#the ones we get here aren’t the gooey kind

[pjo-hoo-toa-freakazoid]

here's a cookie 🍪

Gracias :D! 💜🌸

Una pastel para ti 🍰

[emmebearpaw]

You’re both the cinders now, aren’t you?

Hello hello this is a fic about two of my OCs, Marisol (narrator) and Pine. Both use she/they in this. They both come from a no longer very small town before being sent to monster hunting school in the neighboring country because they showed promise but mostly because they managed to get into a school in the neighboring country which was much more politically stable. They are now skipping class to go kill and butcher monsters to sell parts for enough money to pay tuition so they don’t get deported back because they haven’t got tuition because the civil war everyone thought was going to break out broke out. That’s not that important. What’s important is that Marisol is an Osprey Harpy, they have lived in the area the town they are from was for no one knows how long. They had a rich culture and traditions and even a form of communication based around weaving designs into banners. Nowadays their religion is still kind of around and most of the other stuff is long dead. Pine isn’t. Pine’s family moved to the area 25 years ago. Or like ~275 years after the first non harpy’s settled the area (pine is a satyr). There is some romantic tension between them but it will not happen for a long time.

This is the story of how the Harpy’s Teacher died. She’s an important figure, she taught them how to make their offerings and when to pilgrimage and how to keep track of the seasons. Here is how she died.

word count: ask me in the morning

P.s if you see the word pear in this or any other placeholder names please yell at me it’s 3am I’m trying my best to get this down on the tumblr and go to bed and editing on phone is hard

oh yeah ideal effect go get a campfire in the woods audio or at least imagine that thanks

The fire crackled.

An owl called into the night.

You asked, “Have I ever told you the story of how Teacher died?”

Pine’s bed roll rustled, “Mmm? No. No I don’t think you have.”

“Huh.” The stars you could see out the corner of your eyes were bright. “You think I would have”

“Maybe you can tell me it now”

You chuckled, “Like you’re a little kid and I’m telling you a bedtime story?”

“Yeah” the satyr's laugh fled into the night.

“You dork.”

They sit in silence for a moment.

“Ive at least told you about her, right?”

There’s a pause with a rustle, “she’s your favorite, right?”

She probably was, you hadn't thought about it. Instead you responded, “But did I tell you what she did?”

“Well, she dies I guess”

You laugh. “Besides her death. She wouldn’t be my favorite if she just died.” Oh, guess she was your favorite now

“True. True,” the crickets fill in the gaps between words “…tell me again.”

You run your fingers along the sheet that covers your shoulder. “She taught us how to speak in cloth.”

“How do you speak in cloth?

“You know that old flag that hung at Where the Sun Shines?” you idly pick out one of your feathers from the blanket.

“Oh, the quilt in the window?”

You don’t correct them. Quilt is close enough. It’s too late to correct them. “Yeah. It speaks.”

“… What does it say?”, Pine mutters like a child in awe

“We don’t know.”

“Huh?”

“That’s what the story’s about.”

They chuckle and its warmer than the campfire at this point.

“She also taught us how to make egg-- ávgotos*.”

“Oh. I like her then.”

“Not the kind I make though.”

“There’s another kind?”

“No. I’m just making an imitation of my mother’s. The real stuff is fluffier.”

“I like yours.”

The egg clumps together in yours. Pine would never know your attempts were nothing more than the starving trading their last fish for some bait. The real ávgotos was gooey and made your hands a mess when you bit into it. Yours was scrambled eggs baked in a roll.

“You’d like it even if I made charcoal.”

“No I wouldn’t. You make good ávgotos.”

You didn't though. You made the worst ávgotos out of any you had ever tried. But that was the best she would probably ever get to try because you were only friend who knew how to make it. And yet every fucking restaurant in most towns you visited knew how to make--

“How about I tell you the story.”

“I’m going to make you admit it’s good.” You heard hooves brush against fabric as Pine made some sort of move.

Of which you ignored and said “No you aren’t because I’m telling you a story.”

Before you felt Pine awkwardly flailing to reach you without coming out from under the covers, barely reaching your talons and interrupting, “Yes I-“

Shuffling your legs out of their reach you continue, “Anyways. Teacher taught us how to speak cloth and make ávgotos and lots of other stuff a long time ago. But this story happened… like 300 years ago I think?” You don’t really remember, a long time ago. It was before you were born and before your parents were born and, “Everything was really nice then. The fish were plentiful, the snow was short, the winds weren’t gale.”

“…What happened then?”

“Well, each year they would have the pilgrimage.”

“… Like now?”

“Sort of. It was more important back then, because we’d change the flags on top of,” the sun was already going to be up in just a few hours it was too late to have the mountain or god discussion. So you bit your tongue and called it, ”Mount Flinders.”

“…why?”

“…That’s how we told anyone beyond our realm where we were and who we were. And that was important for trading.”

“…Oh. That makes sense”

You stifled a yawn, “Plus other people put up banners of their own in return, it was like leaving a note on a message board but further away.”

No response.

“But then the invasion begun.”

You wished you could lay on your back and look at the stars.

“Year after year. The flags went down and didn’t go back up. And those that did were strange. And every year it came closer. And closer.”

“….did she fight them..?” Pine mumbled.

It made you smile.

Right, finish the story before Pine fell asleep, no time for that. “No. But she walked up with my ancestors and taught them one final lesson.” Your voice wavered for just a moment at the thought of the lesson you know they learned. You tried to keep it steady.

Pine didn’t seem to notice. Or if they did, they didn’t respond, so you continued, “And so the pilgrims left her gifts. They left her their sacrifices and ávgotos and their flags and their thread and their words and walked back down the mountain.”

“….. then?”

“Then by spawning season we were building new houses and the new men brought us seeds to plant.” You offered your silent condolences for the over simplification before ending with: “And that’s how she died.”

You closed your eyes after a minute or two of silence. The story over. The mucus rising in your throat slowly dissipating. But Pine hadn’t gone to bed, apparently, and asked, “Why did she die?”

You freeze. Wasn’t. Wasn’t that obvious? Why wouldn’t she have died when the new men came.

“She died so we wouldn’t.” Felt like the best way to put it

Pine asked once more “But what killed her.”

“The pilgrims did.”

“Why?” Whispered Pine

“Because she told them to.” you prayed.

“…. Why?” Whispered Demanded Pine.

“Be-ecause she loved us.” Your voice cracked like a twig. You inhaled through your mouth. This was a stupid time this was a stupid time.

No. No. Don’t get mad. It’s just a story to tell little kids about why their friends didn’t know the feast days.

Pine snaps you out of your thoughts, “I don’t think I get it.” She laughs. You want her to. “Can you tell me it again when we are less tired?”

You exhaled shakily, “Sure.”, you don’t know if you could. But Pine had to.

You’d explode soon otherwise. It had been 4 months since either of you had heard word.

“Goodnight, Marisol” they said.

“Sleep well, Pine” you replied as you smothered the cinders.

*) btw this is a food I made up that is like a roll with a hard crust that you bake and then while it’s still hot poke a hole in the top and pour the yolk of an egg in, with the thought being they should fry inside the hot bread. The yolk represents the sun and the consumption of the sun in the bread (the earth) represents taking the gift from the current main figure (who has always been important but is damn near the only one due to being similar to a god in the majority ditheistic religion of the subcontinent). So on offering day you eat it instead of any other meal but you still offer him a meal for his service in throwing the sun into the sky.

[sollucets]

ocean eyes, vii

previous parts

in which ocean eyes begins to earn a sam/david tag; the trials and tribulations of touch-based healing magic.

usual caveats for ocean eyes; named and described characters all around (including the bois) including ivy (they/them) & aster (he/they/she).

on ao3, or full chapter under the cut

💜

"Work giving you trouble?"

That's an invitation if David's ever heard one, but still...

David would sigh if it wouldn't look deranged to Sam. This doesn't suit him. "Yeah," he says decisively. "It's a pain in the ass."

Sam snorts out a little laugh, then gets out of his chair and circles the desk to stand behind David. This kind of behavior usually pisses him off -- he's gotten used to Aster constantly snooping on his screens because it's them, but it's not something he forgives from other people. He's about to just explain it to Sam when the other man leans down, close to David's left shoulder, to peer at the worksheet.

And somehow, with that rustle of fabric loud in the sudden closeness, David forgets to say anything at all.

"Oh, hey, I recognize that," Sam says with a little laugh. "I think we used the same diagrams back in freshman year. Your textbook’s probably newer than mine was, though. How's it treating you?"

David is very close to nodding off into his laptop when the knock comes. He's up and moving before his brain catches up, body on full alert. If he'd been a little more lucid, he would've tried to move slower, for the sake of Ivy and his mate asleep just feet away.

As it is, though, the sun's been down for hours and he isn't expecting company. David stalks to the door, quiet as he can, and waits in the hallway. Listens.

For a second, there's nothing, not even a breath. David holds his own, listening closer.

People move more than that; little shuffling steps, breathing. From here, through a door, he wouldn't be able to hear a heartbeat anyway, but that's the point. If someone's there, they're silent as the dead. David squares his jaw, considers his options.

Then -- the sound of fabric shifting, the little tap-tappy noises of a phone keyboard. A familiar voice humming in thought.

David pulls the door open. "Sam," he says, doing his best to keep his tone at least neutral. It isn't the other man's fault he's a paranoid bastard. "I wasn't expecting you."

Sam stands in his doorway with a surprised expression. He's dressed more formally than David's used to for him, in a black button-up and pants that aren't jeans, and he does indeed have his phone in his left hand. "I wasn't expecting to come either," he says apologetically. "I just got done early and thought I might could catch Ivy. I did text ahead. Aster didn't get the message?"

That'd probably explain it. He did hear their phone vibrating from its place trapped under their ass about an hour ago and had elected to ignore it in favor of letting them sleep. "They didn't," he says aloud, shrugging. "Come in."

Sam's mouth twists. "Don't feel obliged. I'd've usually waited to get a response, but I was already in the car over. If you don't want extra company I can take off."

David levels him with one of his best glares, and says, pointedly, "Come in. Just keep your voice down."

Raising both eyebrows, Sam nevertheless follows him inside. David watches him close the door, unlace his dress shoes and set them on the rack all with barely a sound. Vampires.

When they go into the living room and Sam spots their mates, David also watches his expression go the kind of gooey that Aster's does watching cat videos. He'd make fun, but it'd be hypocritical.

After all, when he'd come home to find Ivy sleeping shifted, their giant black wolf form stretched across 75% of the couch and 100% of Aster's lap, he's sure his face had done something embarrassing too. David can count on one hand the number of times he's seen Ivy's wolf form; he knows full well it wasn't for him that they'd shifted, but the honor had hit him anyway.

(And Aster always looks cute when they sleep, fucked up hair and mouth open and all.)

Sam catches David's eye once he's mastered his face, and David tilts his chin in the direction of his office. As quietly as he can, he grabs his laptop from where he'd dropped it and leads Sam into the other room.

When the door closes, Sam gives him a crooked little smile. It exposes a hint of white, flashing fang. "Sorry again for imposing."

"Shut up," David says, on reflex. "You're fine."

"Ivy's been on that job," Sam continues, head cocked. "I haven't seen them since last week, and I wasn't meant to today, but Vincent's apparently back now, and he took the meeting off my hands." There's a small sigh. "Bastard might've given me some advance warning, but I'm grateful enough."

David knows, mostly via Ivy telling Aster who told him, that Vincent's been gone for some time to care for his newly-Turned partner, with Sam picking up the extra work his absence made for the Clan. As a result of that double workload, Sam's schedule for the last month or so has been brutal. David's barely seen him, not that he's been particularly expecting to or anything. "They've both been knocked out since I got home," David explains, leaning his hip against his desk and setting his laptop down. "You could probably wake them. I'm sure they'd be glad to see you."

"I'd never," says Sam, that mouth pulling down into a frown on one side. "Ivy barely has a sleep schedule as is. I'm sure they'll be up soon, anyway."

"Suit yourself," David tells him, shrugging one shoulder. "You're welcome to hang around until they wake. You can have anything you want out of the kitchen."

The Vampire is about the only person David knows who he'd actually make that offer to, now that he thinks about it. No one else in his immediate circle of acquaintances can be trusted in there, but Sam doesn't need to eat anyway and is both polite enough and possessed of enough common sense to know that the offer is genuine but has limits. It's refreshing.

Predictably, Sam shakes his head. "Thank you kindly, but I'm alright." That frown deepens for a moment. "If you're sure, then--"

Well, there is such a thing as too much politeness. David leans forward a little; not quite into Sam's space, they're not standing close enough, but enough to equalize their heights and make pointed, direct eye contact. "I said you're welcome here. Stop second-guessing it."

Sam blinks a couple times, those odd silver eyes round, then laughs softly. "Alright, alright, message received."

David nods at him in acknowledgement, then moves behind his desk and takes a seat. His office is the only room in the house he'd flat refused to let Aster participate in decorating; as a result, it's all shades of black and white and clean lines that help David focus. There is one other chair, but it doesn't get a ton of use. Aster usually sits with or on him when they're in here. "I'm gonna get some work done," he tells Sam. "Let me know if you need something."

No, it's not good host behavior, but David has never been a good host. He just successfully pretends to be, now and again.

Sam shrugs, pulls out his phone, and sits down in the other office chair. "I'll keep it down."

Turning his attention back to his laptop, David pulls up his self-assigned homework again. Maybe he'll have an easier time with it in here, without the distraction of the TV screen or Aster or Ivy. It's from the textbook most of the posts on Healing had recommended, an anatomical cross-section of the arm that he's meant to label from memory.

He's read the section multiple times, and took handwritten notes, but the actual knowledge keeps flying out of his head whenever he looks at the diagram, the order of the names scrambling each time. It's painfully frustrating.

It's already occurred to him to ask Sam, of course. It had the second he'd put his laptop down. But Sam's busy enough as is, and David's sure he's probably sick of teaching even Vincent, who's his best friend. He won't want to deal with David's even clumsier attempts as well, surely.

"Did I do anything in particular to deserve that look?" asks Sam wryly, and with a jolt David realizes that he's been staring past the laptop and directly at the Vampire for the last few minutes.

"No," David says immediately, and then, "Sorry."

"Your face'll get stuck like that,'' Sam tells him, with the cadence of someone in on a joke. He must say it a lot. After a moment, he adds, more tentative, "Work giving you trouble?"

That's an invitation if David's ever heard one, but still...

David would sigh if it wouldn't look deranged to Sam. This doesn't suit him. "Yeah," he says decisively. "It's a pain in the ass."

Sam snorts out a little laugh, then gets out of his chair and circles the desk to stand behind David. This kind of behavior usually pisses him off -- he's gotten used to Aster constantly snooping on his screens because it's them, but it's not something he forgives from other people. He's about to just explain it to Sam when the other man leans down, close to David's left shoulder, to peer at the worksheet.

And somehow, with that rustle of fabric loud in the sudden closeness, David forgets to say anything at all.

"Oh, hey, I recognize that," Sam says with a little laugh. "I think we used the same diagrams back in freshman year. Your textbook’s probably newer than mine was, though. How's it treating you?" His voice is low still, in deference to the sleeping wolf in the living room, and also very close to David's ear. David is unsure why he needs to notice that.

"Like shit."

Sam moves a bit further away, but only to brace a hand on the desk to David's side and keep looking. They're still awfully close. "I always thought the illustrations were pretty clear."

David scowls. "The illustration is fine."

"Memorization, then?" asks Sam. He sounds far too knowing for David's tastes. "That's usually how they have them do the theory part."

"That's how it says to do it, yeah."

Humming the way he'd done outside the door, Sam stares down at David's screen a little longer. "It is important to learn anatomy," he says, sounding a little distracted. "And I get you're doing it on your own, so you mostly don't have a choice. But you're not gonna get too far like this."

"I'm doing fine," snaps David, before he can stop himself.

Sam raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "How many carpals in your wrist?"

"Eight," David tells him, increasingly irritated with that knowing tone.

"Right," says Sam, "and if you were an unempowered doctor, you'd need to have all their shapes and arrangements memorized so you didn't fuck up the whole thing, and the medical textbooks that Healers model after don't bother to change it 'cause it is true it's useful to know." His voice, still soft, has taken on a sort of cadence David usually associates with public speaking. "But we have an unfair advantage on that front, y'know."

Despite himself, David asks, "What do you mean?"

Sam holds out the hand he's not using to lean on the desk to David, wrist up. "Make with your magic like you're gonna heal it."

Ever since starting his probably-ill-fated attempt at learning Healing, David has been thinking increasingly frequently of the first time he'd done it. Sam's bloodied hands over his, both of them shaking, Ash heavy and warm and barely clinging to consciousness in his lap. The way it'd felt like he was tearing something alive out of his own heart, passing it through his blood and out through his fingers into Ash's blood. He tries to remember it every time he passes a particularly dry description of Healing; thinks of the visceral, jagged way the magic had torn out of him as he'd trusted entirely in Sam's word and instincts he hadn't known he had to save his best friend's life.

David hasn't tried to reach for that since then. He knows it was a miracle. He knows there is a proper process to this sort of thing, for the safety of his would-be patients and himself. It's not something he wants to try again without being sure, without having made every possible preparation first. And yet here Sam is, looking at him with guileless silver eyes and offering up his wrist.

"I can't," says David sharply. "You're not even fucking injured, what are you talking about?"

"Sure you can," Sam says easily, breezing past being sworn at without even a blink. Then again, he's Ivy's mate. "You're magicborn; do that exercise they teach you before you learned to shift. Look for your core."

David jerks his head up to stare Sam in the eye, disgruntled. "That is in no way the same thing."

"Oh, and you're so smart now you've learned a whole entire month?" Sam grins at him, still way too smug. "Try it. Just feel for your magic for a second."

Back at age 12, David had been one of the first kids in his age group to successfully shift, and he hasn't done this since. He'd been so proud back then to leave behind a process he'd considered to be both irritating and difficult, too like meditation for twitchy little preteen David's sensibilities.

He glares at Sam, for emphasis, then reaches for the spark. It's different for everyone, apparently, but David's shift has always been a quick burn, an explosion. It's hard to hang onto the moment just before it, to exist in that tiny little space.

But he can do it. It's been a long time since he was twelve.

David catches that spark, holds it in his chest, holds it back. Lets himself get just that close to shifting, then doesn't.

"There you go," says Sam, and David's faintly alarmed to realize it kindles a little proud warmth next to the spark. "Now take that feeling and send it out to me. It's not urgent, don't you go gettin' ahead of yourself, just reach for me."

"What do you mean," grits out David, unable to regulate his tone with most of his attention gone to keeping the shift at bay.

"Like before." Sam's tone loses a bit of its smugness when he references the Inversion. "Just feel for it. Don't picture anything if it's confusing."

David does not resist the urge to roll his eyes at the utter nonspecificity of those instructions, but -- he thinks he gets it. He takes Sam's wrist in his hand, and lets the spark expand and expand and expand till it's a charge all the way down his arm and right up to where they're touching.

Meeting him there is Sam's aura, which he hadn't known he'd recognize until he does, a sort of cool frisson along the edges of his own, enveloping and steady.

"Good," says Sam. "Alright. Focus there, on my wrist, and bear with me a moment."

It's something to do with shifting being so physical, David thinks, that he barely has words to describe how magic untethered from that feels. This is no different. He dutifully focuses all of his attention on where his fingers are circled around Sam’s wrist, lets that charge go with his attention, but without that desperate intention from before, David doesn’t feel like it’s working.

And then Sam gets involved.

It feels like Sam is pulling on him, tugging where they're connected, but nothing is moving, just David's awareness and the criss-cross, cold static of their mixed auras until it's laser-focused on Sam's wrist.

"How many carpals in the wrist?" asks Sam again.

