#shes so tired and killed the closest person to her let her cook

[princescar]

what she’s really up to during nighttime

[sukisdeliveryservice]

hello!! could i kindly request for a student campus crush! wonwoo hehe and you’re best friends and have unrequited feelings but u dont know if he feels the same so over a sleepover u tried confessing and you can continue from there hehe -🐼

let me hear you say | j. ww

✎ pairing: best friend!wonwoo x female reader

✎ genre: collegel!au, friends to lovers!au, mostly fluff

✎ warnings: none!

✎ wc: 2.40 k words

✎ notes: hi 🐼 anon! i got a little carried away with this one because soft, cuddly wonwoo makes my stomach do flips but i hope you like it! i'm not sure how i feel about my portrayal of yn here because i wanted them to be really supportive of wonwoo but kind of having a hard time because of their feelings towards him. i hope i was able to express that without portraying them as kind of eh :/

“Don’t you ever get tired?” You take a quick glance at your best friend as he folds up another piece of paper with a phone number written on it.

“Of what?”

“Of everyone in this school falling head over heels for you,” You say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, proceeding to look back down at your notes. In reality, you were trying to prevent yourself from looking at the cute (albeit, confused) way your best friend was staring at you over your abrupt question.

“Well I can’t say I’m not flattered, but there aren’t really that many people yn,”

A total lie, you think to yourself. Every time you two walked around campus, your best friend attracted the adoring stares of all your classmates like some hotshot celebrity. Yes, he was popular, and yes, he totally deserved it, but if everyone knew how dorky he was, maybe they wouldn’t be so quick to hand him their number after a single conversation.

Another lie, if everyone knew what a nerd Jeon Wonwoo actually was, they’d probably fall for him harder. You would know of course, first hand experience taught you a lot of things.

It taught you how endearing it was when Wonwoo wore oversized clothing, so that he could pull the sleeves over his palms when sipping on a hot drink at the local campus cafe. It made you realize his habit of pushing his glasses up his nose, because he was too stubborn to get the bridge adjusted. It made your insides melt whenever he was nervous because he had a habit of fiddling with his fingers. You were certain that if anyone was completely head over heels and absolutely smitten by him, it was definitely you.

“Not many people my ass,” you scoffed, “you spoke to her once, just once! And now you are holding her number.” Wonwoo laughs at your poor attempt at hiding your annoyance, “For your information, we were talking about a group project, and exchanging contact information. Nothing more, and nothing less.”

You gave a little huff before going back to pretend-studying, you definitely couldn’t focus when he was sitting right across from you. You knew you were more prone to jumping to conclusions nowadays, and you hoped that Wonwoo didn’t notice your shift in behaviour. In reality, you couldn’t help but feel a little pang of worry whenever your best friend was asked out on another date. And while he rejected the offer every time, you worried that one day he might say yes and you could lose him forever.

Not that you were against Wonwoo falling in love someday. If he found a good person that he wanted to be with for the rest of his life, you would support him in a heartbeat. It was just the selfish feeling that blossomed in your chest that prevented you from feeling any true happiness for these kinds of situations, and you hated it.

You knew that he would never abandon you completely, because Wonwoo was the best friend you could ever ask for. But you also knew that it would kill you inside to see him sweep someone else off their feet.

You’ve known Wonwoo since high school, and you definitely harboured a puppy crush on him all of first year. This was back when he was still trading pokemon cards in the gym stairwell and poking at you to buy him something from the milk vending machine. The crush went away eventually and you found yourself enjoying the rest of your high school career with your closest confidant by your side.

Once you both entered university, Wonwoo had a sudden growth spurt that now put him a total head taller than you. He no longer lurked at the stairwells during lunch and instead made lots of new friends that he went out for coffee with. He started dressing nicer, and once he exchanged his old glasses for a pair of round silver ones that rested on his nose so perfectly, he instantly transformed into someone straight out of a kdrama.

Now, you have caught feelings again. And you’re scared to admit that this time a puppy crush doesn’t even encapsulate everything you’ve been feeling lately. Of course Wonwoo’s sudden change in appearance didn’t spark anything new in your feelings towards him. It was the fact that he had a new air around him that was just completely different.

Wonwoo in high school was shy, and you loved him for who he was. You two had your own small circle of friends and you would spend all your time reading or playing games in his bedroom. Wonwoo in college however, was breaking out of his shell and being the first to approach people and make new friends. He was still introverted of course, shyness and introvertedness were two different things after all. But you were proud to see Wonwoo take the initiative to make plans more often and reach out.

Wonwoo has also gotten a lot more comfortable around you. He’s grown fond of resting his head on your shoulder after a long day of classes, and wrapping you in his sweaters whenever you came by his flat. In conclusion, everything about university student Wonwoo, was driving you, (and probably the entire campus) crazy.

“Hello? yn? Don’t you have a class soon?”

You swat away the hand that was waving in front of your face to meet the eyes of the cause of all your heart troubles. One smile from Wonwoo and you were in shambles. You had it really, really bad. “Right, right, sorry I was just...distracted.”

“We’re still on for tonight right? You can just head straight to my dorm after your last class.”

“Of course Won, did you really think I was going to miss out on another rewatch of Extraordinary You?”

“Of course not,” Wonwoo chuckled. You were met with another one of those soft gazes from him, and you immediately tried to break your stare. Something in your heart tells you that you should just confess right now, and that Wonwoo was a sensible individual who wouldn’t let go of your friendship if he didn’t feel the same way.

“Hey Won, can I tell you something after class later?”

“Of course.” There was that smile again. If you weren’t so busy trying to slow your heart rate down, you would have caught the way his eyes brightened at hearing your question, and the way he looked down to twindle with his fingers.

You give Wonwoo your own smile before heading off to your last detour of the day.

Sleepovers with Wonwoo always consisted of a mountain of blankets, a never ending pile of snacks and a show to watch before eventually both of you fell asleep. When you arrived at his flat just as he was adding the finishing touches to a home cooked dinner, you realized that sleepovers with Wonwoo also consisted of another thing: Your tragic inability to keep your heart rate down.

“Dinner will be ready in a bit, you can just wash up and get changed for now,” Wonwoo turns to greet you before adding some pepper to the tteokbokki.

You nod and head over to his bathroom, where you already find your change of clothes resting on the counter. Any outsider would have been under the impression that you and Wonwoo lived together, considering that pieces of you were scattered all over his apartment. From the matching toothbrushes that were kept by the sink, to the drawer reserved only for your clothes in his bedroom.

The only reason that you and Wonwoo didn’t room together upon entering university, was the fact that your parents were wary of you rooming with a boy you weren’t even dating. Not that it mattered now, considering that you at least spent two nights at his place away from your own dorm.

After you showered and changed into your pajamas, you realized that Wonwoo had given you one of his sweaters to wear, instead of the usual shirts you slept in. Usually you would have raided his bedroom after dinner to steal one (you slept much better when you wore his clothing) but this time it appeared that he had taken the initiative for you.

Once you stepped out of the bathroom, you saw that Wonwoo was already sitting at the dining table and was on his phone. It looked like he was texting someone, and you felt your heart sink a little when he laughed at a message. No, you are not going to be jealous. You are going to be happy for your friend because he deserves all the happiness in the world.

“Is that the girl from your group project?” You sat down across from him and started piling the tteokbokki and rice onto your plate. “Yeah, she said that the professor just sent out a mass email to our class, saying that we were going to be given an extension. Turns out that email was meant for another course, but everyone is already celebrating the new deadline.”

Wonwoo shuts off his phone and turns to you, “Was there something you wanted to tell me today?”

Right. You were going to confess your feelings. It was now or never, and you weren’t sure if you could hold it in much longer. “I can just tell you after dinner, I’m starving.”

Tragic. Tragic. Tragic. Why couldn’t you just say the words, “Hey Won, I have feelings for you, do you feel the same way?” Must you be in a spiraling paradox of questioning the presence of unrequited love in the relationship you had with your best friend? Yes, most definitely yes. Since the world likes to make everything difficult for those in love.

Dinner was eaten in a comfortable silence for the most part. You liked that you never felt the need to fill the air with more conversation whenever you were with Wonwoo. There were days where you would just sit in each other’s presence and do your own thing, and those days left you with lots of time to ponder on your feelings for him. Tonight was the night that you were going to say these feelings aloud for the first time...you just needed a bit more time to procrastinate.

After you both finished your food, you relocated yourselves to the couch. You fidgeted with the end of your (his) sweater while Wonwoo searched for the show on Netflix. You figured that you would let him know in the morning, since there was a chance that you two would fall asleep before the episode ended. And you didn’t want to confess beforehand either, in fear of having to endure a brutal one hour of awkward tension if he didn’t feel the same way.

“Who would have thought that out of all the days the wifi could have chosen to bail on us, they chose the day where we were going to find out whether Haru belonged to Dan-oh’s story or not,” Wonwoo fiddles with the remote some more, while you panic in silence at the thought of spending the night with no distractions from your feelings.

“It’s not like we don’t already know how it ends,” You take deep quiet breaths to calm yourself down, you can definitely make it through the night, “We can just do other things.”

“What do you have in mind?”

You couldn’t answer him right away. The only thing you had on your mind was the fact that Wonwoo’s hand was now resting on your knee and that it was baffling how good he could look in pajamas. Wonwoo, sensing your inability to form words nervously glanced up at you before moving the conversation in a different direction, “Look, I know you had something to tell me today yn, but I realized that I wanted to share something with you too. I am in love-”

“I am in love with you Jeon Wonwoo!”

There. You blurted out a long-awaited confession before the anticipation consumed you whole. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from your hands in fear of seeing the look on Wonwoo’s face.

“Let me hear you say it again.”

“What?” You turn to Wonwoo, who no longer looked nervous. Instead, he wore the biggest shit-eating grin on his face that made you want to both kiss and strangle him. “Say it again.”

“Not when you look like you just won the lottery you nerd, you didn’t even say-”

“I am in love with you too yn.”

Well, you were never one to complain about the fact that your feelings were returned. But the way Wonwoo was cooing at your adorable expression of shock only made you want to shove him off the couch.

Which you proceeded to do.

“Hey! Aren’t you happy that I like you too?”

“Of course I’m happy! You didn’t have to try to beat me to my confession though, tonight was going to be my night!”

“You didn’t seem like you were going to say anything for the rest of the evening! You were going to wait until the next day weren’t you?”

Absolutely yes. “No!”

Any remaining tension in the atmosphere washed away as you and Wonwoo made fun of each other on the living room floor. You were beyond relieved and a little giddy that your best friend in the whole wide world saw you in the way that you saw him.

“But on a more serious note Won, were you also going to confess tonight too?”

“Actually no, but once you came out of the washroom wearing my sweater, I just had to say it before I tackled you with cuddles or something.”

“You gave me your sweater instead of my clothes to wear!”

“I know!” Wonwoo was holding your hand now and rubbing circles into your palm. The idea of cuddling the entire night didn’t sound so bad. “But you looked all nervous and shy and I was hoping that you were going to be the one to say something first.”

“Can we just agree that we confessed at the same time?” As the adrenaline from the confession began to slip away you suddenly became very tired, and you were hoping to just spend the night in the arms of your favourite person.

“Deal. So can we cuddle now?”

[itrytowrite-things]

Murder podcasts

Spencer Reid x reader 

Summary: Y/N has a tendency to listen to murder podcasts while doing chores, one day Spencer comes in unannounced scaring Y/N into action. (This summary sucks but it’s fluffy) 

A/N: shout out to @with-paint, she helped me form some of this fic so check them out. 

The eerie background music and narrator filled the kitchen as I scrubbed diligently at a plate. I blinked down at it, trying in vain to remember what the hell I used it for that would cause such a stubborn stain of food. Sighing, I squeezed the soap bottle some more and ran hot water over it. Maybe soaking it would help? 

Grabbing a few of the cups I had washed, I spun around from the sink to a towel I had laid out earlier. I scrunched my nose as cold soap suds ran down my arm, hit my elbow and fell to the floor in a sticky mess I didn’t want to deal with right now. 

I was so engrossed in the podcast playing over the Alexa that I barely even processed the grueling chore that was longer than normal. I was lost in the words, that an hour longer scrubbing at dishes seemed almost fun. The dishwasher had completely died a couple of weeks ago. 

Normally Spencer would speed read the manual to figure out what was wrong with the stupid machine. But unfortunately, his case in Michigan was taking longer than he anticipated. So, he hadn’t been home to look into it, leaving me to hand wash the dishes. I didn’t mind, it was a mindless task and allowed me to catch up on my favorite podcast. 

“They found her body a week later, twenty minutes from their house,” I shook my head at that, case freaking solved. Her husband obviously killed her. I mean there’s no way the police didn’t solve this case, come on.

I moved from the towel back to the sink, sticking my hands back into the soapy water. I always believed that I should be a detective. I could solve these cases easily, Spencer claims that suspicion can only take me so far and the reason that they don’t catch the guy is not because they don’t suspect it, but because they don’t have hard evidence. I normally just scoff and give him a kiss knowing that I would get the bad guy in the end, “hard evidence” my ass. 

“Two months later the police came in and found Jeff’s disembodied head laying on their kitchen counter.” My jaw dropped and I turned around furiously, bringing a wet butter knife with me, on instinct I pointed the knife at the device. 

“Oh shit.” I said to the speaker, as if it were relaying the case itself. Well turns out I was wrong. I cleared my throat and lowered the stupid knife. I placed it down and tried my best to look less scandalized. We all make mistakes. So I might have been a little off in my husband theory, but I mean I had only heard half the case at that point so it doesn’t speak anything of my amazing detective skills. I nodded at that and tossed the knife into a little stack of silverware. The metallic sound echoing around the kitchen. I smirked at my good throw and turned back to the sink. 

I quickly got into the true grove of washing the dishes, listening to the more gruesome details of the case. Turns out the killer did quite a number on old Jeff. I was halfway done with the remaining dishes when I felt a tap on my shoulder sending my heart into a frenzy. 

I whirled around quickly bringing the closest item with me as a weapon. The plastic spatula slapped the asalint straight in the face creating an awfully loud twack sound that bounced off the kitchen walls. I blinked in horror at realizing who exactly was standing in front of me. 

Spencer's cheek turned red immediately. 

“Oh my god! Spence! I am so sorry!” I dropped the spatula and brought my other hand to his face trying to soothe his skin. My hand was covered in water and soap suds, and it dripped down his face onto the already wet floor.

“I am so so sorry. You scared me.” I rubbed my thumb over the spot, feeling his heated skin. Jesus, I felt awful. I didn’t hold anything back when I hit him. I figured I was fending for my life, not greeting my boyfriend. 

“It’s okay.” His much larger hand cupped mine removing it from his face. The redness had died down a little, making his skin a rosy pink instead of the previous bright red. He looked adorable which only made me feel worse. Who looks that cute after getting slapped in the face with a spatula? 

Spencer startled me yet again when a chuckle came bubbling out of him. His laugh was like someone bottled the sound of happiness. It made my own laughter arise every time without a doubt even if I didn’t understand what was funny.

“I guess I don’t have to worry about you protecting yourself.” A loud squeak sound emitted from my body unexpectedly followed by more laughter. I slapped him very lightly across the chest, kissing his unharmed cheek. 

“You're lucky I wasn’t cutting vegetables.” I said,  rustling my way into his arms pulling his body against my tightly, loving the way his laughter shook my entire body. I felt the short press of his lips against the crown of my head before tucking my head into the nook of his neck. I inhaled deeply, taking the scent of him with me. The apartment had started to lose its scent with him being gone for so long. I was beyond eager for the apartment to smell like us again.

“I think those podcasts are giving you wild ideas.” 

“They would never find your body Dr.Reid.” I teased, poking gently at his side making him squirm in my grip. Another round of laughter filled the small space, it was only when it died down that I realized my podcast was still running in the background. 

“Alexa, stop,” I shouted into the air stopping the podcast. “The neighbor did it.” I said with coincidence knowing that my answer was correct this time. Spencer let out a belt of laughter, nodding his head, a big grin on his face. 

I pulled back from Spencer taking in his features for the first time. He looked tired, his eye bags had doubled creating a skunk in effect. I could see the trouble in his eyes, the case was hard. It killed me to see him after a hard case, he looked more and more defeated after each one. However, it was what he loved doing and my job wasn’t to erase the trauma of his job, but to ease him back into daily life. I thumbed his eye bags lazily, a pout taking over my face. 

“You wanna take a shower and I’ll start us some dinner.” I asked gently. Not wanting to completely destroy the quiet we created. He nodded slightly looking younger than ever. I quickly pulled him back into me taking all of his weight. “I love you bub.” His hair felt silky against my fingertips as I disentangled the curls. 

“Love you too.” He mumbled, his heated breath warming my skin. I waited a few comfortable minutes rocking our conjoined bodies in the cozy silence of our kitchen, I took a deep breath and said what was on my mind. 

“You wanna talk about it?”

I don’t ever ask Spencer for the details of his cases. He either goes into a tangent without prompting or doesn’t feel like talking about it. I used to think that talking to Spencer about his job would be like listening to my murder podcasts. It honestly was one of the things I was excited for, but I soon found out it’s nothing like that.

When Spencer spoke of cases it was personal. He felt every death that was caused and saw every killing through the eyes of monsters. He held so much emotion in his voice when he spoke of the victims, that I often can’t help but cry. How a person can hold that much pain and still continue to do it everyday, is beside me. 

He shook his head, squeezing my torso before finally pulling back and placing a soft kiss to my lips. 

I continued the dishes, washing the last few. I left the podcast off, listening instead to the shower from down the hall. I scrubbed off the last of the grime before starting the oven. A simple dinner was always best in these situations. I pulled out a pre-made chicken pot pie from the freezer and placed it in the oven. 

As I moved to dry and put away the dishes while waiting for pie to finish. Spencer emerged from the bathroom freshly bathed. He wore a thin gray shirt paired with some soft looking sweatpants. My upper lip jutted out automatically. God I love him. 

“Feel better?” I kept my voice low, not wanting to startle any peace that the shower might have brought him. He nodded slowly. 

“What did you cook?”

“A chicken pot pie, I hope that’s okay.” 

“It’s perfect.” He smiled and returned to my arms, kissing my neck once before tucking his head into my neck. The edge of his wet hair scraped against my skin in an uncomfortable way, yet I only moved enough to rub circles into his back. 

A loud beep emitted from the oven caused me to jump in Spencer's arms. He let out a small chuckle. 

“Pick us something to watch and I’ll plate us some food.” I hummed turning my back to him. I heard him walking towards the living room as I bent to retrieve the hot food. 

Spencer sat criss cross on the couch, Les Enfants du Paradis was displayed on the TV. I handed him the steaming bowl and sat down, sitting close enough for our knees to knock together. I have no idea what Les Enfants du Paradis was, but I would watch literally anything he wanted as long as he was here. 

“It’s in French, but I figured I could whisper the translations to you while we watch. Or I could pick something else?” 

“No! This is perfect Spence. I love it when you translate, you tell the story better.” He let out a little blush highlighting his previous slap mark. I bit my lip and winced slightly, “How’s your face?” 

He touched the spot faintly, he didn’t wince when his fingers made contact which was a good sign. However, I have an inkling that a small bruise would form in the center of the slap which was going to be a fun story to tell his colleagues Monday. 

“I’ve had worse, but you wield a lot of power with a cheap piece of plastic.”

“I am professionally trained in the art of spatula wielding Spence, don’t try that at home.” I stared at him, my face blank before a blast of laughter came out of both of us. One can only be so serious when you are talking about slapping people in the face with kitchen utensils. 

Spencer started up the movie, and we remained there for the rest of the evening. Laughter and dramatic sighs followed by even more dramatic translations from Spencer. At some point he went so off script that even I could tell his story was bullshit. I didn’t call him out though just allowed him to spit nonsense, I would let him create fake French stories until he was blue in the face if that meant we got to stay in this happy bubble forever. 

[trexy225]

TSS-Character Masterlist

Hello everyone! So this story has many, many characters so I made a master list to help y'all keep track! You will see alternate versions of different Spiderman characters as well as some easter eggs I jammed in there. I hope y'all enjoy this chaotic, unhinged Pirate AU as much as I do! Let's go lesbians!

