#hope your cabinet man day (today) is going pleasantly

[walkman-cat]

16 and 17 for the ask game BUT instead of pictures, what if they were artworks? if you want! - @pigeonwit

:O oo ! yesyes :o (though it may be more than one drawing for the beginning and end of year wbwbw)

Post a picture from the beginning of the year

wbwbw !! early 2023 was pretty much where i started using the mthods i use now for my art (the orpheus drawing in top right is pretty much the first time i'd used lineart and cell shading rather than painting in over a year. and then it stuck!).

it's also real funny to see how much the designs of my characters have changed over the course of the year (for orpheus, it's somewhat significant of a change; markos' design has also changed, but less so)

(the drawing of the captain's just there because i still really like it wbwbwb)

2. Post a picture from the end of the year

i haven't drawn as much at the end of the year as i did in the beginning of the year (i blame exam hell) but here are a couple drawings from the past month wbwbwb!

(that's kath in the star trek au i have cooking up wbwbw! she and spot (human) are a tactical officer/head of security tag team to be feared wbwbw) (i will draw everyone else eventually i have Ideas)

it is interesting to note (for me at least) how much less i've drawn my ocs towards the end of the year wbwbw (i wonder whether that's got anything to do with when i joined tumblr wbwbw. hmm) i've got to draw them more methinks

[qdbs-writes]

A Divine Challange - Part 2

Summary: The Reader is still pretending to be a rabbit, shinanigans ensue. Raiden's description is based on his appearance in the 1995 film. Link to Part 1.

Words: 1.7k

See this on AO3

The rest of the day had been spent in your rabbit form dwelling in the laps of either Kung Lao or Liu Kang. Despite only knowing you for a short time, the two young men had become quite fond of you, holding you, petting you, gently brushing your fur. What they saw as calmness was actually the built-in freeze response in action. But of course, you should be afraid. You weren’t a rabbit! And you had no idea how these strange men would respond to their beloved “Mr Rabbit” turning out to be a human in disguise! And the strange, cloaked man, who if Lao and Kang’s discussions were anything to go by was certainly a god, was already calling your bluff! It’s times like this you sit and wonder how you managed to let this situation get so bad.

Mercifully the night brought some peace and quiet. Kung Lao had brought you into his bed to cuddle, murmuring a little “Goodnight, Mr Rabbit” and placing a kiss on your fluffy nose. Once he was snoring soundly, you made an effort to wriggle out of his arms, kicking your little bunny legs as you went. By the time you were off of Kung Lao’s bed, which was more of a futon, you finally let yourself turn back into a human. You stand on two legs for the first time in hours, groaning as your back and neck ached from being in animal form for so long. Kung Lao’s snoring pauses for a moment and you glance at him in horror, realising that your human form is still fully naked. If Kung Lao were to wake up at this exact moment, all he would see is a nude stranger standing over him ominously. You can’t help but think this is like all your socially awkward nightmares come to life. Mercifully, Lao continues to snore. Breathing a sigh of relief, you decide to try and find some clothes. You tiptoe slowly towards a small cabinet with a large, bladed hat perched jauntily on the corner. You creak the door open to find that, thankfully, there were some spare robes within. You quickly pulled one out and tied it around yourself. Evidently, it was several sizes too big, fitted for someone much taller than you were. Oh well, you think to yourself, it beats being naked. You toss one last glance at the sleeping man. The sleeping man that in the course of one day, you have decided to mislead then accidentally get adopted by and then steal from. Kung Lao has rolled slightly onto his side, his face mushed up against the pillow. Truly, you were underserving of the kindness he showed you today, but you still wanted to get away as fast as you could. You creak the sliding door open and slip out into the dark hallway.

The halls of the Shaolin Temple were shadowy and maze-like. You scurry past closed doors and identical corridors desperately looking for what might be the way out. Hope erupts in you when you enter some sort of courtyard but dies quickly when you realise it’s a closed off garden. You prepare to change into a cat and jump the fence when you notice a small hut on the other side, with a soft, warm light emanating through the covered windows. You slide the wooden door aside to reveal a steamy bathroom, with a bubbling large central tub and various washing supplies in nearby baskets. You creep in and dip a finger into the bath only to find the water pleasantly hot. Fuck it, you think, you’ve had a long day, why not enjoy a nice bath? You shuck off the stolen robe you wore and slipped into the tub. You hum in contentment as you sink into the soothing water. You go about washing yourself at a leisurely pace, making use of the nearby soaps and scrubs, which all appeared to be handmade by the local monks. You wonder to yourself if Kung Lao had helped make any of these wonderful items. It would only make sense, you supposed, after all the Shaolin pride themselves on their self-sufficiency, and even monks need to bathe every once in a while. Still, the large, warm tub seemed highly luxurious for some monks considering your naturalist lifestyle. When your fingers start to prune, you decide it’s probably time to leave the heavenly bath. You heave yourself out with no small amount of reluctance and dry yourself off with the conveniently provided towels. You draw the stolen robe back around yourself and went back into the courtyard, leaving small wet footprints in your place.

When you re-enter the courtyard, you notice a small stone lined path leading up a hill surrounded by bamboo trees. Maybe some higher ground would be easier to escape from, you think to yourself. You gingerly make your way up the hill, cringing as pebbles dig into your bare feet. Internally you regret not stealing some shoes as well. By the time you reach the top of the hill, you are dismayed to see that the bamboo trees were so thick they almost created a wall surrounding the hill. Man, since when did a bunch of monks need such tight security?

“Ah, there you are.” A strange voice from the darkness says, almost literally scaring the shit out of you. You gasp and stumble back, nearly toppling over a mossy lion statue in the process. On the other side of the clearing was the hooded stranger you saw earlier, the stranger that was most definitely a god. But without his cowl, you could vaguely make out his features in the moonlight from overhead. The god sat with his legs crossed, hands folded on his knees. His white shoulder length hair glowed under the moonlight, but not as brightly as his nearly entirely white eyes, which gazed at you unblinkingly. “Can I assume that you’ve decided to reveal yourself?” he queried, his face calm and curious.

“I-I, no, but... How did you know that I was-?” you stumble over your words as you tried to slow your panicked breath.

“Such a shame,” He tutted, “Someone of your talents would make a fine ally.” He mummed.

“Ally? What do you mean?” you tried to seem somewhat aloof, if this god wanted something to do with you then you were going to play as dumb as you could.

“Oh, you can’t fool me, little one.” He chided “You are much more than you let on… I can always see potential.” You might’ve imagined it but it almost seemed as if there was a twinkle in his eye.

“There was something about a tournament. That headband guy, what was his name?” you pause.

“Liu Kang.” The god finished for you.

“Yeah, him and Kung Lao seemed worried about it. But what could make Shaolin monks that freaked out?” You wondered aloud.

“What indeed.” The god had a coy smile on his face. “Ah! But where are my manners, I am Lord Raiden, God of Lightening and Guardian of Earthrealm.” He clapped his hands on his knees and stood, giving you a respectful bow.

“Holy shit, what like lightening in the sky? That’s you?” you curtesy back awkwardly.

Raiden chuckled slightly, standing from his bow “And I assume your name isn’t Mr Rabbit?” he smirked.

“Oh, no its Y/N…” you murmur, embarrassed at your situation with Kung Lao. “Hey look, me being here, it’s all some mistake, I need to get out now.” You plead, if anyone could help you right now, it would be Raiden.

“Oh?” Raiden raised an eyebrow, “But You’ve only just arrived!” Suddenly, you hear the panicked voices of Liu Kang and Kung Lao in the distance. You look at Raiden with panic as he returns to his kneeling position, with a challenging look in his eyes. “I think you’ll be quite useful here.” He almost giggles. You want to scream at him in frustration, but you don’t have any time, Kang and Lao are coming up the hill!

You send one last glare at the god before shifting back into a rabbit, the robe collapsing around you. Whatever Raiden wanted from you; you weren’t just going to give it to him. Kang and Lao appear in the grove, looking around until they spot your fluffy round form from beneath the robe.

“Mr Rabbit, there you are!” Lao exclaims as he lifts you into his arms, “Oh, we were so worried you had gotten lost- oh, you smell so nice, Mr Rabbit, did you have a bath?” he coos.

“Your little friend and I were just having a chat.” Raiden chuckles knowingly.

“My Lord, you were… talking to the rabbit?” Liu Kang questions, throwing the god a concerned look.

Kung Lao noticed the discarded robe on the ground next to you “Mr Rabbit, how did you steal my robe?” he holds it next to you and you begin to nibble on the fabric of the collar, it felt good to grind your teeth on something when you were so angry.

“I think we can give our friend a much better title than Mr Rabbit.” Raiden smirks.

Kung Lao struggles to pull the fabric from your large teeth so much that he doesn’t hear the god. Liu Kang, who can’t decide who to look at replies “Lord Raiden, what do you mean?”.

“In my godly opinion, we should call our friend Y/N”. Raiden says in a very matter of fact manner.

Kung Lao finally manages to wrench the fabric from your jaw, but rips off a slither of cloth in the process, which you continue to chew on aggressively, your long ears flopping indignantly. Lao drops the rest of his robe and holds you at arm’s length to better look at you. “Y/N, huh? Why Y/N?” Lao questions.

“Yes, ‘Y/N’ seems too human for a rabbit, my Lord.” Liu Kang concurs.

“Oh, I think it quite suits them, you will see.” Raiden looked endlessly pleased with himself.

You wriggled in Lao’s grasp to turn your short, fat neck as far as it would go and glare at Raiden. If looks could kill, then you’d be a rabbit guilty of deicide.

“Okay, Y/N, let’s go back to bed.” Lao cooed to you again, cradling you against his chest as he and Liu Kang made their way back down the hill. By now you had come to the realisation that escaping wouldn’t be easy.

[iwaslut]

— 𝖌𝖑𝖚𝖙𝖙𝖔𝖓𝖔𝖚𝖘

this is my piece for @karasunosimp’s “it’s raining milk” collab!! this is my first time ever participating in a collab, so thank you for letting me join <3

milf!sasha braus

fem!reader, nsfw content, large age gap, wlw, oral sex.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ♡ 18+ CONTENT

Your job as a babysitter had quite a few perks.

One: The pay is good. You were rather reluctant to resort to babysitting as a part-time job but, desperate times call for desperate measures, especially when you’re trying to earn some form of income while putting yourself through your last year of University. So you were pleasantly surprised when you had been offered more than you normally would be compensated when babysitting.

Two: The kid you babysit, Kaya, is an absolute angel. Due to her rather withdrawn nature, Kaya typically keeps herself busy by quietly reading in her room or watching the television in the living room. As time has passed and Kaya’s slowly become accustomed to your presence, she no longer seems as apprehensive to interact with you as she once was. It’s obvious to you that she’s a good kid. Although she’d rather keep to herself, she’s always polite when you converse and sometimes she’ll even ask if you want to join her and watch a show together. She has pretty good taste in shows, you think as you watch “The Winx Club” together.

Three: Miss Braus is one of the hottest fucking women you’ve seen in your life. She looks fucking incredible for a woman her age and you were honestly shocked to learn that she’s as old as she is. Whenever you interact with the woman, you have to physically restrain yourself from allowing your eyes to lower; her shirts are always exceptionally tight, clinging like a second-skin to her tits. It’s only when she turns around to leave through the front door that you let yourself check out the older woman. She has a damn nice ass.

“Hello, Miss Braus.” With your tote bag resting on your shoulder, you step inside of the home as the brunette warmly ushers you in.

“Miss Braus makes me feel old. How many times do I have to tell you that Sasha will do just fine, sweetheart?” She complains, playfully scolding you as you slip off your sneakers by the entrance of the door. Her hands are firmly placed on the curve of her hips when you lift your head to offer her a sheepish grin.

“Sorry, Mi—Sorry, Sasha. Force of habit, I guess.” You bring up one hand to rub at the back of your neck, brows lightly pinching together when you survey the space to see Kaya nowhere in sight. “Eh, pardon me, Sasha, but where’s Kaya at?”

Although you’re well aware of how reserved her daughter is, you’ve come to expect Kaya to be curled up on the couch reading a novel whenever you come over to babysit her. You guys have fallen into the habit where you’ll cook her lunch as soon as you arrive while she reads nearby so it’s rather unusual that the blonde girl is nowhere to be seen.

“She’s at her father’s house for the day.” For a brief moment, the brunette’s expression pinches up: distaste for the blond man made evident on her face. You don’t know too much about Sasha’s ex-husband, just that he’s some renowned chef that frequently travels a lot. Niccolo is his name if you recall correctly. It’s not your place to pry so you choose to not ask any questions regarding the matter and listen when Sasha slips little tidbits of information regarding her ex-husband.

Wait. What?

“Kaya’s not here?” If Kaya’s not here then why were you still scheduled to babysit today?

You’re drawn out of your train of thought when Sasha places a gentle hand on your shoulder. You startle at the little amount of space in between the two of you.

“Nope!” She cheerfully exclaims as she slips your bag off of your shoulders. You’re left in a stupor, wondering what the fuck is going on, but you shake it off and follow Sasha, who has turned around and is now making her way in the direction of the kitchen.

“I thought we could chat today!” Her back is turned towards you as you take a seat at one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter. She floats around the kitchen, grabbing items from the fridge and cabinets. Your eyes glue themselves to the thin sliver of skin that appears when Sasha’s shirt rides up as she reaches for something in one of the upper cabinets.

“O-oh, okay.” This turn of events is rather strange, but you’re not complaining. Sasha’s a really wonderful conversationalist: the conversation flows naturally between you two and you’re always left in stitches at the jokes she cracks. Also, you get the opportunity to openly ogle her with her back facing you as she cooks something on the stove. You’re not going to pass up on an opportunity like this.

“I’m making us some lunch, but it’s going to take some time to cook.” You’re knocked out of your reverie once again and quickly avert your gaze from Sasha’s ass to meet her eyes. You desperately hope you were fast enough that she didn’t catch you. Her expression doesn’t give anything away so you think you’re good.

“Sounds good to me! Thank you so much for making lunch.” Your mouth waters at the thought of eating Sasha’s cooking. Although you’ve never tried it, Kaya’s always boasted about how her parents are both great cooks. You’re looking forward to trying her food since Kaya speaks so highly of it.

“Of course, honey! It’s no issue especially for such a sweet girl.” Your thighs automatically squeeze together. You mentally thank a higher being that the counter hides your lower half because that would be painfully embarrassing for you if your employer saw how turned on they made you by uttering only two words.

You watch as Sasha floats around the kitchen, grabbing some more ingredients from the fridge and different cabinets before tossing them all together on the stove to simmer. You fidget in your seat, never one who was good at sitting still with nothing to occupy your attention. You feel that it would be rude for you to pull out your phone and scroll through social media in Sasha’s presence.

“There we go! Now we just have to let this simmer for a while,” she exclaims, turning around to face you and clapping her hands together. A pretty smile graces her face and her features light up when you return it with a grin of your own.

“Since it's going to take some time, how about we get comfy?”

Sasha pats the seat next to her on the couch, prompting you to slip out of the stool you’re sitting on to join her. You make sure to maintain a respectable distance that Sasha effectively destroys when she scoots closer to you until your knees are brushing against one another’s. The lack of space between you two makes you more nervous than you’d like to admit, but you don’t move from your spot.

The air is stolen straight out of your lungs when Sasha places a delicate hand on your knee.

“You know, you’re not really discreet when you’re checking me out, honey,” Sasha notes.

“Huh—what?” It takes your brain a moment to process what Sasha’s said, especially as her hand steadily inches up your thigh. Once you realize what she’s said, embarrassment crashes over you in a cold wave.

“Oh my god, I am so so so sorry Miss Braus. Please forgive—.”

Your words die out when Sasha places the hand that’s not on your thigh on your cheek, forcing you to look her way.

“You talk too much, sweetheart,” Sasha affectionately chides before she presses her lips to yours, effectively shutting you up in the process. You’re frozen still for a moment. Is this actually fucking happening? When you feel Sasha move her lips against yours, you realize that yes, this is, in fact, fucking happening.

Any of your prior hesitations is thrown out the window when you feel Sasha’s hands slip underneath the hem of your t-shirt. Your tongue traces the seam of her lips before Sasha parts them, letting you in. Your hands rest on her hips, urging and guiding her to seat herself on top of your lap.

You smile against her lips as a startled gasp leaves them when you firmly squeeze her ass.

“Too much clothing,” she rasps out while pulling her shirt over her head. You’re quick to follow suit and tug your own t-shirt off just in time to watch Sasha unclasp her bra. Her breasts spill out from underneath the constraining fabric and jiggle before settling against her chest.

As much as you want to lean forward and lather her tits in attention, you’re eager to switch the position you’re currently in. Sasha’s back hits the couch’s cushions with a quiet thump as your frame leers above her.

Her eyes widen in brief surprise at the action, but Sasha’s not granted much time to think when you swoop down to kiss her again. It’s sloppier this time around. You have no clue when, or if, you’ll ever get this chance again and you’re determined to make the most of it. You want to ingrain the taste of Sasha into your brain.

Her hands tangle together behind your neck when you begin your descent down her body. You lick the bead of sweat trailing down the column of her neck and gently nip at the skin there. Not hard enough to make any marks, but just hard enough to elicit a gasp from Sasha.

“Fuck. Just like that.”

She throws her head back when you swirl your tongue around the hardened bud of her nipple while your fingers roll her other one. You lavish her tits in attention, sucking and nipping at them until blood rushes to the surface of her skin. When you lean back, you mentally pat yourself on the back. Her tits are a mess, covered in hickies of varying sizes.

You pepper kisses to her stomach, relishing in how soft and plush her skin is, before tossing her legs over your shoulders.

“You look so good like this, Sasha. So pretty and desperate for me to eat you out,” you coo. You hook your arms underneath her thighs, grabbing fistfuls of the fat of her ass until she’s positioned in a way you like.

“Hurry up and put your mouth on me already.” She tightens her thighs around your head and digs her heels into your back, urging you to get on with it already. If this was any other situation, you’d draw it out a little longer until Sasha was on the verge of tears and begging you to eat her out, but you’re feeling impatient. You can’t lie and say you’re not eager to have a taste of her.

Before Sasha can complain at how long you’re taking, you dive in. A startled moan tears its way out of her throat when you lick a long, deep stripe along her dripping slit. You lap at her cunt like a woman starved, devouring her whole. You circle her clit with your tongue before latching onto it.

“Shit. I’m so close. You’re doing s’good.”

Her back arches off of the sofa as her hands bury themselves into your hair. She digs the blunt edges of her nails into your scalp and the slight splintering pain has you moaning into her cunt.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Shit! I’m cumming.”

She sharply digs her heels into the muscle of your upper back and she cums with a loud cry. You hold her in place as she convulses, bucking her hips wildly as she rides out her orgasm. You gently suckle on her clit and run your tongue through her folds until she’s whimpering.

The incessant beeping of the timer that Sasha had previously set startles the two of you. From in between her thighs, you stare up at her with a crooked grin. A mixture of her juices and cum coats your lips and chin. Her eyes dart to the pink of your tongue when you lick your lips clean. You use the back of your hand to wipe your chin, which only serves to smear the liquid more.

“Thanks for the dessert, Sasha. I’m looking forward to tasting your cooking now.”

[iamdeku]

Positions: Prohero!Deku x Reader

I’ve been working on this little drabble for a while, haha. I just wanted to write something really cute and domestic. I hope you guys like this!

Warnings: nudity (non-sexual), mentions of kids/pregnancy

Dating a pro-hero could be taxing, to say the least. That was what everyone had told you when you and Izuku had first gotten together. They had warned you of the unpredictable hours, the nightmares, the trauma. They had said he would be physically unavailable at best, emotionally unavailable at worst. You had ignored all of that, though, and every day you were glad you did.

Dating Izuku had never been anything but a joy, a privilege even. He was one of the kindest souls you had ever met. His work only seemed to strengthen that side of him, accenting his willingness to help others, always with a smile on his face. He never made you feel second best to anything or anyone. In fact, you often felt like he did more for you than you did for him, which was what brought you here.

You’re pulling out all the stops tonight, spinning around your kitchen in your pretty pink over the knee socks that always made you glide across the floor, one of Izuku’s baby blue hoodies tossed over your head and falling far enough to be a dress, negating any need for pants. You had chicken katsu going on the stove, and you were making some tea to go with it. In the other room, you had made the bed with freshly washed sheets, still a little warm from the dryer, and an array of bath salts and bubble baths set up for selection.

Your entire body tenses when you hear the jangle of the keys in the lock, rising up onto your tiptoes in your excitement. You slip at least twice as you dash for the door and the man on his way through it, and you should have bit the dust once except for the arms wrapping around you now.

“Baby, you’re slipping all over the place. You know you can’t run in these.” His laughter hits your ear warm and sweet, body close from the way he’s holding you up. “What’s got you in such a hurry? We have all night.”

You pull back to look at him, smile spreading across your face. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

You hold his face between your hands, used to how fragile they looked compared to his broad strength. You brush your thumb across his cheekbone, where a bruise is painted, red at the center but blossoming out to a deep purple, nearly black. You lean forward and press a gentle kiss to it.

“You work too hard.” You sigh, letting your eyes close and lashes flutter over his stained skin. “Do you want dinner or a bath first?”

“Whatever you want.” The answer is immediate, instinctive.

You had seen this coming. You had prepared for it, in fact.

“Nope. Tonight is about you. That’s what I want, and I’m not letting you argue with me. C’mon, we should get you changed out of your costume.”

He lets you drag him back to the bedroom, hands laced together with his. Slowly, you peel him out of his hero costume, the movements routine and your hands gentle as you unveil new bruises. Most of the blood and gunk on him seems to be from other people, hopefully the villains, but you don’t ask. He’ll tell you if he wants to, and he does when he sees the way you pause on a patch of his uniform stuck to his skin from dried blood.

“It was a good night,” he reassures you. “We got them, and everybody is okay.”

“Good.” You nod. “You hungry?”

He smiles down at you. You’ve gently pushed him back onto the bed now that you’ve gotten the top half of his suit off, your navy blue sheets contrasting the green of his hair as he lays back to stretch while you finish undressing him.

“Yeah. It smells good. Chicken katsu?” He leans forward, resting his cheek in his palm.

“Yeah.” You pull his boots off his feet, then shuck of the rest of the costume.

You stand up, knees flushed from the coldness of the hardwood floor, already reaching for his favorite pair of sweats and an old, soft All Might shirt. You let him dress himself as you take his costume to the laundry room, although the damage done to it is likely beyond you. Straight to support team, then.

When you turn to leave the room, his body is stretched across the doorframe, filling it up. You take a moment to let yourself be breathless at the sight of him. It’s not that you forget how beautiful he is, but more that nothing could possibly prepare you for the sight of him, especially not just casually out of nowhere like this. 

“Dinner?” He asks.

“Thought you might want that before a bath.” 

That was a lie. You knew he would want dinner before a bath when you heard his stomach growl about 5 minutes after he walked in the door. Not that he would admit to that, silly boy.

You move to walk past him into the kitchen, but he catches you around the waist, nose skimming across the skin of your neck as he leans forward. He looks you up and down, bright green eyes soaking you up.

“You look so pretty,” he mumbles.

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, leaning into his touch. He brushes his lips against your jaw, just beneath your ear.

“My pretty girl.” He pulls you flush against him, pushing a strand of your hair back. “Gonna drive me crazy.”

“I know what you’re doing,” you breathe, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

“Oh? What am I doing?”

He plays innocent, but you see the look in his eyes.

“You’re trying to distract me from taking care of you. Not going to happen, pretty boy.”

You slip out of his embrace, throwing a teasing glance his way over your shoulder as you head towards the kitchen, swaying your hips perhaps a little more than was strictly necessary.

“Maybe I just think you look really good in my clothes,” he suggests, following you. “Hard to resist.”