"What are you -- eight," snaps David, and then, without his conscious permission, he feels it. There under his hand, inside the millions of pieces that make up Sam, are the connecting blocks of his wrist, not visible but felt. The shape of them enveloped in David's magic is impossible to describe, like touch but without any physical input, like sight but without anything to relate it to, like and unlike all of the senses he has to compare.

Or maybe not. The diagram, he thinks, and superimposes that image onto the little bundle of bones cradled within the stream of his magic. He can feel their shapes, the ligaments connecting them, can imagine the way he might easily let his own magic flow into those pathways, the way he might just as easily redirect them and mess it up.

David doesn't know what his face is doing, too focused on holding this state, but it must be something, because Sam laughs softly at him, enough to break his concentration. "Y'see?"

"Fuck," says David in faint surprise as that strange, electric awareness falls away. He feels a little drained, like he’s gone on a decent run or spent some time landscaping. "Yeah, actually."

"It's harder to do on yourself," Sam says, still in that lecture tone of voice, "but so long as you're just looking and not actually trying to heal, you can. You oughta be careful about it, though. A test subject helps. My old roommate used to put up with this kinda shit from me all the time. It really helps to actually put it together and remember how they connect."

"That's so fucking weird," says David.

Sam laughs outright this time, his eyes nearly closing. His teeth are so white. "Ain't it just."

David becomes abruptly aware that he is still sitting there in his desk chair with Sam's wrist in his hand. Aside from those screaming moments on the arena ground, he's never touched Sam. He runs cooler than David's, significantly so, and the veins stick out under his dark skin. David can feel the rise under his thumb, the heartbeat that thuds through it. It's a little fast, he thinks.

He should answer, right?

David's still thinking of a response when Sam's head jerks suddenly to the side, like he's heard something, and a few seconds later David also picks up on footsteps nearing their room. He drops Sam's wrist like it's burned him.

"Sam?" says Ivy, sounding both sleepy and confused outside the door. "Is that you? Are you here?"

"Yeah, darlin'," Sam calls, glancing sidelong at David. David nods his permission, and Sam adds, "Come in."

The door opens, revealing a now-human Ivy in dark sweatpants and a t-shirt, face a little puffy from sleep. "You're here," they say slowly, blinking.

Oh, so they were tired tired.

"Yeah," says Sam, his expression going transparently soft and gentle again.

Ivy crosses the room to him barefoot, completely ignoring David, and holds out both hands towards Sam's face.

Sam, for his part, does not ignore David, sending him another glance that looks a bit closer to nervous.

Ivy wiggles their fingers impatiently.

Apparently unable to resist, Sam leans down enough for Ivy to take his face in their hands and go on tiptoe to kiss his forehead. It's the single most tender thing David has ever seen them do, just a brief press of lips. He feels, suddenly and intensely, like an intruder in his own house.

"Why are you here?" asks Ivy, apparently now content to just stand near Sam and look at him suspiciously. "You weren't supposed to be."

"Change of plans," Sam tells them. His eyes are curled up at the corners still, pinning them with a look of blatant adoration as he reaches out to curl an arm around their waist. "Came to visit."

"Oh." Ivy bumps their head into Sam's side, nuzzling against him. Finally, their eyes catch on David where he's still sitting behind his desk. He waits for the moment of realization, for them to remember who he is and stiffen, or say something to deflect from their obvious display of affection.

They don't do any of that. All they do is stare at him for a long moment in that way they have, where you feel like they're pinning you to a board for dissection.

Usually, David might make a casual remark to dissolve the tension that being caught in Ivy's stare always brings. Something about PDA, maybe. But he keeps it back, the way he has been recently, and just meets their gaze the best he can.

This grows awkward almost immediately, and to David's shock Ivy is the first to look away with a sleepy little frown.

"Should we head home, then?" Sam asks them. "How's Aster?"

Ivy shakes their head. "Still out."

They slept through your giant wolf ass getting up? David thinks wryly, but doesn't say. It would break the gentle, sleepy atmosphere, he tells himself.

"I'll text again to say thank you," Sam says, shrugging. Turning to look at David, he adds, "And thank you, for your time and hospitality."

"Stop that," David says, flatly. "I don't have to repeat myself, do I?"

"I'm being polite, Mr. Shaw," says Sam, with a little quirk of his mouth. "Some of us still do that."

David considers this, then flips him off.

Ivy watches this from Sam's side, quiet, then turns to David and flips him off in return. "Since he won't do it," they say, before dragging Sam out of the room.

"Good night," calls Sam, with a laugh, and doesn't resist.

David stays sitting in his desk chair until Aster appears, sleep-warm and affectionate, and sits on his lap.

The worksheet doesn't get done that night. But it does get done.

[elaraskirbyart]

I would love to hear more about your Kirby AU

And I would love to tell you about my Kirby AU!

At its root, it’s a simple future AU…and it doesn’t really get more complex than that :/

For the sake of simplicity, I’m going to start with the 6 characters I’ve drawn already:

Kirby has been training for years, and is finally a knight! His official title is Sir Strawberry Knight, and, while he doesn’t specialize in any one weapon, his current one is a dagger.

Kirby is still the same ball of love and sunshine that we know and love! He believes that anyone and everyone can be a friend or at least redeemed, no matter what.

The most intriguing (and most irrelevant to the plot) part of Kirby’s design is his wings. They have a feathery texture, but they…aren’t feathers. Honestly, I have no idea what they could possibly be made of. Also, they are HUGE. Just absolutely, ridiculously, MASSIVE.

Ironically, Kirby isn’t very good at flying and prefers to ride his warp star.

Meta Knight is one of Kirby’s two mentors. Other than that, he isn’t much different from his canon counterpart.

Meta’s been a little on edge lately…he’ll be fine, I’m sure

Explaining how Galacta Knight showed up is kind of difficult, so here’s the rough explanation:

After Morpho’s defeat in the Forgotten Land, they couldn’t maintain their hold on Galacta’s soul, releasing him. He eventually showed up in Dream Land a few days later, which (of course) created a lot of panic until Kirby showed up and got things under control.

Galacta is technically retired and doesn’t work as a knight, but he occasionally helps Kirby deal with all of Dream Land’s problems. He is also the second of Kirby’s two mentors.

Gooey and Sword are a very unique pair, for sure.

Their relationship is incredibly complex; roughly mixed between a siblings and apprentice/mentor dynamic.

They aren’t going to be important until later in the story. All you need to know is that Sword is still figuring out emotions and Gooey refuses to be more than 10 feet from his sister at any given time.

I am writing a fanfiction series (my first!!) for this AU; chapter 1 should be on ao3 any day now :>

[parttimepuff]

No gremlin he knows her knows her, like knows her name and knows kind of who she is! He knows!

Having just come in through the front door, at a more manageable height, Gremlin hesitated before nodding. "I was… kinda getting that impression. Deeds, is it cool if I ask you how much you knew about Beep before you got here?" He requested, the king a thrown off at being the one questioned now. "Mm, might as well at this point." Dedede shrugged. "I didn’t say anything about me or you guys-" Beep insisted, her father patting her with a wing. "I know you didn't, sweetheart." Reverie reassured her.

"Those grey folk told me a few things. So did a friend of mine." The penguin explained. "Who?" Kirby asked. If they were a friend of his, they were almost certainly a friend of the hero's as well. "Yeah, who? I get the anons blabbing, but I don't like the idea of somebody else knowing." Gremlin prompted. The mention made it click for the Matter. "Blue." Beep stated to which Dedede nodded in affirmation. "Yeah. He vouched for you. Brought me a whole book's worth a Matter research to convince me, actually." He detailed.

"Blue..? Gooey?" Kirby thought aloud. "Nah, the old man. Metaknight." Dedede clarified. The four adults all reacted with varying degrees of disbelief, shock, or even fear. That the knight, of anyone, had both known about Beep and had gone to bat for her was a lot to take in. But, for her part, having only known him as Blue, the Matter began to realize for the first time since seeing him that the old veteran was trying to help her, not get rid of her. "He was talking to you that day…" She muttered. "We talked for hours, heh." The king chuckled.

Something else bugged her still. "Wait, who the hell is Gooey, why do people keep talking about Gooey??" Beep questioned, Dedede looking at her with some surprise. "Ah… yer telling me you lot never mentioned Gooey to her?" He addressed her family. "Who?" Reverie asked, looking at his brother. "I, didn't?" Gremlin hesitantly questioned no one in particular. "…ah. I guess I, assumed you'd told her, Grem?" Luna thought, getting a frown from him. "Hey, you knew, too-" He began to argue before the king raised a hand to cut him off.

"He's a Matter with two eyes. Blue, long tongue. The only Matter anyone knew 'bout til now who was friendly." Dedede explained. "He's one of my best friends!" Kirby chimed in. "Two, eyes?" Beep repeated, before catching the last bit of what he'd said, eye widening. "…friends…" She murmured. Seeing her uncle's discomfort, she added, "To be fair, they only started telling me things recently, so-". The king looked at the three with some judgement, but also understanding and they couldn't help but feel guilty for it. "But they’re telling me stuff now!!" Beep added in their defense. Carrying on, he faced Beep. "Yeah, forget why he has two." Dedede replied. "He said it was supposed to make him a good spy. But he ended up a good friend instead." Kirby piped up, not able to pass up complimenting his friend. "Ah'll have to introduce ya." The penguin thought. "I wanna meet Gooey…" The Matter expressed, looking back to him. "A spy for what?" She asked. Helpfully, the hero answered. "A spy for Z-" Then Gremlin held a hand over his mouth. "Don't, say that name, ok?" He pleaded.

The puff's eyes widened as the Dream Demon lowered his hand. It didn't always occur to him how terrifying a figure the fallen villain was. "O-oh, sorry…" Kirby mumbled, staring at the ground. "…for that, yeah. Til he broke away cause he liked it here." Dedede continued. "Ah think he'd like ta meet you, too. Nova knows he hasn't got any other Matters to talk to." "…oh." Beep voiced. "I thought Dark Matters aren’t allowed to stay, you’re here for Rev." She expressed.

Dedede shifted uncomfortably. He figured he'd have to touch on this, but it wasn't easy. "…ah… have a bad history with 'em, truthfully. Ain't exactly a secret. Gooey was the exception, Kirb made a good case for him." He started. "Of course!! You couldn't kick him out after he helped so much!!" Kirby exclaimed. "Was still, real damn scared of them. Still kinda am… Til ah found out about you, ah wouldn't've wanted any other Matters here." The king told her.

Silence fell as Beep blinked, not entirely sure she'd understood that right. "You, aren’t gonna tell me to leave even if Rev stays?" She asked. All this time, it was her father's acceptance she'd been hoping for. She'd not dared to consider her own. The king's eyes widened. "Did you think..? …Beep, if ah'm gonna be 100% honest, ah was hoping to find you today and… just, let you know that you have a place here." He gently replied.

After a moment, she began shaking. "…Beep? Are you ok..?" Reverie questioned, placing a wing at her side for comfort. "I can stay…?" Beep asked, voice barely above a whisper. The penguin didn't need to think about his answer. "Yes, ah sincerely hope you do, too." Dedede said. She stared straight ahead at nothing. "…kid?" He tried, to no response. He sounded so far away now. To say she was reeling was an understatement.

[sobsicles]

claire's not expecting them to be at the door. she blinks at the sight of four men all huddled on the stoop with flowers and what appears to be bags of food flowing from their arms. jack is peeking above a bouquet, beaming at her.

"who's at the door?!" jody calls from the kitchen, her voice muffled by the sound of grease popping and the clanking of pans and spatulas meeting over and over.

"god," claire calls back, because she likes to think she's funny.

there's a beat of silence, and then jody's sticking her head out the kitchen. the moment she sees them, she breaks out into a grin and saunters over, shoving the spatula in claire's hand as she chatters away.

"what's going on out there?" donna asks as claire escapes back to the kitchen to poke at food jody is apparently willing to burn just because the winchesters decided to show their faces today of all days.

"judgement day," claire says dryly.

donna shares a look with patience. "haven't we dealt with that already a few times?"

"only by association," claire admits, "but i wouldn't put it past them to bring it along with 'em now. the boys are here."

"oh, isn't that nice?" donna chirps, already popping up from her chair. "i didn't know they were stopping by today."

"wonder how sam's doing," patience agrees, wandering out the kitchen right along with donna. claire can hear everyone cracking up and talking in the living room.

trust the winchesters to shake things up just by showing up. can't have one goddamn day, can they? well, that's not true. in their case, as far as claire is concerned, they're shitty for showing up and shitty for not. someone has to knock 'em all down a peg or two, so she might as well be the one.

"what did that chicken ever do to you?" kaia asks teasingly as she sidles into the kitchen and stops by the stove, hip-checking claire out of the way to take over.

"the boys are here," claire informs her.

kaia raises her eyebrows. "like, the boys as in the winchesters, or is this a milkshake pun?"

"i can only be so gay, sweetheart," claire says, shooting her a flat look.

"raise the bar a little. could be gayer. you can always be gayer," kaia teases, reaching out to sneak her hand around claire's hip, her eyes bright with amusement.

"you know what? you're right," claire agrees and immediately tries to cop a feel while kaia laughs and dances out of range.

jack appears in the doorway. "hello," he says, whispering for some reason. "claire, i need your help."

"no," claire says, not even glancing at him. she continues to try and put her hand up kaia's shirt, just to see her laugh.

"can i borrow twenty dollars?" jack asks.

"no. aren't you god?"

"yes, but i don't get paid to be."

"well, sucks for you. borrow money from cas," claire mutters, settling in behind kaia as she focuses on the food on the stove, swatting lazily at claire's roaming hands.

"he'll just borrow money from dean."

"borrow from sam."

"he'll just borrow money from dean."

"borrow from—wait, why does it matter if it's from dean? just borrow from him."

jack huffs. "i can't. i need the money for dean. i have a card, and i read online it's customary to give money with a card. also, will you sign it?"

"you got dean a card?" claire asks, craning her head around to stare at jack skeptically.

"yes."

"don't tell me it's for what i think it is."

"mother's day," jack confirms unironically.

claire wheezes out a laugh. "oh my god."

"there's a pen in the catty on the fridge," kaia says, clearly amused.

"yeah. yeah, this is—yeah." claire chokes on more laughter and stumbles towards the group of pens in the magnet container on the fridge. she waggles her fingers at jack, clearing her throat, lips twitching. "hand it over, beanstalk. you're a fucking genius."

"oh! thank you," jack declares cheerfully, passing over the card. "so, can i borrow twenty dollars?"

"hell no," claire says. she braces the card against the fridge and swallows down a laugh. sam has already signed it. this just gets better and better. happy mother's day, old man, aka the secondary source of my mommy and daddy issues. you're going for gold with this double-whammy, she writes.

"but i need it," jack insists, staring at her with wide eyes.

claire shrugs. "tough break, kid. what, cas doesn't give you an allowance? is it just me, or are dads getting stricter these days?"

"i didn't think about it in advance," jack admits sadly. "i want to do it right for the holiday. it's mother's day, claire."

"i'm well aware. sorry to break it to you, kid, but last I checked, your mom's as dead as mine," claire tells him, her voice flat. he frowns and she forces herself not to feel bad. everything that sucks for him sucked for her first, so her sympathy levels are a little drained. "father's day will roll around eventually, and you've got a long line of those, so wait your turn."

"i've already done something for my mother today," jack says slowly, his eyebrows furrowed. "i visited her in heaven."

claire snorts derisively and passes the card back over. "must be nice."

"it was," jack agrees, completely missing the point. "i really can't borrow twenty dollars? i'll pay you back."

"nah," claire says. "who cares anyway? wait, why is dean the mom?"

"well, castiel is my father."

"ah, so it's about them having the hots for each other, then? really, kid, you coulda just made dean your step-dad."

jack blinks. "they have the...hots for each other? you mean sex. they have sex?"

"you know what?" claire points at him with her free hand. "i'm not gonna burst your bubble on that one. you've got enough issues on your own without wondering if mommy and daddy still have a spark, so I'm gonna leave that alone. i've got five dollars. take it or leave it."

"deal," jack says immediately.

money is exchanged, and jack looks like he's on cloud nine. claire's just stoked to see the expression on dean's face when he gets the card. it's a homemade card and everything, nothing like the two claire, kaia, patience, and alex got for jody and donna.

claire helps kaia finish up the chicken, which promptly gets set aside to wait on the rest of the food in the oven. sam wanders in at some point to drop off the food they brought. dessert, by the looks of it. pies and cakes that go in the fridge. it's kind of them, but claire would shoot herself in the foot before she ever admits it.

she lets kaia tug her into the living room where everyone is already at, rolling her eyes at how cheered everyone seems just because the winchesters happened to grace their doorstep. really, they all suck.

but also—and claire will never admit this, not even to save her own life—it's nice to see 'em again. it's nice that they've come to celebrate the day in jody and donna's name, giving them flowers and such. it's nice that they hang around for a bit and don't bring the world crashing down on everyone for the duration of their stay.

and, well, it's nice to see cas, too.

he perches up next to the couch that claire is squeezed on with alex, donna, kaia, and jack. kaia is practically in her lap, but claire is secretly glad for the excuse. while everyone talks and has conversations across one another, cas focuses entirely on her.

another thing claire will never admit is how reluctantly pleased by that she is. it warms her. stupidly, it turns soft and gooey in her chest that he automatically gives her his undivided attention over everyone else, even jack. but, then again, it's not cas' day, so she doesn't have to look too close to that feeling. it's mother's day, so it's not about him.

when the food is ready, they reconvene in the kitchen, and that's when they crack out the cards and gifts. claire is practically vibrating with laughter before jack has even brought his card out. before that, though, she smiles softly and strokes kaia's thigh under the table as jody and donna read their cards and chuckle at the messages, their gazes warm and their smiles sweet. they look happy. they deserve to be.

"okay, last one," claire announces, grinning at jack. she's starting to think she likes this kid if he's an agent of chaos like this.

and okay, maybe she hates him a little in abstract, but in detail, she finds that she does actually like him. you kinda just wanna put him in your pocket without meaning to, she's learned. there's too much to explore with the whole psuedo sibling thing and parents that aren't parents, as well as parents that are but didn't choose to be, only he did choose one of them, and it wasn't her. it's complicated, but underneath it all, there's a vibrant love there that she can't look directly at. sometimes, she despises that she's included in it; yet, just the same, she's thankful that she is.

"oh hell," dean mutters, swinging his gaze between alex and patience. "one of you...ya know? did we miss something?"

claire snorts.

"what? no," alex replies, grimacing. "i have no idea what claire's talking about. claire, what the hell are you talking about?"

"jack?" claire prompts in a wheeze.

"here you go," jack chirps, holding out the card to dean, beaming. "happy mother's day."

the expression on dean's face is somehow even better than claire imagined. she howls with laughter while sam buries his face in his hands, his shoulders jerking. cas squints at jack, and jody's eyebrows fly up at the same exact time that donna grins.

"is this a joke?" dean sputters.

"no, no, nope," claire chokes out, nearly fucking crying with laughter. "happy mother's day, dean."

"you gotta take it, man," sam agrees, clearing his throat and biting back a smile as he bobs his head dutifully towards the card.

dean fixes sam with a flat look and snatches the card. "you're all so fucking—sam, you signed it?!"

"happy mother's day," sam says, his mouth pinched, visibly trying not to laugh.

"do you like it?" jack asks earnestly. "i made the card, sam signed it first, and claire provided the money."

"i—" dean stares down at the card, then heaves a sigh and looks up at jack. it's clear to him that—out of everyone—jack is clearly taking this very seriously. he offers him a weak smile, then swallows. "yeah, s'great, kid. thank you. sam, you are dead to me. claire, i will be spending this on something you hate. cas, this is somehow your fault."

"yup, sounds like a mother to me," jody declares, holding up her beer with a smile.

"welcome to the club," donna agrees, holding hers up as well. "everyone else annoys the shit out of you, but you love 'em anyway."

dean sighs and clinks his beer to theirs.

