#it was meant to be speckled but I think I added too much water :( next time tho!!

[curious-creatures-crochet]

I’ve wanted to dye yarn since I was like 14.. (I’m 25) so since I’m an adult with funds I decided I would try it actually!! U know I don’t have the perfect materials, but I’m having fun experimenting and seeing what happens! This was my first attempt that I thought was soooo ugly until I worked up a little test stingray and I kinda like it!!

[thatslikely]

lined-paper confessions - s.s.

lined-paper confessions - stiles stilinski x gn!reader

warnings: mentions of fighting (scott and jackson predictably), strict teachers

word count: 1.5k

a/n: head full of stiles rn... requests for our favorite sarcastic boy are open right now so send some in!

Why is every teacher at Beacon Hills High the absolute worst?

Mr. Harris had just rapidly climbed your (highly opinionated) mental ranks to number one: your new least favorite educator. Giving you after-school detention, for doing nothing but watching with horror plastered on your face as Scott McCall, Stiles’ best friend, threw punches left and right at a topless, water-drenched Jackson, who reciprocated every strike as if he were nothing but a reflection. Seriously?

Previously, you had simply been sauntering down the locker-lined hall, Stiles on your right, passionately ranting about some unnamed problem that had him on edge for the past few weeks. You two turned down the empty, cinder-block-walled athletics corridor as he continued to agitatedly let off steam; the setting was decidedly unromantic given the unshakeable scent of overly pungent deodorant and mildew that was all too familiar. 

You clung to every word emitted from his mouth with an almost comical frown like it was a mug of steamy hot chocolate on a bone-chilling winter day. To your disgruntlement, however, his ramblings were stopped mid-sentence when Scott and his wealthy rival Jackson tumbled out from the dingy boys’ locker room, hands clenched in fists and eyes flaming with fury.

Stiles bent down in a rush, poorly attempting to conclude the boisterous brawl with furrowed, concerned brows, but he looked not dissimilar to a toothpick compared to the two burly teammates. 

“Detention for all of you!” Mr. Harris spat venomously as he dashed to the scene, his voice ringing above the grunts and slams that came from the fighting co-captains of the lacrosse team. “Detention now, Stilinski, McCall, Whittemore, Argent, and Y/L/N! Come on!”

You were dragged by the ear to the vacant library, a place which you often resided in whenever you studied with Stiles (often about mythical creatures, to your confusion). Posters that looked commonplace in an elementary school lined the walls, vibrantly encouraging students to pick up a book, or pen works for a writing contest of some sort.

Golden strips of fleeting sunlight peeked through the slatted blinds, and three gum wad-dotted tables were beckoning for the group of you to sit for the next two hours, or until Mr. Harris would finally decide that your soul had rotted away enough to release you.

You were sternly directed to the uncomfortably stiff chair opposite Allison’s, whose eyes shot daggers wherever they glanced. You flashed her an almost unregistrable smile, as if to say ‘hello.’ Slinging the loose straps of your backpack over your seat, your gaze flickering through the pin-drop silent room immediately locked on Stiles’ figure.

Boy, was he perfect.

The unbuttoned flannel over his shoulders speckled with mud from some vaguely mentioned adventure, his soft, tousled hair, that always had a lock out of place, his freckled face, that always bore some goofy expression, all of it. You couldn’t get enough; nothing would satiate your innermost desire for your lips to meld with his’, for your hands to intertwine through the hallways before class, after class, whenever, wherever. 

One eyebrow-cocked, knowing look from Scott in your direction sent Stiles’ umber eyes to meet yours’, an almost confused look swimming through them. He opened his mouth curiously, surely to ask a question, most likely something along the lines of, ‘is there a stain on my shirt?’, but before he could, Mr. Harris seethed, “Take your seats, now.”

Stiles whipped around, not wanting to anger Mr. Harris any further, and he took his seat. The room was quickly conquered with suffocating silence, which the snotty chemistry teacher was bent on ensuring.

You unsheathed a doodled notebook from your backpack, eventually indenting its pages with inky black strokes of various weights and thicknesses. Your habit of penning loose sketches, vague outlines, began one day in math when the clock seemed to tick aggravatingly slow, and every word from the teacher became drawled further and further until they dissolved into the hum of the air conditioning and the chewing of gum: the rhythm of the classroom.

The unconscious lines eventually formed to a familiar portrait: Stiles. Some would be tempted to call him your muse, your kindling of an elegant flame of creativity. You’d always nod your head in complicity more than agreement, for the smart, albeit rebellious boy meant eons more than that to you.  

You had just hit your stride, your wrist’s movements thoughtless and easy, when someone- rather something, hit the back of your head lightly with a small crunch. It was a small, scrunched piece of loose-leaf paper, ripped at the edge. 

You turned your head to the direction that the projectile was tossed at, but both Scott and Stiles appeared to be very, very engrossed in a hushed conversation, neither of their postures attempting to suggest anything suspicious.

You smoothed out the paper of the angular fruitwood table in front of you, attempting to read the almost unintelligible handwriting.

Hey :)

(this is from stiles, by the way)

Your mood lightened a smidge, a grin bubbling onto your face. You tore a piece of paper out of your notebook along the perforation.

Before you threw it in an arch in Stiles’ direction, you penned a response to his note.

Hey ;) how’s detention treating you?

(This is from y/n, by the way)

Crunch.

not great, as expected. I think I saw harris pick his nose. do you have any bleach to douse my eyes in by any chance?

You chuckled a little, a small smirk glimmering on your face for the first time this excruciatingly long afternoon.

Sorry, I’m all out. used it all after I saw Jackson shirtless. how do you survive in the locker room every day?

A smile lifted on Stiles’ face, one so inflated with abundant excitement (and hormones), he might have burst at the seams.

“Man, you’re down bad,” Scott simpered, nudging his best friend’s forearm.

“Shut up,” Stiles hissed with an eye roll.

just keep your head down and you should be fine. one time, Greenberg looked at him a little too long and he nearly turned to stone, like jackson’s abs were medusa or something.

“Passing notes, are we?” Mr. Harris queried with a malicious scowl, his knuckles white from asphyxiating a helpless ballpoint pen. He slinked over to the tables you and Stiles rested uncomfortably in, raising his brow in heavy suspicion. 

Stiles’ deep, dark chocolate-colored eyes widened in worry. “No, sir.”

“I’m keeping my eye on you, Stilinski. You too, Y/L/N.” 

As soon as Harris was out of sight, perched back at the desk and typing furiously, another wad of paper tapped your occiput. 

hey, y/n, there’s something i’ve been meaning to ask you for a while.

The note, while its contents wouldn’t usually spark too much concern, was subtly unlike the few ones you had previously received. The lines of each letter were neater, more methodical. The small blots of ink resting at the conclusion of every stroke were larger, deeper, as if the nib of his pen had rested in the liquidly black pool for a second too long.

Your face scrunched with confusion, and upon noticing your shift in emotion, Allison nimbly tapped your wrist and mouthed, ‘Is everything okay?’

You nodded with wrinkled brows while shakily scratching a reply.

what is it?

Your knee bounced up and down reflexively, clicking from your rapidly retracting pen echoed through the idle shelves and arrays of desktops. It felt like years, centuries even, before a reply finally tumbled at your feet.

do you like me?

(circle one)

yes? or yes? 

Your jaw nearly fell to the carpeted floor in shock as if gravity had been multiplied; your speedily thrumming heart was doing flip after flip in the cavity of your chest. Without a second thought, you quickly circled both of the ‘yes’es as if there were no friction under the ink-dispersing tip of your pen. Before cupping the piece of paper, you scribbled out an additional little note.

wanna go out this saturday?

Stiles’ anxious gaze bore into your hunched-over figure as you giddily wrote your reply. What if you rejected him (even though the page lacked a ‘no’ option, meaning that you would have to add one, which was even worse)? Was it possible for him to ask to go to the bathroom and just never return? Are there any secret werewolf abilities that Scott could use to make him disintegrate on the spot? 

But his overthinking was soon alleviated when he received your response, this time neatly folded into a paper heart instead of a crunchy ball. Each crease was crisp and thoughtful; he didn’t have to unfold your expert origami to know which option you circled (or lack thereof).

He grinned goofily like an idiot as his chocolate eyes glazed your response a million times over, taking in every letter, every stroke, the dot in your ‘i’ or the question mark ending your simple but heart-rate-escalating proposal.

Crunch.

stiles stilinski/teen wolf taglist:

it’s a date then. i’ll pick you up at 6? passenger seat’s already reserved for you ;)

@loulouloueh @when-you-wish-upon-a-starrynight @ronbrokemyheart @dylobilysmomg

if your name is crossed out, that means I couldn't take you! check your visibility settings so I can @ you next time!

fill out this form to be added!

[emperor-palpaminty]

could you do the going undercover as a married couple leading to realisation of feelings trope with Wrecker?

CAN I EVER 🤩

Warnings: F L U F F F F FF F F F F F, TOO MUCH FLUFF, CUDDLES, DONT LOOK AT ME- ALSO CONFESSIONS (sorta) ON A BEACH (it's a lake but I'll count it)

The beach was damp, more like a lake than the sea. Wrecker crossed his legs as he settled back on the rock, rubbing his hands and looking over the crashing waves, rivuleting over one another in tandem. He ran his thumb over the ridged surface of the shell, thinking back on the mission for a moment- he and the special operative that had been working with the Batch for a while had to go undercover on this villa, and do some long term work.

That meant sticking together, joined at the hip in a small house, undercover as a married couple. He was surprised at how much he enjoyed it.

Wrecker chuckled to himself. Was he really so shocked? He really loved her, truly- and it was bizarre even to him how well he knew her. He didn't think he could know someone as well as he knew his brothers. But here he was, collecting orange and white speckled shells, and each one was a thought of her.

The interior was smooth, a pale pink, a bit like her cheeks when she woke up from sleeping on her arm all night. Her face was always so red when she got up in the morning, blotched on one side. It was so... cute. Everything was cute to him- he was a giant, and he knew this, but she just stood out to every other small or adorable thing he saw. She was a fully rounded person and he wanted to know that person the best he could.

Sand crunched behind him, and a hand landed gently on his back. "That's a conch." Her finger tapped lightly on the surface of the shell he was examining. "They're my favorites."

"Oh!" Wrecker opened his hand, watching her fingers with a gentle fascination as she took the shell. "I found it. Thought you could have it."

"Thanks." She chuckled, lowering herself on the rock next to him.

Moments that felt like hours passed, and they say in comfortable silence, the waves lapping closer and closer to their makeshift seats. She tucked her legs up to her chest, eyes moving back to the shell. Wrecker was normally more comfortable in sound- people who loved one another shouldn't ever have a quiet room. But this silence was a warm one, and welcome one, and besides, it wasn't that quiet with the ocean at their door.

"Hey, Wreck?" She said, softly.

He hummed in response, glancing over at her. She shifted, not looking at him, eyes still plastered to the shell. "What's up?"

"I really like working with you. A lot." She smiled at the shell. Smiles held a lot of information. Her smile was soft, tender, unlike her unruly fighting side.

“I like it, too. With you, I mean.” Wrecker grinned and looked down at his own shell, the wide shape not even covering his whole palm. “You’re always a lot of fun.” There was another pause, somewhat more weighted as he added, “I can do anything with you, you know.”

She glanced at him, a grin splitting her face. “Same. But with you.”

Their smiles were exchanged, bright, big, and Wrecker felt his palms warm under the shell. It didn’t matter how much the tide came in, he would be fine with sitting by here in the setting sun and looking at her.

“Kark!” She stood, splashing back into the water, sputtering. “The tide-”

Wrecker laughed and hopped off, walking around the rocks and helping her up. “Here.”

She planted her hands in his and stood, giggling. “I’m soaked.”

Shrugging his massive shoulders, Wrecker pulled her around the rocks. “Yeah. But that’s okay, you have extra clothes.”

The woman laughed, a beautiful and throaty sound as they trekked up the sandy hill towards their undercover house. But the whole time, her hands stayed in his, and Wrecker felt her squeeze his fingers- and this time, it wasn’t just for the cover of the role they were playing.

[jadelynlace]

NSFW Prompts / Ink Drinker Modern Vikings AU Request [Ivar x F!Reader]

full series is here

request by: @quantumlocked310 

author’s note: you can find the complete NSFW prompt list here, and you can find the request by the love of my life, I mean @quantumlocked310 here. also, see if you can spot my new favorite HC for this series!

content warnings: we’re taking another trip (no, not in our favorite rocket ship), back to before these two dumb asses were out to everyone. even though, everyone basically knew it. this is mostly just sweet fluff, like you’ll need an insulin shot.

prompt: “to skinny dip with my muse”

synopsis: a weekend retreat proves to you how much Ivar is already devoted.

~

“Ivar went up to the lake house for the weekend, he said ‘for inspiration’ but I’m sure it to fuck,” Ubbe said. 

“Oh, I bet Y/N went up there too!” Hvitserk laughed. “I’ll have to text her, see what her excuse is.”

“I wonder how much longer they’re going to hide it from us, they’re practically a couple anyways.” Ubbe groaned, tossing the popcorn through the air to land on his tongue.

“Do you know how hard it is not to turn to her in the ambulance and just go “so how big is my little brother’s dick, Y/N’?” Hvitserk said. “I just want to see the look on her face before she kills me.”

“Probably the same as yours,” Ubbe started. “You two are fraternal twins after all.”

“Thanks, Ubbe, not a thought I wanted to think.” Hvitserk groaned.

The drive isn’t very long, low hum to the playlist in the mustang, your reflection in the glass as you tell Ivar about the week’s worth of calls, detail by ever loving disgusting detail. And not once does he stop you, not once does he grimace or groan, he tells you to keep going and he asks you questions about such as you blabber to him. The sun had just set as the gravel road takes to the tires, crunching as the engine slowed, rolling around the bend of the driveway and parking next to the cabin. You’re silent as you gaze at the view, pure water with the rays of diminishing sun and the breeze blows an immediate calmness through your whole body. 

Dotting the sky with a speckle of tiny lights, when night finally crept over, you two had taken to the blanket on the small patch of grass that lead to the dock. Cobble stone path in between you and the shore line as you rested your head across Ivar’s chest. Steady beating of his heart in your ears while his hands never stopped their small strokes over your shoulders, tracing your spine, but going no lower, no dirtier than he was known for. Almost as if he was trying to gauge your time together with something other than the tangles of sheets and the moans, and you gladly accepted this side of Ivar. The peaceful, relaxed side.

“Those three dots are—”

“The summer triangle,” Ivar answers. “And those, make up Sagittarius,” He adds, pulling you closer to him as the summer air laps at bare skin. 

“What about that one?” You ask, pointing your finger back at the sky. 

“That’s Libra—kinda like you,” Ivar answers through a breath of clouds as he chuckles before pulling your hand back down as he places a peck over you knuckles. 

“I’m not a Libra, actually, I’m a—”

“I meant the air sign part,” Ivar snorts. “You have strong intellect and a good mind,” He adds, taking his finger down the bridge of your nose. Your face wrinkles into a smile as your own eyes sparkle in the moon light, rivaling the great sky before you two. 

“I didn’t know you knew about constellations,” You whisper. 

“My mother used to bring me outside at night when I couldn’t sleep and she would show me the stars, and tell me the tales about each one. Sometimes I made myself stay awake just to hear her talk,” Ivar hums, turn of his lips against your forehead.

“You think I have a good mind?” You whisper, curling back up against him, inhaling the scent of his cologne from his neck line and he only hums as you nuzzle closer. “Not a dirty one?”

“I never said good can’t mean dirty,” Ivar laughs, bringing and arm out to his side to crack his elbow, popping it with a snap before curling it back around you. “Did you tell Hvitserk what you were doing this weekend?”

“No, I don’t always have to talk to him, goof ball. And he doesn’t always need to know what I’m doing, even if it’s you.” And Ivar only snorts.

“I didn’t just bring you out here for sex,”

“Oh, you’re going to kill me? Great, thank you.”

“I can’t spend time with you, without my dick being inside of you?” Ivar asks and there was a tone in his question that warranted a serious answer, like he was baring his soul and opening it before you in the night sky.

“You can, Ivar. I really like it actually,” You answer, pushing yourself up and pecking the corner of his mouth. His eyes are closed as you do so, and he fears if he opens them you’re not going to be there—it’ll all have been a dream and he’s asleep in his bed in his flat, cold and alone and sad. But they finally peel apart and catch the moon light, glimmering and lightening and you lean down to kiss his mouth, only to pull back up so you can look at him. “Your eyes are really blue…” You hum.

“I let my Dad know that you said that,” Ivar teases, cheeky smirk and you only giggle, lean back down to peck his mouth a final time but his hand stops you. Holding your head near his as his mouth takes on a war against yours, a low vibration through Ivar’s chest as he kisses you, and you can feel it from where your hand is stationed. You’re moved slowly, pushed back along the blanket and Ivar is over you, holding his weight on his forearms as his lips move with yours. It’s a slow dance they take to, a waltz that’s not hurried like most of his kisses have been. He’s savoring you now, enjoying the hours with just you and no worry for the moment you two might be caught by someone. And Ivar realizes this is what he likes more—most of all so far, between the two of you, the hidden times alone where he can enjoy you, savor you and worship you like the Goddess you are.

Your nails rake against his neck as he settles between your bent knees, nose squishing against yours and you moan as one of his hands takes on a journey down your curves. Supple touches and soft strokes from his fingerprints gracing you, touching you like a prized relic he wants to admire. Ivar’s mouth finally pulls back enough as he rests his forehead against yours, and when you open your eyes to peek up, his are still closed and there’s a soft smile on his swollen lips.

“Do you want to go swimming?” He asks suddenly.

“Yes, I love the thought of whatever is lurking in those waters having a chance to touch me.” You say back.

“I’ll hold you,” Ivar starts, moving away. “It’ll be fine trust me,” And he’s pulling you up to sit, peeling his own shirt off and then taking yours with you and you can’t help but laugh as he moves. Fingers unhooking your bra and his lips trace your shoulder blades as he works.

“Ivar—no—not fucking naked!” You squeak as he lifts you up.

“I can throw you in?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” You hiss as he wraps you in his arms. “I will give you blue balls for the next six months,”

“Noted,” Ivar chuckles, bare feet slipping into the shore line and you shriek quietly as the water graces the backs of your thighs, chilling the heated skin and your arms are wrapped around Ivar for dear life.

“We’re not having sex in the lake,” You mumble against him and he nods, lets out a fake whine and you laugh as you feel his hands swarm your back. “And you’re going to cut your feet on the rocks,”

“Would you stop worrying for thirty seconds?” Ivar asks you, his hands dipping into the lake before he lets the water trickle down your back.

“My record is twenty, but I can try,” You answer, lips on his neck as the same wet hands start against the ends of your hair, easing you into the lake as you shiver against him slightly. “Feels nice,” You whisper and he hums as you take your own hand and drip water over his shoulder.

“Thanks for coming up with me,” Ivar says to you suddenly and you move your head away to look at him when he talks.

“Of course, Ivar,” You smile back and he can still see it, even in the darkness of the evening as you push your mouth against his gently. His hands skim your thighs, around the swell of your ass and take to your hips. You hum against him as his hands roam, sending butterflies through you. “We’re still not having sex in the lake,”

“I’ll be quick,” Ivar tries.

“As suppose to what?” You tease and Ivar scoffs. His noise makes you laugh and there’s water splashed in your face a second later; small waves you’re eager to give back before laughter rings between the two of you. “I’m only teasing, you know that I like it.” You giggle and you sag against him as he relaxes beneath the water. 

“I like it too,” Is all Ivar replies as you two stay still, relishing in each others company as the lake moves around your bodies. You know Ivar’s caught feelings, it’s so evident in how he’s holding you, how he’s being around you, and you keep you mouth closed under tight lock and key, and simply enjoy the moment. Because you know that you’ve caught them too.

Ink Drinker Tags:

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*please message me to let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series/etc. are also welcomed, as well as feedback.*

full masterlist can be found here.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Withheld {One-Shot}***

Chris Evans x Reader

Warning: Some Fluff, NSFW, SMUT, Slight Angst, Lots Of Words

Words: 5.7k

Note: I had a hard time coming up with something that reader, Y/N would be pissed about without bringing some angst. I began writing this at 6am, so this is what my brain came up with. I hope you all enjoy it.

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jesus, I can’t wait to see you. it’s been way too long.”

 You smiled as you stared at him on the FaceTime call. You loved being able to hear how much he missed you. he didn’t need to say the actual words, you could tell.

