since the day I was born, and most likely in my past lived too, you said through your teeth. - You slept on the right side of the bed all right in New York, huh? - BECAUSE IT WAS NEXT TO THE WINDOW!!! I can’t sleep next to the door, what if robbers come in?? I need the right side! - What do you mean, if robbers come in?? You plan on leaving me for dead?! - You bet. It's each human for their lives, oppa." Despite your sarcastic tone at the word, Yoongi still smirked. Run BTS editors' would have put a blushing filter on his cheeks. "You're mean", he whined. You smiled at his flushing face, and wrapped your hands around his waist. His hands landed automatically on your shoulders. His instincts said to push you away, but his body maintained you in place. Back then, you thought Yoongi would never admit how much he loved how tactile you were. Skip forward a year and a half, and he demands his cuddles, like a big boy. "Let's just put the bed on the other side of the room, mh?" The softness of his tone made your heart flutter. You kissed his cheek. "You are such a great problem-solver, oppa. I love your mind. - ‘ehh"You stretched in the bed, and rolled on your stomach, taking a deep breath in of yours and Yoongi's smells in the sheets. His lazy footsteps in the corridor were the last thing you heard before drifting off."My love..." Yoongi's hand was stroking your hair, his mouth landing little pecks on the side of your face. "Come eat, babe." His voice was so soft. "I'm sorry, honey boy. I'm just too tired. - It's been four weeks, y/n. You need a break now. Come eat, and take the morning off tomorrow. I'll take care of you." You sat up at the temptation. Bed hair and pouty lips did not take away the worried look on his face. "Two more days. Just two more days, and I'll be back. - I can do 24 hours at best. It's getting too much, you don't even sleep well anymore. I have received my fair share of slaps in the face in the middle of night." You laugh. "24 hours is not possible. I'm leaving at 6am tomorrow for Tokyo. bf and I have meetings all day. Then again on Friday. I should be back home Saturday morning. I'll wake you up in your favorite way. - With coffee? - And with coffee, sure. - Don't tease me. By Saturday, you will be close to decomposing from how dead you look right now. - Oh, thanks." He laughs. "Fine. Except you don't take care of me, I take care of you. Massages, cuddles, movies, bulgogi and fruity dairy free ice-cream... - Ooooh, dairy free ice cream? Sounds like you'll be taking care of yourself too. - Yeah, I deserve it. Plus, taking care of you is taking care of me. I need it, you need it. - Fair enough. Is there still room for sex? - Haha. Is there room for sex, haha. Hahaha. He shakes his shoulders as he pretends to laugh. - Does that mean a lot? your eyebrows question too. - I can't say for now. It depends on whether I'm dealing with a decomposing girlfriend, or if she's feeling herself. - Double standards. I see. - You better sleep well in the plane."Five minutes of daydreaming have passed, and that's all the time you have. Back to work.2 billion dollars. Two. Billion. Dollars. USD $2,000,000,000. 2,198,960,000,000 KRW. You and your best friend have been sitting in the airport lounge, processing. You thought you were developing a project for Japan. Turned out, the investors had planned to make it international all along. Tokyo, Buenos Aires, Los Angeles, Paris, El Jadida. The project will be ten times as big as you initially thought it would be, and extend over the course of three years. The team would be huge to help. Your dream had become reality five years ago when you both launched the company. You don't even know how to react to it being stretched like that.The key-card to your door weighs a ton in your hand. You clumsily make your way inside, pushing your carrier in front of you. Shoes off, you drag your heavy body to the bedroom and let it crash into the bed. Naturally, Yoongi’s body is where it’s supposed to be, his knees in an L shape. Your face is planted in the blanket. Deep sigh. End of the road. Disconnect system. It’s break time. Long fingers find their way to your hair. “You good, baby? - Dude. Get up. Have so much to tell you.” You hear muffling. He's not moving. “Dude. Bf and I got a two BILLION check, get up. - Two billion?!” Yoongi is up. You proceed to tell him everything. Finally, you can explain to him what this project was about. He listens carefully, cheerfully, sometimes reacts excessively. You don’t care, you do the same because it feels like a reunion and you’re both overly excited to meet again. The both of you on the bed feels like being on your own island. Your tummy tickles with joy for the present, the moments you are going to spend with Yoongi and for the bigger picture with the unfolding of your project. Within a few hours of talking, the month of intense focus and routine is released. You fall asleep in the middle of a sentence, utterly relaxed. Yoongi presses a kiss between your nose and lips, first spot that came, before falling asleep too.12PM. Eternal question: is it good morning or good afternoon? Knowing your boyfriend, you better think of it before you open your mouth. “Hi.” You say smiling. That will do. “Hi, love.” He breathes you in loudly. You wriggle your nose in his neck. His arms are wrapped around you, yours around him. Couldn’t think of a better place to be in. You both scratch yourselves on each other, rubbing your forehead on his cheek, him massaging your hands, kissing your hair, ears, kissing his nose, lips. For some reason, his bottom lip looks especially plumped to your half-open eyes. You spend more time nibbling on it, kissing it on its own without him giving the kiss back. Delicious. Hands rubbing all over, your brain starts working properly. Wait a minute? Yoongi’s usually soft tummy feels particularly toned. You lift the covers. “Mh, did I miss something? - Whatever, you hear him smirk though. - Come on, show me. - Aw, leave me alone, it’s cold.” He lies on his stomach, a big smile on his face making his cheeks look all soft and bite worthy. You allow yourself the indulgence. You are all excited now! You jump out of bed. "Okay, so coffee and then abs, okay?" With smily mhmhs, your adorable boyfriend rubs his face in the pillow. He's shy, you know. His body image is important to him. You feel bad for not having noticed. Knowing the man, he probably flaunted his buff bod as if it were nothing on week 1. Damn! Then on week 2, he most likely tried to have you feel them, "naturally". You're a little sad to have missed those cues, and some of them resurface in your foggy memory. Your routine was so strict during the past month: wake up, meditate, work out, to make sure your brain worked optimally during the day. Work outs were intense because serotonin helps a ton. Food was rich and nutritious, cooked with the most important ingredient in this household, the love of Min Yoongi. Not noticing the changes in your own body was a thing, but to miss out on your buff boyfriend? A no go. You grabbed everything to make him his iced coffee in the largest cup you could find, knowing he would l-o-v-e the look of quasi-eternal quantity. You were light on your feet, smiling at the peeled pineapple and singing to the pack of nuts. Yoongi’s face was slightly round a month ago, and he looked a little buff already. The first week, the fat must have melted a little bit to turn into juicy muscles. Then, with him making sure your brain was working full power, he fed himself the same foods. Your focus spur basically fed your boyfriend buff food. What did you do to yourself and above all, HOW DID YOU NOT NOTICE IT?! As you put the spoons in the greek yogurts, you think of his little face smushed in the pillow as he pretended not to be excited by you finally noticing. You know that he's proud of himself and happy that you finally got all of your senses back. What a fun day ahead. With a smile up to your ears and a plate of things that should power up the man, you mini-skip back to your room.Being with Yoongi meant you had about 10 boyfriends behind the same deep brown eyes. He could be a giggly chubby boy with his little bucket hats that he loved, making him look like an elf. He could be a meaty dude with an attitude and deep stare. He could be a skinny tech-boy with quick witts and always a book in his hands, and he could be business-Yoongi, dressed in all black and loving the sound of his big rings clinging together. What was even more beautiful was that all of these traits were interchangeable. Skinny Yoongi could have an attitude and a bucket hat. Buff Yoongi could be giggly and nerdy. He could do it all at anytime. Beneath it all, the constant of his intellect and emotionality made Min Yoongi appear as if he adorned a bow and ribbon at all times, ready to be gifted and unwrapped and enjoyed. Yum, you think."Coffee!"Yoongi is on his phone in the bed. The AC is blasting hot air in a soothing sound. You can't help but laugh when you notice the naked skin of his chest peaking over the sheets, and his pyjamas thrown on the floor."Why-why-why? Why are you laughing? - Min Yoongi, I love it when you're feeling yourself. Please, drink this and put on a show for me. - Aren't you being a little dramatic? he