[skellebonez]

The prompt you wrote with baby MK was extremely cute, but it also gave me an idea that wouldn't leave my brain: Imagine that same situation, but with Mei and Macaque. This is an open prompt, you can do with this whatever you like!

MK isn’t the only one who gets to have this kind of curse/ailment anymore! And I can’t resist putting this in the Cursed AU specifically, simply because I love the idea of this Macaque being confronted face first with the fact he actually cares. Even if it happens 200 times.

"What in the absolute hell are we supposed to do now?" Macaque groaned out, looking around the both of them for any indication of an escape that didn't involve him leaving Mei behind. Which was looking slimmer and slimmer if he didn’t want her to be in more physical danger than she already was. So. Stranded it was.

"I can still help!" Mei insisted, crossing her arms and standing her ground with a wide smirk. "I'm not powerless you know!"

"Never said you were, Jade," Macaque acknowledged instantly, tensing for a half moment when he realized how much he had to be attached to say something like that so fast. He forced himself to relax once again, no point in adding more fuel to the fire of worry that laid between them. "This just makes things complicated."

Oh yeah... complicated, that was one way to put it, definitely. If Macaque was being generous. And ignoring the fact that Mei wasn’t even 4 feet tall... and 4 years old. Physically.

Macaque was supposed to be on official mystic monkey business alone. Or at least that’s what he told Mei and MK to hopefully keep them out of his fur, but apparently Mei had other ideas. Like sneaking onto the private boat he had paid for to be taken to this secluded island far out into the ocean undetected, much farther than Mount Huaguo was. How she managed to sneak past security he may never know, now would he know how she managed to stay hidden for their 7 hour journey, and he would never admit that he was genuinely impressed.

He genuinely had not known she joined him until after the boat left, leaving them both stranded for at least the next 24 hours.

Horray.

Things had actually been going pretty ok, for the most part, after she had made herself known. In actuality Macaque was here to hunt down a specific item of his he had left behind on the island years ago, nothing really world shattering just... important to him. He knew that it would be safe here when he left it, the island as uninhabited and out of the way for humans to come to as it was.

But he also knew many powerful demons occasionally used this island as a hiding ground for when they were injured or planning something, against the owner’s wishes. And unfortunately one such demon just happened to be there on the one day of the while year he planned on coming.

That demon was deader than anything else on this island at the moment. Macaque hadn’t tried to kill him, not really, but they had lobbed something at him that Mei jumped in front of and he reacted on instinct.

If the thing had hit him in the first place they would probably be just fine. A decade and a half off his life span was nothing, unless it was set to a specific age in which... well, he was already able to do most of what he could do as a child so they still probably would have been ok. And hopefully she would be, if his memory served this particular demon was talented only in making temporary cursed and potions... mostly.

He hoped.

“Are you certain using your powers won’t hurt you?” Macaque asked, staring down at the short girl before him.

“I don’t think so?” Mei said with a shrug. “I mean, I’ve kinda had them for as long as I remember so... probably not.”

“Let’s not take that chance,” Macaque said with a sigh, looking around the beach. There was nothing for him to use, no emergency radio or boat. The best they had found on their entire search was a dinky little shelter. “It looks like our best bet would be to hunker down in that building and wait until mid day tomorrow for the boat to return. Provided there aren’t any more demons around we should be fine...”

“I can build a fire!” Mei proclaimed, running off before Macaque could even hope to catch her.

Something pulled in his chest, a protective thrum that he hadn’t felt since... since his journey with MK, but was becoming increasingly common the more time he spent training Mei. And he hadn’t felt that for so long he had forgotten what it felt like when it happened then, so unfamiliar with the desire to protect his old home and monkey friends of Mount Huaguo.

He would never admit even to himself that that feeling was “caring”. At least not yet.

“Jade, get back here!” Macaque yelled, moving to rush off after her before she came barreling back herself with armfuls of sticks and pine cones.

“I got everything we need!” She laughed and threw everything down in front of the building, looking around. “Did you see any rocks?”

“I know how to build a fire,” Macaque said softly, crossing his arms and shaking his head. “We probably don’t even need one.”

“Aw, but this is like a camping trip now!” Mei said, flailing her arms in the direction of the sticks. “I’ve even got marshmallows in my backpack!”

“Why did you bring m-never mind,” Macaque groaned, rubbing his face and sighing deeply. “OK. We’ll build a fire.”

~

It had gone better than hoped, actually. Macaque was able to start the fire with ease and Mei had apparently thought ahead enough that she’s brought the ingredients to make something called s’mores. Macaque had never seen them before, either they were new or they were a foreign treat, but MK had mentioned them to him on their journey and he had to admit... they were nice.

He just wished the gooey marshmallow didn’t stick to his fur so bad.

“And then MK did something that made the clone glow gold and explode into a bazillion pieces of hair!” Mei said, sweeping her arms out as she finisher her story. “And that’s how MK created and saved me from Porty Clone.”

“Sound like MK’s clones had quite the variety to them,” Macaque said with a smile. He’d relaxed over the evening, the normal sounds of the island confirming to him that it was just the two of them now and that at the very least they were safe from attack for the moment. “No wonder he’s careful not to overuse them.”

“Yeah, but Porty was pretty fun until he went overboard,” Mei replied, words cutting off with a yawn and a shiver as the wind picked up. “What time is it?”

Macaque looked up, watching the moon and the stars. “Late enough that it would be best to get some rest. We don’t want to miss the boat after all.”

“Hey, you only paid them half so they better come looking for you if you don’t show up!” She laughed out, making her way into the building as Macaque dumped sand on the fire to douse it. Just in case, don’t need the island catching fire with the wind. “ So uh... what are you going to tell them about... me?”

“That I came here looking for you,” he said plainly, shutting the door behind them. The moonlight shone through the windows of the shelter, giving them just enough light to see the one sad little cot it housed, right next to the massive stock of canned food they had also raided for dinner. He pulled the blanket on the cot back, grimacing at the dust on the blanket but satisfied with the condition of everything under it. He went outside to shake it out and make it usable again. “They know I was looking for something and that’s all they need to know.”

“What were you looking for anyway, Hot Topic?” Mei asked after a moment, watching Macaque make the bed again. “And how do you... know about this place?”

“... it’s mine, actually,” he said quietly, looking around the sad shelter. Unfurnished, cold and empty, with only the island itself and non-perishable food for survival. “I haven’t been back in a long time and most know to stay away, but sometimes demons don’t care. I was looking for something... unimportant.”

“It must have been important if you came all this way to find it,” Mei said, yawning again and rubbing her eyes.

“Ok, that’s enough of that!” Macaque exclaimed, hoping his glamor was hiding the embarrassed flush of his ears at her accusation. “Time for sleep!”

Without giving her a second to protest Macaque grabbed her around the waist with his tail and deposited her under the now clean enough blanket before forcibly tucking her in.

“Hey!” She protested, scowling at him once her arms were free. “I can’t sleep yet!”

“Why not?” Macaque chanced, wondering if he was going to regret this.

“You never told me a story.”

“... huh?”

“At the camp fire!” Mei insisted, leaning over the bed to grab her backpack and hold it to herself like it was a stuffed animal (which wasn’t hard since it was... basically a hollow stuffed dragon anyway). “I told you a bunch of stories about me and MK and Piggy and Tangy and Sandy and you didn’t tell me anything about you and the Monkey King! So spill one, I’m not going to sleep until you do!”

Macaque wanted to say no, wanted to glare at Mei until she just went to sleep through sheer exhaustion, wanted to walk out of the building and just stand guard at the door instead... but he kept looking into her teeny tiny 4 year old glower and he couldn’t help but sigh in defeat.

“Fine...” He said after a moment, moving to sit at the head of the bed. He watched as Mei smiled widely, making herself comfortable. “Let’s see... where should we begin... How about the time Wukong thought it would be a good idea to challenge the whole island to 1 on 1 combat for the title of king because he was bored, long before his proper training?”

“That sounds like him,” Mei said, smiling into her backpack with another yawn as she closed her eyes. “Yeah... tell that one.”

“OK, so this was only a little while after he jumped through the waterfall...”

And Macaque went on and on, giving much more detail than necessary, watching as Mei slowly relaxed until she eventually nodded off before the story even got close to the ending.

Which was... probably good for Macaque, to be honest.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the item he had come here to find. It was simple, all things considered. A little carved crown, made from wood and preserved carefully through the years, far too small for his head and more of a bracelet. Wukong had made it for him when their own duel, the final one of the whole island, ended in a draw all those centuries ago. A show of how they could, maybe, rule the mountain together one day. He’d left it here so long ago that he worried it would have been destroyed or fallen apart over time.

Apparently Wukong knew a little something about what he was doing back then after all.

Macaque smiled, slipping it back into his pocket as he slid off the bed to sit against it, all six ears fluttering out to listen to the island around them. Just in case.

Mei slept mostly soundly behind him and if she started to whine in the beginnings of a nightmare and he turned around to soothe her and whisper that he was there and she was alright well... that would be something to talk about if she remembered it.

[bokettochild]

Of Gramma’s and Pie

Saw a prompt about Wild and Legend baking pie together, so here we are I guess...

Should this go in the Bunny Merchant’s Fluffy Adventure’s collection? It’s not exactly Ravio centric....

 “So, you claim the vet can bake.”

 It’s morning and the heroes stopped by again last night, wounded and tired and all too happy to sip warm cider and cocoa while Ravio bustled about and worked with Mr. Hero to organize sleeping arrangements for them. The sun rose long ago, but most of Mr. Hero’s family is still asleep, and when he’d last checked he’d found Captain Hero Sir Jr. dozing on Mr. Hero’s bed with young Wild curled into one side and Tune curled into the other, Mr. Rancher spread out over the top of them like some sort of strange blanket.  

 Mr. Chosen Hero dozes on the couch, sailcloth wrapped around him as well as Mr. Hero’s favorite blanket, and the veteran hero lies collapsed on the floor (but suitably surrounded by cushions) at his side, the older hero’s hand hanging down to where Mr. Hero clings to it in his sleep, the edge of the quilt trails over the top of him, and Ravio seriously doubts that his housemate will be waking any time soon.  

 Fortunately, he’s not pressed for company, what with Mr. Traveler Hero happily inspecting the garden outside and humming softly, and Mr. Smithy busily mending the front door that he’s been nagging Mr. Hero about for years now. The tune of their work mixes with that of his own as he mixes up fresh bread dough to bake for breakfast.

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir had stumbled into the kitchen mere minutes ago, pouring himself a cup of coffee from Ravio’s beloved Hytopian-press, and sipping it slowly as he sits at the table and watches Ravio work

 The statement is out of nowhere, but Mr. Captain Hero Sir’s blue eyes sparkle over the rim of his mug, and Ravio can only smile back. “Yes, Mr. Hero is an excellent cook!”

 “Really?” The captain doesn’t sound the least bit convinced, cocking a brow and giving a smile that screams doubt. “The vet, Mister I-Burn-Any-Food-I-Touch?”

 “Mr. Captain Hero Sir!” Ravio exclaims, a hand drawing up to touch his chest in a sign of offence. “You speak so cruelly! Sure, Mr. Hero never mastered campfire cooking, but he’s a talented cook!”

 The captain continued to stare and smile in unbelief.

 “You should taste his pies.” Ravio sighs, determined to convince his friend. “Light buttery crusts, sweet tender centers, just the right balance of spicey and sweet...” He can already taste the thick gooey richness that is mincemeat, eyes sparkling at the thought of molasses, and stomach growling loudly at the mere hint of apple pie. “I’ll ask him to make you one,” He chirps as he snaps back to attention, shooing Sheerow away from his bread dough and offering his little friend a raisin to keep him busy. “What’s your favorite pie, Mr. Captain Hero Sir?”

 “Oh no,” Mr. Captain Hero Sir shakes his head, laughing lightly. “I don’t like pie.”

 From the bedroom, Captain Hero Sir Jr.’s snores cut off abruptly, Wild kicking lightly in his sleep and Tune’s brows twitching. In the living room, Mr. Chosen Hero starts awake and Mr. Hero stirs slightly, brow furrowing and nose wiggling at some disturbance.

 Three sets of eyes stare at Mr. Captain Hero Sir, one through the window, another from the door, and the third practically in the captain’s face as Ravio darts forwards and slams his hands on the table. Coffee sloshes out of the mug and onto his sleeve, but he’s too busy staring down his old friend to care.

 “You don’t like pie?!?!?!”

 “Um...” Mr. Captain Hero Sir pulls away, wincing at the sudden noise and glancing nervously at the bedroom door. “No?”

 He’s torn, half of him utterly horrified and half wanting to order the captain to go sit in a corner and think about what he’s said, as if his friend is a naughty child, and the other worriedly wondering if Mr. Captain Hero Sir even knows what a proper pie tastes like. “But...how?”

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir shrugs, almost calm, as if his words aren’t critical to their friendship (they aren’t, not really, but Ravio had thought the captain had more sense than this). “It’s just not something I enjoy. If I wanted to eat fruit I’d go buy some, if I want crunchy bread I’ll buy some, why on earth would I mix them?”

 “I sense a disturbance in nature,” Wild and Captain Hero Sir Jr. both stand in the doorway, the younger sleepily rubbing his eyes as the words leave his mouth with a yawn while his elder looms behind him, face shaded in the shadows of the doorway. “What’s happening out here?”

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir sighs in resignation, letting his head fall into his hands as he whispers something unintelligible under his breath, but Ravio doesn’t spare him an ounce of pity as he points an accusing finger the captain’s way. “Mr. Captain Hero Sir says he doesn’t like pie!”

 Four heads shoot up to stare at the man in question, the sleep fading from Wild’s eyes and Captain Hero Sir Jr. sighing in what can only be disappointment with his older brother/father-figure. Over in the living room, Mr. Chosen Hero has shot up to stare in something like shock at the captain, Mr. Hero’s head rising up next to him with a glower that makes them all shiver.

 “Who said what in my house?”

 “I don’t like pie.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir reiterates, and Ravio genuinely has to stumble back, hand on his brow as he looks at the captain.  

 “My own friend! Speaking such words of sacrilege! Such disrespect and sin! Why? I trusted you, Mr. Captain Hero Sir!”

 The man in question sighs again, loudly, shaking his head. “You don’t need to make a big deal out of it, it’s just pie, it’s not even-”

 “Just pie?!?” Two heroes shout en tandem, Mr. Hero practically vaulting himself over the couch and Wild stiffening indignantly.

 “It’s not ‘just pie’!” Mr. Hero protests. “Have you ever eaten pie? Have you never-”

 “Pie is sacred.” Wild nods sagely, eyes sharp and firm as they meet the captains.

 “See?” Mr. Hero motions to the younger hero. “Pie is sacred! You do not disrespect pie!”

 The disagreement turns into a full-blown argument and Ravio can only watch in ever growing shock at how defensive some of the heroes can be about their opinions; Mr. Captain Hero Sir tiredly reiterating his disagreement while the others each travel through the five stages of grief on repeat, Mr. Hero eventually scowling darkly and uttering the words that silence the others.

 “I am gonna to make a pie so lip-smackin' good you’ll be on your knees repentin’ for your sins.”

 And Mr. Captain Hero Sir looks all the more tired at the words, rubbing his head at the beginnings of a country twang in Mr. Hero’s voice as the veteran turns to Wild, eyes flashing indigo as they meet eerie cornflower blue. “Wild, I’ll need your help.”

 “Why?” Ravio whispers, looking between the two.

 “Because,” Mr. Hero runs his hands through his long hair, the locks still messy from sleep and left uncombed for days. “I still haven’t been able to recreate Gran’s recipe for apple pie and Wild’s my best chance at figuring out what I’m doing wrong.”

 The merchant blinks. Once. Twice. Three times. And stares at his friend. “Doesn’t your grandmother live just down the road a way? Only an hour or so? Can’t you just ask her?”

 And as eyes turn to Mr. Hero, the other boy waves him off, ears tainted pink as he turns to the kitchen cabinets and starts searching. “Nope, not tryin’ that. It’s been five years or so an’ she’d only be upset with me for not getting' news to her ‘bout anything. I’d rather save her the bother of fussin’ and worryin’.”

 “You-” Mr. Captain Hero Sir is the one who looks outraged now. “You don’t keep your grandma up to date about how you are? What kind of a grandson are you, vet?!?!”

 “A terrible one.” Mr. Hero sighs into the cabinet, and while his voice is resigned his ears droop ever so slightly, making the captain pause in his scolding.

 Green meets royal blue as merchant and captain exchange a worried look, before both nodding as a silent conversation is spun between them, Mr. Captain Hero Sir plucking up his coffee mug and retreating, and Ravio following behind a few minutes later after making sure his bread is in the oven and that those in the kitchen are fully distracted and properly attired (it brings him no small amount of joy to see Mr. Hero don the frilly bunny apron he gave him last holiday season).

 “We’re contacting that poor woman.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir murmurs as soon as the two of them are clear of the kitchen. “She’s got to be worried sick about him.”

 “Who?” Mr. Chosen Hero is still blinking sleep from his eyes, but he looks between them with curiosity.

 “Legend’s Gran.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir, explains. “Turns out the vet hasn’t contacted her in something close to five years, and now feels awkward about trying.”

 “Oh.” Mr. Chosen Hero murmurs sadly. “Poor vet!”

 “Poor Legend’s grandma!” Mr. Captain Hero Sir , brows furrowed as he shakes his head. “She’s got to be worried sick about him! Imagine if Wind’s granny didn’t know where he was for five years! She’d be sick as death with worry!”

 “We need to contact her.” Mr. Chosen Hero breathes, eyes wide.

 “Agreed.” The other two nod.

 Mr. Chosen Hero’s hand is the steadiest, and his script the most elegant as they work to scribble out a letter. Originally, Mr. Captain Hero Sir had wanted to forge the letter and present it as being from Mr. Hero himself, but Mr. Chosen Hero had rejected the idea, claiming that doing so would only cause problems. “I’m a master of letter mischief.” The Skyloftian claims with a twinkle in his eyes. “You don’t write a letter for someone, or you’ll just cause trouble. Trust me. The best way to do this is honestly.”

 At the doubtful expressions of the other two he adds on, only slightly sheepish. “All other methods are excellent ways of destroying relationships, again, trust me on this one. If we present it as Legend’s words, he’ll just get mad at all of us, and if we lie, then they’ll both be mad and likely hurt. But if we tell her the truth, that Legend is hesitant to reach out because he thinks she’ll only be upset, then any decent granny would either reply or wing it over here as soon as possible.”

 “That’s ‘hoof it over here’.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir corrects with a grin. “But you’ve got the right spirit, Sky.”

 The other man smiles up at him from his seat, eyes twinkling with trouble. “We share a spirit, so...”

 The captain cuffs the back of his friend’s head, missing as Mr. Chosen Hero ducks, giggling softly and smiling as he turns his attention to the parchment and ink that Ravio had provided for their mission. The quill stills just above the paper as Mr. Chosen Hero pauses, biting his lip and looking up at the two of them. “How should I address it?”

 The captain blinks, and Ravio watches as the man frowns down at the blank parchment. “...I don’t know. Does Legend even have a last name?”

 “Lon.” Ravio chirps, moving to grab a letter laid at the top of the desk and pointing out the words scrawled on it in Miss Princess Zelda’s hand. Link Lon, the paper reads, and both of the heroes blink at it incredulously.

 “Lon? Like-”

 “Miss Malon?” Mr. Chosen Hero breathes, and the two exchange a glance.

 “Miss- Oh!” The merchant brightens. “You mean Grammalon?” Again, he darts across the bedroom towards one of the shelves, the heroes’ eyes following his motions as he selects a framed picture from one of the shelves and presents it to them.

 He watches in amusement as their eyes grow wide, Mr. Chosen Hero setting down his quill and reverently touching the picture.  