The Siren Queen- Y/N L/N the captain of the ship The Siren’s Song a bold, arrogant, unhinged pirate who takes what she wants. She is kind to her allies but ruthless to her enemies. A force to be reckoned with. Has a haughty shell but a soft inside. Has a very showy personality, is a drama queen with a flair for the dramatics, but in reality, is very scared and insecure. Became a pirate after her family was trying to force an arranged marriage on her she decided to turn to piracy, after seeing the injustices women were given she vowed to travel the world, taking in women who needed to escape as well as donating the treasures she steals to those less fortunate. Pretty soon she had built a loyal and terrifying crew, she hopes to rule the seven seas and make everyone bow down to her.

First Mate: Alexandra ‘Alex’ Shelley. Your closest friend, sister level bond. Stubborn and loyal she is a pessimist and sarcastic but that balances out your sunny attitude. She is very brave and is reliable, the rock on the ship that everyone goes to for guidence.

Sailing Master/Navigator: Gwen Stacy a brilliant scholar who may be a bit too confident.

Head of munitions: Lilith ‘The She-Devil’ Wilson, an unhinged daredevil adrenaline junkie who dives in headfirst and regrets it later. She is incredible with explosives, guns, and pretty much any weapon and is a useful asset. They don't tell anyone about their past, but she has a military background.

Head of supplies: Rita Hernandez, is the mother of Carlos and adoptive mother of Pepa. Ran away from her abusive husband and was taken in by the Sirens crew.

Crew members:

Kate: Your blue macaw who is very good at distractions and is your second mate.

Jeff: The ship cat, is fat and black but is an amazing mouser, is usually found with Felicia.

Cookie: The cook and the therapist of the group, has a crush on Rita. Came on board after her pub got taken from her by rich bankers who made the rent too high and she lost everything.

Melody Prescott: The singer who leads shanties and creates songs and lullabies, a wisecracker. Used to be in a traveling circus but was exploited and underpaid, she ran away to join piracy where she found you all

Suki ‘The Silent Siren’ Tanaka: The silent lone wolf who is deadly, twins with Akira. Saved by you from slave trafficking.

Akira Tanaka: Suki’s polar opposite, very loud and bold, her weapon is her tongue, being able to get a person's guard down and Suki goes in for the kill. Was saved by you from slave trafficking

Sunny Anne: The persistent optimist, dating Gale Hallewell. Came seeking adventure

Gale Hallewell: The dark one you know all emo and pessimistic, dating Sunny Anne, is here to make sure Sunny doesn’t get killed

Scarlett ‘The Seductress’ Ali: The Femme Fatale, has dated everyone (except the kids) on the ship, very flirty. Was saved by you from a gang of men who wanted to rape her and decided to take her act on the move

Pint-Sized Pepa: A 12-year-old stowaway who snuck on board one day and just became a part of the crew, Rita is her guardian and is very protective. Pepa is extremely headstrong and honestly a lil feral. Adores Lilith

Hattie ‘The Giantess’ Ahmed: A gentle giant, was also a part of the circus but ran off with Melody.

Peggy Li: The old drunk who knows all the secrets of the trade so that’s why you keep her around, everyone is a bit tired of her, but she was one of your first crew members, and deep down everyone loves her. Has a peg leg.

Xiran Li: Peggy's daughter, she’s tired and fed up with everything but she ultimately loves it all. Gives a lot of snarky comments and jokes

Beastie: Feral feral woman nobody knows where she came from and she’ll never tell. She’s incredibly deadly however and doesn’t hurt anyone so she’s just here for the ride. Is dating Sparrow. 

Carlos Hernandez: The 4-year-old wholesome wholesome boy who is Rita’s son. Everybody protects him at all costs

Abuela Gonzalez: The wise grandmother who just sits there and watches it all, she takes care of Carlos and reads him stories but is still ruthless if she needs to be. Rumored to be an ex-bandit but has not confirmed nor denied anything.

Priya Kumar: Literally up for anything and is very go with the flow, was escaping from an abusive husband who was very powerful.

Sparrow: Very stoic and regal, is dating Beastie. From the Tlingit peoples, believes in your mission of giving to the poor. 

Anya Petrov: A functional drunk who is very blunt and takes everything literally. You saved her from a bar fight once and once she found out you made your own booze she stayed.

Agatha Stevens: A witch who escaped the persecution of witches in England and joined your crew

Dalia Salah: The doctor on the ship, no-nonsense kinda gal. Decided to join you all after she saw how horribly everyone was doing without her, she also hated the sexism of the medical community.

Josephine ‘Jo’ Roberts: The latest addition to your crew, is extremely inexperienced but determined, also fiercely loyal. Is Cookies apprentice and is skilled at brewing alcohol.

Stormy Owens: A brilliant, sly, and resourceful scholar who is responsible for getting out of any legal troubles as well as creating false identities and keeping track of numbers and such

Petra Parker: A sunny acrobat who is usually up swinging around the ship's sails, came with Hattie and Melody.

Mary Jane 'MJ' Watson: An old friend from your past who joined because she wanted to write poetry and draw your adventures, is nonviolent, and will only use stun moves.

Lonnie Lincoln: An albino African American who escaped slavery to join your crew, is an expert blacksmith.

Felicia Hardy: An expert thief and pickpocket, best friends with Jeff the cat

Olivia Octavius: the former navigator to an American merchant vessel who you kidnapped but she ultimately joined you. Is a self-proclaimed scientist who claims to know how to control the Kraken, she just doesn’t know where to find the Kraken. You agree to help her find the Kraken if she teaches you how to control it. She’s very erratic and scatterbrained and seems to just be an eccentric scientist who’s harmless. But she can be deadly serious if she wants to be and there’s more to her than first meets the eye

[randomingoftherandomness]

Hi! I got a prompt! You know the cliche trope of a married couple fighting and the wife is like “I’m going back to my parents’ house!” Well, maybe wenzhou had a petty fight, and wkx actually uses that line, but he obv has no parents left, so he ran away to yby’s place. Now zzs not only has to coax his husband home, he also has to do it in front of yby, who’s like half freaking tired of the drama, and half get weirdly into it and yakes wkx’s side, making the task even more difficult. Can be modern AU or post canon, up to you 🤣🤣

Hi Nani, sorry this is a bit late hehe 🥰

I’m opting for modern!au for this coz I want to try something new haha

—

The tap on his car window startles him out of his daze and he winds down just in time to have Ah Xiang poking her head into the warm interior, bringing with her a rush of cool spring morning air.

“You fucked up really bad this time, huh?”

“Language,” Zishu chides on instinct but doesn’t pursue the matter when their foster daughter/little sister rolls her eyes and sighs.

“Are you going in or not? If you are, you should do it later coz the Old Man is still in there. If you’re not, then can I bum a ride with you to school?”

“Did you miss the bus again?” Zishu scoffs, reaching over to the passenger seat and passing over three packed lunches that were definitely bought; one for Ah Xiang, one for Chengling who was staying at his godfather Shen Shen’s for the week (thank the gods), and one for Cao Weining who seems to have ingratiated his way into their little family.

She takes it wordlessly and packs it into her bag. Sticking her tongue out at him, she shoulders the straps of her school bag, scuffing her shoe on the ground. Watching her, Zishu kills the engine of the car and lifts up the bouquet of peonies he’d bought last night and drove up and down the block until he decided against coming over to the Ye household at that hour.

“How mad?”

“I’d say you’ll probably have to grovel.”

Zishu grins, a bubble of amusement enveloping his chest with warmth. Exiting the car, he reaches over to pat her on her head and arranges the collar of her school uniform. “I can do that.”

She frowns. “Grovel and beg and kiss his ass and swear you won’t make him angry anymore?”

“Go to school, kid, and text me if you guys need a ride home today. I’ll bring you guys for some ice-cream,” Zishu says, nudging her along. She huffs, pausing mid turn to suddenly throw her arms around him and hugging tightly.

“I don’t like it when you guys fight.”

“I know. I don’t like it when we fight either.”

—

Mr Rong is the one who opens the door with a smile. “They’re at the patio,” He whispers. Gathering his coat and his briefcase, he winks conspiratorially as he leaves for work. “Good luck, Zishu!”

“Thanks,” He replies with a confidence he doesn’t quite feel.

Senior Ye and Mr Rong aren’t that much older than Zishu but somehow they’ve had a whole history between them that nonetheless had culminated in a shotgun wedding in Saipan five years ago that only Zishu, Lao Wen and Rong Xuan, Mr Rong’s only son from a previous marriage, were invited to. Senior Ye had a sharp tongue and a frosty wit, while Mr Rong was warm and personable. They’re the true definition of the saying ‘opposite attracts’.

Whilst Senior Ye, the closest thing Zishu had to an older brother in this world, hadn’t made any secrets of his disapproval of his and Lao Wen’s relationship, in recent years the man seems to have mellowed out immensely. Now, his is the house Lao Wen runs to when they have a fight.

They’re at the patio as Mr Rong had said, sitting at the table with the breakfast things all spread out mid meal. His Lao Wen looks radiant in the sunlight, dressed in a soft jumper that was probably Zishu’s at one point, resolutely not looking over when he approaches. Senior Ye gives him a once over and sighs, put-upon, at the sight of the flowers.

Clearing his throat, he ignores the man and goes to a crouch in front of Lao Wen, setting the bouquet on the table beside them. Trying for a smile, Zishu quietly says, “Hey.”

Cool dark eyes flicker to him and narrow dangerously. Before his husband can say anything, Senior Ye takes a quick jibe in. “Hey. That’s all you can do? Hey?”

“Senior Ye...”

“It’s okay,” Lao Wen says, tilting his head towards Senior Ye with a placating smile. “Maybe we could have a minute?”

“Ugh, fine.” He rolls his eyes, voice dripping with utter disdain as he stalks back into homely interior of his home. “I’m keeping an eye on you two!”

“I thought he didn’t like you very much,” Zishu cannot help but to say.

At this, Lao Wen merely shrugs and tucks his hands under his sleeves. “Have you had breakfast?” He asks, hands already moving to butter the bread and spread the jam. It settles something unnerved in Zishu to see him do this for him and it is enough to unlatch the words, “I am sorry, Lao Wen. Please come home.”

The hand on the butter knife pauses mid stroke. “I...” Lao Wen licks his lips. Setting the knife down with a clatter, Lao Wen reaches out for his hand. They tangle their fingers together, sharing a soft, slow smile. 

“I’m sorry too. I couldn’t sleep last night without you.”

Zishu feels the words unspool his heart. He lifts Lao Wen’s hand to his lips, pressing kisses to the ridges and dips of his knuckles. “What were we fighting about again?” He asks around a irrepressible smile.

“Can’t remember. Probably something stupid,” Lao Wen laughs, curling into him and drawing him into a kiss. “I love you. Let’s go home.”

“I love you, too. Let’s go home.”

—

“How long did it take this time?”

Ye Baiyi rolls his eyes, throwing the ingredients into the bowl before he leans back into the warmth and solid strength of his husband, tilting his head back to kiss at a jaw.

“Not long. I gave them the leftovers from last night to take home for lunch after I made them sit through a lecture. That brat said he wants to cook dinner for us this weekend.”

His husband chuckles, the sound reverberating right to his bones. “You’re such a softie.”

“Mm.”

[theleftovertaco]

Post War HCs

TW- mentions of panic attacks, hoarding, PTSD, self harm, if any of this may trigger something for you, don’t fucking read it.

I always kind of get annoyed when writers, shows or movies ignore the physical or mental trauma that their characters have. I understand in Harry Potter where the characters aren’t really shown past their first 7 years but I do have some personal HCs about how each of the characters fared following the second Wizarding War and the Battle of Hogwarts

All was not well.

Harry gets sensory overload, he’s anxious all the time, and over the following years he becomes a bit of a control freak, since he felt like he could barely control things around him as a teen. He spent nearly 7 years telling himself and others that he wanted to be an Auror, and he followed through, going through the training, passing his exams and finally becoming an Auror.

He gets burnout in less than 2 years before eventually resenting his job. It’s not for lack of trying, they do a lot the first few months in active duty and he moves up the ranks faster than anyone in Ministry history (being the chosen one has it’s perks).

But he feels like there’s so much that’s put on his plate, that he can’t control. Harry spent seven years at Hogwarts dodging Daily Prophet interviews and trying to live up to the expectations of being the Chosen One, and he hoped that after he killed Voldemort, those expectations would have been met and he could finally have some peace. 

The expectations grew. So did criticisms. Any singular mistake the Auror department made fell under his responsibility, at least, according to the press. 

At the one and a half year mark, he breaks, doesn’t show up for work one day, dodges his family and friends and takes off for a few weeks. He shows up later to press shoving their quick-quotes quills in his face and hands in an immediate notice of resignation. 

All was not well.

Hermione still wakes up in the middle of the night with stinging flesh, and she has to check over her limbs to make sure that Bellatrix didn’t somehow carve another slur into her, even though Hermione knows she’s dead. 

Sometimes she can still feel the knife carving into her arm, can still feel the blood dripping out of the wound.

She develops a fear of snakes over time, even the smallest garden snake makes her jump, considering her experience with snakes during the war was less than satisfactory, to say the least

Hermione puts her guard up when meeting diplomats as she rises the Ministry ranks. She never knows who is going to spout anti- muggle rhetoric in her face. She walks with her wand always in her hand. 

She never knows if a Voldemort sympathizer will jump out and attack her when she walks down Diagon Alley. 

All was not well.

Ron can’t be away from Hermione or Harry for too long or he gets separation anxiety. Spending nearly a decade in life or death situations makes him nearly unable to function unless he knows they’re both okay. 

Ron still feels a curling sensation in his gut if he is away from Hermione for too long. Sometimes he wakes up screaming her name when his nightmares make him relive the sounds of her being tortured by Bellatrix. 

After the third time of him showing up at her doorstep at odd hours of the night, she takes him to buy a landline so he can just call to confirm her safety.

Ron needs reassurance that his friends won’t leave him. He spent his whole life being mistaken or compared to his siblings. There is always that sinking feeling in his mind that one day, his friends will realize that they’re better than him, and they’ll move on.

It takes years of reassuring before he begins to believe it himself.

All was not well.

Fred lives, but his hearing is permanently damaged from the explosion. Sometimes he can still hear ringing sounds of the blast and his ears will randomly bleed. 

He tries to hold it together, to prove that he doesn’t need help with his hearing. 

It takes about eight months before he concedes and allows his mother to take him to get his ears looked at, but by that point the damage is too far down, so he tries muggle hearing aids. 

Sometimes Fred can still feel his lungs crushing in while he struggles to take another breath, can feel his ribcage closing in on his heart. Whoever he’s closest too will have to sit down with him and remind him that he’s not under a dark pile of rubble, unable to scream or speak or breath.

Sometimes it’s impossible for him to hear them though because when he has panic attacks his ears just, shut off, or he’ll rip out his aid. 

All was not well.

George still gets insane migraines and feels phantom pains on the left side of his head. He has to take potions to quell the constant pounding sensation in his head. 

He can never be apart from Fred for long. The five minutes of terror he went through when he believed his twin brother was dead have made him constantly worried for his brothers safety so he babies him all the time. Fred eventually gets fed up with him and snaps a few months in, yelling at him to “stop treating me like a child!”

George breaks down sobbing and they both end up going to joint therapy.

George is tired all the time. His job of being around kids in the shop all the time, working 12+ hour days, for 4-6 days a week tires him out. He needs his sleep. 

Fred often finds him slumped over at his desk or at a register and sends him home. 

He hits his breaking point when he refuses to sleep or rest for over 3 days and collapses while restocking.

Fred and George learn to enforce specific schedules, shifts no longer than ten hours for them and no more than nine for their employees. 

All was not well.

Ginny, Neville, Luna, Dean, and Seamus still wake up from nightmares of the first years screaming under the punishment of the Carrow twins. 

They snuck as many as possible into the Room of Requirement. 

But it wasn’t enough, and they all have memories scraped into their skulls of sending the body of a first year Hufflepuff home to sobbing parents after Amycus Carrow caught her reading the Quibbler. 

Ginny feels her scalp on fire years after her 6th year from when Alecto Carrow dragged her by the hair. 

She begins to tear out her own hair.

Ginny eventually breaks and just shaves her whole head.

All was not well.

Neville retreats into his shell of plants and disappears into greenhouse three to his venomous tentacula when he feels panicked.

He has to create a rigid schedule for himself, a response to the undiscernible chaos of his school years. 

All was not well.

Luna starts seeing her mother again in her dreams, her screams as she died mirroring the ones of the students that screamed out for help while they were still in school.

All was not well.

Dean and Seamus rent an apartment together and open a pub because if they aren’t always in each others line of sight, panic shoots through their hearts. Seamus throws all his energy into cooking and Dean controls most of the serving and financial aspects of the place.

All was not well.

Molly Weasley still glances at her family clock in fear, though now a few more names have been added to it, waiting for the hands of Harry, Ron, and Hermione to switch back to “Mortal Peril” like they did so often while the three were horcrux hunting.

All was not well.

Arthur Weasley clings to his muggle objects like a shield and eventually develops a light hoarding problem. Molly and the children have to force him to go through each item. Harry and Hermione sit down with him and explain the purpose of each object until he’s ready to let a lot of it go. 

All was not well.

Minerva McGonagall still is on the lookout for kids that look like they come from dangerous homes. Kids that need her help. She worries after 7 years of chaos when the other shoe will drop, and waits with baited breath for news to come through that another catastrophic event will occur within the walls of Hogwarts, walls which were supposed to keep students safe. 

All was not well.

Draco Malfoy spends hours in the shower scrubbing at his scar, trying to make it disappear, he cuts into it at some point with a knife and his mother gently forces him to enter himself into a temporary psych ward after she finds him bloodied and passed out on his bathroom floor.

All was not well. All was never well. 

[softjaehyvn]

strangers | l.ty

— angst ; 5k

— mentions of cancer

He loved to work anywhere. It did not matter if it's at home, in a café, or just outside on a bench close to the ocean, if there was one.

Since he traveled a lot, he always had new places to go and continue what he was doing at that moment. But that also meant he had no one who could appreciate his hard work.

No one, until he saw her in that restaurant.

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He wanted to talk to her, as soon as he heard her sweet voice talking to a man in front of her, softly asking if he was the man she wanted to meet.

As soon as the other man nodded, she smiled so brightly and in Lee Taeyong's eyes, it was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. And it hurt that this smile was not for him.

He was ripped from his thoughts as someone placed a plate with delicious food in front of him. "I hope you enjoy your meal", the woman said, smiling friendly as Taeyong looked up at her. "Thank you", he answered and started eating.

But he could not stop thinking about her beautiful smile.

Lee Taeyong was back in South Korea. After spending a weekend in Venice and a whole week in Stockholm, he was finally back. writing in other countries always made him feel better because he never got out of his apartment or the studio.

"Hyung, are you back?", Jaemin, one of his best friends asked. the younger male had a spare key just to check-in, just like the rest of his group. Whenever they wanted they could go inside and get something from Taeyong's fridge or whatever they wanted. It was kind of a shared apartment, but the other boys slept at their parent's house since Taeyong's apartment was pretty small for all those people.

"Yeah, finally got back. And I’m so tired", Taeyong whined and got up to greet his friend.

"Then stop working and go to sleep", Jaemin scoffed and let go of Taeyong, just to see the filled pages Taeyong had written in the last week.

"You wrote all of this in just a week? Hyung, I guess I’ve always underestimated you", Jaemin said while reading a bit through the lyrics.

Taeyong started to laugh. "Jaemin, you know I’m always like this", he said. "I can't stop writing when I’m somewhere else. Stockholm and Venice did something to me."

"Venice? You didn't tell me you wanted to travel there! Hyung, I’ve always wanted to go there", Jaemin exclaimed as he continued reading.

"One day we'll go there together, yeah? We all together. It's really beautiful there", Taeyong said and chuckled, he found it adorable how mad Jaemin seemed to be simply because Taeyong had not told him, he would be going to Venice.

"I'm sure you're going to love it there. There were so many places to visit, but I only spent the weekend there. The rest of the week I was in Stockholm as planned", Taeyong explained. "I think of going to Berlin soon. You wanna come, too?", Taeyong asked the younger.

Jaemin nodded. "Yes, of course, hyung. I'll tell Mark, too, then we can go together", he answered.