hisses and bubbles his saliva. It's just abs and pecs, he says as he drinks, eye brows raising up his forehead. Five and six are barely defined.” He’s referring to his six-pack. You squint. “You..." He cocks his head as to say "I know, I'm hot" and your body is warming up.Breakfast is made more delicious by Yoongi's feet rubbing against yours under the blanket. You're sitting cross-legged in front of each other, on the little island that is your bed. TV's turned on for some light background sound but you only hear Yoongi's giggles in between his smart clapbacks and mouthfuls of yoghurt. Eventually, the plate is moved to the side so your legs can extend on his lap and you feed him pieces of pineapple. Your fingers go a little too far into his mouth, and he relishes in your squirming when his lips brush them softly. Soon enough, his tongue is licking the tip and there's no pineapple left. Meaning, no reason to take your fingers away. Your leg on his hip tells your brain that in classic Yoongi fashion, he's not wearing any underwear. It's getting really hot between the sexual tension and the heater being turned all the way on. It is one of your favorite thing to do on days off: the heat allows you both to stay naked without worry. Positions can change as much as you like. Sweat drops make the whole thing more slippery and sexy. It's messy and delicious. You can't wait to be in the middle of the action, but remember to enjoy the foreplay. Yoongi's tongue acts as a wet bed on your ring finger. You relish in the look of his hollowed cheeks and suck on your skin. Your free hand has a great idea, on its own: exploring that built up chest. It's firm and the skin is soft and milky. It still holds a little bit of fat that makes his pectorals bouncy. He's going to fuck you, and they're going to move. Ugh. You swallow your saliva. Yoongi's eyes are getting rounder with arrousal. His traits go slightly down, showing he is getting hot and needy. You can feel pins and needles tickling your labia. Your boyfriend treats all of your fingers with the same lubbed up care. He opens his mouth to lick them from the stems to the tips. "I'm taking care of you today, remember? You relax and enjoy, understood?" You gulp and nod. Your first feeling is disappointment: when Yoongi says "I'll take care of you" it mostly means he won't put his cock in your mouth. That's okay. It will be for the next round. You're salivating. Meanwhile, Yoongi's mouth is going up your arm, on the sensitive thin skin inside your elbow and upper-arm. His tongue glides along. He creates the pattern: plumped bottom lip first, lubbed tongue, top lip. The three tightened together and make a wet sound when he moves onto another spot. Your legs feel numb. You're amused by Yoongi's needy look, but worried about your own. You feel so empty and deprived. Your head is already reversed back. Yoongi's special care is getting your muscles to relax one by one, better than any guided meditation ever. He stops for a second to take off your -his- t-shirt. He guides you to sit against the head board and his mouth latches on your right nipple instantly. The position is making you anticipate what you know he's leading to, but the nipple in his mouth is bringing you back to the present. The tongue is playful. Saliva dripping. Wet. It's the word that comes to your mind and you feel your pussy overflowing. Soft moans escape you. Your eyes are closed. You notice how relaxed your body is. Your arms are splayed on your sides and your back is one with the headboard. You're getting too relaxed. Yoongi makes his way to the other nipple and your body tenses up suddenly. Hands to his hair, ruffling. You realize his hands are on both sides of your stomach, keeping you still. You can't help to wonder for how long they've been there. "Yoongi..." It's not a prompt. You don't want him to go faster. Saying his name feels right. Yet, the air shifts. "y/n, mh" his raspy voice sends chills down your back. He kisses your mouth passionately and everything quickens. Shorter breaths, instant sweat. His hands cup your face to bring you to sit up. They slide down to your waist and you get up on your knees to let him grab your ass cheeks. He spreads them, making you moan as you feel your pussy more exposed. Your hands now cup his cheeks to get him closer, before sliding in the back of his head to plunge your fingers in his silky hair. Yoongi's hard bare cock is pressing against your cotton underwear.  Both your hands go down to his shoulders in a light touch. In the midst of anticipation, you both are melting under each other's touch. His fingers dig into the skin of your hips, yours in his shoulders. "You're leaking" you say, looking down at the wet tip of his cock and the wetness sticking to your lower stomach. "No kidding." You smile into another kiss. He dips in your neck to leave wet kisses. As your head angles to give him more space, you catch a glimpse of your reflexion in the mirror. His perky toned ass is jerking up and down as he slowly ruts against you. Your hands powerlessly fall on his ass, and the image brings you back to the urgency. You squeeze and get his mouth back on your own. He spreads your legs bringing his hands in between your thighs. He is so needy. Yoongi slides his member up and down your slit and starts slowly penetrating you. Your pussy fills up slowly. He pushes himself as deeply in as he can, stays still for a couple seconds and slides back out, his tip still lightly touching your entrance. You open your eyes to look at him in the mirror, slim legs steady on the bed. Your hands still on his ass cheeks, he pushes himself back in. It's slow, controlled, powerful. He goes in the same way for a third time: "Fuck, I love you." You smile. He's not talking to you, but to your pussy. You kiss him and press on his hips to have him go faster. "I turn around? - Yes." His arms wrap around your waist softly as you press your back against his front. One hand holding onto the wall, the other on the back of his neck. You arch your back to give him better access. His cock fills you up again, this time offering your G-spot some electrifying friction. His rythm accelerates, senses slowly getting lost. He starts groaning, you start moaning. Somehow, your brain manages to list very quickly everything you'll do to him, and everything you'll have him do to you. It turns you on even more, fantasizing about Yoongi and you having more sex while having sex. His long middle finger comes pressing your clit, going up and down to your entrance, where he invites the tip of it to join his dick. You always thought of his fingers as fingering fingers. They’re the perfect shape. Your pussy is pliant and delirious. She's directing your body and your mind. None of what she says makes logical sense but, fuck, she happy. The chills in your spine, your erected nipples, Yoongi tightly pressed against you. His head often reverses back, chasing his own pleasure, hips jerking quickly. Your hand keeps ruffling his hair. It’s rough and soft all at the same time. The movement of his hips become uncontrolled and erratic. Mh. The climax has him groan louder while you let out a deep audible sigh. He stays in, enjoying your warmth, catching his breath, humming softly, almost whining but in a low register. You come down from your high and kiss his cheek. He kisses yours, your neck, your shoulder before pulling out, your juices dripping down his veiny pale shaft and your legs. His hands settle on your sides, encouraging you to turn around. You embrace each other, tightly, both your hearts pounding. "I missed you. - I missed you too." Kiss. His tongue intertwines with yours and you're reminded of the dripping mess he made in your pussy. You put both your hands on each side of his precious head: "Clean me up, will you? - Mhmh" Yoongi pushes you back, spreads your legs, and laps away. Slowly and langidly. Cherry on the cake.Yoongi showers first to leave for his one meeting today. You'll have about two hours to yourself. Enough time for you to clean up the house, unpack your carrier, and take care of any little mundane task you overlooked this month. You both agreed on a 2000 pieces puzzle to order for when he comes back. What you don't think about is that sometimes, when you make plans, your cunt sneakily laughs. A puzzle? Not today.g quickly. Your hand keeps ruffling his hair. It’s rough and soft all at the same time. The movement of his hips become uncontrolled and erratic. Mh. The climax has him groan louder while you let out a deep audible sigh. He stays in, enjoying your warmth, catching his breath, humming softly, almost whining but in a low register. You come down from your high and kiss his cheek. He kisses yours, your neck, your shoulder before pulling out, your juices dripping down his veiny pale shaft and your legs. His hands settle on your sides, encouraging you to turn around. You embrace each other, tightly, both your hearts pounding. "I missed you. - I missed you too." Kiss. His tongue intertwines with yours and you're reminded of the dripping mess he made in your pussy. You put both your hands on each side of his precious head: "Clean me up, will you? - Mhmh" Yoongi pushes you back, spreads your legs, and laps away. Slowly and langidly. Cherry on the cake.