You hum mindlessly, a grin playing on your lips as you reach up into the cabinets to pull out an All Might themed bowl for him and a more traditional choice for yourself. You put rice in both of the bowls, doubling the portions for him, and serve the chicken.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.” Izuku grows more serious from where he sits at your kitchen table, his chair scuffed and comfortable with age, face lit up and golden in the warmth of your kitchen.

“Well, somebody has to feed my big strong hero, and it better not be any other girl,” you respond lightheartedly.

“Wouldn’t want any other girl. Not when I have the best one in the world right here.”

You can’t help but blush as you start in on the food. Deku eats like a starving man, and he has for as long as you’ve known him, except when he’s upset. It gives you almost no time to admire him as you try to keep up, but you still try to get as much of him as you can, always afraid that he’s too good to be true. Worried of the moment he’ll disappear on you.

“I can feel you watching.” He says when he’s finished.

You just roll your eyes, still eating despite your best efforts. He’s called you out on it a million times before. You stopped being embarrassed a long time ago.

You two sit in silence until you finish, but it’s comfortable, the sort of silence that settles down when one of you is tired and the other is pleasantly content, or when maybe you’re both a little bit of each. He speaks up when you take the dishes to place them in the sink.

“You know, you would make a good Mom.” His eyes are glazed over in thought, obviously somewhere else.

“You think so?” You asked quietly, frozen at the kitchen sink.

“Yeah. We would have pretty babies too,” he muses.

“Yeah?” You turn around, leaning your back against the sink.

“Uh huh. Can see it now.” A distant smile pulls the corners of his mouth up. “Our little babies calling you Mommy.”

You cross the kitchen table, settling down into his lap. Your arms loop effortlessly over his broad shoulders, so used to the motion.

��Tell me about it,” you say.

“Wanna buy you a house,” he says, burying his face in the crook of your neck in the way he always does when he’s tired down to his bones. “And a ring. A ring as pretty as you are. I want to have so many babies with you. Have all these kids running around the house, and I want them to all look just as pretty as their Mommy.”

“That sounds perfect.” You run your fingers through his soft curls, body intertwined so closely with his you feel his lashes against your shoulder when he blinks sharply.

“Did you say something about a bath earlier, or did I imagine that?” He asks, voice confused with his exhaustion.

You giggle. “I did actually mention a bath.”

“That sounds nice.” 

He stands, picking you up even now, as tired as he is.

“Izuku!” You squeal. “Put me down!”

“Nope, sorry princess. We’re gonna go take a bath.”

He’s all business as he carries you to the bathroom, plopping you down on the edge of the tub. You beat him to the faucet though, determined to keep your hold on the night and keep taking care of him.

“What bath salts do you want?”

He sits down on the floor beside you, back leaning against the tub and cheek pressed to your thigh as he sighs deeply, eyes fluttering shut.

“Whatever you use. Wanna smell like you. You smell good.”

You follow his instructions, setting the bath up with all of your favorites as he peppers the outside of your thigh with kisses. Your hands never shake, the movements practiced from all the years you’ve spent making baths for yourself and later, yourself and Izuku. When you’re finished, you both slide into the bathtub.

You take your time, washing his hair gently. You’re just as careful with the washcloth, paying attention to every part of his body, making sure not to miss a speck of blood or a smudge of dirt. You’re dedicated to your work and unconcerned with your own cleanliness, though you do briefly wash up so you don’t get the sheets dirty.

You wrap him and yourself up in towels when you get out, the darkened water swirling down your drain.

“Somebody was messy today.”

“Sorry.” Izuku blushes, knowing you’ll have to clean the tub later.

“Don’t be. I’m proud of you. You work so hard to keep people safe.”

He smiles at you, and you can see in his eyes he’s woozy from tiredness. You pull him forward into you, holding him in your arms even as you drag him back into bed with you. He manages to crawl into his sweats before crawling under the covers, and you don’t bother to do anything but pop his sweater back on.

He rolls into you, already half asleep but still wrapping you up in his arms. “I meant all of that earlier, you know?”

“Hmm?” you ask, confused.

“I really do want to have a family with you. A home.” He presses a tired kiss to your temple.

“I know. I want that too, ‘Zuku,” you mumble, his tiredness contagious.

“I love you.” He wraps you up tighter if that’s at all possible. “To the moon. And to Saturn. And Pluto.”

You giggle a little, eyelids falling closed. “Love you too. To the moon and to Saturn and to Pluto.”

[lannister-slings-and-arrows]

I and Love and You

The fifth in Rafael Barba/Reader/Frederick Chilton threesome verse written in collaboration with @pascalispretty . Mood board also by the lovely and talented @pascalispretty !! Yep. We did this. Was it necessary? No. Did we enjoy it? Sometimes. Are you going to read it? I sure hope you do and that you like it! Cross posted on ao3!

Part Five of the series So Much Easier than You Realize

Warnings: Total and complete tooth rotting fluff. Schedule an appointment with your dentists, ladies and germs. Rafael is, as always, a bit of a jackass. You will probably have an incurable craving for breakfast food. And the teeniest tiniest mention of daddy kink. Rating: E for everyone because there is nothing objectionable in this at all, I did not think we could actually write something this sweet lol. Word Count: 3725 Summary: Mornings are for cookies and contemplation.

When Rafa wakes up, he spares a moment to sympathize with his growling stomach. More than one moment, if he’s being honest with himself. He isn’t normally an early riser but his stomach wouldn’t be so empty if he’d been allowed to have his bedtime snack and not rudely distracted by his two partners and an ingenious application of his second favorite blue tie. The result is pleasantly sore abdominal muscles and the rare opportunity to wake up in time to see the both of them still peacefully asleep in bed next to him.

Fred’s back is pressed close to his chest and his legs brush against Rafa’s as he levers himself up onto his elbow to look at her on Fred’s other side. Her face is tucked against Fred’s neck and the doctor’s arms are wrapped tightly around her, and Rafa smiles at them both, still asleep in the soft grey early morning light.

Fred shifts, and an irritable frown passes over his face the longer Rafa uses him to balance himself to stare at the two of them, so Rafa quickly presses a kiss to his temple before settling back down with a sigh.

It’s too early to be up, really, but he’s starving and is not getting back to sleep without eating something. He grunts and sits up before pressing another kiss to Fred’s shoulder. He swings his legs out of bed and grabs a pair of grey sweatpants.

Rafa trudges down the hall to the kitchen. There were still Bugles hidden in the back of Fred’s Tupperware cabinet. Oh shit, had he eaten them all? He flicks on the light to the kitchen and huffs a quiet laugh when he finds a sticky note on the door of said cabinet in Fred’s small, precise handwriting.

Sorry, I ate the last of your chips two days ago. In my defense, counselor, you left them in my house and I was having a very stressful day. I made you cookies instead, they’re on top of the microwave. I figured you’d be up before the both of us this morning since you didn’t get your snack. --An Apologetic Psychiatrist who feels like he shouldn’t be apologizing for eating food in his own cupboards.

Rafa runs his fingers over the note a few times, smiling like an idiot, his heart feeling full and warm and about seven sizes larger than it was when he woke up. He turns his head and sees a plastic container (with a green lid because the green Tupperware was for storage of baked goods as Fred was constantly reminding him) right where Fred said it would be, and when he steps over to investigate it further he finds a batch of white chocolate macadamia nut cookies. Another note is stuck to the lid.

I know these aren’t your favorite. I know that you don’t really enjoy white chocolate. Consider this my attempt to make sure you don’t eat all of these in one sitting. Please limit yourself to two; you aren’t in your 20’s anymore, Rafael, and it’s not even a normal time for breakfast yet, much less cookies. --A Not Apologetic Psychiatrist who doesn’t want your first heart attack to be in his apartment, thank you very much.

Rafa rolls his eyes and peels the lid off, smirking as he deliberately takes three out of the box. He doesn’t hate white chocolate, after all, and he does love macadamia nuts. And he has always had a problem following instructions.

Standing at the kitchen counter, Rafa eats his cookies with a pleased groan, once again thanking whatever saints or angels his mami appeals to for sending him a partner that bakes. Not that he thinks his mother would have prayed for someone at all like Fred. Fussy, officious, arrogant, snobby, and, well, a man. His mother would have had someone like their younger lover in mind however. Smart, pretty, and willing to stand up to his attitude. Most of the time anyways. Well, what did Lucia Barba always say? You can make as many requests of God as you want to but remember that He has a sense of humor too? She got him a little extra than what her original request probably specified.

Rafa snorts at the thought and brushes crumbs off his bare chest, leaning back against the counter and surveying the kitchen in the growing light. He’s still hungry but he knows he’ll hear about it if Fred wakes up and all of those cookies are gone. And today is supposed to be the one day this whole month the three of them can spend just being quiet together with no plans, no work, and no prior obligations. He’d rather not spend it all dodging Fred’s passive aggressive jabs and her pouting looks and quiet pleas to please just be the bigger man and apologize.

He stretches his arms out on the counter behind him and tips his head back, staring absently at Fred’s kitchen ceiling as he contemplates making his way back to bed and napping until Fred wakes up and decides to order in breakfast. He’s nearly settled on that plan when he catches sight out of the corner of his eye of the bright blue note on the cupboard. He doesn’t remember Fred spending any time in the kitchen before the two of them dragged Rafa into the bedroom to put his ties to a much more interesting use. He must have gotten out of bed after Rafa fell asleep to put this together, and Rafa can’t help the smile that spreads over his entire face.

Rafa slaps his palms on the counter and shoves himself off, making his way over to the fridge to see what Fred has in the way of actual food. He’s already awake; the least he can do is make breakfast.

He finds the ingredients for pancakes easily enough--Fred is a stickler for organization. Rafa tries not to make a mess as he moves around the perfectly arranged and spotless kitchen. He stirs the batter by hand rather than risk the noise of the KitchenAid but pauses over whether or not to put chocolate chips in.

She would be pleased, her sweet tooth nearly rivals his own, but Fred would almost definitely be annoyed. Especially because Rafa has already had chocolate earlier in the morning. With a fond sigh, Rafa puts the glass jar back in the cupboard, though not before tipping a few of the chocolate chips out into his hand.

It reminds him of cooking in Fred’s beautiful house in Baltimore, his sweet girl laughing and dancing around the kitchen in one of Fred’s shirts, barely being any help at all. All three of them adore the big, beautiful house that Fred had shyly shown them--as if they could have done anything else other than fall in love with it.

Fred relaxed slightly when it became clear that his guests found the house as beautiful as he did. Rafa tried to help her in slowing Fred down as he showed it to them, asking questions about particular objects or features and pointing out the things they especially admired. Every sincere compliment kept a gratified little smile plastered on Fred’s face--and there was plenty to compliment him on.

It’s clear that it holds a special place in Fred’s heart. It’s so him, every inch of it reflecting back the man who poured so much time and effort and money into making it a home. From the collection of antique medical texts carefully displayed on the shelves to the exact shade of teal velvet upholstery on some of the armchairs, Fred had lavished attention on the house to surround himself with things he loved and found beautiful. It amused Rafa to wonder if he’d taken that into account when he’d invited his partners over; whether they’d laud the elegant aesthetic he’d established in his home.

Shifting the spoon briefly to give his right hand a break from mixing, he smiles at the memory. He’s never actually admitted to Fred how much he likes playing house with his two partners there. Rafa is fairly certain that the kitchen in the Baltimore house is larger than the apartment that he grew up in and he knows that a wine cellar is an absurd luxury. But it’s a place where the three of them are free to be themselves, without worrying about nosy neighbors and doormen.

Rafa snorts quietly, folding the batter briskly to get out all the little flour bubbles. That pretty well explains how he feels about Fred too. Fred is too high maintenance, too abrasive in all the ways Rafa normally hates, too… prep school, but Rafa can’t help but smile indulgently every time he turns his nose up at a meal that costs less than fifty dollars, or every time he gets that prissy stubborn look on his face, or juts his chin out and point blank refuses to admit that he’s wrong (even though Rafa can tell that he knows that he is).

He never apologizes either. Ever. He’ll be proven wrong, he’ll hurt both their feelings, and the closest to any sort of acknowledgment of wrongdoing that the both of them will get will be a cup of coffee in bed the next morning, one of Fred’s most handsome smiles, and the complete and sudden cessation of all hostilities like the fight never happened. Rafa knows that with anyone else that kind of behavior would be a relationship killer.

Rafa looks over the batter and nods to himself, satisfied with the consistency, and balances the spoon against the side of the bowl. He stares at the oven and frowns. Just pancakes hardly make breakfast. Going over to the fridge, he grabs bacon out of its particular place, rolling his eyes as he does so, and tosses it on the counter next to the pancake batter, reaching under the silverware drawer for a frying pan.

Maybe it’s the way Fred ‘apologizes’ with the perfect cup of coffee instead of actual words. Maybe it’s that same perfect cup of coffee that somehow manages to find its way onto his desk at work when he’s too swamped to go out and get one--just because Fred knows he needs it. Or a sandwich from his favorite deli and a quick flash of that handsome smile on Fred’s lunch break.

Rafa gets started on actually cooking said breakfast, hissing and swearing quietly when he gets a first-hand demonstration of why you shouldn’t fry things without a shirt on. Fred would have more than a few words to say to him about the relative intelligence of what he’s doing right now. He grins. Maybe that’s it--the way he cares while trying desperately to make it seem like every time it’s an inconvenience of the highest order.

Maybe Rafa loves Fred because every once in a while, when he’s very drunk, very tired, or the perfect combination of both, Fred slips a little and calls the both of them by those cute, ridiculous southern pet names that before now Rafa would have put money on being more myth than fact. And how embarrassed he is when it is pointed out to him that he just called a forty-something year old man ‘pickle’.

Fred is arrogant, prickly, particular, and both overindulgent and overly judgmental of vices depending on if he himself shares in them. He is a pain to get along with most of the time and sometimes treats the two of them like they’re made of spun gold--things to be cherished and well looked after and shown off to the best of his ability. He’s a contradictory monster and Rafa loves him.

He has a feeling that the smile on his face is sappy and ridiculous, but as he turns the bacon and settles to wait a few more minutes, he shrugs. There isn’t anyone else around this early to see him; his reputation as a son of a bitch and a jackass won’t be ruined. He loves Fred. He loves her. He loves both of them--sometimes so much it’s hard for him to keep it to himself and wait for them to come to the same conclusion. Their individual faults, foibles, and perfections and the way they mesh with each other and fit so surprisingly well in his own life.

Like getting new book recommendations from her--whenever he has the time to actually read something for fun. She leaves them on his home desk with a brief explanation why she thinks he’ll like them. That almost always makes up for the numerous occasions he has gone looking for one of his own books and found it had mysteriously jumped off its shelf and walked itself three rooms over, or managed to find itself completely out of order.

He drains the bacon onto a paper towel covered plate and gives the pan a quick rinse. He loves finding packets of M&M’s in his briefcase or in his suit coat pockets, loves knowing they’re from her and that she braved Fred’s ire to indulge his habit of constant snacking. A habit Fred particularly despises. He loves--most of the time--being a couple minutes late to work some mornings because she got into a nearly incoherent argument with him about what color tie he should wear. He loves that she loves his wardrobe as much as he does.

Rafa loves ganging up with her to tease Fred and loves that she can take some teasing herself. He loves that she just rolls her eyes and plays along when his puckish side emerges and he can’t help but be an asshole even though he can tell she would rather he didn’t.

Rafa starts pouring pancake batter, chuckling to himself when he recalls the mood she’d gotten into the last time his sense of humor had gotten the better of him. While waiting for a table in a restaurant, a strange woman had made a snide comment about ‘men dating women young enough to be their daughters’ and Rafa had been unable to resist feigning outrage and asking what was so terrible about a man taking his daughter out for a nice birthday dinner.

The woman had been mortified, and Rafa had enjoyed the look on her face so much that he’d only hammered the point home further, telling her it was hardly his fault he was a widower and a single parent. He hoped it had taught her a valuable lesson in boundaries. His sweet girl had been so embarrassed but it had been so worth it.

Flipping the first pancake, he thinks about the flaws that come with her youth. She’s always the first one to joke about having daddy issues and Rafa can hardly deny how much he enjoys hearing her call him papi--and Fred daddy--in bed. He just has to try not to think too deeply about it. Not that Rafa really has a leg to stand on where difficult paternal relationships are concerned. But her jokes mask an insecurity and a clinginess that Fred has a habit of overindulging. More than once when he’s been trying to work she’s tried to distract him or cuddle up to him and then gotten sulky when he had to gently but firmly rebuff her.

When he finally finishes work on those evenings, he usually finds her wrapped around Fred instead, giving him a wounded look when he finally emerges from behind his case files. Those looks are wordless guilt trips every time he’s on the receiving end of one--no matter how right he feels in his decision to work instead of play.

And yet somehow she’s worked the same magic on him that Fred has. A flaw that in anyone else would have stopped any idea of a relationship in its tracks is something that he’s come to love about her. Her clinginess comes from a place of emotional fragility and it must be hard to let her partners see that. The fact that she trusts them enough to be so vulnerable around them makes Rafa’s heart swell. He can’t help but love her, even when he’s dealing with her pouting and huffing.

Fred talks about it like Rafa is somehow being ungrateful, that he should drop everything to spend time with his beautiful, smart, young lover, and it drives Rafa crazy. He knows that Fred generally means well when he tries to appeal against his more workaholic tendencies, but he also knows that Fred could retire now and live off his trust fund if he wanted. It rubs him the wrong way when Fred tries to discourage him from working hard because he’s never needed to understand why Rafa works as hard as he does.

He starts stacking the cooked pancakes on a plate on the stove and furrows his brow in concentration. Fred gleefully indulges her in her clinginess, dropping everything to scoop her into his arms or take her to bed. They’ve even taken to napping together with his cock still tucked inside her, as if they can’t bear to be anything other than as close as physically possible. He’s stubbornly blind to the fact that Rafa can’t just drop what he’s doing. If Fred misses a deadline for submitting a journal article the worst that happens is it gets pushed back an issue. If Rafa misses something in his case files or submits something late or fails to prepare as fully as he should, it can ruin lives. Dangerous predators can be let out on the street to offend again. People don’t get the justice they deserve. And even in this day and age, a poor boy with a Spanish name is granted a lot less leeway with employers than a rich boy with a nice American name and family money.

They come from very different worlds, even if Rafa has carefully and thoroughly infiltrated Fred’s, and Rafa loves and hates it a little that Fred forgets that most of the time. Rafa has to always be ‘on’ and can’t afford the same kind of laxness that Fred can.

Sometimes he even has to be ‘on’ at home when he’d rather put his fist through a wall or wrap himself in every blanket in the apartment with a bottle of scotch and pass out. Like when he walks into whichever apartment they’re spending the night at to find Fred in a screaming match with her that he has to moderate. She likes to complain that he and Fred can really get into it like a pair of children, and he isn’t saying she’s wrong—they definitely can—but she and Fred are just as bad. Frankly, the three of them are cut from the same cloth when it comes to being pig headed and it makes for some rather loud and spirited fights.

Like the frequent battles she has with Fred over her occasional smoking habit. They always start out with Fred gently chiding and somehow end up with Fred snidely pulling out his “I went to medical school, therefore everyone else is a moron” voice and her reminding him that he couldn’t cut it as a real doctor and she’ll “smoke a goddamn fucking cigarette every once in a while if she fucking feels like it.” Rafa tries to interfere before it descends to “as much as you like to act like it sometimes, Frederick, you aren’t my father” and “maybe if you knew how to make better choices you wouldn’t be constantly seeking validation from older men,” but he doesn’t always get home in time and instead walks in to the both of them glaring icily at each other or shouting as many deliberately hurtful things as they can.

He likes to leave his courtroom face at work, but it’s generally the only thing that will defuse those battles, or at least calm them down into cold wars. Rafa doesn’t particularly enjoy playing mediator on the best of days, especially not when one wrong word from him will have one or both of them turning on him as another enemy combatant. He likes his occasional cigarette too, and he snacks constantly, and eats terribly; all things that Fred will use to drag him into a fight.

But while he hates trying to calm them down enough to at least stop yelling, he has to admit he loves having people around to yell in the first place. Yes, these fights mean he has to put on his lawyer face when he’d rather get drunk and pass out. But he has people in his life to break up fights between. He can come “home” to people who care about him. People who, when they aren’t screaming, see him come through the door and smile. People who would, and have on occasion, drop what they are doing to bring him something he left at home and needs now. People who drop a sandwich on his desk when he’s working and quietly--most of the time-- leave him to it.

People who care and appreciate him.

Rafa finishes setting plates and cutlery out on the island and starts the coffee maker. He loves having them a few rooms away. He loves knowing that they like him enough to put up with his “shoebox sized apartment”, with him being an incurable workaholic, with the fact that when he gets stressed or angry he lashes out at anyone around him. With the fact that when he does he can be more than a little cruel.

Rafa makes his way back into Fred’s bedroom, wincing as always at how bright it gets when the morning sun fully hits it. He smiles when he sees them still tucked against each other just like he had left them. He loves this view the most.

Rafa grins mischievously. They put up with his innate tendency to be a complete and utter jackass, and that is one more thing he loves about them.

“I just rearranged every single cupboard, bookshelf, and drawer in your entire apartment, Frederick!” Rafa informs the room in general. Loudly.

Fred’s eyes snap open and he sits up, dislodging his sleeping companion without a second glance. His gaze lands on Rafa, who is smirking next to him, and his eyes go comically wide in horror.

“Rafael Barba, you didn’t.”

Tag List: @sassyada, @dreamlover31, @prurientpuddlejumper, @storiesofsvu

[thirstyforcharacters]

When the Universe Collides (Sam Wilson x Reader)

Summary: Every person has a soulmate. When your soulmate experiences pain, so do you, and any bruises, scars, or other markings that they get appear on your skin. Or, the story of how smacking yourself in the face with a cabinet was the best thing to ever happen to you.

Notes: Hi! Since the first episode of Falcon and the Winter Soldier comes out today, I wanted to write something for Sam! He’s super underrated and deserves more love! Also, this soulmate AU is extremely self-indulgent and has absolutely nothing to do with the TV show, but tbh I don’t care. Hope you all enjoy it too! (no y/n, no pronouns) (PS: any italicized text is Sam texting and the italicized and bold text is the reader texting!)

Warnings: mentions of a stab wound (nothing explicit), cursing I guess 

WC: 2.2 k

Your soulmate must have one hell of a job.

Almost every day, you woke up with dark bruises covering your body. It seemed that whenever one faded, another took its place. At completely random times, you would double over in aches that you certainly didn’t inflict upon yourself. One time, in the middle of the night, you woke up with pain in your stomach so intense, it felt like someone had stabbed you! It turned out that it was a stab wound, but given that no one had stabbed you lately (or ever), you figured it was from your soulmate. You definitely didn’t appreciate that hospital bill.

But you still desperately wanted to meet them. Meet that person that completed you: your other half. As a teenager, you made your parents tell you the story of the day they finally met so many times, you knew it by memory. They were both in the library at college, and your mom dropped a psychology textbook on her foot! Her howl of pain was only matched by the “SON OF A BITCH” that came from your dad on the opposite side of the library. When the two of them made eye contact, they instantly knew they were the ones for each other (they were also immediately kicked out for making such a ruckus). You wanted to have that moment so badly; meeting your soulmate was a huge milestone in every person’s life, and you needed it.

Your best friend and roommate, Brianna, had met hers just two months ago. They had met at the beach, when out of nowhere, Bri had shrieked in shock and pain.

“A crab just pinched me!”

When you had looked at her foot and told her nothing was there, she was totally confused, until you saw a handsome guy with a crab hanging from his foot! He had introduced himself as Julian, and the two had been inseparable since. He was living with you now, and you had honestly never felt more lonely in your life. Sure, you had your dream career; you ran a music shop in New York City, selling instruments, making repairs, and meeting all sorts of interesting people. You had a decent apartment, a chill best friend, and the cutest Yorkie, named Muffin, on the planet. By all accounts, you had it pretty good. You were just missing your other half.