"That'd be amazing. I missed traveling with you guys", Taeyong smiled, then he yawned. "I think I’m going to bed. If you want to, you can try to work on the lyrics I wrote. We need to hand something to pd-nim soon."

"Yeah, I'll get to it right now. Do you want me to call mark, too? I thought I wouldn't invite him since you're really tired and you know how he can be sometimes “, Jaemin chuckled. "Yeah... thanks for that", Taeyong grinned. "Get to work, Jaemin-ah."

"I. will, hyung", he promised, but then he seemed like he got an idea. "Did you eat something?", he asked. Taeyong just shook his head. "I thought I'll order something when I wake up again", the elder answered. "Forget that, I'm ordering pizza now. You can sleep after you ate", the younger protested and took out his phone, laughing at the elder groaning. "Are you serious? I just want to sleep", he whined.

"Stop being a baby and wait for half an hour. It's not going to kill you. At that time, we could read over your texts", Jaemin said and took out his phone to order something to eat.

"Yeah, okay. that's a good idea, too", Taeyong said and sat down on his couch. They worked on Taeyong's lyrics, Jaemin was impressed by how much Taeyong had written in just a week. Taeyong loved his work. he loved being able to travel around.

Suddenly he remembered you. He remembered your soft smile at that one man and started smiling. he could not stop thinking about you. He remembered your sweet voice, asking the man if he was the one she wanted to meet.

"You okay, hyung? Why are you suddenly smiling?", Jaemin asked. "I'm fine, just thought about someone I saw in Venice", Taeyong answered. "Was it some girl?", his best friend grinned and laughed at Taeyong's panicked look. "Tell me about her. How did you meet her?"

So, he started talking. He told him everything about you, telling his best friend about how much you inspired him to write more love songs. That was something Taeyong always wanted to do but he could not do it since it did not fit the style of songs he usually wrote.

"You're cute, hyung", Jaemin said grinning. "You have a crush on a girl you couldn't even talk to. Who knows, if you're ever going to meet her again."

"I don't care. she inspired me a lot without even knowing", Taeyong chuckled and pointed at his lyrics. "That's the proof."

"I know, hyung... I know", Jaemin only said before he got up to get the pizzas and enjoyed his time with his closest friend.

They just had booked their flight tickets to Berlin and smiled brightly. It had been a long time since Taeyong, Jaemin and Mark had traveled somewhere together and Taeyong had to admit that he missed traveling with his two best friends. He had wanted to do that again and finally, they would do it. 

"We got the tickets and booked our hotel. I hope there will not happen anything bad", Taeyong said. "Don't be such a pessimist. Nothing will happen, okay? We'll fly to Berlin and enjoy our time together. We needed that", Jaemin said smiling and opened a new page on Taeyong's laptop. He looked for something to eat. Taeyong stopped him right away. "No, don't. I went grocery shopping today just to be able to cook something for us", he said. 

Well... Taeyong tried. but as Mark was able to distract him, the food burned and they couldn't eat it. So, they had to order take out. But no one cared. They liked to have their free time and spend them together as best friends. And finally, they were able to spend more time together. Taeyong was excited. In a few days, they would be on the plane to Istanbul, then Berlin. 

"Guys? What do you think about this?", Jaemin asked. he showed the other boys a few lines he just had written. 

The lyrics Jaemin showed them were emotional, full of love. It was completely different from what he would write usually.

"That sounds good", Taeyong commented and smiled.

"Since when are you so emotional?", Mark giggled. He groaned as Jaemin hit him.

"I don't know... probably since I'm dating Seoyeon", Jaemin laughed. The other two boys widened their eyes. They didn't know about Jaemin dating one of the producers of SME, the entertainment they all were working in. 

"Since when are you two dating?!", Taeyong blurted out.

"Oh... I didn't tell you, right? Seoyeon and I are dating for almost two months now. I kind of forgot to tell you about it", Jaemin laughed a bit and his cheeks reddened as always when he got shy.

Long flights were always a little problem for Taeyong. But if he took his medication, it wouldn't be a problem at all. Him having cancer had been a reason to even fire him from his job since there always was the risk of something happening to him. But SME loved him. They loved his lyrics. That's why they would keep him in the company.

Taeyong was truly a genius when talking about song lyrics. Not only the company loved them but the fans of the artists he wrote for and his fans did as well. He enjoyed the reactions and speculations as they were trying to figure out what deeper meaning the lyrics had.

As usual, he had his notebook open and ready to write something down if he would get something in mind that he could work on. But it seemed like his mind was empty. He couldn’t even get one line together that sounded good to him.

“Sorry, you’re sitting on my seat!”, someone said and Taeyong looked up. His eyes widened as he saw you standing there.

“O-oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t notice it”, he hurriedly got up and tried to make space for you. You smiled and stepped back a little so he can get out of the tight spot. When you tried to get to your seat, you tripped and he put his hands on your waist, stopping you from falling.

“Careful”, he said and held your hand until you sat down.

“Thank you”, you answered and tightened your belt as Taeyong sat down next to you.

“You’re welcome. I’m Taeyong by the way. Nice to meet you”, he smiled as he also tightened his belt. His heart started beating faster as you also smiled when you told him your name. He couldn’t believe that you were there, in the same plane as him, and seated right next to you. Was it luck? He honestly didn’t know.

“You kind of seem familiar to me? Is it possible that I saw you somewhere before?”, you then asked him. He nodded.

“I saw you in Venice. It was at that restaurant, what was it called?”, he murmured as he tried to remember the name. “Right! Ai Mercanti was the name.”

„Right! It was such a great place though!”, you said and the moment he saw your smile again, his heart stopped a beat before starting to pound in his chest. He was in love with your smile.

“Where are you traveling?”, Taeyong asked you. He sort of was disappointed when you told him that you would stay in Istanbul for a while before heading back to Seoul for your work. During the flight, Taeyong didn’t even write a little bit into his notebook. He was either sleeping or talking to you.

You thought Taeyong was cute, a passionate person who loved his work over everything. He had shown you a few of his lyrics and surprised you by telling you that he wrote a few of the songs you loved to listen to.

“I didn’t think that I would meet the person who wrote my favorite songs”, you giggled and read over a few drafts he had written down in his notebook.

“Well, you did”, Taeyong answered smiling before he yawned. He checked the time, noticed that you both had been talking for over an hour and he noticed that it was late.

“I think, I will try to sleep. You should, too”, he said and put the blanket he had brought with him over his body. You only nodded, also trying to cuddle yourself into your blanket. Eventually, both of you fell asleep.

“Hyung”, someone was shaking his body softly but it was enough to wake Taeyong eventually up. He looked around confused and noticed that the plane already landed. “We’re in Istanbul. We have to get out and go to our next plane”, Mark said and Taeyong looked to the seat next to him. It was empty. But there was a small piece of paper which he picked up and read it. There was a small text saying that you loved talking to him during the flight and you wrote down your number.

“Who was that?”, Mark asked him curiously, trying to peek on the note. But Taeyong folded it and hid it in his pocket. He only brushed it off with a small “No one” and grabbed his bag where he had put his notebook and other things in. He hurried to get out of the plane and breathed in as soon as he finally was able to get fresh air.

“Now I kind of regret that we didn’t stay here for like a day or something. We could’ve eaten that thing Yuta had recommended us”, Taeyong pouted. 

“Are you sure that it isn’t because of the girl?”, Mark asked him, causing Taeyong to widen his eyes but also shook his head immediately.

“Of course not! She has nothing to do with this. I only spoke to her today. It was the first time I ever talked to her. And I probably won’t ever see her again, so it doesn’t matter”, Taeyong answered. It was a big lie, but he didn’t want to tell the other two boys that he would be meeting up with her as soon as they were back in South Korea.

“Yeah, yeah. Keep on lying to yourself, Taeyongie”, Jaemin laughed and they both finally entered the huge airport. At first, it seemed like the three boys were lost but they were lucky to find someone who spoke fluent English so Mark and Jaemin could ask them for help. It took them around half an hour to finally arrive at their next gate where they would be going to their next plane to Berlin.

All of them were already exhausted. It would take around three more hours on a plane until they would finally in Berlin and would go to their hotel. Taeyong decided to work on his notes for a few songs his manager asked him to write. Soon, there would be a new group debuting and they needed good songs.

While he was thinking about you, possible lines for songs (to be exact, they mostly were love songs) were written in his notebook and he was proud of all the paragraphs he managed to write in only two hours. For the last hour, he decided on sleeping and was woken up by Jaemin as they landed.

His medication was really heavy so he always slept over. One of the boys always had to come over to his place to wake him up so he could at least show up at the company for once. Sometimes, the boys even thought he was dead because he didn’t move at all or even woke up, no matter how hard they tried to wake him.

That usually had been in the beginning after the doctor diagnosed him with his tumor. Now his body got used to the heavy medication and he didn’t pass out a lot anymore. It still happened that he just fell asleep somewhere or even just lose his consciousness when they were on their way home from a long day at the company.

“We landed. We’re in Berlin”, he was all smiley and happy and Taeyong was grateful that he still could see his best friends who were like a family for him happy.

Taeyong got up and took his bag, going to the exit with Jaemin. Mark already was out, waiting for them. The youngest of the three was impatient, wanting to go to their hotel and just sleep. Taeyong put his arm around Mark and smiled. “Don’t worry, we’ll be at the hotel soon and you can sleep as much as you want to. We all need it”, Taeyong said and Mark nodded.

“I’m just exhausted because of the flight. But anyway, how are you feeling? Are you too exhausted?”, Mark asked him worriedly. Taeyong shook his head.

“I’m good. The medicine wasn’t as heavy as I thought it would be. I’m doing okay. I will be able to make it to the hotel without passing out”, he joked but he knew his illness was a sensitive topic to his friends. Taeyong always took his illness way too easy than he actually should.

“If you tried to be funny about your illness, you know I hate that. I’m sorry Taeyong Hyung”, Jaemin said and sighed.

“I know. I shouldn’t take it as easy as I do but I… I try to make the best of it. I’m here with you guys now, I’m living the life of my dreams. I just try to enjoy it. And I know exactly that this whole thing is super sensitive. I get that. But I just try to forget it for a while…”, Taeyong said while they were walking into the airport.

“I also get that. Let’s have a great vacation here, okay? Don’t think about work, don’t think a bit about lyrics. I want you to have your time with us, yeah?”, Jaemin said and Taeyong only smiled when he nodded.

Jaemin might be two years younger than him, but he was truly more mature than someone would expect. He was a dork, yes, he always managed to make the others laugh, but he knew whenever there was a serious moment, he should back off and try to help.

“We should go. I’m getting tired”, Taeyong then said and both Mark and Jaemin kind of panicked as they rushed a little to get out of the airport as soon as possible. Soon, they were in a cab, the driver was luckily speaking a little English, so Mark and Jaemin were able to communicate with him.

No matter how tired he was, Taeyong couldn’t go to sleep without checking the paper you had given him. He smiled as he noticed the small heart next to your number and he immediately took out his phone to save your number. Before he actually texted you, he decided to get ready to sleep.

When he finally was ready to sleep, he took his phone again and opened the still empty chat with you.

“Hey it’s Taeyong ^^”

It didn’t take long until you answered.

“I thought you’d never text me. Was your flight okay?”

“Yes… We just arrived at the hotel. I’m really tired and I will go to sleep now. How is Istanbul?”

“I didn’t go around much yet but the place I’m staying in is so beautiful”

You and Taeyong texted for almost an hour. It didn’t take long until he finally noticed that he actually should sleep. That is what he texted you. You only answered that you were sorry for keeping him up for so long. He smiled at your answer.

“It’s okay, I’ll sleep now, yeah?”

“good night, yongie”

His heart fluttered at the nickname and he couldn’t stop smiling. Taeyong put his phone away and eventually, he fell asleep while he was thinking about you.

“did you sleep well?”

Taeyong looked on his phone as the message arrived. He smiled a little which didn’t go unnoticed by Jaemin and Mark. The boys currently were at a “Who was it?”, Jaemin asked grinning. “Is it the sweet girl you were seated next to?”

“Yes, it’s her”, Taeyong admitted. “Also… do you remember the girl I saw in Venice?” As both of them nodded, Taeyong continued talking. “It’s her.”

Jaemin widened his eyes, he couldn’t believe the luck Taeyong had. He was happy for his best friend and smiled. “I’m so happy for you, Hyung. Seriously, it actually so unbelievable but I’m so glad that you found her and even talk to her now. If it makes you happy, I am happy, too”, Jaemin spoke and Taeyong couldn’t help but smile even more.

“Thank you so much, Jaeminie.”

That evening, you and Taeyong talked on the phone. Neither you nor him were tired since you slept over the whole afternoon to evening and now had time to just talk. He told you about how much you had inspired him to write love songs which weren’t his strength, no matter how often his company asked him to write a few.

“That’s so sweet, god I can’t with this”, you whined and he grinned. “Can you read them out for me again?”

And he did. He just read them, smiling as he imagined your beautiful smile. He truly fell for you before even knowing you and he was sure as soon as he finally got to know you better, he’d be highs over heels in love with you.

“The texts are so beautiful. Which group do you think they will let them record them?”, you asked him. “Only… tell me if you’re actually allowed to. I don’t want to get you in trouble or something.”

“No, it’s okay. I just write too much and sometimes they don’t even use the texts. Then I’m just uploading them on SoundCloud with Jaemin and Mark, my two best friends”, he explained. “I feel like this song might not fit to any group so it might end up being recorded by a few other friends.”

“You sing, too? God, is there anything you can’t do?”, you asked him and giggled. Everything you did made him smile like an idiot. He never thought he could ever fall for someone like this.

“Well, Mark and I are usually doing the rap but some people say I should sing more”, he laughed.

“Could you maybe sing something for me?”, you asked him shyly, not sure if he would do it.

“I’m not so confident with my singing, actually”, he said. “But one day, I will sing for you, promise.”

“You don’t have to, Yongie. It’s okay if you’re not comfortable with it”, you said. “Hey, umm, I need to sleep now, if that’s okay for you? I got an appointment with a salesman early tomorrow and need to rest properly.”

“Of course, angel, I need to sleep now, too”, he said. “Sleep well, Y/N”.”

“You, too, Yongie”, you called him by the nickname again and again, his heart was pounding in his chest. As you hung up, he couldn’t stop thinking about how it would be to see you again. It made him happy that he was able to talk to you, to get to know you. In the moments you two were talking, he seemed to forget about his illness. He seemed to feel healthy and strong while he was actually weak and sick.

It didn’t take him much time to fall asleep again. He slept peaceful and well, better than he had before, ever since his doctor had diagnosed him with cancer. Taeyong didn’t know what made him feel happier when he woke up the next day.

During the small vacation, Taeyong enjoyed his time with his two best friends and… he was happy. He was satisfied with how his life was at the moment.

On the flight back, they were also stopping once in Istanbul, making him question if you already had returned to Seoul since you didn’t have your return tickets yet when Taeyong had called you for the last time two days ago. He didn’t want to bother you as you were there for work and not for vacation.

If he only knew that you were waiting for him to call. You had already finished all your work there and had a few free days which he didn’t know. Also, you were shy, that was enough not to call him.

After the long flight, they were picked up by Johnny; the young Korean-American male was the only one who had a driver’s license and had agreed to pick the three men up as soon as they were back in Seoul. First, he dropped off Mark and Jaemin. When they arrived at Taeyong’s apartment, he smiled and got out of the car, Johnny following him to carry his luggage.

“Thanks, John. I appreciate that”, he said as they were in the elevator.

“Of course, Yongie. If you need help with something else, just ask. I’ll try to help you as much as I can”, Johnny answered and got out of the elevator as it stopped.

Johnny let the bag fall on the ground as he noticed that Taeyong was still in the elevator, held his hand at the door, and stopped it from closing. Taeyong was holding his head and his eyes were closed.

“Did you take your medication?”, Johnny asked him which Taeyong only answered by shaking his head as a no. He forgot to take the pills, causing him not to sleep enough on the flight. “Where are they?”

Johnny helped Taeyong to get out of the elevator and escorted the weak male to his apartment. He helped Taeyong with taking his medication, all of the boys knew about how many pills he had to take so they were able to help when Taeyong wasn’t in the state to help himself.

It took him a little until he felt better and was able to change his clothes on his own. As he looked at his pale body, he noticed a few bruises. At this point, he was used to getting random bruises on his body, they were everywhere now.

“Do you want me to call someone?”, Johnny asked. “I need to go to the studio, PD-nim said there was an emergency with one of the trainees and they need me.”

“No… I’m fine. Wait, no, call Y/N”, Taeyong then said. “I really hope she’s back here...”, he then murmured to himself. Taeyong told him not to say anything about his illness before he handed his phone to Johnny who pressed on the ‘call’ button as soon as he found your contact.

“Yongie?”, you yawned, making Johnny smile.

“It’s Johnny. I’m a friend of Taeyong. He isn’t feeling well after the flight and I would stay at his place but I have to work. Could you come over and maybe stay here until I’m back?”

“Of course. Would you text me the address? I’ll be there as soon as possible”, you answered without even thinking.

“I will. Thanks for doing this, Y/N. I’m looking forward to meet you soon”, Johnny spoke before he hung up and looked to Taeyong who was still scrunching his face in pain and was lying in his bed. “She will be here in around ten minutes. Do you think you would be able to stay awake?”

“Mhm, I think I’ll make it. You should go. The company is also important”, Taeyong said. As soon as Johnny was out, he started to let out all the coughing he was trying to hold in the whole time. He didn’t want to let Johnny see in what kind of a bad situation he was.

He was coughing with no pause, couldn’t breathe properly and he looked up in a panic as someone knocked at the door after a few minutes. Taeyong tried to get up from his bed and walked to the door, he was coughing badly and was weak.

He opened the door and… collapsed.

It was such a surprise for you to see him collapse right in front of you. You panicked and didn’t know what to do for a moment. You tried to pull him up and did everything you learned in a first-aid course, your whole body was shaking because you were scared. What was going on with him?

Meanwhile, you were talking to the emergency.

While you were waiting, you looked through his apartment, walked around but still stayed close so you can watch him. You found his phone and unlocked it by using his fingerprint. As you went through his contacts, you saw the names Jaemin and Mark, remembering how he told you that he’s going on his vacation with them.

Immediately, you called Jaemin.

“Hyung? What’s up?”, he said with a groggy voice. Probably the man was already sleeping.

“It’s Y/N. I…”, before you were able to continue speaking, you burst into crying. “H-he coll-apsed”, you stuttered out. You finally got yourself together and spoke with a much more stable voice. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

While you were talking to Jaemin and tried to calm down, you were walking around the small apartment. And then, you gasped in shock as you saw a little bit of blood. Maybe he coughed out blood as he was trying to open the door.

“I’ll be right over. Or wait, did you call the emergency? If yes, just text me which hospital you’re going to, I’ll go there directly”, Jaemin then said and you only answered him with a ‘yes’ before you hung up.

Soon, the paramedics arrived and after questioning you about who you are and what you were doing in his apartment and all that, they finally brought him to the ambulance and you got into the car as well, driving to the hospital as fast as possible and you were crying, still didn’t know what was going on in there.

“You didn’t know about this?”, Mark asked you. You looked up and shook your head as a no. “I thought he might’ve told you already. You were talking a lot when we were in Berlin.”

“No. He never mentioned it. I was so surprised when he suddenly collapsed after opening the door. At least, he was able to open the door”, you told him then.

“It surprised me. Seriously. He always talked about you when he was back from Venezia. Talked about how beautiful you were for him. If we didn’t stop him, he even might talk for hours about you even though he only saw you for a second. He truly lo-“

“Where is he?!”, Johnny interrupted Mark in his small speech, not allowing the younger male to tell him that Taeyong loved you.

Before Mark could answer him, the doctor arrived. He seemed sad, disappointed in himself. You felt the fear of hearing bad news about Taeyong’s current state.

“I’m sorry”, the medic said, making your heart beat faster.