 “Is that Time?” Mr. Captain Hero Sir breathes, brows cocked as he bends over to study the picture that now lies in Mr. Chosen Hero’s hands.

 “Is what me?” And there the kid/not-kid is, standing in the doorway with raised brows and a curious tilt to his head (some things never change).

 “Time, Legend has your picture on his wall.” The captain chuckles, confusion still apparent in his gaze as his younger brother/son crosses the length of the room to stare at the picture.

 Sure enough, the picture, faded and grainy, displays Time’s smiling face, free of markings or scars, with both eyes shining in a smile as what appears to be the younger version of the hero stares out from the photo, arms wrapped around an older woman with equally bright eyes and long windswept hair.  

 “That’s Mr. Hero’s Grammalon.” Ravio chirps as the three stare. “And her grandson, Mr. Hero’s ancestor, Sir Hero Raven.”

 “Hero of Ravens?” The three heroes look at each other in confusion, and Ravio has to bite back a giggle at their stupidity. All Heroes were the same it seemed.  

 “Hero of Labrynnia, but his name was Raven. He’s Mr. Hero’s ancestor and mentor, but don’t let on that I told you!” He whispers, conspiratorially while the three adult heroes blink at him in confusion.  

 “Legend had a....” Twilight breathes

 “How did his ancestor mentor him?” Sky wonders aloud.

 “Are they still at it?” Legend grumbles as he stirs the dry ingrediants, gaze turning to where Wild stands by the cabinets, ears perked towards the bedroom door.  

 “Yep.” The champion replies, climbing on top of a shelf to reach something located higher up. “How do you even reach stuff this high?”

 “Same way you are right now.” legend smirks, violet eyes never leaving the champion, waiting for the second he slips and sighing softly with relief when Wild hops easily down. “Don’t tell Ravio though, he’d scold me for putting me feet on things.”

 Wild nods and the two return to their work, stirring and mixing and measuring and generally existing within the same space as they work.

 It’s nice having someone to cook with, someone who isn’t fussy (although he does enjoy working with Ravio) and a person who’s daring enough to try nearly anything to make a recipe perfect. The vet and champion work in an easy dance, darting past each other and reaching over around and past in order to get what they need, falling into an easy pattern as Legend reaches for the cinnamon to hand to Wild just as the champion hands him a stack of pie pans to place the crusts in once their ready.

 It’s easy to melt into the lull of the work, and he’s nearly lost in slicing the apples the right way when Wild’s voice begins to waver with an all too familiar lilting tune that has violet eyes shooting up to stare at him.

 “Where did you learn that song?”

 “You like it?” Wild offers a weak smile, and the vet can only nod slowly as Wild’s attention drifts back down to his work. “I think my mother taught it to me, I don’t know. It plays in my head when I work, and sometimes when I cook.”

 “You too, huh?”

 At the champion’s confused stare, he elaborates. “My Gran hums the same song when she works the farm, I’ve known it since I was a tot. Guess I never figured that our weird...” He gestures airily, careful not to scatter flour from his white-dusted fingers. “Family, I guess, that we’d all probably learn it.”

 “Where did it come from?” Wild cocks his head, eyes imploring and ever so wide that it’s hard for Legend to remember he needs to look up to meet them instead of down.  

 “Great Grammalon.” Legend answers easily. He doesn’t know why the words spill from his mouth or why he’s so open with the kid, but Wild isn’t teasing and there’s no one else about now that Four’s moved on to join Hyrule in inspecting the bee hives out in the back. “It’s the family horse song, something of a lullaby too.”

 “Does it have words?” Wild presses, curios and open, drawing a short halting laugh from the vet with the innocence of a face that has many times before been twisted in smiles that would make Hylia shudder.

 “I recken’ so, never learned them though, just the tune.”

 And Wild nods, content with his answer as the two return to their work. When the song drifts over the kitchen again, Legend startles to find that his voice is joining in, humming a soft melody to Wild’s lilting voice, the tune weaving about the kitchen and making every motion and task feel like a dance. They’re both light on their feet, both nimble and quick, both seamless in their motions in a way that makes it so much like a dance that Legend’s nearly lost in it.

 In the bedroom, Twilight blinks awake to help write a letter to a forlorn and forgotten grandmother, while, in the kitchen, the vet and champion work to a tune that rings familiar in more than just their own ears.

  Come breakfast time, when the others are awake at last and everyone has tumbled into the kitchen, they find Wild clapping the flour from his hands over the top of an already dust covered and violently sneezing vet, who’s smile stretches just as far as the champions as he wipes apple juice slick hands across Wild’s tunic, from the shoulders to the waist, snickering wildly as the younger hero pulls back with a soft whine of complaint.

 “You two have been busy.” Time chuckles as he walks into the room, wiping ink from his fingers across Legend’s white dusted apron.

 “Twilight, your kid needs to be controlled.” Legend promptly deadpans, earning a hurt look from the champion.

 “But we just had a bonding moment!” Wild protests.  

 “You can’t deny the magic of bonding moments.” Time nods sagaciously as Wild embraces the vet, further covering the vet in flour and now juice as Legend rolls his eyes, but there’s no missing the little smile on his face or the gentle way he pats the arm that wraps around his front as Wild nuzzles into his flour coated hair.

 “Mr. Hero!” Ravio’s startled shriek sounds, an envelope fluttering to the floor as he freezes, green eyes widening in horror. “What in Lolia’s name have the two of you been doing!”

 “Legend spilled the-” The champion is cut off by a fast-moving elbow to the stomach, making him wheeze lightly as Legend reaches above his head to muffle the kid’s voice.

 “Wild knocked a bag of flour off of the top shelf. Don’t worry he- yech!” The vet surges forward with a horrified expression, only to fall forwards into Wild’s arms where they’re still hooked around his chest, the champion’s tongue lolling out of his mouth with a dopey grin.

 “Licking the hand? Really Wild?” Twilight shakes his head.

 “That’s disgusting!” Legend shivers, wiping his hand off on his once pink but now white apron.

 “The vet knocked it over.” Wild says sweetly.

 “You lil’ shit!” Legend scowls upwards at the hero holding him, but when Wild’s eyes meet his there’s a glimmer of something mischievous in the vet’s gaze. “How would I even reach that?”

 The champion only grins, a bit feral and entirely insane, and squeezes Legend closer. “You're a gremlin too!” And this time when the champion nuzzles again his hair with a delighted growling Legend only sits there in the embrace, covered in flour and wearing the most hideously frilly and pink apron any of them have ever seen, a weary but fond grin pulling at his lips.

 “What’s with the letter.” The pink-and-white-headed vet questions, cocking a brow and leaning back in the embrace of a beaming Wild.

 “It’s um...” Ravio flushes, darkening continuously as Legend continues to stare at him. “It’s...”

 “It’s a letter to your gran.” Warriors pipes up, sipping a second mug of coffee as he sist at the table. “Poor woman deserves to know you're okay.”

 The vet stiffens in Wild’s hold, earning Warriors a glare from the champion as well as the vet for ruining the bonding cuddles. “I told you to let it alone.” Legend scowls, hands fisting in his frankly hideous apron.

 “And I know what it’s like to be a parent who doesn’t know where their kid is.” Warriors returns evenly, eyes softening slightly. “Privacy or not, you’re hurting someone else, and if it means not respecting your wishes in order to set an old woman’s heart at ease-”

 “Okay!” Legend snaps, before sagging back against Wild, going very nearly limp and running is hand down his face as the champion looks down at his cooking buddy with concern in his gaze. “Just- What did you guys write?”

 “We told her you’re okay.” Sky offers. “You’ve been traveling and doing things for the royal family and others and you were feeling guilty over not talking to her. We told her why you hadn’t visited, based on what you said earlier, and we said that we’d try and talk to you about it when we could.”  

 The vet nods slowly, a frown creasing his face where he’d been bright and smiling moments before. “Okay.”

 “Are you alright with us sending it?” The gentle hero presses cautiously, and at Legend’s nod of the head Sheerow is already whizzing over to accept the letter from Ravio’s hands before whizzing back out the open window with an eager noise that has Legend shaking his head with a hint of a smile.

 “Come on,” Wild hefts the smaller hero in his arms like a child with a puppy. “We need to force feed my dad some pie!”

 There was no escaping it, Ravio’s bread was set aside and the only food available was three crisp and warm apple pies, which disappeared almost immediately.

 Warriors repented of his sins.  

[jobean12-blog]

Can’t Take My Eyes Off You

Pairing: Beefy Bucky x reader

Word Count: 1,032

Summary: A day of domestic fluffy sweetness with Bucky 

Author’s Note: This is in celebration of the HBC’s @the-ss-horniest-book-club​ Character Appreciation Day and Beefy!Bucky. This is a dream come true because we all know how much I love him. I also combined it with the drunk drabble request below that was left over from the old fashioned DD’s! This story is literally just a tribute to everything beautiful about this man and how much I love him. Hope you enjoy and thank you all for reading! Much love always! ❤❤❤ PS you should listen to this while you ready hehe :) 

Warnings: soft and sweet domestic fluff, some spicy fun but it’s light, a kiss, dancing, good music :) 

I couldn’t decide on a gif so you get two because he is so beautiful! 

The warmth of the late afternoon sun peaks through the blinds, heating your already warm skin and you shift on the couch. Sandwiched between Bucky’s large frame and the couch cushions you stretch out long ways and wiggle your toes, trying not to wake him.

With his book long forgotten and laying open on his bare chest, Bucky still sleeps peacefully. His eyelashes flutter against his cheek as you gently brush a long strand of hair away from his face and continue along the line of his jaw.

Placing a soft kiss to his lips you carefully hop over him, already missing the warmth and comfort of his body. Taking his red Henley from the back of the couch you slip it over your head and instantly feel better, inhaling his scent from the soft fabric.

You give Bucky one more good look before walking the few short steps into the kitchen. His metal arm rests behind his head, the sun dancing over the metal plates and painting small patches like diamonds along the nearby wall. His broad chest fills up with the gentle rhythm of his breathing and his long legs are stretched up and over the other arm of the couch.

Letting out a sigh you turn and stand at the small island, contemplating what kind of cupcakes to make for the party tomorrow. After a good 5 minutes of going over your mental list of recipes you decide on the double chocolate ganache and start getting out the supplies.

“You’re making my favorite aren’t you?” Bucky’s low and gravelly voice greets your ear just before his lips and you can’t help the way you shiver. “Maybe. But if you don’t behave nothing will get done,” you tease lightly, continuing to mix the chocolatey batter.

A large finger appears over your shoulder and heads down toward the bowl. “Don’t you dare Barnes! There is raw egg in here and no!” you scold, swatting at him. While he has you distracted on one side his metal finger takes a swipe from around the other and you catch him just at the second he shoves it into his mouth.

“Mmmmm these are my favorite,” he moans, closing his eyes and licking his finger clean. “That’s it! Go back to the couch, you’re banned from the kitchen area!” you shout, elbowing him in the abs. When he stays pressed against your back despite your best efforts you turn in his arms, spatula in hand.

“If you insist on staying are you at least gonna help me?” you ask expectantly, spatula held up in threat. You try to keep your stern gaze fixed on his face but it’s hard to stop your eyes from wandering down his bare chest and the line of hair that disappears into his shorts.

“I’d love to help doll face!” he cheers, reaching over you to grab the bowl. “I can taste test while you get an eyeful!”

You roll your eyes so hard you nearly fall over and Bucky cackles. “See. You won’t even fight me on it. Admit it. You want me to distract you!” he taunts, purposely letting a drop of chocolate batter fall from his finger and onto his chest.

“Oh. Look at that!” he chimes. “Could you help me out baby girl? I went and made a mess.” You watch the drop of chocolate slowly slide from his collarbone and down between his pecs, your mouth literally watering at the sight.

Holding back a moan you spin around and grab the cupcake tray, tightening your apron. “I’m impressed doll. I was sure I had you there,” he purrs into your neck.

“Let’s get these baked and decorated then you can have whatever you want Buck,” you say with a wink.

While Bucky fills the cupcake tin with liners you finish mixing the batter and start scooping it in. You get two trays filled and in the oven then start to clean up the kitchen. By the time you’re done the timer dings and you’re surrounded by the smell of sugary chocolate.

“I cannot wait to eat 12 of these,” Bucky chimes, opening the oven and taking a whiff. “You will not eat 12! We need them for the party tomorrow!” you admonish.  “Once we get there you can fight Steve for leftovers.”

“What are we frosting them with baby doll? Are you filling them with that gooey ganache stuff?” Bucky asks excitedly. “Yes! And we are using it as the frosting too!” you tell him with a grin.

Once they cool completely and the ganache is made you and Bucky make easy work of the filling and frosting. You’re concentrating hard when you reach over to grab a napkin, not bothering to look up in hopes you can quickly fix the dripping chocolate in front of you.  

Instead of the absorbent material you expect to find your fingers are met with something much more familiar. You look up to see that Bucky has reached for a napkin at just the same moment, your hand now resting atop his. When your eyes meet his they crinkle at the corner with his soft smile and his long, thick fingers close warmly around yours.

With a quick tug he has you pressed against his chest, your hand now resting over his heart and his metal hand resting over yours.

“Bucky we need to fini…” Your sentence is cut off by the soft press of his lips to yours. He releases your hand and trails his fingers upward, caressing your cheek before cradling your face and deepening the kiss.

When you finally separate for a breath of air he rests his forehead to yours, turning his head only long enough to turn on the music. His body starts to slowly sway back and forth, the soft and melodic voice of Frankie Valli filling the air.

His arms hold you impossibly close as you get lost in the blue of his eyes. In the sweet words of the song. In the smell of his skin and the sweet taste of chocolate on his tongue. In a feeling of complete and utter love. It’s just too good to be true.

@addikted-2-dopamine​ @bugsbucky​ @book-dragon-13​ @breezy1415​ @eurynome827​ @fxckbuckyscoming​ @hiddles-rose​ @jhangelface0523​ @jewels2876​ @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​ @loricameback​ @lorilane33​ @lookiamtrying​ @marvelgirl7​ @la-cey​ @drabblewithfrannybarnes​ @white-wolf1940​ @skkye​ @whatrambles​ @nano--raptor​ @pinkdiamond1016​ @randomfandompenguin​ @sallycanwait68​ @tuiccim​ @the-wayward-robot​

[lordabovehelpme]

Big Bear- Clyde Logan x Reader

Request: So we all know how the best nickname for Clyde is Bear. But how about the first time reader called him that? It doesn’t have to be a whole fic, it can totally be a headcanon or just a thought! Love you! - anon

A/n: Ahhh I love this!!! And I love you for sending this in!! I hope you enjoy! 

Summary: Everything he does reminds you of a bear, but you’ve never told him. What happens when the little nickname slips one night? 

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

As soon as the comparison crosses your mind, it never leaves. It just makes so much sense. The way he get’s all huffy and rumbly in the mornings. Those pillowy lips of his pushed out into a pout and his eyes half closed yet sparkling when they see you. His grumbles will thunder down the halls as he tries to find you. Every morning it makes you think of a bear waking from hibernation a little too early. And every morning you’ll cup his cheek and stand on your tiptoes to press a kiss to that pout. And his pout will slowly turn into a small smile.

It’s the way his giant hand wraps around your own, in fact your whole hand can fit in his palm. When he offers his hand out to you, you have to bite back your giggles at how he seems so similar to a bear offering his paw. And it’s not only his hands, it’s also his feet. Those large feet carrying him all around the world and barely fitting into his shoes. They also remind you of paws.

Then it’s the way he hugs you. Those big arms wrapping around your form and pulling you into a strong chest. If he’s behind you, he will rest his chin on the top of your head. Most often he’ll let an overdue sigh escape and relax around you, content with your touch. And if you could see his face, you would see closed eyes and a lazy smile. But if he’s facing you, then a kiss is pressed to your forehead before you are fully pulled in. Then he’ll tug you impossibly close to him and nearly tuck you away into his embrace. Your arms wrap around his waist and slide under his shirt, your nails lightly scratching at his back. Shivers will run up and down his spine and you’ll be pulled even closer, a purr vibrating from beneath his chest.

It’s also the way he eats. It’s like you never feed the man or like he’s never eaten before. He will shove as much as food as he can into his mouth and eat it so quickly. It’s a miracle he hasn’t choked and died yet. But you don’t mind it as much when he’ll give you a thumbs up, his eyes closed from happiness, and a smile with his cheeks puffed out with your cooking concoctions.

But all that good hearty food leads him to look like a bear. His shoulders are wide and nearly take up an entire doorway, muscle cushioning the bone and making a perfect spot for your head to lean on. His chest is broad and strong, pecs pulled taut and slightly protruding from his favorite (and your favorite) shirts. But when he takes those long deep breaths, he swells with air and grows before your eyes, you can’t deny the heat that rises to your cheeks.

However, your most favorite part (if you can even choose) is his tummy. It’s so soft that you literally cannot wait to run your hands over it every night. He’s fed well and you love that it shows. He used to hate it when you first started dating. You would wake up to find him gone, putting himself through various workouts, trying to burn it off. But over years of you telling him how much you love it and how it’s nothing to be ashamed of, he’s grown to like it. It tells you that he’s healthy and loved. And you both know he can’t refuse your baking, especially when you make those gooey apple pies.

The funniest comparison you’ve found though, is the way he sits. The way his entire body will fill any chair and his shoulders kind of slump. But it’s most apparent when he sits backwards on chairs, large thighs surrounding the back and his arms resting on his knees. One time when the two of you were watching a National Geographic Documentary on bears, they showed a scene of a bear sitting in a field. You happened to have looked over at Clyde during that scene, and had to bite your lips to stop from laughing. He was sitting in the exact same position. Your head went back and forth from the TV screen to your man bear on the couch, giggles hidden behind your hands. You could have put their pictures next to one another and said “Spot the difference.” Although, that wouldn’t have really worked because there was no difference.

But there’s something about how warm and cozy he is that really puts the icing on the cake. Countless nights you have found him on the couch, book in his large paw and cooling mug of tea on the small coffee table. And countless times he’s just lifted his arms as you’ve crawled onto his lap, he’ll set his book down on the armrest and drape a blanket around you, tucking in all the corners. Then, without a word, he’ll go back to his book and his arms will hold you close. Sometimes, if you ask, he’ll read aloud to you, deep voice grumbling out poetry and old english in his little drawl. You can feel it rumbling around in his chest and it draws your eyelids to shut. The scent of woods and faint cigarettes mixed with the warmth of his embrace makes you fall asleep in seconds. You’ll nuzzle further into his hold and his shortened forearm will trail up and down your back, caressing you as you drift off.

In your mind, clyde is a bear and there is no other option.

However, you haven’t told him of this comparison yet. Pet names aren’t uncommon between the two of you, he’s always calling you one, “Sweetpea, suga’ plum, sweet’eart, and his favorite, darlin’.” But something about comparing him to a wild animal is keeping you from telling him. Maybe it's the fear of him not liking it, maybe it’s just embarrassment, whatever it is, you don’t know.

The first time it slipped was a late night at the bar. Clyde made you fancy cocktails that were way too good and he looked even better. Your thoughts started to come out unfiltered and you could tell he was getting a kick out of it.

“Darlin’ I think that’s enough fer ya.” He said with a chuckle making his voice even deeper.

You let your lips push into a pout as you stared up at him with your best version of puppy dog eyes. “But bear, I’m already going home with you, one more won’t hurt.”

He froze, eyes widening but after a second he shook his head and let a small smile take over his face. “No more fer ya darlin’. I’m sorry, but you’ll thank me in the mornin’.”

The two of you never spoke about it.

Well, you didn't speak about it for three days.

He was curled around you that morning, dead to the world as his snores thundered through the house. (Even his snores sound like a bear’s!) You wiggled out of his hold and padded into the kitchen, starting to prepare all the ingredients for omelettes. Mindlessly you hummed a little tune and started to chop some bell peppers.