 “I know, six weeks is a long time.”

 On the screen you watched as Chris stretched like a preening cat across your bed. You couldn’t wait to trail your fingers across his chest and play with his chest hair. It had become an unconscious thing you did whenever cuddled in bed together.

 “Remember that pact we made early on when we got married?”

A smirk spread across your face because you knew just what he was talking about. “And what pact is that husband?”

 “Oh you know out after hours vows. Never go to bed angry, never fight about stupid things even if I’m being really stupid.”

 “Never leave the other without a kiss, never go more than four hours without a call or text,” you continued.

 “Uh-huh, keep going.” Chris was now smiling widely showing off every perfect tooth in his perfect mouth. No wonder this man was a movie star and lusted after by nearly ninety-eight percent of the human population.

 “No, you seem to know what you want to get to. By all means husband.”

 “Never go more than three weeks without making love,” Chris finished.

 You nodded knowing this was the vow he meant. you remembered making it. You were two bleary-eyed love drunk fools standing in a tree light beach cottage in Nantucket that was filled with red roses and white lilies of the valley and candles. You both were so disgustingly happy and enamored with each other that you didn’t care that you’d waited the last six weeks to make love hoping to make your wedding night even more special or the fact that you were both more than ready to end that love drought. All you cared about was holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes to say even more vows, vows that were all unique that held a deeper meaning for the two of you.

 “Did I lose you?”

 You snapped out of your memories and focused back onto Chris. “Sorry, I was back in Nantucket.”

 Chris smiled widely and sighed. “I’m in Nantucket every night and for the better part of my days.”

 “I love you, Evans.” It was the only possible thing you could say. The way he smiled at you made your stomach flutter. After all these years, you were still madly in love with him.

 “I love you more, Evans.”

 The two of you spent the next forty minutes just talking and staring at each other like the two love drunk fools you were the night of your wedding.

  -Four Day Later-

 After working your ass off and rearranging the rest of your obligations you were able to shave off six days of your time away. Unbeknownst to Chris, you were thirty minutes from home and more than ready to show him just how much you’d missed him. Needing a way to contain your anxious energy you finished answering emails and messages to keep yourself busy. When you got home you saw Chris’ car in the roundabout driveway which only increased your excitement.

 After thanking your driver, you quietly climbed the stairs leaving your bags in the foyer. Your only thought was surprising your husband and wrapping your arms and legs around his body. You could almost feel the tightness of his grip around your body. You missed the cocooning warmth and safety you always felt. As you came upon your bedroom door you expected to see him sprawled across the bed with his laptop across his lap. You were disappointed when you found the bedroom empty—he wasn’t there.

 For the next five or so minutes, you searched your seven-bedroom, nine bath home for the love of your life but everywhere you checked you came up empty handed. By the time you thought to check his office, you were already more than a little antsy. The closer you got to the door you could hear sounds from behind it. unable to make it out you stopped in front of it. it was then you heard loud animated moans and cursing. It didn’t take long for those moans to pick up in volume and intensity. You couldn’t believe this.  

 You nearly busted down the door from a mixture of excitement, curiosity, and disbelief. As you opened the door and stood in the doorway you saw just what your husband was up to at three in the afternoon. Chris was in a reclining position at his desk, but he was not directly behind it, he was angled diagonally which gave you a full view of what was happening. The moans intensified in the way a performing porn actress would carry on and there was Chris with his head tilted back, eyes shut, mouth ajar just going at it.

 You stood there and watched with a clenched jaw. This would have been sexy as hell under any other circumstance, but the current circumstances were less than ideal. Chris’ moans and whimpers overcast those of the porn stars he was watching, and you watched on as he bit his bottom lip and sped his hand. He was close, you knew all his tells. 

Sure enough, you watched him shoot stream after stream into the air only for it to come splattering back down onto his fisted hand and navy-blue polo shirt. His grunts were staggered as he arched his back from his chair. Thirty seconds in and he was still coming. Chris released a long groan while squeezing his length as he stroked up. His eyes opened and it was then he jumped and lurched forward in complete and utter shock from the recycling diagonal position he was in.  

 “Y/N,” Chris yelped out as he frantically reached for the iPad that was on the desk.

 It should have been an amusing sight, him, pants mid-thigh, dick poking straight out like a lightsaber, hands covered in white jizz that also decorated his shirt, but it was not amusing. You were pissed. You’d just caught your husband watching porn and jerking off.

 “Baby--,” Chris began with a look on his face that spoke of shame, embarrassment, and regret.

 “Save it, Christopher!”

 You spun on your heels and walked back down the hall you’d just came from.

 “Y/N, wait. Ouch! Fuck!” You heard a loud bang, things falling and rustling as you made your way up the stairs to your bedroom not caring if he’d seriously hurt himself. He could handle it himself.

 When you made it to the room, you stripped and made your way into the shower. The flight was a long one and you needed to release some newly added stress. A few minutes into your shower in came Chris.

 “Baby,” he began. You felt the breeze when he opened the shower door and you glared at him.

 “Get out.”

 “What? Come on, don’t be that way.”

 “Get out Christopher!” For emphasis, you elbowed him in his rib. Chris groaned and staggered back making the shower door bang shut. You ignored him and continued to take your shower.

 “Darlin’—I missed you.”

 “Whatever! Try saying that when you’re not wearing your Scarlet letter all across the front of your shirt,” you speared at him. Chris looked at the front of his shirt to see the speckled spots of half dried come.

 “Shit.” With that, he was out of the bathroom. Rolling your eyes, you practiced your meditation breathing. This man was going to make you go off.

 After barely two minutes he was back in a fresh white tee. “Baby look, I’m sorry. I was missing you something terrible and I kept thinking about you and before I knew it I was hard and wanting you. I don’t even know what happened.”

 “What happened was you decided to search through a porn site and watch porn to jerk off to. That is what happened Christopher. Remember those after hour vows that you brought up a few days ago?”

Chris hung his head. He remembered very well. “Y/N--.”

 “No. It was you who brought it up, you vowed neither of us would turn to porn for anything, that we would turn to each other. Why else did we make those random videos?! You decided to say fuck that and turn to some other woman who is acting. You had our videos!”

 “Fuck! I know, I didn’t think baby. I just—.” He stuttered as if he couldn’t find the right words, or he didn’t know what to say. After a few tries, he sighed out and hung his head again. “I’m sorry.”

 “Get out! You know how I feel about porn. Get out!” The second time you shouted louder. He didn’t protest at all; he simply turned and gave you your wish.

 In all your years married you’d never watched porn. There was a once in a blue moon you watched it together when you were dating as a means for foreplay, but it quickly faded when you began to feel a little weird about it wondering if he was more turned on by the women he saw or if it was you who did the trick. After a heartfelt chat, he agreed without hesitation to cut it out completely while reassuring you that you were the source of all his desire and arousal. Not only had he watched it just now, but you’d watched him find his release from it. Not you. As far as you were concerned you were rightfully and justifiably angry.

 You stayed in the shower longer than you normally would have. By the time you came out, it was a little after six. You were hoping Chris wasn’t in the room when you came out and were relieved when you got your wish. You wanted to just go to sleep but hunger prevented it. As you were about to walk out to find some food, Chris walked in carrying bags from your favorite restaurant. 

“I got dinner. I was planning on cooking for you when you got back but I wasn’t prepared tonight.”

 “Clearly you had a one-track mind.” Chris sighed but didn’t respond to your snide remark.

 Instead, he put the bags down and began piling the containers of food onto the bed. The smells that filled the room were delectable. Your mouth watered from the scent of the garlic and basil. If it wasn’t for that you would have walked off, but you were not a fool to ignore your favorites. You went over to your side of the bed, got comfortable and dug in. Chris knew you were pissed so he didn’t bother making small talk though you knew it killed him. 

You knew he wanted to talk about your trip and fall back into the comfortable groove that you always resided in. When he allowed you to pick show after show, you knew he felt the gravity of his mistake. Still, you didn’t speak, didn’t attempt to console him or even unburden him with the blessing of your forgiveness. You decided you’d let him suffer.

 By the time one rolled around you ignored him some more and turned your back to go to sleep. His sigh was a heavy one and if you were nicer you may have said good night, but you didn’t give a shit about pleasantries.

 “Baby,” Chris began as he shifted his body in the bed. You could tell he now faced you on his side.

 “Leave me alone before I make you sleep in the guest room, Christopher.”

 His response was a mixture of a deflated sigh and a frustrated groan but he didn’t protest. He knew better than to push you closer to the edge.

 The next day was not a normal day in your household. Normally you’d have a loved up breakfast in bed and then a steamy shower before you separated for the day if you both had work to do, or you’d lounge in the house together never being more then a few feet apart. That was not the case. you went about your business in your office while Chris kept clear of you. any attempt he made your response was dullness. You didn’t reciprocate or encourage; it was simple appeasement.

 He brought you your favorite breakfast, you didn’t acknowledge him when he came in. He brought you lunch, again you ignored him. He tried to make small talk you busied yourself. Through it all, he didn’t give up or slink away except to lick his wounds only to return again to continued trying. You were impressed but still not amused. So the day passed with minimal conversation between you unless it was about work or the household.

 “So you’re just going to ignore me now?”

 Something in his voice made you look up to acknowledge him. You didn’t even realize the sun had set or that he wore one of your favorite colors on him. Chris had an expectant look on his face that somehow still showed his timidness.

 “We haven’t seen each other physically in weeks, almost two months and you’re just going to ignore me? I let it go last night and most of today but come on, Y/N. We have to talk. We promised we wouldn’t go to bed angry.”

 Taking a slow deep breath, you leaned back in your chair. “I’m not angry.”

 “The hell you’re not. You walked in on me jerking off to porn. You’re angry.”

 “Glad you’ve entered the admittance stage of your shame, but nope, not angry.”

 Chris rolled his eyes then crossed his arms. It was the truth, you weren’t angry. You were pissed. He stared you down as if he expected you to quake underneath the penetration of his sky blue eyes.

 “I just find it funny how you’re not okay with me breaking a vow but you’re pretty glib when you do it.”

 “I’m sorry, okay. I fucked up. I didn’t plan it and I honestly don’t know how I ended up on the site anyway. I didn’t do it to hurt you or even give it any deep thought. It was a muscle reaction,” Chris explained.

 “So it’s a muscle reaction to go searching for other naked women rather than scroll through your library for pictures and videos of the one you married?”

 He walked inside and perched at the edge of your desk then leaned to you taking your hand in his much larger one. He didn’t speak for a few moments, both of you realizing this was the first time you’d touched in weeks. Everything in you wanted to melt into him and fall back into place and from the look on his face, you could tell he wanted the same thing.

 “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never want to hurt you. tell me you believe that, princess.”

 “Of course I know you don’t want to hurt me, Chris. Just because you don’t want to do something doesn’t mean you haven’t hurt me though.”

 He nodded fully understanding and accepting it. “I don’t want any of that I swear to you. None of them do it for me. You know that. I just--.”

 “Needed something different, someone, different?”

 “No. God, no. I like what I have—I love what I have. I don’t need anything different. How can I when we’re always changing things up. I want you and you alone.”

 You studied him and searched his eyes for any hint of a lie. You didn’t find one, but it didn’t make everything okay.

 “I know that doesn’t make everything okay,” Chris spoke as if he read your mind.

 “Let me make it up to you.” He pulled your hand, rolling you to him. “Please.” Chris brought his lips to you and you were powerless to move or stop him, so you allowed him to kiss you, allowed him to tease your lips and your tongue and make your belly do somersaults. You quickly lost yourself and began to give in. when you felt his hand on your thigh you rolled back away from him.

 “I have work to do.” Focusing back onto your laptop and what you were doing before he came in you forced yourself to keep your eyes straight ahead and not on him. After almost a minute he stood and walked out without another word.

Over the next few days, Chris didn’t stop his attempts to get closer or remedy the wrong he’d done. He was ever the attentive husband and the caring partner. He cooked every night if he could, left you sweet notes around the house that spoke of what he loved about you or how much he loved you. he also never stopped trying to get physically closer. 

By the middle of the week, he’d upped his game from sweet kisses on your forehead, cheek, and lips to deep soulful kisses out of the blue. Now he was up to backing you onto any nearby wall, pressing his body against yours and trying to kiss the breath from your lungs. He was doing a damn good job with tempting you but still, you refused every advance he made before it got anywhere close to sex.

 If his hand roamed your body you pulled it away, if you felt his arousal you walked away. At night when you went to sleep every time he cuddled closer you got up and went to the bathroom only to come back with your body pillow. When you realized it was an automatic deterrent you began sleeping with it every night to Chris’ dismay. By Thursday it was amusing the tactics he deployed. He was motivated and determined, and every rejection and refusal only made him even more so.

 You weren’t angry anymore; it had drastically reduced over the week. The more discomfort you saw Chris in the more amusement it brought you. A punishment was not supposed to be enjoyable. You wondered how long he’d go without bringing it up because you knew he’d realized you were refusing him on purpose as a punishment. He still had yet to bring it up even though you knew for a fact he’d taken several cold showers because of his arousal.

 The night you walked in on him in the shower, you saw the extent of his discomfort. He was standing under the stream of cold water with an evident hard-on and his head hung, and shoulders slumped. His junk wasn’t blue per se but it definitely didn’t look normal. Instantly, you felt horrible. When he turned and your eyes met you opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out. You walked out of the bathroom instead.

 Almost an hour later Chris came out with a towel wrapped around his waist only to disappear again out of the bedroom door. When he came back he was dressed and walking slower with his legs in a wider stance. As he settled beside you, you fought off the urge to snicker.

 “Are you okay?”

 “Fine.” His answer was terse and a complete lie.

 “I saw you in the shower, Chris.”

 “If you saw me in the shower then you know how I am. You bringing it up now is not an inquiry about my wellbeing it is spite and for your own amusement.”

 He was right. Damn it, you thought. You hated that he knew you so well.

 “A week, Y/N. A week and you’ve been pushing me away every chance you get. No matter what I do or what I say. I’m losing my mind here and you don’t seem to even care.” As he spoke you could see the uneasiness rising up in him, he’d reached his breaking point. You didn’t speak as he continued to rant, you just let him get it all out.

 After almost five minutes he was silent again with a clenched jaw and his hands cupping his junk. He looked so sad like he’d lost his best friend and wanted revenge for it.

 “So—was the porn and nut worth it?” the look he gave you was filled with so much aggression you just had to laugh. It was meant to be a small little giggle, but it came out as a full on obnoxious holler that turned into a cackle with you wiggling your legs in the air. Chris grunted loudly and began rising from the bed. Normally it would have been a quick action but tonight it was a strategic multi- step maneuver that only made you laugh louder. He was not amused. He walked out of the bedroom with your laughter still lingering in the air.

 By Saturday you were ready to end his punishment because though it was one for him it was also one for you. You were struggling too; you were in pain. It had now been eight weeks since you were together, and you were tired of waiting. Chris was gone for morning and most of the afternoon visiting his family and a couple friends. He didn’t ask you if you wanted to go with him, no doubt needing time away from you. You weren’t bothered by it because it gave you time to get yourself ready and make it a night for him to remember.

 After running some errands and picking up ingredients for dinner and come candles and novelty items you returned home to begin prep seduction night. By three he hadn’t returned yet which gave you even more time to get yourself together. Six rolled around and Chris was still not home, it was then you called him, a call he didn’t answer so you texted. Ten minutes went by without a response and your mood was quickly souring.

 When you saw his headlights light up your roundabout driveway you’d finished cooking and prepping had opened a bottle of wine and were on your third glass and had been waiting for almost forty minutes. You were annoyed especially since the only response he’d sent to you via text was “soon.” When you asked when he would be home, his answer was “soon”. When you asked if he was almost home, he sent “soon”. You were ready to throw your phone from frustration.

 You heard the front door open and then heard it slam shut forcefully and that was the last straw. “This is soon, Christopher!”

 As you spun around to confront him, you only saw his face momentarily before he threw you over his shoulder. You squealed but didn’t have enough time to react before he was throwing you across the kitchen island right onto your back.

 “What the hell are you doing!”

 “I realized; I’ve been approaching this all wrong. Normally when you have an attitude and start acting like a brat as you’ve been doing for the last few days I respond differently. I’ve been tiptoeing and being submissive. I am not submissive, Y/N. I’ve been doing the opposite of what I should have been doing.” His voice was deep and completely dominating.

 “Which is what, throwing me across a counter?”

 “No, fucking it out of you.” Your jaw dropped. Holy hell, you thought. He’d truly reached his breaking point; this was it and you were fucked.

 “Chris--.” It was a warning, a warning you hoped would deter him from doing what every fiber of his being was telling him to do. Your warning did absolutely nothing. Using his thighs, he pushed your already parted legs further apart while using his hands to pin yours to the island. You recognized the look in his eyes you hadn’t seen it in a while. He was tired of your games, your teasing, your torture, and your neglect.

 For the first time Chris looked over your body and noticed the silk floral robe you wore that was practically falling off of you already. It was then he realized you were fully naked. “On the drive here, I thought about making this torturous for you, going so slow you’d feel my pain of seven days plus the six weeks before. I thought about new ways to deprive you of the release I know you desperately want. I came up with quite a few things, but I’ve changed my mind. Slow isn’t enough of a punishment. Instead, I think the opposite will do quite well.” His smirk was devious, but it didn’t scare you. You knew he would never physically hurt you or do anything you didn’t want. You were that in tune.

 Chris let your wrists go then took one step back. “On your knees, Y/N and I dare you to talk back.” Despite every instinct telling you to do it and see what he does, you knew it wasn’t a good idea. The ho in you wanted to act out and get crippled, the practical you knew you had to walk tomorrow. You slipped off the counter and dropped to your knees before him. you could see his need urgently pressing against his jeans. After a few moments, you peeked up at him.

 “This isn’t your first time Y/N, don’t act like you don’t know what to do.”

 You bit your bottom lip and slowly began undoing his jeans. You weren’t doing it to tease him, you were honestly nervous right now. It was always a dicey game of punishing your husband, especially in a way by with-holding sex. The outcome could have been a nice roll in the hay afterward or a downright back breaking night. It looked like you were in for the latter. Once he was free his groan was deep and strangled. All along his shaft and balls, there were violent looking purplish veins. You couldn’t stop your grimace.

 “Looks painful, right? Interesting that a married man would get blue balls, especially deliberate blue balls from his wife.”

 You couldn’t stop the retort before it slipped out, “So I guess jerking off to porn wasn’t worth it after all. I’d say said married man deserved everything he got from said wife, blue balls included.” Chris’ lips smiled but his eyes darkened. Before you knew it he was pulling you to your feet before he pushed you into the island bending you over so your ass was poking right out for him.

 “That’s fair. Just remember seven is the lucky number and since you love it so much, blue balls is the magic word,” Chris sneered into your ear. You could feel the weight of him as he hunched over you and used his fingers to circle your opening. He growled then.

 “You’re soaking wet already. Who were you really punishing sweetheart, me or you?” You refused to answer that, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “It’s okay, I already know.” There was no warning before he slowly sank into you. For the first few inches, it was painfully slow until he slammed into you to the hilt pulling a screech from you.

 “Fuck!” His shout echoed off the walls and shook you making your legs tremble.

 Chris didn’t bother giving you a moment to adjust, you really didn’t need it. You needed more but you were sure you couldn’t take what was coming. Chris set an early pace and it was fast, deep, and hard. Every snap forward of his hips had you grunting and lurching making your head snap back and forth. It didn’t take long before you were panting and moaning enjoying every second of the fuck you’d been dying for.

 Chris grabbed your arms and held them behind you angling your upper half up propelling him even deeper. “Fuck!”

 “Mmm, you feel this dick, Y/N? Do you feel it?” You nodded unable to find your voice. Chris continued delivering his brutal thrusts that made precise connection with your g-spot. You knew you were seconds from coming and you knew when you did your strength would go with it.

 “Shit, shit, shit! Oh god!”

 Chris began rotating his hip drilling his hardness against your walls and every crevice of you. A shiver broke free and brought with it your release that was a deafening scream and weakened limbs. Chris was there to hold you steady though. If you lived closer to people they might have called the police from thinking you were being murdered.

 “Oh my god, yes Chris! Fuck me! Don’t fucking stop!” He lifted one of your legs and plopped it onto the island giving him a new angle and an impossible depth that you were not prepared for. Jerking from him you gasped but he wasn’t having it. Chris held you in place and brought you to him by pulling your arms back.