Yoongi showers first to leave for his one meeting today. You'll have about two hours to yourself. Enough time for you to clean up the house, unpack your carrier, and take care of any little mundane task you overlooked this month. You both agreed on a 2000 pieces puzzle to order for when he comes back. What you don't think about is that sometimes, when you make plans, your cunt sneakily laughs. A puzzle? Not today.

[heartofsnark]

This is Love (Chapter Eight): Whispers of Wolves

Notes: Heyo, since A) I took a break and B) it’s friday the thirteenth, as it was when I posted the first chapter of this is love back in January, I decided to go ahead and post chapter 8 today. Chapter 9 is already done and I’ll be beginning work on chapter 10 soon, as this is my current hyper fixation. I hope you all enjoy. 

Word Count: 8671

Chapter Warnings: Oh boy we got some shit today my dudes! Stories/Reference of Past Child Abuse, Animal Death In the Context of Hunting, Homphobic Slurs/Homphobia towards lesbians, and referenced past anti-Semitism. Less important but there’s a pov change and like three different quotes in this chapter, from the Book of Joseph, and two different songs, which is probably a lot but I ain’t editing this shit anymore

For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here

Pain cracks through Joseph’s skull late that night, shooting across from each temple, seeming to split his head apart. He sits on the edge of his small bed, a modest bedroom in the back of his church. He knows what it means, he’s grown accustomed to the sharp ringing pain, visions always come with it. They’ve started to come more frequently since The Lamb arrived.

He grabs at his head, as if he could press hard enough to keep his skull together as pain racks him, an instinctual reaction. Pain strikes through and breaks the reality of the world around him, closed eyes starting to see visions of what could be, images of what may await him.

A world anew surrounds him; one changed by the Collapse and washed of sins. Lush and natural, even more beautiful than the world that came before it. Vibrant pink flowers decorate the earth, thick green moss covering trees. A soft pink flowered apple tree stands at the center of the compound, white buildings replaced with hand made little houses.

Men and women are all around, working around New Eden. Parents playing with their children, carrying their babies; loyal followers allowed to pass through the gates and grow their family. Some members bring back hunted animals to be prepared for meals and others tending to gardens.

And then he sees his brothers and sister.

A fact that changes time and time again as his visions come to him in waves. He’s seen New Eden with and without them. He’s seen each of his siblings die time and time again, old and young, premonitions of what will be or what could be.

In this version, this vision, he’s been allowed his siblings. Faith, Jacob, and John talk at a distance where Joseph can’t quite hear the words, only taken in the moment. Jacob and John’s ages showing more clearly in the gray just starting to pepper their hair.

A voice rises above all others, cutting through the mumbled conversation through the compound, and Joseph knows it’s calling towards him. The soft voice calls him a name similar in meaning to his title, but it cuts to his heart so differently.

“Papa!”

Through the eyes of his older self, he can only watch and take in what happens, no control as he turns to see the source.  A young boy of about five comes running towards Joseph, bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile. Joseph’s body moves of it’s own volition reaching out to hug his son, his son, but before he can feel the embrace of his child the world cracks apart again.

Pain splinters through the world and rips him from the moment, when he opens his eyes again he’s back in his room. And his hands itch to hold his son who’s yet to exist, instead he rubs at his temples, fingers knotting in his own hair as he attempts to soothe the agony within his own head. The only respite being what he hopes is a new promise from his creator. A chance for his family to not only walk with him to New Eden, but the chance to expand it.

He’ll have a son. The very idea soothes his pain and is like a salve to frayed nerves. Becoming an internal mantra as he eases himself back to sleep that night.

 Sweat coats Dahlia’s skin as she does another push up, her muscles aching at the workout. She shifts to lay on her back on the living room floor, t-shirt riding up her sweaty stomach. Her second day of no work has turned into an impromptu work out, push up and using doorways for chin-ups. She uses her shirt to wipe sweat off her forehead before grabbing her phone to check the time. Dahlia must have gotten her way through the day, it has to be late by now.

“Fucking hell.”

It’s noon, it’s only fucking noon.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” She screams into a pillow, how the fuck is it only noon? Dahlia looks at the mess of her coffee table, trying to consider what to do just to eat at her time, she could draw again. But her hand is still cramping. She read somewhere you’re suppose to do warm up for drawing, she’ll have to start doing that.

Then she sees the Book of Joseph, her drawing still sticking out of it. She’s burned through her backlog of manga on her phone and fuck, it’s something to do. Joseph seemed like a genuinely sweet man, maybe he has something interesting to say.  Music still blasting, because everything in her life requires a soundtrack, she opens the book.

 “Bless the name of those who have dealt you blows.

Be grateful to those who have caused you harm.

For it is these sufferings that have led you to me.”

 The first sermon in the book, she chews her lip, it’s not that much different from things Joseph told her yesterday, that he’s thankful her past led her to him. But, something rubs her wrong about the idea of being grateful for her abuse. Not for her, she plans on dying mad about it. She reads onward, an illustration of a flaming capital building surrounded by waves with someone drowning in the foreground. That’s…dramatic.

“If a person had been walking down the poorly maintained road out front of the Seed’s house on that afternoon in June and felt the strange urge to glance over, they would have witnessed a bizarre sight.

They would have seen a man dress in black pants and a white undershirt, frothing with anger, brandishing a comic book in one hand and a bible in the other at his son, a child of about ten. But no one had been down this in the poor suburb of Rome, Georgia, in a long time. Not ice cream trucks, not social service cars, not even police patrols.”

Dahlia stops almost three pages in as Joseph begins to write about a dying widow who once gave him and Jacob cakes before she grew sick. The picture he’s painted is far too clear and hits too close to home for her to continue, at least for the moment. A belligerent bible thumping drunk of a father who derided Joseph for loving Spiderman comics and beat Jacob’s back for the younger brother’s supposed misgivings.