“He is currently in a coma.”

taglist ;; @wownajaemin​ @n8dlesoupguk​ 

[makeste]

I just wanna enable you to talk more about Katsuki so. top 5 (or 10, or however many you feel like) Bakugou romantic ships? not like number 1 will be a surprise but hey ;p

ah, shipping. the perfect topic with which to take a breather from leg puns and the quirkless!Bakugou debate. nothing controversial about ships lmao.

disclaimer: these are literally just my favorite Bakugou ships, as asked. I have few to no NOTPs, and I’m not anti-anything, nor do I have any opinions on whether or not any of these will or should become canon (as it really makes no difference to me, since I ship them all platonically as well). basically I have no skin in the “shipping somehow has winners and losers” game. I’m just here for the emotional energy and the lulz and the character development.

anyways this is a top six because I couldn’t bear to leave either of my two favorite rarepairs out whoops.

BakuDeku - like you said anon, not a surprise lol. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; for me, these two are the core of the series. honestly it sometimes strikes me as ironic that this ship is so often written off as abusive or unhealthy or toxic, because I often find myself thinking that roughly 90% of all of Bakugou and Deku’s problems could be sorted out just by them communicating with each other. and I don’t mean just their own specific relationship problems -- I mean all of their problems. Bakugou is having an emotional crisis about something? have him talk to Deku. Deku’s overwhelmed by a problem and way overthinking it? have him talk to Bakugou! they balance each other out, is the thing. when one of them veers off course, the other is the compass to steer them back on track. that’s the power of rivals!! and aside from that, this relationship is just so complex, and I am weak for absolutely all of it. it’s just this perfect blend of push and pull and friction and trust. it’s the type of ship where the two of them have such a strong connection that it’s like gravity; they can’t help but orbit the other, even when that orbit is sometimes unsteady. it’s just such a powerful bond and just... guh. I have way too many emotions about it so I am just going to STOP NOW and move on to the next ship.

TodoBaku - so by now we have reached a point where pretty much everyone in class 1-A is an expert on handling Bakugou, and ngl, it’s my favorite thing ever. but what makes the TodoBaku relationship so especially appealing is that Shouto is completely unafraid to just step right up and declare his friendship to the entire world. Todoroki “I’m calling it like it is” Shouto, who, after giving the matter careful consideration, correctly judged himself and Bakugou to be the closest of friends, and thus decided that they should intern together and he should introduce him to his family and get his sister to cook his favorite foods. and the entire time, Bakugou is all “please no one listen to this delusional freak, we are not friends at all,” even as he proceeds to get himself involved in all of the Todoroki family drama, and saves Shouto’s brother’s life, and learns all of his sister’s recipes, and presumably cries himself to sleep at night wondering how he could have let this happen.

Kacchako - what I like about Ochako’s relationship with Katsuki is that she’s one of the few people who’s not afraid to call him out on his shit. she’s not just warmly tolerant of him like some of the others; she has expectations of him, and will unabashedly express her sound disappointment if he fails to be the person she knows he’s capable of being. I feel like Ochako has no patience for him taking his sweet time with his character development, and is just “goddammit young man, just sort your shit out with Deku already and go back to being best friends like you both so clearly want, and while you’re at it please try to treat other people less like garbage”, and various other things that are all true but that he of course hates to hear, but TOO BAD lol. anyway so I love that, and I love that she’s just as stubborn as he is. and I also love that there’s genuine, mutual respect between the two of them as well. never forget that Katsuki is the one who first brought out Ochako’s homicidal badass side. anyway so they basically complement each other very well, and I have my fingers crossed that one of these days Horikoshi will decide to actually have them interact with each other again because damn.

KiriBaku - Kirishima, on the other hand, is warmly tolerant of Bakugou, and openly admiring of him even, but it tends to be in a way that brings out Bakugou’s best qualities. Kiri just has this way of bringing out Bakugou’s confidence in himself. like, he’s very good at saying precisely the right words to make Bakugou grin that smirky little grin of his, the one that’s all “oh yeah, that’s right, I’m a badass.” and seeing as Bakugou, for all his pride and bluster, is surprisingly prone to having mini crises of confidence, this is a valued skill that I’m very grateful to Kiri for having! and what’s nice is that Bakugou is very good at returning the favor, since Kiri is prone to crises of confidence as well. the little flashback right before Kiri unveils Unbreakable for the first time is one of my favorite moments in the series. when this ship is firing on all cylinders they really bring out the best in each other. and also they are both dumb bros which is an extremely undervalued dynamic. I love it when Bakugou is all “HEY KIRISHIMA LET ME BLOW YOU UP A BIT” and Kiri is just like “YEAHHHH!” heh.

KamiBaku - and now for the first of the two rarepairs! first of all I would just like to state that I absolutely cannot fathom why KamiBaku is a rarepair to begin with, unless it’s simply because everyone is already too obsessed with the previously mentioned ships. but at any rate it’s a damn shame, because the cuteness of this ship is off the fucking charts, and right now it’s all just going to waste. what I adore more than anything about this ship is the way Bakugou tolerates every single fucking thing Kaminari does and LETS HIM GET AWAY WITH IT. he lets him call him “Kacchan.” he lets Kaminari manhandle him into various getups (the A Band shirt; the Santa outfit) on multiple occasions while putting up absolutely no fight. he basically allows him an almost unprecedented level of closeness, which Kaminari proceeds to BLATANTLY TAKE ADVANTAGE OF at every turn seemingly unchecked! and he is the all time champ at tricking Bakugou into participating in social interactions (tying the ribbon to his foot during the Christmas gift exchange, telling him he won’t get any food at the New Year’s feast if he doesn’t help cook, etc.). he just loves him and wants him to be included. honestly this one of the most adorable relationships in the entire goddamn series and I am tired of it being slept on. the people deserve more KamiBaku dammit.

IidaBaku - last but not least, a relationship between two people who I’m pretty sure have only actually interacted with each other a handful of times, and most of those times involved them shouting at each other! ah, yes. the stick in the mud and the delinquent. god’s natural enemies. except that in this case the “delinquent” is a star student who tutors other kids and goes to bed every night at 8:30, and the stick in the mud once hatched a legitimate plot to kill a man. what I am trying to say is that these two are actually WAY more alike than they would ever care to admit, and I’m kind of obsessed with it?? this is one of those ships where all it would take is one well-applied trope and the possibilities are endless. you could literally just pick one out of a hat. fake dating, roommates, only one bed, undercover as lovers, WHATEVER. and not only does this have the potential to be the most hilarious ship in the history of time, but it also has potential to be disarmingly, shockingly sweet, I shit you not. there are a couple of little moments in the light novels that I absolutely adore, where they’re each taking care of the other with the other having absolutely no idea. Iida makes about four attempts to tuck Bakugou in during the forest training camp arc because his covers have fallen off and he doesn’t want him to catch a chill, and Bakugou unknowingly returns the favor by preventing Iida from stumbling across the preparations for his own surprise birthday party before the others are finished getting ready. by shoving Iida into an elevator and ordering him to go back to his room with absolutely no explanation given lmao. anyway, but the point is the potential is definitely there for cuteness and chemistry and mutual respect while arguing nonstop like an old married couple.

so there you go! honestly Bakugou somehow has chemistry with just about everyone in his class, which is super impressive for someone with the personality of a rabid wolf spider. god bless him.

[vampiresuns]

This Is How We Say Goodbye (Song To The Open Road) | Asra x Milenko

☽ THIS IS HOW WE SAY GOODBYE (SONG TO THE OPEN ROAD) ☽

1.9k words. Written for Asra Week, day 6: Promise. In which the Plague ravages Vesuvia, there’s an argument and Asra and Milenko part ways.

You can catch up with Milasra’s pre-game canon, ‘Like Thirst Holds Water’, here.

When Anatole and Milenko got involved, Asra and Amparo were already fighting. 

Their relationship had always been peculiar. More than friends, they were sometimes mirrors, matchstick and friction, cause and reaction. While Milenko was the one Asra had fallen in love with, and Anatole the one who he rode and died for, Amparo tended to spring Asra into motion. Both of them did things in almost identical ways — Asra’s sun sign was Amparo’s moon sign, her rising sign, his moon. As such, they gave the idea of instant compenetration, of unspoken frequencies vibrating in the same way. 

Amparo, the animancer, the actress, the dancer, the impersonator imbued in Asra something the others could not quite describe. That was Amparo’s charm, after all, that pizzaz that made her no one other than La Cassano. 

In that way, they shouldn’t have been surprised they would butt heads this way. They shouldn’t have been surprised that nothing could deescalate the fight either. Everyone was tired, everyone was grieving. The City was ridden with the Plague, there were no answers and no solutions offered, and for the first time in the almost 20 years Lucio had ruled the inevitable had happened: the Council of Vesuvia wasn’t enough, and now it was too late for them to remove Lucio from power by declaring him unfit to rule. The mechanisms would not work, the tissue of the Court was almost entirely destroyed, and the people were ill and needed food, clean water and doctors.

Their families had decided to all ride this out together in the Palazzo, with the proper health regulations that they could adopt. The building could house them all without problem but more importantly, it would mean they would be together. Many things were said about them, like how nothing mortal could kill them, based on an old, old story of how the Consul’s office had become theirs. It was no less true that the Radošević-Cassano did not survive alone. 

So they grouped, they went back home, and with their location inside the walls of the infamous Palazzo Cassano, they took in their closest friends. Their families had begun as friends, marrying between each other was recent, and only a kink of some very specific sets of family members. To them, family wasn’t blood, family was a choice. 

They had asked Asra to move in with them, and with that, to relocate Muriel, no one had to know he was in the Palazzo with them, specially not the Count. Asra, however, wanted to leave, and he wanted to convince Amparo, Anatole and Milenko to go with him, so they all would take their stuff and go, and abandon Vesuvia — a City that had never done anything for any of them. There was no point in dying in it, let alone for it. 

Naturally, the proposal turned into an argument. Amparo especially would not leave her mother and parent, Amparo would not leave Anzano, their grandparent, as she knew they would not leave Vesuvia. Anzano was old, very old, but still fit for travel; however, they had once been the High Priest of the Sun and had trained the new one, just like their spouse Atilia Cassano, had been the High Priest of the Moon. They wouldn’t leave a City they felt a sense of responsibility towards, and Amparo herself would not desert her family when they needed her.

Milenko had a similar idea. He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t leave when he could help, he couldn’t leave when his mothers would not go, when his grandfather would not go, when his cousins would not go. Unlike Amparo he had no will to argue with Asra, instead, with the help of Anatole they tried to calm it down, so Asra could see where they were coming from, and they could try and answer Asra’s concerns.

It didn’t work. Everyone was strung, stressed and grieving, so it was a matter of time before one of them said the wrong thing, at the wrong time, with whoever the comment had been directed at not wanting to be understanding about it. It was a matter of time before they were all arguing in the ground floor of the Moonstone and Jasmine, all of Asra’s things packed up as he said he was not staying to die in a City like Vesuvia and how anyone with half a mind would do the same. 

Milenko saw the point of no return happen in slow motion: Asra’s words collided with nothing other than the behemoth that was the Cassano’s sense of pride. Whatever they had begun, it could not be stopped now. 

A lot of accusations flew around. Amparo tried to tell Asra that he couldn’t just expect her to leave the City she had always lived in, the City that she hoped to die in at old age. Asra told her what did she know about losing homes, she who had been born in the Heart District with a silver spoon on her mouth, who had never had to struggle because she always had a roof above her head. Funnily enough, Amparo’s patience ran out when he told her that she couldn’t even cook for herself. 

“Do whatever you want. I’m not leaving. If that’s all you think of me, then forget we were ever friends Asra.” 

She disappeared into the upstairs of the shop, into its main living quarters. 

“Asra, that’s not fair,” Milenko said. His tone was critical, but he still tried to stay as calm as possible. Maybe if Asra could see that he really would be safe—

Then Anatole spoke, his anger raw, yet cold and precise, like a well practiced fencing blow: “What the fuck is wrong with you. If we were a bunch of superior assholes who did everything for our own benefit—”

Asra snapped. “No, but you sure think you’ll save Vesuvia from Lucio just from existing, as if anyone in this city would ever care if you lived or died, Anatole. That’s what you do, don’t you? Pretend like you can fix his mistakes while everyone else suffers from them.”

The silence that fell between the three of them was abrupt, soon ringing in their ears, but when Asra tried to apologise, noticing he had said the wrong thing, it was too late. 

Anatole looked like he had been slapped.

“Toly?” Milenko asked, moving closer to his cousin to squeeze his shoulder, wanting to make sure he was okay. Asra’s words had hit one of Anatole’s greatest fears: that no matter how hard he tried, it’d never be enough. 

Before he could reach Anatole, his cousin’s face changed. As his features shifted with anger, Anatole spoke again. 

Now he was truly and really angry. “You meant that.” 

The issue with words was you couldn’t take them back once you said them. All you could do is hope the other person would forgive you and understand if you had misspoken. As Milenko was once again caught between Asra and Anatole arguing, he realised this was one thing Anatole might never forgive. He doubted it was his place to say, yet Milenko didn’t know if he could even advocate for Anatole forgiving Asra’s words, with time.

The issue wasn’t about who was right or wrong. There was no right or wrong, there was no miraculous answer in this unsalvageable situation. It was that Asra had meant it. Part of Anatole’s language magic was this: he was able to read feelings and intentions in spoken words. As a language manipulator, he could tell everything which people (intentionally or otherwise) imbued into words when they spoke, even if he couldn’t tell the why or the how. 

Would he be able to carry on if he could feel that after years of showing honesty and vulnerability because you want the other person to know you, this was what they thought at their worst? 

The argument didn’t last much longer. Anatole, not wanting to speak, went upstairs to check on Amparo, while Milenko and Asra stood alone on the ground floor of the shop. 

The magician began taking his things, preparing himself to leave for real. Milenko followed him, standing outside of the backdoor as he looked at Asra adjusting his travelling coat. Amparo has gotten it for him. It was handmade, Amparo’s gift to Asra two birthdays ago. 

“Aren’t you going to say farewell?” 

Asra startled, not expecting Milenko standing there. “I thought there was nothing else to say.” 

Once again they stood in silence. It felt like forever, even if it was probably just a couple of seconds. They were aware of every moment they lost to silence, looking at each other under the Vesuvian sunset. They felt far away, miles away. 

It hurt to realise, more than Milenko was willing to admit, but Anatole had been right: he still remembered when they were arguing about Asra not asking for help about Muriel. They could be as open as they wanted with Asra, but Asra would never step in time with them, even if he wanted to. 

Who better than Milenko to know this, and to know that sometimes, it was through no fault of his own. 

Asra spoke first. “You think I’m making the wrong choice.” 

Milenko pressed his lips together. “I don’t think there’s a right choice. There’s just the best we can do with the options we’re given.” 

“You don’t think I could do better with mine?”

“I don’t know, beloved, could you?” 

“Don’t— don’t call me that.” 

“I’m sorry. Force of habit.” 

“I forgive you,” Asra said, shifting his weight between his feet. He wanted to say something else, yet he said nothing. 

“Asra. I’m not judging you. I already told you I am no one to judge.” 

“How can you say that to me at a time like this?” 

“What? It’s the truth. I don’t like that you’re leaving and I would never make the choices you are making, and I could give you a piece of my mind and point fingers at you. I am angry, I’m hurt, but nothing I accuse you of will make me feel better. Judging you will not make me feel better, so I won’t. I’ve never done.” 

“Sometimes,” Asra said, dislodging his travel bag from his shoulder, “sometimes I wish you did. It would make leaving easier.” 

To Milenko’s surprise, Asra crossed the distance between them. Milenko didn’t stop his hand from cupping Asra’s cheek. Asra leaned against it, even if he wished he hadn’t. Asra closed his eyes, tears coming through his closed eyelids.

“You know I won’t ask you to stay,” Milenko said, getting teary himself. 

“Just like I know I won’t get you to leave.” 

“Just promise me you’ll think about it, Asra. Promise me that at the very least, you’ll try to take good care of yourself.” 

Asra opened his eyes, his vision blurred because of the tears. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, letting Faust slither into his arm to stretch herself all the way to say goodbye to Milenko.

Her tongue flicked against his nose, making Asra smile. 

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself too, please.”

Milenko nodded, Asra saying his farewells before turning around and walking away as fast as he could without breaking into a run. Milenko watched him go, until Ursula, his familiar, nudged him inside. 

“May Allah keep you safe, Habibi,” he said to the empty street before closing the door behind him. 

[widowsofchaos]

98,101,66 please. 👉👈

❝Kindred Spirits

98. “Can you just…hold me? Just for tonight.”

101. “(Name), please…you’re scaring me.”

66. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x black!reader

soulmate au // requested from this prompt list

A/N: angst and smut, what else is new? After this one, there would be a mix bag of light and dark fics of the 200 ways to say masterlist will be filled with dark fics, for dark fics is why I created this blog in the first place. I’m just trying to get my lighter ones out first. Requested from this prompt.

Oof anon, you one angsty bitch, aren’t you?

Do Not Repost My Works!

It’s okay, I’m here for you.

That’s how it started. Sweet whispers, warm on his clammy skin -- a balm rash. On his flesh forearm, words of adoration carving, itching, and burning -- kismet.

A moment’s breath of happiness reared its head a 180, unveiling a twisted putrid beast; foaming at the fangs shouting “You don’t deserve her.”

Legend has been told for generations that if you reject your destined soulmate, physical illness overwhelms the body. An heart-wrenching pain injects itself into the soul — as if death itself manifests within you.

Those sadden eyes when Bucky shifted away from you that night made him want to bite down on his fist, and scream till his throat went raw. You slightly flinched when he curled in himself, snagging his flesh arm away from you.

It was another restless night for Bucky, waking up screaming bloody murder from an intense nightmare -- images of Hydra murdering you sent him into a spiraling panic attack.

Shouts of your name laced in despair echoed throughout the floor, fists clenching the bed sheets. Knuckles ghosted white, nearly ripping the fabric at the stitched seams. Hot tears stream down his red cheeks like waterfalls. Like a guardian angel, you flew to his aid.

Trembling hands seek a tender soul -- a better soul. Aching bones, and aching heart grasping for your touch, despite the gnawing guilt of how undeserving he felt of your presence.

To breathe the same air as you, there’s nothing tender in his jagged edges, or in his filthy hands. Bitter clouds brew and storm above him -- not fit to feel your pure flesh.

The light in your eyes, the feathery pads of your fingers soothing him -- it reminds him of his mother. Lately, he’s been missing her even more these days; the more deeper he wallows within him, serene memories of himself being dumb and fourteen.

The sly slip of ale on the tip of his tongue, fumbling apologies, she just shushed him, and tucked him into bed. Told him he was a good boy, and that he could never do anything bad. Taught him how to be tough, and yet connected with his sensitivity -- how to be a man.

He clung onto his mother’s sweet words, wise advice -- even a century later.

“Did I do something wrong?” Those words burned in his brain, how your chin wobbles a bit. Shifting on his side, his back facing you, he mumbled, “No. Just leave.” Bucky bit back a sob, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. His face contorting in a pitiful display.

A hiss escaped through his teeth, “Bucky, what’s wrong?” You whimpered. That tug -- all too familiar in your heart to scoop him up, and tend to his wounds. On instinct, you hugged him, your chest squeezed onto the muscular planes of his slick back.

Shivers crawled through the crevices of his spine at the feel of your skin.

Bucky wiggled in your grasp, the heat of your engraved words began throbbing as Bucky refused to accept the tie between you two.

Bucky slithered out of your hands as if it pained him to be near you. Tears brimmed at your eyes -- never once -- has he ever refused a hug from you.

The closest of the Avengers; Bucky was timid in your presence. You didn’t force yourself in his bubble, a comfortable distance. Friendly approach of kind greetings, inviting him to movie nights of just you two or suggesting reading material to him.

Helping Bucky adjust to modern culture through advanced technology. Spoiling him with your cooking -- no longer does tube-fed mush, or boiled food lingers on his palate.

It was easy to trust you, it was -- second nature to ingrain yourselves in each other’s bubbles.

Eventually -- Bucky sought out your company, and kind words. Old language of affection -- fluttering lashes, and tiny grazes of her knuckles. Soft hugs at night, his ear laid against your beating heart to tame his late-night terrors.

Now a year later, finally the acknowledgement of deeper layers of love that were sunk in each other now surfaces from the soul to the skin -- a permanent tattoo.