 “Don’t run from this dick sweetheart. Take every—fucking—inch!” As he spoke he pressed forward even more stealing all your breath. You were left he’d in the air with your mouth hung open without a sound coming out. He groaned in your ear then bit your lobe to suck it in his mouth before it slipped out.

 “Look at me, darlin’.” You looked back to him to see his teeth firmly clenching his bottom lip. the look in his eyes was a conflicting one, one that spoke of gentleness and love but also of revenge and passion. One thing you didn’t see in them was control—he had none now.

 “I love you, princess.”

 Once he got the words out he proceeded to murder your pussy with deliberate, deep, hard thrusts that never slowed, or faded in intensity. From then on out you were a screaming mess. After what felt like an eternity but had turned out to be nothing but short minutes your voice was gone and you’d somehow managed to come three more times. Chris moved as if he weren’t even human at this point. He should have come a long time ago and be passed out, but he was still going, still sending your eyes to the back of your head. You felt him turn your body so you were now on your side with your plopped up leg resting on his shoulder. It was yet another angle that you couldn’t handle. When your hand flew to his belly to push him back his was there to stop you. Your eyes locked with his but the only thing he did was shake his head.

 “Fuck!” 

“Was your little game worth it?” He smirked as he said it and you knew he was mocking you. Instead of giving you a chance to respond he snapped his hips forward and ground into you once again sending your eyes to the back of your head. You held onto his hand for dear life.

 Every time your eyes met it only made the moment that much more powerful. Even through revenge punishment fucking the love you felt for each other was evident, and the connection between you was always so strong. Chris bent to you and kissed you to demonstrate the passion that you prayed would never fade between you. You kissed him back with everything you had holding his head to you. You began to meet him for every thrust he delivered. As you kissed his eyes locked with yours and the vulnerability you saw there with each wave of your body fueled you to take even more. You clenched tightly around him and felt him spear you twice then a third before he broke your kiss and shouted along with you as he poured every drop of himself inside of you to join your release.

 For several long minutes, the two of you just laid there on the counter. He had his head resting on your breast but didn’t dare pull from your body. When you felt him stir you also felt the ache between your legs. “Oh god,” you whispered with hoarseness. Chris slowly pulled back from you and yelped once he pulled out. You instantly felt the emptiness and with it brought the pain of through fucking. You dropped your hands to your crotch.

 “Tell me, was it worth it?” You glared at him then rolled your eyes, there was no need to answer. You honestly didn’t know which one to give.

 “Fuck, I’m still hard,” Chris informed. Your eyes dropped to his still hard cock and it didn’t look any less violent and intimidating. As he moved to slide back into you, you scurried backward locking your legs hoping to deter him.

 “Woah, hold your fucking horses. Jesus Christ Evans, give me a fucking minute.”  Scrunching your face you allowed the pain to show. “Oh my god.”

 “Are you okay?”

 “Are you really asking me that right now? This is what you wanted. You wanted to teach me a lesson by fucking me into submission. Congratulations Sir Fucksalot!” Chris snorted and laughed making you laugh with him. He stepped to you and kissed your cheek and forehead.

 “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go off like that. I just—I couldn’t control myself. I lost it.”

 “I know, I saw it. It’s fine. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have used sex as a weapon.”

 “I deserved it and no it wasn’t worth it. I’m sorry.” The two of you warmly smiled at each other before pressing your foreheads together for a tender moment. In the sweetness of the moment, the thud of his hard dick brought you both back.

 “Jesus Chris, keep him under control. This pussy is out of service and closed for healing.” You slipped off the island and slowly walked out of the kitchen.

 “Wait, what!? For how long? Y/N, you can’t leave me like this.”

 “For as long as it takes, an hour, a day, a week. Who knows.”

 “Y/N.”

 “Mm-Mn Chris I don’t wanna hear it. you should have thought about that before you went full on super soldier mode.”

 You slowly climbed the stairs and played up the pain. It hurt of course but it wasn’t excruciating. This was not the first time he’d fucked you like the world was ending. You knew you’d be fine in a few hours. Chris came up behind you, scooped you in his arms and planted a kiss on your cheek.

 “You know what they say, the only way to get over the pain is to push through it.” You snorted and laughed with him joining in as he continued to make his way to your bedroom.

[yeojaa]

in the night, ii.

read part one!  dedicated to my beloved wofe @periminkle​ because she loves assassin!kook and so do i.  i honestly dunno how many parts to this non-couple couple i’ll do but ... i cannot resist them.  oops.

pairing.  jjk x reader.  rating.  ... general?  tags.  soft romance in the form of:  pining, cuddling, playing chess like losers, using a hotel room for the lamest reasons.  maybe a very lil bit of angst if you squint at the right times.  it’s just them being...  them?  ig.  wc.  1.8k.  beta reader.  @hobi-gif​ 💛

“You know, when you asked me to meet  you here, this isn’t what I had in mind.”

He can’t help but laugh, the sound teetering off his tongue into the tepid lake of espresso sitting in his cup.  You’re glaring down at the board, hand poised at your side.  You’re so focused - more so than when you’re stitching him up.  

He wonders, idly, whether that should worry him.  It won’t.

“You’re not having fun?”  He hums, the slyest smile passing over the rim of ceramic, a certain twinkle in his stare.  It’s possible he’s overtired - he hasn’t slept in what feels like ages - but there’s something awfully amusing about the sight of you, brow knit and mouth pursed into a grimace he seldom sees.  “Got something else in mind, Doc?”

You don’t humour him with a response, advancing your king to C7.  

“You sure about that one?”

“Yes.”  It snaps past your lips like cinnamon bubble gum.

Seeing you so riled up - not quite irritated but overly competitive - makes Jungkook snort, setting his cup down with a soft, drawn out sigh.

“Come here.”  It isn’t readily clear where he means but he leaves it up to you, watching you keenly. 

You’re having none of it. “Make your move.”

“Come here,”  he repeats, just that bit harder.  The edge doesn’t reach anywhere but his words;  his eyes are still a little tired, half-lidded and dreamy.  They pair nicely with the full of his cheek, how it ticks rounder and reveals a singular dimple.  Your weakness - or so he’d like to think. 

It’s with a surprising amount of dramatics that you remove yourself from the opposite seat, folding yourself into his lap with only a handful of movements.  He welcomes your weight, curling an exhausted arm around the shape of your waist. 

With your back to the arm rest, you settle with your head against his shoulder, nose cold against the column of his throat.  He can even feel the steel of your glasses, gold-rimmed and delicate. 

“Bored?”  The tone of his voice is lilting, teasing, dressed up with laughter.  It disappears into your crown of velvet, loosely braided and knotted behind your ear in your signature no-fuss fashion. 

“No.”  But it isn’t very believable because you certainly sound unenthused. 

He tries again, with fingers that flex into the soft, bare flesh of your thigh;  his other hand guides your chin, drawing your attention fully from the abandoned chess set.  “Want to order room service?”

It’s the least he can do, he figures.  Something to ease whatever mocking resentment seeps out of your skin - much like his had only hours earlier. 

Note to himself:  pick up some new clothes.  

“I want every dessert on the menu,”  you finally relent, with a terribly serious set of your jaw and intensity in your eyes.  

He snorts, again, squeezing the yielding softness of your hip in his broad palms. “I’ll call down and order.  You go take a shower or something.”  It’s not as dismissive as he means;  the blouse you’d worn over is stained red, the colour bleeding garishly over cream silk.  It even marks your skin now, caught beneath your nails and over your wrists. 

“What - it’s not a good look on me?”  

Your feigned affront is addictive, coaxing in a way he’s utterly defenceless against.  Still, Jungkook rolls his eyes - an exaggerated reveal of bright white sclera - and levels you with a look that might serve him better than the gun that rests on the coffee table.  “Don’t ask stupid questions, Doc.”

“But you do stupid things all the time.”  You’re not wrong and if there’s anyone worthy of calling him out in this same way, it’s you.  Doesn’t mean he takes it any more kindly, glowering at you so heavily he thinks you might be enjoying it. 

“Name one time,”  he retorts, fully on the defensive.  Even though he knows you’re right.  Even though he could list off just five things since last night. 

Getting ambushed in his own home

Cracking some not-so-poor guy’s skull on the corner of his Nakashima dining table 

Asking for you to make a home (or rather, hotel) call 

Asking for you at all

Asking you to stay 

He hopes you won’t catch onto the last three. 

“That time I told you to not overextend yourself after you cracked three ribs and you came back the next day complaining because you’d piledrived a guy through some scaffolding but, and I quote, ‘it wasn’t a big deal’?”  Okay, you have him there.  “Or the time I told you to take the pills in the left drawer and you took the ones from the right and ended up passed out on my floor for twelve hours?”  Another solid and mildly embarrassing example.  “Or—”

“Okay, okay.”  A single hand held aloft in the universal sign of stop;  the other remains comfortable around your waist, digits tracing figure eights over the porcelain skin beneath your top.  “I get it.”

You’re undeterred, pushing forward with abandon.  “Or inviting me to a hotel to not only stitch you back together but also play silly children’s games?”

“Hey - chess is fun!”  And so were Gin Rummy and Speed, the other two activities he’d foisted upon you post-sewing session. 

“You’re an idiot,”  you state, with a surprising amount of affection.  He doesn’t mind when it comes like this, dipped in honey and rolled in fairy floss. It satisfies his sugar craving, filling the spaces between his molars with cavities. 

“You still came,”  he challenges.  

“Just adding it to the dozens of favours you already owe me.”

He grins, roguish and far too handsome for his own good.  Even tired, with lurking shadows beneath his eyes, he’s unbelievably bright - like it’s radiating out of him.  It’s quite funny when he’s speckled in gore, blood tainting tanned skin and reminding you that he’s not all sunshine and rainbows. 

“How will I ever pay you back?”

You’re close - far too close, even sat in his lap.  Jungkook can see every freckle on your face, every lash that frames the prettiest stare he’s ever seen.  He has to remind himself he’s waiting for an answer;  it’s hard when all he wants to do is kiss you. 

He thinks you must want it too, by how the silence stretches on, catching the pair of you like a Chinese finger trap. 

“Doc?”  Barely a word, made in a whisper. 

Can you feel how his heart beats, trips and fails to right itself when you’re so close he can smell the coffee on your breath?  Is it your medical training that gives him away?  Or maybe just the fact that you’re attuned to everything about him because he’s, well, him?

Your big stupid idiot, for all intents and purposes. 

He wants to ask.  He wants to kiss you. He wants a hundred mundane things (like playing cards and eating sweet treats) only with you. 

You tear it all away with a pat to his head and a wicked smile.  “With all the dessert in the world.”

He scowls then, the expression wolfish and touched with agitation.  It presents in the narrowing of his stare, his sharply set jaw.  “Sounds like pretty lame payback to me.”  Can you hear the edge of petulance, how it colours syllables the faintest shade of goblin green?

“Got something else in mind, Jeon?”

Having his words thrown back at him only makes him laugh.  It reverberates out of his bare chest, filling the quiet of the luxury suite;  it bounces around just as you do, leaping to your feet with a grace he can’t mimic.  He’s mesmerised, as he always is, gaze trained on you - your loosened bun, the curves of your back, how you look in the jeans that look nearly painted on they fit you so well. 

“Grab a bath, Doc,”  he returns - less of a suggestion and more of a demand. 

“Better have those desserts once I’m out.”  A threat rather than a joke, though you’re far too unassuming with your old lady glasses and wide, expressive stare.  For your sake, Jungkook crosses a heart across his chest and nods solemnly, earning him a devastating grin that works far better than your intimidation. 

“Have I ever let you down?”

You’re already gone, a trail of your clothes left like breadcrumbs.  He still hears you.  “I mean - you did bring a knife fight to my door.”  

“We don’t talk about that!”  He calls back before the sound of running water takes over, distorting your laughter.  Neroli and cedar wood comes - your signature scent.  He can’t help the way he inhales deeply, satisfied, as he plucks the room phone from its holder.  It’s an addiction, a second nature action that he can’t help, whether you’re curled in his arms or tending to his broken, bleeding body. 

It’s dangerous, he knows.  

His old mentor would tell him don’t get involved, Jeon.  That living a life like this came with sacrifices.  Things he’d never really cared for - at first.  But now?  

He daydreamt about them more often than he should, in all the quiet moments in between.  They painted the prettiest pictures in his mind, wishful thinking in the form of everyday occurrences:  coffee in the morning, you in his (unstained) clothes, drives in the countryside, a bed shared at night. 

All because of you and your healing hands.  He’d never thought you’d be so good at your job, stitching him up inside and out.

It’d be better if he left, packed his ruined clothing and stopped appearing on your doorstep.  It’d keep you safe - and him, too.  Relationships meant weakness and in his line of work, weakness was something to be exploited, like an open wound with a thumb pressed into it.

Instead, he waits until the cart of desserts appears - lemon tarts and basque cheesecake and a dozen other things that scream diabetes! - and wheels it right into the bathroom, closer to you, because he always wants to be closer to you.  

“These don’t look like apples, Doc,”  he hums, settling himself on the back edge of the tub, careful not to dislodge the towel that’s folded beneath your neck.  The wet of your hair seeps into the material of his pants, sticking cloth to sinew and brawn. 

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away but a tray of desserts will keep me here forever.”

“You planning on living here?”  Quipped with an offering - a cocoa masterpiece of four layers, held gingerly between his thumb and forefinger.  

“Might as well milk it,”  you tease, accepting the bite with love in your eyes and a tongue that sweeps, just barely, over his suddenly electrified skin.  He knows what you’re doing just as well as you do;  it’s next to impossible not to lean into the desire, slide the digit home and press down into muscle until you’re drooling around it.

“Might as well,”  he echoes, those same fluttering pink hearts reflected in his stare.

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​ 

[mci-writing]

I Thought Rhododendron was a Warning (Midoriya Izuku x reader) [Hanahaki Au]

A/n: This fic originally was meant to be posted July 26th for @birds-have-teeth's Izumonth Server Collab! Hope you enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it, even though it’s a little late ^^’

Warnings: Angst; Hanahaki Au; Barfing of flowers, descriptions of throwing up; descriptions of choking and being unable to breath; descriptions of blood; descriptions of coughing up blood; descriptions of various forms of pain (namely chest and throat pains); mentions of the word toilet and it’s various synonyms

“People always say to be cautious of what flowers you cough up when you choke up, but how are you to know which ones are a warning sign and which ones are in dire need of check up? Sure, colors and shape could give it away if you know your botany, but what if you’re completely clueless? That’s where this guide to flowers and their symbolism comes in, to help you overcome your Hanahaki and your feelings without having to immediately get the surgery-” Midoriya vividly remembers each time that commercial or one similar would appear on the television and they were always followed by his mother’s quick response of changing the channel or turning it off altogether. Her statements that would follow were always disapproving of such products, saying they would probably kill a person off faster rather than actually help them with living longer. 

That was really his only exposure to any forms of Hanahaki discussion at home. His mother never really felt the need to elaborate on the disease other than giving the basic fact that you normally caught it under unfortunate, romantic situations. What these situations were, he had no idea, and the only clue he really had on that matter were things he’d hear in passing conversations at school. There’d been rumors of other kids in his middle school catching cases, yet they never really seemed to be enough to actually draw his attention to the illness.

He had assumed he would continue to live in that naive, blissful unawareness he’d developed over his juvenile years, but his years at Yuuei forcefully and uncomfortably opened his eyes without his consent. The first month consisted of their Pro teachers reminding them of just how much more important their lives were than a small crush and that they should keep their attention on their studies rather than trying to confess their feelings. Aizawa was especially vocal about this, to the point he set aside a day to tell the class stories of students and Pro Heroes that had to let go of their dreams when they died of the disease and how the percentage that did receive the surgery were never the same. And those words of advice followed him through his Yuuei days, echoing each time there’d be an announcement of one of his many schoolmates lost to the disease. It especially hit different when one of his classmates caught a cold case and, many times, no one had even known about it. He remembers watching Kaminari choke to death in front of everyone on the sports field one day and another time it caught Hagakure before the premature intermission of their second Sports Festival.

Midoriya believed he’d heeded enough warning not to find himself in the situation he currently found himself in. Even now, each mention and memory of Hanahaki is being thrown back at him as he tries to find where to go next with the blood covered, grassy vomit he recently regurgitated into his toilet.

“Midoriya?”

The flowers. Always take notice of what flowers you spit up. Even just an attribute of a vine of stem could help determine your current state- The sight of the flowers makes him wonder how he didn’t choke on the individual flowers, each a small flower in a bundle to make up a cone-shape. There were mainly two of the cone-shaped put togethers, a few smaller flowers and their petals also hanging around and floating in the water with small twinges of stem. 

“Midoriya, are you okay in there?”

He knows a set of lilacs when he sees them, even with the accompanying splotches of blood. It’s a common starter flower during most first attacks that has killed just as many as it has warned. They were usually associated with innocence and purity, the beginning of a budding annoyance that Midoriya wouldn’t easily be able to just overlook-

“Midoriya? Are you feeling well? You seemed a little faint in color before running off to the powder room-” It’s too late when he hears the bathroom door open, his body lurching forward in surprise at the sudden interruption, “Hanahaki…”

It’s too late for him to hide the evidence and he can’t just immediately make up an excuse for why there’s a nice sight of bloody lilacs chilling in his toilet. The frightened, paling appearance of the sudden guest’s face doesn’t help in the slightest, their feet seemingly glued in place as their eyes dart between the obvious mess of the floral bile and his completely frazzled form.They were pretty sure he was still shaking, but whether it was from fear or him fighting to get the choking feeling of flowers out of his throat had been beyond them.

“I… It’s not what it looks like! A-At least, I hope it’s not what it looks like! I’m fine, though! It came up easy-” Midoriya rambles on nervously, his hand coming up to tug at his white tee while his green eyes glance around the room for various explanations. His hands whimsically move about and around him, coming together to hold and clench themselves before releasing to move on to picking and playing with each other, “A-Anyway, I’ll get myself cleaned up and we can finish the- (Y/n)?”

His rambling stops once they fall to their knees before him, their hands gripping his shoulders tightly. Their eyes glance him over, an extra emotion swirling through their (e/c) irises before they pull him into a tight hug, messy shirt and all. He’s taken aback by the sudden action, his own limbs slowly coming up to wrap around their form. Their hand comes up and pats his back softly, those pats turning into reassuring back rubs as he continues to toss up flowers into the commode.

“I’ll help however I can, Izuku...”