It was a rainy day in NYC. The chill of winter was still clinging onto the March air, and you shivered as you trudged from your apartment to your shop. Even though you had an umbrella to protect you from the rain, the wind blew right through the too-thin jacket you yanked off of the coatrack in a rush. Still holding your half-eaten toaster strudel in your hand, you pushed open the doors to Major Instruments and Minor Repairs, your pride and joy.

It was two floors: the first was where you sold instruments, and the repair shop was above. Acoustic panels were attached to the burnt red walls to help quiet down the place, since the hardwood floors didn’t do much to help with that. The checkout desk was directly in the center in the room. Surrounding it were reeds, bottles of valve oil, and guitar strings. Picks were placed in two clear, plastic bowls on the desk itself. In the front left corner of the room was a grand piano, situated right in the window so passersby could see whenever someone plucked its keys. The entire back wall was covered in guitars and basses. To the right of the desk was a large drumset, accompanied by a pair of drumsticks and brushes. On the right wall were string instruments; string basses and cellos were leaned against the wall, while the violins, violas, and bows were displayed on it. Woodwind and brass instruments were scattered across the room in various display cases. Instrument stands, bow rosin, and miscellaneous instrument parts were on shelves throughout the room as well. The spiral staircase leading up to the repair shop was in the back left corner of the room. Behind the staircase was the door to the back store room, where you kept your extra supplies and also where you took your breaks.

“Good morning!” called Andrew, one of your closest friends from college, from behind the desk.

You waved in reply, wandering to the back store room. You were lucky you had Andrew; you could rely on him to run the front desk while you and Brianna assisted customers on the floor. Unfortunately, Bri had the flu today, so it would just be you on the floor, which would make things a little more hectic. You hurriedly finished your strudel, took off your jacket, which left you in a black and white flannel, a matching black tank top reading “Music is Life,” black leggings, and black combat boots (you had an aesthetic to uphold), and strode back out to the main area.

“You seem in a bit of a rush. Everything okay?” asked Andrew, who was currently restocking bell covers.

You sighed, “Just a whirlwind of a morning. Bri has the flu, Muffin nearly choked on a chicken bone, I almost burned my toaster strudel, and I smacked myself in the face with my cabinet door by accident.”

“Oh, that’s where the new bruise on your eye is from,” he mused.

You snorted, “Yeah, for once it’s not from my soulmate.”

“Maybe he’s a spy. Or a superhero!”

“Yeah, or a criminal,” you joined in on the restocking, grabbing some trumpet mutes since the place opened in just half an hour, “thanks for opening up, by the way.”

“It’s no problem,” he replied, “you know I don’t mind.”

The doorbell jingled and two of your instrument repair people, Sarah (for strings), and Natalie (for brass), entered. Natalie was lugging what was unmistakably a tuba case, while Sarah carried both of their instrument repair kits.

“Morning, ladies!” called Andrew.

“Good morning,” Sarah replied pleasantly.

Natalie huffed out a “morning” and dragged the tuba up the stairs.

“Her tuba’s broken. The tubing that holds up her mouthpiece completely snapped off. She’s going to try and repair it before her appointments today,” explained Sarah.

You winced, “That’s rough.”

Sarah dropped off both of their jackets and followed Natalie up the stairs leaving you alone with Andrew again. Soon after, Erik, your percussion guy, and John, the woodwind repairman, arrived, and it was time for the shop to open. For a while, it was just another mundane Thursday. Customers came and went. People tested the piano and drumsets, someone bought $100 worth of jazz scores, and a teenaged boy came in who somehow got a ping pong ball stuck in their trombone (you learned to never ask). But at exactly 1:47 pm, a time you would never forget, two very unexpected customers walked through the threshold of your store. You were up on a ladder, carrying a large, rather heavy, box of violin bows to situate on the wall, when you heard their voices.

“I’m telling you, Buck, I’m a wizard at the saxophone.”

“Sure, Sam. I’ll believe it when I hear it.”

“I’m serious, dude! I played all the time before I joined the military, and I picked it back up a little bit again after the whole Avengers thing. I just need to get a new one.”

“Hmm, okay. We’ll see.”

“Bastard.”

You whipped your head around and saw the Falcon and the Winter Soldier themselves in your shop. Having superheros in your place was a first. And who knew Sam Wilson played the saxophone?

Andrew offered them a cheerful greeting and directed them toward the saxophones, which happened to be near the ladder you were teetering on. Every time you leaned up to put a bow on display, it wobbled so badly you thought you were going to fall. You really needed to allocate some funds toward a new one.

As you continued to place bows on display, you heard the conversation of the two gentlemen browsing the saxophones. Apparently, Sam much preferred the tenor sax (which you happened to play, quite well you might add). Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him pick up a Selmer Paris model and inspect it. Those didn’t come cheap, but you were sure that saving the world gave a man a pretty decent paycheck.

“You think I can test it out?”

“I don’t know, dude. You should probably ask.”

You saw him nod, “Yeah, I guess so. And there’s not a reed in here, anyway. Excuse me!”

You realized he was calling you, so you craned your head to look at him. Both men were looking up at you, both with kind smiles on their faces.

“Is there any way I can get a cheap reed to test this out with,” Sam asked, “and are we even allowed to test them in store?”

You smiled back, “Yes, you can. We have test reeds at the front desk, just ask Andrew and he’ll give you one. That’s the only one you’ll get though.”

“Cool, thanks,” he replied while looking around, “nice place you’ve got here.”

Your smile grew a little wider, “Thank you! It took a little while to get it off of the ground, but I’m really proud of how it turned out.”

It was almost as if the universe wanted you to suffer. You stretched up to display yet another bow, and the ladder toppled to the ground, taking you with it! You shrieked in surprise and braced yourself for the impact with the floor.

But it never came.

Instead, you were caught in a pair of (ridiculously) muscular arms. When you looked into the arms of your hero, of course it was Sam himself. He was too handsome for his own good. The thing that stood out most to you were his deep brown eyes. And how, on the left one, was a bruise that exactly matched the one that you gave yourself this morning.

“Are you alright? That ladder must have it out for you,” joked Sam, though you could tell that he was concerned for you.

“I’m okay,” you squeaked, “thank you.”

“It’s no problem. All a part of the job.”

You nodded distractedly, still fixated on the bruise adorning his eye. He couldn’t be your soulmate, could he?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he questioned.

“I-yes. I just got a bit, well, distracted.”

“By what?”

Well, it was now or never. You might as well just go for it.

“When did you get that bruise?”

He looked a bit surprised by the question, “The one on my eye?”

You nodded.

“This morning. It just popped up. Hurt a little bit, like something hit me in the face. Can’t be worse than what I’ve given my soulmate, though. I got stabbed in the stomach once and all I could think about was how confused and hurt they must’ve been,” came his reply.

It was him. It had to be! All of your random, serious injuries made so much more sense now.

“It did hurt,” you murmured back, “but not as much as the hospital bill.”

His face went from apologetic to elated faster than you had ever seen, “Wait, that means it’s you?”

“I think so,” you said, “I hit myself in the eye with a cabinet door this morning, and that-” you gestured to his face, “matches mine.”

“Oh, it does!” he exclaimed.

“Are you two done over there?” complained Bucky.

Thankfully, the Winter Solider had successfully rescued your box of bows.

Sam stood you up, and you could feel the embarrassment slowly creeping over you, “Yeah. Sorry about that, guys. Promise I’m not usually that clumsy.”

“Seems like you need a new ladder,” Bucky told you.

“You don’t say,” you sassed back, prompting a laugh from Sam.

Bucky then strode off to return the fallen box to Andrew. He gave Sam a knowing look as he passed by. He wasn’t very slick, though, you totally saw him.

“Listen, since apparently we’re soulmates and all, I’d love it if I got your number. I’ll take you somewhere nice to make up for all of the times I’ve gotten you hurt,” explained Sam.

You smiled bashfully, “That sounds nice.”

He handed you his phone and you input your digits. As Sam and Bucky were in the checkout line, your phone buzzed.

Hey, gorgeous. It’s your new man.

You giggled softly and looked up at him. He gave you an exaggerated wink and launched finger guns at you, making you laugh a bit harder. You entered his number into your phone and decided to send a text back.

Looking forward to you making up for all of those broken bones.

Me too.

You knew you’d be happy with him. Whenever the universe collided in this way, it always turned out for the best. If your parents and your roommate weren’t enough proof, soon you would discover it for yourself. You couldn’t wait for all of the memories you’d make together.

[emperor-palpaminty]

Hi! I was hoping to request from your prompt list:7, 60, 73 with Wrecker? Maybe the reader is a medic for the batch and watches Omega when she cant go on a mission. They all just got back to the ship after a several day stake out that almost went bad, but they all got back just in time and it's a super sweet fluffy reunion! Sorry if that's kind of specific!

Of course, you lovely jellyfish! I love the name<3 What's you fav kind of jelly fish? I like the Man O' War, those are neat

also this gif makes me laugh and look at the size of that man??? geez, he would need to bend over to kiss ya, which is why we're doing 73!

"How much longer?" The girl whined. She kicked her legs, watching you.

You remained patient, handing her another matted set of bandages. "Not much," You said, for the seventh time.

"You said that three hours ago," Omega mumbled. She went back to untangling the bandages, watching your fingers skillfully rearranging the bacta pads and medical tools. "They were supposed to be back today."

"It's only been three days, Omega." You were more shocked you weren't irritated with the constant questions. Omega was a nice change of pace from the patients you had before the war's end, and a much better patient than Tech, who would fully diagnose himself and tell you what was wrong with him. That made telling him what that rash really was a lot of fun. "Isn't that the first thing you were taught in the medical ward?"

"Yeah, but I want to... not be patient. I want them to get back safely." Omega propped her head on her fist, cheek pressing on her knuckles.

Your fingers left their work to gently scratch her blonde tendrils of hair. "They will. Just wait."

The child hummed in annoyance but went quiet, opting for pacing the circumference of the medical room as she tugged at the knots.

___

Your attention was pulled when the door of the ship wheezed open, followed by Omega rejoicing and her thunderous footsteps to greet the boys. You smiled, shaking your head, and tucked away the bed covers you had just finished stitching. The boy's needed to stop sleeping with their armor on.

Any worries you had melted as your soldier ducked in the door, a grin smeared on his soot-covered face. "There's my-!"

"Ah-ah!" You stepped away, gesturing at your brilliant white coat. "I am not getting this dirty."

Wrecker grumbled, impatient, as you meticulously removed the coat. You folded it with the reserve it deserved and turned to him, smiling pleasantly. "Alright! Welcome-"

Not waiting for you to finish, Wrecker scooped you up and held you tight, and a huff of breath was squeezed from your lungs, a few vertebre popping. "Ooh." You grunted. You laughed and hugged him then, feet dangling off the ground.

He set you down, stooping over, bending almost halfway to peck you. It was always a bittersweet moment, kissing him- knowing any kiss could be your last, but also thrilled by every one. His lips were warm, chapped from the days camping out, but you wouldn't have chosen any other lips to meet your own.

You pressed a hand lightly to his shoulder plate, tugging back, relief swelling in you. "How was it? You're all-"

"Er, yeah." Wrecker chuckled nervously, his giant hands finding a way to rub the back of his neck. "Well, it went South."

"Oh, Wreck." You sighed softly. "I'm sorry."

You stepped away, opening the bottom cabinet and tossing him a wrapped sweet. He gasped in delight, glancing at you to ensure you had your own. He heard the casing on the candy in your hands rustle, ans only then did he tear open his own. "It's okay. We made it out safe."

You exhaled, leaning on the cabinet. "I know." You sucked on the candy, trying to suck down any worries. "I just.."

He watched you, eyes following your movements. As large, as loud as he may be, his sound was sensitive, heart as in tune with yours as one's heart could be. "You just what?"

You blinked and looked up at him, pushing aside the worries that had started to harden in your chest. "I don't like when the bunk is cold."

Wrecker's face softened and he lowered his helmet onto the cot, moving towards you, gently taking your hands. "I know." He shrugged, then grinned, but more... sincere. He was always happy, always smiling, but not usually serious in expression- many of his truths were said in jest. "I won't leave you. Not forever, anyways. Days are nothing compared to... well. My love."

Your lips pressed into a smile, and you glanced up. This man was huge, giant, you pondered as he leaned down to kiss you, but it was no where near the size of his heart or his overwhelming love for you.

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Elf-On-The-Shelf Trouble

Characters: Reader, Dean, Sam, Castiel, Jack (all platonic)

Warnings: None.

Summary: Something unnatural enters the bunker - unnatural and Christmas-y.

A/n: Happy Holidays, my loves!

It had been a quieter week for hunting almost as if the monsters had taken the holidays seriously. This gave you and the boys time to yourselves to properly enjoy the time off. It was two days before Christmas and you wanted to take advantage of the spirit.

Sam had taken Jack into town for a grocery run in which you had requested a few extra ingredients to create a nice holiday feast while Dean and Castiel were in the library clearing up the spare decorations.

In the kitchen, you pushed your sleeves up and began to strategise how you were going to tackle the challenge. You stooped down and opened up the cabinet to retrieve your cookbook. Well, it started as ‘your’ cookbook but overtime, Sam and Dean added to it until it was just a mashup of the Kitchen’s Greatest Hits. 

You gathered the ingredients for gingerbread and eggnog only stopping briefly when Dean walked in, dusting his hands of ornament glitter.

“The library is clean as a whistle and Cas is heading out for more of your tinsel crap.” He approached the bench with the bottle of rum. You turned around to pick up a spoon and smiled at the jab.

“Calm down, Scrooge. It’s festive.” You replied and then sighed. “All we’re missing is a star for the top.”

“We could just stick Cas on there instead.”

The thought of Castiel perched at the top of the tree with his trench coat made you laugh which infected Dean until you were both in stitches.

The pair of you had just started folding base ingredients together when Sam and Jack announced their arrival, finding their fellow hunters in the kitchen. They carried in the grocery bags and set them on the table, Sam starting to unpack while Jack approached you with a grin.

“Hey.” You greeted. He was curiously happy and it made you smile.

“I met a nice old lady in town today and she gave me something that I think you’ll like.” Jack told you while you caught the small bottle of nutmeg powder that Sam had tossed over.

Unscrewing the bottle, you tilted your head. “I do love surprises.”

As the words flew out of your mouth, in your face, was a doll dressed in a white-collared red stocking, blue eyes staring to the side, a smile completed by its rosy cheeks.

You almost jumped back when you saw it. In a world of demons, ghouls, wraiths - no real monster creeped you out more than the elf on the shelf and Jack had brought one home as a gift for you.

“Oh...!” You didn’t really know what to say so you gave a small nervous laugh, taking the doll in your hands. “Jack, this is so... sweet...”

The nephilim beamed. He had never given a gift before and Sam was right - it filled him up with so much happiness.

“You like it?” He asked and you replicated the smile.

“Of course, I do. Hey, why don’t you set this little guy down, go upstairs and get changed and come back to help me with these cookies?” You suggested quickly.

Jack cast his eyes down at the bench stop filled with various ingredients and was overtaken with excitement to learn how to make gingerbread. “Okay.”

He set the elf to sit upright on the kitchen table before disappearing to change into more comfortable clothes. You waved the young boy off and then cast a beady look at the toy, not noticing Sam’s smirk.

“Wow. For someone who enjoys the holiday spirit, you really hate the Elf-On-The-Shelf.” He chuckled and you shook your head, eyes still fixated on the small object.

“He looks like he knows something.” You said suspiciously. “And why is he always smiling?”

Sam chuckled and then mentioned wanting to go for a walk. You m nodded and let him leave just as Jack returned with a bright grin and rolled up sleeves. “How can I help?”

You had a plan laid out for him but it turned on its head when Dean ‘donated’ his bowl of dough to the nephilim, “You can start with that.” He said and grabbed a towel, wiping his fingers of any excess. “I’m going to set the table.”

You thanked him for the help and watched the man leave as well.

Now left with Jack, you taught the boy everything you knew about gingerbread. As the day was pleasantly quiet on the hunting front, you both spent the majority of the time baking and getting the occasional helping hand from one of the brothers or Jack. Castiel had appeared briefly to help but he confused salt with sugar and received a temporary ban.

When night came around, gingerbread was successfully baked and you were exhausted. Thankfully, there were no hunting drama about hormonal teenagers summoning the Krampus which meant that you could finally rest.

After bidding everyone a goodnight, and warning Dean of the repercussions if he tried to steal a cookie early, you climbed into your bed and were swept away in a peaceful dreamless sleep.

He-he-he...

A giggle came from right beside your ear. You swat out of instinct and sat up in a daze. The room was dark and you thought your mind was playing tricks but then you made out a small movement across the floor - it looked... red?

Now on high alert, you grabbed your gun from beneath your pillow and jumped out of the covers. You walked silently across the room and flicked on the lights, pointing your gun at an empty floor.

Weird.

Then you heard the giggle from the hallway and you spun around to wrench the door open only to find nothing. Rubbing your eyes, you let out a sigh until you heard quick receding footsteps and a shout.

“Sammy!”

You bolted for Room 11, almost at the door, when you skid to a halt. Standing just outside Dean’s room was the elf doll that Jack had brought home - it was holding a kitchen knife.

Hell. No.

You raised your gun and fired into the dolls chest sending the scent of burnt cotton into the air. Instead of dropping to the ground, the doll turned to you and vanished in a wisp of smoke.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t over. You felt a weight on your shoulder and Dean emerged from his room just in time to see the elf raise its blade. The older Winchester pulled out his own gun and took a shot, effectively disarming the elf as the weapon clanged on the floor.

You jumped and reached back to pull it off - but it wouldn’t budge. This was like dropping into a nightmare. And just when it seemed like it couldn’t get worse, you felt a bite at your neck.

“Get it off!” You screamed, flailing around the corridor as panic actually set in.

Suddenly, a grey sweatshirt came into view. “Okay, okay - hold on!” Sam instructed. You could tell he was trying to help but when he yanked at the doll, the pain in your neck increased and you struggled against the tall man.

Sam huffed, a little frustrated with how much you were moving which made his task more difficult.

“Damn it, Y/n - hold still for Sam.” Dean told you tensely.

And you stopped moving - you stopped only to give the blonde-haired man a scathing glare and a piece of your mind.

“Don’t make me shoot you - ow!”

“Sorry!” Sam apologised. “I need an angel blade.”

Dean whipped around to fetch the one from his room when he saw Jack jogging over after being woken up from the commotion.

“Kid, angel blade - now!”

The nephilim’s eyes glowed and, instantly, Sam’s hand wielded the angelic weapon. The man was hoping to cut the thing off but one touch of the silver and the elf unlatched itself, springing back.

You gasped in relief, leaning against the wall as you clutched your neck, noticing a few spots of blood. Dean and Jack rushed over to your side hurtling questions to ask if you were okay.

“Do you feel any odd... sensations?”

You rolled your eyes at Dean. “I was bitten by a Christmas demon - not a radioactive spider.”

Dean made a quick comment about how you could never be too sure but was interrupted when when Sam called out for the three of you.

“Guys?”

Looking over at where he stood, you noticed that his eyes were fixed on the elf who had gotten to its feet and was walking in the direction of the fallen knife.

Dean pointed at the doll, “We should run.”

Without a second thought, the four of you bolted through the hallway into the furthest room you could find - a high pitched giggle nipping at your heels.

“In here!” Sam ushered everyone into a storage facility. Once the lock was clicked, you all let out a collective sigh.

You pressed your hand against the wound and found that the blood had mostly dried up. “What the hell was that?”

“A seriously pissed elf.” Dean said instantly. “Scared the crap out of me when it blew my door open.”

You blinked at him as something awful dawned on you. “It blew your door open?”

“That’s what I said. There were three knocks and then bam!”

You turned towards the door of the room and quietly walked closer. You pressed your ear against the dark wood and waited.

“Why didn’t it go inside?” Jack wondered and the Winchester shrugged, not sure how to answer.

Then his eyes widened.

“I spilled holy oil on the floor when I knocked the bottle over.”

Knock, knock...

Knock.

Dean was at your side instantly helping you brace the door as it rattled, the elf trying to gain access. Jack paced nervously and Sam pulled out his phone as he attempted to do some quick research in the chaos.

You glanced up at the hinges and saw them loosen slowly. “Cursed object?” You guessed.

Sam gnawed at his lip as he thought, “Maybe but it hasn’t done anything curse-y.”

“It bit me!” You snapped.

Dean pushed harder while frowning at your argument. “Y/n, you didn’t let any of us eat your cookies - I’d bite you.”

“It’s not a cursed object...” Sam realised as he scrolled through his phone quickly. Dean slammed his shoulder against the door with a grunt and a shot a scowl in his brothers direction.

“Did you see that thing with the knife? It’s cursed!”

“No - Dean, I think it’s been possessed by the - well, the literal Spirit of Christmas.”

You frowned at the man and tilted your head. “Are you saying Santa bit me?”

Sam looked up from his device at your admission and exhaled at the foolish answer, not surprised that you had given it. He then looked over at Jack, the young boy had been the one to bring the elf into the bunker with innocent intentions.

“Jack, when the woman gave you the elf, did you walk under any evergreen?”

With furrowed brows, Jack thought hard as he recalled his steps that morning in the small town.

“I had just picked up the pie and left the store when the sweet old lady gifted it to me. Then I crossed the street to meet with you at the car.”

It sounded simple enough until you remembered a small detail from when you ventured the same road several weeks ago. “The lampposts have fresh evergreen leaves hanging between them. You would have crossed beneath it to get to Sam.”

“That’s probably what set the spirit off.” Sam nodded while you helped his brother brace the door. “Okay - there’s an ancient fable here that says ‘without a sacrifice, the spirit comes down, until presented with a stem of green from the town’ - a stem of green?”

“Like a branch from the tree we have downstairs?” You asked, feet almost sliding out from under you as the spirit slammed against the only thing keeping it out.

“Son of a bitch.” Dean cursed at the tiny toy. “You just had to convince us to celebrate the holidays!”

There was a scowl on your face the moment his tone hit your ears. Turning to the man, you slapped his shoulder.

“How do we know that this isn’t because of your ‘grinchy’ behaviour? Honestly, I’d set a psycho-Christmas spirit on your ass too.”

“Believe me Y/n I haven’t started being-“

“Guys?” Sam’s call drew your attention and that’s when you and Dean realised that it had gone quiet. Leaning forward you pressed an ear to the door and listened to what seemed like little footsteps running off.

The spirit appeared to have moved on to another part of the bunker and you weren’t sure if that was comforting or more alarming. You and Dean stepped away from the door with a small sigh of relief.

Now, you needed a plan to kill the spirit and quick.

All heads worked together to form a rough sketch of how to tackle the issue before unlocking the door and creeping out of the room. With minimal noise, you all managed to get to a hallway opening that allowed you see a top view of the crows nest and a part of the library where the tree was - and the damn elf.

It was sitting there on the edge of the table with its rosy cheeks, blue eyes, and uncomfortable smile.

Oh, how you hated that thing.

There was a nudge to your right, pulling you from your thoughts and you saw that Dean and Sam had disappeared to lay their plan in motion which left you with the nephilim. Nodding at the boy, you stayed quiet before retracing your steps and headed down the hall towards Dean’s room. Thankfully, it was only two corridor turns away.

Turning the handle, you quickly entered and spotted the weapon that was needed hanging on the wall above his desk. You grabbed it, knocking a few pens over in the process, and bolted out. As you neared Jack, you heard a commotion downstairs which could only be Dean and Sam attempting to distract the spirit and you sped up.

Sliding to a stop, Jack presented you with the sharp-edge of a branch that he managed to snap off while the elf was occupied. You took it from his hand and stealthily moved down the stairs, staying out of sight. You reached the tree and loaded the branch into the crossbow as you heard a body fly against the wall, hitting the opposing bookshelf, and a seperate grunt that landed on the floor by the foot of the tree.