“Bucky, what’s wrong with your arm?” You asked, terrified that he might be in unbearable pain, your strong hands grab his forearm. Tumbling to see what’s eating at him, Bucky jolted with a pained yelp, eyes shut; tears now soaking his face, clutching his arm.

A burning rash simmers on your chest, like a hot blade. A hidden promise prickling above your heart.

A quick graze of your fingers against his skin, sore skin incised. The carving sent electric zaps, the tug in your chest pulling harder and harder; breathless.

You gasped, “Bucky, let me see.” Your words hushed, uncertain.

Hopeful, if it’s finally time. The universe has connected you two together. It’s meant to be.

“No.” Stern, and hardened. “Now leave.” Watery eyes cloud his vision, the taste of anger lingers on his tongue -- rage at himself. His chest cavity felt as if it shattered, “Don’t do this.” You pleaded, it felt as if God himself stabbed your soul.

“Don’t push me away. Not after this.” Your voice trailed into silence, and a sniffle; wiping your wet nose with the back of your hand. “Please, show me your arm.” You begged again.

Fresh tears trail down your cheeks, Bucky remained silent -- the only cadence was his heavy breathing, curling into a fetal position at near the edge of the bed. “Bucky, please don’t do this. Don’t you know what this means? Don’t deny your -- our fate.”

A beat of silence, Bucky refusing to meet your eyes. Your weak fists pounded on Bucky’s back. A few seconds past, even at the brink of offense, and rejection bubbling, you just couldn't bear to physically hurt him. You love that steel-eyed bastard too much.

“Is this what you want?! To end this?!” You shrill, hiding your face against his bicep, softly weeping on his arm, but with every contact -- the words itched even more. Eventually, you stopped, slumping on his body, full bodily sobbing; Bucky kept his metal hand on his arm.

Dying, and yearning to cradle you as droplets flood his eyes, nose scrunching. Losing you will surely kill him.

His words, void of any emotion, “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

-

Gingerly, his teeth sinking into his lip, gripping onto the metal tray in both his hands. On the tray, was a bowl of tomato soup, crackers, and a bottle of water. It’s been three days since Bucky sent you away, rejecting you -- despite the universe’s revelation.

Standing at your door, sighing as he peers at Bucky’s door -- shut closed away. Steve dropped off a platter of food, but he doubts Bucky even acknowledged it. Three days, fearing that it would tip into a week of radio silence, and festering ill in your own respective rooms.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you please open Y/n’s door?”

“Of course, Captain Rogers.”

The lock clicked, a faint groan can be heard. A humorless laugh exhaled through his nose, maneuvering the tray on his hand, the other twisting the handle. Steve entered the room, the stuffy atmosphere almost made him cough.

The blinds and windows were shut -- pitch black darkness shrouding, causing Steve to nearly squint. The lightning emitting from the hallway, revealing the thrashed living space.

Furniture throttled across the room, the sofa up-turned, the glass table nearly shattered; no doubt, your fist colliding against the coffee table, visible blood splatter are still drying on the cracks. Steve shakes his head, sighing.

Strolling quietly towards your bedroom, Steve’s chest tightens at the sight of you crumbling into a ball, surrounded by wrinkled sheets.

“Please, Steve … I’m tired.” You mumbled, too exhausted, too sick to open your eyes -- too lethargic to send a glare in Steve’s direction.

“This needs to end.” Steve murmured under his breath, hesitant to ask the question that it is just edging at the tip of his tongue, but how else is he going to address the rabid elephant in the room?

“Have you talked to Bucky?” Steve whispered, his words dying into silence. Brows pinched sorrowfully, hurt that not only is he witnessing the deterioration of a close friendship -- the only person Bucky fully heatedly trusts besides Steve -- along with the distress in not only you, but Bucky as well.

“No -- he doesn’t want me. So why should I?” You weakly snarled, but it was a pitiful attempt to mask your heart-ache, and yearning for him.

Barely glancing at Steve, as you sat solemnly on the edge of your bed; staring out at the window. Limbs aching deeply, muscles tensing as you clung onto the blanket. Slowly, your body is going to give out.

“This can’t keep going on. You’re getting sick and so is he.” Steve walked to the dresser, placing the tray down.

“And who’s fault is that?” You choked back a sob,

“I’ve been sick my whole life. Sick and fucking tired. All my years, everyone rejected me. My parents, being bullied as a kid -- and now the very soul that the universe connected me with doesn’t even fucking want me! My existence is a fucking joke.” Your arms failing, sloppily crawling under your bed sheets to hide away once again, and pray to finally die.

“You’re not a joke. We all were born for a reason, and destined for the right one.” Steve sat beside your sniffling form, balled into an infant position. His palm cups your shoulder, rubbing it through the stitched cloth.

Pity swells in his cavity. “Oh Stevie --”, you sighed. What a romantic he was, still the old soul of the hopeful bird-boned boy under the shield of a praised golden god; ever so the gentleman clinging onto fantasies of true love.

“--Bless your heart. With your sweet soul, I hope you find the one meant for you.” You croaked, a bit hesitant at first, mixture of regret -- Steve stills hold onto the mourning of Peggy.

Muffled in the back of his mind, insistent that she was the one; but never got the chance to find out if his skin would be graced with her serene words.

Steve silently clung onto your hand through the blanket, squeezing a bit tightly. Grounding himself so he won’t slip into the painful nostalgic haze once again.

“You both need to address this. I’m worried about yours and Bucky’s health. I’m scared.” Steve whimpered, shell-shocked to hear him crumble -- you peer over the blanket.

Steve’s face is pinched, pruning into a pitiful kicked puppy, his chin leaning against his chest -- eyes shut, failing to prevent tears from falling.

Caving in you crawl out of the sheets, hugging onto his muscular back -- a picture worthy of a laugh, how much you resemble a koala bear clinging onto a teddy bear.

“Please -- just talk. Please.” Steve’s stuttering over water-logged words, sniffling as his eyes leveled with yours; never once have you thought ever in your life-time that you would see the mighty Captain America shrivel into a shaking boy.

Petrified that Steve can lose two great friends -- due to years deep of insecurities, and lack of communication.

“Okay --” Defeated, you sink your chin on his shoulder, “--I’ll talk to him.”

Your knuckles grazed his cheek, “Don’t cry, Stevie.” Wiping his fallen tears gently, Steve twisted his body to engulf you in his arms.

Steve’s rubs your back soothingly, “Now, please eat.” You huffed a chuckle, you mumbled a low sweet okay.

- Guts churning, as if the devil himself was playing jump-rope with your intestines. Nausea bile rising at the back of your esophagus.

Why will I say to him? What if he turns me away again?

The possibility of once more rejection will kill you. Trapping your lip between the cages of your teeth, the hesitant fist hovering over the door finally rains down.

Unanswered knocks engulfed in silence rings in your ears. It’s well past midnight, the entire compound is fast asleep, but you know Bucky -- like the back of your hand. Insomnia is a tricky bastard that haunts Bucky, you sighed.

Thankfully, Steve permitted you access in FRIDAY’s system to unlock his door despite Bucky’s request to remain locked in.

Timid steps waltz inside, the air thick, and stuffy -- like your room, barren, and shut out from the outside world. Hovering fingers mindlessly fiddle in the air, trying to grasp any solid surface; cautious from bumping, and falling.

Gliding open-palms against the wall pavements, walking in the correct direction in darkness due to muscle memory; your chest heaving slightly from unbridled anxiety.

Shaky fingers clutch the knob, twisting it carefully -- although, you have a hunch, Bucky is aware of your presence.

“I thought I told you to stay away.” A hoarse, harsh disembodied voice looms from the beyond the door, simmering rage now rises in fiery flames at the pit of your stomach. You push the hinges of the door wide open, your eyes swirl from soft brown to carmine fury.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, chestnut tresses cling against his cheeks -- tear soaked strands sticky against his stubble cheeks.

Hunched over, eyes stuck on the carpeting -- as if the blue rug was so damn fucking interesting. He doesn’t have the nerve to look you in the eyes -- how could he?

“Look at me.” You demanded, tone hardened; despite your congestive throat. “I said fucking look at me.” You stomped your foot on the floor, emphasizing your hurt.

Watery blues peek through brown strands, wincing at your nose flaring, fists coiled, “Stay away?!” You shouted.

Bucky grimaced, shutting his eyes, his face pruning -- resembling a pitiful baby. “Stay away? Like I don’t mean anything to you! Like I’m trash?!” Your voice cracked, tears pooling in your eyes.

“I’m not like everybody else -- it’s you and me. I -- I don’t understand -- these past days, I’ve been having these dreams -- whenever I do get some sleep!” Your eyes zero on him, daggers into his soul; your arms flailing.

Your heart is beating wildly against your chest, tight fists weakly beating onto your cavity. Twirling like an unhinged rag-doll, Bucky crying slightly, his body shaking a bit, from small tremors of sobs.

“Y/n, please … you’re scaring me.” Bucky scared you’re going to hurt yourself, itching to cease your hands hitting yourself. Fingers clinging onto the sewed fabric, “Dreams of you --” breathless, eyes hazy. Bucky gasped a bit, dreams of him?

You quietened down, glaring at him, “I’ve never got to show you.”

You quickly unbutton your blouse, frustrated fingers fumbling over the stitched buttons, “Y/n, what are you doing?” A pained whimper laced with curiosity, Bucky’s hands reached out to halt you. “No!” You shouted -- a watery bite -- he flinched.

Gripping the flap of your shirt, you tugged it down -- a soft gasp left Bucky, harshly swallowing back a sob. Imprinted above your heart is his own words, “I won’t let anyone hurt you, doll.” Cerulean lettering gleaming against scarred sepia.

You scoffed, then a sniffle, “Funny, when it’s you who ended up hurting me, instead.” Irkingly you released your snag, hugging your torso with your arms, a weak attempt to distance yourself -- succumb into your shell.

‘I won’t let anyone hurt you, doll.’ Those words weigh so heavily, creamy bronze snicked on brown skin back three months past.

It was a mission gone hay-wire, five Hydra agents bombarding you -- Bucky heard your screams in his comms; screams that would haunt him forever.

As a speeding bullet, Bucky ran like a mad-man for you -- slaughtering agents, snarling as his knife punctured clean through the necks; gliding his blades slicing down the spines. No mercy. If you ever get hurt, it would be the end of him.

Drenched in blood, ichor coating his strands -- sticking against his maw, and neck. Sitting on the floor, crazed eyes, black cat-suit shines with splotches of red, curls now limp with plasma, plump brown cheeks now covered in a blood mask.

Big doe eyes beam underneath coated heavy droplets -- Bucky sweet strawberry kiss upon your hairline, his lips printing against the red sheen-- his blood-splattered angel.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, doll.” Forehead pinned against forehead, Bucky’s palm gripping the nape of your neck. Passive eyes with a small smile masking a burning hot-white sensation right above your heart plate.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky mumbled under his breath, tiny droplets of tears falling down his bearded cheeks. “You deserve the world.” His chin fell to his chest, little sobs huffing.

“You need someone who isn’t broken.” Bucky cried, sniveling — staring at his trembling hands in his lap.

“Not someone who’s going to wake up screaming in the middle of the night from fucking night terrors!” His hands harshly gripping his sweatpants.

“Who’s clingy, and needy cause doll –” Bucky lifted his wet gaze to you, “I miss you when you leave to the next room. I need you all the time.” He croaked. You cautiously stepped to him, cupping his puffy face.

Bucky instinctively leaned into your touch, tranquility washing over him. A calm sigh slipped from him, “Bucky, I need you. I’ve always needed you.”

Bucky’s eyes opened, “I’ve needed you before I was born.” You bent forward, the tip of your nose flick against his, he solemnly chuckled.

His timid smile fell just a tad bit, “For so many years, I thought the universe was playing a cruel joke on me. For decades I saw you in my dreams – I thought maybe it was a hallucination.” Bucky’s released the bundled fabric, his hands finding its home on your body. Bucky pulled you to his lap, grasping onto your thighs like a life-line.

“I thought you were a figment of my imagination—it gave me peace knowing that you didn’t leave me even when I was getting my brains fried.” You choked back a sob, kissing his forehead. A lingering kiss; you lips were so soft— soft soft soft— like a feather grazing him.

“You see, I was always there with you.”  You mumbled against his hairline, nimble kisses in your wake.

Littering kisses on his tear-soaked face: on his fluttering eye-lids, between his brows, the creases on the edge of his eyes, and his chin.

Bucky reciprocated, emotional sloppy kisses. Limbs entangled like a pretzel. On your temples, a trail of pecks on the slope of your nose, your eye-lids, and your chin too. A little nibble like a sappy puppy.

“For decades, I’ve dreamt of you. Didn’t know if you were real or not — soulmates are destined, right? Everything happens for a reason.” You tearfully nodded at his words.

“If I have to go through years of brain-washing to be with you again, I would do it in a heartbeat.” You cried, furiously smashing your lips on his, cupping his cheeks in your hands.

“I love you in a place, where there is no space or time.” At that moment, you felt like your heart would stop at Bucky’s words, glassy eyes meet each other.

Foreheads connect, Bucky’s hands slowly graze your smooth skin, glossy oceanic hues never waver from yours, his calloused fingers slither underneath your shirt, rubbing circles at the nape of your back.

Keening leisure desperate touches, your fingers intertwining, and soft tugs of his tresses. Lips hairs-away from each other, a bit hesitant at first, hitched breaths fanning; a quick flick of your upper lip against his.

“Can you just ...hold me? Just for tonight.” Bucky asked, his voice on the cusp of shy, still paranoia hovers in his mind that you may be gone tomorrow.

“I want to hold you every night.” You mewl, a feather-light kiss. Open palms travel the muscular planes of blood, bone, and metal -- nails lightly scrape his skin. Bucky’s lips smashes against yours.

Decades ago -- what feels like a distant lifetime ago -- dim mere of his own past, Bucky would’ve cupped your face in the warm curve of his hands; once soft, now calloused with bitter memories.

He would press his lips to yours, tenderly. Like a poem, simple but yet passionate.

Taste of smeared lipstick, sticky like honey, and faint mint -- now, it’s fumbling. Sloppy, desperate. But it’s all the same; he’s no longer the fresh baby-face of his past. Eyes sparkle with wonder, he’s older -- wise beyond his years.

Years of hurtful baggage weighs on his heart, but -- you. You remind him how to feel alive again, he feels like the care-free pubescent misfit he once was running around Brooklyn, saving Stevie from another fight, and chasing skirts, being a heartbreaker.

But the only skirt he wants to chase is yours only; and keep your heart in his safe grasp.

His heart unfettered, you came to him bare -- as if you peeled your skin inch by inch, no secrets barricading your love.

Soaking in your essence, unfiltered groans against molding mouths -- coveting pink lips slip from your swollen lips to your jaw to your weak-spot; you squeal as Bucky suckles on your pulse-point.

Marking what is his -- the gift that the universe personally bestowed for him, and him only. From an outside party, you’re younger than him, but not in flesh and not in soul.

A vision that followed him everywhere in his mind, even in the darkest years, you were the light.

Kindred spirits before birth.

Bucky grunts, his palm tenderly clutches the nape of your neck -- steadying your shakiness, eyes blissfully closed as he devoured you.

“I love you. God -- I love you.” Mumbling against your flushed skin, his warm tongue licks against his love-bites, parted lips fanning tantalizing pants.

Your eyelids fluttered, pupils rolling in the back of your skull, “I love you too.” A declaration, the truth. Spidery brown fingers rubbing against his scalp, he gasps, it’s a cooling sensation soothing his senses.

“Make love to me.” You coo, you relish the way Bucky squirms underneath you.

Desperate, inpatient -- Bucky grabs your waist, lifts you off his lap momentarily. Seated with Bucky nestled between your legs, thick tone thighs ripple a bit underneath your soft plush.

Choppy pants exuding from both of you, Bucky tugs the hem of your shirt upward -- braless, breasts heave free, ready to be explored with his mouth.

His teeth caging your nipple, nibbling, and pulling -- you hiss, ensnaring Bucky’s head in your arms. Cradling his dome against your chest, as he suckled upon your breasts.

Muffled groans, and moans -- grinding your clothed pussy against his bulging crotch. Leisure thrusts, dry-humping -- your lavender panties turning into a wet silky grape.

“I need to feel you.” You mumble lowly, a whining lover. Bucky’s hands glide down the slope of your spine, sweetly rubbing the nape of your back to then cupping your soft globes.

Squeezing, molding into his palms, you lean into his neck, and lick a long stride. He mewls, his fingers sneak beneath the hem of your panties, calloused against smooth flesh.

Sneaky fingers travel between your cheeks, as if it’s muscle memory, toying with your gaping asshole to your clenching cunt. A raw groan vibrates in your throat, “Bucky --”  He shushes you, lips trailing your jaw. “You’re so fucking wet.” Back and forth glides in your velvet folds, to your supple cheeks.

“Nhhh -- uh--” Stunned stuttering, your entire body vibrating in shivers as the cooling metal infiltrates your blazing heat. “Hmm … needs a little bit more.” Bucky removed his fingers ever so slowly, a quick spat on his fingers; diving right back in.

His thumb plunging and curving inside your glistening ass, and his two fingers pistoning in your moist pussy.

“I need you dripping … so I can slide nice and deep.” Like a feline, you mewl and your back arches in his grasp, manhandling you by the clutch of your holes.

Untying his sweatpants strings, in a frenzy as your ass jiggles in his unrelenting metal appendage. With his flesh hand, with ease and precision, Bucky snaps your underwear off.

Your thighs shake as if an earthquake was erupting within your body. Harsh tugs at his pants -- God, you can tap-dance if you could -- he goes commando. Slapping against his abs, his cock swollen -- gleeful fingers wrap around his cock like a vice. Tight, and ruthless.

“Fuck doll --” Bucky’s voice is cracked, he growls lowly, “Don’t stop. Never fucking stop.” Swiveling fist from the base to the tip, twirling around his tip -- Bucky’s swallows thickly, “You fucking minx.”

It’s all too much yet liberating. Cheekily you twirl the tip of his cock against your throbbing clit, you shudder against his lips, “You’re mine.” You spoke in a hush, maneuvering his dick upward, skidding against your humming labia.

Bucky releases your holes, “Enough! I need you.” Bruising grip on your waist, lifting you upward, hovering over his dick, and swift fall of grace -- you scream, so thick, so full.

“Shit, you’re so big. So damn big.” Eyes shut close, “Wait Bucky --” A frail hand lays flat on his abdomen, “Wait nothing!” A guttural noise leaves his throat, like a beast. And fucks you like one.

Your head leaning backwards, curls bouncing and yourself jolting up and down in his hold as he snaps his hips against. A menace.

Time ceases to exist, gravity crushing, bones aching yet it’s a pleasure burn -- no longer pains of despair, but delicious pain as Bucky thrusts in you.

He’s selfish -- and with every right, his heart thumping against his cavity, he thinks it would stop. Can you hear it? How it beats like a hummingbird for you?

Fast, and snarling, “No -- no -- no.” Latching on your jaw with his thick fingers, “Look at us.” Aiding your head downward, you groaned at the sight of his cock hurtling like a mad man. How perfectly you clench him -- a perfect fit.

“So perfect, like a warm wet hug.” A hoist of his hips off the bed, a curve of his dick, you shriek, “Ah -- there it is. The sweet spot.” Your fingernails create craters in his bicep, and scrape against metal.

Squelching skin on skin pounds in your ears, abrupt jerk down on him, balls deep -- it was brutal. Swirling his hips, along with you following his teasing motions, muffled sticky cadence of your juices coating him.

Slow fall, asterning with your hands on his knees. Skull hanging, raspy small fucks, and yes Bucky leave your lips.

With the support of his hand on your back, short but hard thrusts, and his flesh hand slapping your tits. Bent forward, Bucky sucks on your breast, his hair tickling your bare breasts -- the one with his imprintment. Gawking at it as he sucks, it brings tears to his eyes.

“I’m --- uggnh -- I’m gonna cum.” A broken whisper, Bucky pulls back to him, nearly his bare back colliding to the bed, “Do it, doll. Soak me. Cum with me.” Possessively, you wanna coat his flushed pink skin with your cum, have your scent on him -- like an omega for her Alpha.

It’s divine will. A burst of an eruption of the milky way in his eyes. Unwavering brown meets cosmic blue. Space dust clouding your visions, satellites whirling -- Bucky and yourself nourishing your needs’; crawling in each other's fibers, and sinews, make-shifting into a womb.