Father Monroe, her stepfather, wasn’t quite the ruddy faced sloppy drunk that Old Man Seed was. But when Joseph describes Jacob offering his back up for a beating, she nearly feels the bite of leather against her own. Stripes for the backs of fools, is all she hears.

She wants to talk to Joseph, she realizes, thinking of both the beginning sermon passage and how their own pasts match up. Does he really bless the man who hurt him? Is he grateful for Old Man Seed? Maybe that kind of forgiveness and peace with it comes with age or is it just him? Ruth has a similar story as well, a little older than Dahlia, and she holds on to the same anger Dahlia does. Has Joseph managed to let it go? Does he still like Spiderman? Did his father beat the passion for comic books out of him or does he still enjoy them? Its hard to imagine, the intense Joseph Seed casually reading a comic book.

Less than three pages is a pathetic excuse for reading and didn’t pass much time, but it’s intense for her. So, she’d rather just…stare at the wall for a bit until she’s ready to tackle it again.

It’s Saturday night, Pratt and Hudson won’t be going to The Spread Eagle tonight, because no work. Meaning a rather mundane day with no interruptions. Other than a short walk, Dahlia spends the rest of it fucking around on her phone and watching shitty tv; passing out after downing an unevenly heated microwave meal.

Sunday morning rolls around, spent much like the last, Dahlia using her down time and excess energy to work out. It’s important to stay on top of exercising and staying in shape, given her profession, she makes a mental note to order some weights online. There’s not really a proper gym in the county and she doesn’t want to lose muscle.

She’s in the middle of another round of pushups when there’s a knock at her door; she jumps up from her position, skin still slick with sweat as she rushes towards the door. Finally, something to disrupt the monotony.

It’s Pratt standing on her porch, hazel eyes looking her over. She’s expecting a shitty comment on her appearance, dressed in shorts and a baggy shirt, hair mussed with sweat.

“You need something?” She asks him, slightly out of breath. Dahlia lifts the bottom of her shirt, using it to wipe sweat from her face, breeze skimming the bare skin of her stomach.

“What the hell has you sweating, Rook?” The older deputy chews his lip, avoiding eye contact for a moment.

“I was working out.”

“With a head injury? Seriously?”

“The fuck else am I suppose to do?”

“Figured you’d be bored out of your mind, reason I’m here,” he grins, “throw some clothes on and we can head out.”

“You mind if I shower first?” She asks, while she’s not sure where he plans on dragging her but she’d rather not stink like sweat while she’s there.

“Uh, yeah, sure that’s fine.”

“You wanna wait in here?”

He nods and Dahlia steps aside to let Pratt into her trailer, it’s not the most tidy of place because, well, she’s not the most tidy of people. She can feel the judgement starting to build up as Pratt looks around her messy living room. A pillow and blanket haphazardly on the couch; her duffle bag on the ground with clothes falling out of it. Her table has her sketchbook, thankfully closed, and the Book of Joseph is tucked under it. It’s a messy little nest, but it’s hers.

“Are you sleeping on your couch?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s just, I prefer it,” she explains with a shrug, not really sure how to elaborate on her weird feeling about sleeping in a bed.

“You have a bed, right?”

“Yes, I have a bed, I just, shut up. I don’t barge into your house and start judging how you live,” she pinches the bridge of her nose, “just sit down, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Dahlia grabs a change of clothes, hearing the couch springs creak as Pratt sits down. It’s weird seeing someone in her trailer. The closest she’s had to visitors have stayed on her porch. Pratt is the first person to be in her actual trailer, he looks immensely out of place and judging by his eyes glancing around, he seems to feel that way too. She tries not to think too hard about it, making a beeline to her bathroom.

She tries to keep her shower short, not wanting to make Pratt wait too long and not wanting him to snoop while he’s left alone. That doesn’t stop her from playing music as she showers, just limiting herself to two songs before she jumps out. A quick dry off and she tugs on her clothes, towel still on her damp hair as she walks back out to her living room.

Pratt, sure enough, has found something to snoop through. Dahlia grimaces at the sight of him picking through her little jewelry box of photos. Was he rifling through her dufflebag? She clears her throat, smirking when he jumps up.

“I was just-”

“Snooping,” she cuts him off, ruffling the towel over her hair.

“It fell out of your bag.”

“No it didn’t.”

“It did...after I kicked it a little, but it did fall out.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she snatches the little wooden box off the table, Lloyd and Caroline’s photo booklet was on top, so at least she probably avoided him seeing baby photos.

“You, uh, don’t look much like your parents. You adopted or something?”

She can’t help but chuckle as she puts it away; she can’t blame him for thinking Lloyd and Caroline must be her parents. The pair are both about Whitehorse’s age and why else would she have so many photos with a couple that age. But, the couple absolutely look nothing like her. Both fairer skinned and blue eyed; Lloyd with dark strawberry blonde hair and Caroline with light honey blonde locks. Short of some shenanigans the chance of them producing an olive skinned, brown eyed brunette is slim. And while the couple have their share of adopted children; Dahlia isn’t one of them.

“No.”

“Oh, uh…” She can nearly see the gears turning in Pratt’s head,  her usual one word style of answering has put Caroline’s devotion in question and Dahlia won’t have that.

“They’re not my parents; legally or biologically.”

“Oh, you just hang out with old couples?”

“Maybe, maybe not, ain’t really any of your business,” she shrugs, “more importantly, where the hell are we supposed to be going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t trust your surprises.”

“Would you rather sit here and twiddle your thumbs all day?”

“Fuck  no.”

“That’s what I thought, you ready to go then?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she throws the damp towel onto her laundry chair before shoving her feet into her boots, “lets get going.”

She locks up behind Pratt then follows him out to his car. Compared to the last time she was in his car, this is infinitely more relaxing. She hums along to the radio, resisting the urge to sing along. He probably already heard her yelling along to her music in the shower, she doesn’t need to blast his eardrums at close range. After one song ends and another shittier one begins she starts to fiddle with the radio setting.

“The driver is supposed to pick the music,” Pratt tells her as she flips through stations, trying to find a station playing something other than country.

“The driver needs to worry about the road, while I find something worth listening to.”

“Yeah, ‘cause your taste in music is so good.”

“I have excellent taste in music,” she turns to one station and it sounds like a choir.

Help me, Faith

Help me, Faith

Shield me from sorrow

From fear of tomorrow

“Turn that crap off, right now.”

“The hell is that?” It’s not a bad song like technically speaking, but it’s definitely a bit much.

“Peggie station, it's all crap, Eden’s Gate runs it. It’s all their choir music and sermons.”

“Gross, but the song ain’t that bad.”

“You might wanna have your head checked again.”

“Piss off.”

She finds something better, even if she doesn’t necessarily mind Eden’s Gate music, she’d rather listen to something without fear of a sermon coming up after. At the very least, Pratt doesn’t complain about her choice, a few more songs playing before they cross into Holland Valley.

“How’s your impromptu vacation been going?”

“Boring.”

“That’s what I thought,” he laughs, “figured you’d be going stir crazy by now.”

“So, you decided to come end my boredom?”

“No need to sound so excited,” Pratt rolls his eyes, not appreciating her lackluster response.

“Sorry, I, uh, do appreciate it,” she admits, looking out the windows, cheeks warming at it. It’s embarrassing to say that she is genuinely thankful. Hell she nearly jumped up and ran to the door like a dog when he knocked. Boredom is hell.