“Blaaagh”

“Like getting you a breath mint. Immediately getting you that breath mint” They state as they quickly rise to their feet, heading out the bathroom door and closing it behind them.

~~~

He originally believed everything would be fine after that one incident. He planned to get it under control, use home remedy after home remedy to prevent it from affecting him any further. He confidently felt he was making strides to recovery without needing to get a surgery to remove feelings he still couldn’t even place. He could survive having one mild attack in his life and live the rest pretending he never had hanahaki. 

He knew it wasn’t that simple, but to have the hope peacefully tug at his chest in comfort with each ad he passed seemed as though the force of his life was taunting him once more by waving a seemingly unattainable dream in his face. The idea of constantly drinking weed killer was still very concerning with how often it’d been recommended (he decides to set it as his last ditch effort when the weeds become too much for him) and he’s pretty convinced he should close this article (Y/n) sent him out of fear of something infecting his device. Well, that was the plan up until something peaked his interest.

Lo and behold, surrounded by the most erotic and scam ridden ads Midoriya’s seen on the internet, sat a flower alignment chart. His curiosity is piqued at the sight of the familiarly unfamiliar diagram and his fingers are quick to hover over the image before downloading and sending  it to his partner in deciphering where he currently stood on the danger scale. 

Dummy Thiccy 🧜: It’s a flower chart. Tells you your danger zone

Well, yeah. He figured that much given the sight he’d found it in the first place. He sighs in exasperation as he lays back against his pillow. He closes out of his messaging app, going to google for a more broad and direct response to said chart.

He hovers over his keyboard as he thinks of where to start in terms of keywords. He wasn’t too concerned with the flowers he’d spit out yesterday, in terms of how at risk he was of having thorns pierce his lungs. He starts with similar charts, lifting himself from the comfort of his sheets to grab one of his many empty journals stored under his bed.

He maps out his own diagram, taking only the results many of them had in common and noting the rare differences between them on another sheet. He decides to check the other things out in the morning when he catches just how late it is, his eyes skimming over his finished project before setting it over to the side. His eyes linger on his home-screen a moment after, the sight of him and friends smiling back at him so happily reminding him of why he needed to get rid of it. 

The memory of the white flowers fill his mind again at that, some of the lilacs speckled with a red he’s seen out in the field too many times. It reminds him of how congested he felt, the tightness of his chest and how he struggled to even get any of it passed his throat, let alone ignore the piercing feeling he felt as the weeds also made their way out of his system. He had to keep himself from panicking to hold up the front for his friends while they were in the other room and hold back the fear he felt when (L/n) caught him bent over the toilet.

His cheeks flush from the awkward aftermath of that encounter. There was already some distance between them prior (why had been completely unknown on his end), but the sudden tense feeling after the whole bathroom situation with the complete opposite of the comforting feeling they gave when they found him there. Even now, their responses and questions just didn’t click the same way they did a week ago. While he, of course, wanted to approach the situation and figure out what was up, he just couldn’t. He had no way to go about it.

And now he’s literally puffing up daisies, possibly on the verge of death. If they’re in a bad place now, he can’t imagine how much worse it’ll be when he does die. 

The thought has his heart pounding in a different way than the adrenaline he’s used to feeling, aching in a way only they could cause. He finds himself blankly gazing at their smiling face, seemingly on the brink of laughing at something one of them said. All the while, the reminder of his hours ticking down if he doesn’t handle this soon hollowly echoes through his mind.

His breathing begins hallowing as the heavy feeling in his chest returns in a seemingly swift attack, the stems digging at various parts of his body in an almost threatening manner. He feels himself lose his breath a moment, his head spinning and eyesight dotting before he manages to break out of his flinched stance enough to rush himself to his bathroom. He doesn’t have time to really process too much aside for him throwing the toilet seat up. The pointy stems force their way out of his mouth, reinforcing just how painful the whole thing is. His eyes tear up and he’s there long enough for paresthesia to kick in on his legs from the cut off of proper oxygen flow.

His body trembles when he finally finishes hacking up the fauna. More blood covers the flowers than he last remembered, white corona surrounded by bright yellow perianth with both covered in unsymmetrical red splotches. His chest heaves as he desperately inhales as much air as he can. His back presses against the cold wall tiles of his bathroom after he manages to catch enough breath for his mind to begin functioning properly. It’s the first thing to alert him of his senses coming back, the blur of his eyes slowly coming to after. 

With the little energy he has left, he climbs over to his toilet once again out of curious desperation. Proudly standing on end are numerous daffodils, taunting him and reminding of just what he’s going through. He’s suddenly hit tier 2. No warning and immediately after him worrying over the well-being of his friends. 

He uses the wall to get to his feet, pushing off of it and steadying himself on the toilet tank. The lid makes a loud clank against it, causing him to jump a bit and fall back against his sink counter. He winces slightly from the pain, his hand gripping the area and rubbing it soothingly. His hand grips the counter, using it to hold himself up as he reaches over and flushes the toilet.

He’s exhausted when he finally gets back to his bed, ready to let sleep drown him into a healing rest, yet his phone’s notification light continues to flash in the corner of his eye. He groans as he leans over, the light practically blinding him as soon as his screen flashes on. He flinches, eyes remaining squinched as he swipes away social media alerts. 

Dummy Thiccy 🧜: Please be careful tonight. I’ll be there in a heartbeat if you need me

His face heats up a bit as he reads it over, coming to a revelation he wished he’d come to sooner. His body seemingly sits up on it’s own as he feels his chest tighten a moment. 

His breathing grows labored once more, his hand gripping his chest in some weak attempt to ground himself. His hand reaches for his phone as calmly as he frantically could, managing to dial (Y/n)’s number, a shade of red blooming over most of his face. It wakes him up a bit, his emerald eyes widening in a sudden realization that he 

“Hey, Izuku? Something up-”

“I-I need some help. C-Could you- Agh!” He falls back in pain, his grip tightening as he continues to scream out in agony. His throat feels lodged up, something feeling as though it’s forcefully crawling up. He painfully swallows it back, a faded voice echoing through his ears as he feels his eyesight fade to black.

~~~~~

Midoriya blinks away the sleep in his eyes, the blaring lights from the ceiling making it a little hard to truly open his eyes. The overwhelming smell of insulin and antiseptic fill his nose. He struggles to make out his surroundings beyond that due to the feeling of an extra weight holding his body down. He shakes around a bit to shrug the figure off of him, sitting up enough to see just a little more of the white room. He’s sure he’s in a hospital room after further assessment, more than likely thanks to (Y/n) after he called them in the midst of panic (and it makes him pretty glad he let them take one of his keys when he first moved in unless he somehow forgot to lock his door again).

He lays his head back against the pillow provided for him in exhaustion, yet he’s unable to just close them and rest. His mind is practically racing with so many thoughts, thoughts he wished he had his newly formed chart for. He couldn’t have just jumped danger levels like that, especially not after just finding out the person of his affection had been his current lifeline just a few hours ago (or what he assumed had been a few hours. Kinda hard to tell when you’re passed out from loss of air for a majority of that time). It wasn’t off the table, and he knew that fact, but it was too soon for the both of them. They were already at an awkward place before and he doesn’t just want to force his feelings onto them, especially if they’re going through something he didn’t know about. It felt wrong.

There’s a shift as (Y/n) sits up from laying over him. They take a moment to stretch, a couple of their bones popping and cracking before they relax to sit back against their seat. Their face makes it obvious that they had fallen asleep and their arm is quick to wipe away the bit of drool on their cheeks. Midoriya feels his face warm at that, his eyes quickly averting when he notices their attention drift to him.

 “Hey, sleepy broccoli. They had to pump a LOT of pain medicine in you” He perks up as they begin speaking to him, an almost prideful smile on their face as they continue, “They say you’re lucky that a sudden attack like that didn’t kill you. I, of course, was rooting for you! You’ve come back from worst”

Yet, he can see the painful look being held back in their expression. He stares a moment, taking it in and trying to figure out why they even had that hesitation on their face. He sighs out, weakly smiling up at them and attempting to sit up on his own, “S-Sorry to call you so late in the night. Your number was already there and I guess my fingers acted on instinct”

“Yeah… Instinct” They murmur, their thumbs rubbing over one another out of nervousness. They stare at him a moment, an awkward silence filling the room and causing Midoriya to wonder if he’d responded the wrong way. 

He goes to fix up his statement, enforce how grateful he is for their assistance through all of this. They get caught in his throat before he can mutter a word, another choked up feeling coming and going.

“They did say your symptoms have been escalating a little faster than what they’re used to, considering you’ve begun developing vines along different parts of your chest and torso. They plan on putting you on watch for when things become too much and they have to… t-they have to do the procedure to… remove them… Seems this person’s really running their circles around your feelings, Izuku” They let out one of their worried ‘hehs’, sending him a pitiful smile of the same calibur. They pull their phone from the pocket, opening their dial-up before turning to him with a solemn smile, “So let’s get them called up, yeah?”

He feels the feeling crawl back up his throat, this one a little harder and scratchy; A hurtful kind of scratchy that makes him feel like something’s tearing at the inner skin. Another lump comes to his throat when he notices the tears in their eyes. He’s unable to tell if it's the weeds or something else entirely, “(Y/n)...”

“Don’t pull a (Y/n) and give up on them, please. My biggest regret was giving up on my feelings for you, but now I know for sure they’re not in vain” A few stray tears run down their cheeks only for their hand to quickly come up and wipe them away, “So please, Izuku… Tell them how you feel before you feel nothing at all-”

He’s unable to hold back as he feels himself cough, his hand quickly going to cover his mouth and catching the dark red petals that fall. (Y/n) is to his side, gripping his shoulder with one hand. One of their fingers holds the call button to request for assistance. Their (e/c) eyes widen in fear at the color of the petals in his hand, more of their tears coming and dripping down their face.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Izuku-”

“No! I-It’s not!” His arms cross over his chest, hands holding at opposite shoulders as he rocks himself. His chest heaves before he releases another sickly, airy cough. He manages out a dark crimson rose, his hold on himself tightening as more vines etch their indents onto his skin before taking a familiar, healthy shade of green. The shade contrasts with the growing paleness of his skin and the growing red bruises from the thorns pricking at his it. He coughs up another rose and the shades of red are almost indistinguishable as the shade of his own blood gets darker and comes out more clumped than before.

“Izuku, we have to go get you a doctor-”

“No! N-Not until…” he struggles to get the words out as it gets harder to breathe. He tries to ignore the feelings of needing to throw up, swallowing down the thick brushle in his chest. He’s unable to do so, coughing up another and another until his arms are completely decorated in the thorny vines. He takes a deep breath, slowly sitting up enough for his emerald eyes to meet their (e/c) ones. He fights down the nauseous feeling, his face twisting into a grimace as he pushes the small phrase, “I-It’s you-”

A sharp pain catches him before he can finish, various doctors and nurses rushing to his side as he screeches out from the unrivaled pain in his chest. They’re forced to watch as the color in Midoriya’s eyes begin to fade before his body fully goes limp in their hold.

They’re chest seemingly begins to contort, their heart squeezing with emotions they shouldn’t be feeling, that they couldn’t be feeling. The feelings all collide at once as they stand to the side, watching the futile attempts of the medical team to save Midoriya Izuku. They stand there until the team leaves, a dullness to their stare as the staff wheel him out of the room.

And once they’re gone, (Y/n) finally breaks down again...

[of-tatooine]

inferno. | canto i - prologue

Midway on our life’s journey, I found myself In dark woods, the right road lost.

Nightfall brought the shiny starts with itself, along with the moon and the faint sound of crickets in the trees. The rustling of the leaves slowly yielding themselves into the chilly western breeze, a certain inherent warmth to it.

It was a seamless comfort, seldom too hard to come by, to relish the quietness of it all. How seamlessly day turned into the looming night, oranges and pinks blending into the deepest and darkest of navies and blacks. Not many days, let alone nights, went by without some sort of touble lurking deep in the darkness - and they never were not the ones they wrote fairytales about.

That night, the drawn curtains that sealed the room from prying eyes managed to let some of the white moonlight in. The silver rays shone on the small arsenal of guns laid out on the crimson comforter, bottles of holy water and a range of knives splayed out on both of the beds. Faded out photographs, some black and white, old newspaper clippings, stained yet recent photocopies of cattle mutilation reports along with electric grid failures in various states - adding onto the decor in accordance with the grim theme.

“You’re gonna answer that?”

The painfully familiar ringtone of the flip phone echoed across the paper-thin walls of the motel room, the vibrations spreading out onto the dresser as it made a series of croaking sounds - almost too desperate to be answered, to be picked up and spoken into, after being thrown onto that wooden furniture for God knew how many days straight.

In total contrast to the agitated ringing of the device, a gentle hum joined the cacophony of sounds along with heavy boots creaking the hardwood, the rustle of papers as they are parted by calloused hands. The popping sound of a marker’s cap was the latest addition as a tired John Winchester continued his thinking standing up - paying no attention to any external distractions as his furrowed gaze kept on analyzing the old, coffee-stained newspaper lore he had managed to dig up over the case, lost in the haze of his reading as he shut everything else out.

“Dad, it’s me.”

It was always him.

There was no evident, nor allowed choice other than sitting there, waiting until his worried yet utterly characteristic voice died down and surrendered to the beep. Jaw clenched, the spare silver bullet you had been toying with between fingers dropped on the wooden table in a couple of clinks.

“Where the hell are you?”

Residual moonlight reflected off of the engravings on the piece of metal as it dropped, sending shards of light into the room that broke through the partial mellow darkness - only illuminated by the weak yellow bulb of the desk lamp. It was not the first time he had heard his son reach out to him in such worry laced in his usually playful and gruff voice, becoming graver with worry with each consecutive call that rang the phone, yet left unanswered - nor would it be the last.

“Listen, I’m on my way to find you. Call me.”

If he had been just a piece like him, he would not stop calling, no matter how much time and effort it could and would potentially take him - knowing very well that with each residual ring of the line, the chances of him being dead and gone would significantly increase.

If only he knew.

A low sigh would escape your parted mouth as you got up with a certain tiredness looming over your body, yet your mind seemed to keep you plenty occupied with other things than to think about how just many cuts and bruises were speckled alongside your skin, just how much your muscles ached from all that running - reminding you of your poor choices of foregoing the welcoming warmth of the bed.

And then, just like you had been expecting in some sort of sensing way, a second ringtone emanated throughout the stuffy air of the room - this time coming from another source which happened to be your phone.

Son of a bitch.

His head was raised ever so slightly, the moonlight hitting his hardened face in such an angle that the faint yet present, worried specks in his green hued orbs shone out - overbearing the darkened and more determined gaze he always held. The internal dilemma, the constant tug of war between the fatherly instinct and the hunter’s sense reflecting off of his expression - his jaw clenching, eyebrows furrowed in a stern gaze but an eminent gentleness to the demeanor. His look briefly was directed at the phone, trailing to focus on you for a split second before redirecting his attention to the big, chunky journal resting open near his frame, at the edge of the bed.

“You know better.”

In a split second, he had managed to drag out whatever reason you may have had, subconscious or purely deliberate, and eliminate it.

Picking up a call when you have not done for so long was nowhere to be found in your intentions - it was mere muscle memory, some sort of underlying reflex that made the hand extend inches closer to the one thing that tied him to you. Knowing who was at the end of the other line was a certain luxury that would prove to be too much to ask for. Picking up the phone meant seeing the number, which was memorized a long time ago. Succumbing to the urge of hearing his voice once again. Letting go of the task at hand.

It meant weakness, screamed selfishness and better yet, was pure danger and dread.

It was disobeying direct orders, and he would have none of that.

All were things that he knew you did not need at that very particular moment - so he was keeping you away from the unnecessary distraction as much as he could, doing a damn good job at that. Listening to each and every order the veteran would dish out at you seemed to be an unwritten rule etched deep into your conscious, and it always came to your rescue whenever you would expect less.

It was one of the main reasons you had been alive for this long. It made you last with all of your limbs intact, walk and talk and breathe as you ran from hunt to hunt.

It was a longshot yet everlasting hope of yours that it would keep you from the prying hands of death for just a tad more.

“Yes, Sir,” came out slightly muffled out of your lips but audible nevertheless, exhausted eyes fixated on the damn phone, left alone near the half-finished coffee cups, a trusted, small yet jagged tactical knife and cat-eye shells.

The shells. Grasping them in your hand, that was enough to get you up as your feet dragged you towards the door with a sigh lingering on your lips, a short-lived one in the presence of the man. The textured and grainy rumble of the marker against paper filled the room as his one hand splayed open a faded and overused map, a long finger tracing out the state of Colorado.

What you saw last before turning around to double check the locks on the door, was the name of his eldest written over the blank page, in capitals.

An eyebrow cocked up slightly, not expecting your work further out West to be done. If the mountain state was where he would take you next, he would have to let you sleep a little more. Then again, while it was no secret that you had been one of the handful people who understood the man well - John always seemed to have a covert yet planned agenda running in his mind.

A quality he had certainly passed down to his sons.

“We don’t have much time until he picks up our tracks,” his gruff voice started explaining as you knelt down near the locked wooden door of the motel room, covering the slit that let the faintest hint of white streetlight in with handfuls of salt along the boards - just like they had taught you. Empty eye shells were what followed the nightly precautions, rising up to do the same near the window sills, just below the fabric of the curtains. Arms stretching out under the oversized jacket draped over your frame as they reached, performing the same exact routine that had you engulfed within for the past couple of weeks.

“We’ll move out in a couple of days. I’m guessing it would take him at least a two day drive,” the man kept on reasoning as the cover of his leather-bound journal was shut gently, careful not to spill any of the precious contents.

An understanding nod came out of you, mind rushing as he left the journal by his equally unorganized desk. Hustling pool and being the cause of a bar fight at the same joints, repeatedly, for more than a couple of weeks got boring pretty quick anyway - a breath of fresh air would be nice.

If only that air did not include the demons and the supernatural that seemed to hunt you just as much as you hunted them. It would never be that easy, it never was.

The nonchalant shrug on your shoulders turned into a slight slump as you leaned against the table, your lips drawing out in a smaller line as you took notice of the man’s impenetrable gaze, looking at you with some sort of familiar concern. A deep sigh followed as his leather covered elbows rested on his dark blue jeans, running a hand over his stubbled face.

“Something big is coming, and I think this time, - ” spilled out of his mouth in a breathy series, head shaking just slightly in the weight of his words as his eyes shone with relentless determination.

And it brought such pain, such great, suppressed agony that only a few could see.

“This time we will kill it.”

[cyberdva]

house of cards- j.jk

Summary: A vacation by the shore with a break from constant labor was all a young couple could dream of and when that time finally presented itself it was exactly what they pounced for. A tiny community on the edge of a coastline caught the attention of a young idol and his hidden lover, yet the all but homey atmosphere chipped away at an alarming rate past their arrival. Small happenings caught the eye of the sharp-witted woman, more and more occurrences kept shoving chilling encounters her way. Something was brewing and with the faith of next to no one it was in her hands to keep the life of her dearest at bay along with the force of a menacing spirit having ties to hundreds of myths, it might just be too late. Was it time for a final goodbye?

Warnings: Horror Themes, Sexual References and Romantic Scenarios, Violence, and Cursing  (Perfect Just For Your Halloween) 

Word Count: 4.7k

BTS Masterlist

Main Masterlist

“A house made of cards, and us, inside

Even though the end is visible

Even if it’s going to collapse soon. 

A house made of cards, we’re like idiots

Even if it’s a vain dream, stay like this a little more…”

-

A frisk zephyr of overlooking, pristine Autumn air plunged a heavy set attack through the leaves of helpless trees. Tiny bumps formed by the hundreds along the skin of an unsuspecting idol. His mind was still set in the summer season, time was nothing but a concept to the young adult’s mind. Hours spent training and rehearsing can do that to a person. Life was hard enough trying to shield your personal life away from the public, Jungkook always thought of it like putting his memories in a small box, they never saw the light of day again. His inner frustrations boiled inside of him. He already missed out on so many important journeys in a common life. Even now at age twenty-three  he still has to beg for a break, on his knees if he has to.

“I’m telling you. Nothing’s going to go wrong. Can you please trust me for once.” His voice laced with anticipation, a weekend away from everything, from all the hell pushing its way through the cracks of its gates, felt like a dream. Which was the problem, “like a dream.” Jungkook wanted more than anything to ditch his constant rehearsals and run away with his endearing better half. If it weren’t for the constant bickering of the elders in his group the plan would’ve been set in stone. 

“Fine,” Jungkook sprung back in his girlfriend’s direction and threw his bulky arms over her shoulder, “Just this once, I don’t want Joonie to get mad at you.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

Finally the day came, it was a risky trip, especially with the newest comeback just around the corner. Really, a miracle. In retrospect, it wasn’t the most organized plan, but the small house the couple rented was only a mere hour away. More like thirty minutes away since Jungkook was driving. Y/N would constantly poke fun with him for his reckless behavior behind the wheel, not like she was complaining. It took a good half hour just to reach the highway, the area was lined up with houses, one by one space filled the gaps and the scene trickled out.

Up and down, up and down, the two of them bobbed up and down continuously. You would think for such a mainstream road it would be in much better condition, A wave of uneasiness fell over  Y/N, her eyes crinkled while still trying to keep her composure. Her mind shifted between thoughts of car sickness or a longing of home. Up, up, up they went, the evergreen landscape quickly morphed into blue waves. Jungkook gave a quick glance her way, then again. His brows furrowed, but his eyes stayed on the road. 

“Baby? Are you doing okay? You’re not pregnant or anything, right?” Even with the joking manner his voice gave a shaky form. He cleared his throat, unsure how to continue.

"Nope, I'm ok." she hissed. This road was too crazy, the car too crazy, the whole scenario far from a nice day off. “And no I’m not pregnant yet. Relax a little bit. I just haven’t been feeling great these past few days.” She trailed off. Y/N knew it sounded silly, but as if just admitting it made it real and added a big weight on her chest.” A huff of air spilt from her mouth in a laugh. With hands gripping the edge of the window, things felt easier. Still, a small lump of anxiousness stayed embedded in the back of her mind. Something just felt wrong. There was nothing to pinpoint exactly what. 

“You’re probably just hungry or car sick,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll get over it.”

“I hope so,” Y/N replied. The tiny bit of his smile twitched in the corner of his lips. “Maybe I just left something back at the house. No big deal, no big deal.” She attentively reassured herself.

"Are you sure?" Jungkook squeaked. "We can pull over. I don’t want you to be in any pain."