As one.

The horizon of the galaxy is painted in glittering pinks, neon green, and blues. Stars shine like uncut diamonds, the hand of God commemorates the two soulmates.

Time and space disoriented, shouts of the other’s name bounce against the walls, but speaking each other’s names is like a prayer, salvation. Hot waves of fluid paint your wet walls, spurts of your essence sprays his flexing abs, and groin. Droplets falling from his happy trail.

It's blinding -- cumming so hard has Bucky and yourself levitating at the toes, then begin collapsing and twisting in each other’s limbs, clinging onto each other, shattered breaths, chests heaving. Loss for words.

Bucky came hard, yet gentle and sweet deep inside of you, his words dying in a slurring breathy whisper. It’s so much -- suffocating, but both of you don’t mind drowning. To lose only a sense of the world; just feel each other. In body, and soul.

The smell of him -- hot musk, flushed warm skin, sweaty skin on skin. Love-bites litter his neck like on yours. Bucky’s ego flares, you smell of him. Branded by every sense of the word.

Lust still lingering in the air, on yours and his flesh. Sepia melanin coated in a sheen, candied with saliva and sweat. He smells like a natural aroma of lavender. How Bucky internally gushes at how your baby hairs cling on your forehead, your kind hands sway the chestnut ringlets that curtain your favorite burning blues.

Shy lips dance a bashful tango. Barely touching, but sensual. Tempering with aching pining, ever-lasting yearning that can be only satiated with touch. Always, always, always, always starving, and everlasting.

“I want more.” A crooked grin forms at Bucky’s face, so insatiable he mutters under his breath. His smirk falters a bit, “All of me?” Depth to a simple question with a complicated meaning. A double-edged sword wielding in the distance, but you know both ends are worth it.

So you’ll take it straight to the heart -- the journey will be sweet -- dear God, yes sweet sweet agony. “All of you. For all eternity. Even in the after-life.”

A kiss soft, and slow. Not sure to rush in, can feel his heart. Bucky grips your curls to look you in the eye, a quick glare, his eyes glistening, Are you sure?

You smirk, grabbing the nape of his neck, smashing your lips, forehead to forehead. Nose to nose, face closer, searching for any shadow of doubt but he only saw a twinkle of pouring affection.

A short chuckle, Bucky leans in for a kiss but you tease him with only a second of it, pulling your face away. A huff of a laugh at his darkening eyes. Grumbling, by the power of his metal fingers, forces you on his lips.

The echo of the smooch is wet, and enticing. Flinging you on the bed , trapping you under his weight -- a giggle, and a low timbre of a raspy snicker.

“I want those legs high on my shoulders, doll.”

Smack.

“Hmph --”  Biting down on your lip, reveling in his dominance. “-- And you call me insatiable.” You jabbed, a shit-eating grin.

Crack.

And another brisk one, heat blooming on your cheeks.

A high-pitched moan is Bucky’s only answer.

- Pungent fragrance of coitus thickens the air. It’s delicious. Hours of non-stop love making. The sunset is sneaking from the distance, a soft tangerine hue illuminating the room.

Bucky’s fingers rubbing circles on your shoulders, lulling you to a blissful freshly fucked state.

Hazy eye-lids, you want him -- he’s still in disbelief, how can someone like you -- a goddess incarnate -- love someone like him. Is the universe really forgiving him for his sins?

Your small frame engulfed in his massive frame, legs entangled, his arms hugging you tightly. His fingers finding refuge in your hair, his water-logged eyes trail to your chest.

It’s okay, I’m here for you.

A beautiful reminder of your dying commitment. The pads of his fingers trace his marking above your breast, ‘I won’t let anyone hurt you, doll.’

Savoring your small sleepy pout that edges into a smile. A smile curls at the corner of his mouth, leaning forward to peck the letters -- and he’ll always be there for you too.

Forever and always.

[emilia3546]

Brothers

The bat boys find each other on the blood rite, fighting and banter ensue, and Rhys' mom comes in at the end.

*****

Cassian swore at the sound of someone else behind him, whirling and dropping into a fighting stance, his breathing already coming too fast, his limbs too weak. He almost dropped his sword as the other male saw who was there and promptly turned and ran in the opposite direction. Cassian collapsed against a tree, too exhausted to search for any decent shelter, and passed out.

He woke to the sunrise a few hours later, the soreness in his tired muscles slightly lessened and forced himself to his feet, thanking all the gods that no one had found him sleeping. He glanced up towards Ramiel, the snow shining on the peak in the pale sunlight. He tore his eyes away, carrying on into the tangle of trees before him, each step bringing him closer to the mountain, to the inevitable bloodbath at its base. He stopped just before noon, taking advantage of a river to nap again, the water was too deep to be crossed quietly, so after he had drunk his fill, he settled down for a quick hour nap.

He woke to someone shouting, and immediately scrambled to his feet, sword in hand, but relaxed as he saw the intruder,

"Cass!"

"Az! That you?"

"You still alive?"

"Just about," he groaned, sitting back down as Azriel crossed the river, sinking down beside him, "Any sign of Rhys?"

"No. No one I've asked has seen him, dead or alive."

"He's alive."

"How do you know?"

"He's alive." Cassian insisted, "He has to be,"

"I hope so too, if he's alive we'll find him soon enough, the mountain's getting closer, and so is everyone else."

"We'll be alright. We have each other now." Azriel grinned, and mussed his brother's hair, "Let's go and beat the shit out of those damned high-born dipshits."

"Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" Cassian gasped, "How little sleep have you gotten recently Az?"

"Oh, almost none, I'm fine."

"I can see that, although, more colorful language than usual."

"Oh, fuck off," Azriel shoved his shoulder, but lapsed into chuckles, only stopping when Cassian pushed himself to his feet, and offered Azriel his hand,

"Come on then,"

 Rhys rotated his shoulder, cursing the stiffness there, then the unconscious male at his feet, the one blow he had managed to land. He had lost track of the days, but there couldn't be much time left, he had to move quickly. The mountain loomed ominously close as he jogged through the forests at its base, he avoided the obvious path, not in the mood to invite trouble, he would get there quicker if he only picked the fights that he had to. 

He froze at the sound of voices ahead, but his adrenaline faded a little at the recognition of those voices, was it? Yes. He could have laughed with joy, but was content to creep up on his brothers while they rested for a moment. The plan backfired when they both turned to fight the moment he made himself known, he threw himself backwards to avoid Cassian's blade,

"Whoa idiots, it's me!"

"Oh, sorry Rhys, maybe don't jump out on the adrenaline fueled Illyrians next time," Az snorted at Cassian's words,

"Noted. Still alive then, I see."

"Oh yeah, it'll take more than these morons to kill me," Cassian chuckled, tacking Rhys with a bear hug, sending them both tumbling into the mud. Azriel snorted in laughter, and danced away when Rhys chased after him,

"No! Get away! No!" He yelped when Rhys finally caught up to him, and made to sure to cover him in the mud coating his leathers. "You prick!" Azriel slapped his shoulder, freezing at Rhys' slight wince of pain, "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's just stiff, asshole landed one blow, glancing but, it's still a bit sore. It'll be fine."

Their reunion was cut short by another male,

"Lookie here, bastards, and a half-breed. What do you say, boys? Easy meat." Six more males stepped out of the trees to flank their leader, "Maybe you'll never live to be High Lord, I mean what kind of High Lord can't defend himself?"

"Shut your mouth," Cassian snarled, instinctively stepping slightly in front of Rhys, on the side of his injured shoulder.

"Ooooh, protecting him, are we? That won't get you far,"

"You do like the sound of your own voice, son't you?" Azriel drawled, "Now, are we going to chat, or fight?" The male snarled, but launched himself forwards, his eyes widening in surprise as Azriel's blade met his own with the cool precision of someone entirely sure of his abilities. He backed off under the flurry of blows, but smirked as Azriel refused to move from the circle he had formed with his brothers.

"There's seven of them, that's two each, and one spare," Cassian whispered, "Take your pick, on three." Rhys glanced over his shoulder, keeping an eye on the one holding back, "One," he was still waiting, perhaps for an easy kill when they were tired, "Two," he narrowed his eyes, marking the two males closest to his side of the circle, and readied to fight as Cassian's voice sounded through the forest, "Three!" They lunged forwards as one, taking their assailants by surprise, and Rhys immediately knocked one out, whirling to meet the other's blade as it began a death arc towards his head. He easily knocked it aside, the other male scrambling backwards, stumbling once, and Rhys took the opportunity to send his sword flying aside,

"Please! Please! Don't kill me, please, my mother, my lord, please. They made me, they made me."

"How exactly did they do that?"

"My mother, they said they'd kill her, I have to protect her, my father, he died a while ago, I have to protect her, please."

"I'm not going to kill you-"

"Darren,"

"I'm not going to kill you, Darren, I haven't killed anyone this whole week, I've knocked plenty out, but I haven't killed anyone, and I won't unless I have to. What camp are you from?"

"Windhaven."

"Come find me, I'll help with your mother, now make yourself scarce." Darren's eyes widened for a moment, "Go." Rhys whispered, feigning anger as he sprinted into the trees, Cassian shouted after him, having heard the whole exchange,

"Leave him! Don't bother." Three unconscious bodies lay around him, it seemed that Cassian had fought the extra male, well, utterly destroyed, if his broken nose was any indication. Rhys turned to check on Azriel and frowned at his brother's face.

Azriel stared wide-eyed, unseeing at one of the males he had fought, blood coating his scarred hands, he was hardly breathing as he glanced back, tears lining his eyes,

"Az?"

"I - I killed him. He's dead." Az shook his head, more tears forming as his hands began to shake, Rhys and Cassian were at his side instantly, "I - I've never-" he broke off and met Rhys' eyes, "He's dead because of me, I - I tried to stop him, but, there were two of them, and I -"

"Az," Rhys whispered, "You're okay, you didn't have a choice, you tried to leave him alive, that's what matters, you're not a bad person." Still, Azriel's breath started coming in gasps, horror filling his eyes as he looked down at the dead male at his feet, "He was so desperate to prove himself, he didn't even consider backing off. Both of them, I knocked one out, but-"

"Hey," Cassian threw an arm around Azriel's shoulders, "Hey, you did everything you could, you shouted at him to get back, you warned him,"

"I don't even know his name," Azriel whispered.

 The trek up the mountain was exhausting, although it seemed that they had avoided the battle at its base, they didn't meet anyone else on the slopes, and Azriel gradually recovered from his guilt, although it still tore at his inside, still made him want to throw up. He smiled at the sight of the monolith, the sunlight gleaming off it. 

His brothers at his side, he stepped towards the stone, the marker of success, meeting both of their eyes before raising his hand,

"Together," he whispered, and closed his eyes. 

When he opened them, he was back in Windhaven, Rhys' mother was already waiting for them, 

"Boys!" She grinned as she ran towards them, "You're back pretty early, Azriel? You okay?" She frowned at the distant look in his eyes, "Come inside," she ushered the three of them into the house, grinning as they collapsed onto the couch, on on top of the other, and tried to shove the others away, in the end, it was Cassian who yelped as he fell onto the floor, 

"Pricks," he muttered, but just flopped down between them once they had sat up,

"You boys hungry? "I've got some stew going for lunch." Azriel chuckled as Cassian's attention immediately went the kitchen,

"Yes please," he said, the first manners that he had displayed the whole week, sending both Azriel and Rhys into fits of laughter,

"Oh, that's rich, Cass, 'yes please' my ass!" Rhys laughed,

"Rhysand!" His mother reprimanded, "Language!"

"Sorry mom," he muttered, still grinning at Cassian's gaze on the three bowls that his mother served up, and Az nudged him in the side and whispered,

"Mighty High Lord,"

"Oh shush, you both know I'm not in charge here,"

Damn right you're not in charge, Rhysand, you're eighteen, you're practically a baby, none of this 'High Lord' business on my watch." His mother chuckled, "Cauldron knows what would happen if you were High Lord now,"

"Anarchy?"

"Civil war?"

"Free wine?"

"Showing off?" Rhys glared at his brothers, before immediately being distracted by the scent of his mother's cooking as she set three dishes before them,

"Food, then bed,"

"Yes, mom." Az snickered again, earning a shove on the shoulder, but quickly shut up to eat his own food.

 They couldn't be bothered to find their own rooms, instead peeling off their leathers and collapsing onto the nearest bed, Cassian's, and sleeping through 'til midday the next day.

[destielreboot]

Something Worth Celebrating

Summary: Dean’s tired of Cas not understanding his not-so-subtle hints that he’s in love with him, so panics his way through using a movie to make his point clear, as if that makes any more sense.

Words: ~3.8k

Read on AO3

Dean never really celebrated his birthday, not in any way that mattered. It was a date that marked him maybe surviving another year, and he figured it couldn’t be all that accurate a marker anymore given that he’d died so many times. Was he supposed to subtract the four months in Hell? Was his birthday now after Sam’s? None of it mattered much, and he was not about to accidentally jinx himself or something by celebrating an arbitrary day. Instead, he grumbled all the way home about the snow and salted roads being bad for Baby, then immediately went to his room and started flipping through his movie collection with the hope a new case wouldn’t come in for at least a few hours.

“Dean?” Cas knocked once and swung the door halfway open. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to find something to watch. I figure I deserve a bit of R&R after the week we’ve had.”

“Of course. Ghouls are never particularly pleasant, although the hunt went well, all things considered.”

“Hell of a lot better than the last one. You stickin’ around for a while?”

“I have no plans to leave.”

Dean looked back down at the drawer full of DVDs and smiled softly. “Good. It’s nice to have you here.”

“Dean? Can I… watch the movie with you?”

“Uh, yeah, as you wish.”

Dean’s hands shook slightly as he picked up a DVD case. It was dumb—so recklessly stupid—and if it didn’t work out, he’d have to live with that, but Cas hadn’t said a word about the mixtape. Not a damn thing about something he’d spent hours anxiously perfecting. Odds were good this would go over his head as well, but hey, at least they were spending time together. And not even Cas would leave during a movie unless there was an emergency, right?

“What are we watching?” Cas timidly sat on the edge of Dean’s bed, the usual comfort level gone as this was Dean’s space, and Cas had become nothing if not respectful of that boundary.

“A classic from my childhood.”

“It’s designed for children?” Cas narrowed his eyes and frowned.

“No, it’s—it’s about… pirates and thieves, sacrifice, rewriting destiny—” The words slipped out of their own volition, as they weren’t quite true, but then again, Dean wasn’t solely focused on the plot of the film. “Um, it’s about overcoming evil forces, fighting for those you care about, and outsmarting the enemy.”

“No cowboys?”

“No cowboys,” Dean chuckled as he put The Princess Bride into the DVD player. He plopped down onto the bed and kicked his feet up, instinctively patting the place next to him so Cas wouldn’t stay perched on the edge. “Settle in, I think you’re gonna like this one.”

Cas inched closer, far too conscious of Dean’s repeated complaints about lack of personal space to get close, but he let himself relax slightly as the movie started.

“This time period is inconsistent with most pirate-centric media. Dean, what does this ill child have to do with the plot you described?”

“Shh, just watch.”

Cas begrudgingly obliged, although biting his tongue was never his strong suit. He’d joined Dean for enough movie nights to know his questions would not be answered, and silence was the preferred initial viewing state—aside from laughter, that is; the uproarious joy that bellowed from his best friend never failed to elicit a smile from the angel.

The first few times he heard Westley say “As you wish” seemed inconsequential, as Dean had been incessantly quoting movies at him for years, and it wasn’t difficult to see why he would relate to this roguish character. He was vaguely aware of Dean glancing back and forth between him and the screen, no doubt to make sure he was paying attention, a task that would be much easier if he didn’t feel Dean’s eyes on him quite so often.

For the most part, Cas did well at keeping quiet, though certain absurdities in the movie had him itching to ask questions.

“What is the point of her throwing herself down this hill? I understand that it’s too steep for comfortable walking, but there has to be a more convenient way to reach the bottom.”

“I guess it’s supposed to be sort of romantic?” Dean shrugged. “She’s just been reunited with Westley after believing he’d died; she doesn’t want to waste time getting to him.”

“Hmm.” Cas looked pensively at Dean for a moment, then turned back to the tv with a hint of a smile.

“Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while,” Westley declared.

“Do you believe in the existence of true love, Dean?” Cas asked innocently.

“I—uh—um—I’m gonna go grab a drink,” Dean stammered. He did his best to nonchalantly leave the room, an action made far more difficult by his pounding heart. Once safely in the hallway, his pace quickened dramatically. If he was going to have a panic attack, it’d be away from prying eyes. Jack may have been at Jody and Donna’s, but Sam was home—he couldn’t see him like this. Diverting his path, he headed for the Dean Cave instead and sunk into one of the recliners.

He knew it was stupid to be panicking over something so small, but this was the closest he’d ever come to outright stating how he felt, and it was scary, goddammit. Growing up, he would’ve been beaten for even entertaining the idea—John didn’t raise no goddamn fruit—and that intense unease had settled itself into his very being, become a core tenet of his identity. Undoing several decades of damage was more difficult than he’d ever imagined, but fucking hell, he wanted to try.

It took longer than he’d hoped for his breathing to return to normal, which amped up the fear that Cas would come looking for him, and he realized on his way to the kitchen that he’d probably need an excuse. He grabbed a couple beers out of the fridge—maybe Cas would drink one, maybe Dean would end up chugging both—and turned to go back before thinking better of it. He pulled some popcorn out of the pantry and tossed it in the microwave, hoping Cas wouldn’t know how quickly it cooked. Once it was done, Dean took a few deep breaths to steady himself, dumped the popcorn into a bowl, and walked as calmly as possible back to his room.

Coming back with a snack seemed to somewhat assuage Cas’s concern for Dean having been gone so long, but Dean could tell he would be asked about it later.

“You missed the Fire Swamp and something called the Pit of Despair? I can’t find much validity in the mechanics of the machine, although the concept is interesting. Taking time off the end of life, which is by its very nature uncertain, rather than reducing to a set number of years.”

“Try not to think about it too hard.” Dean smirked, holding out the second beer as he settled in. Cas habitually accepted the offer, even though everything tasted like molecules. He didn’t mind too much; partaking always seemed to make Dean happy, a sight Cas didn’t see nearly enough.

“I agree with the pestering child on this one, killing off the hero of the story this early makes no sense. Unless, of course, they live in a world like ours? Is there someone who can return his soul to his physical form, as I did with you?”

Dean choked on the handful of popcorn he’d just stuffed in his mouth. Cas looked on, worried, as Dean coughed and took a swig of his beer.

“Uh, no, nothing like that… They’ll, uh, they’ll explain it.”

“Hmm. Are you alright, Dean? You seem… preoccupied.”

“What? I’m fine.” He picked up the bowl and held it out. “Popcorn?”

“Dean.” Cas took it from him and set it further down the bed as he pivoted to face Dean, sliding a bent leg across the blanket between them.

Dean made a show of rolling his eyes. “I said I’m fine, Cas. You’re missing Billy Crystal.”

“We could pause the movie, if you’d like. Ordinarily I wouldn’t push—”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, sure. Can we just… not do this right now?” He raised his hands in resignation and let them drop without looking, one landing on the outside of his left thigh, the other on Cas’s knee.

Dean immediately felt heat rush to his cheeks as they stared at each other, unmoving, for an undetermined amount of time. He was vaguely aware of the Miracle Max scene happening in the background, containing yet another discussion of true love, and he prayed Cas wasn’t paying attention. This had to happen now?

“Dean?” Cas asked softly, finally breaking the silence enveloping them despite the continuing movie, which was obviously oblivious to the quiet scene of bi panic unfolding in front of the screen. “You seem uncomfortable and in distress. Can I—”

“I’m fine!” Dean responded a little too loudly, too quickly. He jerked his hand back, unconsciously clenching and unclenching his fist, his thumb rubbing over his fingertips, as if trying to force the feeling of touching Cas’s knee into his memory.

Cas continued to fix him with that concerned gaze he was all too familiar with, so he downed the rest of his beer as a distraction. Out of the corner of his eye, he swore he saw Cas run his own fingers over his leg exactly where Dean’s hand had been, but surely it was out of discomfort, right? Friendly pats on the back and occasionally the knee were common enough, but accidental lingering touches? Not so much.