Suddenly an arm wraps around your waist and pulls you away from the counter, lifting you into the air. You scream and start to kick your legs before loud chuckles come from behind you. Realizing who it is you relax in his hold and frown.

“Clyde, I had a knife.”

“Darlin’ if that's how you fight against a bear, I’ll never be able to take ya campin.”

The amusement is loud and clear in his voice. You know you’ve been caught.

“What do you mean bear? I don’t see any bears.” When worse comes to worst, what do you do?

Play dumb.

It’s also not your fault he sprung this upon you in the early morning. Your brain’s not even awake yet.

He sets you down and you turn around in his hold, eyes wide with faux innocence. His own eyes slightly narrow, but a small smile stays on his lips.

“Hmm.” He stares down at you, silently testing your acting abilities. “Some little birdie told me that ya think I’m a bear.”

“Well obviously the birds around here are terrible at gossip!” You cross your arms and turn back to your peppers.

He lets out a loud hearty laugh. Then he wraps his arms around your waist and sets his chin on top of your head, watching as you try to not fumble and fluster under his gaze.

“I just wanna know why ya said it? And why you’re now denyin’ it.”

You sigh and set the knife down on the counter, looking up and out the small window above the counter. “Promise me you won’t laugh at me?”

“I promise.”

Everything in you screams at you to not tell him. But he said he promised and you know that eventually it would come up again, so why not tell him now?

“Ikindathinkyouactandlooklikeabearsoinmyheadit’sbecomeanicknameforyou.”

He takes a second to think over what you said so quickly. You can practically hear the cogs turning in his head. But with each second that passes, the anxiety bubbles up further in your stomach.

“I like it.”

That is the last thing you expected him to say. “You like it?”

He turns you around so he can look at you. “Yeah, it makes me feel like I can protect ya better. Like a bear.”

Your cheeks hurt from your smile. “Really?”

He swoops down and presses his lips to your own. “Yeah.” His own lips are pulled into a smile. “I’ve got ya darlin’ and now you’ve got yer bear.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and press another kiss to his lips. “My big bear.”

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

So yeah, I totally was swooning the entire time I was writing this! I hope you enjoyed! 

Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment! It means the world to me and I also love hearing what you all have to say! 

Love forever, Lordy :) 

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[right-brain-of-froggy2]

Christmas in July Chapter 7

Day 7 is here! Prepare the milk, because today is all about cookies with Wonderful Christmastime.

A little author’s note: The Tracy cookie baking day is based on my (and Froggy One’s) own family's tradition of exactly this story. We get up really early, our grandparents, aunts/uncles, and some cousins come over and we bake cookies from dawn until night. Once everything is finished around 9PM, we distribute them amongst ourselves and make up plates multiple kinds for other family members. And all the ones listed are real ones we make too! Writing this today really made me crave some Christmas cookies...

Ao3 link here!

“I’m gonna die of hunger, Mama.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“Really. You won’t see me ever again ‘cept in the ground. Dead. ‘Cause you won’t feed me.”

“I don’t want you dead, Scotty!”

“At least Virge cares…”

Lucy pats on a sulking Scott’s head as she whisks the eggs and sugar together for the next batch of cookies. Her oldest son does not appear amused.

“We just ate lunch an hour ago.”

“And an hour ago we didn’t have those!”

Scott points directly to the oven where the Andes Mint cookies are baking. Virgil immediately copies his older brother. Being only three means copying his brothers in the most entertaining thing in the entire world. Scott smacks down Virgil’s hand so he’s the only one pointing. Having a glass front oven is tantalizing thing for a little boy with an endless stomach.

“You’ve already had five cookies, Scott. Give your stomach a break.”

Her little boys pout and whine to no avail. She’s not breaking her stance on this one.

The Andes Mint cookies finish in the oven, and she has to nudge Scott and Virgil out of the way. Lucy places perfectly sized dollops of cocoa dough on a fresh baking sheet. Despite telling Scott no to more cookies, even she can’t resist those baby blue eyes staring up at her. She hands off the now empty bowl with bits of raw batter still stuck to the sides to Scott and Virgil.

Raw cookie dough is an even better treat than the cookies themselves. Virgil especially enjoys running his finger along the edge of the cool glass bowl to scoop up any leftover dough.

She waves a dirty spatula at Scott trying to sneak bites of the cooling cookies behind them. “That’s all you’re getting for a while, Scott Carpenter. Go find your Dad.”

Scott has lost interest with the definite answer of no more cookies and runs to find where Dad and John have gotten to. Virgil takes up his abandoned perch on a chair by the kitchen island.

Lucy peers into the oven as the cocoa cookies are halfway done baking. The Rolos in the center of each are melting down in perfect gooey blobs. Little bubbles of caramel pop as the chocolate of the Rolos melt further in the cookies’ dough.

“Well, Virgil, it’s just you and me now.”

“You ‘n me.”

“Which ones do you want to make up next?”

She flips through the homemade book of recipes, handwritten by her own grandmother, her mother, and now by Lucy herself with a few of the Tracy’s own recipes sprinkled into the book. There are certainly plenty to choose from. Some like the oatmeal cookies have to be refrigerated overnight (Jeff’s favorite: he already made up the batter late last night) while others like the Oreo balls have to sit in the freezer for a few hours. Sure, they aren’t all the typical Christmas cookies, but each one holds a special memory in the Tracy family hearts.

Virgil turns the pages intently as if he’s reading the cursive handwriting of each recipe. He stops at a recipe and points to it.

“This one.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes!”

“It’s a lemon cookie.”

“I like lemon.”

“No you don’t, Virgil. Lemons are the yellow fruits.”

“Icky. Only Daddy and John like those.”

Lucy pokes her nose into Virgil’s hair to earn a giggle. She turns the pages, finding a recipe better suited for Vigil. Making the cookies means sneaking bits of the batter with no repercussions. “How about these? New twist cookies?”

Virgil’s eyes light up like the kid he’s going to be on Christmas. He reaches for the nearest clean bowl to start mixing. Lucy takes that as a yes.

The timer for the Rolo cookies will go off in five minutes or so; and then, they still have two more trays of raw cookies to bake. That should give Lucy enough time to make the new twist cookies while corralling a toddler. The new twist cookies are her grandmother’s take on chocolate chip cookies: a cookie bar topped with a brown sugar meringue that’s to die for.

Lucy measures out each ingredient and hands it to Virgil to dump into the bowl. He mixes up the base of the bar, pausing only to pour in the ingredients his mom gives him. By the time Virgil’s chubby little hands are packing down the cookie bar base in a ceramic dish, the Rolo cookies are done. Lucy passes over the rationed amount of chocolate chips to sprinkle out over the dough while she gets the next batch in the oven. While the first batch is now cooling, Lucy throws the next set of pans in to bake.

“Look, Mama!”

Virgil is all smiles as he shows her the unevenly spread chocolate chips.

“That looks so yummy, Virge! Good job!”

Oh well. John’s not the biggest fan of chocolate anyways; maybe she can cut him one of those pieces devoid of any chocolate chips. They move on to the meringue topping to finish off the cookie bars before putting them in line to bake.

The Christmas music playing softly in the background is drowned out as she whips up the eggs in the bowl to a stiff peak. She carefully mixes in the brown sugar and a splash of vanilla once the eggs are able to stand on their own. Her finger swiped a dollop from the edge of the bowl. Virgil’s own are plugging his ears against the beater’s loud noise. A smile comes to her lips as the flavor is exactly what she’s looking for.

Yup, tastes just like Grandma’s.

The next step is to layer it carefully over the chocolate chips and base. With practiced flourish, Lucy smooths out the meringue with swirls. The timer dings and Lucy swaps the Rolo cocoa cookies and the bars.

She looks over to the second card table set up against the wall of the living room open to the dining room. All the extra ingredients are laid out in neat rows and groups. Extra bags of flour and sugar are here, some butter left out to soften next to the baking powder, molasses there. The odd ingredients like peppermint chips, apricot jam, and lemon cake mix are farther to the back of the table. John’s been put in charge of organizing every year and takes his job very seriously.

Virgil yawns. She helps him off the chair with instructions to find his dad to help him clean up for a nap. As Virgil leaves he passes by Scott. Her eldest son wanders back into the dining room to stand by her side. A mess of incriminating cookie crumbs line his lips.

He reaches for molasses and jar of freshly ground ginger to hand to her. Gingersnaps are one of Scott’s favorites, and always a classic.

“Just how many cookies did Daddy let you eat?”

Scott shrugs. “A few.”

At the sound of John Lennon’s “Wonderful Christmastime”, Lucy can’t even find herself to be mad. If anything, she’ll make Jeff deal with the sugar crashing children and clean the whole kitchen while she goes to bed early. Now that’s a pleasant thought. Lucy helps Scott get out the first scoop of molasses.

Baking cookies and singing along to Christmas music, who could ever be unhappy doing that?

 . . .

 “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer” is playing in the background as Lucy takes small amounts of the thickened pineapple mixture sweetened with sugar and plops them in the center of the shortbread dough. Armed with a plastic cutter, John trims the square pieces of dough so they could be folded up into star shapes. Lucy instructs her middle son on how to fold up the dough to resemble a pinwheel star.

Looking at the time, she realizes that it’s already nearing five in the evening. The whole family’s been helping bake, but she’s been in here all day for over ten hours after starting at six this morning. She deserves a breather. Lucy washes her hands at the sink overflowing with dirty dishes that are soaking with soap. While she had been washing the spatulas and bowls all through the day, it would only take minutes before they would be in use again for some other cookie recipe.

Jeff popped by in the kitchen around two to start his ‘world famous chili’ supper so she didn’t have to cook. (Read: Jeff and Scott dumped in cans of beans and tomatoes and mixed it with seasonings, peppers, and cooked ground beef from two nights ago). Either way, Lucy’s relieved to not have to make dinner tonight.

“I think this is the last batch, Johnny,” Lucy says, hands on her hips as she surveys the damage to the kitchen.

“I counted all the others. We made so many!”

“Did you count the tallies too?”

John nods. Each person is meant to keep track of how many cookies they eat to get an exact count in the end. He leans in lose to whisper to his mom. “Scotty ate eleven!”

“That child…” Lucy shakes her head and leans in close to John. “Well… how many total then?”

“Um…” John takes a moment to think. He then pulls out a piece of paper with crayon scribbled on it with a neater number written blow in pen. “Daddy helped me. We have seven hundred and two total cookies!”

Pineapple, Andes mint, snickerdoodles, pecan tassies, Oreo balls, fudge, jam thumbprint, gingersnap, lemon, snowcaps, plain chocolate chip, new twist chocolate chip- they made every type of cookie imaginable and more. So many more. Every year, Lucy forgets that one family is even capable of making that many cookies.

The oven dings. The last of the pineapple cookies are finally done baking. Lucy takes them out and allows herself to collapse down into the living room couch. John follows her straight to the couch. He climbs up and sits in his mom’s lap.

“Done already?”

Lucy shoots Jeff the stink eye as he trudges in from outside. He pulls down the mask from his face.

“You’re tracking snow everywhere.”

Jeff looks down at his coat wet with freshly melted snowflakes. Scott trapezes in with his own coat wet and nose red.

“It’s just water, Mama! We learned it in science class,” Scott clarifies. John nods seriously from her lap.

“Well, whatever it is, go hang your coats up and dry off. You and Daddy are on plating duties. We’ll eat supper and then drive these cookies out to people. We can even start with Grandma Sally and Grandpa Grant if you want.”

Scott and John whoop with excitement.

[cinnaminsvga]

Sweeter than Strawberries | Jungkook

→ summary: at euphoria bakery, seasonal changes also bring seasonal menu items. when you find out that your favorite strawberry shortcake milkshake was phased out after the end of summer, it takes only one puppy eyed look from you for jeon jungkook to make it for you anyway—just don’t tell his boss about it, alright?

→ genre: bakery!au, s2l, fluff → warnings: none unless you count the fact that i’m writing shy!jungkook again :^D, we love mutual pining in this house ex dee → words: 4.5K → a/n: this was commissioned by @ihatemathanal​!! i was super stoked to write this bc it’s really cute and sometimes it’s nice to just write happy fluffy things every once in a while (aka zee is turning into a fluff writer jfc) it got a lil longer than it was supposed to, but that’s bc i got carried away lol anyway i hope you guys enjoy!! (ps: this also works for the bgw bingo so... tyg for s2l fics!! let’s get it!!)

For the most part, the beginning of autumn is usually your favorite time of the year. When the tree leaves begin to yellow and the air gains a significantly colder bite, this signifies the end of pit stains and sweaty thighs and the start of sweater paws and chapped lips. Above all, you are most excited, of course, for an excuse to gorge yourself on steaming mugs of hot chocolate, paired with delicious mountains of warm gooey brownies.

For the most part, these are all things that often get you excited for the coming chill. What you do not think to remember, however, is that while these seasonal changes bring more good than bad, there still remains a little snag: a small oversight, if you will. As businesses all over the world begin the annual transition to the colder months, so does your favorite bakery across the street from your university. After all, summer ingredients grow scarcer as the year nears its end, so it’s understandable for bakeries to switch up their menu to keep up with both the supply and demand.

What does any of this have to do with anything? Well, long story short—

Your favorite strawberry shortcake milkshake is about to get phased out. No, scratch that—it’s already been phased out, right from under your very nose, no less!

You shouldn’t have been surprised, really. You have always known it was a specialty drink; your best friend had even been the one to introduce it to you just near the end of your summer classes:

“This is Euphoria Bakery,” Namjoon had said with a smile, waving cheerily at the two boys manning the till. You heard him chuckle in amusement when your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, staring longingly at the sweet treats and baked goods lining the display case.

Namjoon had stolen your attention away, however, when he pointed to the chalkboard menu on the wall. As it turned out, the bakery also doubled as a cafe, serving the usual coffees and teas while also making the occasional specialty drink for different seasons or holidays. The chalkboard was decorated beautifully, the menu items written out in neat cursive with tiny little doodles littering its margins. On one of the boards, there was a new drink item being advertised in bold pink letters—a great summer treat!—or so it said.

“Jungkook-ssi, can you get me and Y/N a strawberry shortcake milkshake? Extra whipped cream for me, please!” Namjoon called out to one of the boys, startling the younger of the two. The boy, Jungkook, must have been busy fiddling with the cash register that he hadn’t noticed your arrival.

“N-Namjoon-hyung? Sorry, I was just busy counting the money—” Jungkook stopped short in his speech, his tongue getting caught in his mouth when his eyes landed directly on you. He had made a strangled sound, like he had swallowed his spit too quickly and was struggling to regain his composure. “H-Hello?”

You realized belatedly that he must have been greeting you, as you had been distracted by his fidgetiness. His nervousness was cute, if a little bit contagious; you couldn’t help feeling anxious too, like your heart was missing every other beat, even though you had no reason to be. “Hello! My name is Y/N. It’s my first time coming here, but Namjoon says your new summer menu item is really good? I wanted to try it out for myself.”

Jungkook nodded, still staring wide-eyed at you as if in a trance. You expected him to start... well. You weren’t an expert on how bakeries or cafes are run, but you were pretty sure he should’ve started doing something after you had spoken, perhaps ring up your order on the register, or start working on your drinks. Instead, he’s still frozen in place, like he’d somehow short-circuited within the last two minutes.

It seemed you weren’t the only one who noticed his odd behavior because the man working with him suddenly pushed Jungkook to the side, a brief smirk flashing across his face before it was quickly replaced by a more subdued, professional smile.

“Sorry about him. He’s usually my best baker, but sometimes he can get a little... distracted when he’s confronted with sweet things,” the man said nonchalantly, but it seemed that his innocent-sounding comment had embarrassed Jungkook greatly.

“Jimin-hyung!” Jungkook whined, stomping his foot not unlike a bunny. If you squinted a little bit, you could definitely see the resemblance.

Namjoon, who had been quietly watching everything unfold, chose that moment to pipe up. “Oh, I see. I didn’t know you had a type, but after thinking about it—” Namjoon shot a surreptitious glance at you, before turning back to Jungkook with a teasing grin, “—I can definitely see why.”

At the time, you had no idea what was going on, mostly confused as to why Jungkook had suddenly become so red-faced while Namjoon and Jimin giggled like a couple of high school girls. It seemed like you were somehow the main reason for his embarrassment, so you were quick to poke Namjoon in the stomach, effectively silencing him.

“Hey! Stop teasing the poor boy. He’s just being nice,” you said, pointing a soft smile back at Jungkook. “Sorry about him. I’m sure you’re an excellent baker, judging from how wonderful and cute all these cakes on the display look.” Somehow, your praise had only made Jungkook’s cheeks brighten even further. He cleared his throat as if to say something in response, before changing his mind and scuttling away to the back room instead.

“I’m going to start making your milkshake! D-don’t mind me!” He called out from behind the door, causing Jimin to finally break down into raucous giggles, nearly doubling over from his own mirth.

“Aish, that kid. He never learns, huh…” Jimin sighed, but the smile on his face is kind—the sort of fond look an older brother might have for his kid brother. He turned back to you and Namjoon with that lingering softness as he rang the two of you up, before chatting idly with you as you waited for Jungkook to finish making your drinks.

“I’ve never seen you around, Y/N-ssi. Jungkook—sorry, I meant I definitely would’ve noticed you if I did. You go to the same university as Namjoon-ssi, right?” Jimin asked, flipping a pen between his fingers with incredible dexterity. You were slightly distracted by that, faintly jealous of how his short fingers could somehow manage such a feat.

“I—yeah, I do. I’m assuming you’re also a student?”

“Yep. I actually met Namjoon-ssi when we took that one music theory class together. I was handing out flyers for this bakery after class and he happened to be one of the first people to actually come,” he said, winking at Namjoon. You watched with much interest when your friend turned a faint shade of pink, his hand coming up behind his neck—a signature tick of his whenever he was feeling shy or nervous.

“I-It was nothing… I mean, your seasonal drinks are always so good! I remember your old snowman-shaped donuts with the raspberry filling? I still dream of it sometimes,” Namjoon sighed, eyes going glassy for a moment.

Jimin laughed, his eyes crinkling into cute little crescents. “Oh, stop it! I remember how you’d come here even after we stopped serving that donut and you’d beg us to make them again.”

“And yet you never did, even though I know you have the ingredients to make them,” Namjoon pouted, but there’s endearment dancing in his expression.

You chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. “I never pegged Namjoon as a sweet-tooth guy, so this is honestly all a very big surprise to me. I should be pumped for this milkshake then, huh? Hopefully, you aren’t just hyping it up and I’ll end up disappointed.”

Before either Namjoon or Jimin could retort, Jungkook had reappeared from the back room with two large cups in hand, almost tripping over his untied apron string but managing to get to the counter in one piece.

“Here you go. I hope you won’t be disappointed when you try it,” he said, gaze averted downwards when he hands you your cup. Your fingers grazed each other for a second, nearly causing both of you to drop the drink like it was on fire.

“S-sorry,” you laughed it off, feeling your ears get a little red from your blunder. You pointedly ignored Namjoon’s arched brow, no doubt enjoying your sudden shyness. Without waiting for him to get his own cup, you casually tear off the straw wrapper and take your first sip of the drink.

“So?” Jungkook asked after a while, watching with bated breath as you take a good gulp of the milkshake. “How is it? Is it worth the hype?” You don’t speak for a moment, further aggravating the two bakers as you carefully chewed on the bits of strawberry in the drink.

“This—” you said, speaking slowly for increased dramatic effect. You could hear Namjoon groan beside you, used to your need for unnecessary anticipation. Even as you paused for a moment longer, you could already feel the smile creeping up your face, unable to completely hide your giddiness. “—is fantastic. Show-stopping. Best thing since sliced bread! I could live on this shit alone.”

Jungkook released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, chuckling in relief as you began to completely devour the treat in mere minutes. “I’m… really glad you like it,” he said with a wide, toothy grin. You were so immersed in your drink that you missed the way he sighed softly, hand gently cradling his chest where his heart would be.