"Don't worry." Y/N muttered while she chewed on her nail, it was a bad habit. She couldn’t help doing it. Relief washed over her contemplation just imaging how her old friends tried to force her out of it. Soon sorrow after, it had been forever since they last talked. “Nonsense.” A voice reasoned back, Y/N dropped reminiscing on the past quickly. She looked out the window and her mouth grew dry. So much water, she thought. All those farms way back when and none in sight. 

Small airplanes gilded with banners, advertisements for local businesses, or even insurance, it must be ironic if one of those crashes. The place looked menacing. The road became shorter and turns filled their place, looks like their next stop was to fill up the tank. Y/N could see the townsfolk, not all congregated. They speckled out every few yards or so. The vehicle stopped abruptly and Jungkook hopped out without a word. Once the cut door swung open the soft song dancing across the air went dark. Silent. The wooden and glass buildings still standing, the old-timers sitting at the gas pumps, the store shelves still full, the strangers walking. They're all strangers out here, but they've all lived here since more people have come and gone. Weathered, even at their age.  She looked to her boyfriend, her eyes widening. What if that were him? What if they both died there? Or anywhere like this, it better not come to that. She meant no offense, but these people seemed off. It could just be the way they look, but even their movements felt robotic. They were already strangers here, not like they were really going to fit in. Having the small break made Y/N’s nerves settle, the car door slammed shut and back onto the freeway it was.

Blue blurs formed again and music, louder this time, picked back up. Manufactured cool air blew onto Y/N’s face, her fingers clasped the opening shut. The feeling could be described as far from pleasurable. The small knacks in the road kept coming, the build up was painful. A glitchy GPS voice crackled on and off.��

“Dammit, I thought I fixed this.” Jungkook whacked his head against his seat. The poor man spent hours trying to mend the apparent virus filled app, Y/N grabbed the device and replaced it with hers. No bother in trying to mend it now. There was only around five minutes left until they arrived, elation flared through their veins. 

“This is it.” Gravel crunched beneath the tires, leaving a path of marks down the long driveway. Trees cascaded down the trail, sunlight shined down past the windshield, lighting up the various screens underneath. The silhouette of the house loomed down beyond the small white garage which was accompanied by a lean basketball net attached by the top. It was homely, clearly meant for a larger family. It gave more space for random objects trying to fit that “beach theme.” Y/N swung her backpack over her right shoulder with a loud thud, Jungkook snagged his wallet from the cup holder and plopped a dark bucket hat over his head. Even with the odd setting, he couldn’t be noticed by an unsuspecting fan, it definitely wouldn’t end.

“Found the keys under the mat, you can head in.” The door was painted and off brand white, a chiseled glass pane was positioned in the center. It creaked open to reveal a balmy ambience, the kitchen laid straight ahead. A warm brown color pallet coincided with a lemon motley. A beam formed on Y/N’s face. This place lightened the foul spirit from before. The parlor was across the way, a giant TV cascaded over the wall with a slim couch behind. It was cute, except for the off setting décor. There comes a point when too many seashells overload a room. Next to that mess was a long corridor which probably led to the bedrooms, maybe even the bathroom and suddenly Y/N caught wind of a sound, like footsteps. Walking just right in front of her, right down that same hallway. Instinctively, she followed. Her hand shook with small pints of fear. More assorted paintings graced the wall, she didn’t bother stopping to poke fun. The creaking moved faster, so did she. The end of the pathway was nearing, the energy darted to the left, a children’s room. Y/N’s heart beat with fury, her mind was screaming at her to stop, far too late. A whisper swirled past her ears, it was at a nearly unintelligible decibel. The bed was perfectly made, a doorway led to the posh yard out back, and a mirror clung to the wall. No child would really want to stay here, too antiquated. Again, the murmurs returned, this time more of them and they were much louder.

“Bring her back. Bring her back.”

“What in the goddamn fu-” The glass door slammed itself shut, there was no wind, no person. Small cracks forced their way through the corners of the frame. Y/N’s eyes were stunned open, a hand covering her dropped jaw. There is no way she saw that, this has to be a joke.

A hand grabbed her shoulder, shivers ran up her arms with an ache. Her head zipped around with an instinct, her palm smashing into whatever was behind her. A mistake, Jungkook toppled down, grasping his eye. A single tear slipped down the red shot iris. His nose crinkled in distress.

“Baby!” She rushed over to him, “Are you okay? You scared the absolute shit out of me!” Her fingers pressed up against the sensitive skin which relived the man of a groan. 

He brushed her off, “It’s okay, don’t worry.” He pulled her into a quick hug and placed a kiss on her forehead. She was trying best to ignore whatever the hell just happened. “Babe,” he groaned, “It’s so good to see you again.” His body slumped onto the spare bed. Children weren’t an “issue” yet, so the room lost its charming use. In all honesty, it didn’t look really safe to begin with. Open outlets, high ledges, who knows what could happen here. Jungkook grabbed Y/N out of her thoughts, literally, and plucked the air right out of her. Soft lips powdering small kisses across the woman’s face much to her delight. A pang of red heat rose to her cheeks. It was hard to notice, but a wave of satisfaction tore through the face of the maknae. 

“You see me all the time Koo, what do you mean?’ The space radiated passion. This is all Jungkook could have ever asked for. Of course, the circumstances weren’t all the best, but still it was perfect to him. His hands roamed their way across her torso as the kiss deepened. A gasp exploded from Y/N’s mouth with her boyfriend’s lips grazing the crook of her neck.

“Koo.” Her words trembled with conflict, ”Jungkook.” His attention cracking back to actuality, hair dilated with static and all, a faint mark of his tenderness was left by a circular imprint. His smile beamed with devious pride, slowly growing bigger. 

A hand intercepted his ardor. "There’s still stuff in the car. We have to bring it in, before the sunsets please.” A slick eyeroll was the only response mustered up. 

“You’re no fun…” Jungkook slumped to the ground from the edge of the bed into a crumpled pile on the floor. His posture curved and a small pout was sent in Y/N’s direction, down to the small flick of his outer lip. Only she could barely escape his enticing puppy dog eyes. A continuous click sprouted from the disturbed blinds behind their heads, the pressure was obvious. Neither one of them made the first move, it had been so long, too long. They sensed something else though, again no one could put their finger on it.

Amusement was drawn from the other despite the odd mood, ”You’re such a child!” Y/N giggled, which got Jungkook going. He propped himself right back up with full energy bouncing off the yellow-chipped walls.

“We can do whatever you want after we get our bags, scouts honor.” Y/N delicately placed one hand on her chest, the other up on the air. Her boyfriend had absolutely no clue on what she was talking about, but still went along with the spiel best as he could. A dazed nod came from him and his slim finger grasped the ends of his hair, running them through the roots. He slid a small elastic over it all, forming a tiny bun in the back of his head. Jungkook knew it drew his girlfriend wild, that’s why he does these sorts of things. Out of the room he went, Y/N stood silently in her same place, trying to listen for something. Her mind on high alert kept driving her insane. Her only hope, maybe some Advil, was still locked in the car. Her head never moved its spot, furthering the booming discomfort she felt, staring at the large door. It wasn’t right, or it was just her imagination once more. Too soon to determine according to her. The jingling of the car keys signaled the end of her inner battle, louder and louder they went. A small crack emitted from her ankles while slipping her shoes on, accompanied by a groan. It’d been forever since the two of them went out, being locked away in your house while the days stripped away can do that to a person. Hell, it has happened! Jungkook’s hand graced her back ever so slightly, sending the woman into brief hysteria. 

“Screw you!” Y/N jabbed at the chest of her boyfriend playfully.

Jungkook dogged her blows and stuck out his tongue, “Hey! You’re being the jumpy one today!”

Instead of going all the way round the lot, the couple opted for passing through the shady back door, much to Y/N distaste.

“It’s just a door, sweetheart.” Jungkook cooed. He found the situation comical, not knowing the full story of what happened. He grabbed the handle to the exit and it slid back with haste, they were quite careful as to not rupture it even more. The landlord didn’t seem like a pleasant person from their experiences. It felt like opening a greenhouse while stepping outdoors. Even with winter approaching, the atmosphere clung to their frames likes a spider entangled in pesticide. The grass beamed an unnatural green giving it some otherworldly look. Along with the various brightly colored lawn décor, it looked god awful. 

There was a light mist floating above them, blending in with the ash sky. It was truly a freak of nature photo opt, the weather changed more promptly than usual. 

“Maybe we should buy another house like this, huh?” The boyfriend wasn’t just yet done with his rampage of witty one liners, most of which making no sense.

“I never striked you as the suburban family type of man.” Y/N patted his back.

“Dear god no, my standards aren’t that low. Imagine the neighbors.” Now that’s the real horror show. The car was already unlocked, rapidly the trunk was swung open. Just two suitcases and a medium sized bag was left. 

Parading back in didn’t take much time. Next door was the main bedroom, it was nearly identical to the other. Jungkook wheeled his belongings into a folding closet, grabbing the TV remote in the process. Finally, he could rest. Y/N did the same, afterwards she made her way towards the washroom, in hopes of placing a bag filled with various items for hygiene inside. The events that occurred minutes ago had already been mangled aside. 

A mortified shriek came from the very same room Y/N had just stumbled into. Jungkook’s head snapped right up, quickly running down the narrow hallway pictured with corny beach puns and postcards he busted the door right open. The very bags his paramour had just lugged in clatter to the cheap wooden flooring in an instant. With one hand covering her mouth, the other shakily pointed to the wall across the way.

An assortment of hundred legged creatures made their way around the right side of the room, some on the floor, even on the ceiling. Stares of horror were the only response, at least thirty of the innocents were visible.

“Dear god,” Jungkook didn’t like bugs, even more than Y/N. His nerves sprung shot and slowly made his way out of the doorway. The inamorata looked for any spray or object to hurdle their way. The only option was to scavenge through whatever chemicals that could be found in the cabinets. Her shoes slid across the floor with an edge while trying to compose herself. Her boyfriend was scared shitless and the least she could do was calm his nerves. After grabbing handfuls of bottles back she went, but Jungkook was already in her place. 

“Y/N.. you saw that right? You saw the bugs?” His voice trembled.

“What is happening… are we going insane?”

So much continued to happen, proceeding the weird visions Jungkook and Y/N sat outside, watching the stars form. A small dinner was prepared, outdoors of course, the weather refused to make amends and discomfort was high. 

“You know, it’s getting pretty late,” Jungkook smoothed his hands around his lover’s waist. “We should go back inside and try to get some rest. We’re going to be okay.” He got up and extended his arm out as an offer to cling to. No exchange of words provided. Tiredness washed over the two, there was no point in arguing. Walking back into the shady house found only hours ago could be considered the worst choice made, but carelessness was the new fad. Both doors were locked upon entry. The house was warmer than before, Y/N stripped into a cooler outfit, Jungkook removed his lighter shirt and as soon as they hit the bed they were out like a light.

Y/N shot straight up in the air, breathing heavily. Her head whipped around to the clock, 2:24 am. Her other half was still passed out, but he wasn’t the only other person watching them. A large, black figure stood right outside the same glass door. It looked inhuman, what seemed to be seven feet tall, a bony structure giving it the posture of a lazy school boy and it was looking right at her.

Violently shaking the man she whispered, “Someone’s outside Jungkook. Please tell me we aren’t going to die.” He awoke at an instant trying to grasp what was going on around him. Anxiety mixed with shock filled his mind. He held her back down to his chest seeking to go unnoticed.  

“We aren’t going to die. I love you so much princess, please trust me.” Empty promises, he didn’t know what was going to happen. Hope was the only option he had. Hope was the only thing that could save him. He was going to stay up as long as he could until his body gave in. They ran past the doors, the creature created haunting moans while pushing at the crystalware. He showed Y/N into the small supply closet. Sobs racked out of Y/N body, Jungkook’s tears plopped past the roots of her hair. He kept gripping harder onto her, trying to get as close as possible to her core.

“Honey, we have to stay very quiet so nobody gets to us. Okay?” He whispered.

“I know. We don’t want to get in trouble. I’ll go first.” Y/N said, quietly breathing heavily.

“Okay, you know I’ll never let anyone hurt you.” His angelic voice replied, “I’ll go get a knife. Stay right here.” Objections spewed from her mouth, but he didn’t listen.  

The distinct sound of glass shattering filled the vicinity. Then silence. The walls felt like they were closing in on them, the girl knew this might be it. She couldn’t even say goodbye since her boyfriend clamped her mouth shut with his vast palm. It was for the best, surely her head would’ve been on a platter from her cries being found.

“JK?” Y/N called out for him with a longing for his response, “Jungkook? Please come out, I think we’re okay!” So much desperation in her sore croaks. He had to be out there she knew he was.

Her hand flew up in defense as she took a deep blow to her stomach, toppling over the metal coffee table. The ringing became worse, old coffee from yesterday morning mixed with the liquid flowing from fresh, small cuts. Her arms flew up in retaliation, but Y/N’s instincts weren’t as sharp as the knife on the kitchen counter once held by the goner searching for protection. 

There wasn’t any screaming, no struggle or pain. All she could hear was the soft singing of him, they were forever young. He was gone. His smell engulfed her senses, memories, all gone. Y/N would see him soon

“A house made of cards, and us, inside

Even though the end is visible

Even if it’s going to collapse soon

A house made of cards, we’re like idiots

Even if it’s a vain dream, stay like this a little more…”

They sang, they mocked. Her mind was numb with the figure of god-knows-who hovered over her limp physique. Little to her knowledge, Jungkook’s phone laid in the grasp of their left hand with the tantalizing feeling to take a photo to capture this moment. All for nothing.

It was over, they should’ve just stayed home.

Moral of the story: always listen to RM.

cyberdva. 2020

[fatefulfaerie]

Comfort

Wrote this as a birthday present for the amazing artist @territheturtle but it’s the holidays so here’s some more wholesome botw 2 content.

Kind of long, I had a lot of ideas. I suppose that’s a good thing. Or not, your choice to make.

“Hey…uh, Link?” Zelda prompted as she swirled around the remaining soup with her spoon, looking at it ripple and bend before she looked up to him.

“Yeah,” he replied casually as he took a drink of water.

“Can you teach me how to cook?”

He suddenly coughed rather abruptly, as if choking on the water he drank, his face reddening and his eyes watering.

Zelda eyes searched him as he let out another cough and put his head in his palm.

“What?” 

Link let out a chuckle as he started to clear their bowls from the table.

“No way.”

“Why not?” Zelda said with a slight whine.

“Oh let me see,” Link started teasingly before holding a lightly fisted hand before him.

“You burn things,” he said, extending one finger out.

“You’re impatient,” he said, extending out a second finger

“You don’t listen,” he said, a third finger meeting the rest.

“You put in goddesses know what.”

There went the fourth finger.

“And you throw things when you’re upset,” Link said as he emphasized his open and empty palm, “no.”

“I do not throw things,” she insisted, “that’s completely improper.”

Link pointed to his forehead, “bag of supplies,” and to a scratch on his arm, “bow and arrow,” and then his right shoulder, “book.”

“You’re fine,” she said quickly.

“And you’re not cooking,” he said with a smirk as he crossed his arms, “I like our house. I’d rather it not be burned to the ground.”

“Our house?” she asked slower, with a softer tone.

“Y-yeah,” he said, starting to clean the bowls, “our house.”

Zelda smiled as she stood up and approached Link, leaning on the edge of the counter where she stood beside him.

“Cooking is a good skill to have,” Zelda reasoned, “and growing up in a castle means that it’s one of the many skills that I don’t have. So, I figured that since you’re such a good cook, you could teach me.”

Zelda looked to Link, hoping she appealed to his vanity.

“Nope,” he stated simply.

“What if I need to cook for you?”

“Why?”

“If you’re injured…or sick…”

“Only your cooking would make me sick,” Link said jokingly.

Yet Zelda’s frustration was starting to fume, Zelda standing up straight from leaning on the counter and balling her hands into fists.

“I order you to teach me!”

Link smiled, amused at her antics.

“Your orders don’t work anymore, Your Highness.”

Zelda scoffed, inhaling to voice her most heightened anger before her eyes trailed from his smirk to his hands.

He had finished cleaning their soup bowls and was now portioning out flour, sugar, butter, milk, and eggs.

A smile spread across her face, Link looking over at her odd silence and smiling when he knew it meant that she noticed.

“Promise me you’ll listen.”

Zelda nodded quickly.

“I promise,” she said excitedly.

The two of them shifted over to the neatly organized counter, everything so tidy in their own small bowls that Zelda marveled at how she didn’t notice him preparing this much sooner.

“Okay, what are we making?” she asked.

“Fruitcake.”

Zelda looked to Link, surprised to no end. How could he remember that? He doesn’t even remember his mothers’ name and he remembers her favorite food?

No, it couldn’t be, it must just be a coincidence.

“Now everything is already rationed out,” Link said with a gesture, Zelda biting her lip in deep thought, “since we’re baking we do dry ingredients and wet ingredients separately, but eventually they all go in the same bowl. Flour is first.”

Zelda picked up a small bowl and tossed its’ contents in the large bowl.

“Then sugar,” Link prompted, Zelda doing the same thing as she went down the line, repeating it when he said, “and then baking soda,” and, “then baking powder.”

Zelda looked to Link when she finished to find him holding a spoon.

Without a word, she took it and started to stir the piles of white powder into, well, more white powder.

“This isn’t too bad,” she remarked, “what next?”

“Next is the liquid ingredients, so butter, milk, and eggs.”

The butter and milk went in fine. This was simple to Link, but she was getting the hang of it quickly, making him smile as he leaned an elbow on the counter. She’d even stirred with every new ingredient without being told to. “There, see, simple,” she added.

Yet Zelda glared skeptically at the egg as she brought it before her.

“So…” she prompted, hoping the answer would come to her along the way, or that Link would reveal it to her.

“Well, we don’t want the eggshell bit,” Link said, trying to help with a subtle hint, “so you have to crack it open in the center to get out the insides.”

“What if I get shells in the batter?” Zelda asked

Link shrugged. Apparently this wasn’t as life or death for him as Zelda was making it out to be. Shells in cake seemed absolutely horrid to her, but he didn’t seem to care.

Or, and this is what Zelda was starting to fear, he was actually trusting her to do a good job. 

“Here,” he said, taking out another bowl, “you can try it out away from the batter.”

Zelda took a deep breath as she nodded, trying to crack open the eggshell into two halves with her hands.

Yet it crumbled open completely, Zelda looking at the mess of yellow goo and eggshells with panic.

Zelda’s hands froze, looking to Link quickly before averting her glance.

“Link…I…I’m so sorry…I didn’t mean to…”

“Hey,” he said with a chuckle, placing a hand on her shoulder, “it’s okay. There’s a reason why I took out five eggs. We only need two.”

“Oh,” she said with a small laugh as Link took a rag and wiped the mess off her hands.

“I’ll tell you what,” Link said, “I’ll show you how to do one, and then you can do the other. How does that sound?”

Zelda nodded, Link taking another egg and a clean bowl, Zelda watching attentively. 

“I usually use the rim of the bowl,” he said as he lightly touched the egg to the rim, “and hit it lightly three times to create a crack.”

He did exactly as he said.

“Then once it has a bigger crack like this,” Link continued, holding up the egg to Zelda and tracing the crack with his fingers, “I can put my thumbs between it and crack it open.”

From two halves of eggshells perfectly plopped the insides, the yolk coming out without so much as a speckle of an eggshell.

Zelda was so mesmerized by the precision that she barely heard him say,

“Now, your turn.”

“Link,” she started to argue, “I don’t know if I can…”

But Link handed her an egg nonetheless, despite her objections.

“The problem with you,” Link started, “is that you think everything is simple and straightforward, and then you blame yourself when it isn’t.”

Zelda furrowed her brow, inhaling to refute it before Link added, as if he always meant to add it,

“It’s your only fault.”

Zelda blushed, averting her glance with a smile.

“You flatter me too much,” she said as she tapped to egg on the rim without even thinking.

Link watched with wide eyes as she cracked it open with her finger as perfectly as Link had.

“I don’t think so,” he said, pouring the egg contents into the larger bowl as Zelda stirred and stirred them all together.

“Scrape the sides of the bowl to get all the ingredients,” he suggested, “we don’t want to miss anything.”

Zelda nodded as she did exactly that, Link pulling out two thin cake pans.

“Good,” he said, “I think it’s ready to get poured into the pan.”

“How do you keep it from sticking to the pan when it cooks?” Zelda asked, watching as Link pulled out another stick of butter.

“Would you care to do the honors, Your Highness,” he said, ceremoniously sheathing the butter from its’ wrapping as if it were a sword.

“Thank you,” she said as she took it, “Hero of Hyrule.”