“I need a refill. You?” Dean asked, although he didn’t wait for an answer, once again quickly making his way down the hall.

“Dude, are you okay?”

Dean just about dropped his empty bottle, having not noticed Sam seated at the kitchen table with some sort of preposterously healthy grain bowl in front of him.

“Will everyone stop asking me that?” he huffed, his free hand on his chest. “I’m fine.” He set the bottle on the island and pulled the fridge open. They were down to their last few beers, and, simultaneously thinking too much and not enough, Dean turned around to search for something stronger instead.

“Don’t bullshit me.” Sam gave Dean his best bitch face—probably the best he’d seen in years—and stood, crossing his arms. “Is this about what happened with the ghoul? Because there’s no way we could’ve—”

“Yep, that’s it. Congrats, Dr. Phil, you’ve done whatever psych crap and managed to cure me. How on earth do you do it?”

“Dean.” Sam followed him out of the kitchen and back toward the library, where they’d most recently stashed their rolling booze cart—yet another feature of the bunker Dean still couldn’t quite wrap his head around, although he had to admit it was rather nice.

“Don’t ‘Dean’ me, I’m fine. It’s been a long week, cut me some slack.” He unscrewed the top of the whiskey bottle and poured a generous amount into a glass. Sam shot him another exasperated look. Dean sarcastically saluted as he backed out of the library.

He stopped just outside his door and took a quiet breath, releasing slowly, urging the tension in his chest out with it. He glanced in and couldn’t help but soften at the view in front of him: Cas was engrossed in the wedding scene, albeit a bit confused by the clergyman. Dean watched him take a drink of his beer and wince, an instinct he almost always suppressed around others.

Once Inigo, Fezzik, and Westley were back on screen, Dean sauntered back in. Cas immediately turned and smiled at him, but his brow furrowed at the sight of the whiskey glass. Dean shrugged and took a sip, savoring the slight burn and the slow spreading warmth. He flashed Cas a reassuring grin as he sat down on his side of the bed.

Everything was fine, it had to be. Besides, Cas had definitely missed some important dialogue, so all Dean had to do was get through the end of the movie and shrug all his anxious behavior off as lingering effects of the hunt; there was a good chance Cas wouldn’t believe him, but if he got adamant enough, he’d be left alone. Not that alone was what he really wanted, but it was better than rejected or ridiculed, and he was far too accustomed to being by himself—yet another thing to thank his father for.

They got through the rest of the movie without another incident, even if the silence was a tad tense. As the credits rolled, Dean glanced over and noticed Cas was frowning.

“So… uh, did you… did you like the movie?”

“I still have many questions that have gone unanswered. Or, rather, we were otherwise occupied while they were explained, I suppose.”

“We did, uh, miss a few things.”

“Also, I’m no expert on the matter, but I’m old enough to know with relative certainty that there have been kisses more ‘passionate and pure’ than that one. I assume this particular kiss isn’t leading to the consummation of their relationship, as carnal desire would prevent it from being pure, I suppose, but I’m afraid I cannot agree with the story’s assessment.”

“The slow-burn romance wasn’t drawn out enough for you, huh?” Dean laughed.

“She only believed him dead twice, Dean. I think our own experiences have reduced the impact of that. Besides, their relationship required more exposition. With what we were given, you can’t expect me to be truly invested.”

“Maybe she should’ve died at least once, just to shake it up a bit.”

“My sentiments exactly. Westley cannot understand the same levels of grief without experiencing it firsthand, and it’s always more interesting to allow characters beyond just the hero the chance to die. Imagine how monotonous our lives would be if we only consistently lost one of us.”

Dean closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, a goofy smile plastered on his face. His shoulders shook as he laughed, the bed eventually shuddering along with the movement.

“I don’t understand what’s so funny, Dean.”

“It’s just… Our lives are so ridiculous. No one else watches this and thinks it’s not realistic enough because only Westley dies and gets resurrected.”

“I’m aware it’s outside of the usual human experience, of course, but I also can’t help but—” He paused, eyes widening slightly. “Never mind.”

“C’mon, Cas, you know you can’t do that! Say it.”

“I’d really prefer keeping it to myself, thank you.”

“Cas, dude, just say it.”

“You won’t let this go, will you?”

“You know I won’t.” Dean smirked.

“Fine,” Cas sighed. “I can’t help but see similarities between the characters and, well, our family.”

“Oh, of course, I project us onto characters all the time! I’m Westley, right?”

“Buttercup, actually.”

“I—” The smile slipped from Dean’s face. “You see me as the princess? Why?”

“You’re both stubborn and remarkably willing to sacrifice yourself for those you love.”

“You know, I did not show you this movie just so you could turn around and attack me,” Dean grumbled, but he flashed Cas a small smile so he wouldn’t take the complaint too seriously.

“I feel it’s a proper evaluation of your character.” Cas shrugged and grinned back.

“Does that make you Westley, then?”

It took Dean approximately two seconds after the words left his mouth to process what he’d said, fear twisting his stomach into knots as he realized the implications of it. Cas, on the other hand, chuckled quietly and looked down at his beer bottle.

“I suppose Westley saving Buttercup from the quicksand does mirror me pulling you out of Hell, at least a bit.”

“Lightning sand. Way cooler than quicksand,” Dean corrected, latching on to anything that would distract from his question.

“Ah, yes. Lightning sand. It’s no match for Hell, but I don’t need to tell you that.”

“Yeah… Hey, I don’t think I’m ready to turn in for the night yet, would you want to watch something else? You can pick, if you’d like.”

“As you wish.”

Dean froze, his hand halfway to his whiskey glass, the gears in his head screaming into motion. It wasn’t every day that Cas made a movie reference, especially one with such a blatantly romantic connotation. He was well aware of his own intention in saying it before the movie, but was Cas just emulating him? Picking up on yet another of his habits? Or— No, no. Dean had to remind himself that Cas wasn’t human, that he couldn’t experience affection the same way, that everything else had completely escaped his understanding.

He figured he’d put his foot in his mouth enough times that evening, he should just change his mind about stretching this out any longer, just go to bed. But the thought gnawed at him, the silence had continued to the point of becoming awkward, he needed to say something.

Dean turned to face Cas and swallowed down his pride and insecurities, hope and fear clashing across his features. Cas was waiting patiently with a soft smile, his bright eyes crinkling beautifully.

“Did you just—” Dean whispered, his voice getting caught in his throat.

“I believe so. Did I use the line incorrectly?”

“No—I… I just never thought—”

“That’s fine, too,” Cas quickly cut him off, his shoulders sagging slightly.

“Cas.” Dean reached out and tentatively brushed his fingers lightly across the angel’s stubbled cheek before settling on his shoulder, thumb resting softy on the side of his neck. “Why do you think I said it?”

It was as if someone had just powered Cas back up, he so nearly glowed with joy, and Dean thought to himself that this was the most angelic he’d ever looked. Messy hair, glassy-eyed, and all, he was stunning.

Dean felt the knots in his stomach unravel, the weight he’d been carrying for so long lessened. The hesitation of entering unknown territory faded as it started to sink in that Cas wanted this, too, and he stopped thinking, painfully aware that if he thought about it too much, he’d never do it. And he so desperately needed to do this.

He leaned forward, making his intent clear while also looking for consent, and Cas eagerly met him in the middle. It wasn’t the most graceful kiss, as they were both a little out of practice and had yet to learn each other’s rhythms, but Dean was looking forward to learning.

Cas rested his forehead against Dean’s and sighed contentedly.

“With a little more practice, I think we could top Buttercup and Westley’s kiss.”

“I’d like that,” Cas laughed, his warm breath tickling Dean’s nose.

“Their slow-burn seems almost boring next to ours.”

“Oh, speaking of…” Cas straightened up suddenly, causing Dean to have to catch himself before he fell face-first into the angel’s shoulder.

“Speaking of?”

“I missed how they brought Westley back,” Cas said sheepishly. “Would you mind explaining?”

“A little distracted, were you?” Dean smiled cheekily and leaned in for another kiss, something he could never imagine getting tired of doing.

“More than a little.”

Dean launched into a detailed explanation of the Miracle Max scene, the chocolate-coated miracle pill, and the plan to break into the castle before the wedding, going so far as to include all the dialogue he could remember off the top of his head. Cas tilted his head to rest on Dean’s shoulder and laughed at the exaggerated voices, each distinct and absurd in their own way. When the story was over, they slipped into a comfortable silence, Dean’s arm snaked around Cas’s waist, personal space no longer a concern.

After some time, Cas glanced at the clock on the nightstand and was startled to find it was nearly midnight.

“Oh, before it gets too late…” He lifted his head and placed a hand gently on Dean’s cheek. “Happy birthday, Dean. I would’ve gotten you a gift—”

“There’s nothing I want more than this.”

…

The following morning, Dean woke up early and decided to make breakfast, tossing some slabs of bacon on a baking sheet to crisp up in the oven. Sam stumbled in a few minutes later, drawn in by the aroma. He gave Dean a questioning look and was met with a broad grin.

“Rise and shine, Sammy! Are you going to eat like a normal person, or do I have to separate your eggs for you?”

“I… uh, just the whites would be great, thanks.”

“Normal person breakfast, it is!”

Sam rolled his eyes as he turned on the coffeemaker, but he smiled quietly to himself, glad to see Dean had gotten over whatever had been bothering him the night before.

Cas wandered in as Dean pulled the bacon out of the oven, and Sam just about choked on his coffee; instead of his usual trench coat and suit, Cas was wearing a soft purple and blue flannel he’d most definitely pulled from Dean’s closet, and he’d neglected to button nearly the entire top half.

“Mornin’, sunshine!” Dean slapped his hand away from the hot tray and passed him a mug of coffee instead. “You lookin’ to burn yourself?”

“I’m an angel, you ass,” Cas chuckled, stepping around him to reach the bacon. “I can do what I want.”

“You can’t even taste it properly.”

“Dean, too much grease is bad for your health,” Cas deadpanned as he took a bite of the still steaming rasher. It was hotter than he’d anticipated, but nothing a little grace couldn’t fix.

Sam cleared his throat loudly and gestured at the stovetop, where the eggs were burning.

“Fuck!”

“Good morning, Sam.” Cas took a sip of his coffee as he walked toward the table. “How was your night?”

“Evidently not as good as yours.” Sam looked up at him in stunned disbelief. “You two finally figure your shit out?”

“Hell of a way to phrase it, but yeah.” Dean beamed as he set the plate of bacon on the table, his other arm slung around Cas’s shoulder. “This idiot’s in love with me. Who knew?”

“Practically everyone else,” Sam laughed. “But I’m really happy for you guys, I don’t know anyone more deserving of this. One request, though, seeing as Jack and I live here, too.”

“Shoot.”

“Minimal PDA in communal spaces?”

“No deal.” Dean grinned and promptly pulled Cas in for a kiss.

[im-not-looking-for-forgiveness]

Hey! I'm so happy that you write for Arthur! Do you think you could make a reader who is 10 years younger than him and Arthur is insecure, especially since people tease him about it, saying the reader is a kid compared to him. But she saves him and shows impressive skills and how much they love each other? Love you work, dear!

Unlikely Pair - Arthur Shelby x Reader

TW: Graphic depictions of violence and death

Thank you for the request!!! Enjoy!

Taglist: @hxnky-cat @imagine-richards

*****

"You're sort of an unlikely pair, aren't you?" Ada joked, nudging your arm.

"What do you mean?" you questioned, trying to get her to admit what you already knew she would say.

"Well, it's just.. you know? You're a bit young for him." she shrugged helplessly.

You sighed, "Arthur loves me, and I love him. He's only 10 years older than me. It's not that large of a gap. I'm getting tired of repeating myself here."

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry. We just get defensive of him ever since Linda was around." she said, giving you an apologetic smile.

"I get it. I'm just tired of being compared to her. I'm not going to hurt him, Ada." you promised. You could understand her being protective of her brother. It was just the merciless teasing from Tommy and Michael that got on your nerves.

---

"Come on, Arthur, it's just one family dinner. How bad can it be?" you told your boyfriend, trying to console him. He was the hothead of the Peaky Blinders, but with you he was as docile as a sleepy cat.

"Nah, I don't wanna go. They'll just make fun of us. I don't care if it's a family meeting." he whined, burying his face into your shoulder as he hugged you. His much larger frame was so comforting to be held against.

"I know, love, but without you there, they'll just go behind your back on decisions that you should be a part of." you told him, running your fingers through his hair. It was getting long lately.

"You're right." he straightened up, and took your hand. He looked smug, and it made your heart clench. This strong and confident side of your boyfriend never ceased to amaze you.

You joked and gave his hand a kiss, "I know."

"You're coming with me." he decided.

You gasped, "Arthur! I don't think I'm allowed to."

He pressed his forehead to yours, "I don't care. You're my family, which means you're coming with."

"I love you, Arthur Shelby." was all you managed to reply, overwhelmed with how strongly he cared for you.

A short while later, you and Arthur had arrived at Tommy's house. Thomas and Lizzie were the hosts, and you were trying desperately to stay optimistic. They all thought of you as a child, despite you being just slightly younger than Michael. Their endless taunting was infuriating. If you got annoyed, they used it against you. If you acted un-bothered, they didn't let up. There was seemingly no winning. You'd only been together with all of them twice, and both times had ended quite badly. The only one of the Shelby's who liked you at all (besides Arthur) was Ada, and she wasn't going tonight.

"Good evening, brother!" Arthur announced joyfully when the pair of you happened upon Tommy and Lizzie in the den.

Lizzie's gaze caught yours like a snare, "Oh, good, we're on babysitting duty again."

'Fuck you!' you thought bitterly, her words immediately ruining what hope you had for tonight.

"Oh, not this again!" Arthur huffed, hand tightening in yours. You held back twice as hard, knowing that he was about to flee.

"Why? Are Charlie and Ruby joining us?" you bit back.

"No, they're at Ada's." Tommy responded coolly, standing. You could never tell what he was feeling, but you hoped you were right in thinking he seemed annoyed with Lizzie's comment.

"Good." you snapped, before letting Arthur pull you from the room like a rabid dog on a lead.

"I knew we shouldn't have come." Arthur grumbled once out of earshot.

"No! We're staying. We're going to prove them wrong, even if we have to shove it down their throats." you argued, stopping him in the hall.

"Alright, fine. I'm going to go find the cook. I want this dinner over as soon as possible." he sighed, before leaning down to give you a quick kiss.

"Good luck. This place is a damn maze." you tried to lighten the mood. You gave him another, deeper kiss before letting him go.

Alone now, you went to find someone else to talk to. Michael hopefully would be kinder to you, seeing as he was closest to your age. However, his mother Polly was just like the Shelbys. If he wasn't with her, you'd have a chance for normal conversation. If she was there, you'd go find Arthur.

As you wandered down halls and through doorways, you had a vague feeling that someone was watching you. You kept reminding yourself that it was just because you were on edge, but you couldn't get that feeling to dissipate. It was starting to feel quite alarming. So much so, that you turned around and began walking swiftly towards where you thought the kitchen to be.

Arthur didn't want you to be defenseless, and so he had bought you a small pistol. Ever so slowly, you dipped your fingers into your purse to touch it. The cool metal was a relief to your fingers, especially as you saw the closet door across from you open slightly.

"Who's there? This isn't fucking funny." you called, realizing it must be someone playing with you. You knew they didn't like you, but damn!

"I'm going to shoot if you don't come out this instant!" you called out once more. You pulled the pistol from your purse and primed it. You were through with being teased.

You heard a muffled groan, and instantly all thoughts of a prank flew out of your head. That sounded like Michael, and it was definitely a noise of pain. Oh god.

Dashing forward, you flung open the door. As you suspected, Michael was sitting on the floor with his wrists and ankles bound. He had cloth shoved in his mouth and his head was bleeding quite badly, but he was awake. Polly was next to him and looked mostly unharmed, but was unconscious. Then, there was a man you'd never seen before. He was definitely dead, and had what looked like a long needle sticking out of his eye. You diverted your gaze quickly before you could really focus on it. It seemed as if though they were attacked, and then shoved into here.

"Michael, what happened?" you got out, dropping to the ground. You pulled off your shawl and pressed it to his head before taking the cloth out of his mouth. Then, your fingers flew to the knots in the rope. Within seconds, you had him free.

Shakily, he took your shawl from your hand to hold it on himself. In the exchange, you were relieved to see that the head wound was superficial. It was just bleeding profusely. He explained, "Four men. Now three. I don't know if there's more. They kept asking where Arthur was, but heard you coming and ran toward the kitchen."

"Fuck! Are you alright here?" you questioned, heart jumping into your throat. Arthur!

"Where's Arthur?" he asked, trying to get Polly out in the open with his free hand.

"The kitchen!" you told him, on the verge of abandoning him.

"Fuck, go! We'll be fine now." Michael assured you.

You took off towards the kitchen, too panicked to cry or be upset. All you could focus on was getting to Arthur. You knew he was more than capable of defending himself, but even he could lose to three men! Possibly more!

When you finally found the kitchen, you nearly collapsed on the spot. There was blood everywhere, with seemingly half of it on Arthur. A mangled body was on the floor with a mess where the man's face was supposed to be. The other two that Michael had warned about were in the process of killing your boyfriend. One had a rope wrapped around his neck, while the other was restraining his arms.

Remembering there was a gun in your hands, you took aim and fired. The kick wrenched your arm back and disoriented you. You hadn't expected it to be so strong!

"Hey!" one of the men shouted as his partner fell to the ground. You'd somehow nailed the man holding Arthur's arms in the back of the head. It had to have been sheer luck, because you'd only ever shot at bottles before. What wasn't lucky however, was watching blood and viscera spray across the once pristine kitchen. You had no time to react because there was still another threat.

"Leave him alone!" you screamed and fired at the second man. More prepared for the kick this time, you nailed him three times in the chest. His body looked wrong as it crumpled to the kitchen floor, spilling more blood across the white tiles.

You then ran to Arthur, and wrenched the noose open enough for him to breathe. A quick examination told you that nearly all the blood on his person belonged to the already dead man on the ground somewhere behind you.

"Are you okay?" you demanded, cupping his face in your hands.

"Yeah, I am now. Damn Italians!" he rasped out, grasping for you.

Tommy burst into the room, gun blazing. He looked around for a few seconds before seeming to realize what happened. He lowered his gun and came to your side.

"Arthur, are you alright?" he questioned, concerned.

"I am, thanks to Y/N. She saved my life." Arthur answered, not once letting you go.

"You did this? These were some of Changretta's men." Tommy asked you, gesturing to one of the bodies. You hadn't been around during the dealings with the Italian mafia, but you'd heard enough to know how serious it was.

"They were strangling Arthur to death." was all you could manage to say. You'd just killed two men. What would your life be like after this?

"I'm impressed. And thankful. I owe you a debt for saving my brother's life, and an apology for doubting your affection for him." Tommy admitted honestly.

You helped Arthur stand, "You don't owe me anything, Tommy. Just don't make fun of us anymore, and we'll call it good."

Tommy stared for a moment before speaking, "Alright. Let's get you both a drink."

---

"Polly is resting, and Michael is getting his head stitched up by one of the maids." Tommy updated you as he passed around drinks to the rest of the family.

"Who were they?" Lizzie asked, lighting a cigarette.

Tommy explained, "Italians. Changretta's old crew. I believe they were working alone, since as we all know, Luca Changretta is no longer a threat. Y/N here made sure they wouldn't be either. She killed two out of the four men who invaded my home in order to save Arthur's life."

"The kid's got some nerve." Lizzie said, but with no malice in her voice. She raised her glass to you, and the rest of the room followed suit.

"She's shown us that she and Arthur are serious. Anyone who doubts that now can take it up with me. She saved my brother's life today." Thomas explained further, before knocking back the rest of his drink.

"To Y/N." Arthur announced, voice still raspy.

"To Y/N."

[only-here-for-jatp]

The Secret Chord pt 2 Luke Loses

Gotta keep the story moving I guess

Featuring: Interruptions x2, Angry Puppy Luke, Cuddle Piles, Betrayal of the Highest Order, and Homework

Also a lot of Juke. It’s not going to stay this fluffy forever so enjoy it while you can! 