Taking in a deep breath - it was now or never.

You whipped around the side of the tree, spotted the little red holiday-demon pinning Dean to the floor and fired the evergreen. The branch sank itself into the elf’s soft body and flung it away from the Winchester who gasped for air. Sam got to his feet, rolling out his aching shoulder and walked over to where the Christmas entity laid still.

You, Dean and Jack did the same, still a little jumpy in case the thing attacked.

“Is it over?” Jack asked curiously.

Suddenly, the spirit shook the walls for a few seconds before combusting into a tall white cloud that dropped small snowflakes.

Talk about dramatic.

“Yeah - it’s over.” Sam sighed.

The door to the bunker screeched open, reminding you to oil the hinges later, and Castiel walked in with eyes fixed on the boxes in his hands. He didn’t notice the messed state of the bunker until he approached the four of you in the library, disheveled and breathless.

“What happened in here?” He frowned, blue eyes darting about for the danger. Jack smiled at his fatherly-figure. “We were attacked by a holiday spirit but it’s just a pile of snow now.”

Castiel was thoroughly confused at how this chaos transpired and opened his mouth when you caught his inquiry.

“It’s a long story.” You said quickly and diverted the attention to the item in his hands. “What’s that?”

The angel would get himself the details a little bit later and entertained your question. He moved forward and set the first box on the table before opening the second and a beautiful gold light sprang forth. Reaching in, Castiel gingerly picked up the contents and revealed a small glowing ball.

“I believe you said that you wanted a star on the top.”

You couldn’t believe what you were seeing and Dean playfully bumped into your shoulder.

“Happy holidays, Y/n.”

Looking to your side, you saw Sam and Dean smiling back at you - they knew.

There weren’t enough words to describe what it was you were feeling in that moment but it was strong. Forget the trees and presents, Team Free Will 2.0 was your forever gift.

Castiel handed the glowing star to the nephilim and stepped back beside you, Dean and Sam - the four of you watching as Jack reached up to placed it on the top where it hovered silently, emitting its warm light.

It was perfect.

“That reminds me... I found this on my way back.” Castiel moved over and picked up the second box and presenting it to everyone in the room. In his hands, and sitting neatly inside, was a little santa-hat wearing elf with his smile.

“I believe that you put them on the shelf.”

You swallowed nervously and glanced over at the brothers and Jack.

Sam caught your look and nodded.

“Yeah - I’ll get the holy oil.”

Masterlist here

[floral-and-fine]

Stitched Together part 2

The creature/Adam x fem reader

Frankenstein AU/ Modern Frankenstein

PART 1

Warnings: I guess a little gore

Summary: The reader is a mortician and a friend of Victor Frankenstein. After receiving a strange message from Victor, the reader finds herself with a lot of unanswered questions and a new roommate.

A/n: I have a vague idea where this is going lol. 

Tags: @rusticup​ @luna-xial​ @aradevil​ @clementines-x​ @motionless-friction​

Moonlight seeped through the blinds of your bedroom window, bathing the room in soft dim light. The clouds from the storm earlier had passed revealing a beautiful night’s sky.

Rubbing his eyes, Adam woke up, feeling rather well rested after only a few hours of sleep. He turned his head to face you.

You looked so calm and peaceful, your mouth parted slightly, and your breathing was slow and steady.

Adam squeezed your hand, he was utterly grateful for all the kindness you’ve shown him. There was so much he wished to tell you, but he still couldn’t formulate the words.

It was as if his lips and tongue were working against him each time he tried to speak, like no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get them to move the way he needed them to.

His mind was foggy like he had been asleep for so long that his past and who he was, was long forgotten in a dream.

When he first woke up he was in so much pain and filled with fear. His body was stiff and ached all over, as he gasped for breath and his eyes finally opened and he saw that man’s face.

Adam didn’t want to think about him, he wanted to forget all about that man completely.

His lips curled downwards, as his stomach growled. It took him a moment to recall what the sensation was… hunger. His insides felt completely empty and his stomach rumbled again louder.

He looked at your sleeping form, he didn’t want to leave you. He was filled with dread every time he imagined being alone again. It would be far worse to return to that dark and lonely place now that he experienced light and your company.

He stayed until the ache became unbearable. By now, the sun started to rise.

Carefully sliding out of bed, Adam tiptoed out of the bedroom towards the kitchen. He found the carton of cookies you had offered him earlier and demolished what was left.

Still feeling hungry, he rummaged through the cabinets finding a bag of potato chips. Opening the bag, he shoveled a handful into his mouth. After a few more, the ache in his stomach dulled.

Adam wandered around your home, still lazily snacking, like a young child he was curious, eager to find out what everything did and what purposed it served.

There was so much to see and touch. He opened all the cabinets and doors exploring what’s inside.

His fingers traced the outline of your face in every photograph you had displayed leaving behind greasy fingerprints. Adam racked his brain, but he didn’t quite have the words for what he felt every time he saw your face.

…

You looked around in a daze, clueless as to how you were back in Victor’s lab. The dim fluorescent lights buzzed above you, providing an eerie glow.

Almost every surface, counters, tables, walls, were covered in smears of blood. Medical tools laid scattered and dirty. Jars of organs and body parts lined the shelves.

You cringed feeling the cold wet linoleum floor on your bare feet as you started to walk. Wrapping your arms around self, you tried to warm up.

There was a bright light in the center of the room directed at a thin lanky man with short wispy blond hair dressed in scrubs. He was hunched over a metal surgical table.

You could hear him muttering to himself as you got closer but you couldn’t make out what he was saying. Violently he slammed his hands down on the table, causing it to rattle, sending several tools cascading down along with a severed arm.

You gasped, as you watched it land with a thud on the floor. The man turned around, finally aware of your presence.

“Victor?” You whispered, lowering your hands from your face.

His bloodshot eyes were dancing wildly at the sight of you. His latex covered hands were drenched in blood.

He dropped the scalpel and brought a hand to his face. In a brisk motion, Victor pulled the surgical mask down and beamed at you with a sadistic smile.

You gulped, feeling like a tiny mouse staring at the fangs of a lion. Then he opened his mouth and…

Crash!

Your eyes snapped open at the sound. Sitting upright, you shook off the bizarre dream and the unsettling feelings it had left you with.

As you rubbed your eyes and looked to your left, where your houseguest had been sleeping, memories of what happened last night flooded your mind.

Concerned about where Adam had disappeared to, you shuffled out of bed. “Adam?” You called, peeking out of your room.

Your home was pretty small, not offering many places for a man of his size to hide.

“Adam?”

Walking down the hall, you figured you should check the doors, make sure he hadn’t left. Your brow furrowed as you found several discarded snack wrappers in your living room.

As you reached your kitchen, you were shocked to find it practically ransacked. Every cabinet door was open, things scattered over the countertops. You sighed as you were able to solve the case of the mysterious noise, discovering the shattered remains of a coffee mug on the floor. But there still wasn’t any sign of Adam.

Your heart started beating faster as fear got the better of you. You prayed that Adam hadn’t left, and if he had you hoped that he hadn’t gotten far.

You were worried about what would happen if someone else found him, would they be able to tell right away what he was like you were? Would they be cruel to him? Would there be people who would want to research him?

For now, all you knew for sure was that he was safest with you.

Your head snapped in the direction of your bathroom, from behind the door you could hear the faint sound of shuffling.

Quietly turning the doorknob, you stepped into the small room. You smiled gently as you pulled back the shower curtain finding sweet Adam huddled in the empty tub.

“Hey,” you cooed softly, crouching down beside the tub. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

He shook his head and your smile grew. You weren’t expecting a response, so you were pleasantly surprised, to say the least.

“Did breaking the mug scare you?”

Adam shook his head again but looked rather afraid at the mention of the mug.

You thought for a moment, trying to understand what had upset him so badly that he would hide. Reaching out, you stroke his arm. “Did you think I would be mad about it?”

He peeked at you and responded with a small nod.

“Oh silly boy,” you gushed, throwing your arms around Adam. “I’m not mad.”

With some coaxing, he finally got out of the tub, and you were finally able to start your day. …

You took some time off of work, hoping within that time you could help Adam adjust. He still seemed so anxious every time you left the house, that you had to constantly reassure him that you’d be right back.

Still, you did have to leave him so you could buy groceries and necessities, not to mention trying to find him some clothes that would fit him properly.

But you absolutely knew the poor guy wasn’t ready for you to be gone all day. Once you’d return home from any kind of outing, Adam would follow you around like a puppy just like he did the night you found him.

Recently, he started a strange yet endearing habit. Every morning, a few minutes before you would wake up, he’d crawl back in bed with you.

The first time, it had startled you, waking up to him being so close, staring at you with his big puppy dogs. But now, you were used to it.

As your eyes flutter opened, a content smile formed on your lips as you saw Adam. He grinned back at you happily. Looking over at the clock on your nightstand you were surprised to see how late it was.

“Good morning,” you murmured softly, still waking up. “Did you sleep well?”

He nodded eagerly, as you sat up. Quickly he shimmied out of bed, then took your hand, obviously excited to show you something.

Walking into the kitchen, you were filled with joy. Adam had apparently tried his hand at making you breakfast. You looked at the spread he prepared on the table, burnt buttered toast, a bowl of cereal that was now soggy, and an apple.

Just as you were about to thank him, there was a sudden knock at the front door.

Adam went rigid at the abrupt sound, staring at it wide-eyed.

You frowned, having no idea as to who it could be, “Adam, go wait in the bedroom.”

He looked at you filled with worry, he trusted you completely, but he was still so unsure and frightened of the rest of the world. What if this person came to take you away?

Whoever it was knocked on the door again, this time louder and harder.

You smiled at Adam, placing your hand on his shoulder, “it’ll be alright.”

Reluctantly, he nodded and slowly trudged to the room closing it behind him.

You gulped as you approached the door, deep down you knew eventually something would happen, that you couldn’t keep him a secret forever, you just prayed that today wasn’t the day.

[worldwidemochiguy]

Birthday Treat (Soft! Yandere Hoseok)

203 - Are you teasing me, love? You know how I get when you tease me.

207 - It’s not fair - stop that, stop doing that! You’re mine!

209 - The way you say my name feels so fucking good... keep saying it. 

Masterlist

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, DO NOT READ IF BELOW 18, (subtle) Yandere behaviour, possessive themes, penetrative sex 

Word Count: 1.8K

a/n: thank you to @love-and-other-possibilities​ for requesting 203, 207 and 209 with hoseok, hope you like it!! the ending is bad bc i can't do endings but ah well :/ and also a very happy birthday to our hope, literally the only man to ever exist, Jung Hoseok <3

Birthday Treat 

Upon reentering the bedroom, you were greeted with the amusing sight of Hoseok sprawled across the bed. His eyebrows were furrowed slightly, as they had been ever since you discreetly slipped out of his arms a few minutes ago. He was not awake enough to stop you, but it seemed he had thrown a little unconscious tantrum in your absence, judging by the way the sheets had tangled around his ankles.

You bit down a smile, setting the plate you were carrying on the bedside table, before bracing your hands on either side of him and leaning in. His eyelashes fluttered as your breath fanned across his face and you idly wondered what he was dreaming about. You, probably. 

Your theory was proved correct when you ducked down to blow on the shell of his ear. Your name slipped out of his mouth in a whine and, before you even got to start running your tongue along his skin, his arms wrapped around you and twisted your torso until you were pinned underneath him. 

“Sunshine,” He breathed, his voice low and gravelly from just having woken up. Your core clenched pleasantly at his tone, something he probably guessed at, hence the sleepy smirk fixed to his face. 

“Why did you run away before I woke up? You’ve never done that before.” The words were muttered into your neck as he ran his nose along the column of it, and you tilted your head absently to give him better access, prompting a low rumble of approval from him. 

“Well, today’s a special day, Hobi.” You replied evenly, as if you couldn’t feel his hands caressing along your side, moving gradually lower and lower. 

“Oh, really? Why is today special?” He asked, the corners of his mouth pulling upwards as his hands tugged your waistband. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” At his smirk, you continued. “It’s special because it’s a Tuesday.” 

He pulled away, an expression of confusion lingering on his face for a moment before melting into a knowing smile as he sat back on his heels.

“Oh, really, sunshine? Why are Tuesday’s so special?” 

“Well,” You began, lifting up your fingers to tick things off, “I got my first job on a Tuesday, I saw my first snow on a Tuesday, I met you on a Tuesday…” That caused Hoseok’s smirk to melt into a genuine smile, and his eyes shone fondly as he tugged you onto his lap. 

“Wow, Tuesday’s do sound kinda special, huh? But, you know the other reason why today’s special?” He prompted, and you rolled your eyes with a giggle before giving in. 

“Of course I do. It’s your birthday.” 

He smiled triumphantly. “Correct, sunshine. It’s my birthday, and that means I should get a gift, right?” His head tilted suggestively, and you bit your lip, eyes flicking down to his mouth. 

“Yeah, I actually had something in mind… it’s what I was preparing earlier…” Your made your tone deliberately sultry, and his eyes widened slightly as his arms tightened around you. 

“That- that’s good. Great. Okay. Show me.” He commanded, licking his lips as you pulled back. 

You shifted off the bed and, much to Hoseok’s confusion, you twisted round and grabbed the plate on the bedside table, presenting it to him with a flourish. 

“Kimchi egg skillet!” You announced, relishing his bewildered expression. “Your favourite! I’ve been practising all week.” 

You refused to acknowledge the eyebrow Hoseok raised at you expectantly as you set the plate down on his lap, still warm from where you had vacated it mere seconds ago. 

“Go on, see if you like how it tastes.” You encouraged gleefully. 

“You know, I think there are other things I’d like to taste…” He remarked, staring at the apex of your thighs pointedly. You tutted at him disapprovingly.

“No way, I did not waste twelve eggs trying to make that only for it to go to waste.” 

Hoseok huffed out an amused breath. “Are you teasing me, love? You know how I get when you tease me.” 

“No, how could you suggest such a thing?” You asked, scandalised, making Hoseok almost choke on his breakfast as he laughed. 

.......

“I actually have a few birthday presents for you today.” You called out to Hoseok. Your voice was raised since he was in the sitting room, leafing through that day’s newspaper. You were still in the bedroom, fixing the finishing touches to your outfit. 

“Oh really?” He asked sarcastically, “Are you going to bake cookies for me as well?” 

“It isn’t cookies, but I’d like to think it’ll taste as sweet.” You purred, leaving the bedroom door ajar and leaning against the frame seductively. 

As soon as you had seen the red babydoll set on the website, you knew it would drive Hoseok insane. And it seemed you were right, judging by the way his fists clenched so hard he ripped his paper. He didn’t seem to notice, letting it fall to the floor as he stood abruptly, eyes fixed on your lace-wrapped body. 

“Fuck.” He ground out, and his voice… you had to remind yourself to stay focused. 

“Do you like it?” You asked innocently, twirling around. You heard a sharp inhale as he saw the back — a completely sheer panel of lace, making no attempt to conceal your thong. 

When you faced him again, Hoseok’s eyes were dark and intense, like he was one step away from devouring you. 

“So, what were you thinking for lunch, maybe pizza?” He groaned as you strode into the kitchen, stalking after you purposely.

“Sunshine, don’t do this to me.” He whined, eyes raking up and down your body almost desperately.

“What ever do you mean, Hoseok?” You asked, darting behind the kitchen counter.

“Stop teasing, c’mon, it’s my birthday.” 

“Teasing?” You repeated cluelessly, leaning over across the counter as if you wanted to hear him better. His eyes immediately were drawn to your chest, before snapping back up exasperatedly. 

“It’s not fair- stop that, stop doing that!” He burst out suddenly as you bit your lip in faux-sympathy. You allowed the lip to slip out from between your teeth, to Hoseok’s relief. 

You began running your tongue slowly over your lips to soothe the swollen skin, and Hoseok’s tether snapped. He crossed around the end of the counter and cornered you, bringing his hands up either side of your head to cage you against the cabinet.

“You’re mine.” He growled. Your breath caught in your throat as he started sucking on your throat fiercely, marking you. “If I tell you to stop doing something, you stop. Your body is mine. You obey me. That’s what good girls do.” 

“Maybe I don’t - ah, fuck, Hoseok - maybe I don’t want to be a - mmh - a good girl.” You panted as his teeth grazed the sensitive underside of your jaw. 

“Yes, I can see that.” Hoseok muttered derisively, pulling on the fabric of the lace teddy insistently, “Only bad girls wear things like these, right? You want me to treat you like a bad girl?” Your reply was lost in a wanton moan and he snorted, “You know what? It doesn’t matter what you want. Your body is mine, I can do what I want with it.”

He ripped off the lingerie, flinging it over his shoulder without a second glance, leaving you to shiver as your skin was exposed to the cool air. He pulled back as if he was simply viewing you like you were a masterpiece at a gallery, prohibited from human contact. 

“Hoseok,” you whined, trying to entice him back to finish what he had started, but it seemed your roles were now reversed. Hoseok was the tease, simply watching as you writhed in desperation, not daring to move towards him because he told you to stay, and you knew that your body was his, and not your own. 

You whispered his name again pleadingly and he finally relented, pressing you against the wall again and dipping his hand into your panties. His rough fingers were a relief, filling the emptiness inside you as they ruthlessly rubbed over that spot that made the coiling heat in your stomach start to unravel deliciously. 

You chanted his name in a litany of prayers as he pumped two, no, three fingers into you, stretching you out impatiently. 

“I’m ready, please, I’m ready, just- fuck, Hoseok - just fuck me. Please.” You begged. Hoseok swore against your lips, hands withdrawing and you sobbed in relief when you heard his belt buckle clatter as it hit the floor. 

“The way you say my name feels so fucking good… keep saying it.” He told you as he pushed in slowly. Even when you were so immersed in the feeling of him stretching you out and filling you up so deeply, you knew to obey him. 

“So good, Hoseok. Feels so good - ah!” He positioned his hips in a way that each thrust pressed on a bundle of nerves within you. He was relentless, pounding into you as you bounced against the wall, having no choice but to just take it. 

“You’re mine.” Hoseok hissed against your throat, before continuing the pattern of purpling kisses he had left. 

“Yours, only yours, always, Hoseok.” You babbled, climbing higher and higher to your peak. When his other hand came down to fiddle with your clit, you shattered around him. He didn’t pause in his thrusts, even when the oversensitivity made you scream. He just kept pounding and, soon enough, you were nearing your climax again. 

“So fucking tight, baby, fuck. You were made for this, made for me. You’re mine.” He kept repeating mindlessly as he shoved himself into you over and over, uncaring of whether you enjoyed it or not, and why should he, your body was made for his enjoyment, not the other way around. 

Regardless, when you tightened and spasmed around him a second time, your cry of his name echoing in his ears, he finally came, pumping his seed into you as you panted and writhed on his cock. After a moment, he slipped out of you and the two of you fell into each other in a mess of sweat and come and exhaustion. 

“Did you… like your birthday present?” You panted, and Hoseok somehow mustered the energy to give you one of his brilliant smiles that had brightened up your day more times than you could count.

“Of course I did, sunshine. I can’t wait to spend every birthday like this with you. I love you.” 

[kinkymankey]

Shantae: Half-Genie Housewife Part 2

It is just around afternoon, as the whirlwind deposits Shantae down on the pier. In front of her stood her lighthouse home, and even though it was well kept it had the feeling of being dingy. “What a state!” She exclaimed, almost in disbelief. “Looks we have some work to do babies,” she says as she pats her belly. “First, a change of clothes,” she declares as she walks inside.

On her first floor was her kitchen, made up of a stove top, an oven and a couple cabinets, joined with a small table with chairs for a impromptu dining room. Some pots and pans hung on the wall alongside a few shelves, and closer to the door was a dry sink with a few books and decorations on it. A rope hung in the middle of the room, leading to the second floor.

Shantae sighed, taking hold of the rope. “However did I manage?” She began climbing up the rope, and though it was quite an effort, she made it to her bedroom with general ease. “Goodness! I should invest in some stairs. Be safer for the babies anyways.”

She looks around her bedroom, which is quite simple. From where the rope hung, a hammock was set up in front of her on two posts, with some sheets hung on it. Above it was a shelf full of books, and to its side was a short nightstand. A bit aways from it was a large brown wardrobe, though some long clean and dried clothes still hung from lines above the room. A gas lamp hung from the ceiling, and behind her was a open window, which was where the lighthouse used to shine its light from.

“Goodness, what a mess,” she exclaimed to herself, beginning her search for some clothes. Opening her wardrobe, she began sifting through it broadly. “No dresses? What have I been doing? Come on, I must have one...ah, this will do.” She pulled out a yellow flowy dress, with some lighter streak of yellow patterning it. She quickly took off her current outfit, hanging it back up in her wardrobe neatly, and pulled her sole dress she owned; she then undid her ponytail, taking a bandana instead to hold the hair out from her face.

“Hmm, none of these look very comfy,” she mused as she looked through her shoes, neatening them up as she went. “Hmph. Ah well, I’ll just go barefoot for now. Besides, it’s time to tidy up this room a bit more thoroughly.”

She slid down her rope and came back up with a bucket of water and a cloth, going down on her hands and knees to scrub the floor. It was a bit of a struggle, her belly getting quite in the way, but she eventually got the floor to shine.

“Perfect,” she smiled proudly, wiping her brow. Her gaze turned to the window. “I think you could use a little once-over.”

She waddled over and scrubbed up the window, providing a clearer view of the town. “There we go! Much brighter, too.” She pauses to look at her progress, cradling her belly. Her eyes soon drift to her hanging clothes and unmade hammock. She shook her head but smiled. “More work for me.”

She started with her hammock, trying her best to get the sheets as even as she can across it. “I should probably get a bed that isn’t a hammock, especially so close to my due,” she talks to herself as she works. “It’s probably a wreck on my back, anyways.” Finishing that, she moved onto her clothes, pulling them down from the lines.  She hung up her day clothes and folded up her pajamas.

“There. Much less cluttered,” she smiled, looking around at her work. Suddenly, a realization hits, and she palms her forehead. “I don’t even have a crib yet!” She exclaimed. “I need quite a bit actually. Should probably get a list together.”

Finding some paper and a pencil, she sits by her window and begins to write. “Let’s see...shoes, dresses, crib,” she mumbles to herself, underlining ‘crib’ in particular. “A bed for myself, probably some new sheets with it, some more baby supplies…”

She looked over her list, and nodded. “That should be it. Looks like I am off to the shops today.” She tucked her list away and carefully began down the rope. Partway down, she catches the stove and oven of her kitchen again. “I guess they could use a cleaning, too,” she assumed, shimmying back up to grab her bucket and rag before finally returning to the ground floor. She also did up the floor, chairs and table as well, since she was down there.

Thinking of which, Shantae checked the cuberts, finding them near bare save for some tea packets, a piece or two of fruit, and a few pieces left of a full loaf of bread. “Oh my! Nothing to eat? No ingredient?” She huffed, placing her hands on her hips. “How silly. Honestly, I can’t believe how silly I was.”

She pulls out her lists and quickly adds all sorts of fruits, vegetables, ingredients and sweets to it. She also added a ‘perhaps’ with a note for a new table and chairs; the one’s she had were fine, but it never hurts to think ahead. Speaking of which, she thought as she looked around her, I need to make things a little safer for the little ones. She stroked her belly, and jotted down ‘baby proofing’ to her list.

As she does that, a knock comes to her door. “Coming!” She chimes sweetly, tucking her list away and waddling to the door.

“Hey, Shan--!” Sky began as the door opened, but seemed to pause and even do a double take. “Shantae?”

“Sky!” Shantae smiled, pulling her friend into a hug. “It’s so good to see you! Come in, come in!”