Link smiled as she buttered the pan.

“I’m assuming two pans for the two layers?”

“Y-yeah,” Link affirmed.

She was catching on quick.

Together they poured the batter into the two pans and placed it in the furnace, both smiling at the deed.

“I’ll make the frosting while you cut up the fruit,” Link instructed, placing the rest of the ingredients on the countertop.

“How will we know when the batter is cooked?”

“It usually takes a half an hour,” Link said, “so set the Sheikah slates’ timer to thirty.”

“Got it,” Zelda said, excited to test out Purah’s new ‘clock rune’.

Ever since Link returned from the Shrine of Resurrection, Purah has seen the slate as her own plaything, experimenting on it as if it was her own. 

She was overjoyed when Link and Zelda told her that they would be mainly settled in Link’s Hateno house for now, Zelda getting her bearings after her hundred-year fight with Ganon.

Yet, the pair humored the old Sheikah, no matter how young she really was, allowing her to install the clock rune, the voice rune, the script rune. They were all trivial compared to what the other runes could do, but Zelda was delighted nonetheless.

In fact, the last time they were there she kept going on about making pictures move, but the pair of Hylians figured silently that such a notion was far-removed from reality.

Zelda shook off the curious thought as she placed down the slate, focusing instead on the cutting board before her.

Fourteen Hylian berries, one Akkala lime, and one Faron orange, the Hateno grapes, wild berries, and Tabantha berries off to the side, obviously not needing to be cut.

“Link,” she prompted as she looked over to him.

Of course he practically had the frosting done already.

“Maybe you should do this,” Zelda said, her voice hesitant, “I’ll probably cut myself with the experience I have.”

“Nonsense,” he said as he took a step closer, the bowl of frosting now put aside, “as long as you keep your fingers away from where the blade is going or could go, you’ll be fine.”

Zelda nodded, picking up the knife with a shaky hand and placing the blade on top of the orange. She sliced it cautiously until the orange was in eighths, doing the same with the lime before moving on to the Hylian berries, cutting off their tops and halving each of them.

“There, see,” Link said, “not too bad.”

“I’ll get rid of these tops for you,” he said as he reached over and cupped the green and red remnants in his hands.

He only realized how close he had gotten to Zelda when she looked to him, them both realizing with red complexions that their faces were inches away. He must have looked ridiculous, holding fruit in his hand as kept his close distance to Zelda, to the Princess of Hyrule of all people. Her back was barely turned but her head was, their eyes flitting downwards as their breathing heaved.

Link felt as if his heart jumped out of his skin at the sudden and loud beeping that ensued from the slate, Link closing his eyes with a sigh.

“Remind me to tell Purah to change that to anything else but the shrine sensor tone,” Link said before stepping away, tossing the fruit tops in the trash.

Zelda exhaled a deep breath as she registered what almost happened, her eyes searching nothing in particular.

Trying to compose herself, she suddenly bounded towards the furnace, inhaling to sniff the sweetness of the cake. 

A hundred years too long.

Her excitement perhaps getting the better of her, she extended her hand to withdraw one of the pans, Link only looking over in time to hear,

“Ow!!” Zelda clutching her hand with the other and squinting her eyes shut as she whimpered.

“Zelda!” Link exclaimed as he hurried over, placing his hands on the sides of her arms, he clutched her as he continued, “talk to me! You burned yourself didn’t you?”

Link’s eyes were swimming with concern as Zelda nodded.

He rushed her over to the water spout, hastily running cold water before he forcefully took her hand underneath it. She breathed a sigh a relief at the sensation, Link practically holding her in his arms as the water continued.

“See,” he started, "this is exactly what I said, Zelda, you burn things, important things.”

The hot pain soothed under the cool stream, Zelda able to breathe a little easier.

“I’m sorry Link…I don’t know what I was thinking…there’s knowing how to cook, and then there’s common sense…I’m pretty sure I wasn’t thinking at all.”

“It happens to everyone, Zelda,” Link said, “this is a lesson everyone learns, again and again, you’ve learned it before, too.”

“To not burn myself?” she asked.

“To not be as foolish the next time,” he clarified.

Zelda pondered his words as he let her go, her head downcast. It stayed down even when Link put a hand to the back of her head.

“Hey,” Link prompted softly, “look at me.”

Her eyes met his.

“You did great today,” he continued, “you learned, and you learned fast. Just trying new things says a lot about you.”

Link chuckled.

“Maybe tomorrow you can teach me about how all this Sheikah technology works.”

Zelda laughed and nodded, her expression melting.

“And maybe some Hyrulean history, too?” she asked hopefully.

“Whatever you want,” he said soothingly, Zelda thinking she would get lost in his voice until something sparked in her mind.

The cake.

The cake that was done but still in the furnace.

Link apparently had the same thought, rushing over and preparing it. 

It was the delicate things that Zelda didn’t want to ruin, the layers, the frosting, the placement of the fruit. 

Yet, Link brought all the little parts over to the main table anyway, narrating what he was doing step-by-step as if there really was a moving picture of him.

Zelda considered how marvelous that would be as she leaned her head on her hand, in her eyes a deep admiration.

It wasn’t long before Link cut a slice for her and offered it forward with a smile, Zelda returning the expression before her eyes trailed down to the dessert for her to enjoy.

She took a cautious bite as Link took a hungry one, the swordsman waiting for her reaction as they both chewed.

Her expression, however was warping in ways Link didn’t want to see, Zelda tearing up.

“Z-Zelda?” he asked timidly, “are you okay? Does…does it not taste good? I suppose my taste buds…”

Link stopped completely what he would describe as babbling as she shook her head.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered, placing the fork down and bringing her hands to her mouth.

She closed her eyes as more tears fell, Link on the verge of standing up.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I must seem crazy…I’m crying over cake.”

“I cried over a shirt a few months back,” Link said, “emotions never come when we want them to.”

Zelda nodded, exhaling as she brought her hands back down. They were placed as if she were bracing herself against the table, every muscle tensing and freezing until they weren’t.

A warm hand had calmed them in mere seconds, Link forgoing his own hesitation, and now that the deed was done, he didn’t want to let go.

“I remember the last time I had this,” she said softly and sadly, Link paying great attention, “it was my seventeenth birthday. We were to depart from the castle early, too early, in order to ascend Lanayru Mountain by midday…”

“I overslept,” she continued, “my handmaidens rushed to prepare me for a day that I didn’t want. In fact, I wished for all the days before, all those times I could think of my powers and excuse myself just a little because I had not yet reached seventeen, because I had not yet prayed to the statue at Lanayru Mountain. I knew that if this day in particular went wrong, I truly would be a disappointment.”

“The door to my chambers gave way to three knocks. I tensed. I thought it was my father, bidding me a good-bye, a good luck, and another scowl of disdain for this daughter he was cursed with.”

“But…I opened the door, and…it was you. Standing there, with an apologetic smile on your face and…a slice of fruitcake on a plate.”

“I…I don’t think I would have eaten at all that day if it weren’t for you.”

“I don’t remember that,” Link said his eyes searching, “I…wish I did.”

“It’s okay, Link,” Zelda said, Link eyes popping back to hers, “your compassion remains intact, your courage as well. Things like that…are not so easily forgotten.”

Zelda took another bite of cake, this time with a growing smile as her fingers entwined with his.

“No,” he said, “they aren’t.”

[starlling-writes]

How to Care for a Dragon

- Fantasy short story - Monster pet - 1500 words - Suitable for everyone, no warnings - Based on this prompt [pictured below] from @write-it-motherfuckers​: Writing Masterlist

I had no idea how to care for a dragon—

Yet I took the little one in. I left him in the bathroom while I grabbed provisions. Food, water, a couple spare towels. The entire time I gathered things, I was looking up how to care for a dragon. It was all overwhelming. I don’t know why I bothered researching so much; I’d only have to look after him until I handed him over to the wildlife preserve once they opened.

Once work hours finally rolled around, I called up the rescue center and got an appointment right away. Thankfully, the dragon was small enough that I could use the carriers I used to take my ferrets to the vet.

I wasn’t obligated to stay as the vet went about a routine check, but I waited. I was worried about the poor baby. The vet later told me that something likely happened that made the dragon’s mother abandon him. At such a young age, hunting was difficult, thus resulting in him rummaging through my trash. Apparently, I caught him just in time too. He had eaten something that was causing an obstruction. A few more days and…

The surgery was going to be pricey but I could afford it. I had been saving up to go back to school, but this was more important. School could wait, if it meant saving a life. When I mentioned the news to friends, I got mixed reactions. Some were supportive and proud of me for being so kindhearted. A few criticized me, saying I was making a mistake for throwing away my future for a feral animal—I started to cut these people out of my life after this revelation.

I agreed to foster the dragon while he recovered from surgery. The vet office needed the space, and it would cut down on my bill. I still had work, but hopefully I could get someone to come over during my work hours to watch over him. I didn’t trust the little dragon to not destroy my home or attack my ferrets, Socks and Dr. Fusby.

As the days passed, I watched his personality burst forth. Despite all my worries, he loved Socks and Fusby, and they loved him too. While I had to keep the ferrets locked up overnight, all three of them pestered me until I let the little noodles out to play and cuddle and nap with their new scaly friend. My phone was now filled with picture and videos of them.

He needed a name still.

 I had no idea how to care for a dragon—

However, the little guy was in no state to be released into the wild. With a damaged wing, he would likely never fly. And given how bad he had done on his own before, the specialist didn’t think he’d survive long if released. I asked to keep him. He was already used to my place and loved my ferrets. It would be a challenge, but I was up for it. I’d make it work.

After much consultation and agreeing to many follow up appointments with both the vet and the wildlife rehabilitator, they gave me the greenlight.

Now that he was officially mine, I felt comfortable giving him a name. Given he was pale green with black speckles, and what he was eating when I found him, I decided to name him Kiwi.

On the way home, I stopped by the pet store and got a brand new collar for Kiwi. I also got him a harness and a couple toys. The cashier was shocked to see a dragon, but quickly called up their coworkers so they could all gush and pet him. Kiwi loved the attention.

Finally home again, Kiwi wanted nothing more than to play with Socks and Fusby. I picked the furry noodles out of their cage and sat down on the floor. While being a jungle-gym for two ferrets and a baby dragon ended me with a lot of scratches and a rat’s nest where my hair used to be, I did manage to get a cute picture of the four of us. A new family photo. I’d have to get it printed and framed soon.

Training a dragon was similar to training a dog. Sort of. He learned the basic repertoire quickly, and more so that obeying my commands got him food. Then, Kiwi started doing them without prompting. He would walk up to me and sit or lie down, which should have been a good thing. But if I didn’t notice him soon enough, he’d started whining; and if I didn’t give him a treat, he’d start wailing and flapping his wings carelessly, knocking things over.

I really hoped this was just a phase he’d grow out of. Soon.

I wasn’t ready for when Kiwi started breathing fire. I became close friends with the fire department. But after the third major fire Kiwi caused, something had to change.

I began looking for a new home, something made of bricks or stone—something less flammable. The only property I found was quite out of the way, but that made it affordable. When I went to the house for a tour, I learned that it was right next to its own little pond with a rocky shore. I could already see Kiwi sunning himself there in the summer; Socks and Dr. Fusby would enjoy being outside in the warm months too.

I bought the house.

Moving was a hassle in every way possible, but it would be worth it in the end. Now Kiwi had plenty of room to run around. And less things to set on fire. Another thing that worked out well was there were plenty of trees for him to claw. He shed his talons like a cat, and the bigger he grew, the faster he destroyed traditional scratching posts.

How quickly this new house became a home.

 I had no idea how to care for a dragon—

So I grew concerned about Kiwi’s size when he rivaled a moose. He could barely fit in the house now—which was a fact he did not seem to realize. I began renovations. I opened the existing house as much as I could, then added a new room all for Kiwi. It might be more appropriate to call it a barn than a room.

As he grew up, I became less worried about him being outside. His manners had improved greatly and he was such a mama’s boy that I was confident he wouldn’t run away. Some days he’d take longer to return when I called him in for dinner or for bed, but he always came home. I decided to remove the outer doors to his room so he could go in and out whenever he liked.

Then he started climbing the house and the trees. I was at a loss at what to do when he refused to come down. It wasn’t like I could call the fire department to help get him—he was too large for anyone to move without his consent. I wouldn’t have minded exactly, except he kept felling the trees. It was a mess. And I worried about him hurting himself.

At a loss for what to do, I called up the wildlife experts who had helped me when I found him. They suggested that Kiwi likely enjoyed the view and missed flying. Of course, how could I have not guessed that? He often ran around flapping his wings. But that was only half of the issue solved. Now I had to figure out what to do about it.

I was relaxing at home, looking for something to watch on TV, when inspiration struck. It was an old movie that gave me the thought: a tower. There was plenty of land around to build a tower big enough to support Kiwi’s growing weight. I could add scaffolds along the outside for him to climb—and stairs for me to climb so I could join him up there.

Time for more construction.

It was a challenge to keep him off the tower as it was being built. I had to chain him up by the pond to keep him away. His cries and whimpers for freedom broke my heart, but it needed to be done. I offered to help lay some of the stones so the construction would go minutely faster. It was exhausting work.

Once the final brick was set, everyone gathered with food and drinks to watch as I unleashed Kiwi. His eyes were glowing with joy, locked onto the top of the tower. The moment he felt the chain go slack, he bounded forward and scaled the tower like a giant cat. When he reached the top, he let out a jubilant roar and burst of flames; he was so proud and happy.

 I had no idea how to care for a dragon—

But letting one into my life and into my heart was the best decision of my life.

— — —

Writing Masterlist

[minsyal]

Mutual Feelings Pt. 9, [Revali x Reader]

Summary: Smart nerdy stuff that smart nerdy people do

“Incoming!” The small metal hinges on your door shook as a heavy foot collided with the old crackling wood, only making its condition worse. The door flew open, slammed against the wall, and rattled the entire room. If the shelves and desk weren’t bolted to the wall, they would have clattered to the ground or move. Purah stood under the frame with the widest smile stretching across her face.

She was nothing but a lit firecracker. Her smile spoke words of mischief, as it always did, speaking essays and forty-minute presentations without her even having to part her lips.

You slid the papers you were working on under a leather-bound book. She wouldn’t like their contents. After all, they were full of information to the Divine Beasts controls that she didn’t know about. Controls that you added. You could imagine the look on her face if she learned that you were going behind her back to answer the Champion’s requests.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” She waltzed into the room with an energy that dumbfounded you. How she managed to stay in a perpetual state of joy was something that intrigued you, but you had no desire to live through yourself. “Brought you more super royal work! I know how much you love all that jazz.”

“You know me better than anyone.” You joked, turning your chair to face her. “What is it?”

“Oh,” she danced around you to slink toward the window. “you know! Just… some stuff.” The pile of papers in her hands didn’t seem like too much work. There were only two notebooks and maybe a dozen sheets of paper with scribbles all over them. There was one thing you took note of, the princess’s perfect cursive that seemed to glide across the page.

“Some stuff.” You repeated, quickly snatching a paper before Purah could protest. “Zelda’s work?”

“Precisely!”

“Why?” There was no way Zelda would want you messing with her work.

“Well. Big boss-man told her to focus on her powers. That means that you and I, more so you,” she quickly added, “get to finish it for her!”

“She would be furious if I so much as touched this.” You speedily put the page back on the stack that was now perched on your desk. “Are you sure we’re supposed to do this?”

“It’s not so much as finish it. Rather,” she leaned to the right and then swayed to the left, “add it to our work! It’s about the shrines and everything. You know? Science stuff.”

“Is she allowed to continue searching for shrines?”

“Probably not. That means less trips with her for you! Maybe more time to spend with,” she waggled her brows in a suggestive manner, “you know who.”

“Purah, let’s not go there.”

“Oh sweetie, you already went there! In fact, you’re way past there! You’re,” she pretended to cast a fishing hook off into the distance, “waaaaayyyy over there! And over there,” she pointed in the opposite direction, “was the point of no return.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“All in a day’s work!”

“Don’t you have other work to be doing?”

“Nope!” She swayed on her toes, the mischievous smile never leaving her face. “So, are you and Revali like, a thing?”

“It was nice to see you, Purah.” You rose from your desk chair and began pushing her out the door. “Please, visit less.” Her feet halted in the hall. “I’ll send a card.”

“It better tell me you and Revali are dating!”

You slammed the door in her face. You could hear her giggling to herself as she left.

Shortly after meeting Keumi and learning of her situation, you traveled alone to Zora’s Domain to obtain updates on how many shines were identified in the surrounding areas from King Dorephan and Mipha. Sidon, who is Mipha’s brother, tagged along but proved to be little to no help as he was just beginning to learn how to utilize his swimming skills.

While there, you met a peculiar older gentleman who gave off an air of wisdom and vast medicinal knowledge. He was kind, quiet, and understated. Unlike the other Zora, he lived in the outskirts of the Domain. His whereabouts remained a mystery to the other Zora, and he was said to only appear when he sensed illness.

It was surprising when he set foot in the Domain seeking you.

You sat with the medicine man, listening diligently as he told you stories of his many travels throughout Hyrule. He had been everywhere you had and more. The ingredients he collected for treating illness were from all walks of the land.

“What brings you to the Domain?” He asked, folding his wrinkled hands in his lap. The two of you sat on the steps of the Domain.

“Research.” You commented.

“Just research?” He implored, eyes leaving you to look off dreamily to the sky. He closed his eyes, taking in the breeze that blew through the canyon walls. “I think you’re here for far more than that.”

“More?”

“You have someone special to you. Very special,” his gaze returned to yours, “and they’re very sick.”

“How do you know that?” You whispered, eyes going wide.

“It’s all over your face.” He smiled, “And I’m not oblivious.”  

The medicine man, Sopho, told you of a mysterious plant with an inimitable name, “Omisaato.” The enigmatic flower heavily resembled the Silent Princess, but with small differences in its shape and the introduction of golden speckling on its petals. It radiated the scent of fresh vanilla bean and only sprouted from the ground once a year in varying locations around Gerudo. Sopho told of its intense healing abilities. When brewed correctly with specific ingredients, it could cure even the most devastating diseases or genetic mutations.

He couldn’t provide you with the exact information you needed but could gift you a descent sized book that he had bought on a trip to Kara Kara. Even if there was no evidence of its existence, it was worth a try.

It could fix her. It could save her.

Though it was only a few days ago, Zelda was growing restless. She was itching to breach the walls and return to the wild where she could spend time with what she loved most. You’d find her lingering in the library for longer periods of time, watching over your shoulder as you sifted through her research notes. She’d practically be dangling from the balcony to see what you thought of her work. It was detailed, far more detailed than you had ever bothered to do. She described the make and model, how many screws and bolts she estimated they have, and where she hypothesized, they led to. With such a small entrance, it had to go down. But where? That was the looming question.

“Why don’t you just join me, instead of scare the hell out of Link?” You turned around to find her wide-eyed, either surprised you called her out or surprised that you knew she was there. With a short nod, she descended the stairs and sat down across from you at the table. Link stood a few feet behind her, looking as uncomfortable as he typically did while he followed her around like a lost dog. “Link, come on.”

He hesitantly sat down.

“My notes.” Her fingers danced across the pages that you piled together. “What are they like?”

“They’re yours,” you let out a tired laugh, “you tell me.”

Many emotions crossed her face in very few seconds. Her eyebrows drew together as she contemplated what she wanted to say next. Link was staring blankly at her, likely wondering the exact same thing as you. Zelda reached out and fixed the stack neatly, ensuring the pages corners lined up perfectly.

“Thank you.” She finally said in a quiet tone. “For saving me when we were in Hebra.”

Catching you completely off guard, you examined her expression, trying to figure out whether or not she was telling the truth. She showed no signs of dishonesty. Her eyes were glossy and large, her fingers rubbed together lightly, and her shaking leg inched the table over with each bounce.

“It’s no big deal.” You gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Guess I didn’t expect being a royal scientist meant experiencing 60 volts of electricity coursing through your veins.” With another smile, she was relaxed and smiling back. “Your notes are good. Detailed to all get out. But we haven’t been able to pinpoint whether the shrines in the different regions vary. I’d like to arrange a trip to Gerudo, sooner rather than later, to examine the shrines there.”

At the mention of traveling, she perked up. Something crossed her face that told you the conversations with her father were resurrected in her mind as she physically slumped a bit.

“We can request it to make ambassadorial relation meetings with Urbosa and for the possibility of finding another spring in the desert. He won’t question that.” You assured her.

“I’ll have it arranged at once.”