Read it on Ao3 here

or below! ~2k words

From the Previous Chapter:

His hand cradled her face so gently, while the other pushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Now till eternity.” Slowly he moved his forehead to rest against hers. While he didn’t breathe, he could feel hers against his face. Noses touching, he asked “Can I?”

She pulled him closer in response. She could feel the momentum pulsing through her as she tilted her head, reaching for him.

And then….

-------

Then the tell-tale sound of a ghost poofing into the room followed by the sound of an impatient Reggie. “Are you two coming? You’ve been up here for awhile and ohhh!!!”

Luke and Julie sprang apart at the sudden intrusion a blush crawling up both of their faces as they remember what just nearly happened if it weren’t for Reggie’s accidental intrusion. Julie offered a soft laugh at the entire situation while Luke offered Reggie a small glare.

Reggie on the one hand kept looking back and forth between the two of them as if he couldn’t believe he’d just seen it. They’d all known about the hopeless pining, but neither him or Alex had suspected things would move this fast. What exactly should he do here?

More importantly, what did he want to do here?

A quick decision made he moved towards the two and pushed his way between them. Turning to Julie with hands clasped on her shoulders he smiled. “I’m so sorry, he’s an idiot”

“HEY”

“He’s also a dork and loyal to a fault. But also, seriously, he’s an idiot. If he hurts you, you come find me and Alex and we’ll take care of it. You’re an Angel.” Julie was struggling to stifle her giggles as Luke looked at Reggie in shock and horror.

Reggie whipped around, making sure to place Julie directly behind him. He crossed his arms and glared at the sputtering Luke who did not expect this reaction at all. Reggie started pointing a finger at him and Luke found himself subconsciously taking a step back and putting his hands up in a defensive move.

“That’s our most precious person Julie. If you hog her, we will hurt you. If you hurt her, we will find a way to kill you again. Understood?”

Luke found himself nodding rapidly as Reggie stepped out from between them. He offered a small salute before poofing into the studio presumably to update Alex. Luke was still in shock as Julie lost the battle against her laughter.

“Did that really just happen? Did Reggie really just threaten me?” Julie flomped onto her bed, curling against the headrest and pulling a pillow into her lap. “That absolutely just happened. Looks like I get the band in the breakup.”

He smiled as he settled on the other end of the bed. “You can have them, the traitors.” He looked deep into her eyes and felt the smile on his face soften. Unsure of when he became a nervous, hesitant kind of guy. But here he was, jittery and scared of this powerhouse of a girl with a voice like a wrecking ball who had the power to wreck him too.

Sheepishly he reached to rub the back of his neck, “We should probably talk about that huh?”

Suddenly quiet, Julie offered him a small smile to keep going.

“What if, you and I, were like together? I mean, I can’t really take you on any dates and I can’t really offer you anything. But I just. I just want to be able to stand beside you and call you mine. I want to make music with you and lay in the grass and stare at the stars and hold your hand at the beach. I just want to be with you and be close, but is that enough?”

As much as she loved watching her rambling, nervous, tripping over his tongue ghost boy she thought it might be time to put him out of his misery. “You’re enough Luke. You’ve always been enough. I just want to be with you too however much or little as we can. Whatever that looks like we’ll figure it out.” She reached out and covered his hand with hers, “Together.”

He looked up at her, a twinkle in his eye as he scooched closer to her on the bed. Once more he found himself leaning in until her breath was ghosting across his lips. She was holding tight to his shirt, smiling at how exciting it felt just to reach out and touch him. She leaned into him hoping this time-

Alex poofed into the room. “Wow, Reggie really wasn’t kidding”. Luke glared at Alex while muttering a soft string of curses and pouting. They’d been interrupted twice. TWICE. What exactly did he have to do to get enough privacy to kiss the girl of his dreams here?

Alex let out a laugh, clearly enjoying a disgruntled Luke. “C’mon Jukebox. Let’s hurry it up. Seriously Luke, you can’t hog Julie all to yourself.”

Julie murmured to herself “Jukebox?” Alex smiled and explained how Reggie had come up with the name. Luke on the other hand had maneuvered himself so he could pull Julie into his lap while still pouting at Alex.

“And why not exactly? She’s my girlfriend and-“

Alex held up a hand, a twinkle in his eye and a smirk on his face. Oh he was about to enjoy this. “Are you about to tell me that girlfriend trumps band mates?” The sight of Luke’s open-mouthed shock gave Alex an endless amount of pleasure. “Is THE Luke Patterson, aka The-band-is-the-first-and-only-priority Patterson, aka Music-is-the-only-thing-I-need Patterson, AKA My-Bandmates-are-my-family Patterson about to tell me, that his girlfriend trumps his band?”

Luke switched from sad disappointed puppy to angry puppy somewhere in that whole tirade, although it seemed to have very little effect on his mocking bandmate. He could feel the silent laughter from Julie, and he poked her sides whispering in her ear “Hey! You’re supposed to be on my side.” Yet he saw the glittering in her eye and a look on her face that always spelled trouble as she eased herself out of his arms.

“Well…. I am getting kind of tired andddd Alex does give the best hugs.” She’d walked over to Alex by this point and wrapped him in a hug which he was more than happy to return.

Luke flopped back onto the bed dramatically. “Betrayal! Betrayal of the highest order! She’s been my girlfriend for all of five minutes and already I’ve been betrayed.” Admittedly though, he couldn’t finish his lament with a straight face as Julie and Alex began to laugh and he did too.

Julie began to pack up all her things as Alex kept a watchful eye to make sure the two stayed focus. She’d watched Luke smack Alex in the arm when he thought she wasn’t looking. Her trio of ghosties were brothers through and through and it was nice to watch them finally be able to relax after having their afterlives on the line for so long.

Once she grabbed everything she needed, she turned to the boys and quirked up an eyebrow. “The real question is of course, once we get down there, who’s going to get to cuddle up the closest?” Alex’s face lit up as if he’d had the best idea and Luke, well, he began to eye Alex rather suspiciously as they both poofed out. She made her way down to the garage ready for whatever antics would be in store.

Inevitably, Luke lost. Upon entering the studio, Reggie had wrapped Julie in a hug and refused to let go. Add a little of Alex’s sarcasm and Reggie’s puppy pout and Luke was a goner. They’d all collapsed onto the bed Julie residing in the center, with a Reggie and an Alex curled up on either side, wrapped tightly around her. Luke was on the opposite side of Reggie but managed to reach his arm all the way across to Julie’s waist where her fingers surrounded and tangled with his.

In truth Luke couldn’t complain. He was wrapped up with his favorite people, in his favorite place, and the girl of his dreams was his. It was all he could ever ask for and he settled in to the sound of Julie’s soft breaths and the feel of her pulse on his hand.

The next morning brought sunshine and an overwhelming sense of weight. Julie couldn’t remember the last time she slept so well and so comfortably, except for the fact that she couldn’t seem to move. There seemed to be a steady, reassuring pressure which surrounded her.

At one point she’d tried to wiggle and squirm, but that seemed to make the unmovable forces surrounding her move closer and tighter. Ughhh she didn’t want to open her eyes to deal with this. All she wanted to do was drift back to sleep and she could almost grasp it. It was futile unfortunately and she slowly opened an eye to find that her ghostie boys had shifted during the night.

Alex and Reggie were still pretty much in the same places, but Luke had somehow managed to crawl over Reggie in order to end up directly on top of her. His head rested on her stomach and his arms traveled up the length of her sides while Reggie and Alex’s crisscrossed over her. Of course this brought up the mystery of where her arms were, but somehow she managed to dig one out to play with Luke’s hair.

There were certainly worst things in the world to wake up to than three cuddly ghosts, and there were certainly worst places to be than on the bottom of a ghostly puppy pile. A grumbling broke the silence however, reminding them all that Julie was human and it was time for breakfast.

Her ghost boys groaned and protested, attempting to solidify their hold into a true cocoon. Somehow though, Julie managed to squirm her way free. She padded over to the house to find her father cooking pancakes. She’d definitely had worst mornings indeed.

In fact her entire day was beginning to seem like a haze of warmth and love since she finished breakfast and curled up on the couch with Carlos for cartoons, followed by more snuggling time with her boys. Eventually, she’d gone upstairs to retrieve her homework. The boys had volunteered to help, although she was pretty sure they mostly just want to be within arms distance of her, which meant doing it at the kitchen table rather than her room.

Luke ended up sitting to her left. He sat close enough that they could brush shoulders, but also so that he could rest his hand on her knee. Occasionally, when she wasn’t using her left hand, she’d bring it down to Luke’s and he’d trace circles with his thumb over her hand. Just small undemanding touches that drifted and lingered after she would pull her hand away, needing it once more.

Reggie sat to her right since he seemed to know all the answers. He’d thrown his left arm over the back of her chair so he could better write on the page with his right. She could feel his weight on her back, and it was reassuring whenever she ended up frustrated or hit a particularly tricky equation.

Alex sat on the opposite side of Reggie and his eyes had glazed over very close to the beginning, but she could tell he was still paying attention at least to her. He’d stretched out one of his legs, so it sat directly between her own. She could bring her feet together on either side and feel him there. Every now and again, a tune would pop into his head and his foot would start moving, tapping the ground or the tops of her feet. She wouldn’t look up, but she always let herself take a moment to be distracted and smile before diving back in. Their reverie was broken at the sound of a doorbell.

Julie got up to answer the door, the boys following along like puppies while holding tightly to the back of her shirt. They stayed mostly hidden by the door as Julie opened it to reveal Nick standing on her doorstep holding a bouquet of flowers.

[diffuserlover]

Hello! Can I get Stray Kids, ATEEZ, and NCT ship? 💚

Appearance: She/her. 179cm tall, rectangle body shape. Fair skin complexion with quite a few birthmarks. Dyed dark brown-reddish, past shoulder-length, straight hair with bangs. The left eye is a mix of two colors – a smaller portion of (darker) greyish-blue and a larger portion of hazel; while the right eye is just a (lighter) greyish-blue. Heptagon face shape with two dimples on the left cheek and one on the right cheek (only visible while smiling). A gap between the upper front teeth.

Personality (good and bad traits): Ever since I was a kid, I was always quite mature for my age – I identify myself as an old soul. I come off as polite and well-mannered to strangers, yet I tend to keep it to myself by being reserved. But, that’s because I have social anxiety and I’m nervous and shy when meeting/talking to people. The only people I’m comfortable with being with my inner circle – closest friends and family. I am usually more “open” with my friends than with my family. With my friends I can be my “truest-self” – I smile more, I laugh more, I feel more accepted and understood. I am the mom and the fashionista of the group. Don’t get me wrong, I am fiercely protective of my family, especially of my mother and younger sister. But, lately, I’ve been feeling like the “black sheep” of the family, Cinderella who’s been taken advantage of. I express my affection for the people I care about in little, but practical, ways. I can be a little stiff when it comes to open, gushy displays of affection. Others turn to me for help and advice. I’m kind-hearted and generous, always ready to help a person in need. Always have been motherly towards children. Very awkward at keeping small talk (usually with people that I’m not that close with). Absolutely, hate speaking in front of a public, and if I do, because of my nervousness, I tend to mess up my words and/or I practice whatever I’m about to say in my head at first. I appreciate the simplicity and am often most comfortable when I’m not getting too much attention from the world. I am sensitive – both to criticism and to others’ feelings (I sponge up the feelings and moods of people and the environment around me). Have a hard time saying no or expressing my true thoughts, feelings. I get influenced by other people’s opinions/thoughts quite hard (I take everything to the heart), that is why I tend to keep a lot to myself (may come off as a little bit tense, secretive, mysterious). I avoid the harsh reality by daydreaming (almost every day) – imagining myself in situations far from my current circumstances. Sort of like a self-escape. I worry a lot and overthink almost everything. I am easily distracted and my attention span can be quite short. I have an internal struggle between my needs and wants. I can lack focus and be indecisive as a result – when I decide on one route, I am pulled in another direction at the same time (“But what if…”, “on the other hand...”). That is why I’m having a bit of a struggle with deciding what I want to do in the future (career-wise). I am easily overwhelmed by pressure and stress. There is a self-destructive side to me (self-critical, lack of self-confidence) that I’m working on by confronting my fears (coming out of my shell). Don’t like taking pictures, or other people taking pictures of me. I feel most content when I’ve straightened out all the details of everyday life. I have a routine, that I follow by mostly every day, and if something small changes in that routine, I start to have a small internal anxiety attack. Also, I like to do things my own way, like, when it comes to cleaning the house or organizing stuff, etc. I get triggered even if people don’t do the laundry the way I do. I guess you could describe me as a perfectionist, clean/control freak. In triggering situations I can be impulsive, spontaneous, quick to act. Quick flare-ups of anger/annoyance when being provoked on my patience. Even when I’m feeling low, I manage to find humor in life and have fun with whatever I do have. Although I tend to bottle things up, I am an emotional person and my emotions are genuine – I love and care deeply and passionately and wish no ill will upon anyone, yet it hards for me to imagine someone falling in love with me or just liking me.

Hobbies, likes: My hobbies are cleaning, writing (re-writing song lyrics, making small notes, writing stories), listening to any type of music, catching up on my favorite films and TV shows, hanging out with friends, going to the cinema, or the club, being out in nature, reading, traveling. I like history, cooking, fashion magazines (or fashion in general), road trips, spirituality, mythology, books, orange juice, previous decades, cottage-core, dark academia.

Overall: Hufflepuff. INFP-T. Bi-sexual. Pisces-Aries cusp sign. “Looks like could kill you, but is actually a cinnamon roll.” A feminist, support LGBTQ+ community. That’s it, thank you!

Hii! Thank you so much for requesting!! I hope you like your ships!! I got a little carried away so sorry it’s a little long:)

Stray Kids:

I ship you with...

Chan

He is very comforting and knows how to get to you😚

Whenever you are overthinking or overwhelmed he can tell🥲

He will sit you down and try to get you to talk about your feelings with him or he would take you out somewhere to distract you from whatever is overwhelming you💗

He would understand your perfectionist side and always makes sure that everything is perfect for you😁

He keeps you updated with his schedule if it ever changes because he knows how much you like a regular schedule 🥰

You guys probably share a calendar so all of your events are in one space☺️

He finds it so cute how polite and kinda nervous you were when you first met🤩

He always supports you and your goals for coming out of your shell, he is always so proud whenever you do😇

Chan helps you as much as he can when finding something you want to do career wise but due to the amount of stress it gives you I would say it causes some arguments🥲

He would never let the public see you and if your relationship ever gets released he is never saying your name or showing any photos because you knows you don’t like to be in the public eye😭🥰

He is beaming whenever he sees you with kids🥺

You guys are like the mom and dad of stray kids😊

He likes to take you to the studio and work on songs together for fun🤗

You guys go on walks a lot together to just look at the scenery 😌

He never watches shows or movies without you😋

You guys cook together a lot, you guys always have fun it’s not too serious while cooking😆

Extroverts and Introverts go best with each other 🙂

Chan reassures you a lot that he loves you and that he is so grateful to have you in his life☺️

Overall, you and Chan have the sweetest relationship. You guys are literally perfect together🥰

ATEEZ:

I ship you with...

Seonghwa

You and Seonghwa are both perfectionist😊

You guys have a schedule and certain ways of cleaning 🤗

You clean together to make it more fun😚

Wooyoung most likely makes fun of you for it😆🤣

Seonghwa I feel is really good at listening and you can tell he is really listening when you look into his eyes😍

He gets butterflies whenever you are with children he just finds it so cute 🥺😭

He appreciates how you leave little notes in his bag telling him sweet things, he always tries to give you little notes as well😇

Seonghwa is always considerate of your feelings 🥰

Extroverts and introverts go best together🙂

He treats you a lot even if that means just buying the food at the cinema he will do it🤗

When he knows you have had a long day he will cook for you😄

If he has had the worst day or if he is super tired he might just give you the silent treatment, you might have to physically ask him if he’s okay😬

He likes to sit down and have a meal with you 😊

I feel like you both don’t have much patience and kinda lash out on each other but it’s never something super serious😚

Seonghwa absolutely adores your smile and you always find something to laugh about😁

Overall you and Seonghwa have a real connection🥺

NCT ot23:

I ship you with...

Xiaojun

He is so sweet but he also silly😆

You guys are in the studio a lot☺️

He likes to play the guitar for you, you guys have written quite a lot of songs together 🥰

You guys have a lot of nights in just watching movies and cooking together😄

He loves your laugh so much it makes him smile just thinking about it😍

He understands how you like a schedule and doesn’t want to mess it up when something comes up, he always makes sure to call you or text you when he can to tell you😭🤗

He tries not to overwhelm you with his problems cause he feels bad but he also wants to talk to you about it, he has a hard time deciding😚

Xiaojun always makes sure you okay before checking on himself😇

He would never be as kind to his members than he is with you😂💀

Xiaojun loves his snacks, you guys go shopping at least 2 times a week so he can get his snacks🤣

He loves writing with you because he loves to see the passion in your eyes🥰

He studies the way you clean the house because if he ever wants to do it he doesn’t want to get it wrong😆

I don’t think Xiaojun is really into physical affection so I feel like he would be fine without heavy amounts of it😁

He loves how kind you are☺️

He labors to mess around and do anything to make you laugh or smile🙂

Overall you and Xiaojun are really cute and fun🤩

[thetempestcup]

I hope I'm not coming across as rude (because I really really love your fic) but I was just curious - what prompted you to begin writing tempest in a teacup in the first place?

It's not rude in the least. In fact, it's a very flattering question. (✿ ㆁᴗㆁ) I only wish there was a good answer in the bag. The truth is that I don't...really remember at this point? I've always been 1) happier plotting/writing AU and 2) a fan of the childhood pals angle so that part of the story seems fairly inevitable. At that time (back in the grimy 2000-whatevers) I was also big into the writing style of Whitney Otto and Patricia McKillip, both of which are a bit on the weird/dreamy side.

But what it really came down to was the fact that I wanted to read a Fire Nation "identity" AU from Katara's POV and couldn't find what I wanted. The closest thing available was the Zuko-raised-SW trope which – although delightful and dear to my heart – didn't satisfy the craving. And so, Tempest in a Teacup.

As apology for the lackluster answer, please accept this humble and (hopefully) tasty (drabble) offering.

The first time Katara tries to kill him, they've been at sea for two months and he never sees it coming.

They dine together: him, her, and Uncle. It's odd maybe to spend so much time together through the day only to make a point of meeting again in the evening, but dinner is - tolerable. The cook is an old ally of Uncle's. From hearing the old man talk of it, the chubby little fish-fryer has divine hands and a nose capable of counting the number of salt grains in a pot. 

Nonetheless, dinner: it's nice...usually.

In hindsight, Zuko should've seen it coming. She's quiet when they sit down and pointedly keeping her eyes on Uncle, and overall peerlessly polite. If Zuko was a little more awake, he would've known to run and check the hull for holes before stepping into the room. Instead, he's tired and hungry and put the strip of eel into his mouth like a fool who doesn't know what the gleam in that blue eye means.

Wait, what the is all Zuko has a chance to think before his mouth revolts in terror and pain.

"Nephew!"

"Zuko!"

It's like – an avalanche. A merciless torrent of salt and garlic and some heretofore unnamed greenery foraged from the floor of the darkest, dankest pit in the spirit world. Why, Zuko thinks as he pours half the teapot down his throat in an effort to drown and end the suffering. Just, why?

He doesn't say the word out loud but Katara's guilty expression proves that the message is received. It takes the rest of the teapot and the contents of Uncle's cup before Zuko's tongue dares to move past the trauma.

"Who," he grits out, "let you into the kitchen?"

"Nobody ever said I had to stay out," she says defensively. "I thought we could try something new."

So speaks the person who didn't put any of the nightmare eel on her own plate.

"I'm saying it. Right now. Are you listening? Stay out of the kitchen."

"To fail at something the first time means to improve the next," Uncle says. Zuko checks and, nope, no eel on the old man's plate either.

Zuko is surrounded by traitors.

Katara nudges over her teacup, prettily sympathetic but also looking less and less guilty by the moment. She'll be unstoppable now, he knows. They'll have to chain a komodo rhino by the stove to bar her from the kitchen and the wretched beasts would probably let her pass anyway.

"So," Katara says, "how about dessert?"