A bit of a shocked look stuck to the bird keeper’s face, seemingly freezing it as she followed Shantae in. She slowly loosened up as it melted into a look of confusion and hesitance. “Hey, Shantae. Why, uh, why exactly are you wearing a dress like that?”

“Because it’s comfy, silly,” she giggles, heating up the stove and putting a water filled kettle on. “Terribly sorry, I haven’t had a chance to get any food or goodies today, so you’ll have to take your tea on its own.” She sighed.

“It’s cool, I’m not hungry,” she nods slowly and hesitantly. Tea? Why the heck is she serving me tea? “Hey, uh, Shantae. You when I joked, about you going barefoot and pregnant, I, uh, didn’t really think you would.” She laughed a bit awkwardly.

“Why wouldn’t I?” She asked genuinely, getting down the teacups and packets. “It makes more sense than going off gallivanting and adventuring all risky like, especially in my condition.” She pulled out a chair for Sky.

Sky blinked, clearly dumbfounded. “D-Didn’t you just head out this morning on an adventure?” She asked as she eased herself into the seat.

“I did, but I came back after I realised what a silly idea that was,” she smiles. “Not alone, though. I had some help from a lovely man out there who set my head straight.”

“Hm. I think you mentioned on your way out that you were heading out to fight that new baron?”

“Yes! And he was ever so polite!” She nodded happily. “He wouldn’t even think of hurting a pregnant lady, and even offered to walk me home. He was very sweet, not like those other barons. He was a good one.”

“Sure,” Sky nodded. Maybe she’s right? Though it doesn’t explain...this. “So, why exactly are you like this now?”

“Since I realized I should be at home, getting ready for these two angels,” she explains, rubbing her belly and looking down at it warmly. “There is so much still to be done before they arrive, Sky.”

“I assume so. And when did this realization strike? Must not have been last night, since you were showing off that bump at the Dance Parlor,” she chuckled in memory.

“Oh, I know,” she hand waved, her face blushing in embarrassment. “It was so showy of me. You won’t find me there again, count on that.”

“What? But you love being there. It’s basically your second home.”

She shook her head, and smiled. “Not anymore. That was old Shantae. New Shantae is focused on making a nice home for her babies.” She beamed with a whole smile.

“Sure,” Sky nodded slowly. Okay, something’s up. “Again, when exactly did you decide you needed to do this?”

“This morning, when I started chatting to the baron.” The kettle was now steaming. Shantae took it off the heat and poured it into two awaiting tea bag laned cups. She carried them over to the table, setting one in front of Sky and one in front of where she now sat.

“Thanks,” she nodded, taking the cup. “So, new baron. A nice guy?”

“So lovely!” She reminisced. “Ever so kind and polite.” She took a small sip of her tea. “Oh, I only had blueberry tea left, by the way. I hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s fine,” she nodded. “Shantae, if I can be real here, I think that baron did something to you. You weren’t even close to this when you were running by this morning.”

“Oh, don’t be so suspicious,” she chuckled pleasantly.

“Seriously, Shantae, I’m concerned. Something clearly happened. What went down out there.”

“Let me recall,” she set down her cup and tapped her temple. “Hmmm...I went in...he didn’t want to fight me…we had a pleasant talk...and then he walked me home.”

“That’s it?” She asked, slightly presingly. “Hold on, you still wanted to fight him when you got there, right?”

“I think I did,” she responded, stroking her belly softly, “but I soon realized that I shouldn’t be out fighting.”

Sky takes a slow sip of her tea. “What about this morning?”

“What about it?” She asked, giving her friend a funny look.

“Humor me, tell me what you did before you went off to find the baron.”

“Lets see...I woke up, put on that terribly skimpy outfit I always wore, and headed out.”

Sky made a weird noise, somewhere between choking and spitting out her tea. “Wait, did you just call your outfit skimpy? The one you wear everyday?”

“You mean the belly dancer clothes? That thing?” She let out a solid laugh. “It was so showy! I don’t know how I ever enjoyed showing off that much skin all the time, especially with how big my tummy is now! I mean, I’m sure you and the others were just waiting for me to put some clothes on, right?”

Sky sat back in her chair, looking at her cheery friend with a dumbfounded expression. “Okay, something is definitely wrong here. That baron guy did...something!”

“You’re being overly suspicious again, Sky,” Shantae laughed slightly, setting a hand on her shoulder. “I just realized what’s really important to me right now.”

Sky looked distraughtly down at her tea. “This doesn’t feel real...doesn’t feel like you…”

“Oh, Sky,” Shantae gave a comforting smile, pulling her friend into a side hug. “I assure you, it is still me. Same old Shantae, just now with her priorities in line. Please, don’t worry about me, for my sake at the very least.”

She was quiet for a minute, before bringing her teacup back to her lips. “Okay,” she nodded after a long sip, and smiled. “It’s still you here. Still my friend.”

“Exactly!” She smiled, squeezing her shoulder.

“I still think I need some time to process this,” she admitted.

“Of course,” she nodded. “I made a big change, I don’t expect you to immediately acclimate to it. I’m glad you were concerned about me, even if there’s nothing to be concerned over.”

“Still…”

“Enough of that, now.” Shantae playfully put her finger to Sky’s lips. “No worries from you, okay?”

Sky could not help but crack a small smile. “Okay,”she responded partially muffled. “Good,” Shantae grinned, pulling her finger away. “Would you like some more tea?”

“No, actually, I, uh, think I need to go,” she replied, downing the last of her tea. 

“I understand. You need your space.”

“Hate to leave so soon, but I’m sure you have stuff to prepare for the babies.”

“Yeah, actually,” she chuckled a bit. “Was about to head out shopping just when you popped in.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you any longer.” She got up and headed for the door. “See you later?” She asked, pushing the door slightly open.

“Of course. See you later, Sky.” She gave a small wave as she went to pick up the teacups.

The smile on Sky’s face dropped the moment she closed the door, turning to one of urgency as she dashed off to her hatchery. “Wrech!” She called, waking the purple bird from its stoop. “We need to go! We have people to pick up!”

Back at Shantae’s, the half genie set the teacups gently on the left side of the sink with some of the other dirty dishes. She patted her belly happily. “I’m so glad she’s coming around. Hopefully the others understand just as easily. Now, though, shopping!” She walked over to her door and headed out.

[missymallow]

Drarry: James (2)

Part 1

---

“So, what do you think of him?” 

James looked up when he heard Uncle Nev's voice filled up the living room. He blinked, before he turned back to his task; building up the blocks of wood to form the left tower of Hogwarts. He was almost done with this set, and perhaps he can coax his Dada to buy him another; he'd hope so. 

Building blocks help him to think, help him to gather his thoughts before he speaks them. "He's dumb."

Uncle Nev laughed as he sat himself on the sofa and throws his arm on the backrest of the furniture. "He rather is, isn't he? And how did he took the news?"

"Like a moron."

"Hey, now." Uncle Nev clicked his tongue in disapproval, frowning. "He's your father."

"He's not. Biologically, yes, but not emotionally."

Before the older man can say anything, the floo flared up as Aunt Hannah stumbled in, face bright as she grinned and walked straight towards James without giving her husband a spare. She heavily flopped herself next to James, hands dropping her things on the floor as she joined him assembling the blocks up. "How did it go?" asked Aunt Hannah once she settled, eyes sparkling for information. "How was he when you left?"

James stifled a smirk. Now, this is what he's been waiting for. A person who shared the same sentiment as him. 

"Devastated."

"Nice!" Aunt Hannah cackled, raising her hand for a high five and James met her hand halfway, grinning pleasantly.

"Honey, no." Uncle Nev groaned, palming his face. "Don't encourage him."

Aunt Hannah waved him dismissively without turning around, gesturing James to share more information.

James, gladly do so.

“It was as if a spell was broken and the memories of Dada suddenly hit him like Bludger. He did not expect of my existence at all."

"What a prick." Aunt Hannah scoffed, throwing her husband a heated glare. "I can't believe he's your friend."

"What do I got to do with any of this?" asked Uncle Nev in disbelief. "I'm not responsible for his actions."

"Perhaps not, but how dare he forgot about everything?" 

"Maybe there's an explanation for that."

"He left Draco, and never come back, Nev! It's been eight years!" Aunt Hannah roared, almost hitting one of the roofs of the miniature Hogwarts with her hand if James didn't pull it away just in time.

Eight years, that's how old James is. Eight years old, and never once he has met his other father until today. Not that he was desperate for it, he had come to terms with it the moment he understood that his other father won't come around. He doesn't need another father, Dada is enough.

"I know, sweetheart." said Uncle Nev, sliding down the sofa to scoot closer to his wife. "And we've all moved on from it. Draco has moved on."

James didn't think so. Sometimes he'd catch the longing look that carved on Dada's face when his eyes landed on James.

"But doesn't mean we won't let him suffer." Aunt Hannah announced, and this is the reason why James loved her the most. "How is Draco?"

"Tired, now that we only have two months left before his due." said Uncle Nev, and there was a fond smile curved on his face, mirrored by Aunt Hannah. "We wore him out today, he wasn't supposed to go out at this stage."

"But it was worth it." James interjected. "Mr. Potter thought you're having a baby with Dada."

There's a small silence before Aunt Hannah guffawed, doubling over in contrast to Uncle Nev's bewildered face.

"Well, he's not wrong." Aunt Hannah chuckled, wiping away her teared up eyes. "And what was his reaction?" she asked eagerly, leaning forward to James.

"Crumbling down to ash."

"Oh, I wish I was there to see it!" Aunt Hannah whined, and James grinned while Uncle Nev only give a resigned look at the two of them.

"We have to make sure he learns." said Aunt Hannah then, lips pressed together as she turned serious. "I understand that he has his own demons to deal with, but I can't forgive that he has forgotten about Draco along the way."

"Honey…"

"No! We were there, Nev. We saw how he struggled with everything!" 

James bit his lips as he regard his uncle and aunt; faces turned sombre as if they were pulled years back, where they were still young and stupid, struggled to learn the rope of the new world.

"I won't be satisfied until he learns what he needs to learn." Aunt Hannah stated, voice leave no room for argument.

"I didn't say I opposed of the idea, love." said Uncle Nev softly. "I just don't want-"

James frowned when Uncle Nev leaned to his wife, whispering the rest of the words to her ear. He especially dislike it when he was not included, as if he was too small for adults' business. He crossed his arms and give his best glare to his uncle. "I am not a child!"

Both adults turned to him in surprise before they broke into a set of sheepish smiles. 

"There you go, Nev." said Aunt Hannah. "You know better than went behind his back."

Uncle Nev chuckled and smiled to him kindly, "I just don't want you to get the wrong impression of your father, James. He's a good person if you can give him a chance."

"He lost his chance the moment he forgot about Dada." said James, chin lifted up to show his displeasure.

"I agree." Aunt Hannah nodded. "If he wants another chance, we're not going to make it easy for him."

"I don't want to give him another chance." said James stubbornly. Why won't they understand?

"He's Harry Potter." said Uncle Nev. "And as far as I know Harry, he won't stop until he gets what he wants."

"Correct." his aunt nodded in agreement. "For that reason, we're not going to yield. No matter what." she lifted a fist in determination and presented it to James, who took it happily as he bumped his fist to her.

"We'll give him hell." James grinned.

"Right." Uncle Nev piped in, watching them with a wary look. "You two need to be careful or Draco’s going to kill you both."

"Excuse me?" Aunt Hannah feigned a gasp. "We're in this together, you're included!"

"What?" Uncle Nev gaped in an unattractive way and James can't help but giggled.

"Which reminds me!" Aunt Hannah clasped her hand, and point a finger to her husband. "You need to pick up the Olive Oil from Molly."

"Which means-" James perk up excitedly.

"Yes." Aunt Hannah's smirked was wicked and James love every inch of it. "It's time to execute our first plan."

Somewhere in the background, James heard Uncle Nev's groaned in despair.

-

The sound of the floo flared up and a voice calling up to Molly caught the attention of the occupants in the kitchen.

"In the kitchen!" Molly called back, getting up from her seat as she immediately went to her cabinets, brows furrowed as if looking for something.

"Mom, what are you doing?" asked Ron, seemed to be as perplexed as Harry.

"Just something." mumbled Molly, distracted.

"Harry! Ron and Hermione!" A voice called from the kitchen entrance.

"Neville!" Both Ron and Hermione exclaimed in a great surprise. Meanwhile, Harry's stomach flipped at the sight of Neville. Yesterday's event flashed behind his eyes, as if it was just happened minutes ago. He unconsciously gulped, working in an auto mode as he followed his friends' actions: getting up their seat and greeted Neville with warmth.

Harry watched as they exchanged hugs and smiles, assessing one another with enthusiasm. He doesn't miss the way Ron and Hermione exchanged nervous glances as Neville turned his back to them in order to greet Harry. He let himself pulled by Neville in a tight hug, slapping his shoulder in a good nature as they pull apart.

"Merlin, it's been eight years!"

"Yea." said Harry, forcing a smile.

"How are you, mate?" asked Ron as he rounded to stand next to Harry. He mentally thank his friend when he felt a reassuring hand on his back.

"I'm doing great! Life's never been better!" replied Neville, white teeth in display as he smiled widely.

Harry bet hundreds Galleons that his life would be perfect too if he hadn't screwed things up.

"That's nice." he commented half heartedly.

"What are you up to these days?" Hermione then piped in, moving to sandwiched Harry in between Ron and her.

"Well, I'm working at Hogwarts now. I'm a professor, can you believe it?" said Neville, head tilted up as he proudly grinned.

"That's brilliant!" exclaimed Ron, and for a moment, Harry genuinely proud of him when the dreadful feeling was back possessing his stomach the moment Molly interrupted with a victorious shout of: "I found it!"

They momentarily distracted as Molly weaved her way through the three of them so she can hand Nevile a medium size of a glass bottle, which was taken by the man with a great relief passing through his face.

"Thank you, Molly. You're a lifesaver!"

"What is it?" asked Hermione. 

"Olive Oil, dear." answered Molly with a kind smile before she turned to Neville. "Five drops should do the trick." 

"Thank you, I'll keep that in mind." said Neville, giving Molly a thankful smile.

Molly nodded, and the two of them locked their gazes in a brief moment before Molly raised an eyebrow and cock her hips sideways. "Well, are you going to tell me how is he doing?"

"Who, Draco?"

Harry can't help it, he pinned his gaze to Neville the moment he dropped Draco’s name, heart palpitating out of tempo and he can feel Hermione’s hand gripping his fingers tightly.

"Was there anyone else you impregnate, Neville?"

Said man spluttered vigorously, face getting red by the seconds and Harry hated himself when he wish he can whip the expressions off Neville's face. He didn't have the right to feel this way. 

Molly however, looked strangely smug.

"He's- he's doing well." said Neville, fanning himself to chase the redness off his face. "He's been keeping me awake at night, so your oil was a really huge help." 

Harry forced himself not to think of the implications behind those words by clenching his teeth tight.

“- I mean!" stammered Neville suddenly, face decorated with red, he can almost rivaled a ripe tomatoes.

"Don't be embarrassed, dear." Molly waved him dismissively, eyes twinkling as she said, "Pregnant do make us insatiable."

The row of plates on the dish rack suddenly exploded and it took Harry a few seconds to realise that he was the reason it happened. Four pairs of surprised eyes locked onto him, and Hermione was the first one to ask his condition.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, sorry- I'm just-" Harry sighed deeply, as he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Merlin, he can't help it anymore. He opened his eyes and looked up to Neville who eyed him with worry.

"Sorry, Neville, but are you married to Draco Malfoy?"

From his peripheral view, he saw both Ron and Hermione whipped their heads to him at the same time, and immediately turned to Neville for an answer. Neville, on his part, exchanged glances with Molly before he sighed and rubbed his neck awkwardly.

"Well, we're not exactly married but he's carrying my child at the moment, so I guess we're kind of together?" explained Neville, eyes sought for Molly's in a nervous way.

"Of course you are, darling," said Molly confidently. "You've been there since James, and the second one is on the way! If that's not together, then I don't know what is."

"James?" The three of them choruses in a questioning manner.

Molly turned to them with an eyebrow raised and a hand propped on her waist. "Yes, James. Draco’s firstborn."

"He- he named his son James?" asked Harry breathlessly. 

"Well, it was rather obviously why, wasn't it?" Molly smiled knowingly, and for the second time, cold air washing over Harry's body. 

"Harry, breathe." Hermione’s voice whispered.

"He's mine?" Harry ignored her, keeping his eyes locked to Molly's. He doesn't know what to think; he felt numb, somehow.

"Harry-" begin Neville softly, and was about to say something but a familiar yet foreign voice suddenly called from the fireplace.

"Molly, is Neville there?"

Harry's heart stopped, head automatically faced the sources of the sound as he stood there, petrified.

"I'm here!" Neville shouted back, warily eyeing Harry, as if he was going to bolt to the fireplace anytime.

"Come home, I need you!"

"I'll be there!" 

"Great, say thank you to Molly!"

Without waiting for a reply, the voice disconnected the call leaving the five adults in the kitchen to stood next to each other awkwardly. Neville was the one who took the initiative to break the silence.

"I have to go now, Draco needs me. Thank you Molly, and uh, I'll see you around." 

Dropping a kiss to Molly's cheek, Neville parted his way by giving a small nod to the remaining petrified adults.  

When Neville disappeared from his sight, Harry flopped down the floor as if his legs can't carry his weight anymore.

The ringing in his ears was getting louder, as well as the swelling of his heart that was expanding throughout his ribcage making it hard to breathe properly.

He can't think anymore.

---

I'll send you virtual kisses if you can comprehend of what exactly happening. meow x

@anay7623 @lordtiazz @lumosworld @chai-but-high @pretty-in-pink007 @pandaburr024 @wholenothalf @tonyliveson @alwaysmingiehahn @mydrarryobsessed @batmanblackbelt @sinnysin-sin

[timextoxhajima]

NCT One Shot Collection

Member: Yuta

Genre: Fluff, a teaspoon of sed 

Word Count: 4k

Ding

A message popped up on your laptop screen. It was one of those messages from an online dating app you had been using the past week, and you couldn't wait to delete the stupid thing off your laptop. Why, you ask? You were on a deal with a friend who was trying to get you hooked up with someone, so she helped you install the app into your laptop and she guaranteed you that you would get picked up in no time. The only problem was that you didn't want to be picked up. You were perfectly fine living alone, the peace and tranquility of being alone had become your favourite thing to look forward to at home after work. But being friends with her for 10 years, you decided that it wouldn't hurt, and she wouldn't know anything if you didn't tell her. You roll over back to your desk on your roller chair and click a cross on the popup, before rolling back to your cabinet and sorting out some files for work. 

Ding

"Ugh," You groaned and shoved the files back into the cabinet, annoyed. You rolled to the desk, opening the app and looking at the notifications. Someone had left you 2 messages, the first one you had crossed away.

OS0162: Hello! I saw that you were reading a Japanese book in your profile photo. Are you Japanese, or learning?

You frown and process the information. Nobody had ever commented on your profile photo and the Japanese book.

You: I spent some years in Japan when I was younger so I can read Japanese, but I'm Korean by blood.

You hit send, muting your computer and closing the window. After clearing the cabinet, you roll back to your laptop and notice more notifications. 

OS0162: Oh, sweet! I'm Japanese, but I'm in Korea now. The book you're reading is really good, and I love the plot.

You frown again, pleasantly surprised. Nobody you knew was aware that the book even existed. But you weren't so quick to buy into his words.

You: Really? What's the plot about? Have you read it?

You hit send again, trying to test his sincerity.

OS0162: I have! More than once! Yakuno travels back to his father's castle through water portals and he freaks when he finds out that Miwanaki had been taken hostage by the government. I won't spoil the ending for you, if you haven't finished the book.

You have, and that was exactly how the book went. He wasn't lying. 

You: Cool, so what brings you to Korea?

Send.

OS0162: Parents' family business.

You blinked.

You: Training to become heir?

Send.

OS0162: You could say so, but I'm not the most keen on running around and making sure my henchmen do what they are supposed to do. I kind of have other plans I want to do instead of living my life because I was born into my family.

You paused to wonder and noticed his profile photo was of his back, and yours was of the crown of your head as you were reading the book. Neither of you knew how each other looked. 

This is ridiculous.

You shake your head and huffed, shutting off your personal laptop and using your work allocated one instead. 

The sun had set and your colleagues began trailing out of the office building one by one, sometimes in two. You were one of the youngest employees, but seated in a supervisor's office. You had a heavier load than your colleagues, and though sometimes it held you back in that boring four-walled room way longer than you colleagues, you didn't mind at all. You loved your work, and nothing could ever tear you away from it, not even that dating website. 

"Bye, y/n, don't go home too late," The last standing colleague of yours knocked on your opened office door, her bag in hand. 

"I'll see you tomorrow," You smiled at her and waved.

You pushed your hair backwards, leaning forward and saving your work on your work laptop. Closing it, you looked over to your own personal laptop and saw the sticker of Yakuno, the character from the Japanese book, pasted on the back of it. You had spent the first decade of your life in Japan, and your best friend had gifted you that book, the same physical book you were holding in your profile photo you used on the dating website. Your best friend had specially printed a whole sheet of stickers of characters and objects from the book to gift to you before you had left Japan. It was the most heartbreaking thing you could remember from your childhood, because you never saw that person again. The one and only person whom you had diligently remembered every likes and dislikes, even till this day, and yet contact was never kept. It had been more than 10 years, and it hurt you to realise that your best friend probably couldn't even remember how you looked like.

You pushed open the door to your penthouse, the built-in home system turned on jazz, lo-fi music.You pulled off your blazer and your hair tie, making your way into your bathroom and turning on the tap, filling up your bathtub. It had been a long week, and you needed this. You grabbed your phone and sealed it in a small waterproof bag, just in case you drop it in your own bathtub.

Ding. 7 unread messages from Kandlelite

You roll your eyes, annoyed that your laptop and phone were so perfectly in sync that whatever happened on your personal laptop happened on your phone too. 

OS0162: Hey, uh... I'm in Korea for two weeks

OS0162: Do you wna hang?

OS0162: I kinda need help with orienting myself around in Korea

OS0162: Especially in Seoul

OS0162: And Busan

OS0162: It's alright if you don't and you're busy though

OS0162: I understand

You couldn't believe it. That flitting thought sped past your mind, thinking of agreeing and actually meeting up with someone you've spent a day talking to. 

"Don't be an idiot, how good of a relationship can it be if it was started online?" You locked your phone and lifted your elbow onto the edge of the bathtub, rubbing your temples with your fingers. You were slowly slipping into some kind of peace and sleepiness, before the sound of your doorbell woke you up. 

"Jesus Christ, it's Friday night..." You groaned, leaning your head backwards and refusing to get out of the bathtub. The doorbell rang again. You growled and got out of the bathtub, wrapping a baby blue silk robe around yourself, pulling all of your hair to one side and making sure you look the most presentable you could be with wet hair and a robe. You looked at the intercom camera fitted onto the wall near the door, noticing that it was a male right outside, his body language looking confused and anxious. His face was covered and shadowed by his hoodie, so you couldn’t tell who it was. You frown to yourself, pressing the voice button and leaning towards the device. 

"Can I help you?" 

"Erm yeah... does anybody by the name of y/n live here?"

You frown more. "That's me, who am I speaking to?"

"Open the door and you'll find out," The man replied, almost like a child playing hide and seek. You pull away from the device and fold your arms. If today was the day you were supposed to die, you wouldn't be able to change it anyway. Who was to say that you were not going to be brutally murdered in your own home on a Friday night, right? You took in a deep breath and wrapped your slightly wrinkled fingers around the door handle, pulling it open with some force given the weight of the door. 

You would have never forgotten those eyes even if you had dementia, or a billion things on your mind. It was Nakamoto Yuta, your best friend from your childhood. 