The next day you set out with Link, Zelda, and Mipha for Gerudo. Daruk and Revali had decided traveling separately would be faster and more efficient for the group as a whole. Plus, they wouldn’t even be allowed to enter the city so getting there immediately wouldn’t be called for. Zelda was much more pleasant than usual. Her attitude changed the moment you suggested the trip and a way around the King’s tightening rules for the young princess. She didn’t even question the cage you wore on your back meant to house the legendary flower.

Mipha, on the other hand, was curious as all get out. She poked and prodded at it, examining the welding techniques used. Link and Zelda led the group while you walked along side the Zora princess who swam slowly through Aquame Lake.

“What is it for?”

“I’m collecting some samples from the desert to take back and analyze at the castle. Boring stuff.” You laughed it off.

“Fascinating.” She was always so joyful. If there was a definition to innocence, it would surely be Mipha. “I’ve always wanted to do more scientific things. There’s just no time to.”

“You’ve helped me install updates to Ruta. I’d say that’s pretty scientific.” You commented. Mipha smiled, ducking beneath the water for a moment before coming back up.

“I mean with lab goggles and coats!”

“Next time I visit, I’ll make sure to bring an extra.”

“I’d enjoy that!”

[juju-on-that-yeet]

There Are Worse Things I Could Do, Chapter 1/10

Summary: After a week of strained silence following Yancy’s accidental confession to Illinois, Yancy reaches the end of his rope and runs away from Ego, Inc. Yancy struggles to survive on the streets as Lo struggles with his own guilt. Will they find their way back to each other, or will Yancy stay away forever? Warnings: None (will change in later chapters) Characters: Yancy, Lio, Captian Magnum (will change each chapter)

Tag List: @tired-eldritchhorror @artist-in-space @starshine-robotics (right now this list is ppl who I think would be interested; if you want to be added/removed let me know! ^^)

Read on AO3

Enjoy!

~

After Yancy’s confession, he avoids Illinois completely.

He can’t stand to be near him after that horrific crash and burn, and he can’t stand how badly he still wants him, even after that rejection. If he tries to hang out with Lio again who knows what he’ll say, who knows how much more of a fool he’ll make of himself? It’s better to stay away.

It’s just as well, because the heartbreak and rage don’t go away overnight. He barely sleeps the night after it happened, and he wakes up still raw. Yandere stays near, alternating between fretting over Yancy, trying to soothe his tears and quiet his anger, and begging Yancy to let him “talk” to Lio, with eyes shining blood red. But Yancy won’t let him, that’s not what he wants. Yandere offers to go to Bim on his behalf, maybe speak to Marvin about a love potion, but Yancy doesn’t want that either.

Yancy doesn’t want to force Lio’s love, he doesn’t want to make him do anything. The best he can hope for now is to get over it, move on, and resume his friendship…if it’s still salvageable.

Lio doesn’t try to talk to Yancy, either.

When they pass each other in the halls, Lio pulls his hat down over his eyes. They both have phones, but Lio doesn’t try to text. He stays away from Yancy’s room just as Yancy stays away from his. Yancy doesn’t know if Lio feels awkward or disgusted or guilty or what, but he’s not about to talk to him to find out.

After two long, agonizing days of Yancy mulling over the confession and avoiding Lio, Captain Magnum returns from his latest voyage.

Yancy doesn’t greet him right away, as much as he wants to. Lio’s likely going to greet him, too, and Yancy doesn’t want to run into him yet. A few hours after Magnum returns, Yancy hears him knock on his door.

“Ye in there, mate?” Magnum asks, “I ain’t seen ye since I got home.”

“Yeah,” Yancy mumbles. He’s sitting on his bed, holding his pillow to his chest. He lets his face fall into it, muffling his words. “Come in.”

Magnum comes in, bending slightly to get through the doorway. His tree-trunk feet thunk along the floor as Magnum walks to Yancy.

“What’s troublin’ ye, lad?” Magnum asks. He sits down on the side of Yancy’s bed, and the whole thing creaks under the weight. Yancy hardly notices. He shrugs at Magnum’s question.

“Somethin’ happened while you were away, s’all.” Yancy says, not looking up from his pillow.

“Aye, I gathered,” Magnum answers. He leans closer, and the bed protests. “Are ye up for sharin’?”

Yancy finally looks up from his pillow at him. As huge and intimidating as Magnum always appears, his heart is big enough to match his stature. He looks at Yancy with gentle concern, with earnest desire to figure out what’s wrong and help his friend out. Yancy can’t help but acquiesce to it.

“I guess,” he mumbles. He scoots forward, pillow still in his hands, and ends up in Magnum’s lap. Magnum hugs Yancy easily, enclosing him completely.

It was a common ritual for them back before Ego Inc., on days where Yancy itched from all the freedom, days where he just needed to be somewhere quiet, protected, tight. With the cells of Happy Trails far behind him, Magnum’s hold is just as good, and Magnum doesn’t mind in the slightest. Yancy sighs, already feeling better with Magnum’s arms tight around him. It feels like safety, like protection.

But he did say he’d tell Magnum what’s going on. He’s worried about that, worried Magnum might think oddly of him for this. As far as Yancy knows, Magnum doesn’t know how he feels. He sure as hell never told him. He has to confess it all over again.

“Well, it can’t go any worse than last time.”

The thought almost makes him start crying, but he takes a shaky breath in instead.

“S’about Lio,” Yancy says, “I…I’m into him. I’ve been into him for a while. I meant to just keep it to myself, but…” He sniffles. Dammit, he’s going to cry. “But I told him by accident. An’ he rejected me, ‘cause why wouldn’t he? He ain’t the committin’ type, and I ain’t no prize, but now…we ain’t talked since. That was a couple days ago.”

There’s a few moments of silence as Magnum ponders what he’s been told. It’s not the painful, heavy silence that happened after Yancy’s confession to Lio, but something much lighter, thoughtful. Magnum wears how he feels on his sleeve, he exudes his emotions like he has his own aura. Yancy doesn’t have to lift his face from Magnum’s chest to know the expression on Magnum’s face.

“I had the feelin’ it had to do with Lio,” Magnum muses, “He’s been mighty scarce today, just as ye have.” He ruffles Yancy’s hair with a huge hand. “But ye and he are goin’ to have to talk one o’ these days, mate.”

“I know that,” Yancy whimpers, “But the hell am I gonna say?? I already said too much. And it still…” He sniffles again. “It still really hurts.”

“Ah, me poor lad…” Magnum murmurs, hugging Yancy tighter. Part of Yancy wishes Magnum would just crush him right there with his bare hands, so he wouldn’t have to feel like this anymore. Of course Magnum never would, though.

“I don’t got much in the way o’ advice,” Magnum admits, “But I do know that the sooner ye clear the air, the better you’ll feel.”

“I guess,” Yancy says. He’s not sure he believes it.

“Perhaps I can have a chat with Lio meself,” Magnum suggests, “See if I can’t get him to speak with ye.”

“Maybe,” Yancy sighs. He doesn’t want Magnum to pressure Lio into anything, but then again, Magnum knows when not to be pushy. Maybe something will change this way.

But it doesn’t.

A few more days pass, and Lio doesn’t come to Yancy. Yancy still can’t bring himself to go to him. Magnum does his best to cajole them into interacting, but nothing works. Yancy feels worse as hours pass, worse at Lio, worse at himself. He feels bad for not taking Magnum’s advice, he feels bad for making him feel torn between his two best friends. He feels bad for worrying Yandere, too; the poor guy’s beside himself trying to help Yancy feel better. But Yancy’s never had a relationship failure that wasn’t a catastrophic meltdown, and this is the worst one yet.

A week after his confession, he leaves Ego Inc. one night, alone, to get some fresh air. He walks around the city, goes to a park, sits on a bench by a pond. He stares out at the water and wonders if Lio is sleeping right now. Maybe Lio’s awake, too, staring at his ceiling and wondering how everything got so wrong. Maybe Lio’s packing up his bags for an expedition so he can get away from Yancy’s confession in the morning. Maybe Lio’s taking a walk just like Yancy, maybe he’s somewhere else in the city trying to think about something else. Maybe he’s in this very park, right at this very moment.

That thought almost makes Yancy want to get up and go somewhere else, but he doesn’t. He’s too tired, too sore from tears.

He doesn’t mean to stay there all night, but the next thing he knows, he’s waking up with a crick in his neck to see dew on the grass and early morning fog in the air.

He means to go home, he means to wander back to Ego Inc. and go back to sleep in his own bed, but instead he watches ducks gather on the surface of the pond, dipping their heads to grab waterbugs. There’s some in pairs, the green-headed mallards with the brown speckled hens. There’s even a handful of ducklings paddling after a lone hen, and their incessant, squeaky peeping is the only sound in the quiet morning.

The morning grows late, Yancy stays where he is. More ducks come and go. His phone rings suddenly, and he looks to see Yandere’s name there. He sends it to voicemail. He expects that to be his only interruption; Magnum still hasn’t gotten the hang of most modern technology. But a few minutes later, Lio’s name lights up his screen. A rush of anger fills him.

“Oh, NOW he wants to talk!?”

He means to send him to voicemail, go home, and avoid Lio like normal.

Instead, he throws his phone into the pond, scaring the ducks, and walks away in the opposite direction of Ego Inc.

[wooleeza]

Code: Realize High School AU. Victor Frankenstein is a transfer student from Switzerland, and Headmaster Saint Germain pairs him up with the school's star shooter, Abraham Van Helsing, who needs to gain credits for social service in order to qualify for a scholarship to university. They begin an awkward friendship, but it is not long before Van realises that his feelings go beyond platonic for his new friend who has brought light into his life. How will the oblivious Victor react?

Please note that this is a slash pairing of Van with Fran (i.e. M/M) and will have mature content at the end of this tale, so please only read if it is your cup of tea. No copyright infringements are intended and I make no money from this. I'm merely playing in the lovely sandbox these otome game characters have inspired. Please request permission if you would like to translate or repost this story on other platforms. Feedback is much appreciated! Thank you for your support!

Cover design by hikari011 ❤️ Thank you for the lovely art and ideas which made this story possible.

Code Realize AU - Chiaroscuro - Chapter 1: At Your Acquaintance 

Chapter Summary: Van meets Victor

It had begun to drizzle, and Abraham Van Helsing, aged 17, glanced up at the sky in irritation. Rainy weather meant inconveniences to his clay shooting practice later, and besides the added burden of cleaning and drying out his beloved handcrafted wooden shotgun, the humidity would make his glasses fog up. If the rain came down hard and fast, it would be hard to watch for hits and misses. More to protect his gear from the rain rather than himself, he unfolded the portable umbrella that he was carrying.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a tall and slender boy carrying a stack of books in his arms. He was hunched over the books, seemingly more concerned about protecting them instead of himself from the elements. His jacket, which looked at once both too large and too short on him, had been pulled forwards to shield his precious cargo.

Rolling his eyes, Van Helsing stepped forward and held out his deployed umbrella. “Here,” he said brusquely, and the other boy jumped probably a foot into the air before looking at him with a startled expression.

Large green eyes rimmed by long eyelashes stared at him past oversized, rimless, rain-speckled glasses, then shifted their gaze to the fabric case that he was carrying on his back. The boy shook his head frantically, sending his copper-brown hair into a fluffy, dishevelled cloud. “It’s a short walk back,” he said, his voice musical, soft and lilting. “Thank you!” Then he was off at a fast trot, slowing down shortly after as if to catch his breath, before disappearing around the corner.

“Hmmm.” Van Helsing stood there awkwardly with his proffered umbrella still extended outwards. The boy had an unusual accent and he wondered where he was from. Shrugging, he righted the umbrella back over himself, then continued on his way.

***

The rain escalated, and just as Van Helsing had predicted, the downpour made it hard to see his hits and misses, and his shotgun was now wet from the rain. He would have to wipe it down as much as he could and dry it out for at least a day, then polish the surface so that it would gleam again. It had been a gift from his late father to him, and he would keep it as well-maintained as he could.

“Nice shooting today, Abraham,” said Jimmy Aleister, the coach of the shooting club. “If you keep up this standard, you’ll be representing the district in no time.”

“Hmmm,” came the non-committal reply, and Aleister sighed. Abraham Van Helsing was his star performer in both pistol and shotgun, but his personality had always been rather prickly. The boy was antisocial to a fault, which reminded him…

“I want to put your name in for a regional competition,” he began carefully, “so I contacted your headmaster. He agreed with me that there is great potential for you, and that this could gain you a free ride to and through university, but there is one area you need to work on first.” He paused, wondering how to phrase the next part, but eventually settled for the direct approach, for it was the best way to deal with Abraham. “He said you need to fulfil the social service aspect first, so he told me to tell you to approach him after your lessons tomorrow.”

“Hmmm,” grunted his star gunner again, and Aleister fought the urge to throttle the stubbornness out of this brooding teenager. “Do consider it, Abraham. A free education stands before you if you do well there. It isn’t something that just anyone can get. You’ll lessen the burden on your family out there on the East End, and you know they gave up so much just so you could study in Central London instead.”

The blond boy was quiet as he began cleaning the drops of water off his shotgun. Finally, his reply came, soft and curt, but betraying the slight Cockney accent he was always embarrassed about nonetheless. “I’ll think about it.”

***

The next day, Van Helsing stood outside the door of his headmaster’s office after he was done with lessons for the day, and upon knocking, was bidden to enter. He was surprised to see the copper-haired boy from the previous day already seated inside. The latter’s jade-green eyes also widened upon his entry.

“Ah, Abraham! You arrived at just the right time. Are you here to talk to me about the social service fulfilment?” Headmaster Saint-Germain said pleasantly. The headmaster was a well-spoken individual, more compelling than strict, and he was not an easy man to handle, so nobody dared to cross him when they could help it. Van Helsing generally tried to fly beneath his radar, but his reputation as the school’s star shooter preceded him, so encounters were inevitable. He nodded wordlessly – the Headmaster knew his more reticent ways.

Saint-Germain gestured to the empty seat beside the copper-haired boy, and Van Helsing took it. “This is Victor Frankenstein,” he said, indicating the former. “He is a transfer student from Switzerland, and he will be with us at least until the end of this year. Victor, this is Abraham Van Helsing. He’s one of our stars on our shooting team.”

Now that the pleasantries were out of the way, Saint-Germain could finally get down to his real objective for summoning the two of them.

“Abraham, your coach Jimmy contacted me about the possibility of signing you up for the regionals. It will be a great step forward for you, and a scholarship is all but guaranteed if you do well. Even qualifying for it alone can boost your shooting standing, but if you want that scholarship, there is a criterion which you have failed to meet so far where social service is concerned,” he said. “You must have at least 40 hours of social service rendered each year, and according to my records, you seem to have sorely neglected this aspect in favour of your training. You only have 3 hours of that so far, and there are only two months left to the regionals.”

He flicked his intense blue gaze over to Frankenstein, who was fiddling nervously with his hands in the other chair and darting anxious glances at the blond youth beside him. “And that’s where Victor comes in. Our young friend here joined us just this Monday, and he needs help in catching up with our curriculum. He’s got the knowledge, mind you, but he’s facing some issues because all of our subjects are not in his native language. In particular, he’s having difficulties with the English assignment he’s received from Mr Lupin.” The blue eyes turned back to Van Helsing. “It will be a win-win situation if you can tutor him, Abraham. I’ll count the hours towards your social service requirement, and Victor here will receive the support he’ll need to integrate into our system. What do you think?”

Van Helsing sat there, absorbing the barrage of information that had been launched at him. He hadn’t been keen on social service to begin with, because it involved interacting with people and that was the least of his strengths – he didn’t like either of his last experiences at the elderly home or the orphanage because the residents had mocked his Cockney accent, and so he had just given up. He had no idea what Frankenstein would be like, but the boy had been nothing but pleasant so far and given that it was just one person, he could always distance himself from him after the stint was over if it turned out that they did not get along. He could tolerate his presence for a while at least. “I’m fine if he is,” he answered.

Saint-Germain smiled and turned back to Frankenstein. “And you?” he asked benevolently, receiving a tentative nod in return. He clapped his hands together in satisfaction. “Well, it’s settled then. Why don’t the two of you head on out to compare your schedules? I’m sure Victor will be available most afternoons since he has yet to join any of our clubs or activities. I’m certain that you can both work something out.”

“Thank you, Mr. Saint-Germain,” said Victor as he rose from his seat and bowed. As for Van Helsing, he was more than glad to be out of the headmaster’s office, so he gave a terse bow before beating a hasty retreat. The headmaster watched them go with a benign smile curving his lips. Abraham Van Helsing, talented as he was, had been too much of a loner ever since he entered his school, and most of his peers were terrified of his taciturn ways. A non-judgmental stranger as sweet-natured as Victor Frankenstein might just be the first real friend that he would finally make.

Continue reading the other chapters on: Wattpad - https://my.w.tt/dozBfLjTZ4  Archive of Our Own - https://archiveofourown.org/works/23127223/chapters/55339897

[icequeenjules26]

The Sun, The Moon, The Stars

Summary: Lonely armourer Dan meets a strange human on his space travels and learns what cannot be long hidden...

Word count: 2,6K

Tags: Science fiction au, fantasy au, were-creature!Dan, human!Phil, Strangers to lovers

A/n: My second fic for the @phandomreversebang! I struggled a bit with this one but I think it turned out okay. Beta'd by the amazing @artlessdynamite who was a lifesaver as usual, the impossibly gorgeous art is by the incredible @maybeformepersonally (seriously, so gorgeous, I’m still speechless.). A big thanks to both!!!

Read on AO3

Overall, Dan’s life was a good one. Not perfect, maybe; but what in life could ever be described as perfect? Especially for people like Dan - he knew he wasn’t the best kind of person. He’d made some pretty questionable, sometimes downright evil decisions and hardly regretted any of them. Or at least he didn’t regret making them. He did regret having to make them, but that really didn’t make him a better person, and contrary to popular believe, he was very much aware of that. 

  He stumbled as his ship swayed in the air, avoiding another asteroid, and he took a look out of the windshield. He was rapidly approaching Beaconia, a fairly green planet. Its colour stood out in the surrounding nothingness of space, blackness only speckled with the brown-ish colours of the asteroids. It took some maneuvering to get to Beaconia, which was probably the reason it didn’t get a lot of visitors - at least not of the living kind. Dan was glad his shuttle had the best AAAS (Automatic Asteroid Avoiding System) there was. His job would be a lot harder otherwise, as it included traveling to far off, hardly reachable planets.

  Honestly, Dan only wanted to go to Beaconia for one single reason. 

  Theolit. 

  It was an incredibly rare gem that was a guaranteed sell, especially in Dan’s business, the armoury.

  Dan had been forging weapons for as long as he could remember. Especially in a world with so many alien creatures running around. Weapons were always on demand, and since different species had different weaknesses (Alvarias for example could not be hurt with steel, the metal most swords and arrowheads were made of. For Dalios on the other hand, it was the only metal that would) the armoury was a demandable job. 

  That was also one of the biggest reasons Theolit was so highly demanded: It was the only material that was able to hurt every species in the known universe. It cut easily through the gooey flesh of Balbas and managed to cut through the complicated skin of Lalarients, which was incredibly soft but impenetrable by nearly everything. 

  The thinnest layer of Theolit on the forged weapon or even just the tiniest stone attached to the hilt enchanted any weapon to cut through anything, even though the actual gem was the softest one Dan knew of. Still, it worked, it always worked - 

  even on him. 

  Dan’s inner animal roared dangerously at the thought and he could feel his eyes flash violet as opposed to their normal chocolate brown colour. His claws extended and his fangs bore uncomfortably into his lower lip. 

  The sun, the moon, the stars, he murmured to himself, like a mantra; the sun, the moon, the stars. 

  Three things cannot be long hidden…

  It was just a little saying, but it was powerful, at least to Dan - it was his anchor. The only thing keeping him sane when his coywolf became threateningly powerful and was close to breaking free. 

  It winced and drew back as Dan murmured the words and drew the sign, a swirl parting to three sides, into the air, and Dan allowed himself to relax. Too close. 

  It was then that a cheerful ding notified Dan that his ship had successfully landed. 

The planet was green and warm, but because of the thick canopy of high-up leaves, it was fairly dark most of the time. Dan had to get through the deepest, darkest part of the jungle to get to the well hidden water source of the planet - one of the few places in the known universe Theolit formed naturally. With all the science and testing, it still wasn’t clear what the gem was made of, but thankfully a few places appeared to naturally produce the gem. 