“Oh, it’s fine, I was bored too.”

They pull into the police station parking lot and she raises an eyebrow at him as he parks. He’s taken her to work? What on earth is he planning?

“Don’t look at me like that, you’re gonna enjoy this, c’mon.”

She follows him out and around the building to the helipad she noticed before, a black police grade helicopter on it.  He doesn’t hesitate to climb into the pilot's seat, telling her to get in. She listens, climbing into the seat next to him. It looks like a mess of buttons and controls to her, none of them making sense. But Pratt confidently starts turning switches, lights coming to life in front of her.  They’re going for a helicopter ride, holy shit.

“Pffft,” Pratt huffs out a laugh, “we’re not even in the air yet and you’re already grinning.”

“This is okay, right? Like, no one will mind.”

“I’m the only person at the station who can fly, so if they needed it, they’d be calling me anyway. Don’t worry.”

“I’m fine, I just wanted to know I can enjoy this guilt free.”

“And lift off,” Pratt says as he brings the chopper up off of the ground. The station grows smaller and smaller as they ascend up into the air.

“Wow…” Is all as can seem to say at first as the chopper kisses the sky.

They’re surrounded by a bright blue sky and puffy white clouds as Pratt flies across the county. Lush green forests and farms beneath them, mountains along the edges of the county. A top down view of animals running through, specks in their vision. She oohs and awes, unable to help acting like an excited child over the view. They fly along the county, Pratt is kind enough to answer her stupid questions about flying, what buttons and switches mean. She’s certain to a seasoned pilot her naïve question must be frustrating, but he grins with every answer. Before she knows it the sky around them has shifted to an awash of pinks and purples, the sun setting, before a midnight sky takes it place. Brilliant stars twinkling around them, feeling so close, like she could reach out and touch Andromeda.

Once it gets too late, Pratt lands back at the station, her cheeks ache from all the time smiling. He drives her back to the trailer park, the pair in comfortable silence as she hums along to the radio.  Her thoughts drifting off as they are so quick to do. Pratt and her butted heads a bit when they first met, but he’s quickly become her closest friend in the county. Their light-hearted bickering and shenanigans have become her favorite part of her days in Hope County.

He walks with her to her trailer, shoulders brushing occasionally as they move. She turns to look at him when they reach her door. Dahlia clenches and unclenches her hands searching for what she wants to say.

“Thanks, a lot, really.”

“You like flying that much?”

“Not just for that, not to be all mushy and crap, but coming out here, keeping me from going nuts, being my friend. It, uh, means a lot, seriously.”

“Eh,” he scratches at the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes, “just watching out for you, probie.”

“Well, I appreciate it, I, uh, know I’m not the easiest person to get along with.”

“No one in this county is.”

“Good to know I fit in, I guess.”

“Uhh, you’re getting there, once you start stinking like beer all day and have a house full of deer heads, we’ll call it good.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she grins, “night.”

“Night.” She waves Pratt off before going back to her trailer to settle in for the night.

Monday is spent showing up to the station just to play with Petunia behind the building; just laying on the ground while the fluffy opossum crawls on her. She scratches along the marsupial’s back as they nuzzle into her neck.

“Aren’t you supposed to be home relaxing or something?” Beau asks and Dahlia shifts her head back to look at him.

“I am relaxing, what are you doing?”

“Well, everyone asked me to go see what that weirdo deputy was doing, so here I am.”

“Oh no, you hear that Petunia,” she looks at her opossum friend, “people think I’m weird.”

“Yeah, talk to the ‘possum, that’ll really show ‘em.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and he just rolls his eyes, leaving her alone for the moment. Pratt and Hudson invite her out to The Spread Eagle once the sun starts to set, but a steady throbbing ache has built in her head, she skipped pain meds. And the idea of the jukebox booming in her skull makes her turn it down for the night, once she’s back to work she’ll treat them to a meal there, she decides on the quiet ride home.

Dahlia wakes up the next day and decides to finally take that hike, wanting to explore some of the mountains and woods that surround the county. The brunt of the trails seem to be within the Whitetail Mountain area up north, the mountains in the Henbane are mostly around that statue and as much as she likes Joseph more than before; the statue is still creepy.

She tucks her sketchpad, pencils, water, and her pain meds in the storage under her motorcycle seat before she drives up to the mountains; the north section of the county is colder, a chill from the air as she rides up. She stops in at an Old Sun Outfitters, buying a little black backpack to carry her stuff in when she hikes.

The woods around her get thicker and thicker as rides further into the mountains, land growing steeper with every minute, civilization sparser and sparser; buildings harder to find, just peeks of wood or cement through trees. The trees clear on her right as a turn of the road leads her to a large parking lot with little hutch and a sign that says, ‘rest area’. The hutch says Valley View Overlook. It’s built at the top of a plateaued piece of land, not as towering as the mountains in the distance, but higher than the meager hills of the valley or river. She parks her motorcycle and packs the bag before taking in the view.

A small navel high fence, she imagines waist high for others, keep animals or children from just running off the side of the mountain. It’s a beautiful sight; she can see why the lot is named after it. She takes a deep breath of fresh mountain air looking out at the soft blue sky that meets the mountains in the horizon; the deep green forests further down. Air so clean and refreshing, but for some reason she finds herself pulling out a cigarette, to fill her lungs with smoke. Too much good needs a bad, she supposes. She watches the white clouds and birds flying through, as she lets smoke settle heavy in her lungs, only parting from the sight when her cigarette threatens to burn her fingers.

She follows along a little beaten trail through the woods, kicking up rocks and crushing grass underfoot as she lets the trees surround her. Grass rustles around where animals sneak through; deer running through, other hikers crossing her path, and hunters packing bucks back home with dogs sniffing along after them.

It doesn’t take long for her to go off the path, just walking in any direction that catches her interest. Deeper and deeper into the woods, following divots and drop offs, walking along the occasional stream of water that passes through the area.  Her feet and head start to ache as hours pass, the cool air no longer able to chill her body as exertion coats her skin in sweat.

A hunting stand, one of many, is within the woods. Gray metal built around a tree with a ladder leading up. It’s empty, but if a hunter really needs it, she’ll move along. She climbs up curling her legs under her on the stand as she pulls off her back pack and red flannel, the sleeves now sweaty after her walk. Dahlia ties it around her waist, feeling the cool air on her skin as she takes a deep breath.

She takes a deep swig of water and one of the pain killers. There’s a crush of grass and she looks up to see a group of deer a short distance from the stand. A fawn and what may be younger deer, with a buck among them. The buck’s fur grayer in color than the richer warmer brown of the others. Dahlia gets out her sketchpad and pencils, balancing them on her knee as she takes the drawing the creatures. A calm energy and flow falls over her as she draws, the only sound the animals rustling within the woods. She’s better at drawing people than animals, she realizes, when she can’t quite get the right slope of the buck’s muzzle, but she doesn’t stress herself over it. No one will ever see her wonky deer. She looks up; the buck has gotten much closer, shuffling near the stand.

Dahlia puts her sketchbook aside, half finished wonky deer abandoned, as she moves to lay on her belly over the edge of the hunter’s stand. She stretches her hand out, his antlers high enough for her fingers to just brush the velvety texture. But that’s not what she’s after, wanting to pet the stags head. Dahlia shifts to a knee and a foot, she forces the fingers of one hand into the grating to keep a solid grip on the stand. She leverages herself to lean further and further out, stretching a hand out and nearly hanging completely off the stand. Her fingers just centimeters away from touching the stag’s head.