Namjoon had taken his own sip as well, sighing dreamily as the creamy and sweet flavor overtook his palate. “Truly the best drink in existence. If I was a Twitch streamer or some shit, I’d promote this regularly for free.”

His comment made Jimin giggle softly, but his gaze is trained on something else entirely. “I’m flattered, but maybe don’t promote Y/N’s cup, over here. We don’t typically have strawberries and hearts doodled all over our cups,” he said, smirking slyly.

Lo and behold, your cup did have small doodles littering its sides whereas Namjoon’s was just a plain white paper cup. “Oh,” you said, blushing furiously when you finally noticed. Your flush was nothing compared to the one on Jungkook’s cheeks, however. The two of you refused to make eye contact after that, both of you trying (and failing) to silence the amused snickers of your respective friends.

Despite that slightly embarrassing (and heartwarming) experience, that had marked the start of your love for the tiny bakery and their special strawberry shortcake milkshake. You returned to Euphoria Bakery as often as you could throughout the summer, even going to visit it without Namjoon most of the time. You would even occasionally go out of your way to visit the bakery, even after your summer classes had ended and there was really no reason for you to be around the area.

It also didn’t hurt that the boy behind the counter was especially cute, with his big doe eyes and melodic laughter that always got your heart beating erratically in your chest. It hadn’t taken long for you to admit to yourself that you had a not-so-tiny crush and every visit to the bakery only made you fall deeper for him.

Namjoon has assured you that Jungkook clearly has a crush on you too, but you’re quick to shut him down. It is one thing to be shy and awkward around a girl and another to have a crush on the aforementioned girl. As you visited the bakery more and more, you do notice that Jungkook is more reserved when it comes to other female clientele, although, dare you hope? He does seem a little bit more… nervous, when he talks to you, but that could be your lovesick eyes playing tricks on you.

Never mind the fact that he only ever seems to leave cute doodles on your cups alone, but that could just be a coincidence, right? After all, he can hardly hold a conversation with you when you try to speak with him, always eager to rush to the backroom to make your drink.

Your visits usually consist of making idle chit chat with Jimin after greeting both him and Jungkook. The younger boy often dips the moment he sees you through the glass door, automatically going to prepare your favorite summer treat without even having to ask for your order. He never stays to stick around long enough to make conversation, as he eventually excuses himself to do some chore or another. During one of your trips, you tentatively asked Jimin if Jungkook was avoiding you, to which the blonde boy just laughed heartily at your query.

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N. He’ll come around eventually; he’s just nervous. Don’t tell him I told you this, but…” he trails off, peeking over his shoulder to make sure Jungkook wouldn’t accidentally overhear him. When he turns back to you, the smirk on his face is equal parts amused and mischievous. He looks a little impish, though you aren’t sure if he’d take that too kindly. “Jungkook always stares out the door, waiting for you to arrive. I’ve caught him red-handed far too many times for it to be a coincidence.”

Your cheeks flush warmly at his words but don’t say anything after that. You suppose all you can do is wait for him to start warming up to you eventually, and you hope the day comes sooner as the summer days grow shorter and shorter.

Of course, that day does come eventually, but probably not on the day you wished it would happen.

Like all good things, summer comes to its close and so does the summer menu options offered at Euphoria Bakery. Jimin had already told you a week beforehand that your favorite strawberry shortcake milkshake would get phased out as soon as July hit, but you refused to listen. You had hoped that as his regular customer and friend, perhaps Jimin would make an exception and prolong the milkshake’s lifetime for your sake, but it seems that Jimin has made it clear that friendship and business are two separate entities that he will not allow to coincide.

“Please Jimin? Just one more time? I’ll even settle for a small size,” you beg, your entire body draped over the cashier counter like the pathetic plebeian that you are. Thankfully, since you have made it a habit to pass by the bakery when it’s close to closing time, there aren’t any other patrons left to judge your pitiful display. Unthankfully, that also means Jimin is free to flick you on the forehead with no holds barred, leaving a large red welt where his finger hits.

“I already told you that I won’t budge, not even if you licked my Balenciagas. Besides, we’re out of strawberries anyway.” Jimin huffs, rolling his eyes at your pained whines as you grasp your head in agony. “Oh stop it, will you? I didn’t even hit you that hard.”

“I beg to differ, hyung.” Jungkook pipes up, startling both you and Jimin. Jungkook is usually content to wiping down the glass displays or tables while he passively listens to the two of you bicker, humming occasionally to indicate that he’s still listening, so it comes as a small surprise whenever he does decide to speak up. He must have noticed this too, as his ears quickly begin to redden as he scrambles to finish his sentence. “I-I mean, hyung might have small hands, but his finger flicks are no joke. You could break someone’s skull with that thing.”

“Who are you calling small, huh?” Jimin growls, but the playful smirk on his face tells you that he’s just teasing. He pulls Jungkook in a headlock, who surprisingly doesn’t seem all that bothered by the fact that Jimin is actively trying to block his windpipe with his strong forearms. “Take it back!”

“Never,” Jungkook wheezes, effortlessly removing himself from Jimin’s grip. He dusts himself off, not even breathless. “Also, why’d you lie to Y/N like that? We still have strawberries in the back. How else would we make our strawberry jam tarts?”

Jimin squawks indignantly, folding his arms. “How dare you sell out our company secrets! I could fire you for that!”

Jungkook scoffs, bumping Jimin with his hip. Jungkook must also not know his own strength, because he accidentally causes Jimin to stumble a few steps back, nearly toppling over one of their bread racks. “You’re joking. If you fired me, no one would be able to make the bagels in the morning because you never know how to proof them correctly.”

“Slander!” Jimin hisses, pinching Jungkook’s side in retaliation. You and Jungkook laugh at his childish pouts, but the older boy can’t hide his own mirth for too long. “Fine. You can stay. But you,” he points at you this time, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “You better not seduce my boy over here to make your strawberry shortcake milkshake. I have eyes and ears everywhere.” He drags his finger to the corner of the walls, where there is—

“There’s nothing there?” You follow where he’s pointing, but all you can see is a stray cobweb that Jungkook must have missed while dusting this morning. “Am I supposed to be looking at something?”

“Jimin is thinking of installing surveillance cameras soon. He’s convinced that someone is trying to steal his banana cream pie recipe.” Jungkook shrugs. He slings an arm around Jimin’s shoulder, glaringly delighted when their height difference becomes even more apparent while he stands close to him. “Anyway, I promise I won’t get ‘seduced’ by her, or whatever you want to call it. Why don’t you head home early for tonight? I’ll close up and I’ll try to convince Y/N to try our other pastries as a replacement.”

You open your mouth to try and protest, but Jungkook sends you a cheeky wink, making sure that his boss doesn’t catch him in the act. Bemused but interested to see what he’s up to, you decide to keep quiet and wait for him to continue.

“Don’t try and think you’re being slick here, buddy,” Jimin says, closing in on Jungkook’s personal space by pressing his chest against his. “If I see that you break the bakery code and serve her that drink… There will be consequences.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, sighing dramatically as he gently pries the smaller man away from him. “Yeah, yeah. I got you. No funny business, I promise. Now get out of here, hyung. Leave the rest to me.”

Jimin gives him one last firm look before squinting warily at you, lips pursed tightly. “No seducing,” he repeats, wagging his finger at you. He unties the apron around his neck, throwing it haphazardly at the coat hanger on the back door where his jacket was hanging. He folds it over his arm and points at the corner of the ceiling with his free hand once more before exiting through the front entrance, the soft bells hanging above the doorway tinkling in his wake.

When he’s gone, you release a breath that you hadn’t realized you had been holding. “Well, that was easier than expected. I didn’t think you’d be able to get him to leave. He must trust you a lot, huh?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Nah. He’s just lazy. He hates closing the bakery and will jump at any opportunity to go home early.”

You nod. “Seems like him.” There’s a beat of silence. “So… How much seducing am I gonna have to do to get my milkshake, huh?”

Like you guessed, Jungkook immediately turns red at your words, spluttering and stammering over his spit for a few seconds before managing to come up with a reply. “O-oh, there’s no need for that. I was gonna make the drink for you anyway.”

“But what about the quote-unquote consequences?” you ask, still worried that you might be getting Jungkook in trouble. You’d rather have your arm cut off than have him get punished, no matter how small it might be.

“No need to worry about that. Jimin might pretend to be a prickly old man sometimes, but he’s mostly just full of hot air,” Jungkook snorts, shaking his head in amusement. “He’ll just make me treat him to some skewers or something. He’s just teasing.”

“If… If you say so? I just really don’t want him to get angry with you…” you say, voice turning small as you tried to reign your embarrassment in. “I know I made a fool of myself just moments ago and begged like a baby for the milkshake, but I was just exaggerating…”

“Something tells me that you aren’t, but let’s pretend for your sake that you are,” Jungkook says. You huff indignantly at his teasing, but you’re more overjoyed by the sight of his cute bunny smile. You had only seen it in passing a few times in the past, but seeing it directed at you is an entirely different experience. Because of you, your mind helpfully supplies.

He heads over to the backroom to begin preparing your drink, but he keeps the door open this time so you can see him even from behind the counter. You can mostly only see the large industrial ovens and bread racks filled to the brim with all sorts of pastries proofing for the night, but you do catch a glimpse of the sole blender near the back. Jungkook grabs the glass jar first and then walks over to the fridge just out of your sight, most likely to grab the ingredients needed for your milkshake.

The bakery is mostly silent, save for the sound of Jungkook moving and assembling everything. You rack your brain for some sort of conversation starter, as the atmosphere between the two of you has begun to return to its usual awkward state as you skirt around each other, unsure of where either of you stands. You might have known him for a while now, but today is the most you’ve ever spoken to him and the tension is palpable.

“So.” You clear your throat, heart beating a mile a minute in your chest. “I… guess this is going to be the last time I have this drink, huh?”

The sound of Jungkook chopping on the cutting board pauses for a second. You can only see his left shoulder from where you’re standing, but you can see it tense even then. “I… I mean, will you stop coming over to the bakery if it is the last time?”

There are so many things you want to say all at once, but the words somehow get caught in your throat. You want to say that you love coming to the bakery to see them (though it’s mostly Jungkook if you’re being honest) and that the strawberry shortcake milkshake had just been an excuse to visit for a while now. You want to keep visiting for as long as they’ll have you—but you don’t know how to say it without hot humiliation running down your spine. You don’t want to weird him out by confessing to him all of a sudden. And so, you clam up, not knowing how to respond.

When Jungkook throws in all the ingredients in the blender, he doesn’t turn it on immediately. He tilts his head to the side, not fully looking at you but giving you a view of his beautiful side profile. You see his Adam’s apple bob for a moment, his tongue poking out to wet his lips before he speaks. “Because… If that’s how it’s going to be, then maybe… buying a couple of skewers for Jimin won’t be so bad.”

You freeze. “What? Are you saying that...”

“I’ll keep making the drink for you, even if it’s not on the menu anymore?” Jungkook finishes, turning fully to face you. There’s a shy grin on his face, coupled with the ever-present pink flush high on his cheekbones. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. We’ll have to be sneaky about it, though. You’ll have to come to the bakery only when I’m closing so that he doesn’t catch us but otherwise…” He scratches the tip of his nose, looking embarrassed. “If… If you’re fine doing that, I mean.”

It feels like an eternity before you can remember how to function like a regular human being again. Your insides feel like molten lava and you’re certain that your internal organs have begun to self-destruct right after that super-effective hit from Jeon Jungkook, super baker boy extraordinaire. It’s mind-blowing how effortlessly cute he can be, making you realize belatedly that his quiet demeanor over the past few weeks had been a blessing and not a curse. If he had been this sweet with you from the get-go, you’d surely be melted butter on a sidewalk by now.

“I would love you—I mean, I would love it if you did that for me, actually.” You stammer, resisting the urge to punch yourself in the tit. You’re thankful for the lack of mirrors at the bakery, for you are positive that you must look like the devil’s blazing red testicles at this point.

“Great,” Jungkook smiles softly. He turns the blender off, pouring your drink into a paper cup. “Oh, before I forget…” He grabs a marker from the small tin can near the cash register, and you watch as he quickly scribbles a few hearts around the circumference of the cup. “There we go. Now it’s done.”

As Jungkook hands your drink to you, you’re hit with a moment of déjà vu when your fingers brush just like the first time you had met. You sense the same familiar shock of electricity when you touch, but instead of pulling away like before, Jungkook surprises you for the third time that day.

When he’s sure that you have a secure grip on your cup, he grabs your free hand with his, unfurling your fingers until he can get a hold of your pinky. He curls his pinky into yours, linking them together with a bashful smile on his lips. “There. Now we pinky promised to each other.”

“Y-yes. Of course,” you mumble, giggling lightly when he still refuses to let go. “I pinky promise.”

.

.

.

Five minutes away from Euphoria Bakery, Jimin sits quietly in his parked car, his figure hunched over the small screen of his phone as he chuckles loudly to himself. There is a tiny video of two people, a boy and a girl, with their hands held together. Despite the quality being grainy and warped, Jimin needs no confirmation as to who those people are; he’s always known, after all.

“All according to keikaku.” He whistles happily, already salivating at the thought of all the skewers Jungkook will have to buy for him.

[think-ill-watch-it-burn]

hi! I hope I'm not late for the alphabet... Can I ask for SFW A, B, C, H, J, M, N, R, X and Z for Joker? I know it's a lot so no need to hurry or you can break it into few, shorter ones. Thank you and wish you a lot of inspiration and motivation!

Hello my love!! Thank you for reaching out!! You most definitely are not too late 🥰

So, I did end up breaking this request down a little bit. I’ll post H, R, and X a little later - but here are the rest!

Nestled under a read-more so I don’t inundate folks with the ~~long~~ ☺️

Joker/52

SFW Alphabet Letters: A - B - C - J - M - N - Z

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

At first Joker is stingy with his affection - he’s more afraid of being hurt than he is of hurting someone else. Withholding affection is self protection for him.

With time he realizes how good affection feels, from holding hands to resting against one-anothers’ bodies.

With a little more time he realizes the good-affection-feelings aren’t anything to hide from. They aren’t a punishment, or even a reward. They just are.... because he is loved.

It takes such a painfully long time for him to realize this, but once he does he absolutely cannot get enough physical affection.

Touch his hand, arm, shoulder.... omg his back??

There’s a whole side of him he’s never even entertained... open that up for him.

He will be FOREVER grateful.

All he wants in life is to be touched and loved. He’s never known anything beyond hatred and bitterness... you don’t even have to, uh, give him a happy ending. Hold him, caress him, show him physical affection and his mind is utterly blown.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

If you ever, in your life, want ANYONE on your side.... it’s Joker.

Fair, he’s pretty militant in his beliefs and direction. But... we see how hard he fights for his own truth. Imagine he’s fighting for something - someBODY - tangible. An entity with feelings, desires, pain....

As hard as Joker wants to be, really he’s soft and gooey and wants nothing more than companions to share his life with.

More than likely you’d bond either over music or your general disdain for society as a whole... maybe a little of both.

He’s made a friend here and there, mostly acquaintances, aside from Viktor who is probably his best friend until he meets you... and then you seem to fill a role all your own.

He treats everyone whose managed to wriggle into his heart the same way - with undying devotion and protection that borders on stalking. 🙃

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Joker is resistant at first. He doesn’t even necessarily know if he *likes* being touched...

Until you stroke your hand up and down his back for the first time.

And then you lay your head in his lap and wrap your arms around him.

The warmth down to his bones is foreign.... but once he realizes he likes it, he cannot get enough of it.

Eventually he’s nudging his head into your lap for hair-strokes, wrapping his arms around your waist hoping you’ll hug his shoulders and neck back, craving your fingers against his scalp.

If he feels comfortable, if you’ll let him, he’ll dissolve into the neediest little black puddle you’ve never been able to deny.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Honestly... I think Joker is surprised by the jealousy he feels over you.

Initially, I think, he can’t even fathom jealousy. He’s very, very much about personal agency and the thought of “possessing” one’s partner seemed foreign to him....

Until he saw someone flirting with you... and you didn’t immediately brush them aside. Instead, you seemed pleased by their attention.... what the fuck?

Joker is as confused as he is irate. You’re only supposed to want him, right??? Especially considering some of the things you’ve done together....

He follows you with hawk-eyes, swooping in to question you the absolute FIRST moment you are alone.

“You wanted them, didn’t you?” He asks, unable to look you in the eye. He takes your scoff as an affront. “Is this funny?”

You try hard to hide your triumphant grin, a little ashamed of how tickled you are by his jealousy.

“I don’t know how you expect me to see anyone else with you in the way?” You say, grinning unapologetically at his sour face. He looks so bashful your heart sinks in your chest. “You do know you’re the only one I ever see… right?”

He scoffs and toes at the dirt, looking pathetically like a scolded boy, hoping you’ll dive against his chest the way you end up doing, squeezing his bony ribcage into your soft arms. He sighs against you, nuzzling his face into your neck. As you smile against his skin you mutter, “YOU are the only one I want, stupid. Who could ever possibly replace you?”

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Joker’s passed the fuck out, spread-eagle on the couch, you nestled between his thighs, cheek on his tummy, likely also passed the fuck out. Joker is not a morning person. He doesn’t even think about cracking his eye open until he can feel the afternoon settling into evening unless he absolute h a s to.

If you wake before him - which is typical - he’s unbothered by your activity and is sometimes even spurred begrudgingly awake by it. He doesn’t really mind - if he really needed the rest drum practice wouldn’t wake him - and he can usually coerce you into doing something fun. If you really need help with your responsibilities he’ll probably try, but he struggles with attention when it isn’t something that easily holds his interest.

He doesn’t usually eat much, but if you put some food in front of him he’ll be endlessly appreciative and probably even start gaining a little weight.

Most of the time he just appreciates waking up to you in his arms (or between his legs, or slung over his back, or otherwise wrapped around, under, or on top of him), gently rousing with some wake-up snuggles and, uh, stuff. 😏

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Most nights are spent snuggling, wrapped around each other, enjoying some yummy food, and usually watching or listening to something.

Joker’s very sensitive to his environment, especially when he’s preparing to sleep. After a short adjustment period he gets comfortable enough to really enjoy spending the night at your place, but he’s become so accustomed to Viktor’s endless activity in the only space he’s ever felt the safety of “home,” that having too much quiet is unnerving for him. Having a movie or show on, playing music, even a loud fan or air conditioner help soothe his unease. If there’s no better option he likes to fall asleep on your chest, lulled by your swooshing, thumping heartbeat.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Joker has never really, in his life, known a nighttime routine that he’s ever liked or remotely worked for him. He just kind of… nods off wherever feels safe and reasonably comfortable.

He spends a lot of time napping on the couch at his place in the Nether with Viktor. He has his own room, and the bed is fine, but honestly… he low key doesn’t like to be alone.

Don’t be mistaken, he almost always prefers to be by himself, most especially when he’s in a vulnerable position like sleep - but that was before he realized there were people in the world he could feel comfortable with and enjoy being around after all.

He doesn’t like loud, sudden noises, but the shuffling, padding, clacking sounds he’s become used to in his environment are slowly becoming the happy-place he goes to when he zens out, lulling him into peaceful sleep every time.

Once you come into his life, he spends more time sleeping wherever you are. It’s weird for him at first… he spends a lot of time on your couch in the dark, even when you aren’t home, so he can get used to the sounds of your environment. He probably even spends some sleep-overs on the couch, until he tackles the task of getting used to your bedroom. He absolutely isn’t averse to the presence of a sleep/white-noise machine.He may or may not bring a big-ass fan from home to setup in your bedroom - just cause it needs more air flow, ya know. 👀

Once he’s used to sleeping with you there, outside of extraneous circumstances he has a VERY hard time sleeping without you - especially if you snore, move around a lot, or make a lot of noises in your sleep. Beyond the obvious loss of your warmth and weight, he’s left without his snuggly little sleep-machine. Having something that smells like you nearby helps. If you’re ever away or unavailable you should just assume he’s sleeping in your bed every chance he gets.