"Hi y/n," He grinned. His teeth might've gotten larger and looked different, but the shape of his lips when he smiled hadn't changed. The way his eyes remained twinkling, some of his long fringe covering part of his eyes. 

"Yuta?" You whisper, like you were scared someone was going to catch you for saying something illegal. He smiled again and nodded, looking at you brightly, not bothering about how you were only in a robe and uncombed hair. He had seen you in a kiddy swimsuit more than 10 years ago anyway. You slowly and messily found a way to get your hands to unlock the gate, your eyes never leaving him for a second. He was dressed in a black hoodie, jeans and sneakers.

"I... how did you find me? Why are you here? How are you here? What--" You stopped yourself, watching him let himself in and close the door behind him. 

"It's been a long 13 years, y/n. I hope you're as happy to see me as I am," He said softly, watching your eyes shift in its eye sockets and observing his facial features. You warily stretched out your arms, like there were weights holding them down. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you tiptoed and hugged him.

"I'm sorry I never kept in touch. My parents always told me I'll see you again soon, until your parents decided not to come back to Osaka," Yuta had his arms around your lower back, careful not to touch anywhere inappropriate.

"No, oh my God," You pulled away, tears now in your eyes threatening to fall. "I never blamed you. There wasn't anybody I could blame even if I was really angry. I tried looking for you, but I just... I googled your name everyday in high school!" You laughed softly, sniffling and rubbing your eyes. 

"Well then," He was now holding your hands between the two of you. "About how I found you... you can thank yourself for that. I found you through your company's website. Your name was so high up on the rankings, that I was so happy for you. I wanted to look for you earlier, but my parents kept me under some security system to protect me from anything the outside world could offer,"

"What? What do you mean 'protect'? Are you in any kind of danger? Your family?" 

"No... I... did you ever find out why exactly you grew up in Japan then had to move back to Korea?"

"No, my parents told me it was a business trip," You turned and gently pulled him to the sofa.

"Yeah, but do you know what business trip it made them stay in Osaka for 15 years, had you born there, then came back to Korea and not return to Osaka?" Yuta was now sitting down next to you, his eyes still fixated on you. 

You shook your head. It never occurred to you that the business trip and why they chose not to return to Osaka was related.

"Your parents were working with mine, and it was apparently a very dangerous business. Your parents never went back because it was under the safety protocol. They needed us separated because we were children, too big and too easy of some few targets to threaten the business with.”

You listened intently, confused. You never knew your parents were handling such a dangerous business. After you came to Korea with them, they just let you grow up like any other kid. Study hard, go to university, get a job, work to the top. Whatever your parents' lives had been in the first 12 years of your life was unknown to you. They covered it up so well and so carefully, it never occurred to you that you could've been in any trouble.

"I only found about this a few years ago, when my father told me the business was now stable and fixed. He wanted me to start preparing to take over the business, but before I could do that at home, I needed to find the Korean half of it for a merger sequence. Your parents now live in--"

"Busan," You looked at him, ready to break out in laughter. "You're on Kandlelite. OS0162. OS for Osaka and the numbers... it’s your birthdate reversed," You laughed. Yuta was confused for a moment, before he realised what you were talking about. 

"No way, you're the one I've been talking to the entire day? Man, the odds..." 

"I know, right? Lord, I just... the last thing I expected on a Friday night in the middle of July is for you to show up on my doorstep after virtually talking to you the entire damn day," You sigh and lean back in the sofa, running your fingers through your damp and uncombed hair. He smiles.

"It's a really nice place you've got here,' He says after a minute of silence. 

"You say it like you don't have a nicer place to stay, given what your parents are doing," You joked, nudging him on the side. 

"You mean our parents. Your parents are as equally as well to do as mine, and no, I told my dad I didn't want a nice five star hotel."

"What? Then where are you staying? For two weeks, right?" You sat up straight again, giving him the same look you always gave him when he took something of yours and hid it somewhere when you were younger.

"I'm staying at a loft that's more traditional Korean," Yuta nodded. "Just about 20 minutes away from your place,"

"20 minutes? That's great. You can check out now and stay here! I'll bring you around Seoul and Busan for the next two weeks," You got off the sofa and stood up, excited. 

"You really didn't change much, y/n. Still the same girl I knew back in Osaka," Yuta blinked at her, then looked away and around. "Are you sure though? Don't you have work? I can't just suddenly crash your place like this,"

"Oh, come on! I can apply for leave until you're done with Korea. And yes, I have more than one bedroom, tons of space and even if I didn't, I would definitely make time for you. Besides, you hate staying at hotels and lofts," You raised a brow. Yuta rolled his eyes before breaking out into a large smile, nodding then agreeing to the arrangement. 

It became the best two weeks of your life. It was like those 13 years was never lost and you just picked your friendship up with Yuta where you left it off. You showed him around Seoul in the first week, letting him eat all kinds of street food, visiting random tourist stores for him to pick up gifts for his family. In the second week, the two of you packed for Busan to stay with your parents for a few days. The days were filled with home cooked food by your mother and old ginseng alcohol (Insam-Ju) from your father who were both as excited to see Yuta as you were at the start of the two weeks. Yuta's schedule included visiting schools, hospitals and the poorer areas of Busan, for him to research on how he could help improve the environments through the business and what he could do to help. The business that both you and his parents had started was only dangerous because there were rival companies who wanted the ideas for themselves, with many ideas much more practical and realistic than the rival company's. Your father gave Yuta a bottle of wine that he was supposed to have with Yuta's father, but never did because of the circumstances, the same circumstances where your family was forced back to Korea due to the threats in Osaka. The last three days were spent back in Seoul, where you took him to all your favourite spots in the city. Ramen in a convenience store, a picnic by Han River, late night barbeque sessions and early morning cycling, all in 3 days. While the two weeks spanned longer than a day, it felt like it was a day, but never enough to compensate for the 13 years you had lost with him. All the times that the both of you had tough times, first relationships, first heartbreak, academic stress followed by the obligation to handle the company on Yuta's part, all done without one another and you could only imagine how easier life would've been growing up, had Yuta been with you all this time. 

Your last favourite stop which was the stop you procrastinated till the end, due to how cliche it was, was the N Seoul tower. You always loved the romantic part about getting locks as a symbol of promise and eternity. While Yuta took his time admiring the view of the city at the tip of the tower, you got two locks, one for him and one for yourself, whatever promise the both of you wanted, you would write on a sticker and paste it on or write it on the lock itself with a marker. 

Yuta wrote his in Japanese, while yours in Korean. You eyed his features from his side profile, marveling for the last 2 weeks how well he grew up to be. He was such a handsome man, with such a bright future and with one of the kindest hearts you knew, not just because he was your best friend. You turned back to your lock, and thought carefully before printing it down in ink. 

To Yuta whom I came with, I wish you happiness and love in the years to come. In success and in health, our friendship will never be replaceable. Not even if I get married. I love you with all my heart, I always have.

"I'm done," Yuta smiled at you, capping on his marker and looking at his blue lock like it was a pet. You smile back, looking around the fence for a space to lock them.

That night, the two of you decided to stay in and watch the movie that bonded the both of you: Yakuno's Fairytale. At the end of it, the both of you took deep breaths in synchronization, exhaling at the same rate and feeling some kind of peace, but at the same time, loss, knowing that he was leaving the next morning. 

"You know, y/n, this was the best 2 weeks I've had in a long long time. Seeing your parents again after so long made me realise how close I was to your family before, I really wish you could see mine," Yuta looked at you, then looked at his fingers, peeling small bits of skin off the edges. 

"You know I'd love to, but I have to stay and work unless it's during some official office break. I was lucky enough they let me off these two weeks," You sighed, leaning back on the pillows and watching him. 

"I know, y/n, I know... I just wish the last 13 years I spent alone could have been with you. When my dad told me about the company when I was 21, I freaked, you know. I was... angry and upset because their choice, and your parents' choice, had caused us to be separated. If our parents hadn't chosen to stay in that business, we would have never been separated so... abruptly. It sucked to have realised that they told us we'll be seeing each other again soon just to get us to leave one another... only to wait 13 years,"

"Yeah, but if they didn't take it up, both of us wouldn't have been so well off," You rested your head in your palm, your elbow perched on the top of the sofa.

"I just... 13 years lost, when it could have been with you," He looked at you, his eyes glistening and his eyebrows slightly furrowed near the center of his forehead. 

You watched him watch you, almost able to see your reflection in his. You chuckled to break the silence, shifting a little and pulling your legs in to yourself.

"What are you going on about now, Nakamoto?" You mumbled under your breath, your heart racing and suddenly unable to look at him in the eye. 

You thought you were the only one. 

"Remember when we were 10, we got lost at the Tenjin festival in Osaka together? When we were both scared, but for some God forsaken reason, I was more of a wuss than you were... and you took care of me, though I'm older than you?"

"Yeah, but you were like 2 inches shorter than me, it was easy to feel like you were the one needing protection," You snickered, eyeing him from the corner of your eyes.

"But now you're like 6 inches shorter than me," Yuta laughed widely. "Anyway, point is, y/n, 13 years was hard to get through, because as hard as I tried to forget about you, to move onto someone else, romantically, you were always at the back of my head, telling me that I was going to meet you soon, and that we were never meant to be separated." 

You went quiet again, ecstatic, yet afraid of what he was going to say next.

"y/n? Hey," Yuta shifted closer and looked at you intently. You didn't even realise that tears had formed in your eyes and your nose turned sour, your line of vision blur and Yuta's face was soft around the edges, instead of his defined features. "Hey, don't cry, please don't cry," Yuta wrapped his arms around you, quietly hushing you and you buried your face in his neck.

"I missed you, so much. When I was in college, I thought I'd never see you again. I couldn't blame anybody, not my parents or yours because they did what they had to do for our sake, and it hurt, not being able to blame anybody," You croaked, the back of your throat tasting bitter. Yuta hummed in response, gently stroking the crown of your head.

"But it's alright now, isn't it? We've found each other again and..." He pulled away and cupped your face. "I believe we both never lost our feelings for one another."

He said it. The truth that you had buried deep down in your heart for a long time, for more than 13 years, had finally been put out there. 

"I thought... I thought I was on my own... I thought you didn't know," You whispered. Yuta pressed his forehead against yours, reaching down to hold your hands.

"No, it wasn't just you. But I thought I was on my own too." 

You laugh. Fate was such a dumb idea. Separating you two when you were the best of friends, and more than a decade later, reunite the both of you, only to reveal the truth that both of you had kept to yourselves over the years. 

-

"I wish you could stay," You hugged Yuta's waist, feeling a kiss on the top of your head.

"I wish you could come," You heard him say into your ear. 

"I promise I'll visit Osaka soon," You reply. He hummed, stepping back and grabbing his luggage.

"I will see you soon, I promise," Yuta says, moving away with his luggage. You nodded, waving to him. 

Yuta walked into the departure hall, remembering every single moment he had with you in the last 14 days. He had wished you were there the last 13 years, and he could never tell you all the hard times he had been through. Just as he caught the last glimpse of you, he remembered what he wrote on the lock, and promised himself never to break it.

To y/n who taught me what love and friendship was, you are irreplaceable and nothing in the world could keep me away from you. When I'm done with the important things I have to do in Osaka, I will return for you, and for you only. I loved you for as long as I can remember, and it will stay like this. I promise.

[walteinsamkeit]

Home

Alright, here it finally is. I worked on this for half a year and I’m happy with how it turned out. It’s a little fic told from Hosea’s point of view taking place during the days before the gang, when it was just Dutch, Arthur and him. Plenty of love, tenderness and Vandermatthews. I hope that whoever reads this will enjoy it! Summary: Before there was the Van der Linde gang, there was a family.  Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 5048 Characters: Hosea Matthews, Dutch van der Linde, Arthur Morgan Warnings: None

The day was beginning to wind down when Hosea found himself on the road back home, swept past the fields of the Heartlands with the lingering warmth of a watery sunset on his back. Twilight was laid out on the horizon in velvety pastels, dripping like soft watercolors between the pines and over the distant mountaintops, soaking the world in evening blue.

Home, for a while now, had been a little cabin near Strawberry. Two bedrooms and a living space, not much more; they had found it abandoned one day while looking for shelter and decided to settle in for the time being, needing a place to stay for a while. That had everything to do with the boy they had taken in recently. Arthur was his name; barely seventeen years old and already bearing a lifetime of tragedy on his shoulders. His mother had died young and his father, a petty criminal, had been killed before his eyes, leaving him an orphan at age eleven.

With the addition of someone new to their odd little “family” of two came the responsibility of establishing some sort of much-needed structure in the boy’s life. It hadn’t been easy to get through to him at first, but with patience and gentle persistence they had eventually managed to lure him out of his shell.

Gaining his trust was an ongoing process, but Arthur’s evident gratefulness made up for the occasional struggles they faced. And there were many things in the boy’s upbringing they had to catch up on. They taught him how to read and how to hunt; how to ride a horse and how to shoot a gun proper, and were pleasantly surprised to find him taking up an interest in sketching the world he saw around him in a little notebook they’d gifted him for the first birthday he spent with them.

Additionally, they too found themselves learning plenty new things through caring for him. They took turns in taking care of the household and heading out to provide for them. It wasn’t as easy as they had premeditated, requiring plenty of mental gymnastics to make things work out sometimes, and they didn’t have much, but these were happy times. He came to realize this every day again when he watched Dutch and Arthur go about their day, unaware of his loving gaze, and thought about how lucky he was to have been blessed with something so good and true without as much as ever having asked for it.

It wasn’t long before a small, unassuming little house came into sight between the trees in the distance. The lights behind the windows glowed warm and welcoming as he turned away from the road and let his horse trot up to the front porch.

It was a small house, Hosea thought to himself as he neared the cabin; but it was a good house - their house. A house he shared with the two people he considered his only family in this world. Two people that he would, always and unconditionally, love for the rest of his life.

He hitched his horse out front and gave her a pat on the neck along with some hay before turning to head inside.

“Hello, boy.”

Arthur looked up from his book at the sound of his voice, meeting his gaze across the room with the usual inscrutable expression.

“Hello sir.”

Closing the door behind himself to shut out the cold Hosea glanced around the room, sniffing out the hearty smell of supper, and finding it simmering on the stove.

“Is that yours?” He asked in surprise, wandering over to check on the pots on the fire.

Arthur shook his head. “Dutch is cooking...”

“What? Poison?”

“I heard that, Hosea.”

Dutch emerged from the backroom with a can of peas in his hand and a grin on his face. They shared a fond look that lasted a couple seconds until Dutch spoke up again.

“You’re back.”

“In one piece,” Hosea confirmed with a nod, turning to face him.

“How was it?”

“Ah, same old, same old. They never suspect a thing until you’re long gone. I was halfway back down the road towards Valentine by the time they realized what’d happened, as per usual.” He watched as Dutch made his way over to the stove, opening up the can and adding the contents to what appeared to be a pot of stew.

“Oh, I know it,” he said, giving the thing a thorough stir. “Those folks are so easy to steal from. One would feel guilty for not helping them get rid of some of that extra weight they’re carrying in their pockets.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Hosea agreed with a chuckle, turning away to head over to the table.

“Arthur here shot his first deer today,” Dutch announced with an almost motherly hint of pride in his voice as he focused his attention on the food cooking on the furnace again.

“Really now?” Taking his gun belt and satchel off he set it down on the table, opening it up to rummage through its contents. Starting to bring out the stacks of dollar bills he had procured, he leafed through them before neatly organizing them on the table top, straightening them out.

“How did that go for you, son?”

“Just fine I guess,” Arthur answered, his finger pausing along the lines of his book as he looked up from the page again, swiftly meeting Hosea’s gaze with those gentle blue eyes. “Dutch said hunting would be a good way to contribute to the household. Would take some weight off your shoulders too if I’d try taking care of the food. Or the part of finding it, at least.”

“Right, I see. That is a great idea. So, that is what you’re suddenly going all out for, hm? Dutch?” He shot him a glance from the corner of his eye, amused. “Soon enough we’ll have a real kitchen princess on our hands.”

“Do I hear a complaint?”

“No, no, I don’t think so.” Hosea shook his head with a chuckle.

Dutch paused for a moment, completely absorbed with his tireless perfectionism; then spoke again.

“I figured I might as well. I was getting sick of all the bland, tasteless grub we’ve been living off of, so I’m broadening my horizons a little. Besides, it’s a special occasion, ain’t it? You’ll always remember your first deer. I do.” He shrugged nonchalantly, glancing back over his shoulder. “Son, will you go and set the table? Dinner’s almost ready.”

With a creak of his chair Arthur rose to his feet, setting his book aside and heading over to the cabinet to bring out the plates.

As he passed him by Hosea couldn’t help but reach out and pat him on the shoulder encouragingly, earning him a smile that was little more than a faint curve to the corner of his lips, but it was honest.

It was good to see how Arthur had steadily been beginning to show more of himself lately in the care of Dutch and him. They did their best to offer him what they could - that not being a simple task in their case. A couple of outlaws trying to raise a boy together. The two of them being men, at that. But they got by. They made do with what they had and made up for what they didn’t in support and attention.

“And?” Dutch’s voice interrupted his train of thought as the younger man appeared at his sides with his hands on his hips. Curiously, he picked up one of the wads of cash, leafing the bills through his fingers just like Hosea had done moments earlier.

“Around a couple hundred dollars, I’d say. Maybe more. A pretty good catch. More than I expected to get out of this, frankly. I didn’t even try too hard.” Setting his satchel aside he gathered the money, taking back the banknotes that Dutch handed him, and moving them out of the way to make room for their plates and cups. “Either we’re getting smarter or they’re getting dumber.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dutch stated, moving to the kitchen to take the stew off the cooktop and carry it over to the dinner table. “To the victor the spoils, Hosea. What matters is that we’re still pulling it off. Now, take off your coat and have a seat. It’s been a long day. I bet we’re all hungry.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he nodded, shrugging off his coat and pulling out a chair to sit down across from Arthur, who’d already settled in his place again, moving his cutlery around while he waited.

“Of course I’m right,” Dutch said, with that smug grin of his that Hosea couldn’t help but shake his head at in amusement as he watched him dish out their food.

“Mhm,” he hummed, pursing his lips. “Of course you are. How could I forget? You’re as stubborn as a woman, Dutch van der Linde.”

“You best be careful now, mister Matthews,” he pointed at him with the ladle, raising a brow. “You’d be ill-advised to antagonize me now that I’m learning how to cook something half decent.”

“You wouldn’t kill me.”

“I might. Ain’t made up my mind quite yet. Night is still young. Would you like some tea?”

“Chamomile, if we’ve got any.”

“Me too, Dutch. Please,” Arthur spoke up, seemingly almost embarrassed by his request, nudging his empty mug. Hosea and Dutch - they shared a subtle glance across the table without a word.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you’ll get some too, son. Don’t worry, we’re not forgetting about you. Ain’t nobody gonna forget about you no more,” Dutch gently reassured him, turning around to head back over to the stovetop and fetch their steaming tea kettle, adding some chamomile flowers from a fresh-picked bunch hung to dry before returning to the table with it.

“Thank you. I could really use a cup. Been looking forward to one all afternoon.” Hosea ran a hand through his hair, scooting his chair a little closer to the table before picking up his spoon. “So, apart from cooking, what have you been up to?”

“The usual.” Dutch nudged at a piece of venison on his plate with scrutinizing stare, not entirely pleased with the outcome, or so Hosea deducted. It was hard to please Dutch, even when you were Dutch.

“Is that so... No trouble, I hope?” He quipped, sending a wink over to Arthur across the table, who answered with a little smile.

“Without you? You know me better than that, dear friend. Now eat up, before it goes cold.”

“Right. Arthur - will you say Grace for us? You’re the one who brought home the food today,” he offered.

A silence followed. The young man was visibly taken aback a little by the request for a good few moments, blinking long lashes under the golden light, his lips parted in mute confusion.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t feel comfortable. One of us can do it,” Hosea added.

“No, sir, I’d like to. I just... I don’t think I’m any good at that kinda thing.”

“You’ve heard us do it plenty times before. You’ll be just fine, I know it.” Dutch reached out to put his hand over Arthur’s, giving it a slight pat. “Go ahead. No need to be shy.”

Locking gazes with Hosea again, Arthur raised his brows, as if looking for some kind of permission, or perhaps, for reassurance.

Hosea only nodded.

“Go ahead, son.”

At that, Arthur scooted forward in his chair, clearing his throat, just a tad nervous. The boy hadn’t been exactly raised religious by his late father, and although neither of them cared particularly about religion, they had wanted to do right by him. To instill some morals and values in the young man they took under their wings, if only symbolically so. To teach him to be thankful and humble. And so far, Hosea thought they were doing a wonderful job.

“Alright, well...” He started, a little hesitant as he looked down at his plate, gingerly folding his hands against the edge of the table. “Father, thank You for, uh... For providing, for us. And for the warmth of the sun and the refreshment of water. And for all other things good. Like... The Fall, and the harvest. And the blessing of food with loved ones. Thank you, Lord. Amen.”

“That’s it. Wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Dutch smiled at him.

“Nicely done, Arthur.” Hosea reached over to pick up the kettle, pouring all of them a steaming cup of tea. “Well, let’s eat then. Enjoy your meal.”

“Likewise,” Dutch added before he began to eat.

“And you,” Arthur mumbled, digging into his stew.

For a fleeting moment Hosea couldn’t help but watch him; observe that perpetual childish innocence in him that guided every clumsy movement, limbs too long for his torso, too old to be a boy and too young to be a man - he was balancing on the ever-awkward line right in between, where everything changes overnight and yet remains the same in many other ways. He looked almost out of place sitting at a table and eating from a plate and drinking from a cup. In such stark contrast to Dutch’s poise, Dutch’s straight posture; his sharp tongue and even sharper gaze and the purpose in his every movement.

They weren’t so far apart in age. His partner was twenty-four now. He had six years on Arthur and yet Hosea could barely begin to imagine Dutch as anything other than what he was and had been ever since the day they first met along the road to Chicago. Strong and determined and idealistic, and as much a father figure to Arthur as he was. Of course, he had grown. He was more responsible now; a little more down-to-earth than he had been back then - a tireless dreamer with his head up in the clouds.

But deep down, he was still the same. In him, Hosea could still see that boy, not yet quite a man even if he had come off age. A stargazer. A philosopher. A lover.

For a while they sat and ate in silence, quietly content in the warmth and the safety of their simple home, the sound of the wind whispering through the high grass and the trees outside, and the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth.

It wasn’t quite like the camps Dutch and him used to set up when they moved around. They’d sleep under the stars and wash up in the river and cook dinner over the campfire, and when a new wind rose, they packed up what little possessions they had and followed it down to where it would lead them.

First and foremost, the two of them were opportunists who lived off luck. There was artistry in their craft; a kind of poetry in the way they went about executing their plans. Crime was an art. And Dutch; a virtuoso. The young man with the sun tucked away in his chest - he spoke of wonderful things; freedom, liberty, love. His dreams and his wishes and the beliefs he cherished despite being told he was nothing but a delusional fool.

For hours Hosea could listen to that honeyed voice spilling whispers in the halflight, like secrets meant for his ears only, about a vision of the future where they would have the world. And he let himself be swept away by the sweet promises willingly.

When Dutch was good he was great, and when he was great he was a small calamity; a one-man forest fire that would stop at nothing in its path, and burn all throughout the night and well into the morning. His passion and his idealism; the romance and the beauty he saw in everything wherever he went - it had managed to captivate him years ago and never let him go.

Dutch van der Linde, with his eyes of brandy; crowned with soft, shiny whorls of black hair framing his face. He must have been the embodiment of every mother’s cautionary tale.

“What’s on your mind, Hosea?” Dutch broke the silence after a while, observing him calmly from his side of the table. Nothing ever went by him unnoticed.

Hosea just shook his head along with a slight shrug. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I was just... Thinking.”

His words were met by an inquisitive tilt of his head.