The fuzz of fur brushes across her fingers and the soft brown eyes looking up at her go blank; blood spraying from the side of the buck’s head as it’s body goes limp to the ground. She can’t help but jump back and fall on her ass; gasping at the now dead deer in front of the stand, the rest of them have scattered at the sight.

Maybe she should have expected it, being in hunter territory, but the closeness of it still startles her. There’s a heavy thud of boots, steady consistent footfalls crushing branches and grass beneath them. Ginger hair with shaved down sides and an army jacket; Jacob Seed.

This is likely the only time she’ll ever be taller than him, watching him from the stand as he shifts a bright red rifle from his hands to on his back. It seems so vivid and ostentatious compared to his utilitarian style of dress.  There’s a childish urge to jump on his back and scare him. But, they don’t know each other well and he’s a veteran, so she can’t know how he’d react to the sort of thing. Maybe a boo would be okay, just something small?

“You enjoying the show, honey?”

Dahlia jolts, taken aback by the sudden acknowledgment. She tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear and chews her lip watching as he starts to gather up the slain deer; then he looks up at her, blue eyes sharp and harsh. All the masculine Seeds have blue eyes and intense stares; but Jacob’s gaze is colder than Joseph’s and more steady than John’s. Something almost predatory to it. 

“I was drawing him,” she says after a moment, looking down at the stag. 

“And I was hunting him.” 

“Still would have appreciated another minute or two,” she says as she grabs her bag, throwing the sketchbook back inside before she jumps off the stand. 

“So, you could flail around and try to pet him for another five minutes.” 

“Hey,” she pouts, she was caught hanging from a hunting stand like the child she is, but, “wait, you saw me?”

He gives a vague grumble of agreeance, more preoccupied with tying up the hooves of his latest hunt to make it easier to carry. 

“And you still shot? You could have shot my hand off.” Has this man never taken a gun safety course, she catches a glimpse of the scope on his rifle, there’s no way he didn’t see how close his shot was to her hand. He chuckles, dry and deep, mocking her. 

“Relax, if I wanted to shoot you, you’d be dead by now.” 

“Wow, that’s not comforting.” 

“Wasn’t trying to be,” he says, standing up and packing the giant deer over his shoulder, like it’s nothing.  

Dahlia reaches out to touch it, fingers brushing through soft fur, no warmth beneath it. She might as well be petting a rug. Jacob starts to walk off and she doesn’t know why, but she follows him. Hands clasped behind her back and walking heel to toe after him. Maybe it’s just because she’s curious about him. He’s the only one of the Seeds not to take a strange interest in her for whatever reason. 

He doesn’t say anything at first, allowing her to follow along after him. Leaves and grass crush under foot as she follows along behind him, curious as to where he’s going or doing. She’s not sure what she expects, but it’s something to do if nothing else. 

“You got somewhere to be?” 

“Not really, no.” She tries to crane her head around, trying to get a better look at his face to gauge his reaction, but their height difference is too big to truly do so. The man has to be around a foot and a half taller than her; he seems even taller than the sheriff.

“Well, I do, so get out of here.” Her smirk drops, she was hoping to see him get more agitated like the youngest Seed brother, but his voice doesn’t rise. Staying the same steady deep timbre.

“Where are you going?” 

“Nowhere you need to be, sweetheart.”

“The nicknames aren’t really necessary.” She can’t help but say, wrinkling her nose in annoyance, the condescending way he calls her sweetheart and honey make her nauseous.

 “Neither is following me like a lost puppy dog; but here you are.” 

“I’m bored.”

“Not my problem.”

“You killed my only entertainment, so it is now.”

He comes to a sudden stop and Dahlia has to stop herself from running into his back; she doesn’t particularly want deer corpse on her face. He turns to face her; expression still the same stern look he usually carries, and she misses his grin when he was talking to kids at the barbecue.

“Look here, deputy, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong and irritating me isn’t a habit you want to form. Get out of here.”

“Oh no,” she rolls her eyes, “I’m really scared.”

“Keep pushing, sweetheart, won’t get you anywhere.”

“God, you’re no fun.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

“Jacob is something wrong,” a voice cuts through their conversation, rough and masculine. And Dahlia see the long-haired man and short haired girl from the barbecue; the ones who shot her dirty looks when she talked back to Jacob.

“Nothing you need to concern yourselves with.”

“What are you doing here?” The woman asks Dahlia directly.

“Standing.”

“Fallon,” Jacob says the woman’s name, stern tone making her posture snap straighter, “I said it’s none of your concern. Let’s go.”

The three of them start to leave down a path; Fallon and the long-haired man have heavy bucks they pack as well. A hunting trip for Jacob and his…friends? Are they friends? That didn’t seem like friendship, but Dahlia is far from an expert on the matter. She offers a goodbye wave; but Fallon just rolls her eyes. Their steady footfalls leaving the deputy behind.

Well, it staved off the boredom for a while she supposes.

Dahlia lets out a huffy sigh, blowing loose strands of hair from her face as she begins back down the path she came. The sun is setting by the time she’s back to the parking lot and climbing on top of her bike.

Her stomach is growling by the time she’s driving down a main road, she sees the sign for The Grill Steak as she reaches the intersection. Dahlia pulls in, letting her stomach guide her actions, as she’s one to do.

It’s a small restaurant packed with groups of people from friends to families; she can feel the heat of the grill radiating through, the smell of her making her stomach growl. She settles into a booth by herself, when she reads through it the menu is full of gamey meat burgers and steaks. No signs of beef or pork; it’s all bison and deer. She wonders if the cook hunts everything himself, it wouldn’t surprise her, given what she’s seen of the county. He can hear the cook yelling something she can’t understand from the kitchen. Dahlia settles on ordering a cola and a deer burger; thinking about the hunted stag she saw Jacob kill.  

As she waits on her food, the chatter of a group catches her ear. They’re not from Hope County; the different cadences of how they speak mingled with fancy latin technical terms tells her as much. Trying to be discreet; she glances at them over her shoulder. A group of four; two women and two men all around the same age. Dahlia’s not the brightest bulb in the pack by her own admission, but when she hears the words corvids and lupine, she realizes they’re talking about animals. It doesn’t shock her, given the abundance of wildlife in the county, certainly people would come to research them. 

The door to the restaurant swings open and a man comes walking in, shoulders back and footfalls confident. It reminds her clearly of Jacob, the walk of a soldier, though this man isn’t quite as intimidating a figure. Older than Dahlia, though most people are, with a full dark beard and long scraggly dark hair. He doesn’t bother to take a seat at a booth or look at a menu, only giving a single wave to the cook in the back as he makes a beeline to the group. Dahlia shifts a little further down into her booth, not that anyone could truly tell she’s eavesdropping, but it gives a little more secrecy to it. 

 “You the conservationists?” 

 “Yeah, we’re studying the wildlife here… And you are?” 

“Eli, not here to ‘cause trouble or anything like that, just wanted to give some friendly advice.” 

“Friendly advice?” 

“You need to watch yourselves out in those woods.”

“Pffft.” 