He might even pop in occasionally just to nuzzle your pillows/clothes while you’re gone, holding onto it for later knowing he won’t be able to come back to sleep. Don’t be surprised to find some strange things missing when you return.

[hyenahunt]

Secret Service: TERRORISM - 11

Writer: Akira

Season: Winter

Characters: Hiyori, Kohaku, Jun

Proofreading: bakemonoremy (JP) & Skyress (ENG)

Translation: haranami & hyenahunt

Jun: I mean, when you first moved into our room, Sakura-kun, your expression seemed to say there wasn't a thing in the world that was dear to you.

Location: Ryokan

Hiyori: Mmm... We'd certainly like to rise to the occasion, but we do have our own issues at hand, you see.

This is a mere guess, but I'd venture that as the leader of Eden, Nagisa-kun has received a Secret Order — one decreeing that he is forbidden from turning down any formal requests made of him by another idol... or something to that effect.

Kohaku: “Oh… Secret Orders, huh? Does every unit get one? Even if they aren’t participatin’ in the preliminaries?”

Hiyori: The units from ES who were seeded in do, yes — namely, Trickstar and us of Eden.

Though ES has no authority to enforce such rules on any underground idols working solo, of course.

Breaking the normal kind of 'order' will cost you a fine, but only in SSL$ —

And as SSL$ are only necessary during the preliminaries, it'll be no real loss to us even if we do break the rules, you see.

I suppose they're simply set to help make things feel a little more fair.

Jun: Yep. For the record, my order's that I'm not allowed to mention Jin Sagami's name during the prelims.

But even if I say what my order is, kinda like this, and basically break the rule in the process, it's no problem at all for us.

We could get fined so hard we go into the red, but it's not gonna affect our seeding rights and we'll be able to enter the finals just fine.

Hiyori: In that aspect, the SS organising committee abides by the rules more than you'd expect. They wouldn't do something like accuse us of going overboard after such a fact, and strip us of our seed rights, I believe.

Jun: These orders seem like they're really just for fun, in the end~ So they're a lil' more forgiving, kinda, like they won't hurt you too bad if you break 'em.

Kohaku: “That’s true, but the real issue here is that the management gets t’choose how much the fine is gonna be.”

“There’s no guarantee that they won’t fine ya a bunch an’ effectively force ya t’forfeit the competition if the occasion calls for it.”

“That’s why we’re playin’ it safe and tryin’ our darned hardest t’not break any rules.”

Hiyori: That's rather sensible of you. As it is, the ES bigshots are already singling you out as the token troublemakers.

Kohaku: “Yep. These Orders are pretty much just a nice, convenient way for the SS management t’cherry pick the idols that’ll make it to the finals and get rid of the ones who’re causin’ trouble.”

“It’d be to our advantage t’behave ourselves.”

“This ain’t an issue of how many fans you’ve got, or even how good of an idol you are. All that really matters is whether or not you suit ES’s agenda.”

“It really drives me up the wall, but there’s no denyin’ that SS is a crucial battle that involves the whole idol industry. Everythin’ that happens now — plus the final outcome — is gonna have a huge impact on our careers from here on out.”

“The best case scenario would be t’win. If ya can’t manage to, you oughta at least think of your future an’ try not to stir up any trouble.

“But that just ain’t like us at all.”

Jun: Haha. This is just my two cents, but —

Both you guys and Trickstar are the type who wanna just ignore all that grown-up business and run a riot, aren'tcha~?

That's gotta be rough~ Anyone who treasures anything can't afford to be nearly so reckless.

But y'know, I'm actually happy 'bout this. I mean, when you first moved into our room, Sakura-kun, your expression seemed to say there wasn't a thing in the world that was dear to you.

Jun: And look at you now — you've found so much to cherish, haven't you?

Kohaku: “Is that what ya think of me? No wonder you’ve been lookin’ at me all gooey-eyed every now and then.”

“Anyways, these Orders really are a pain in the neck, and those Secret Orders are even worse.”

“A special command given to nobody but the leader of each unit, huh…”

Hiyori: Indeed. And as you can imagine, Nagisa-kun can't tell a soul about his Secret Order, so all we can do is merely guess at what it is.

Jun: Break your Secret Order and a simple SSL$ fine isn't gonna be nearly enough to cut it, apparently~

So even with our seed rights and all, we've gotta be careful of that, too.

Hiyori: That's right. On that note, it seems like Nagisa-kun wrote us a letter right before flying off to Shikoku on Ibara's heels.

Upon reading it, I daresay I gained a rough idea as to what his Secret Order was.

Kohaku: “Is that what you were talkin’ about earlier? He can’t turn down any formal request an idol makes?”

Hiyori: Correct. Though we're free to do as we please during the preliminaries...

It appears that by spending their SSL$, other units are able to call on idols who aren't participating to help out.

Jun: That does seem to be the case, yeah. Those other idols can be called in as temporary guests or helpers.

A great way to bring in some publicity, isn't it? It's kinda like having a secret weapon to suddenly turn the tables with.

Of course, when it comes to guys like us and Trickstar who got seeded in, not to mention participating big names like super idol Hidaka-sensei who're close to the management —

Our summoning cost, or well, the SSL$ needed to bring us in would be way too much. So by the looks of it, not just anyone can call on us for help.

Hiyori: It's also up to whoever's being called on to decide whether they'd like to help or not, you see.

I feel anyone would hesitate to spend lavish amounts summoning Trickstar, who's comparatively free-wheeling and a struggle to rein in.

But due to Nagisa-kun's Secret Order, we're unable to turn down helper requests.

No matter how despicable the other party may be, or how unenthusiastic we may feel about it, we absolutely must take it on.

Jun: That's pretty much how it was this morning, too, although it wasn't an actual helper request or anything.

Hiyori: Ah yes, that... I really did wonder what was going on when those boys barged in, absolutely seething with anger. All the same, it turned out to be something rather sympathetic once we heard them out.

Kohaku: “...? Can’t say I really get it, but… You can never know when someone’s gonna come askin’ fer your help, and Eden can’t turn ‘em down when that happens, right?”

“But, fer some reason, Nagisa-han and Vice Prez-han are both off doin’ god-knows-what with my partner Madara-han, so they can’t accept any requests.”

Hiyori: Indeed. That's why we're on constant standby as Eve, so that we may take on any helper requests at any point in time.

Since goodness knows what kind of abhorrent punishment awaits us if we break the Secret Order, hm?

Our most beloved princess, our little Bloody Mary might even have to endure some dreadful ordeal if we did.

But even that was something Nagisa-kun only alluded to in his letter of absence of sorts, so I can't be certain if it's true.

It may have all been a means to keep us uninvolved, including the Secret Order.

And even if that was what we're dealing with, we wouldn't think of risking it all just to find out. After all, if it truly, truly turned out to be the case, then it'd only spell the absolute worst for us.

Kohaku: “Yeah, I’ve definitely got a bad feelin’ about this... SS is the idol industry’s biggest festival, so it’s bound to have just as many evil plots festerin’ behind the scenes.”

“That’s probably why Madara-han is puttin’ his life on the line and searchin’ through that deep, stagnant darkness.”

“But, still, he should’ve asked me fer help. No matter how bright a star shines, it can’t dispel all the darkness on its lonesome.”

“He can’t win on his own, and he’s a darn fool if he thinks otherwise.”

Hiyori: ......

Kohaku: “...That’s enough of that, though. Sorry fer callin’ ya this late, Eve.”

“We ain’t in a fun situation — everything’s up in the air. But I’m gonna work m’hardest to try an’ arrive at the best possible outcome.”

“It’s not like you two are in a position where you can do whatever suits your fancy, but ya should at least try not to end up regrettin’ anything.”

“If ya don’t hold on tight to the things ya treasure while they’re still in reach, you’re gonna end up beatin’ yourself up about it, just like I am.”

✦✦✦✦✦

← prev ✦ all ✦ next →

[blackmissfrizzle]

Sweatpants SZN (Miguel Edition)

Characters: Miguel Galindo x black!reader (Reader used from Wild Child)

Summary: The reader gets the rare sight of Miguel in sweatpants

Warnings: Smut, knife play, a lil violence

A/N: Shoutout to @thesandbeneathmytoes sending me this video that inspired this fic.

“Marcus, where’s my husband?” You just gotten back from work and were eager to see Miguel. “He’s downstairs training with Nestor, Mrs. Galindo.” When you heard the word training, you took off and ran for the gym, Marcus’ laugh getting fainter with each step you take.

The reason for your Usain Bolt run was that it wasn’t often that you got to see Miguel train aka see him in gray sweatpants. He only wore them when he was in the gym because he didn’t consider them proper loungewear (like he has time to lounge anyway).

You got there out of breath, but you were there just in the nick of time. Miguel was sparring with Nestor in the ring. As the boss, there was no need for your husband to get his hands dirty but he always needed to stay sharp. It was a great turn on to see him this way. Primal, swift, and strong. An alpha.

He was keeping up with Nestor which was no easy feat. That man was military trained and a top-notch killer. “Alright, good job Mikey.” Nestor patted his friend on the back and jumped out the ring. “Y/N,” he acknowledges you on his way out.

“You’re either getting slow or he’s getting good,” you nudged him the ribs. “Watch yourself.” He nudged you back and ruffled your hair.

“Mi amor.” He came out of the ring and kissed you. “Nestor’s getting slow or I’m getting good? I don’t know if I should be insulted or proud.”

“How was your day,” you ignored his comment and changed the subject. Miguel smirked at you, knowing you were avoiding the subject of his fighting capabilities. “Actually good, Agro project moving on and the other world is quiet.”

Miguel kept talking, but you weren’t listening. You would give the mandatory ‘mmhmm’ and look in his eyes for a bit, but your eyes always made it back to his dick. It really was a shame he wouldn’t wear the sweats more often. Or maybe it was a good thing, because nothing would get done if he did.

“Baby,” Miguel lifted your chin with two of his fingers. “My eyes are up here.”

“I know that.” You pulled away, feeling a bit of shame at being caught. “They’re just sweats. Nothing special. I don’t get why you get all hot and bothered.”

“Same reason you bend me over when I wear those green shorts,” you whispered in his ears as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “But they make your ass looks so delicious.”

“And these,” you gripped his dick, “makes you your dick look scrumptious. Makes me want to slurp it like an icee.”

“Mujer tonta (Silly woman), anyway how was your day?” You tried, you honestly did, but you couldn’t continue talking to your husband without looking at his crotch. Miguel was tired of it, so he decided to get your attention. He swung at you, knowing your reflexes were quick.

Blocking his punch with your forearm, you threw your own only for him to block it. “So that’s how its gonna be?” You kicked off your heels and threw off your suit jacket. “Si, let’s see if Nestor is getting slow or if I’m getting good.” Smiling you circled around Miguel, planning your attack. “I’m putting my money on Nestor getting slow.”

Your tactic, wait Miguel out. Being weaker than Miguel meant that you had to use his body as leverage. “Come on, Miguelito. Show me those killer moves,” you taunted him.

At first, Miguel got a couple of licks in. He was definitely getting better, but you wouldn’t let him know that. Spinning your leg around, you went to kick him, but Miguel caught it. “Really, honey? You go for that every time.”

“Hmm, you’re right.” Using your free leg, you swiped Miguel’s leg from under causing him to fall on the mat. Quickly, you got on top of him. “Pinned ya again,” you smiled down at him.

Miguel couldn’t be mad that you bested him, because the view he got was breathtaking. “Did I ever tell you how much I love you?” He stroked your cheek. “Hmmm, I believe you told me when I was on my lunch break.”

“That was too long ago, so I’m gonna tell you again. The moon, the stars, the universe couldn’t contain my love for you.” Leave it to Miguel Galindo, ruthless businessman and cartel boss to make you all soft and gooey inside. “I love you too, Senor Galindo, but if you wanted pussy all you had to do was ask.”

Miguel laughed as he pulled you down to kiss him. The kiss started off innocently, but as it went on it gained heat and you began grinding on Miguel. His hands went for the buttons of your blouse, but than Nestor ran in. “Nestor no!” You pointed at the man to leave and take whatever bad news with him.

“Sorry, Y/N/N. Mikey, it’s an emergency.” Nestor informed Miguel and then left, not wanting to see anything explicit between you two.

Pushing Miguel’s shoulder, you picked up your discarded shoes and jacket. “You just had to jinx it.”

“What?” He asked, somewhat jogging to the room so he could shower quickly. “Earlier you said there was no problems in the other world and now look there’s a problem.”

Miguel pulled you by the hips and smirked down at you. “So, you were listening?”

“Of course, I was listening. I can multitask. Now shower so you can leave and come home faster.” Miguel followed your orders and promptly left the house, making you promise not to stay up for him.

Boredom struck. The boys were helping out with Miguel, so you couldn’t go to the clubhouse and hang with them. You already visited Felipe, so you didn’t want to bother him. Your girl friends all had their own boos to snuggle up to and you weren’t in the mood for tv. What you were in the mood for though was teasing.

Typically, you wouldn’t tease Miguel when he had a work emergency, but your body was still revved up from early. A little teasing wouldn’t hurt. Quickly you shed your frumpy clothes and put on the green booty shorts Miguel loved, a white lacy bra, and halfway zipped hoodie. Standing in your full body mirror, you took a couple of photos until you were satisfied with them.

Sifting through the photos, you finally choose the winner and sent it to Miguel. He responded quicker than you expected him to.

Miguelito: What is wrong with you? I’m working!

You: I just wanted to show you what you have waiting for you at home. It was a onetime thing.

Miguelito: Well, now I’m unsuccessfully hiding a hardon from your friends.

When Miguel told you that you switched to the group chat and threatened your friends.

You: Leave my husband alone or you can’t come over for Sunday dinner.

Coco: My bad!

Angel: Damn that’s cold!

Gilly: Angel started it!

Angel: Snitch!

You: Children. I’m friends with children.

You left the men alone, knowing they had work to do.

That text held you over for a couple of hours, but boredom hit you once again. One more picture couldn’t hurt, and it would be less harmless. Taking a lollipop out of the candy dish, you unwrapped it and placed it in your mouth suggestively, taking selfies of the lower half of your face.

You: Last one, I promise.

Miguelito: You don’t know how to fucking listen. Wait til I get home.

Hoe well, you thought and didn’t bother to respond.

Soon, you found entertainment elsewhere making time fly by. You were sitting on the island swinging your legs while eating cookies and cream ice cream when Miguel finally came home. “Didn’t I tell you not to wait up?”

“Yup,” you emphasized the ‘p’, licking your spoon clean. “But when do I ever listen?”

“True,” Miguel took the spoonful of ice cream and put in his mouth. “Hey, that’s mines!” The thief didn’t care. He kept on eating your ice cream like it was his.

Enough was enough. Grabbing one of the kitchen knives you swiped at Miguel, but he dodged it. “You sure you want to do this, sweetheart?” Miguel grabbed a knife of his own and twirled it around. “Yeah, we both know you’ll end up on your back with me pinning you again.”

“You’re too cocky, mi amor.” Miguel swiped at you and your knives clashed. The two of you fought throughout the kitchen. If you weren’t busy protecting yourself, you would’ve admired your man, but right now he was the enemy and you had to kick to his ass.

Miguel was gaining on you. You didn’t expect him to have this kind of energy after the day he had. He should’ve been more tired than this. Maybe he is actually getting better.

Using a random kitchen towel, you tried to twist the knife out of Miguel’s hand, but he must’ve been hitting the weights because his arm wouldn’t budge.  With his other hand he twisted your arm, taking your knife and holding in under your hair in the back while his is at your throat.

For awhile both of you stood there, staring at each other. Miguel with smugness and victory and you with shock and lust. “You should’ve known better, mi amor. Knives aren’t your strongest suit, you should’ve stuck to guns.”

“I guess you are getting better.”

The knife Miguel had to your throat was lightly trailing your skin. Your breath quickened as the metal went down to your clavicle and to your chest. Miguel cut through your bra, shorts, and underwear. “Hey!”

“Shut up,” Miguel backed you into the counter. “I’ll buy you more.” He dropped both knives and caressed your body with his hands instead. “So beautiful,” he stroked the edge of your hair with his pinky. “My little wild child of a wife. What am I gonna do with you?”

Pulling the collar of his shirt, you bent Miguel down to kiss you. “Whatever you want, my dear husband.”

“Whatever?” He raised his eyebrows at you and backed away to the refrigerator. “Whatever.” You leaned back and spread your legs wide open to expose your dripping folds.

Miguel took an ice cube and crunched it in his mouth. His cold kiss on your shoulder caused you to hiss at the beautiful sting it caused on your body. “I really should punish you for those pictures earlier, but I got this beautiful body in front of me and now I want you crying from my cock. Do you want that, baby?” Miguel tugged on your bottom lip while he scissored two fingers inside of you.

“God, yes,” you groaned, throwing your head back. “Look at you,” He drew out his fingers from you, your stick essence clinging them together. “So needy and desperate because some of goddamn sweatpants. You’re my little slut, huh?”

“Yes, Miguel.”

“Uh huh,” he seized up your neck. “Wrong name.”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Better,” he harshly grabbed you by the neck and kissed you. Eager to get things moving along, you started unbuckling Miguel’s belt and pushing down his slacks.

“Clam down.” Miguel ordered you when you groaned when he had to stop kissing you to take off his shirt. “Can’t even stop touching you without you having a damn fit.”

Kissing along his neck, you dug your fingers in his hair. “I can’t help it, daddy. I’m your little slut.”

“Damn right,” Miguel growled, slamming into you.  “So, fucking tight. You were made for me.” Miguel was fucking you just like he was fighting with you earlier. Sharp, precise, and fast. This time he was hitting his target, making sure you felt every little thing.

“Daddy, please,” the tears were running down your face. It was too much too fast. “Daddy please what?” Miguel mocked you, leaning his forehead against yours. “Its getting too much for you?” He led you into a false sense of security, because in your drunk state you thought you could push him away. Miguel took your offending hand and twisted it behind your back. “See, that’s not what you’re gonna do. You’re not gonna run from this dick after you were acting like a damn fiend today.”

“But daddy,” you tried to kiss Miguel, but he pulled away and darkly chuckled at you. “That’s not nice, daddy.” You pouted, disappointed that Miguel denied you a kiss.

“It wasn’t nice when you doubted daddy’s fighting skills today. It wasn’t nice when you sent those pictures knowing I had a work emergency.” Once again, Miguel wrapped his hand around your throat but with much more pressure. “Actually,” he whispered in your ear like you two weren’t in the comfort of your home. “I’m quite merciful,” he slowed down significantly, making you feel the drag of his dick and miss it when he pulls out all the way. “I’m allowing you the pleasure on my cock, but I need one thing from you.”

“Wha- wh- wha- what is that?” You stumbled over the words, ready to do whatever your man says.

“Beg.” He enunciated perfectly, still keeping up with his slow pace. The thought to say no crossed your mind. Oh, how you loved to but the need to cum was overwhelming and you could always act up later and lure him into thinking you were going to be compliant for the night. This was just the first of many rounds for the night. “Daddy, pretty please let me cum on your beautiful cock.”

“There’s my good girl.” Miguel smiled and kissed you as he pulled you closer to drill into you. His name left your mouth repeatedly like a fervent prayer.

“Keep squeezing me just like that.” He panted in your ear, grabbing a handful of ass.

“Fuck. Fill me up, let me make you a real daddy.” Miguel came to a complete stop. “You’re serious?”

Cupping his face, you gave him a million little kisses. “Yes. I wanna make my daddy a daddy.” Expanding your family has been weighing on your mind heavily lately. Baby fever was getting to you and you couldn’t wait anymore to have some with Miguel.