Leaning back into his chair, he looked at the scene before him, keeping quiet for a moment - the three of them at the table together - an unconventional little family, but a good one. A warm one. A loving one.

“I’m... Happy,” he then finally decided with a nod, meeting Dutch’s gaze once again.

The other man smiled, slowly looking down at his plate as he thought for a moment before giving his answer. “I’m happy, too.”

Reaching under the table, Hosea gently nudged at Dutch’s hand, and the other answered his touch as if by instinct, their fingers tangling together with a soft squeeze for just a moment.

“Arthur, would you like some more stew?” Dutch then asked, casually, leaning over to stir the pot with his free hand. “We still got some left.”

“No sir, thank you - I’m full.” He politely declined, shaking his head as he dropped his hands into his lap and sat back. “I think I may just... Hit the hay early tonight. I’m beat.”

“You worked hard today. You just see what you do.” He began to rise to his feet, reaching to collect their empty plates, but Hosea was quicker.

“Let me take care of that, Dutch. You both done did enough for today. Sit a while,” he assured him, gently putting his hand over the one that was already holding onto the plate.

“I got it. Leave it to me.”

Dutch stared back at him in surprise a moment, and then finally relented, pulling back.

“Alright. Arthur, shall you and I play a game of dominoes before you head off to bed, then?”

The boy looked up, seemingly hesitating for a moment as he uneasily rubbed the back of his neck.

“I don’t know, Dutch... I’d love to, but… Games ain’t exactly my strong suit.”

“Then I’ll help you. C’mon, get the box out. Where did we put it away last time?”

Hosea watched as the two began rummaging through the room together, finally locating the box in the bookcase, and as they set up to play their game of dominoes, Hosea rolled up his sleeves and got to cleaning the dishes gathered in the sink.

It wasn’t much work, and he had the pleasure of being able to listen in on the brown noise of their conversation in the background. As they sat around the table, and played, and drank the remainder of their tea, he couldn’t help but glance back at them over his shoulder occasionally, smiling at the sight; Dutch’s patience with Arthur and the joy he managed to inspire in him with his words of encouragement - that boy was gonna be just fine, Hosea mused while calmly humming a song under his breath.

As long as they were together, he would always have someone to talk to and a shoulder to lean on. A place to call home.

Once the cleaning had been taken care of - the dishes returned to their cabinets and the cutlery to its drawer - he rejoined them at the table, picking up the book he had been reading in the past week or so: John Stuart Mill’s On Liberty, which Dutch, vocally passionate about the work, had borrowed to him upon completing his own reading of it.

Evenings like these, where all three of them were together - they always passed so swiftly and could never last long enough for him. Domestic and unhurried, they idly spent their time on the simple little pleasures that were card games or warm cups of coffee. Especially now that Fall had arrived, and the days were swiftly growing longer and darker, they found themselves staying in much more frequently than they did during the summer months, seeking out each other’s company on cold and rainy evenings. It was a simple comfort, having a home to return to at the end of a hard day’s work, and the sight of it in the distance - of that peaceful little cabin quietly slumbering between the trees - it never failed to fill him with a profound sense of satisfaction and a heartfelt happiness.

The warm touch of a hand placing itself upon his knee drew his attention, and he looked up, gaze fixing on the man seated closest to him.

He sat twisted in his chair and faced him with those big brown eyes of his - unarguably, the greatest source of warmth in the room; even when the fire burned bright and the oil lamps glowed warm and golden, it was his gaze that seemed to chase any kind of darkness away.

“Don’t forget about your tea, ‘Sea. It’ll go cold.”

In the rosy light he looked like a Renaissance painting - a Botticelli angel with life breathed into him by God Himself; the way soft curls fell forward over his ears and framed his face without pomade to keep them fixed securely in place, and for a moment he was completely lost in the sight of him, until, in the background, Arthur began to rise to his feet, and his spell was broken.

“Are you going to bed?”

“I think so,” he yawned, slowly stretching out before running a hand through his tousled hair. “Can’t keep my eyes open any longer.”

“Well, hunting isn’t light work. Go get some rest, and we’ll see you in the morning.”

“Alright. I’ll be turning in for the night then, I guess; goodnight, Hosea - Dutch, you too...” And with a little nod of his head he turned around and began heading for his bedroom, pushing his suspenders off of his shoulders with a sigh.

From his peripheral vision, Hosea noticed how Arthur attempted to cast a subtle but lingering glance back over his shoulder at the two men remaining in the room together, the slightest quirk to his brow - the way dogs do when trying to make sense of one thing or another. Then he vanished into his bedroom, and closed the door behind himself.

Of course, Hosea thought to himself amused, barely managing to suppress a snort as he picked up his cup and drank the last of his lukewarm tea. The boy wasn’t stupid, as much as he liked to pretend he was. He must have realized at some point; must have noticed by now that there was something profound between the two of them that ran deeper than any devoted friendship he’d ever witnessed before, or the sincere love between brothers. Something enduring and true that Hosea himself in all those years had not quite managed to find the words for.

And Arthur - he never mentioned or questioned anything. Perhaps he simply didn’t care, or, perhaps, he understood. Falling for Dutch the way Hosea had - it wasn’t a choice he had made; it was something that had simply happened to him. To deny it would have meant to lie to his own heart. But nothing good had ever come from refusing to face the truth. Hosea loved him. He loved him, and nothing the world could have told him would have stopped him from doing so.

Falling in love with Dutch had never been a choice. But loving him was. And if life would be kind enough, he wished to do so for the rest of his days.

For a short while after Arthur had left them, there was just the distinct rustle of him rummaging around as he prepared for bed. Then the room went quiet, and silence settled over the peaceful little cottage once more.

Outside the moon had begun to rise over the open fields that stretched out for miles and miles, and the silvery grass whispered in the evening breeze that had picked up, rustling through the leaves on the trees that had begun to take on the color of a hundred blazing shades of auburn. It stirred the flames in the hearth, humming low in the chimney - a bourdon note that reminded him of the childhood he spent far up in the mountains - the way the wind hummed him to sleep, howling among the snow-covered peaks while he slept safe and warm through many a winter storm.

Hosea glanced aside at Dutch, who sat staring pensively into the fire, comfortably curled in his chair. His breathing was low; chest rising and falling steadily as he pensively drew his thumb across his bottom lip, and he could tell by his slow, languid blinking; the way his dark lashes fell upon his cheeks, and lingered just long enough to betray a sleepy innocence in the otherwise so alert young man, that the glowing warmth and the satisfaction of a full stomach had began to make him drowsy.

He couldn’t help but smile, his heart softening at the sight of his lover, unaware of his admiring gaze. It wasn’t often he managed to catch Dutch in a moment of vulnerable unawareness. These moments were like sunrises to him; something to be enjoyed in silence, delightful in their fleetingness.

At times, he wished he could draw like their Athur could; wished he could capture these divine moments and preserve them before they would be gone forever - passing in the blink of an eye. Luckily, he had a good memory. It was hardly a challenge to call the sight of him to mind. He knew every curve and every edge of his form. The healthy glow of pink on his cheekbones, the color of a blushing dawn; the shimmer of gold on his collarbones when the sunlight kissed his skin damp from working; the sable curls of his hair splayed out on his pillow, spread around his head like an aureole as the night faded into morning.

Only after a long moment of quietly observing him did Hosea finally move, leaning over as he reached out a hand, and lightly brushed his knuckles over his cheek, up to his temple. The caress stirred Dutch awake from his drowse, and he raised up his head as he blinked into the halflight of the room before casting a questioning glance aside at Hosea. He answered with a smile and a shallow shake of his head to let him know everything was alright without breaking the silence between them. That he would let no harm befall him as long as they were together and he was around to watch over him.

It was a promise he’d made him years ago - Dutch, young and anxious, and wary of a future filled with uncertainties and trouble along the way. The world did not look kindly upon people like them, and their love had been, perhaps, a lifetime too early. What if they would drift apart? What if flaws and insecurities would drive a rift between them? What if, one day, they would no longer love each other?

He had kissed him on the head, and drawn him into his embrace as he soothingly spoke to him.

“It’s us together against the world, Dutch. Not us against each other. Don’t you ever forget that.”

And just like he had then, Dutch now reached up to take hold of the hand that rested on his cheek, and pressed it against the side of his face in affection for a few seconds.

“You think too much. Stop worrying about the things that you can’t change,” he had said to him. “Stop living in the past and being afraid of the future. It’s coming, whether you want it or not. That mind of yours… It’s always been your own worst enemy...”

“That is the trouble, Hosea,” he answered, heaving a weary sigh. “Sometimes it’s all the thinking I’ve got available to me. It’s the only thing I can’t run from...”

“Then for the love of God, Dutch - stop trying. Only a fool keeps looking for solutions in the same place he’s previously failed to find any.”

“Are you tired…?” He spoke up, his voice barely above a whisper as their hands, still intertwined, slowly fell down to bridge the space between their seats. The other man hummed in response and shook his head, then answered.

“Just a little.”

“You should get some sleep then. It’s late. You’ve done a lot of work. Tomorrow’s a fine new day...”

”What about you?” Dutch’s head tipped to the side and studied him sleepily from the corners of his eyes. “Aren’t you tired?”

Hosea smiled softly before averting his gaze, pausing a moment before speaking up again.

“I’ll just have a smoke and join you. Scamming folks all day isn’t easy work. The old gray mare ain’t what she used to be.”

“Oh, stop it,” Dutch huffed with a frown as he rose out of his seat and took a step towards him, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head while lovingly combing his fingers through the blonde hair of his lover.

“You’re as sharp and artful as ever.”

“And you’re still just as easy to get a rise out of, my love,” he replied amusedly, gazing up at him with a smirk as Dutch pulled away yawning and began heading over to their bedroom, dismissing him with the wave of a hand.

Hosea watched him walk off with a soft smile before he slowly closed his book and got to his feet to go and fetch his cigarettes, a sigh escaping him.

Yes, it wasn’t much, Hosea thought to himself as he looked around the room while lighting a smoke. The shadows that the dying fire cast quivering on the walls drew his attention to their few belongings lying about; a quiet proof that his loved ones were here, safe and sleeping, and that whatever the future would bring them, tonight was peaceful.

Their house wasn’t big, and neither was their family. But it was good. It was sincere, and warm and loving.

And most importantly, it was theirs.

[split-n-splice]

This arc is for introducing some faces around them. Everyone's got their problems to contend with~

[Chapter Guide | FFn | Ao3]

28. Aura of Others – 2

She knew the morning was off to a good start when a scream followed the frantic beeping of an unfamiliar alarm clock, and she cracked her eyes open in time to see a familiar blue someone flail and tumble out of bed. She was glad the lamp was on so she could catch the spectacular fall from grace.

She barely kept the laugh to herself as the startled man picked himself up, staring at her wide-eyed over the edge of the bed. Panic-stricken and stammering, he welcomed her to sleep in for another half hour, or an hour, or all day if she pleased, but she had to decline no matter how tempting. She had places to be, unfortunately.

The second Drakken excused himself hastily to his own private bathroom, she threw back the sheets to check for any sign of burnt fiber. She was pleasantly surprised and gave herself a pat on the back for making it through the night without incident, even as her face burned as she quickly dressed. She hoped the gambler wouldn’t push his luck next time either – and then banished the thought from her mind. There wouldn’t be a next time. This was a one-time occurrence. A simple test of will.

She had the feeling she was lying to herself as she wore another of Drakken’s sweaters to Buckley’s to hide the fact she hadn’t exactly changed out of yesterday’s outfit. And she knew she wasn’t fooling anyone else either when he was the first customer of the day, smiling pleasantly as she served him joe to go. When he turned to leave, Shilo had to tear her stare away from the green elastic band holding the ponytail he’d taken the time to neatly put up himself.

Eyes of future-henchgirls drove daggers into her back. She heard the low voice of Buckley in the kitchen muttering to Chester, but couldn’t make out what she rumbled. No doubt something displeased, and Shilo was sure it was about her. If it weren’t for the generous tip Drakken slipped into the jar, the baker might have said – or done – something to him to chase him off.

As it were, Drakken was in no hurry to leave, courteously holding a door open for a blithe young man with a pep in his step that made Shilo’s blood run cold before inciting the dreaded fire once again.

She felt suddenly far too small for the sweater hung around her. If only she could disappear into it. If only it wouldn’t be so childish to duck behind the counter to make Gail take the order. It was too late for hiding now anyway.

Ignoring Drakken lingering at the open door was just as hard as looking up at the next customer. She forced a smile for the increasingly familiar boy beaming back at her, and she warmed over as if standing in a sunray from heaven. She couldn’t say she liked it, but she couldn’t say she didn’t either.

“I, um. H-hey—,” she clamped her mouth shut and gave a small cough to clear her throat. She tried again before Abigail could shove her aside to take over, and managed to utter a coherent greeting the second time. “What can I get you, angel boy?”

Angel boy smothered his grin and glanced to the case. “Caramel latte and a cinnamon roll to go today, please,” he answered promptly as if he’d rehearsed it. If he was uneasy, he disguised it well.

It would have been an easy enough task if she weren’t aware of Drakken still standing in the doorway, watching with unnerving interest. She almost spilled the latte when she handed it over. As she fumbled with the register, she caught a glimpse of the felon pointing at the angel boy, almost as if aiming a finger-gun at his back.

Drakken’s raised brow and inquiring gesture didn’t help the heat spreading across her face or building in her chest. She was eager to get them both out of the shop. She even considered calling for Buckley to scare the rogue doctor away, at the very least.

For as much as he stared and beamed at her, angel boy didn’t seem to notice the peeks she shot past him, or the dismissive flick of her wrist in a vain attempt to shoo Drakken off. She didn’t need to squirm under the analytical stare of a rogue scientist when she was already caught in the radiance of an angel boy, and she was all the more convinced she needed to get a grip on herself and Lady Fate’s gift.

“Hope to see you soon,” said angel boy warmly as he left, but Shilo could only spare the tiniest wave in goodbye before hiding her hands behind the counter once more.

Dr. Drakken was still rooted in place, continuing to hold the door open and let the heat out. The young man cast a perturbed glance up at him and another glance over his shoulder to Shilo before going on his merry way. It took Drakken another moment of standing there, watching the blond depart, before he turned his eyes back to Shilo. She tried to ignore the arch of his brow or the smile that split across his face.

“Interesting,” he piped, grinning smugly her way. Her face burned and she had to wring her hands under the counter to snuff out the heat in her palms. “I didn’t take you for a nervous Nellie.”

A small hand curled around Shilo’s shoulder. Abigail was a fraction of Buckley’s size, but with a little genetic manipulation and training, she could one day compare to the role model. She’d taken lessons from her, and must have been able to replicate the baker’s sneer perfectly because Drakken took a step back out the door when Gail curtly snapped at him, “There something wrong with your order, sir? No? Then get outta here. No loitering.”

Effectively told off, Drakken left with haste.

Later that day, when Shilo was at last relieved of duty for the afternoon, she almost made a beeline for the lair, compelled to chew out the man for stirring trouble with her at Buckley’s Brew, which had lived up more to its unscrupulous underground name of Jackass Joe’s on this fine day. Between customers, she’d suffered critical glares, poking, prodding, elbowing, and snide comments like two-timer and skank. On an average day, she could take every name in the book in stride, but it hadn’t made getting through this day easier when she was already fighting to put out the hellfire stoked by an angel.

She hadn’t made it far before the chill in the air wicked away the heat, and she breathed easier than she had all day. A misty drizzle fell, and she was convinced to go home instead when she missed the bus. She had better things to do than get herself worked up over a smug man who found her plight interesting.

Better things, such as going home and sweeping up the glass she’d left scattered across her bathroom floor.

When Shilo entered her dingy apartment, she jumped, spying a large rat dart behind the fridge. Swearing aloud, she raised a hand, drawing up energy into her palm, and readied a blast fit for a rodent as she shoved the fridge back. The vermin disappeared through a hole chewed in the drywall before she could take the shot.

The ball of plasma still crackled in her palm, bubbling and dripping, and Shilo found herself unable to recall the glow still desperate for an exit. It was abnormal, but not the first time she’d been faced with the predicament, and it was an unwelcome reminder she didn’t have as much control of it as she wished she did.

She realized as she washed the sizzling alien fire down the sink that she hadn’t done much to relieve herself of the bottled energy lately. She stared into the sink, hoping that washing plasma down it wouldn’t make the pipes any leakier, and optimistically added to herself that maybe it would unclog the drain.

She mulled it over while cleaning the neglected bathroom. With no glass door to hide behind anymore, the special prescription stared her down from its perch on the shelf in the medicine cabinet. She considered, between the lack of suppressant and lack of an outlet, maybe she was spilling over. Could she overflow? She knew she could get riled up and overcharge – there was even emergency protocol for that – but she couldn’t recall a time she’d ever gone more than a week without throwing a few plasma balls for target practice at the very least.

Rubbing her throbbing head, she tried to recall the last time she’d let loose at all. She’d used her glow as a light source a few nights ago on the way home from Vegas, but that was a low-level energy release with hardly any power behind it and no heat to the flame. She’d worked on hand-to-hand combat with the henchmen, but she’d played fair. The last time she could remember really giving her glow the slightest workout was the day Drakken gave her the new gloves. That had been weeks ago.

Bathroom clean enough to stand barefoot in again, she was dressing down to settle in for the evening when she emptied the pockets of her jeans out of habit. The bracelet and note she pulled out nearly caught fire – and she once again found herself unable to extinguish it without a little help.

This time she was rinsing the plasma down the bathroom sink though, and this time the suppressant was staring her in the face. She’d circumvent it if she could. And she would. She had to – because relying on the medication would only hamper her, and that just wasn’t happening anymore. It would only put her under GJ’s thumb and at their mercy.

Shilo forgot about her PJ’s waiting for her on the bathroom counter and dressed into a new pair of jeans, one of her own sweaters, and the slicker jacket, and headed out the door into the rainy evening.

She had energy to burn off.

It was only a hunch, but it was worth a shot. Besides, she had to try, or she might never make it through a date with an angel boy capable of thwarting her self-control and setting her on fire with a single look.

So she skulked through the rain as the twilight fell, her feet carrying her to a bridge over the river that ebbed and flowed like the tide. She cast a look around before stepping over the guardrail into a prohibited area of the canal, pushing her way through branches and bushes on her descent down the muddy slope to find flat ground beneath the bridge.

The river was a safe enough target. It swallowed each blast, the green blobs of molten plasma gulped up by the muddy water. Steam rose, and not just from the water, but from herself as well. She soon shed her slicker and her sweater, and she briefly considered that she might have been better off wearing her gear out here, but it was a little late in the evening to go back for it now.

She only stopped when she heard a vehicle stop on the bridge above. She realized, with a sudden frigid wave of dread, that a fogbank was flowing out from the downstream end of the bridge. It was sure to have caught some eyes.

Heaving for breath, she held her fire – and was glad she could finally recall it – as she pressed to the wall and waited for the curious witness to leave. When they didn’t move along, she held her breath and listened for a car door. Something. Anything.

The warmth burned down her arms again, and she was second-guessing if she really had her alien fire back under control after all – when finally she heard wet tires rolling. But the vehicle didn’t go far. She heard the engine cut, a door, and soon heard the squelching of footsteps coming down the muddy bank.

If it was an officer coming to investigate, her things were simply too far away to risk diving forward and grabbing. She’d be seen for sure. So she bolted the other direction, hooking around the wall and glancing back under the bridge before staring miserably up the embankment thick with vegetation above her.

Passing through it silently was hopeless, but she did her best, glad the recent rains had at least saturated the sticks and leaves enough to soften the sound of her slippery passage.

She ducked as she reached the top, fully expecting an officer or two, or at least a police cruiser – and felt her face heat when she saw the furthest thing from it.

An old brown station wagon with a taped-up back window was parked on the side of the road.

And behind her down the hill, someone was clearing his throat.

“You know there’s a flash flood advisory, don’t you?” Dr. Drakken called up at her, although he was the one presently standing in the danger zone by the water’s edge. He held her abandoned sweater and slicker draped over an arm. He nodded to the fogbank rolling slowly downriver and added, “Lovely work, by the way.”

“What are you doing here?” she snipped down at him as he began the awkward climb up the overgrown slope after her.

“Errands,” he answered curtly. That was hard to believe when he had henchmen to run errands for him.

“What kind of errands?”

Drakken shook his head in exasperation and snorted. “Must I tell you everything?”

“Yes.”

Halfway up the slope, he paused and looked up from watching his footing. Shilo didn’t like his silence, and she had the feeling the awkward reply, “Post office,” was little more than a bluff if not a total lie.

“Have you been spying on me again?” she pressed when he reached her at the top.

“Wh—nngg! No!” he sputtered, his face turning a funny shade she knew wasn’t from the nippy weather. She might have liked to see him flustered and choking on words if she weren’t still skeptical he wasn’t lying to her face. He shoved her things at her to free his hands for flailing. “I was just – I was – I heard it was supposed to rain. I was going to give you a ride from Buckley’s, but then I got distracted and ran a little late and—”

“Try four hours late,” Shilo snorted.

His lips pressed into a flat line and he grunted and glared away toward the car. “Better late than never though, right?” He skulked off for the vehicle.

Shilo was hesitant to follow, but the rain was coming down heavier by the moment. “I’ll forgive you for being creepy and stalking me – on one condition,” she haggled.

“Which is…?” he wearily prompted with a roll of his wrist.

“Cow-n-Chow drive-thru and swing by the movie shack,” she said as she came around to the passenger side. “Those are my demands.” She should have asked for a target range, but she didn’t consider it in time. At least she was good and cool now. Burning off some energy might have done her a fair bit of good after all.

“A small price to pay,” sighed Drakken. Meeting her inside the car, he added, “And I wasn’t stalking you. I was on my way to knock on your door like any respectable – uhm – to ask you—nngh!” He curled his lip and pushed his glasses up to rub his eyes.

“Any respectable what to ask me what?”

“Nothing.”

A few minutes later, the cross man was eating fries from a bag between his knees, and the sloshing windshield wipers couldn’t keep up with the downpour. They hadn’t spoken outside of placing an order at the window and were now cutting through town to find the rental shack before closing. She hadn’t expected Drakken to strike up conversation – or if she had, she’d expected some jeering about angel boy – but instead, he gave a morose hum and looked over at her.

“What was that about anyway? Under the bridge?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that. You want me to be honest with you. And I told you, so it’s your turn.”

“No, you didn’t. You didn’t give me a full answer,” Shilo retorted, hopeful to divert the subject away from poorly-managed alien fire she couldn’t keep contained.

“I was coming to see you,” Drakken shot back at her. “I thought – geez, Shego! I thought that was clear already.”

“Why?” Better yet, why was she raising her voice?

“Because I – I don’t know. Hoping I can change your mind about – what was it you called him? Angel boy?”

Shilo pressed against the door. “What?”

“I was just hopeful we’d get out Friday, alright?” Drakken grouched. “Just us. Maybe a henchman. Or not. I thought we’d go do something thrilling and dangerous, like crossing state lines in this piece of crap. Because you’re right! You’re absolutely right. I need to get out sometimes. And it turns out, I do enjoy getting out with you.”

She watched him swallow and his brow knit into deep creases. And she gave a frustrated sigh, deciding not to fault him. At least he was being honest. Or at least she had to trust he was. She hugged herself. “Next Friday night. I promise,” she said. “But you’re gonna let me do this with – with what’s his face, and you’re not gonna stop me. You got that?”

Drakken was quiet. She didn’t miss his knuckles turning white as he gripped the wheel. “Loud and clear,” he grunted.

“Don’t be such a sore loser, Doc,” she grumbled, reaching into her own bag to pull out a pinch of overly-salted fries. “It’s not what you think.”

He scoffed. “Then what is it?”

She slumped back and kicked her muddy heels up on the dash. “I have a score to settle.” She couldn’t give him any more detail than that. She’d figure it out when she crossed that bridge. She knew only one thing – she’d make angel boy pay retribution, one way or another.