“We’re well aware of how dangerous the wildlife out here can be. You-” 

“No, you aren’t. There’s wolves-”

“And bears and mountain lions, oh my,” one of them jokes, “look, we know what we’re doing.” 

“You’re not listening, they’re not regular wolves. They’ve been trained to kill and hunt people down on sight. Even if you avoid ‘em, you get on the cult’s bad side and they’ll send ‘em after you. You gotta be careful out here.” 

“Okay, sure,” the eyeroll is nearly audible, “we’ll keep an eye out for killer cult wolves, don’t worry.” 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, alright.” 

The man, Eli walks away, and Dahlia considers stopping him. Admitting her nosiness and ask him some of the million questions going through her mind. Surely by cult, he means Eden’s Gate, right? Dahlia can’t imagine who else he could mean. They’re small and close knit, but they’re not a cult, right? Cults imply something more out there or intense; they’re just a little Christian church. Joseph may have his own book, but they still follow Christian ideas of sins and scripture.

And wolves? How could they possibly be training wolves? It’s all so ridiculous and asinine, making gears spin and churn in her head until they overheat, but it was said with such conviction. By the time she brings herself to make a noise, Eli has already left, and it’s probably for the best. It’s too crazy to be true. Maybe he’s a tinfoil hat wearing type of guy, a conspiracy theorist like the Zip guy who leaves a newsletter in every damn corner of the county, screaming about chemtrails and baby farms.

She fills her stomach, deciding to leave that as it is, finally returning to her trailer late that night. A restless night of sleep with images of wolves and deer creeping around through her brain, nothing concrete enough to latch onto, but enough to unsettle.

A boring morning leads into a boring afternoon, time blurring before the sun has set and Dahlia’s finding herself pulling up to The Spread Eagle to catch her coworkers after their shift. She’s popped enough pain killers that the throb of music and noise is welcomed instead of irritating. A smile already gracing her lips when she catches Pratt and Hudson shooting the shit in the bar’s lowlight. As she sneaks up closer to them, their conversation starts to be audible over the tunes playing through the bar.

“I bet you break before then,” Hudson says, a teasing grin directed at Pratt.

“Hey, it’s only six months.”

“Please, you’re weak and you know it.”

“How much you wanna bet?”

Dahlia strikes, throwing her arms over Pratt’s shoulders, effectively hugging him from behind and leaning her weight into him. He’s warm and Dahlia can’t fight the impulse to squeeze him a little tighter. She breathes in the faint smell of coffee and cologne that still cling to him; comforting after so much time spent around him.

“Jesus fuck, when’d you get here?” Pratt blusters and at this close of a range Dahlia can see his cheeks pinkening under the scruff of his beard. Does this bother him?

“Right now.”

“You decided to come hang out again?” Hudson asks, grinning at the flustered Pratt.

“Mmhmm,” Dahlia hums into Pratt’s shoulder, pressing her face into him, “bored.”

“Get off me,” he grumbles and reaches back to swat at her hip.

“Ugh, buzzkill,” she bitches as she detaches from Pratt and climbs onto a bar stool, “so what the hell are you guys making bets about?”

Pratt coughs, trying to dislodge something from his throat, and Hudson laughs, “yeah, Pratt why don’t you tell her about our bet?”

“Don’t worry about it, Rook.”

“We still need to set an amount.”

“Fifty,” Pratt suggests and Dahlia wants to know even more what the hell they’re making bets about.

“Mmm, hundred.”

“Fine, if you’re comfortable losing that much.”

“Anyone gonna tell me what’s going on?”

“Nope.”

“Well, that’s gonna drive me crazy now, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and orders food, stuffing her face as she listens to her coworkers fill her in on anything of interest she’s missed during her off time. It’s not much, as usual, the workload in Hope County is pretty low stakes. Hunting violations, speeding tickets, and the like. Seems like her assault is about the most interesting case in a while. Dahlia’s tempted to ask if they know anything about wolf attacks but bites her tongue before she does. Hope County is filled with wildlife, wolf attacks have no doubt occurred to some degree and if she mentions the idea of trained cult wolves, they might start to think she’s buying into the conspiracy shit.

“Stop,” Pratt says suddenly, putting hand on Dahlia’s knee, “you’re shaking the whole damn bar.”

Her leg she realizes has been bouncing the whole time, the hike helped, workouts help, but she’s still breaming with pent up energy. There’s a rustle of movement and Dahlia is drawn to the open floor near the jukebox, she’s seen a few people dance here and there, a couple now and again swaying to softer tunes while she’s been here. But, it’s more crowded tonight, people laughing and dancing together.

“People are dancing,” she states the obvious.

“It’s ladies’ night, women drink free, so everyone’s extra, uh, energetic tonight,” Hudson tells her.

An upbeat song starts and Dahlia’s up in the next breath, she needs to move, burn off excess energy. And while her favorite club in Lake Charles isn’t exactly available to her anymore, she’ll jump at the chance to lose herself in a song.

You should be wilder, you're no fun at all.

Dahlia’s singing along as she sways and shifts through the crowd, body moving instinctually to the beat. There’s a woman about Dahlia’s age, long blonde hair and brown eyes, dancing as well and the deputy finds herself gravitating towards her.

Yeah, thanks for the input.

Thanks for the call.

She asks low into the woman’s ear, so she can be heard over the music, if she can dance with her. The response is a smile, lighting up the girl’s face, a nod of her head and then she’s pulling Dahlia in by the hips.

With dull knives and white hands

The blood of a stone

Cold to the touch, right

Right down to the bone

And then she loses herself in it. In the music that fills the bar, the feeling of a stranger touching her, the slide of her feet as she moves,  the way hips knock together, the scratch in her throat as she sings lyrics in the woman’s ear, their grins as they laugh and bump noses together. It’s fun and it’s silly, a reason to move and forget life for a moment.

Cause you give me the electric twist and it kicks and it kicks like a pony.

And true, you might run away with it, it's a risk it's a risk yeah.

Because it kicks yeah.

It really kicks yeah.

Dahlia spins the woman with a laugh, before pulling the woman close against her again, wide smiles and bright eyes as their foreheads touch. There’s sweat sticking to their skin as the song winds down. Panted breaths ghosting over each other’s faces as they come down from exertion.

And the touch of your lips it's a shock not a kiss

It's electric twist, it's electric twist

“How much I gotta pay to see you kiss?!” A loud voice booms out, making Dahlia and her dance partner of the night separate. There’s a man, couldn’t be older than his mid twenties, sitting at the bar with his legs sprawled open drinking a beer at the table between the bar and the dance area. His eyes linger and look over both women’s bodies

“Can I help you?” Dahlia asks and furrows her brows, glowering at the man as she draws closer.

“Oh just enjoying the show, sweetheart.”

“Not your sweetheart and I’m not a damn show.”

“Pfff, don’t get your panties in a twist,” he turns back to his table and rolls his eyes, as if Dahlia’s the problem, “fucking dykes.”

The junior deputy grits her teeth and she sees from her peripheral the woman rubbing the back of her neck, letting her bangs fall into her face looking like she’d rather disappear.

“The fuck did you call us?” She can’t stop herself from speaking, barely managing to reign her anger in enough not do something worse.

“You heard me.”

“Fuck you!”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Pratt’s voice cuts through as the man starts to turn to retort, the warmth of her coworker’s hand wraps around the clenched fist she didn’t realize she had raised.