Miguel snapped his hips into yours, resuming his brutal pace. “You’re gonna look exquisite with carrying my babies.” He whispered softly, contradicting from how hard he was fucking you. “You’re not working though.” He added, knowing you were just as much as a workaholic as he was.

“Debatable.” You weren’t about to get into this argument with Miguel while he was balls deep in you and you weren’t even pregnant yet.

“You can never just agree with me, can you?” Miguel didn’t give you a chance to answer, he just went harder of that was even possible. “Doesn’t matter, I’ll fuck it out of you tonight.”

You couldn’t do much, but you managed to roll your eyes. Good luck with that, you thought.

Miguel bit into your shoulder. “A fucking brat until the end.” He pummeled into you, triggering your release and his.

Both of you stood or rather Miguel stood there with you wrapped around him, covered in sweat. Kissing the spot where he bit you, he asked, “You were serious right? That wasn’t just heat of the moment dirty talk?”

“Yeah I’m ready to start a family…well only if you are.” You quickly added, suddenly nervous that Miguel changed his stance on kids. “Of course, I am,” he smacked your ass. “I get to tame your wild ass down.”

“Never! Imma have a mini-me and we’re gonna run you ragged,” you cackled, thinking of all the ways of you and your future child will terrorize Miguel.

“Typical.” Miguel shook his head as he walked the both of you to the bedroom. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“Let me slurp you like an icee?” You bat your eyelashes at him. The corner of his mouth ticked before he rolled his tongue around. “Yeah something like that.”

Welp, looks like you were about to get that punishment.

Tagging: @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @starrynite7114 @sambucky8 @mygirlrenee @richonne4life @readsalot73 @chaneajoyyy @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @jassydwill11 @otomefromtheheart @ljstraightnochaser @my-rosegold-soul @angrythingstarlight @brattyfics @lovebennycolon @langiinspirations @chibsytelford @trulysuccubus @spookys-girl @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @tomhardydallasstarsgirl​

[maadorii]

taste my disaster— i. matsukawa x gn! reader

max.note’s: i really thought about not posting this and just keeping this in my dungeon to never see the light of day but i really like this concept so here it is, mattsun romcom hehe 

synopsis: where a supposed “one time fling” during iwaizumi’s bachelor trip turns into something more. somehow.

warnings/tags: strangers to lovers, fluff, implied sexual content, suggestive themes, slow-burnish, mutual pining, recreational drug-use, food mention, pancakes

w.count— 3.8k

if there was one thing matsukawa was expecting to do on this trip, it was to get drunk while speeding down the strip at 2am from a night of gambling from the most expensive casinos las vegas had to offer. right? it was iwaizumi’s 2-week bachelor trip that oikawa had so meticulously planned mostly because he didn’t want to throw some measly little party like everyone else. he was getting married, why wouldn’t they all go out for him this one time.

but, if there was one thing matsukawa was not expecting to do on this trip, was somehow end up black out drunk; the only thing he could remember was hanamaki losing a game of black jack at caesar’s palace–– and wake up in a unfamiliar bed, naked, with a unfamiliar warm body next to him still sound asleep. who was just as naked as he was. 

it took him a minute, but when everything clicked together in his brain, matsukawa let out the deepest sigh he could muster. sinking deeper into the plush bed below him, dragging his hands across his face, pulling at the skin. his head was pounding, unbearably so, the luminous rays of the sun that filter through the curtain drapes making it worse. he looked over to you, your back turned towards him as you slept away peacefully. matsukawa’s indolent eyes leisurely scanned the expanse of your back, how it bloomed with hickeys and teeth marks. your muffled snores were the only thing that filled the stark silence of the room. 

matsukawa didn’t know what to fear more, the fact that he had sex with a random stranger last night and is now laying in their bed or iwaizumi’s wrath when he eventually gets back to the hotel. 

iwaizumi’s wrath, he chooses. definitely. 

peering over the bedside to the floor, he sees the clothes he had on yesterday strew haphazardly along with your own clothes. in the mess he finds his phone just barley alive and about several hundred text messages and missed phone calls. most of them were from oikawa, unsurprisingly. a lot of “where are you’s” and “please call us” and even a “did you die on us bro?” but that’s when he noticed the time. 

[12:42 pm]

“aw fuck.” matsukawa cursed as he flopped back on the bed, his arm lifting up to cover his eyes in annoyance. as he contemplated his options on potentially surviving this fuck up of his, you shifted next to him which caught his attention. he watched as your body turned to face him and how your eyes slowly fluttered open, the way your pupils dilated to welcome the grating sunlight. 

and when your eyes met his, you stared for a moment before closing your eyes again and snuggled back into your pillow. “––mornin’ random person in my bed...” 

matsukawa looked back confusingly, opening his mouth to say something back, when your eyes shot back wide open and jolted out the bed, dragging the duvet with you. 

“random person in my bed?! how–– how did get into my room,” you paused as matsukawa’s naked and lean body was on full display for you to gaze upon, inevitably resulting in your face burning up like a sauna. 

“and why are you naked, why am i naked?!” you screeched, wrapping your duvet around yourself, completely drowning yourself in the material. and then it sunk in for you. 

“oh no, don’t tell me––”

“that we fucked? yes.” if any more possible, you could feel your face grew hotter at his... extremely blunt statement at your predicament. you watched as matsukawa reached over the bed and slipped his legs through his boxers. at least he had the decency to cover up you thought to yourself as he shifted his way towards you on the other side of the bed. 

“look... i- i’m just as surprised and quite frankly, embarrassed about this too. i’m really sorry about all this. i’ll... just grab my stuff and i’ll be out of your hair in no time.” you didn’t get the chance to say anything as he backed away to start pulling on the clothes he had on the night before, watching him silently as he did so. you couldn’t help but feel bad as he took his time to dress himself. your gaze lingered on his eyes, and how they droop in remorse. 

just as he was pulling on his right sock, you stepped closer into his field of vision. “can i... at least know your name?” you take note of how the dark umber in his eyes seemed to glow for a split second, his gaze shifting over to you. still draped in that damn duvet like a fucking burrito. 

“it’s issei, issei matsukawa.” 

you nodded your head, jutting your chin out confidently. 

“well then, issei matsukawa. i, (y/n) (l/n), kindly ask you to join me for breakfast–– wait time is it... brunch? lunch? ahhh, fuck it. just come get something to eat with me. please?”

––

matsukawa watched as you shoved half of your omelette in your mouth, your eyes gleaming as you chewed happily, savoring the flavor.

the table was loaded with an assortment of all kinds of food, mostly breakfast food. from sweet honeyed pastries to smoky, charred sausages. in front of him was a stack of warm and fluffy buttery pancakes, dripping in warm gooey syrup. matsukawa could feel his mouth water just simply staring at it, his fingers twitching to inch towards the fork next to the plate, dying to have a bite. 

you noticed his tentative actions towards the plate in front of him, the way his teeth pulled on his bottom lip in slight anticipation. swallowing the mouthful of food, you nudge him with foot, catching his attention. 

“eat, i know you’re hungry. you don’t need my permission to eat,” you chastised, returning to your omelette. 

matsukawa didn’t waste any time digging into his food, practically shoving the whole pancake in mouth. his nostrils flared out as he chewed, moaning at the flavor bursting on his tongue. you chuckled as he quickly shoveled another one in his mouth. 

“woah, slow down there tiger. good aren’t they?”

he nodded frantically and continued to shovel bite after bite. and you smiled at that. it still was kinda crazy how you’re out eating with someone that you... just had sex with last night. a one night stand? can you even call it that? was this even a normal thing? you weren’t entirely sure considering you couldn’t remember a single damn thing from last night.

when you both finished most of the food, tummies full and satisfied, a slightly uncomfortable silence fell between you two. 

“so...” you started, tapping your fingers against the mug as you looked anywhere but the man in front of you. 

“so...” matsukawa copied your actions. you sunk lower in your chair, blowing the hair that landed on your face. why was this so hard? oh wait...

“since we...we, well you know where i’m going with this––”

“since we had sex? fucked?” his eyebrow twitched upward.

“well shit, you didn’t have to put it so... bluntly, issei.” you remarked.

“shit, i was just simply stating what we’re both thinking, (y/n).” the corner of his lips tugged with mirth at your annoyed face, his eyes crinkling at the corner.

you couldn’t help your own lips tug the same as his, your body shaking as laughter struck between the two of you. as you both laughed, the waiter brought over the check, clearing some plates out the way while doing so. matsukawa was about to reached out to grab the bill before you snatched it out of his reach. he was about to argue but you pulled out your card, already handing it to the waiter as he returned. 

––

“oh, so you’re from new york?” you asked as you both weaved through the heavily dense sidewalks of the vegas strip, an assortment of performers and tourist, big and small accompanied you. nothing new you haven't seen before. all while dying in the blistering heat that did nothing but sit on your backs. 

“well technically, i was born in a small town in japan, but moved when my parents decided to immigrate here when i was about, ahhh i don’t know 4 or 5 years old.” matsukawa explained, wiping the sweat beaded at his brows. “what about you?”

“me? i was born and raised here in good ole' nevada. but i didn’t move here to vegas until high school.” you cheered unenthusiastically with just as unenthusiastic jazz hands. "it's nothing really special, vegas i mean."

“really? well, i guess that makes sense. you did take me a hole in the wall restaurant with damn near the best pancakes on the fucking earth. ” you chortled at his statement, hanging off matsukawa’s arm as you laughed loudly, catching the attention of a few bystanders.

“oh god, you’re still on about those damn pancakes?”

“yes i am! those beautiful, golden brown cakes of pure buttery fluffiness that just basically melt in your mouth at the first bite?” he rambled, basically foaming at the mouth. conversation was light between the two of you, it felt natural. not forced. matsukawa didn’t make things awkward. it felt so carefree talking to him, almost as if you’re floating. 

but it was when you came to, that you realized that you made it to the hotel that matsukawa was supposed to be staying at. a part of you grew glum at the thought of having to separate from the man next to you. within the last few hours that you spent with matsukawa, you came to the conclusion that you really, really liked him. what wasn’t there to like about him? he had a great sense of humor, he was charming and gentlemen like. and, that fact he was incredibly attractive was just the cherry on top of the sundae. 

you didn’t want to leave, in fact, you can bathe in the attention he showered you in. 

“welp, i guess it’s time to die.” he said dryly as he turned to you, rubbing the back of his neck shyly. 

“good luck with that. i hope your friend doesn't kill you, but based on the description of him you gave, it seems likely.”

“yes, highly.” 

a silence fell over the both of you again for the second time that day, avoiding each other's lingering gazes. why was this shit still hard?

“can- can i have your number?” he blurted out randomly, voicing your thoughts out loud for the both of you. staring into his umber eyes, you broke contact first to pull out your phone from your back pocket to hand it to him.

“i’ll be honored.”

––

surprisingly, matsukawa wasn’t murdered by iwaizumi when he walked into the hotel room ten minutes later. though, he did get a hard scolding from not only iwaizumi but oikawa as well while hanamaki snickered in the background.

“i feel like a five year old who's been caught with sticky fingers.” matsukawa slumped, crossing his arms over his broad chest. 

“as you should! what the hell were you thinking last night? getting drunk and having a one night stand with someone else, jesus mattsun, and i thought maki was bad.” oikawa grumbled frowning, but it didn’t last long when hanamaki threw a dirty sock at the back of his head. matsukawa rolled his eyes at the two childish adults began fighting with each other, wrapping each other up in headlocks of the sorts.

he sighed again, lifting himself up from the so called “interrogation” chair as hanamaki called it to head towards the shower. “hey, mattsun.” 

perking up at the nickname, he turned around to see iwaizumi standing behind him with an unreadable face. earlier when he walked in, his face definitely was the face of anger and rightfully so. but now...

“just be careful next time, okay?”

and matsukawa knew exactly what he meant.

“yea, okay.”

––

later that evening, after contemplating whether or not you should send a “hi!” or a simple “hey,” you finally texted matsukawa. and almost immediately you got a text back from him. you bounced up and down in your room, feeling like an excited teenager who just talked to their crush for the first time all over again. is this what it was? a crush? maybe, and you should be mad at yourself for feeling like this, but you didn’t have the heart to do so. 

and over the span of the next week, the messages never seemed to end. on some nights, he would call you instead of texting you to tell you about his day. what attractions he went to see that day, what places he went to eat at that day and how much money he lost playing poker at the casinos. and he would ask you about your day, about your day at work. did you eat today, are you taking care of yourself? 

your heart melted at the sweet messages he would send you throughout the day, reminding you to care of yourself and heck, maybe even be a little selfish if need be. some of your coworkers caught onto your starstruck gaze when you looked at your phone and few even tried to ask why but you’ll brush them off. oikawa, hanamaki and iwaizumi even noticed matsukawa’s sudden interest in his phone recently. and even when they're all laughing at oikawa losing again for the third time at russian roulette, matsukawa wasn’t entirely in the moment.

 because he’s waiting for a text from you. 

they noticed the way his eyes glowed when his phone ping, indicating that you texted him back finally. the way his ears perked like dog. although they were suspicious, they didn’t say anything, knowing he’ll come around eventually. 

–

it was the friday before they all had to fly back to new york, the cool desert night air filled his lungs as matsukawa perched himself on the balcony of the hotel room. the gleaming lights of the vegas strip below illuminated the curves of his face in a soft glow of blue, magenta and gold. 

suddenly, his phone started ringing in his back pocket. he smiled when he saw it was your contact lightening the screen of his phone. answering, he brought the phone towards his ear, “well hello my dear (y/n). nice of you to call me on this fine evening we’re having here.” 

he hears you snort on the other end over the slight static of the phone. there was muffle shuffling before you replied, “nothing much my dear issei, just sitting here bored as hell so i thought, why not give you a call.”

matsukawa felt his heart skip a beat at your statement, trying to contain the smile that was tugging on his lips. 

“haha, how thoughtful of you...” and then it was quiet again, save for the occasional horns of cars stuck in traffic.

“hey, uh… issei?” you interrupted.

“yeah?” 

“can i… can i see you tonight?” 

––

matsukawa stood outside the place you asked him to meet at 30 minutes ago on the phone, which just so happen to be a very crowded and loud nightclub not far from the hotel he was staying at. he could hear the bass of the music thump against inside of his bones, the rhythm sending chills up his spine. he watched as people filed into the building like a swarm of files. 

it was another 5 minutes until he heard your voice call out to him from behind. and when he turned around to say hi back, his jaw dropped to the floor at the sight of you. but he quickly contained himself as you approached him, trying to blow away the rouge that tinted his cheeks in the slightest. 

“hey, ready to go inside?” you questioned, reaching out to hold his hand, pulling him slightly towards the entrance of the club. and he nodded dumbly behind you, cursing himself inside his head for acting like a hormonal teenage boy in front of you. he couldn’t help it, especially when you’re holding his hand. you can blame it on being touch-starved.

when finally inside, bulbs of black light were hung overhead on the ceiling, making everything brighter, making the sea of club goers nothing more than blobs of fuchsia, tangerine, and aqua. you and matsukawa wormed your way through the swarm of adults, bodies sweaty, sticky and hot, shaking and bobbing their heads to the music that blasted in the overhead speakers. finding two available seats at the bar, you both situated yourselves onto the stools overlooking the crowd. 

“this is an interesting place you’ve brought me here, i honestly wasn’t expecting it.” you hear matsukawa say next to you, turning his attention to you. 

“yeah, this is one of the few clubs here in vegas that i actually go to from time to time. plus security is pretty tight here, so hopefully you won’t end up fucking someone else.” you gave him a thumbs up, a dorky smile making its way onto your lips. matsukawa’s shoulders shook as he laughed, turning towards the bartender, ordering two old fashioned’s. 

“an old fashioned? wow, i didn’t take you for a rye whiskey type of guy.” you teased, reaching out to grab your drinks when the bartender placed them in front of you. matsukawa shrugged nonchalantly, taking a sip of his own drink. 

“well, i’m always full of surprises, they say.” and when he looked at you from the corner of his eye, you could’ve sworn a you felt a chill borrow itself into your bones from the predatory gaze he sent your way. that, mixed with the half-buttoned up shirt with the gold chain he wore exposing so much skin–– much to your own liking; the way his inky curls were slicked back away from face. you swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling incredibly hot under the neon lights. 

this was simply a recipe for absolute disaster, but you didn’t mind at all. 

an hour later, after several drinks later, you found yourself being dragged onto the dance floor by a slightly tipsy matsukawa leading the way. reaching the center, the lights dimmed down even lower, the neon lights appear more luminescent in the room. The nerves you felt moments ago seemed to vanish as your body began moving to the beat of music along with matsukawa, feeling lighter than the air around you. matsukawa started doing these stupid dance moves to the song currently playing, getting a rise out of you. and at some point, the mini circle formed around the two of you as you danced the night away together, encouraged by the cheers and whistles of the crowd. 

matsukawa didn’t want this to end.

the way you’ll cling to him whether it was from laughing too hard or when you danced together to another song.

then this one song started crooning over the speakers, catching his attention. 

almost instantly, it was like time stopped around him, bleeding into a colorful flurry of fireworks. illuminating your face even more so with explosions of lavender and magenta, hints of quinacridone gold and phthalo blue.

his body relaxed seemingly watching you jump around without a care in the world. the beaming smile that radiated on your face that could argue the sun. your eyes glittering with such mirth. he hasn’t even known you for very long, but was really going to admit to himself that he… that he was possibly in love with you?

no, no, no, it’s too early to say something as... drastic as something like that. but was it?

he’s never felt like this with anyone before at all, but with you, he felt at ease. like he could be himself without having to worry about what’ll think. but there was no denying that he felt something for you.

“issei? hey, are you okay?” it was you who snapped out of his daze. 

“oh yea, i’m fine… say, how about we get out of here?”

––

you drove yourselves just outside the strip to the open desert, gazing up the phosphorescence of stars in the pitch black sky on the hood of your car. no words were shared between the two of you as you let the alcohol sink into your systems. And it was like that for a while, until you interrupted that silence. 

“you have to go back to new york on monday, right?”

matsukawa didn’t answer right away, letting your question digest in his mind, word by word. he wanted to say no, he really did, but y’all both knew that’ll be a lie. 

“yes…” 

at his answer, you sat up from your lying position on the hood, matsukawa following right behind you. your eyebrows were scrunched in distress, and he was about to say something before you beat him to the punch line. 

“issei, i… i know this whole thing is really out of the ordinary for both of us, but i can’t get these feelings off my chest. i’ve only known you for what–– two weeks? but it feels like i’ve known you my entire life and i don’t know what to do— a-and you’re leaving and i don’t want you to leave and—” you rambled on before matsukawa leaned forward to press his lips against yours, ultimately shutting you up. you didn’t waste any time returning the kiss. the same fireworks from before were going off like crazy around you like it was new year’s or the fourth of july. the moment was too surreal for any of you to believe it was real. 

and when he pulled just enough where your lips barely met, he the corner his lips twitched upwards, his hand coming around to cup the supple roundness of your cheek, his thumb gently grazing the warm skin, “it’s okay, (y/n). i feel the same way.” 

“then, promise me you’ll come back.”

“for you and those pancakes? a thousand times over.”

smiling, your lips dove to meet his again, this time harder, steamier. matsukawa slowly pulled himself on top of you, trapping you as you lie back down on the hood of the car, intensifying the kiss. he moved his lips away from yours to latched them onto your cheek, leaving a trail of glowing kisses, trailing down to your jaw as a small mewl slipping past your teeth. you weaved your fingers through the ringlets of curls of his hair, gently tugging on the strands. 

matsukawa’s hands felt up and down your torso underneath your shirt, feeling the expanse of skin beneath the pad of his finger tips, leaving burning trails in its foot. 

“issei, p-please…”

“with pleasure.”

turns out he wasn’t wrong, he was certainly always full of surprises. 

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