When Dan stepped through the tiny opening the main trees left in between them to get to the waterfall behind it, there was a sound behind him, like the faint rustling of leaves, just a shift in the air - then a scent made its way into his nose and his coywolf was instantly on high alert, fangs extended, eyes violet. He turned around in a flash and snarled viciously as his shifted eyes scanned the area. 

What stepped out between the stray branches of suntrees was a creature holding a loaded crossbow pointed right at Dan’s chest. At first, he couldn’t be sure what it was exactly - mainly because he never would’ve guessed he’d come across a member of that specific species deep in the Beaconian jungle. 

Its heat signature matched the one of a normal human, the scent fit as well and once he’d differentiated its form from the weapon in its hand, he realized that fit as well. 

“You’re human,” he snarled in something between surprise and anger. His coywolf added some kind of growl at the end of the sentence and for once, he agreed with it. 

“And you’re a-” the human started as it inched forward, but then its foot got caught on a stray root, it yelped adorably and - 

it toppled over. 

Dan was howling with laughter before he could even comprehend what was going on. 

Overall, the way they met represented them to a T. It was nothing but coincidence, but Phil’s stunt made Dan halt, giving him time to reign in his coywolf, and ultimately, that was what kept him from ripping Phil into shreds. It was the best example for how they worked - what made them them. Phil’s clumsy, awkward manner gave Dan’s life the spice that it had lacked before, while keeping him in check at the same time. On the other hand, Dan seemed to give Phil’s life the meaning that had been missing. Before he’d come along, Phil had been nothing but a small farmer living on the outskirts of the galaxy on a sister planet of Beaconia. He’d seen Dan’s foreign ship landed on Beaconia and had hopped over to check what was going on.

Due to some miracle that Dan didn’t know about and Phil refused to explain, Phil didn’t hate Dan, neither for almost killing him nor for being what he was. Naturally, humans and were-creatures tended to not get along - mostly because their natures were completely divided and both sides refused to show some empathy with the other - so they made quite the unlikely pair. 

Dan really didn’t know why Phil chose to go with him. He had a life there, a lonely one, maybe, but one he’d chosen years ago, so Dan really couldn’t get behind what Phil was after, and he refused to tell Dan, even though the were-coywolf felt like there was more to it. 

So he sat by quietly as Phil unobtrusively, almost unknowingly infused himself into Dan’s life. Sure, it had been a big thing when after their joint hike to the Theolit source in the heart of Beaconia and back Phil had announced he wanted to accompany Dan on his journey back to his homebase, two galaxies over. But afterwards, it just slotted together almost unbeknownst to both of them. Dan had a spare bedroom in his ship that Phil moved into, and on their long journey back to Dan’s homeplanet - a few months if everything went according to plan - it all fell into place quite naturally. 

Phil’s life as a farmer meant he was used to getting up early to water the plants before the sun was up and would burn them, so in the mornings, he’d be the one to start breakfast and coffee to lure Dan out of bed. Dan, on the other hand, was usually in charge of dinner and lunch since he was the better cook. Throughout the day, Dan would do some work for his armoury. He had the equipment for usual forging on his ship, although handling Theolit was a lot more delicate and complicated, so he needed his homebase for that. He’d take Phil with him, show him what he knew; and over time, instead of being just an accomplice and friend, he also became Dan’s apprentice. 

There also was a lot more to their relationship than being friends, but both of them mostly ignored that part. 

They spent their nights watching movies and TV shows. They found that they liked a lot of the same stuff, they laughed with each other, joked about each other and generally just had a good time that none of them would’ve expected. Surprisingly, after the initial difficulties that they’d had, Phil and Dan’s coywolf got along great as well - it would purr in pleasure whenever Phil touched Dan in any kind of form. It helped Dan get in touch with it more, and helped him out a lot along the way. He was now usually able to calm it down without using his anchor. Phil, however, had learnt quite fast, so whenever his eyes flashed or claws came out and Phil noticed, he’d take Dan’s hand and ask the question in a clear and soothing voice. 

Which three things cannot be long hidden?

Even though he rarely had to use it anymore, his anchor meant a lot to Dan, and Phil seemed to accept that easily. He left little notes with its symbol at places he knew Dan’s coywolf would act up, like in the control room of the ship or near the container he kept the Theolit in. 

It was mere coincidence that led him to learn about Phil’s artistic talent. They had arrived in Dan’s galaxy a few hours ago and were now heading for Dan’s homebase, which they would probably reach within the next hour, so Dan headed out to tell Phil. When he got to Phil’s room his door was closed and with his advanced hearing, he was able to hear the soft music playing in the room. 

 Baby it’s magic, the way you came around…

 Dan found himself humming along to it when he knocked on Phil’s door. 

 “Phil? We’re almost at Grenaria -” 

 Up to this point, Dan still didn’t know why he’d done it. In the months they’d traveled together, Dan had always been incredibly careful with boundaries, so it was an utter shock to him when he just - pushed the door open. Without waiting for Phil’s okay. 

 But what stunned him into silence was not his own misbehaviour. It was what he found in Phil’s room. 

 The walls were plastered in multiple different drawings, each one even more stunning than the last. There was a dragon, big and majestic, sketched out in charcoal. There was a group of kittens, playing with a cotton reel. A group of Alvarians laughing. A majestic horse at the edge of a cliff. And then, on a big sheet of paper in the center of the room -  there was Dan.

 It was a magnificent drawing with a kind of superhero vibe to it - it easily could’ve been a movie poster to one of the movies both Dan and Phil loved so much. Dan himself was at the lower center of the piece. He was standing in a beam of light, looking skywards, his eyes beaming violet. He was holding a sword in his hand, raising it skywards, and there was a lightning bolt connecting with its tip. The sword was an extravagant one, in a very beautiful way - there were lines and patterns carved into the blade, the most prominent one being the triskelion, Dan’s anchor. There was a gem embedded into the very end of its hilt, glowing violet like Dan’s eyes. There was an animal standing at his feet, eyes glowing the same colour, and looking closer, he realized that it was Dan’s coywolf. In the upper center of the drawing, in the vibrant beam of light, the dark outline of the triskelion stood out drastically against the light.

 Dan croaked out a sound that he couldn’t identify - maybe it was a sob, maybe a laugh, he couldn’t be sure - and Phil, standing slightly on the side of the art piece, obviously in the process of putting some finishing touches on it, turned around as if in slow motion. 

 His eyes were as wide as they would go and there was an almost scared look in them when they met Dan’s. “Dan?”

 Dan gulped. “I’m -” He broke off, not sure what to say, how to convey what he felt. His coywolf bristled, unsure of how to react to Dan’s sudden boost of anxiety even though it couldn’t find imminent threat, and it made it even harder for Dan to concentrate on how to form actual English words. “Phil, I’m so sorry -”

 This time it was Phil interrupting him. “Oh, no, nonono! There’s no need to be sorry! I should have heard when you knocked and when you called before and -” He blinked, frantically, searching for something in Dan’s eyes that he was obviously surprised not to find. “Wait, are you not… Are you not mad?”

 Once more, Dan was stunned into silence, looking at Phil like he’d just announced the sky was pink. “Mad?” he asked, completely dumbfounded, and the anxiety in Phil’s stunning blue eyes seem to lessen considerably. “Why the fuck would I be mad?”

 “Disappointed, maybe?” Phil prodded further, completely ignoring Dan’s question.

 “Again, why the fuck -” 

 Phil interrupted him once again with his rambling. “I mean, I get it, I’m just a human and this is literal basics, and I even included you, like what is wrong with me-”

 “Phil. Calm down.”

 Surprisingly, Phil did calm down as Dan stepped a bit closer to gently place his hand on Phil’s arm. “Please don’t downplay yourself. Those are stunning drawings. It’s not basic, and it has literally nothing to do with you being human.”

 “But humans aren’t really supposed to draw -”

 “And were-creatures really aren’t supposed to forge weapons. Especially ones that could be used to kill their own species. Do I look like I care?” This time, it was him interrupting Phil, and the human took a deep breath before he raised his eyes, previously busy observing his shoes, to look into Dan’s.

 “Soo…” Phil said, dragging out the ‘o’ sound, “you’re okay with this?” He gesticulated around the room and then pointed to the drawing of Dan in the center of the room in particular. Dan chuckled. “No. It’s way too gorgeous. Why have I never seen this before?”

 A relieved smile graced Phil’s features now, bright and wide, and Dan had to restrain himself from swooning as Phil thanked him. He felt like he was flying. 

 “So that’s why you wanted to come with me? The art academy at Grenadia?” Dan asked as he stepped even closer to Phil, who didn’t even seem to notice. His eyes were shining with excitement as he started telling Dan about the art program at the Grenadia Academy of Arts. “They explicitly accept humans now, and I was never brave enough, but then I met you, and you were so strong and completely different from everything I was ever taught about were-creatures so I thought -”

 He stopped abruptly. Dan was now standing so close to Phil he could feel the human’s breath on his lips, and he was so enraptured by the human, he didn’t even notice. “You thought?” he whispered, caught in the vibrant blue of Phil’s eyes. 

 “I thought I could do anything, as long as you were by my side.”

 When their lips met in a flurry of colour and sounds that Dan had never seen or heard and was pretty sure hadn’t existed before, his coywolf purred in sheer contentment, and his heart burst with happiness. 

 Afterwards, when they were just standing there, foreheads resting against each other, he raised his hand to gently caress Phil’s face. “You knew it, right? That you couldn’t keep it from me forever?”

 There were tears shining in Phil’s eyes as he nodded with little to no movement, his voice quiet and soft. 

 “Three things cannot be long hidden.”

 The sun, the moon, the truth.

[sheaellisdelaney]

Where’d You Go

Who: Shea Delaney & Eleanor Wood

When: 6/22 ; Night

Where: “The Spot”

What: Eleanor and Shea agree to meet up at their favorite bar to play a little catch up.

Warnings: mentions of blood and alcohol

Eleanor walked into the bar from the back, hoping that despite her tardiness, Shea would not have arrived yet. Not because she doesn't want her to show, but because she feels guilty about what she had been doing. Ryan didn't love her and she didn't love him- but  Eleanor still so badly wanted to respect monogamy and the person she'd soon be marrying.

She doesn't see Shea at the bar and breathes in relief before taking a seat on a stool and ordering a shot of tequila and a glass of red wine.

Eleanor felt a little nervous the girl wouldn't show, after their weird conversation the night before, both of them beating around the bush instead of being clear with their words. The tequila was to calm her nerves and the wine would hopefully be shared with her friend.

Shea was running late. She'd taken an early fight and the doctor on site had been fussy about the damage she'd taken. Eventually she managed to get away, swearing she'd check in the next day, even if things felt fine. She didn't understand why they cared. Not really. The night before had set her on edge. The conversation with Eleanor so close to their personal lives, it made her uncomfortable. Not in a bad way, per se, but talking of her past never really went anywhere good.

Sporting a busted lip and blood drying in her hair, Shea made her way into the bar roughly ten minutes late. She immediately made her way over to the bar, near where Eleanor was sitting. "Two shots of Fireball and Jack, on the rocks." She all but barked at the bartender, quickly downing the two shots that were poured for her, before she muttered a sincere-ish apology and slumped onto the bar stool next to Eleanor.

Eleanor notices Shea’s appearance, but says nothing and just watches her order. There’s something intriguing about the way the girl seemed to know what she wanted.

“Hey you. I’m glad you could make it. It feels like it’s been forever.” Her nose scrunches up a bit as she lifts her wine glass to sip at. “You pull off a fat lip well.” Eleanor teases.

"What, five, six weeks? Some shit like that?" She hadn't been at the bar since she broke her ribs, not able to afford to spend the cash, since she wouldn't be able to make more until she could fight again. It sucked, but it was her only source of income she could rely on completely. The boxing gym she worked at was helpful but they couldn't afford to pay her much. And her other habits meant she didn't have extra when she wasn't making any.

Shea rolled her eyes at Eleanor's comment, taking a sip of her Jack. "Yeah, yeah. Shut it."

“Too long.” Eleanor says with a nod. She’d appreciated Shea and her willingness to be completely herself- something she didn’t know how to do unless you count her time at the beach. 

Eleanor fills her eyes, “Oh stop. You love me and we both know it. I bet you even missed me, even if you didn’t text me.”

Shea sighed, sipping on her drink. Her life was messy and pure chaos at the best of times, but Eleanor was this little bright spot. Something she looked forward to. "I did. And believe me, it's best I didn't text you. I was... incapacitated. In, a sense." Shea had a problem, of the addictive variety. It'd been what had upended her career, caused the rift in her family and forced her to leave Boston. Pain was the biggest catalyst for her using. Breaking a rib had all but left her doped up and out of her mind. It was how she coped with things, or perhaps avoided coping with things. She was getting better but she'd never box professionally again. Underground fight rings for the entertainment of the rich and famous were the easiest way someone like her could make money. Not that she was  ever open about such, of course.

“Can it really be any worse than our first round of texting? Me drunker than I should ever be and texting you sentences that had no clear point?” Eleanor beams, reaching over to slightly brush Shea’s cheek with her thumb. “I’m so drawn to you.” She admits after a while, tensing when the client she’d  just worked with, had made her late, enters the bar.

Shea laughed at the memory. "I wish I could say that no, it wouldn't have been worse, but it definitely would have been." The thumb on her cheek is a surprise and Shea isn't sure how to respond. The words are just as surprising and Shea hums a bit. "Can't imagine why." When she sees the way Eleanor tenses a hand finds itself on Eleanor's knee. Shea isn't sure it's as reassuring as she hopes it is, but it's all she's comfortable with.

“You don’t have to imagine. I just needed you to know.” Eleanor settles when the man just makes his way to the pool table, not making eye contact or some sort of scene. But it’s really the feel of Shea’s hand that truly comforts her. “Do I do anything for you?”

Shea simply hums, sipping her drink. When Eleanor settles she's glad. Her hardened features soften ever so slightly at the question asked of her. "In a sense. You're this little light in the dark, swirling chaos that is the rest of my life." She gave Eleanor's knee a gentle squeeze.

“Me?” Her eyes widen, unsure anyone had ever said that to her before. She certainly hadn’t expected Shea to say something so genuine and kind. “I’m glad I can bring you light Shea. Really.”

"Yes, you. You are the one who asked, aren't you?" Shea teased with a rare grin properly on her face. Her middle finger started rubbing absent minded circles on Eleanor's knee. Shea wasn't necessarily a people person, the kind of person who got close to anyone. Eleanor was one of the only friends she had and the only one who didn't know about her habits, both work and personal. It was nice, having someone who cared without knowing just how much there was to care about. "It's nice."

“I like seeing you smile.” Eleanor quips, sitting back in the stool with her wine in hand. “You’re nice. I’m glad we caught each other’s eye. You give me something to look forward to. I’m lucky to know you.” Even if they barely knew anything about one another. The way she thinks they both needed it to be.

Shea ducks her head, hiding her face in her drink at Eleanor's words. "Yeah, I'm glad too." Setting her drink down she runs her hand through her hair, only to have her fingers come away speckled with blood. Quickly she wiped it off on her jeans. She knew she'd gotten cut on the back of her head, from being knocked into a pillar just the right way, but she'd thought it have closed up by now. And maybe it had, but she really wasn't sure. Not that she'd do anything about it, instead, she finished her drink and motioned for another. "So, how'd whatever business that kept you away go? If you feel like sharing, of course." Sure, they didn't know much at all about each other, but it didn't stop Shea's curiosity.

“Blood?” Eleanor raises an eyebrow at the other girl, a spark of concern in her eyes. She’s tempted to push, ignore the question Shea’s asked her, but it doesn’t feel right. “Keep an eye on your head, yeah? Wouldn’t want you to die on me. Then who’d I have to keep looking forward to things?” Finishing off her wine, she makes eye contact with the bartender before turning back to Shea. “Business was fine. Lots of down time. It was nice to get away from the city.”

"I'll be fine." She huffed into her drink. It was harsh, but she wanted to ignore it. She also knew there was blood in the tips of her hair that was dried and was thankful her hair was dark. As it'd just raise questions otherwise. "Away from the city? Care to share where? If only to make me jealous?"

“Massachusetts actually.” Eleanor explains, leaving the topic of Shea for the moment. “Gloucester. I met with some clients and I spent a lot of time at the beach. I was in paradise!”

Shea raised an eyebrow at Eleanor's answer. "Cape Ann, really? Huh. Definitely not jealous though. I mean, I grew up roughly an hour from there, in Lowell. Then, course, I moved to Boston when my career took off." Shea's hand fell away from Eleanor's knee as she brought it up to rest her chin on both arms. "And then I ended up here when it fell apart."

“Well, you must appreciate the water then. Yeah?” Eleanor has been to Boston more often than she’d like to admit but doesn’t say that. Instead she pouts. “I like you touching me! You should be happy you came here. You got to meet me!”

"In a sense. Lowell is beautiful, has  these waterways. I can appreciate the look and the appeal but I almost drowned as a kid, and haven't been particularly fond of water since." Shea raised an eyebrow at the way Eleanor pouted, the other joining it at her words, a chuckle escaping her lips. "That, sounds dirty." She said with a point of her finger and a sip of her drink. "Sorry, princess, but losing everything is not completely counteracted just cos i got to meet a pretty girl."

“Oh. That’s really tragic. I can see why you’d be hesitant around any body of water. Do you like baths or is that even too close to your experience?” There’s a spark in Eleanor’s eyes as she laughs. “Maybe I intended it to be dirty.” She shrugs before nodding. “I know. I was just just trying to get you to smile. The princess was just an added bonus.”

Shea shrugged. "I've gotten better with it, over the years. Can even swim in pools. But deep, naturally flowing water like rivers, lakes, and particularly the ocean? Yeah, no." She chuckled, shaking her head. "Don't tease me like that." She grumbled, taking another sip of her drink. "You like being called princess, do you?"

“You’re like Natalie Wood. It’s the depth. The unknown. It makes sense.” Eleanor rolls her eyes. “It’s my job to tease.” And she’s not lying. “I love it, even if it may be a little condescending. It makes me feel special.”

"Who?" Shea questioned, raising an eyebrow at Eleanor. "I'm not paying ya, am I?" She rolled her eyes, downing the rest of her drink and motioning for another. Letting out a bark of laughter, Shea shook her head. "Don't get that a lot, huh?"

Eleanor gasps, covering her mouth. “Natalie Wood is a goddess. I will only watch west side story because of her.” She can’t help but laugh though. “I’ll tease you for free if it’s what you want.”  She sighs, ordering a shot of tequila. “No. I’m not special so it takes a lot to make me feel that way. You do though.”

Shea recoils slightly at Eleanor's reaction. "I will take your word on that." Rolling her eyes she ordered another shot of Fireball and downs it. "You're the one who seems to want it." She chuckled and then scoffed. "You're plenty special. Anyone who doesn't see that is fucking blind."

“I want everything I can’t have.” Eleanor whispers, rolling her eyes. “I happen to think you’re pretty special yourself. You know that? Are you going to touch me again?”

"That's a bad habit to have." Shea muttered with a smirk. "Special in the head, maybe." Sitting up she let her hand fall back off the bar, rolling her shoulders as she straightened up all the way. Her back popped in the process and she grimaced. As she raised her glass to her lips again, her free hand once again found itself on Eleanor's knee.

“Tell me about it.” She says with a grin, shaking her head at the insult given to herself. “We’re all special in the head. Don’t worry. You’re not alone.” Goosebumps form on her skin the minute Shea’s hand goes to her knee. “Thank you.” Eleanor whispers. “So much.”

Shea rolled her eyes, sipping her drink. She really didn't get what Eleanor's thing with touching was. Like, it didn't bother her or anything, but it was still weird. Maybe it was because Shea didn't really do other people touching her that she didn't understand the concept of wanting someone else to. "You're welcome, I guess?" She finally said with a shrug.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to stay out much longer. The wine is making me sleepy.” But it doesn’t stop her from taking another sip from her glass.

"I should probably head home before I rack up a bill I don't want to pay." She had plenty on her after her fight but she needed the cash for other things. Most of which were necessities to actually being a somewhat functional member of society.

“What’s the most you have drank in a night?” Eleanor raises an eyebrow before calling out for the check. Insisting she pay both tabs. “You touch me. I pay for you. Seems fair to me.”

"Enough that I don't remember how much I had, all I know is someone else was paying." Shea rolled her eyes as Eleanor insisted on paying for both tabs. She couldn't help but chuckle. "Wasn't aware I was selling my body tonight." She refrained from adding on something about more than she already had, because really, the way she fought she might as well be selling her body. Maybe she was.