“Is something wrong?” Mary May calls out, starting to walk out from behind the bar.

“Everything’s fine,” Pratt responds before Dahlia can say anything and when she starts to speak, he looks at her to whisper, “you’re barely three weeks into your job, you really wanna be getting into bar fights?”

“He ca-”

“I heard what he said, Rook, but it ain’t worth your job.”

“You’re right,” she gnaws on her lip and looks down on the ground, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I get it, I just don’t want you doing anything stupid.”

“I need some fresh air.”

Dahlia leaves The Spread Eagle, noticing the woman she danced with has already vanished, unwilling to deal with the bullshit. A cool breezes ghosts over her sweaty skin as she sits down on the porch steps at the front of the bar; running her hands through her hair as she fights to ease her nerves. She digs a pack of cigarettes out of her jacket pocket

There’s a crush of footsteps as she lights one, bringing it to her lips, shiny black leather boots entering her vision.

“Dep-yoo-tee.”

“You Seeds can just smell when I’m sad, can’t you?” She teases looking up to see John, the neon bar sign setting his face aglow in the night as he chuckles at her.

“Not my intention, but if you’re in need of a talk, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“You weren’t coming out here to harass Mary May again, were you?”

“Deputy,” he puts his hand to his chest cartoonishly dramatic in his hurt, “h-harassment? That’s ridiculous. am I not allowed to visit with Ms. Fairgrave and just discuss our difference of opinions.”

His voice is ramping up in pitch as he defends himself and Dahlia can’t help but smile, appreciating the distraction from her own troubles.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure Mary May would have a different of opinion about that one. We still gotta talk about members stealing booze.”

“Our members would do no such thing; and I assure you, if there’s any harassment here, we’re the victims. We’ve been insulted, had our sermons interrupted, our practices mocked, Mary May herself once showed up our church simply to cause trouble.”

“Okay, okay, it’s a two-way street, I get it. Sit, we can chat for a bit,” she pats the section of porch step beside her and reluctantly after a beat of silence, he sits down, “so, Mary May caused trouble for you guys?”

“Yes, yes, she has and she’s not the only one; the people of this county have persecuted me and my family since we’ve been here.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, no one should mistreat you that way,” she looks him in the eye as she speaks, “and if it ever happens again, I want you to call down to the station, ask for me, and I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“Well, it’s certainly nice to know you’re on our side.”

“Ah, ah, I’m on everyone’s side. Mary May is owed the same respect as you and your family; and if you cause issues for her, I won’t hesitate to intervene for her sake as well. I’m here to keep everyone safe. Got to treat everyone like you wanna be treated, the whole spiel.”

“I know you’re not preaching biblical principles to me, dep-yoo-tee.”

“Not biblical, just a little maturity.”

“Are you implying I’m immature.“

“You’re a grown man spatting with a woman ten or more years younger than you; throwing a tantrum and pointing fingers when you’re told to behave.”

“First of all, I’m not that old,” Dahlia raises an eyebrow at him, “don’t look at me like that, I’m 32. Secondly, I am not a child. Mary May has-“

“And if she does something again, now that I’m here, let me know and I will help. But her actions don’t justify yours.”

“Fine, I’ll be sure to hold you to that promise, then.”

“I mean it’s less a promise and more so doing my job, but alright.”

She breathes out a plume of smoke, making sure to aim away from John’s face, his blue eyes track the movement and the nicotine fumes that escape into the air. An ex-smoker, she deems as she watches him staring at her lips and the cigarette between her fingers.

“You want a smoke?” She asks, offering her pack of cigarettes.

“Smoking is forbidden in Eden’s Gate.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Tattooed fingers pick out a cigarette and she lights it for him with a grin, watching him take a deep inhale and blowing out the smoke that fills his lungs. The soft rise of his chest and the gray clouds that billow out from parted lips. She notices for the first time the freckles on his neck and chest, shirt unbuttoned low enough to expose them. There’s thin fresh scratches along his hands and forearms, too superficial and fresh to match the deeper worn in scars, they look like cat scratches. And yeah, he seems like a cat guy.

“So, now that you’ve berated and tempted me, deputy,” he speaks after an exhale of smoke, “why were you out here pouting?”

“BREH!” She plops her back down on the porch with a vague animal long groan and throws her arms over her eyes, cigarette still between two fingers, must he remind of her own issues.

“Well that certainly wasn’t immature or dramatic.”

And she laughs, because he’s right, she can preach maturity all she wants to him. But, she’s still a brat herself. She’d justify herself with their massive age difference, because no way he’s thirty-two, but that feels flimsy at best. They’re both just two temper tantrum throwing children, hell they’re even both fibbing about their ages. Though, she suspects his own much more severe than the few months she adds to her own.

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“You know,” he lays back on the porch, matching her position, “I take the confessions for our church, if there’s anything you need to get off your chest, I’m the man to talk to.”

“Not much to say; guy called me a slur, I nearly throttled him.”

“Someone else’s actions don’t justify your own,” he parrots her words back to her.

“Yeah, someday I’ll follow my own advice.”

“Has that happened before?”

The gears in her brain churn, she’s been called many a thing, but her sexuality has been one of the less insulted facets of who she is.

Her stepfather, as religious as he was, was adamant on his hatred of gay people. But her own disinterest in exploring her sexuality or romance saved her from his scorn in that area, his focus more on the other various things he found deplorable about her.

Her mother’s side is Ashkenazi Jewish, and Dahlia remembers the few people of her stepfather’s church who despite her mother converting were disgusted their preacher would marry a Jewish woman. A handful leaving the church, a few sticking by just to call Dahlia and her mother slurs when their backs were turned.

The nightclub she favored in Louisiana was considered a gay bar, though not exclusive to LGBT folks. Women dancing with women, men dancing with men, men and women dancing; and a healthy amount of people who didn’t quite fit either label. Only one-night sticks out, a car speeding past the line outside the bar just to scream a slur out the window.  

Maybe what bothered her most was the boldness. This wasn’t someone whispering when they thought Dahlia couldn’t hear, and this wasn’t a man just screaming out at the public as he speeds away. Just a man emboldened and willing to hurt her in front of a bar filled with people.

“We’re blocking the door.”Everything else died on her lips; unable to spill her guts.

“And we weren’t while you were lecturing me?”

Her phone buzzes in her jacket as she brings her cigarette back into her mouth, unwilling to justify her evasiveness to a man she barely knows, she answers a number she doesn’t know at all.

“Hello?” She says around her smoke.

“H-hello, is this a deputy?” A soft broken voice, she remembers from the diner,  asks her and Dahlia sits up, tension pricking at the back of her neck.

“That’s me, Cassie?”

“You remember me…”

“What’s going on, are you okay?”

“Yeah, uh, I…” a beat of silence and a choked sob comes next, “no, I’m sorry, I’m, I’m not okay, I-“

“Where are you?” Dahlia’s on her feet, heartbeat in her throat as she waves off John’s furrowed brows and concern, running to her bike.

“I’m at the diner. I didn’t know where else to go…”

“I’m headed your way now, Cassie, are you safe?”

“I…I don’t know…I…”

Her voice breaks out into sobs again as Dahlia starts her engine, slams on her helmet, and switches her phone to the speaker in her helmet. The girl’s cries echoing around her as her wheels kick gravel across the parking lot, speeding out of Falls End.