Drakken was quiet for a moment before he grumbled, “I am not a sore loser. I didn’t lose anything.” Shilo couldn’t help laughing a little at his frown. “I’m just – it’s nothing crucial – I’m just a little pissed off to have Friday plans pushed off the table, that’s all.”

“Live and learn,” she said around a mouthful, and shrugged. “Don’t set your heart on anything involving an us without consulting me first. ‘Kay?”

She had to take his harumph as a grunt of agreement.

There was no reason to nod up to her darkened apartment and suggest he come upstairs. It wasn’t a feeble attempt to butter him up – because there was no reason to be apologetic for the clash of plans, much less apologetic for the existence of a boy who could stir something wretched in her. She had a movie, and movies were better with company. That was why Drakken followed her up the stairs.

The heater was kicked into operation and shoes were kicked off. Drakken’s jacket hung next to her slicker on the rack. He grudgingly agreed to the chore of popping the tape in while Shilo made the popcorn as the previews played.

She couldn’t help stealing a peek over her shoulder at the man kneeling before her television balanced on a small shelf. He was a decidedly better sight on her shaggy rug than the hoodlum with the mutt. And unlike the hoodlum, she might have been at least a little compelled to be a good host to the rogue doctor presently threatening to disassemble her malfunctioning remote from his spot on the floor.

No sooner had the stray thought of inviting the man onto her bed – to make up for lack of a couch – crossed her mind did she come to the jarring realization that she had in fact not burned herself out. A soft popping sound wasn’t coming from the microwave – but rather the bubble and ooze of her glow escaping her palms.

A small gasp slipped out, and Drakken’s tired stare turning back at her didn’t ease the flush of heat. She hid her hands behind her back and slunk off to the bathroom.

There, she locked the door and wrung her hands.

She still felt watched, but she knew it was only her imagination. She found herself facing the sink. She squeezed her eyes shut and doused the licks of plasmic flame crawling over her hands and up her wrists under a stream of icy water, and all the while the orange bottle stared down at her.

There was no reason for her nerves to spike now. She wanted to blame it on the medication’s side-effects, or withdrawals, or something. Because it couldn’t be Drakken sitting in the other room, ready to watch a movie with her. That would complicate things.

Fire barely subdued for the moment, Shilo gripped the edge of the counter, telling herself she wouldn’t – yet one hand pried away, and the other had a pill in the palm a moment later. She drew a shaky breath, broke it in half, and nipped a piece off that, just like she used to on the average rough day in between classes. It was only a fraction of a dose. Unless big brother had upped the potency, it should be just enough to take the edge off without the risk of knocking her out cold. She’d get a little drowsy at the very most, she assured herself.

Just as bitter as she remembered, the crumb dissolved on her tongue before she could swallow. She resisted the urge to retch.

The smell of burnt popcorn all but yanked her from the bathroom then. She swore as she burst out the door, and startled to find Drakken dumping the remainder of blackened kernels into the trash. Her face heated, but no more than it should have.

“Most of it survived,” Drakken informed with a nod back to a bowl on the counter.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, and ducked back into the bathroom for another moment to change. She returned once and for all a minute later, dressed in full cotton PJs of a dingy shade of green, feeling just a little overdressed after last night and twice as flustered to consider it now. She almost wished she’d been under the influence, just for something to blame the rash decision on.

She tugged at the hems of her sleeves as she passed the man sitting on her floor again, and took up a spot at the head of her bed. He made no comment on her jammies. Good. She’d thwack him if he did.

As the movie opened up to the sound of sirens, Shilo shifted in place where she sat on the edge of the mattress, just close enough for her company to hand the bowl of popcorn up to her. She nibbled for a few minutes before shifting slightly again and stopping herself from patting the spot next to her. “Why don’t you sit up here?” she blurted anyway.

Drakken slouched, his legs kicked out and crossed at the ankle, arms folded over his chest. “Thank you, no,” he said stubbornly. “I’m good.”

Her eyebrows knit together at the blatant rebuff. Without pausing to think, she reached down to grab him by the hair at the top of his head, giving it a small tug as she crossly ordered, “Get your stupid ass off the floor.” At the first tingle, she snapped her hand away in time for sparks to glint at her fingertips. She wiped her hand on her shirt as if to erase the sensation.

Grunting, Drakken hefted himself up to slouch on the edge next to her, and he only sat straighter to accommodate the bowl relocated to his lap. Shilo migrated away to the corner, a pillow behind her and another to hug. As the new release rolled on, the unhappy blue man relaxed, inching backward until his feet were off the floor and his back was against the wall. He made headway on the popcorn, but she didn’t complain. She didn’t have much of an appetite at the moment anyway with arcs of blood spraying onscreen. Not that she could trust herself to reach for any popcorn with her hands still threatening to bloom with green embers.

In vain hope of resisting the siren call of the suppressant, she worked up the nerve to lean over and reach under her bed, fishing out the stylized glass water pipe. She cleared her throat, and just barely saw dark eyes flick her way past the massacre reflecting off his lenses. “You wanna break this in with me?” she quipped as nonchalantly as she could.

Drakken didn’t seem particularly alarmed or impressed by the paraphernalia she presented, but he’d seen it before. His only reply was a withering look.

Indulging anyway with or without him crossed her mind, but Shilo sheepishly tucked it back beneath the bed instead. “I’ll take that as a no,” she mumbled, and scoffed. “Pssh. You’re no fun.”

Drakken opened his mouth to argue, but a scream from the television cut him off. He didn’t look like he was enjoying the movie, but he’d yet to leave or suggest any other tape in her meager collection.

Sighing, Shilo relaxed into her bed and wriggled a bit to get comfortable, trying and failing to make the best of her limited space with her guest in the way. Uncomfortable or not, the weight of the day settled over her, weighing her eyelids down soon enough. Or maybe it was the fraction of a pill doing her in. She wondered if the supposed villain would be courteous enough turn off the TV and lock the door on his way out when the movie was over, but she didn’t let herself count on it.

After a while of watching the blurry shapes through her lashes, movement in the dark from the corner of her eye drew her sluggish attention.

She almost lifted her head to ask if he was leaving, but kept her silence as she watched him pull a square of paper from a back pocket. Her drowsiness slowly lifted as he unfolded the slip and frowned miserably. He chewed his lip and cast a fleeting glance her way, only to jump when she croaked, “What?”

He blinked back to the television, paper crumpled and hidden between his knees. “It’s nothing – ow!” he yelped when she drove her heel hard into his hip. “For fuck’s sake, Shego. It’s personal.”

“Whatever,” she mumbled, relaxing back into the pillow she hugged beneath her. Feigning acceptance or disinterest didn’t last long. Soon she was sitting up again, making a snappy grab for the wadded note he couldn’t hold out of reach in time.

He barked her alias again in annoyance as she scooted back to her corner to unfold the slip. She stuck a heel out again to keep him at a distance. “That is none of your business!” he spat at her.

“RSVP! You’re invited,” she began aloud with flair, and settled to mumbling along, one hand precariously lit to read the hand-written invitation on floral-print notepaper smelling of powder and flowers of a variety she couldn’t place. A polite invitation to thanksgiving dinner at Mrs. Lipsky’s home in Middleton, California, finished with a guilt-tripping dig, P.S. We miss you.

Her eyes glanced over the plus-one invitation once more before she arched an eyebrow at the purple-faced man resigned to sitting on the edge of the bed, gripping his head.

“Mrs. Lipsky? I didn’t know you were married—”

“That’s my mother,” he spat venomously.

Shilo almost winced, but instead she nodded. “Ah. That makes more sense, I guess. Um. Here.” She passed the invitation back. He snatched it and stuffed the crumpled paper back into a pocket, and she stared for a second too long before sitting back against the wall. “So. You gonna go?”

“No,” he grunted, barely audible. He’d gone back to clutching his head.

“Is the cooking that bad?” Shilo quipped in a meek attempt to make light of his disturbance.

Drakken’s nostrils flared and his glare bore down at her, and she had to take a wild guess he was deeply offended on his mother’s behalf. She made a mental note not to insult the woman she knew nothing about, or her cooking. He didn’t bite back at her for the comment though, and instead grumbled, “I can’t go.”

“Why not?” she pressed coolly. She relaxed back down on her side, pillows bundled under her.

“I haven’t seen Mother since—,” he groaned and deflated. By the light of a stormy night scene glowing from the television, he looked bluer than she’d ever seen him before.

“Since?”

He heaved a defeated sigh, and she barely heard him mumble, “Since before the incident.” A small gesture to himself sufficed. It shed a little light on why he was having such a bad day.

“Oh.” She quirked her mouth and shrank down a little. She had nothing to be guilty for. The chain of events wasn’t her fault. “How’d you get mixed up with Gemini anyway?” she blurted, and immediately considered that maybe she should have kept her lips zipped.

“I don’t want to dredge up – alright! Stop kicking me,” he groused, shoving her heel roughly away. “I suppose it all began in a Hellhole I bussed when I stole the game plan from one of his agents. And then after you – after I let you go.” He glowered and chewed on something bitter for a moment before spitting it out with some more frustrated gestures thrown in. “Right after. They tried to intercept but got me instead. I was interrogated, and he was about to off me himself until I pled for my life and offered my services and allegiance. It was not my proudest moment. Are you satisfied?”

She knew Gemini. She knew he could be cruel and merciless, holding little regard for human life. Drew Lipsky of four years ago must have shown promise, whatever he’d done to sway the head of the criminal spy organization. She tried to imagine her bumbling rogue doctor, still pasty-skinned and stinking of pickles, walking on eggshells around the leader of the pack. How he’d survived more than a day without being dropped down a chute to be fed to piranhas or crocodiles was a wonder. It had to be a sore spot.

A mousy little, “Sorry,” was the only thing Shilo could think to say.

“For what?” he grumped.

She shrugged halfheartedly. “For getting you mixed up with villainy?”

Suddenly the dismal man’s shoulders shook, but before she could suspect a sob, he threw his head back and a bitter chortle erupted from him. He was well on his way to maniacal laughter, and Shilo was taken aback as he laughed in the face of her sentiment. She wished she could take it back as he shot a nasty sneer over at her. For a fleeting moment, there was something sinister behind his eyes to remind her there may have very well been something to his self-proclaimed villain title after all.

“Sister, I was born twisted. You and Gemini were just the breakthrough I needed,” he stated with a growl like corrosive acid, maybe the same acid burning a hole through his soul. She’d like to believe he was more resilient than that – but that wouldn’t make him very evil, would it? That was what she was with him for, wasn’t it?

She felt rather foolish now for lying down so comfortably. For being comfortable in his presence at all. Too stubborn and jaded to let him know he was capable of worrying her though, she kept herself in check and maintained a deadpan stare on him until the darkness behind his eyes lightened up a little.

“Twisted, huh?” she jibbed with a small chuckle. “You seem like just a big softy to me.”

There was a hint of something genuine in the smile he cracked. “Oh, I’ve got skeletons,” he assured. “You should see my basement.”

She rolled her eyes at his misuse of the expression.

[soundwavereporting]

Presenting...RODAN’S BIRTHDAY, written for @fauveshumankaiju​. Written entirely by hand, and then frantically typed up whilst trying not to look at the screen. Any and all errors are entirely mine. Bonus picture of the og draft at the end!

The snow had stopped falling and settled onto a comfortable, chilly layer of white on the ground when his alarm woke Rodan up.

Ni was already gone—morning person he was not, but a shipment of some kind of fancy, non-IKEA furniture was set to arrive this morning.

Meanwhile, Ichi and San remained in bed with him.

“Happy birthday,” Ichi mumbled into his back.

Rodan was laying comfortably in Ichi’s arms, and San was comfortably settled in Rodan’s arms. Reluctantly, Rodan stretched, feeling Ichi grasp his waist, hearing San mumble a protest.

“Gotta  work,” Rodan said, fumbling for his phone. He unlocked it and swiped past a flurry of birthday texts and Facebook messages. Rick had said he was calling out today, wasn’t he? And Quetx had been using her non-rollover PTO this week; she wouldn’t be back till New Year’s Eve at the earliest. Which…gave him an idea.

Rodan sat up. “Hey. You doing anything today?”

Sneaking two-thirds of the Ghidquorum into the lab wasn’t hard. The security guard couldn’t care less who showed up as long as one of them showed a badge—and Rodan did. San was smiling—a genuine smile, Rodan was pleased to notice. He loved San’s smiles. Ichi’s face was a careful mask of cool neutrality. Rodan hadn’t planned on Ichi coming—not that he minded, of course. It was just that he had extended the invitation assuming Ichi would be busy, and only San would be free. Of course, where Ichi went during business hours, his laptop followed, and Rodan was quick to provide him with the lab’s wifi password.

As he had expected, the lab was deserted, just as he had left it. San set down his bag and wandered over to the locked cabinet and began fumbling with the lock, ignoring Rodan’s offer of the key with a wave of his hand. Ichi pulled out his laptop and settled on one of the vacant desks, and Rodan went to work.

Rodan had left a batch of samples simmering overnight. He examined them, then sat at his desk, absently scribbling notes.

“Your handwriting is…charming,” San said carefully. “Is that the correct word?”

Rodan snorted. “Not all of us went to ritzy private schools that taught cursive.”

“Fair point.” San seated himself on one of the lab stools and continued to watch Rodan write.

“Any plans tonight?” San asked, and Rodan narrowed his eyes.

“Is that an invitation for a date, or…?”

San visibly brightened. Rodan had persuaded him to put on a pair of safety goggles. They sat perched on San’s forehead (endearingly, Rodan thought), looking for all the world like an earnest grad student. Impulsively, Rodan leaned forward and bumped his nose against San’s.

San smiled.

“Monsuta Island Bar? Six-thirty?” From this distance ,it looked like San had six eyes. Three Sans. What a concept. “I don’t know, San…” Rodan pulled away and pretended to consult his nonexistent itch. “I did have a date tonight…”

Before San’s face could fall—the man did still have trouble picking up American sarcasm. Rodan pressed a quick kiss to San’s nose. “Of course I’ll be there.”

San’s smile lit up the room. He busied himself with rifling through a former coworker’s desk, and Rodan slipped out of his seat to bother Ichi.

Out of the three of them, Ichi was the best dressed—he had at least put on a suit that probably cost more than Rodan made in a year. Rodan’s phone buzzed—Goji, probably, wanting to know if he would be at the bar today. That would be…interesting. Gojira and the Ghidorah’s truce—or whatever it was—had been in effect for a grand total of 36ish hours.

Privately, Rodan wanted to hope it would last. Ichi had taken his hand, promised him that they would not go after Gojira until the new year, if Gojira agreed. For Rodan. All for Rodan.

And Gojira had agreed, which had lifted a burden off Rodan’s shoulders he hadn’t known existed.

Regardless, tonight would still be…interesting.

The rest of the day slipped by quickly.

San was content to create his own strange concoctions in the junked flasks and test tubes, though his habit of peering directly over the mixtures and sniffing and Rodan on edge. Ichi had situated himself on Rick’s desk, in front of the most neutral-looking of the lab’s walls as he Skyped with his multitudes of global business partners.

At exactly 4pm, the door to the lab opened, and Ni stepped in. Dressed in an elaborate gold and black jump suit made by a designer whose name Rodan couldn’t even begin to pronounce, Ni peered at the three of them over his golden sunglasses.

San looked up from his experiments.

“How did you find us?”

Ni blinked. “I track all of your phones,” he said, as though that were the most normal thing in the world. He turned back to Rodan. “Are you going to wear that to Chez Honrie?”

“He knows,” Ichi said, without looking up. Ni’s lips twitched. “You know, we could simply purchase that little bar,” Ni offered. “If not demolish it entirely, at least get it up to minimum health and safety codes.”

Rodan snorted, trying to quash the instinctive panic rising in his chest. That was something they would do, wasn’t it—and they would think Rodan would like it. Or they would do it, because they didn’t know what else to do.

“If you close MIB down, how will Battra ever make ends meet?” Rodan joked, hoping NI wouldn’t pick up on his discomfort.

“Who?”

“The EMT’S brother,” Ichi supplied dryly. “The one you mistook for her.”

“Ah.” Somehow, Ni managed to look (slightly) sheepish without his expression changing one bit. “I did not have my glasses that night.”

“Have we agreed we’re not buying and/or renovating anything tonight?” Rodan interrupted.

hearing the tone of his voice, San had looked up from his experiments, and Rodan shoved his irritation-slash-fear down and managed what he hoped was a genuine smile. San dumped his concoction into the lab sink and washed his (ungloved, Rodan noted slightly despairingly) hands. He moved to sit beside Rodan, close enough that it felt more like solidarity than simple companionship.

“Anyway…” San looked at Ichi, who lad lost interest some seconds before and had gone back to his laptop. “Do you have anything else to complete before we leave?” San asked.

“You are apparently the most reliable employee here,” Ni added, giving the empty desks a cursory glance. “It is not surprising you refuse to resign. This place would clearly fall to ruins without you.”

Rodan smiled. He accepted the peace offering for what it was, leaving his lab coat on his chair and taking a chance, squeezed Ni’s shoulder.

“Still,” Ni said. “Are you going to wear that?”

Rodan looked down at his shirt. He had gotten into the habit of consistently doing aunty since meeting them, and this was a clean shirt.

“What’s wrong with this shirt?” Rodan asked.

It was one of his favorites, an aloha shirt Angurius had gotten for him two Christmases ago, a dark red print with orange-ish patterned dinosaurs overlaid with vague, tribal-esque patterns probably dreamt up by some white college kid for their Redbubble. But it was soft and comfortable, and entirely Rodan’s style.

“I like it,” San said.

“You like everything he wears,” Ni retorted. “I do have some shopping in the car for him. Ichi?”

Ichi shrugged.

Rodan rolled his eyes. “If the Ghidquorum is finished debating the merits of my wardrobe? I’m ready to go.”

Ichi nodded and closed his laptop, then looked up, scrunching his nose in distaste. “What is that smell?”

Rodan inclined his head to the lab sink.

San grinned. 


As it usually was, at this time of the evening, the bar was pleasantly not-crowded. Later, the other regulars would trickle in—assuming they had actually shown up for work, Battra and Hedorah’s shifts didn’t end till 7, and though Goji’s shift had ended at 6, she liked to shower and change before heading to the bar. Which left…

“Rodan!” Baragon’s dusty, eager, freckled face was the embodiment of pure, obnoxious joy.

“Baragon.” Rodan allowed himself to be pulled into a bone-crushing hug. Faintly, he heard San snickering. Ni had refused to step more than a few feet into the bar, settling down at a booth near the pool tables, looking exactly like a frightened car. Rodan wondered what it would take for him to leap out and scamper out of the bar.

“Hey.” Angurius clapped a hand on Rodan’s shoulder. “You’re wearing the shirt!”

“It’s a favorite,” Rodan said.

“Then you’ll really like this one.” Angurius held up a gift bad decorated with bright, gaudy balloons. Angurius nodded encouragingly as Rodan peeled back the white tissue paper o reveal another aloha shirt, this one a light brown color with a palm tree and volcano pattern.

Rodan wasn’t yet drunk enough to strip off his shirt—the first shot of tequila was still on his tongue—but he slipped the new shirt over the old one.

San pressed another drink into Rodan’s hand.

“Seem familiar?” He asked, and Rodan raised a brow.

“Tell me,” San said. His eyes were dark—troubled, Rodan thought—though his voice remained light.

“If you had known—” San gestured to himself, then to Ichi, then to Goji, who had just walked in, but was already glowering at Ni— “Would you have taken the drink?”

Rodan stepped up on the tips of his toes—even so, he barely came up to San’s chin. ROdan tapped his chin, and San obediently tilted his head down.

His lips were warm.

“Was that enough of an answer?”

San frowned, though his expression had visibly brightened. “I do not know—I might need some clarification, yes?”

Rodan took another sip of his drink and grinned.

San had taken a seat on Rodan’s usual barstool, and when Rodan looked at him questioningly, San smiled innocently and patted his lap.

Rodan was tempted, though he elected to sit on the barstool directly beside him. He finished off the drink and set the glass down, as it settled in his belly, warm and filling, somehow like a fire smoldering over coals.

Ichi and Gojira were talking—arguing, more likely, though it hadn’t yet turned violent—and at some point, Mother had shown up and was nursing a bottle of something bright blue and tantalizingly shiny. Paragon and Angurius had taken over the pool table. Mando and Biollante were comfortable tucked into a booth just  outside of his peripheral vision. To his left, luring by the pool table was a man Rodan didn’t immediately recognize, but looked enough like Goji at first glance that Rodan immediately labeled him as “half sibling of Goji’s”, a category that so many in Monsuta seemed to occupy.

The door jinxed again.

This time, the atmosphere seemed to darken as Gigan stepped in, and Rodan could practically see Goji’s hackles rising.

“Rodan!” And then Jet Jaguar and Megalon stepped and inside, and it seemed all was forgotten.

Privately, Rodan was grateful for…whatever Jet seemed to have going on with Gigan and Megalon; he was happy enough for the guy, but his weird redemption-seduction thing they had going on had been enough to divert some of the attention away from Rodan and the Ghidorahs.

“Merry Happy Birthday!”

Unlike the grimace-smile that was plastered on his face whenever he was on the clock, Jet’s smile was genuine. Megalon was grinning from ear to ear, holding out a set of packages out to Rodan. Genuinely curious, Rodan slipped a finger between the wrapping paper and tape and popped it open.

Ah. A book on the chemical reactions that took place during the cycling of a home aquarium. From Megalon, then. And the other gift…

“Thanks!” Rodan examined the decorative test tube-turned-pen-holder, etched with R. Rodan in clear, professional lettering. “Both of you. Really.”

Megalon beamed.

Jet and Megalon grabbed their drinks and sauntered over to Gigan, who had stopped to alternate between chatting with Ni and shooting glares at Gojira.

Rodan waved his hand, as if by magic, another drink appeared.

Fascinating. Out of habit, Rodan sat in his seat, and landed in San’s lap.

“There you are.” Rodan could hear San smiling. “Enjoying the free drinks?”

“Free?” Rodan squinted at the drink in his hand.

“For you friends as well,” San said. “We are trying to fit in here. For you.”

Rodan felt his face heat up. He turned to face San, who was staring at him with something akin to…devotion. It was nice, to be wanted, even if the ones doing the wanting were a couple of gentrifying, foreign luxury real estate developers who wanted nothing more than to squeeze him and his friends out of their homes—

“As nice as that is,” Rodan said, “I’d rather you do it for you.”

“For me?”

“For yourself,” Rodan clarified. “Because you want to.”

“Hmm.” San was still frowning, though he seemed relaxed enough. “I will have to think about that. But tonight, it is all about you. Agreed?”

Rodan smiled. “Agreed.”

The night slipped by pleasantly enough—Battra and Hedorah arrived in due time; the former had slipped Rodan a gift card and was trying to hit on Goji’s brother or half brother or whoever he was, and the latter sat at the far end of the bar, alternating between frantically texting in between shots of cheap whiskey.

Ichi and Goji were still talking about…what, Rodan wondered? Their unofficial truce? The weather? Rodan?

And Ni and Gigan had resorted to carving intricate designs on the tables—the one closest to the door already bore the marks of Ni’s first foray into the bar.

“Here.”

Rodan’s eyes widened as he took in the drink. Beautiful and beautifully on fire, all red and gold in the dim lighting.

“You finished it!”

“Compari, vodka, a dash of Mothra’s tea blends…” Manda trailed off. “Our gift to you, my friend.”

“So,” San said, after Rodan had finished his drink. “How was your birthday?”

Roan took a long look at the bar—at Angurius and Goji and Mothra, at Biollante and Manda, and Gigan and Jet and Megalon, and even Baragon. And Ichi. And Ni.

And finally, Rodan looked at San.

“The best,” Rodan said.